With Sam’s help, she mounted the frisky Altair. The sorrel pawed eagerly at the ground, wanting to be released. Dany carefully wove the reins of the hackamore and snaffle between her leather-gloved fingers. Sam’s hand rested reassuringly on her thigh as he looked up at her.
“Are you going to try and work with the snaffle more today?”
“A little. Right now all I want to do is remember the count,” she answered, her voice taut and more brisk than she meant it to be.
“You’ll do fine, honey,” he soothed, stepping away.
Hard hat in place, Dany compressed her lips, then squeezed Altair. The stallion moved out easily, making large, lazy circles while she warmed him up. No hot-blooded horse, particularly an animal in peak physical condition, was ever asked to jump without properly warming up. More than one horse had been injured and pulled a ligament because he was “cold.” After fifteen minutes of figure eights, circles and some light dressage movements, Dany felt the stallion become more supple and responsive.
There were eight jumps facing her when she brought Altair around and out of a final circle. Sam stood off to the right, a stopwatch in his hand. Nudging him into a controlled gallop, she mentally counted each stride to the first oxer, which was two and a half feet high. On cue from her leg, Altair lifted his front legs, his mighty hindquarters coiling like a spring and thrusting them up and over the small jump.
Each jump became a small victory for her. Finally after sailing over the eighth one without a fault she broke into a grin. Leaning down, she patted Altair enthusiastically, praising the stallion. She trotted him back to where Sam stood.
“Well?” she gasped, pulling him to a stop and dismounting.
Sam smiled. “Not a bad time and no faults. You did damn well. Both of you,” he said, placing his arm around her and drawing her against his body.
Dany laughed freely, automatically slipping her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. It seemed so natural until the importance of the gesture dawned upon her. She extricated herself from his arms, and he gave her a questioning glance, but said nothing.
“Let’s do it again,” Sam suggested. “Each time it will get easier. How did Altair handle for you?”
“Great. He’s a doll about cuing for takeoffs, and when I wanted him to slow slightly, I used the snaffle and he responded right away.”
Sam took off his hat, pushing his hair back with his fingers as he eyed the stallion. “I wonder if it would be wise to show him in just the snaffle if he continues to progress at Santa Barbara.”
“Don’t throw too many new things my way, Sam. He’s used to the pressure of the hackamore, and I think he’s going to be a handful at a show. I’ll probably use the hackamore on the cross-country and the snaffle for the dressage test.”
“Keeping the snaffle in his mouth for the cross-country would be a wise idea.”
“Yes. Tell me, how does he behave at a show?”
Sam grinned mischievously. “He talks to all the ladies.”
Dany laughed. “This horse is so much like you it isn’t even funny,” she commented wryly.
“Oh? In what way?”
“You’re all male and you’re both incredibly confident. A gentle hand and a soft voice will get more out of you than a crop or spurs.”
His eyes darkened. “Maybe I am a little like the stallion,” he agreed. “But not just any woman’s touch would do,” he murmured huskily. “Just yours.” He reached over, patting Altair. “See? He’s responding beautifully to your voice and hands. You’re an unbeatable combination.”
Dany colored beneath his loving gaze and gathered up the reins, remounting. She got positively weak in the knees every time he spoke to her in that tone of voice. Sam Reese could get to be an intoxicating habit.
By noon they halted. Sam helped her cool out Altair and then wash him in the shower at the end of the barn. It was sharing the little things with Sam that made her heart sing with newfound joy. It brought back painful memories of times when Jean would idly sit back while she worked, talking about his latest win or who he was going to be competing against at the next show. He never offered to help bathe her charges, walk them out or wrap their slender, valuable legs after a grueling training session.
They stood in the stall, both of them kneeling down by Altair’s front legs. Sam passed her the thick cotton matting beneath Altair’s belly, and Dany carefully wrapped Altair’s foreleg. Sam covered her fingers, and she gently disengaged them while he held the cotton in place. Picking up the elastic bandage, Dany expertly wrapped it around the cotton. She caught Sam watching her with a tender flame of interest in his gray eyes.
“You make everything fun,” she admitted, beginning to wrap the second leg.
“Must be the company I’ve been keeping lately.”
She laughed softly. “I feel like I’ve got an unbeatable team working beside me and I can do nothing but win.”
He captured her fingers for a moment against the horse’s leg. “You’re already a winner, Dany. You just don’t realize it yet.”
She moved to Altair’s hind legs, unable to meet his gaze, swallowing the tears lodged in her throat. Sam got up and leaned against the boxstall as she began wrapping the fourth leg.
“You have any family, Dany?” he asked softly.
Altair snorted, pulling a mouthful of hay from the net suspended in the corner of the stall. Dany changed position and completed the wrap. She got to her feet, dusting the fresh straw off from her breeches. “Yes, my mother.”
“She lives back East?”
“Yes.” Dany brushed strands of hair away from her temple, gathering up the accessories and placing them into a small tack box.
“What about your father?”
Dany remained silent, and she nervously moved from the stall, letting him slide the door shut. He finally cornered her in the tack room. Grasping her arm, he forced her to turn and face him. “I’m stepping on a sore spot with you, Dany. Tell me it’s none of my business and I won’t ask you any more questions,” he murmured.
His closeness always brought out the strength that she needed to break through yet another old barrier. “No, Sam, I’ll tell you.” She tossed the cloth down on the saddle that she was going to clean. “My mother really doesn’t care for the occupation I’m in, to tell you the truth. My dad—well, he was an alcoholic and left us to fend for ourselves when I was eleven years old.” She gave a small shrug. “Actually, we were both glad to see him go. He used to beat up on Mom…”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. Not physically.”
“Just emotionally and mentally,” Sam growled.
“A lot of people have had it rougher than me,” she reminded him. She picked up the saddle soap, turning it slowly in her hands. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t marry until I was twenty-four, Sam. I didn’t want the unhappiness I saw in my mother’s marriage. She always said she got married too young and I should wait…. Well, I did and I still made a lousy choice.”
“Not really,” Sam answered softly, catching her unhappy gaze. “You didn’t marry an alcoholic. A lot of children coming out of a family situation like that usually end up the same way. You didn’t.”
She got up, tossing the soap back upon the cloth. “I don’t know why I’m still punishing myself for having made a mistake in marrying Jean. When I was a child I swore I’d never marry the wrong man like my mom did.” Her voice took on a wistful note and she faced Sam. “I had it all figured out. My husband would be loving, giving and sharing. The exact opposite of my dad. Instead I fell for a guy that was interested in using me as a stepping stone to get to the top and I lay right down and let him do it.” Her voice quivered. “I’m so angry at myself!”
Sam got up and came over, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, resting her head against his chin. “You have a lot of stored-up anger to release, honey. And until you do that, you’ll never be free of him or forgive yourself for the mistakes you made.” He gave he
r a small shake. “Dany, don’t berate yourself for making errors. The trick is never to repeat the same one twice.” He held her at arm’s length and offered her a smile. “Just make new ones.”
Tears swelled in her eyes and she gave a little laugh. “You’re crazy, Sam Reese!”
He leaned down, brushing her lips in a feather-light kiss. “Maybe,” he agreed throatily. He raised his head, a lambent gray flame deep in the recesses of his eyes as he studied her for several heart-rending seconds. “You’re a very special woman, Dany,” he whispered, “and I want the chance to know more about you…your past, your present and what you dream for the future. Just keep trusting me and let’s keep talking and both our dreams might get answered if we work at it, honey. Come on, we’ve got to make some plans for transporting Altair to Santa Barbara.” He grinned and pulled her close, giving her a quick hug.
Eleven
Dany made a last-minute check on Altair’s thickly padded stall that had been specially built within the cargo hold of the airplane. She busied herself with a myriad of details, trying to fight back the fear that shadowed every minute of her day. Where had the two weeks gone in preparation for Santa Barbara? Sam had been with her at least two hours each morning as she took Altair over more complex and demanding jump sequences. She had gained more respect for Sam and his knowledge of the Grand Prix circuit—he was not just an owner of a potential champion, but a man who had valued insight into the demanding world of international jumping events.
Dany made sure the leather cap that Altair wore between his ears was snugly fastened; in case the stallion jerked his head up unexpectedly, the cap could prevent a concussion. Sam had helped her wrap his legs earlier, and she double-checked to make sure that they were holding.
“About ready?” Sam asked, walking up the ramp.
She turned. “Yes.”
He smiled, giving the order to remove the ramp. Dany remained at Altair’s side as Sam and his ranch hand, Pete, came aboard. Speaking soothingly to the nervous stallion as the door to the aircraft was closed, Dany continued to rub his neck in a reassuring motion. Sam came over, resting against the stall, putting one arm across her shoulders and the other on Altair’s shoulder.
“Who’s more nervous?” he asked softly. “You or the horse?”
She shook her head. “It’s a toss-up,” she admitted.
“You’ll both do fine, honey.”
They landed at Los Angeles International Airport without incident. From there, a horse trailer and truck were waiting to whisk them to the grounds where the Grand Prix event would be held. The temperature was in the nineties, and Dany was thankful for the air conditioning in the truck as they reached their final destination. Her nervousness increased as they received their pass from the gate guard and got directions to the stabling area.
Everywhere she looked she saw sleek thoroughbreds and Hanoverians prancing lightly, eager for workouts. Her pulse picked up more strongly, and a new sense of anticipation spread throughout her. She was proud of Altair and wanted to note the expressions on other riders’ faces when she took him out to acclimate him to the grounds. Sam glanced over at her as they pulled into the stabling area.
“You’re excited,” was all he said, a slight grin shadowing his mouth.
“I shouldn’t be. I ought to be scared to death.”
He shut off the engine and slid out. “You’ll experience both extremes,” he warned lightly. “Come on, let’s help Pete get this big red horse out of that stuffy trailer before he decides to throw a temper tantrum.”
“You want to get him bedded down with Pete and I’ll go over to the show office and make sure we’re registered with the show secretary?”
“Go ahead,” Sam agreed.
People in English riding habits were all about. Their snorting, prancing mounts cantered over the lush grass expanse throughout the complex. As she reached for the screen door, a darkly tanned hand closed over her own.
“Chérie, I never expected to see you here.”
Dany froze, jerking her hand away. “Jean!” she breathed sharply.
Jean grinned boyishly, taking his riding cap off and bowing gallantly. “The same. Ahh, you look as lovely as ever. And,” he murmured, eying her critically, “I would say you are thinner.” He grinned broadly, his green eyes dancing with mirth. “You tempt me, Danielle. As always.”
Dany’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped away from him. “Lying as usual, I see. Save your pretty words to use on someone who cares, Jean.” She pulled open the screen, moving quickly inside to the show secretary’s desk. Her heart was beating erratically, and anguish coursed through her. Jean had followed her in, and now he stood near the wall, one leg propped lazily over his other booted foot, watching her with amused curiosity.
Her business completed, Dany turned, wanting to run out the door to escape the presence of her ex-husband. She felt his hand on her arm, slowing her down once she was outside.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Dany wrenched her arm away from him, coming to a halt. Her nostrils flared with anger. “Leave me alone, Jean! You’ve used me and gotten what you’ve wanted. So quit rubbing salt into the wounds!” she cried.
“Used you?” he echoed, raising his eyebrows. His narrow face became less readable. “Ahh, you think I used you as a stepping stone for success.”
“You bet I do.”
He shrugged his shoulders eloquently. “But Danielle, it has worked out for you, also. You see, you’re riding a Grand Prix candidate yourself. You also benefited from our—liaison. Oui?”
Blood was pounding through her skull and she barely held her temper in check. “I’m riding a horse you contracted to show! I don’t want the limelight, Jean. I never did. Now—” her voice wobbled “—now it’s caused so many problems because I have to fulfill the terms of the contract.”
Jean frowned. “Chérie, you’re out of your mind riding that red cow horse. He’s got a name on the circuit, you know.”
“Which is why you probably left the country,” she growled. “This is the first time I’ve seen you turn tail and be a coward, Jean.”
Jean colored fiercely, his dark jade eyes glittering like cold diamonds. “That horse is a killer.”
“No more than you are,” she hurled back.
He managed a sour grin. “Well, if he doesn’t kill you, you’ll kill him, chérie. Which will it be, eh? Last time it was Crusader’s Prince. Who will end up in the hospital this time, I wonder?”
Dany stood frozen, her face devoid of emotion, her heart plummeting to her stomach. Jean had often been short and abrupt during their marriage, but never outwardly cruel. Not like now. Why had he hurled all that old guilt back into her face? She glared at him. “Neither of us,” she rasped.
“You’re a trainer, not a rider, Danielle.” He gave a small bow. “I must be off. I wonder, should I tell the press that two losers are trying to win here, eh?”
She clenched her fist. “You cold-blooded—”
“Listen, when it comes down to my winning this title and anyone threatening my position, I’ll make sure I’m not the loser. Au revoir.”
Dany purposely walked back to the barn at a slow pace, trying to harness the clashing, roiling emotions that must have been evident on her face. Tears of anger slashed down her cheeks, and she stopped, wiping them away before entering the cool barn complex. Down at the end of the hall in the breezy passageway she could see Sam and Pete saddling up Altair. Compressing her lips into a set line, she took a firmer step, stopping at the tack trunk to grab her hard hat and leather gloves.
Sam smiled down at her as she came around the rear of Altair. Then he frowned, his gaze traveling up and down her rigid body. “Dany?”
“It’s nothing,” she snapped, taking the reins and leading the stallion out into the paddock. Just as she was about to mount, she felt Sam’s restraining hand on her arm.
“Nothing is something,” he returned, making it obvious he wanted an explanation.
>
“Not now, Sam! Give me a boost up on Altair. I need some time to think.” She gave him a begging look and he relented. She settled firmly in the Stübben jump saddle, allowing the short stirrups to slide onto her black, booted feet. His hand rested on her knee.
“Warm him up slow, honey,” was all he said.
Sam’s quiet, reassuring voice assuaged some of the roaring anger, and Dany managed to give a nod of her head. “I will,” she promised, her voice thick with tears.
The actual three-mile Grand Prix cross-country course was off limits to the competitors, but a lovely area of two miles of rolling hills with test jumps had been arranged to keep the finely honed athletes in top condition for the performance. It had been nine months since Altair had attended a show, and Dany wanted to check his reactions. The stallion arched his neck, his head perpendicular to the ground as she signaled him to remain on the bit.
Dany worked him in wide circles and figure eights, asking him to switch leads from right to left or vice versa as warm-up. The fields were crowded with some of the finest Grand Prix jumpers in the world, and she purposely shut out their existence, concentrating one hundred percent on Altair’s actions and responsiveness. The moment that she took the jump position, her knees and calves firmly against his barrel, body lifted off and slightly forward from the saddle, Altair tensed. The first series of jumps were three-and-a-half to four-and-a-half feet in height, and he scaled them effortlessly.
She worked nearly an hour, finally bringing him down to a slow trot as she came to the gate where Sam had been standing and watching them. Dropping the reins, Dany slid off the saddle.
Chase the Clouds Page 12
