Fool's Gold

by Sarah Madison

  Table of Contents

  About Fool's Gold

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Message to Readers

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Author Bio

  FOOL’S GOLD

  Eight years ago, Jake Stanford had it all: a spot on the U.S. Olympic Equestrian Team and the love of his life, Rich Evans. A tragic accident wipes out everything in the blink of an eye. Hard work and sacrifice get him another shot at Olympic Gold, but only if he puts his past behind him and agrees to work with Rich again.

  Bound by secrets he cannot share, Rich was forced to give up Jake eight years ago. Now he has a second chance to help Jake realize his dreams. But the secrets that drove them apart haven’t changed, and Rich must face them or risk losing Jake forever.

  Fool’s Gold

  Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Madison

  sarahmadisonfiction.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2016

  Cover art by Reese Dante

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  MESSAGE TO READERS

  This story was written for the purposes of entertainment. Though mention is made of real personalities in the equestrian sport of eventing, it is merely to lend authenticity to the story for anyone who is a fan of the sport. At no time do fictional characters interact directly with existing people. At times, fictional characters were granted winning placements in real events in order to facilitate the story. No disrespect is meant to the men and women whose dedication and training allowed them to win such events in reality.

  This story originated as a short novella in the 2012 Going for Gold anthology from MLR Press, under the title Lightning in a Bottle. It has been revised and expanded into a full-length novel here.

  Dedicated to Anna Butler and Claire M. Johnson, without whom this story would never have been finished. And also to all the horses I’ve ever loved, from the first mean-as-a-snake Shetland pony, to my lovely event mare, The Moose.

  February 2008

  In many ways, it had been the perfect day.

  The weather had been cooperative, always a dicey thing in February. They couldn’t have asked for better conditions to school cross-country. The ground was forgiving without being too soft. It had been warm enough to dispense with heavy jackets and gloves, but cool enough the horses didn’t overheat, despite their shaggy coats. Sun kissed the fields of dead grass, whispering promises of the spring to come, while it glittered off the remnants of last week’s snow on the Blue Ridge Mountains all around them.

  Nothing made Jake Stanford feel more alive than galloping up to a solid fence on a fresh, energetic horse. The horse’s breath pluming in the cool air, the steady rhythm of the hoof beats on the turf, and the muscles bunching beneath him before the launch…. Then landing on the other side and galloping away, thumping his horse on its sweaty neck with pleasure and pride. Few things could compare.

  It had been a good schooling session. Although excited to be in a new location, the horses had settled to the job at hand. PJ had taken the obstacles like the seasoned campaigner he was; there was no question he’d be ready for the Summer Games. Scotty had finally mastered her fear of ditches and successfully tackled them with only the barest hesitation. Even the new horse showed promise, her ears alertly pricked forward as she approached a jump, enthusiastically taking fences a more experienced competitor might think twice about jumping.

  And then there was Rich. He’d had a good day too. Goldie might not be Olympic caliber, but she’d make a fine horse for some young rider looking to go Prelim. That was Rich’s gift: getting the most out of a horse, no matter what their level of performance.

  Yeah, a damn fine day.

  The sun was starting to slant toward the trees when they headed back to the horse trailer. They’d left the farm at six thirty a.m. for this day trip, building in extra time since they didn’t know how the new horse was going to behave. They still had the long drive back home and then the settling of the horses and unloading of the van. Everything had to be put away in its place, swept, cleaned, and ready for the next trip. Fortunately, Mick was driving the rig and they had a healthy contingent of working students—Tom’s Angels—to do most of the groundwork. There was never a shortage of Angels; dedicated riders who yearned to learn from the best waited in line for an opening at Foxden Stables.

  It was a good day, but a tiring one. And miles to go before I sleep. Jake thought of Frost’s poem, of the rider who’d stopped to watch it snow on his way to somewhere else. The air had turned colder with the fading sunlight, and Jake could feel the hint of falling weather to come.

  Rich stripped Goldie of her tack and was stowing it away, while Becky, one of the Angels, quickly began wrapping Goldie’s legs with protective bandages for the ride home. As if he’d sensed someone watching him, Rich looked up and smiled.

  Jake knew it was stupid to feel as if Rich’s smile belonged only to him, but that didn’t stop him from smiling in return. It didn’t matter. That’s how he felt whenever Rich looked at him like that, as though they shared a secret. Maybe they did. Rich’s grin got even wider; it warmed him in a way he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t used to feeling like this.

  No, all in all, Jake couldn’t have asked for a better day.

  Tom Banks, who’d been training horses for the Stanfords since before Jake was born, gave PJ a pat on the neck as Jake finished braiding his tail. “Good job, boys. Nice work today.”

  The iron-gray gelding snuffled Tom’s jacket for treats, but Tom pushed his head away. “Are you feeding him carrots all the time, Hot Shot? He’s getting pushy.”

  Growing up under Tom’s tutelage, Jake had gotten used to how he could hand out approval and an admonishment almost in the same breath—Tom’s nickname for him being a prime example. “He deserves it. He’s the best and he knows it.”

  Tom snorted. “You spoil him. He looked good on the course, though. I’m pleased with the new mare too.” He checked the hay nets as he spoke, making sure the Angels had filled them sufficiently for the long drive home. As always, Cricket, Tom’s little red heeler, stuck to his side like glue.

  “I like The Moose,” Jake agreed. “She’s a good addition. Besides, she’s fun to ride.”

  He velcroed a neoprene tail protector over PJ’s braided tail, forcing the thick, black hair into the wrapper to prevent damage during hauling. PJ liked to lean on the butt bar in the trailer, and before they’d started wrapping his tail, he’d worn bald spots in it.

  Tail wrap completed, Jake picked up one of the long leg bandages and the thick pillow wrap to put underneath it, and knelt to place them around a foreleg. He tucked the pillow wrap around the gelding
’s cannon bone and then expertly rolled the flannel bandage around it. The flannel was long enough to go down the complete length of the horse’s leg to the protective bell boots and back up again, so that the wide Velcro tab met its fastening at the top of the bandage. While he worked, the newest Angel, Amy, wrapped PJ’s legs on the opposite side.

  “I thought we were calling the new horse Peggy,” Rich called out from where he was helping to prepare Goldie for transport. “You know, short for Pegasus?”

  “Peggy is a perfectly reasonable barn name.” Tom picked up the grooming box and placed it in the storage compartment within the trailer. Becky followed close behind with an assortment of brushing boots, riding crops, and the stud kit.

  Jake laughed as he wrapped the hind leg on his side. “Oh come on, look at her. She’s enormous. Slap a set of antlers on her and you could mistake her for a moose. We’ll have to be careful during hunting season or some idiot’s going to think there’s caribou in Virginia or something. Anyway, she doesn’t look like a Peggy.”

  He finished his wraps and noticed Amy was still working on her first leg. Jake eyeballed her work so far and wasn’t happy with how tight her wrap was. “Here, let me give you a hand.”

  He came over to her side and squatted next to her. He quickly undid the bandaging that was already starting to loosen. He rerolled the flannel, using his leg as a brace to pull the fabric smooth, and then positioned it at the top of the pillow. “See here? Tuck the leading edge of the flannel in here around the pillow so it will give you something to tug against as you go. You want to wrap in the direction of nose to tail.” He demonstrated, executing a neat, tight pass around the leg. “That way when you pull the flannel around, you’re putting the tension across the bone and not on the suspensory ligament. Be sure to cover fifty percent of the previous roll of flannel with the next one.”

  “I still don’t understand why you just don’t use shipping boots like everyone else does. They go up higher on the leg for more coverage and take a fraction of the time to put on.” Amy sounded slightly petulant. “Just velcro four tabs together and you’re done.”

  “We do the flannels and pillows because nothing protects a leg as well during transport.” Tom spoke sharply.

  Amy winced at his tone. Jake could sympathize. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, or the first time Jake had shown her the correct way to wrap legs either.

  “Tom’s old school when it comes to this sort of thing. But I’ve found over the years, he does know best.” Jake finished wrapping the foreleg and supervised Amy’s prep of the hind. Meanwhile, PJ pulled a wad of hay out of his hay net and chewed happily. When Amy was done, Jake asked, “Are we ready to load?”

  “Just about.” Amy took the hint and moved off. She picked up Jake’s body protector and helmet to place them in the storage area.

  She wasn’t likely to last much longer. Jake knew firsthand how patient Tom was with both horses and people, how he’d work hard to make sure everyone understood each task required of them and making sure it was within their capability to perform. But Tom had little patience with someone who couldn’t get things right because they didn’t believe what they were being asked to do was all that important in the first place.

  Jake untied PJ from the end of the trailer and moved a little distance away so he could let the horse graze. Even though the gelding looked a little silly with the protective head bumper and the heavy shipping wraps, to Jake’s eye he was still the most beautiful creature Jake had ever known. PJ’s head was refined and elegant, and when his mane was braided, it showed off the graceful lines of his neck to perfection. Eventing wasn’t a sport where the appearance of the horse mattered very much, but PJ was both a great eventer and a stupendously beautiful horse, and Jake took pride in both.

  Gray coats had a lot of variation, ranging from nearly bone-white to horses with red ticking throughout, but PJ was Jake’s favorite: a striking dapple gray with black points. His mother had said once that PJ was what every little horse-crazy child wanted when they thought of their dream horse. It would be interesting to see how much he lightened as he aged. Jake stroked the gelding’s shoulder. Not surprisingly, PJ ignored him to graze at the end of the lead rope.

  Rich joined him, leading Goldie and Scotty. Goldie, the sturdy little chestnut, was trace clipped like the other horses, but in his case, his undercoat was paler than the rest of him, making him look two-toned, like a piece of furniture made with different kinds of wood.

  PJ pinned his ears and made a warning face at the other horses as they neared, and both stopped respectfully a short distance away. Scotty tossed her head in defiance, also pinning her ears, but only briefly. Deciding the grass was more interesting than social ranking, the liver-colored bay mare lowered her head to eat. Dominance established, the horses grazed side by side. While Tom and Becky lowered the ramp to the horse trailer, Amy walked their newest addition, Pegasus, aka The Moose, around the rig in a large circle, the young bay mare being a little too wound up to stand quietly. The sun came out from behind the clouds briefly and lit her coat into a rich shade of mahogany. One day, when she grew into her frame, she’d be an awesome horse. Not beautiful in the way PJ was, but magnificent just the same.

  “At least she’s stopped flirting with you,” Rich said quietly, the sly smile still evident in his voice.

  “Who?” Jake turned away from the action, frowning at Rich.

  “Amy. I swear, I think the only reason she took this job is because she thought she’d have an ‘in’ with the boss’s son. Well, that and because the boss’s son is really hot.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Because I think the boss’s son is hot? I have it on good authority that he really is.”

  The rush of heat into Jake’s face had nothing to do with being out in the chill air all afternoon. “No, I meant… well, yes, that anyone would take a job because of me. For any reason.”

  Rich laughed. It was an infectious sound, teasing a reluctant smile out of Jake regardless of how ridiculous he thought Rich was being. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? No, well, I can remedy that.” Rich leaned in closer, dropping his voice to add, “In fact, I can’t think of anything prettier than the sight of you bent in front of a mirror, while I take you from behind.”

  Rich’s amused chuckle sent a bolt of heat straight to Jake’s cock, and suddenly, as awesome as the day had been so far, he couldn’t wait to get home. Home. It was funny, but home didn’t mean his father’s mansion, the only home he’d ever known, or even the stables, where he spent ninety-five percent of his time. Home had become a cheap apartment on the sketchy side of town, where the heat was unreliable and the roaches big enough to ride. But it was Rich’s place, and there Jake could be completely himself. Once the horses were settled for the evening, he’d head over. Only then would the day be truly perfect.

  The sound of a shutter caught his attention, and he glanced over at Rich again. Rich had his little point-and-shoot camera out and was taking pictures one-handed, holding both lead ropes with the other. Though he seemed to be aiming at Amy and The Moose as they took another turn around the rig, Jake strongly suspected Rich had sneaked a shot of him holding PJ. For some reason, Rich was enamored with taking pictures of him.

  “You better not let Tom catch you taking photos when we’re trying to get loaded up,” Jake warned. “You know how he feels about that.”

  “Tom doesn’t have a single romantic bone in his body.” Rich put the camera away in his jacket pocket just the same. “I’ve always said that if I couldn’t ride, I could put out a book of photographs about the sport horse world. I’d be on every coffee table in the country.”

  “You have an eye for a great pic,” Jake agreed, “but Tom’s all about staying in the moment, not trying to capture it on film.”

  “That’s because horses can hurt you if you’re not paying attention, Hot Shot.” Tom came from around the front of the truck to join them.

  “Ears o
f a bat,” Rich muttered, hauling his charges up from the grass. Both horses were reluctant to stop grazing.

  “I heard that,” Tom said, proving Rich’s point before changing the subject. “Mick says The Moose was kicking at Scotty on the way up. We’re going to rearrange their positions on the way home, putting PJ and Goldie in first.”

  Jake nodded in agreement. Mick Callahan, their driver and general dogsbody, was good with the transportation. He never took the turns too fast, making the horses scramble to keep their footing, and he always maintained plenty of stopping distance from the traffic in front of him. Jake trusted his judgment. If Mick thought The Moose would ride better loaded last, then that’s where they’d put her.

  “Does this mean we’re calling her The Moose now?” Rich was positively gleeful.

  “What can I do?” Tom shrugged, but a smile tugged at his features. “Jake calls his Olympic hopeful Puddle Jumper, for Pete’s sake. Go on now, load up.”

  PJ walked up to the trailer without a fuss, following Jake up the ramp and into the stall behind the driver’s side. After quickly threading the shipping chains through his halter and clipping them to the wall, Jake made sure the hay net was within reach, and then ducked out the small door to the side, shutting it behind him. He came back up the ramp as Rich led Goldie into the opposite stall, and then the two of them put the heavy metal butt bar in place.