by Leigh Hearon
Several reasons why this would not be a good idea were bubbling on Annie’s lips, but Marcus jumped in before she had a chance to voice them.
“Excellent idea! Where is it being held?”
“Southern California, near Thousand Oaks,” Liz told him. “It’s rather a small show, but in a fabulous setting. Two retired movie actors, a couple who were big in the fifties, own the place, and they apparently draw quite an elite crowd. It would be the perfect place to show Hilda’s horses, Annie. Why don’t you come?”
This was too much. Everyone was telling her what she should do, and anyone who knew the well-regarded Western horse trainer Annie Carson was fully aware that she didn’t cotton much to blunt requests.
“I’m afraid it’s impossible, Liz. I’m in the middle of my sheep’s breeding season and couldn’t possibly get away.”
Liz and Patricia’s faces showed their disappointment. Annie lamely tried to soften her words.
“But I think it’s a great idea. Maybe some other time.”
“Unfortunately, it’s the last event of the season pretty much everywhere,” Patricia said sadly. “The next one won’t take place until April.”
Marcus groaned. “Don’t take this personally, Patricia, but I’m not looking forward to another six months of feeding those beasts. Perhaps we could cut down on the number of pedicures you give them?”
Patricia laughed. “Not a chance, Marcus. Not a chance.”
* * *
Back at Annie’s farmhouse that night, she fumed at Marcus’s surprising lack of tact earlier. Unfortunately, there had been no time to tell him how thoughtless he’d been. As soon as the celebratory party had ended, Marcus had left for the airport to fly home to San Jose. Pressing business awaited him in the morning, he reminded Annie, and when he’d prepared her for his hasty departure the day before, he had seemed genuinely disappointed. At least they had had one night together. But it was hardly enough, especially when Annie had so many well-aimed criticisms to throw his way.
Didn’t he know that selling horses wasn’t like a regular retail business? It was incredibly difficult to link a pedigreed horse with just the right owner. The person’s riding skills had to be aligned with the horse’s own strengths, plus the prospective owner had to assure Annie and Patricia that the horse would thrive in its new home. Both women were sticklers for checking out the horse’s new environment before any deal was struck. So far, every new home found for Hilda’s horses had been successful. No horse had been handed back, and Annie had made this a condition of sale. After seeing how easily unwanted horses ended up in feedlots, she was doubly insistent; her new Thoroughbred, Eduardo, had ended up in one through no fault of his own.
She was doing the best she could, and damn it, Marcus should know this by now. She was sorry he would have to continue paying very large boarding fees at Running Track. But she could only do so much in a day, and taking off for a frivolous weekend in Southern California, as well as taking on the expense of transporting several horses to the show, just seemed ludicrous right now. Why couldn’t everyone see that? She did.
Annie’s cell phone rang, and she picked it up without looking at the number. It was Marcus, who’d just landed. She could hear the echo of airport loudspeakers in the background.
“How’s my girl?”
Annie found she was having difficulty making a similarly breezy reply.
“Annie? Are you still upset about Patricia’s suggestion about showing Hilda’s horses in Southern California?”
The man wasn’t stupid, she realized. He’d noticed her reaction. To her surprise, tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.
“I have a lot to do here, Marcus! I’ve just spent the last three months caring for the rescues, and I need a break to deal with my own life. Why is that so hard to fathom?”
She could hear Marcus’s sigh on the other end of the line.
“I know your plate is more than full, Annie. That’s why I thought a relaxing long weekend at a completely different horse venue might be fun. You and Patricia and Liz would have a great time together. You might sell a horse or two. And I’d do everything in my power to join you at least for a day.”
Annie considered this. It sounded almost reasonable. In fact, it was reasonable. Then she remembered and gave a small groan.
“No, I really can’t. Leif finished the breeding today, but we’ve still got to transport the flock to Johan’s. And that’s not counting the new horse in my stables I’m supposed to be training.”
“One long weekend away can’t do that much damage to your training or transportation schedules. Look at it this way. Everyone else will be performing—you get to sit around and watch them all sweat. Your only real job is to make sure any interested buyer is properly feted and vetted. And I’m sure Patricia can help you with that.”
Despite her earlier misgivings, Annie was now on the verge of changing her mind. But then Marcus spoke, and inadvertently put his foot squarely in it.
“Besides, I thought that’s what Leif was planning on doing today. Couldn’t he have just had the ewes breed, then transport them all in one day? That way, you’d have accomplished both jobs at once.”
It was too much. Maybe Marcus could put together three mergers in a single day. Maybe he had a huge desk in his office with nothing on it but a large paper clip. Annie could only concentrate on one horse at a time. Her office at home was littered with paper and unread magazines. But the worst part was that he was right.
She ended the call with forced civility, poured herself a small glass of Glenlivet, and picked up her phone once more.
“Patricia? It’s Annie. I hope I’m not calling too late. I’d be delighted to come down to Southern California with you and Liz. How soon can we transport the horses?”
A shriek of delight emanated from Patricia’s end, followed by rapid conversation. When it stopped, Annie paused, then cautiously asked her friend, “Just one more thing. What exactly should I bring to wear?”
Chapter Two
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, OCTOBER 11
Annie watched her suitcase slowly swivel onto the slanted conveyer belt and land with a resounding thunk on the revolving circle below. Her stomach felt as churned up as her luggage might have been had it been an animate object. Aside from one screaming toddler whose lung capacity rivaled that of an opera singer’s, the two-and-a-half-hour flight had been uneventful—but Annie had spent the entire time obsessing about the foolhardiness of the journey she’d agreed to make.
She now yanked her bag off the slowly moving track and sighed. Her qualms about making the trip had started once she acquired her clothes, neatly packed inside the suitcase she now held. In addition to the usual sundries, it currently contained two pairs of English full-seat breeches, several polo shirts, and a navy-blue schooling coat. She had never worn such garments in her life, nor had she ever expected to. And then there were the two—two!—adorable little cocktail dresses that somehow had made their way in, as well.
It was all her friends’ fault. Thanks to the recent horse-rescue mission, which had required every single one of her equestrian friends, every friend was now on everyone else’s contact list. When word got out that Annie would be attending a dressage event in Southern California, they all came to the fore with the same fervor as they had when rescuing horses bound for slaughter.
“Don’t be absurd,” was Samantha Higgins’s blunt response to Annie’s innocent remark that she intended to wear her dress cowboy boots and jeans to the event—what else would she wear, for heaven’s sake?
Apparently, Sam’s opinion was universal, because the next day, Annie found herself bundled into a truck with Sam, Lisa, and several other friends, all determined to shop until they dropped. The first stop was an equine shop that catered to the English riding crowd. Annie had balked at purchasing a pair of dressage boots—the price alone was enough to thwart that idea—but she had let herself be talked into more moderately priced attire. She had to admit she liked how tight
breeches with spandex made her long legs and waist appear even longer, and they were actually comfortable, too. She was wearing a pair now, along with a more sensible pair of boots that for reasons that escaped Annie, were called “paddocks.” If she’d worn them just once in her own paddock, they’d soon be encrusted with mud and worse.
Purchasing the cocktail dresses was an act of utter insanity as far as Annie was concerned, but her friends had gushed so much over how she looked in the Nordstrom dressing room that her resolve quickly withered. Even the personal shopper Sam had snared seemed impressed with how just a slip of fabric, artfully designed, brought out Annie’s slim and very toned figure.
“Which one should I get?” Annie had asked her crowd of admirers, twirling around a bit so she could get the view in back.
“Both.” Again, the vote was unanimous, and Annie didn’t protest. The truth was, she loved them equally. But when her friend Luann suggested that perhaps she should look for “just one more,” Annie put her foot down.
“You’ll be there five nights,” Luann had protested. “You can’t wear the same dress more than twice. It’s just not done!”
“Watch me,” Annie replied.
Now she looked down at the suitcase with all her new clothes and wondered what she had gotten herself into. Hadn’t Thoreau once written, “Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes?” Her highschool English teacher would not be impressed by how little she had soaked in that lesson.
* * *
A buzz from within her Giani Bernini purse—another unnecessary purchase, in her opinion—broke her reverie. It was Patricia, who’d agreed to pick her up at LAX.
“Are you here? Are you on the ground?” Patricia sounded uncharacteristically bubbly.
“I am, and just snared my bag. Where are you?”
“In a cell phone lot, not too far away. What island are you closest to?”
Annie looked toward the exit doors. It looked gloriously sunny outside. How lovely. She’d left Sea-Tac in a gloomy drizzle.
“I think it’s twenty-two. Yes, that’s it. Twenty-two.”
“Be there in half a tick!”
The line went dead. Annie walked toward the exit and out into the enticing glow of California sunshine. It was very warm. The sky was blue as far as she could see. She stopped for a moment, letting the unexpected heat settle over her as other passengers strode by. A sudden soft breeze caressed her body. She raised her face to catch more of it and realized the overhead sun was very bright, indeed. She fumbled inside her purse for her sunglasses and put them on, feeling like a Hollywood star who wanted to remain incognito. Things were definitely looking up. Although it occurred to Annie that she had no idea what Patricia would be driving.
When a cobalt blue Mercedes-Benz convertible zipped up to the curb five minutes later, she had her answer. Patricia jumped out and gave Annie an enthusiastic hug.
“Very cool sunglasses! How was the flight?” she asked, as she took Annie’s bag and placed it in an already popped trunk.
“Fantastic. Thirty minutes in the air and the rain clouds magically melted away.”
Patricia’s buoyant demeanor amused Annie. Back home, she was the epitome of a proper, well-spoken operations manager of a major-league horse facility. Annie had never seen this side of the Englishwoman. She liked it. The only thing that hadn’t changed was Patricia’s attire—breeches, a white blouse, and a navy-blue riding jacket emblazoned with the Running Track Farms crest. Almost exactly what she was wearing, Annie realized. They could have been twins.
“Let’s go, then. We’ve got a three o’clock appointment with our first prospective buyer. The word’s already out!”
“Wonderful. Wouldn’t it be nice to sell one of the horses before the show even started?”
“It would indeed. Buckle up, Annie, this car reminds me of my MG back home. We take corners fast and overtake slow drivers even faster.”
Annie laughed. “Just remember to drive on the right side of the road, and you won’t hear me complain.”
* * *
Patricia really was a superb driver. She adroitly steered the convertible through waiting cars and throngs of herd-bound people with ease, and they soon reached the on-ramp to the freeway. Annie had not tried to talk to her friend as she circumnavigated the complexities of getting out of the airport; she knew Patricia needed to pay attention to her driving. But she wondered if conversation would be any better once they were on the freeway. It was difficult to hear oneself speak over the noise of traffic, made even louder in an open vehicle.
She needn’t have worried. The convertible came to a screeching halt as soon as it rounded the crest of the ramp. Thirty cars were at a standstill before them, each waiting for the red traffic light to turn green for an infinitesimal second, the official nod that they could join the quagmire of cars that stretched across the six-lane freeway.
“Damn!” Patricia put the car in neutral and sighed. “It’s only one o’clock, for heaven’s sake. Traffic shouldn’t be piled up at this hour.”
Annie peered ahead of them. “Maybe there’s an accident.”
“No, I’m afraid it’s just business as usual. It seems LA County just can’t build new freeways fast enough.”
The lanes were worn and patched, Annie noticed, hardly in great shape for driving.
“Seems like the Department of Transportation could do a better job of keeping the roads paved,” she noted.
“Yes, well, there are a lot of them. The idea of giving up one’s car never really caught on in this part of the world.”
At least the crawl gave the women a chance to talk.
“How are the horses?”
“Tickety-boo. They enjoyed nonstop, air-conditioned rides down here and arrived an hour after Liz and I did. No injuries, no worrisome symptoms. They’ve settled in very nicely, have had a full day of rest, and are being bathed and groomed as we speak.”
“How are the facilities?”
“Incredible. You won’t believe them, Annie. The Darbys have made the stables into a virtual palace for equines. It’s always been a well-run place, but under their care and thanks to their money, it’s become thoroughly modernized. And huge! They’ve built three competition dressage arenas, one of them indoors, although the event this weekend will just use one. It’s absolutely top-of-the-line.”
That was a relief. There was nothing worse than visiting a subpar stable and knowing there was nothing you could do about it. In her role with the local Horse Rescue Brigade, she’d come across plenty of those.
“So, tell me about the Darbys. All I know is that they used to be big movie stars.”
“Oh, they’re wonderful. Hollis and Miriam have completely opened up their home to us and couldn’t be more delightful hosts. Miriam must now be in her eighties, but she’s still incredibly beautiful. And Hollis is just the sweetest guy. He dotes on his wife as if she’s still his blushing bride. They’ve been married for over fifty years, something of a record among their colleagues.”
“Didn’t they get some special Academy Award a few years back?”
“Yes, for their lifetime achievements in the postwar movie industry. A lot of their films are now cult classics.”
Annie wondered if she’d seen any of them. She seldom went to a movie theater, but she was partial to movie classics, especially on dark and rainy winter nights.
“I take it we’re staying on the grounds? You told me not to book a motel, and I took you at your word.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re all staying in the house, or mansion, I should say. It’s at one end of the property; the stables are at the other, with pastures in between. Miriam and Hollis live in a large wing on the second floor, but the rest of us are very comfortably situated, and a maid comes in every day to do our rooms. We’ve also got the services of Chef Gustav, a very fussy Frenchman whose sole purpose in life is to make sure we enjoy his food.”
Annie was focused on one phrase she’d heard: “the rest of us.”<
br />
“So, we’re not the Darbys’ only guests?”
“Oh, heavens no. We’re just a small part of the crowd, the Northwest contingent. The Darbys are putting up several other riders, plus their trainers, although the trainers are housed in cottages scattered throughout the property. They’re all people Miriam and Hollis have gotten to know over the years. Miriam used to be a dressage rider, did you know that? She still keeps up with the local amateurs and, not surprisingly, she’s become good friends with many of them.”
Great, Annie thought. Getting to know her hosts, two aging, perhaps slightly eccentric Hollywood celebrities sounded like fun, and she knew that she, Liz, and Patricia would bond over the weekend. But a household full of unknown but undoubtedly snooty dressage equestrians was far less enticing. Annie felt a small knot form in the pit of her stomach. She was very afraid she would be a fish out of water and regretted not booking a room at the local motel instead.
“One of the riders, Lucy, is an old family friend,” Patricia continued, oblivious to Annie’s concerns. “She’s from Boston, and definitely born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Someone told me she attended a boarding school where she could bring her own horse. Then she matriculated at Smith College, where the stables are on campus.”
Annie’s heart sank. It was just as she feared. She was in for a weekend with women who had more money than she’d ever have and whose life experiences were far different than her own. From her meager experience, rich people weren’t particularly warm and friendly toward those beneath their income level. Marcus was the one notable exception. She wished he was with her now, to help her integrate into this rarefied social circle.
Patricia was still talking, and Annie made a concerted effort to stop fretting and pay attention.
“Lucy desperately wanted to come along with me to the airport,” Patricia said, deftly moving into another lane where traffic seemed to be incrementally faster. “But I told her she’d have plenty of time at cocktail hour.”
