Leaping Hearts(81)

What did he expect, he mused. She probably had a trust fund that made Fort Knox look like a piggy bank.

The next morning, though, something was still nagging at him. When Chester and he had a moment alone, he asked the man, “Where did you two go yesterday?”

“The hardware store, an antiques dealer an’ the auction house.”

“Antiques dealer?”

“Yup. An’ the bank.”

“Which one?”

“National Savings an’ Trust.”

“No, which dealer?”

Chester thought for a moment. “The real fancy one on State Street. Got all kinds of silver an’ jewelry in the front window. Looks like you’d have to pass a credit check just to get through the door. Needless to say, I stayed in the truck.”

Devlin frowned.

“What’s the problem, boy? You look like you got a beehive between the ears.”

“It’s nothing. Forget I asked.”





14


A WEEK later, Devlin was calling out commands as A.J. and Sabbath warmed up. Watching from the rail, Chester was impressed.

From train wreck to poetry in motion, he thought. ’Course, ya coulda raised a barn with bare hands for all the work it took.

Moving lithely, the pair was working as one as they went from a bouncing trot into a loping canter. Even to Chester’s expert eye, he couldn’t tell when A.J. was giving direction to the stallion. It was like they were communicating telepathically, and when they started jumping, he was awestruck. All pounding hooves and leaping arches, they charged through the course, making quick work of the mammoth fences. And they did it with an elegant confidence, as if it was no more than a whim.

A new champion’s just entered the sport, Chester thought, and everybody’s gonna know it at the Qualifier.

In the center of the ring, Devlin was thinking the same thing. When they came jogging into the center, he started clapping.

“Congratulations. That was great.”

But A.J. barely responded. Her features were tight, her cheeks pale, and he saw that her hands shook as they held the reins. She was in the same state after every session and he couldn’t understand it. When prompted, her response was always, “I’m fine. It’s just stress. It takes a lot of concentration to keep Sabbath in line.” Always a plausible denial. Except he wasn’t buying it anymore.

“Chester,” he called out. “Walk out the beast, would you?”

A.J. looked at him in surprise.

“You and I need to talk,” he told her.

“About what?”

“Why you look like you’re going to fall out of the saddle.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Bullshit. You look like hell.”

“Just an off day.”

“It’s like this every time we finish up in the ring.”

“It’s hard work.”

“Not that hard.”

She frowned at him, the pain in her arm and his insight making her defensive. Her voice grew sharp.

“I appreciate the concern but I feel fine. And I don’t need help cooling down my horse.” She called out to Chester, who was coming across the dirt, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of him.”

As the groom shrugged and turned around, Devlin shot her a dark look. “Suit yourself but I’ll see you back at the house. This conversation isn’t over.”

A.J. watched him stalk out of the ring and groaned. The last thing she needed was an in-depth discussion about her stamina. As the stallion fell into a walk at the rail, she let down some of her guard, wincing as she settled her arm across her lap. The pain hadn’t gotten any better and she wasn’t surprised Devlin had noticed her fatigue. Being in constant agony was exhausting.

And the excuses were getting harder to tell every time.

When she finally dismounted, she found herself swallowing another pair of Motrin before she could lead the stallion back to the barn. Feeling wretched, she was closing the ring’s gate and girding herself for the rigors of grooming, when an unfamiliar car came up the drive. Margaret Mead disembarked from the compact, waved to A.J. and smiled when she saw Chester hovering in the background.

Walking over with the stallion, A.J. did her best to cheerfully greet their visitor while waiting desperately for the painkillers to kick in.

“Good mornin’,” Margaret said.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” A.J. replied, glancing back at Chester, who was standing just inside the stable door. “But I’m glad you did.”

The two women shared a meaningful look.

“Why don’t you come inside and get out of the wind,” A.J. said in a voice loud enough to be overheard. She was hoping to give Chester a moment to collect himself.

In the shadows, the man took advantage of it. He tore off his baseball cap and smoothed down the thin hair on his head. As Margaret approached, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a nervous metronome.

“Did you find out anything?” A.J. asked as they halted the stallion at the crossties. He craned his head forward, snuffling over Margaret.

“Aye, I did,” the woman said, eyes growing sad as she stroked his muzzle.

A.J. felt her insides grow cold.

“Seems to be he was sold as a yearling to a stable not known for the humane treatment of its horses. I can’t say I could tell you exactly what happened to him there but, if what I know about the place is true, it’s likely he had some very tough times.”