Leaping Hearts(7)

Devlin felt a physical shock as he figured out where she was heading. “With what you can afford, you’ll find one, I’m sure.”

“I want you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“But you’re the best and I want—”

“You want a miracle worker. And I ran out of miracles at last year’s Qualifier.”

She reached out, touching his arm. He was stunned at how the soft touch affected him. It was like getting burned except he liked it. He pulled away sharply, even as he was curious about the sensation.

“Please, I can pay—”

“Money doesn’t solve everything,” he said.

Before he lost his wits again, he turned and walked away, his limp more pronounced than usual.

Standing in front of Sabbath’s stall, A.J. let him go, feeling bad. She’d clearly offended him, which was the last thing she’d intended. It had seemed like a really good idea, though. Who could be better than he to help her turn the horse around?

She leaned back against the stall door and remembered McCloud’s story. About ten years ago, out of nowhere, he’d erupted onto the jumping scene, becoming an overnight success. Even though he was in his early twenties, he quickly became known for being a hard-nosed, unflappable competitor with an instinct for horses that was unrivaled. After winning a string of events on mounts that were good under the bit for other people but spectacular with him on their backs, he’d found his perfect match in a pale gray, dappled mare. He and this horse, Mercy, went on to dominate the sport for so long, most couldn’t remember a time when the two weren’t on top.

Whether it was in the ring or out over a cross-country course, they were unbeatable and the crowds loved them. It wasn’t just because the pair won. They were beautiful together, man and animal moving as one, connected, not separated, by the saddle. With his special mare and all his talent, it had seemed like Devlin McCloud’s reign as king of the sport of kings was going to last forever.

But tragically, that didn’t turn out to be the case.

People got hurt in competitive jumping. So did horses. It was the dangerous underbelly of the sport and, for some, maybe those risks were part of the thrill. In most cases, the fallen walked away with bumps and bruises, but not all. Tragically, Devlin and Mercy weren’t that fortunate in an early-morning warm-up before the Qualifier. Devlin had to be taken out of the ring on a stretcher. Mercy had to be put down, right where she lay.

News of the accident had spread throughout the riding community within the hour. Immediately, the whole sport went into mourning and wanted to share their sympathy with Devlin. But, no matter how many people tried to reach out to help him, he rebuffed all kindness. With his reputation for being a loner, his retreat afterward wasn’t a surprise to anyone. Shunning the support of the horse community, he turned in on his pain and shut out the world. Rumors circulated that he’d left the area, moved out of Virginia and would never be seen again but A.J. had known that wasn’t true. Every once in a while, she’d be pulling in or out of the winding drive of Sutherland Stables and she’d see him, behind the wheel of a pickup truck, looking dark and preoccupied.

She sighed with resignation, feeling sad at all that he had lost. He was an enigma. A startlingly handsome, devastatingly sexy man who in five minutes of conversation made her feel like she’d swallowed a pint of moonshine. And that voice of his…She found herself wondering what his lips would feel like pressed against hers.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she said out loud, feeling her face flush. Her palms felt ice-cold as she brought them to her cheeks.

After all, did she really want a trainer who affected her the way Devlin McCloud did? She could barely be in his presence for a moment or two before she felt like she was losing her composure. Considering the way the stallion behaved, it was going to be hard enough to make it to the Qualifier in one piece without complicating the workouts with a coach she was interested in getting physical with.

“So it is you with the horse, non?” A heavily accented voice broke through her reverie.

A.J. turned and had to smother a grimace as Philippe Marceau approached. He was widely known as a better rider than human being and it was like seeing someone with a bad head cold coming at her. She just wanted to run in the other direction.

As he strutted down the aisle, he reminded her a lot of Peter. He was likewise overdressed, wearing a pale silk suit, and a pastel shirt and tie that were a startling pink color. As the man sidled up to A.J. and the stallion, he straightened that glaring tie theatrically, pinkies cocked like gun hammers. She thought he looked like a lounge singer who’d gotten lost on his way to work and decided she’d be more than happy to redirect him to anywhere else on the planet.

“It is a good buy,” he said, nodding to the stallion. “If one is looking for a busting bronc.”

“Nice suit you got there. You headlining somewhere tonight?”

“Always with the comeback, you are. Pity that a woman as beautiful as you wastes her looks on tomboy clothes and her lovely lips on bad humor.”

Sabbath, who’d gone back to eating after Devlin left, lifted his head at the new scent. Giving Philippe the once-over, he flattened his ears.

“So tell me,” Philippe said as he moved in closer, the smell of his cologne overwhelming her. “When will we have that dinner together? A good French meal, some wine, some conversation. Perhaps something more…”