The Gift Horse

by Jami Davenport

  She glared at Carson as he covered his hand over his mouth. “It’s not funny.”

  “You? In a crafts store? That’s not funny?”

  “I’m pouring my heart out to you, and you’re making fun of me.”

  “Sorry.” He managed to look properly contrite.

  “My mother wanted me to go to school. She was a professional horsewoman, but she knew what a struggle and how expensive it was. She had bigger plans for me.”

  “You talk about her in the past-tense.”

  “She died several years ago after my dad and she divorced. She was in the tryouts for the Olympic team in Florida when a young horse she was training flipped over backward on her. She died instantly.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. It’s okay.” It wasn’t. Not really. Her stomach still ached when she thought of her mother.

  Carson steered them to safer ground. “So where do you want to be in a year, exactly?”

  “I need to be making enough money to comfortably make large payments on my Dad’s loans. I need to prove I’m competitive and that I have enough students and training horses to sustain a viable business.”

  “How do you judge that?”

  “Income level, for one. I’m sure you understand that measurement stick.”

  “Am I being insulted?”

  Sam laughed. “Isn’t that my job, pretty boy?”

  “No, I think it’s your hobby.” The corner of his mouth quirked into an almost smile. “So income can’t be everything? What else?”

  “Did I hear you right? Money isn’t everything? This from a man who tucks his bankroll into bed at night and reads financial statements to it as a bedtime story?”

  “You’re doing that insulting thing again.”

  “Oops. Sorry. It just comes so naturally.”

  Carson sighed. “So what else is a measure of success in the dressage world?”

  “To be long-listed for the Olympic or Pan-Am team, win a regional championship, or finish in the top-ten in the nation at the level which I’m showing.”

  “And Gabbie is your ticket to achieving that goal?”

  “Yes, I have to ride her, Carson. You have to give me a chance. Please. No matter what you hear about me, please give me an opportunity.”

  Carson nodded. “I’ve seen you ride that mare. I may not know dressage, but I think the two of you have something special. I need this horse to bring a large sum of money within the year. I trust you to do whatever it takes to see that happens. She’s yours to ride.”

  “Carson, I promise you won’t regret this. I promise!” Sam threw her arms around him and gave him a hug. He stood stiffly, hands at his sides and didn’t move. She drew back. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

  Carson didn’t react. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re doing the business part of this my way. I’d like to meet with you first thing Monday morning to discuss strategy, short-term, and long-term goals.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  His face said something different.

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “I know it’s hard to imagine me asking someone with your obvious organizational talents to a planning meeting, but humor me.” His gaze swept around the room at the devastation and back to her.

  “I’m much more organized than I appear.” Sam bristled with irritation.

  Carson had the gall to laugh. “If your housekeeping abilities are any measure of that, I’m in deep shit.” He stood, leaving a full wine glass on the counter. “Give Juan my regards.”

  Chapter 14—Carson’s Ten-Rule Dressage Program

  Bridget always got her way. If pouting, manipulating, or throwing a fit didn’t work, she’d just do as she pleased anyway. Today was one of those do as you damned well pleased days.

  She wanted Hans as the trainer at the new facility. The one way to show him they were serious was to offer him a spot at the old facility. The man was a prima donna, and she was prepared to cater to him. Well, at least she’d make sure her people catered to him.

  Carson was a shrewd and ruthless businessman. Of all her brothers, she trusted him to follow his head and not his heart. He’d see this her way once she made everything clear to him, and he ran the numbers. Then, she’d send that little bitch, Sam, packing in no time. And it would not be a moment too soon because brother dear showed way too much interest. Hell if she could understand that one.

  Bridget spread the architectural plans on the old, scarred desk in the barn office. Hans leaned over to study them. She stepped back and stayed quiet—a monumental task for her—as he perused them.

  The man was a German, known for his attention to detail, so she let him take his time, even though the wait drove her crazy.

  Finally, Hans looked up, his face unreadable. “This is quite an ambitious project.”

  “It’s my goal for Cedrona to be the premier dressage facility in the Northwest. So of course, we want the premier trainer in the Northwest.”

  Hans puffed up a little. “Ya, I can understand that.” Glancing out the window, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Despite your lofty intentions, I don’t see much being done. The arena site is overgrown with weeds, which tells me that construction has been halted for a long time.”

  “It’s going to be starting again this week. My brother, who has vast experience with projects of this magnitude, is taking over the management of the construction. He’ll see that it’s done under budget and on schedule.”

  “A miracle worker?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “You can’t expect me to teach and train out of the existing facility for long. I do have a reputation to uphold.”

  “I would never expect that of you.”

  “What about Ms. MacIntyre? Isn’t she currently the head trainer?”

  “Head case would be more like it,” Bridget snorted. “We have no legal agreement with Samantha. She is here on a month-to-month basis.”

  “She may stay as long as she doesn’t interfere with my business. I’ll need exclusive use of the arena while I am teaching my students. I cannot teach at the same time as another instructor. It is much too distracting for the creative process. I am an artist. She is a bumbler.”

  “We’ll readjust Sam’s schedule to fit around yours. Her students are novices compared to your advanced-level students, so I don’t see any competition between you for students.”

  “Which is good for her. She could never compete with me. However, I have no interest in teaching novice riders. That’s what instructors like her are best at.”

  Bridget nodded her agreement. The man might be a pain the ass, but his credentials demanded respect.

  “I have small items that must be done before I move my horses here.”

  “Just name it, and I’ll see to it.”

  Bridget listened as Hans outlined a list of improvements that put her Nordstrom’s shopping list to shame. The current facility must be brought up to his exacting standards. She might have a few issues with Carson, but she’d convince him—somehow. Hans would be worth it in the long run.

  * * * *

  Gabbie was having a day—a very bad bitch mare day. She didn’t want to cooperate. Sam swore it was the mare’s time of the month. There were moments when she could sympathize with men when it came to handling an emotional, cranky female. This was one of those moments.

  Sam gave Gabbie a boot with her leg. The mare sucked back and swished her tail in annoyance. Sam tapped her with her whip. Gabbie flattened her ears, kicked at her leg, and tried to wipe her off on the wall.

  “Turn early!” boomed a familiar voice from across the arena. “Don’t let her put you on the wall. Push her hindquarters out on the circle. Shoulder in. Stay with her. She’s not stupid. She has no intention of hitting her ass on that wall. Turn early. Now! Stay at least one meter off of the wall. Show her you’re smarter than her; then she’ll give in. More outside rein! Inside leg!”

  Without pausing to think, Sam followed
his instructions. She’d spent so many years under the man’s tutelage that it came naturally. Of course, it worked. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to turn her rider into arena wall art, Gabbie gave in and settled into her forward, ground covering trot—waiting to fight another day.

  Only then did Sam pause to wonder what the hell Hans was doing barking orders at her in her own arena. Fuming, she rode Gabbie to where he stood at the rail. Bridget with a shit-eating grin on her perfect face flanked his left side. Carson the Traitor was conspicuously absent. The answer was becoming all too clear. The coward had sold her out.

  Bridget smiled a syrupy sweet, fake smile. “Sam, you know Dr. Ziegler.”

  Sam almost choked. Doctor? Since when had Hans become a doctor? Maybe he had a Ph.B, Doctor of Bullshit. She stared down at Hans from her perch on the horse, enjoying the height advantage.

  “Sam and I know each other well.” Herr Doctor nodded, all business.

  “Not that well,” Sam shot back.

  Bridget watched the two with interest. “The difference in that mare was like night and day, Hans, once you started offering suggestions. You are brilliant.”

  If those were suggestions, Sam would hate to see what he did when he actually issued orders.

  Hans didn’t reply. He was too preoccupied, studying her horse. Finally, he turned to Sam. “What horse is zeez?”

  Sam allowed herself a smile. “Gabriella.”

  Hans’ mouthed dropped open. He narrowed his eyes, leaned closer, and shook his head in amazement. It was the biggest compliment he’d ever given her, and he hadn’t spoken a word. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Hard to believe. You are still on her back. She disposed of every rider to set a foot in her stirrup in five minutes or less last year on the California circuit.”

  “I’ve done a lot of work with her.” Sam forced herself to sound humble.

  “Hmmm.” Hans straightened the cuff on his starched shirt. Obviously feeling he’d given her too much credit, he adopted his usual godlike persona. “You were lucky. She is a talented but difficult animal. It is not possible to get the best out of her without an experienced eye on the ground. She is too full of tricks and surprises.”

  “Well, then, it’s Sam’s lucky day.” Bridget turned to Sam, giddy with the knowledge of her imminent triumph. “Sam, Dr. Ziegler is going to be training and teaching out of this barn starting next week.”

  “It shall be a challenge to turn it around, as the facility has Ms. MacIntyre’s stamp of disorganization all over it.”

  Sam bit her tongue and tasted blood. She only wished it was his. “How nice.”

  Hans smiled but those slate gray eyes were colder than concrete in the winter. “I’ll decide what days I want to teach, and you can adjust your schedule accordingly.”

  “I can what?” She flexed her fingers, if only they were around his neck, even better Bridget’s.

  “Of course, you can, Sam. Your amateurs aren’t as difficult to schedule as Hans’ professional clients.”

  Sam couldn’t think of a verbal attack that would do justice to what she was feeling at the moment. “Fine, Herr Ziegler. I bow to the master.”

  He inclined his head, not the least bit affected by her sarcasm. That pissed her off even more, and he knew it. “I’m anxious to see what you’ve learned in Germany. I wish you’d have consulted me on your choice of barns; I may have been able to find you a better situation with a well-respected trainer. Of course, you weren’t in a situation to be too selective.”

  Gritting her teeth, Sam turned Gabbie back into the center of the arena and continued her ride.

  * * * *

  “I want her fired.” Bridget’s suspicious gaze zeroed in on Carson’s face. Carson rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his creaky office chair. He’d been up all night studying financials. He didn’t need this crap from the woman who made Paris Hilton look like Mother Teresa.

  “Why? What’s wrong with her? She makes those horses dance.”

  “Competitive dressage requires more than just raw—and I do mean raw—talent. It’s a sport judged subjectively, like figure skating, on aesthetics and precision. It requires absolute perfection and precise attention to detail.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “Well, just look at her. Is that perfection?”

  “She’s an artist. They’re always different.”

  “Hans is an artist. A master. But a disciplined one.”

  She had him there, and he’d be a fool to argue. “Your point?”

  “You have no idea what a bad reputation she has.”

  “So enlighten me.”

  “Big Brother, I’m not sure you’re ready for this.”

  “Try me.”

  “Sam’s carelessness was responsible for the barn fire on this very farm. Several horses were killed, and the owner of the barn was trapped inside. She died also.”

  Carson frowned. So that explained her reaction to cigarette smoking in the barn. But Sam, careless when it came to her beloved horses’ welfare? That didn’t fit her character. “What did she do to cause the fire?”

  “I hear the skepticism in your voice, dear brother. Trust me on this. They believe she plugged a heater into a faulty outlet in the tack room and left blankets sprayed with waterproofing too close to it.”

  “They believe?”

  “Well, it could never be proven. Everyone knows what a slob Sam is. She’d just come back from a horse show and unloaded everything and was the last one in the barn that night.”

  “She wasn’t the last one in the barn.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, if someone was trapped in the barn by the fire, it would appear she wasn’t the last one.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “What do you think that barn owner was doing in the barn that night?”

  “Checking on her horses. Like any responsible barn owner would do. You’re trying to distract me. It won’t work.”

  “It usually does. I should have waved a Coach handbag under your nose.”

  Bridget huffed. “Everyone thinks she did it.”

  “Was she ever charged?”

  “No, it was ruled accidental.”

  “Well, then, I don’t see what that has to do with her competence as a horse trainer.”

  “Some people think she did it for insurance money. Others think it was pure carelessness. It doesn’t matter. One way or another, she caused it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone knows it.”

  “Maybe everyone is wrong.”

  Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “You’re hot for her.”

  “I am not. Me, of all people. Look who you’re talking to.”

  “I find it hard to believe myself, but I’m seeing it with my own eyes.”

  “It’s nothing like that. I see potential in her. She’s a challenging project. I’m going to develop her into an efficient businesswoman.”

  Bridget threw back her head and laughed. “That would be worth the price of admission.”

  “You doubt me?” Carson knew he was digging himself in deep here, but he couldn’t stop.

  “When it comes to her, you’d better believe it. She’s a walking disaster.”

  “You’ll see. She’s going to turn that mare into a winner.”

  “Poor brother, you’re delusional. How many successful professional athletes reach the top without a good coach?”

  She had him there, and he knew it. “What does that have to do with horses?”

  “Everything. You’re dealing with two athletes—the rider and the horse. They can’t do it alone. You, of all people, know that. Sam has the raw talent to make that horse a winner. The Doctor has the knowledge and persistence to make her a winner.” Bridget leaned forward, poised for the kill. “Car, whether Sam will admit it or not, she needs him.”

  Unwelcome blades of emotion sliced through him, indefinable and foreign. Not jealousy? He wasn’t the jealous type and especially not when it c
oncerned one disheveled horse trainer.

  “What kind of history do they have?” He hated himself for asking, but the words tumbled from his lips.

  “Those two? Love-Hate, I’d say.” Bridget pulled a compact out of her purse and reapplied her lipstick.

  “Were they intimate?”

  She snapped the compact shut, blew out an annoyed breath, and rolled her eyes. “Shit, Carson. How would I know? That was the gossip, but I never personally saw them in bed together. Who cares? We’re talking about horses, not sex. You want to sell that horse and make big bucks in the least amount of time?”

  Carson nodded, treading lightly.

  “Then let Hans train here, and Sam can take advantage of his expertise.” She regarded him with shrewd, calculating eyes. “Unless you’re worried he might rekindle their old relationship.”

  “What do I care? What she does in her private time is her business.” Then why was his stomach churning? This was not good.

  “Believe me, she’ll thank you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  * * * *

  “You promised you’d give me a chance.” Sam had seen this coming, but it still pissed her off. Carson hadn’t been straight with her. She turned her back to him and brushed Gabbie vigorously. The mare switched her tail in protest and stamped one large hoof.

  “I am giving you a chance.” Carson sidestepped the mare’s nose as she zeroed in on his white shirt.

  “I don’t call allowing that jerk to teach here giving me a chance.” She brushed harder, and Gabbie turned her head to glare at her.

  “Well, I do.”

  “And how is that?”

  “You’re still teaching here. He doesn’t have priority over you.”

  “Oh, really? So why do I have to work around his schedule?”

  “I...”

  “Carson, forget it. You’re in deep shit with me, buster.”

  “Fine. I might as well get in deeper. Starting Monday, clear your calendar for every other morning from 10:00 to 10:45.”