Leaping Hearts(95)

When her fingertips went exploring, they found home.

Her eyes flew open and she looked down at her mother’s diamond.

“How did you—”

“I have ways.”

“But this was to pay off my debt.”

“I thought you’d want it today. We can argue about the finances later.”

A.J. stared down at the stone, seeing light sparkle in the familiar facets. “This was my mother’s.”

“I knew it must have been significant. You don’t wear jewelry, not even a watch, and this you never took off. I can’t imagine why you sold it to pay the debt.”

“It was the only thing I had that was really mine.”

“Well, it’s yours again now. And I understand how important it is for you to cover your own expenses. We’ll work something out.”

“Thank you,” A.J. said, tucking the stone inside her shirt. The words didn’t go far enough. She hoped the love shining in her eyes went the rest of the way.

“You’re welcome.” He hesitated and then stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. In a voice that was rough with emotion, he said, “Take it easy over those fences, will you?”

A.J. grabbed on to his palm. “I promise.”

Chester interrupted. “What number are we in the field?”

“Sixteen out of seventeen,” Devlin responded, reluctantly looking away. “Course will be chewed up but at least we’ll be clear on where the bomb zones are.”

“Saddle him up?”

He nodded to Chester.

Just then, Garrett and Regina approached through the crowd. A.J. noted that her father looked at home around the horses. He was dressed in his club pullover and a pair of dark wool slacks and had a pipe gripped between his teeth. Fragrant smoke billowed behind him in cloudy puffs. Her stepmother, on the other hand, was wearing a frown and a tangerine Ungaro ensemble. Her silk shoes, dyed to match, were already dirty. She looked like someone who’d gotten lost and didn’t like where the misdirection had taken her.

A.J. went forward to greet them, forcing a smile for their benefit.

“Good morning, all,” Garrett said, looking only at A.J.

She went into his arms and kissed his cheek. “Hi, Papa.”

“Are you ready for this?” he whispered in her ear.

“I think so.”

“Is he?” He nodded over at Sabbath.

“The stallion’s in great physical shape and his heart belongs to me. We’re going to do the best we can.”

“I’ll love you no matter what.”

“I know.”

Behind him, Regina said, “Darling, we really should get to our seats.” She looked ready to drag her husband off but then she caught sight of something that interested her. “Oh, look! There’s Winnie and Curt Thorndyke—she’s chair of the Borealis Christmas Ball for the second year in a row. Winnie!”

She tore off into the crowd as fast as her high heels could cover the ground. Her target, assuming an expression of abject terror, bolted into a tack room.

Garrett shook his head. “She wishes you the very best, as well.”

“Thanks.”

“Arlington, I know you have to start warming up. I just wanted to make sure you knew I’d be rooting for you in the stands. I hope you win this, if it’s what you want.”

He embraced her again and she was struck by how much he loved her. As her father went over and shook Devlin’s hand, she felt grateful. It was a sensation that continued as Sabbath was presented to her, tacked and ready to go. She felt lucky to have made it as far as they had. After all, they were at the Qualifier. She was going into the ring on the stallion.

As for the outcome? That was up to the fates. But she was going to do her level best to be lucky by trying to ride better than she ever had.

While Chester held the reins, Devlin gave her a leg up. Their eyes met and held.

As she settled into the saddle, the groom lectured the stallion.

“Now, listen here, ya big troublemaker. I’ll strike ya a deal. Be nice, mind your manners an’ there’ll be a bucket a’ sweet feed waiting for ya. Misbehave an’ I’m feedin’ ya nothing but dry grass for the rest a’ the month.”

Sabbath blinked and offered a snicker, as if he’d consented to the marching orders.

The first rider out on the course was disqualified after his horse refused the wall. The inauspicious start proved providential. By the time eight competitors had gone into the ring, two more had been disqualified for refusals, one had taken a fall and three had twelve-faulted.

It was the kind of competitive carnage that was expected.

In the warm-up ring, Sabbath was agreeable, jumping with sound mastery and becoming only a little rambunctious with the other horses. He seemed to accept the work A.J. was asking of him and this was a huge relief because she wanted to spare her injury as long as she could. She’d taken some Motrin just before she’d mounted, and her arm was feeling fairly strong, but the more energy she could save before their turn over the course, the better.

While practicing, she noticed Philippe Marceau cantering around on the roan mare. He was going tenth, she’d learned. Typically, he was paying more attention to the other competitors than to his own warm-up and he sent several pitying glances at A.J., none of which hid his calculation. Concentrating on Sabbath, she ignored the man and didn’t even watch his round or check his results after he finished.