Leaping Hearts(88)

Boxes choked the floor and were filled haphazardly with the trophies and ribbons that had been on the walls. The mouths of her dresser drawers were yawning open, showing loose teeth made up of her shirts and slacks. Even her canopy bed had been savaged, the drapery peeled from its perch and the pencil posts unscrewed and lying on the floor.

In a daze, A.J. stepped over a pile of books and made her way into the bathroom. It was in a similar condition.

Stunned, she went into her walk-in closet, grateful that at least her show clothes were still hanging up and unwrinkled. She took out two blazers and a couple of her starched shirts and reached into a darkened corner to pick up the boots she wanted. Carefully laying the clothes inside a garment bag, she zipped them in securely, feeling as though they needed the protection.

In a stupor, she sat on the bed, wondering what she should do.

Which, in itself, was a change.

Until recently, her first instinct would have been to race down the corridor, take two lefts and a right and pound on Peter’s door until it was answered or she peeled it off the hinges with her bare hands. Only he could have created the chaos. No one else would have had the gall to move her out of her own bedroom.

But, sitting amid the ruins of her personal space, she didn’t want to find him. She just wanted to walk away.

Then Peter showed up in the doorway.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, stepping over the threshold. He was wearing his casual uniform, tinted brown. “Sorry about the mess but my painters are coming tomorrow.”

He didn’t sound very sorry.

“Where are you taking all of my things?” she asked. “And when were you going to tell me you’re moving in?”

“The groundsmen are putting everything in the attic. And there’s nothing to tell. You left on your own accord.”

“Why are you doing this?” She was more curious than hurt.

“It’s really a matter of aesthetics. The view from here is better than mine so I’m taking the room.”

He stared at her, waiting for a response. She thought he looked eager.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the panorama,” A.J. said, getting off the bed and picking up the garment bag and boots. “I know I always did.”

When she tried to get past him, he blocked her way.

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just leaving?”

“It’s more appealing than arguing with you.”

“It never has been before.”

“Is that the real reason you did this? Were you looking for a fight?”

“No. But I expected one.”

There was a long pause.

“So?” he prompted. “You have anything to say to me?”

“No. I really don’t.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You think there’s something wrong with me because I don’t want to argue?”

“It’s hardly the A.J. I’ve known and loved,” he said sarcastically.

“So things have changed.”

“Oh, I get it. Your horizons are opening up. You’re a new woman. I guess McCloud’s been teaching you there’s something more than the missionary position, right?”

A.J. winced. “When you say things like that, it really hurts my feelings. In fact, a lot of our arguments have hurt. Both of us.”

Peter fell silent and she thought she saw a flicker of something other than anger and frustration in his face. That reflected pain was something she recognized in her own heart. She decided to take a chance and reach out to him.

“Peter, when was the last time you did something you really loved?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not happy at the stables,” she said, putting her bag and boots down. “You never have been.”

“Just because I don’t think horse manure is a perfume doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job. Or have you forgotten the little promotion your father gave me?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t good at what you do. I just think it’s a hell of a way to spend your life, trapped in a job you hate.”

“What does this have to do with your bedroom? And I’m not trapped!”

“I think it has everything to do with this. You seem so unhappy.” A.J. shook her head. “Do you know how much I love getting up in the morning? I can’t wait to get down to the stables, to smell the hay and hear the sounds of hooves in the stalls. I wake up every morning thankful I’m getting a chance to live my dream and I go to bed every night, even if I’ve failed in the daylight hours, looking forward to doing it again. I can’t imagine what it would be like to trudge through the day, hating every minute.”

Peter snorted, and she watched his frustration boil up and escape through his fingertips as he began agitating coins in his pocket and drumming on the doorjamb.

“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered. “You’re not going to sweet-talk some revelation out of me that you can use later. I’ve been running a tight ship down at the stables. I’ve turned those giant hamsters into profit for your father. He may have you up on a pedestal but he’s got me in the driver’s seat and I intend to keep it that way.”