Leaping Hearts(8)

A.J. thought she’d rather eat tin cans with a billy goat. And as for the something more, she was the last person who’d fall for his continental lothario act. She knew the man’s attentions were thrown around with the discretion of someone seeding a lawn and, even if she liked short men who were tall on conceit, she wasn’t about to become another name at the end of what was a surprisingly long list.

“Thanks for the invite, Philippe, but I don’t date.”

“So I have heard. The ice queen living in her father’s castle.”

“Better to discriminate than be in bad company.”

“C’est vrai, when that is the best you are able to attract.”

A.J. held her tongue, about to remind him how he’d just propositioned her.

She said instead, “I’m going to be too busy getting Sabbath ready for the Qualifier.”

“You are riding this thing in the Qualifier? Have you forgotten? It is two months from now, cherie. You will need another horse or an eternity before you can compete at that level.”

“Well, then you can certainly understand why I’m not going to have dinner with you.”

“C’est dommage,” he said, running his eyes over her. “You are foolish to attempt such an event on the back of this worthless horse, but then, no one would expect you to win anyway. When you fail, there will be no surprise and so you have nothing to lose. In this, you are lucky.”

A.J. would have given him an earful about how seriously she took competing except he was already launching into his favorite subject. His dramatic sigh was like a singer warming up vocal cords.

“You cannot understand the burden of being a champion. The pressure to perform, to excel. Myself, I face this every time I go into the ring, even to practice.”’

The man had the same conversation with anyone unfortunate enough to get pulled into his orbit. People had been known to back themselves into rakes in hopes of getting free, and A.J., having been the audience herself a few times, was willing to bet that a whack in the head was less painful than listening to the man drone on.

As he continued, she watched Sabbath’s head emerge from his stall. Philippe, however, was too self-absorbed to notice as the stallion inched his muzzle forward. She had a feeling the horse was up to no good but gave him the benefit of the doubt. There was plenty of time to step in, she reassured herself, as she watched Sabbath get closer to Philippe. Surely the stallion had had enough fun for one day.

It turned out she was wrong on both accounts. In a black flash, the stallion lunged forward, grabbed ahold of Philippe’s sleeve and gave it a sturdy tug. The man tottered in his platform shoes and then fell over like a sack of grain, collapsing against the door of the stall.

Philippe’s face ran an indignant red and he brushed off his suit with hands that shook. A.J. figured the torrent of words leaving the man’s lips were probably curses. Even though they were in French and she couldn’t understand a thing, she had a feeling it wasn’t a list of the virtues of falling on his butt.

When the man was sufficiently recovered, he switched back to English. “This horse will never be a champion. He has the manners of a common donkey and I wouldn’t expect him to perform over fences any more than I would hold my breath to see him walk upright. He is stupid and so are you for paying more than a dime for him.”

The word was pronounced stoo-peed.

In an indignant huff, Philippe marched off, still trying to clean off his suit.

Turning to the stallion, A.J. shot Sabbath a dry look.

“That wasn’t very nice. Although I have to say, we’ve all wanted to knock him off that pedestal at one time or another.”





2


IT WAS getting dark by the time A.J. gathered Sabbath’s meager things from his former stable. Her conversation with the stallion’s latest owner had been brief, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind, and the man handed over the registry papers like he was getting rid of a lit stick of dynamite.

The last thing she had to do before leaving was settle the balance due with the auction house’s office. As she walked through the crowd, her stepbrother’s words drifted back to her. Hearing him refer to Sutherland Stables as his made her stop to think. She’d always been so busy training and competing that she’d never given the business end of Sutherland’s much thought.

Aside from the horses she trained on, the Sutherland compound housed some fifty other jumpers, which were boarded by their riders or trainers. Thanks to the hefty fees they paid, every conceivable training resource was available, including a pool for the horses to work out in. They also had a wide number of arenas, trails and jumping courses as well as multiple paddocks and lunging rings. It was a big business that brought in a lot of money.

It hadn’t started out that way. When A.J.’s mother and father moved into their estate as newlyweds, Garrett had built a barn and a ring for his beloved wife’s horses. A.J.’s fondest memories of her mother were of the two of them together working with the animals, and after her mother died, she’d become even more attached to riding. As her skills and interest grew, so did the compound, and A.J. knew her father had gotten a special pleasure out of watching both thrive. She’d certainly enjoyed seeing the new buildings rise up and having new faces come and join what became for her an extended family. In her heart, Sutherland’s was more than a business; it was her mother’s legacy as well as a community where A.J. felt accepted. The place was more home than the mansion she lived in.