Leaping Hearts(22)

And to top it off, all morning he’d been unbelievably compliant.

A.J. was falling for none of it.

This was why she put a martingale on him. The leather strap, which ran from his head to his barrel chest, and was anchored by the bridle and the girth, would hinder his ability to toss his head or rear. It was a common piece of equipment and likely one he was already familiar with.

So, when he decided to drop the act and start careening around the ring, she had half a chance, A.J. thought. Like wearing a seat belt in the car.

Hell, if they could fit him with an air bag, she’d have done it in a heartbeat.

Before A.J. took him out to the ring, she put on her pair of old leather chaps. When she’d bought them years before, they’d been a fawn-colored suede. Now, after countless hours in the saddle, they’d darkened to a rich brown and the nap was as smooth as cream. Belting them around her slim waist, she began to zip the leather down each leg so that her jeans were completely covered.

Devlin looked up from his musings, instantly losing his train of thought. The first thing he noticed was that her riding gear showed the mellow glow of age. Considering all her father’s wealth, he was surprised she hadn’t thrown spanking new tack all over the stallion or tied one of those nylon bridles to his head. Instead, the saddle on Sabbath’s back bore the marks of heavy use. It had originally been a very expensive piece of equipment, he granted, recognizing the lines of a famous saddler. But it’d been used hard and well and he couldn’t help approving of the way someone had cared for it. The leather was in prime condition, as supple as it was strong, and it sure wasn’t the saddle of a pampered little rich girl. It was the equipment of a real rider who understood that the utility of fine tack increased over time if carefully tended.

His eyes then went to the chaps. Watching her put them on, he envied the leather as it wrapped itself around her thighs. The heat pooling in his gut made him grit his teeth and he found himself imagining what it would be like to have his hands traveling over her legs on the brass zipper.

Although if it were up to him, that zipper would be going up, not down, and her jeans would be the next thing to hit the floor.

Devlin tried to pull it together.

“You guys ready?” he asked.

“He sure seems ready to go somewhere, all right.”

The stallion was twitching with eagerness, knowing full well what the tack meant.

Seeing the horse saddled and pumped for a workout, recognizing the glint of anticipation in A.J.’s eye, Devlin realized he hadn’t had a horse readied to go in his barn in almost a year. With an ache in his solar plexus, he felt what he’d lost acutely.

When A.J. looked at him and smiled, he said, “God, what I wouldn’t give to be where you are.”

Sabbath tossed his head, yanking at the crossties.

“You sure about that?” she blurted. “I’m tying my professional star to a loose cannon here.”

He watched her flush as she heard her own words.

“What am I saying?” she muttered, and then looked into his eyes with compassion. “Of course you want to be riding. God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, getting to his feet. “Actually, it’s almost enough just to see your nervous excitement. All the possibilities of success and failure are dancing in your eyes.”

“You know, that’s how I feel right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen so I have the luxury of predicting success.” Sabbath stamped a hoof and she regarded him quizzically. “What’s the matter? Oh, the martingale strap’s turned around here.”

Devlin watched as she tended to the stallion, and found himself hoping she appreciated the moment. He hadn’t when he’d been in her place. Too busy trying to accomplish his goals, he’d never appreciated that the pursuit of them was just as important as the winning. The toil and grind were so much of what he’d enjoyed about his life, he realized now, and seeing A.J.’s passion reminded him of it all.

How ironic, Devlin thought, that it took the well going dry for him to realize how much he liked pushing water uphill.

When A.J. was finished making the adjustment, she grabbed her helmet and freed Sabbath from the crossties. As she led the stallion out into the cool fall breeze, the horse began to prance, his hooves doing a soft-shoe on the gravel path that led to the ring. Thrashing his head, he flared his nostrils as he breathed in the scents of early October and primed his blood for the work ahead.

“He’s a live wire, isn’t he?” Devlin said, tucking his clipboard under his arm and picking up his cane.

“With itchy feet.”

The three of them walked to the ring.

A.J. halted Sabbath and put on her helmet as Devlin shut the gate behind them. The ring was about half the size of a football field, an oval formed by interlocking rails that was filled with loose dirt and open to the elements. It was spacious, even with the jumps taking up the bulk of the middle. There was plenty of room for her to exercise the stallion around the perimeter and to use the avenues between jumps to work on changing strides and shifting directions.

In the center, some fifteen jumps were set up at regular intervals in combinations and as stand-alones. Constructed mainly of brightly colored rails, every one was in the pristine condition she’d come to expect from Devlin’s equipment. They were set in a variety of types and heights, providing excellent opportunity for her to get comfortable riding the stallion over the hurdles they’d confront in competition.