Leaping Hearts (21 page)

A.J. refused to answer him because she knew he was right. There was no way they could go back.

But because of their predicament, she glared at him. “Right now, McCloud, I’m not sure I can be with you at all. I’m pretty damn close to hating you.”

“Hatred is the flip side of love.”

“Then I must be falling hard because all I want to do is scream at you right now.”

“You’ve got to understand, I’m only doing this because I want to give us a chance. We have something really rare here. I just don’t want to lose it.”

A frustrated breath escaped her. “Why can’t we at least try?”

“A.J., be reasonable—”

“You sound like my father.
Be sensible. Be serious.
Well, I think I am. You’ve spent almost a month with Sabbath and me and look at how far we’ve come. You know my riding style. You know the stallion’s faults and strengths. You’re sure as hell the best damn trainer I’ve ever had. That horse and I have a shot at the big time but we can’t go it alone. And we can’t go it without you.”

He looked away.

“Devlin, admit it. You want to train us as much as I want you to. You know you’re making a difference and you like being back in competition. After a year on the sidelines, you’re feeling that excitement again. I’ve seen it on your face. Can you really walk away from that? What are you going to feel like at the rail while someone else is in the ring with Sabbath and me?”

She watched his face closely. On the surface he seemed composed but she’d learned to read him well.

“Not a great position to be in, is it?” she prompted. “Having to choose between us and the work?”

A.J. fell silent as he mulled their situation over.

Devlin was caught and he knew it. He’d focused only on getting another trainer to work with the stallion. Taking himself out of the picture hadn’t seemed like a big deal, but then, he’d never really considered what it would be like watching someone else put A.J. and Sabbath through their workouts. Would someone else recognize when they needed a break? When they needed to be pushed? Would they understand how A.J. needed to talk through a course sometimes three or four times until she was completely comfortable with where she needed to be?

Would someone else care as much as he did?

And, even assuming he wouldn’t be at his most objective, was there anyone else who could do as good a job with them as he could?

When his eyes shifted back to hers, he realized there wasn’t anyone else he could trust to take care of them.

Devlin swore out loud. When it didn’t make him feel much better, he tried it again.

“I’d say that just about sums it up,” A.J. said, feeling a little better. Given his sour expression and raunchy vocabulary, she could tell he was coming around. Now was the time to push.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said softly. “We’ll try it for a week or so. See how we both feel. If we think it’s not working, we can do it your way.”

She sidled up to him, relieved when he let her put her arms around his waist.

Devlin snorted. “Are you trying to charm me with your feminine wiles?”

“If it’ll get me what I want, absolutely.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“How do you know? There’ve been plenty of people who have mixed business and pleasure and had it work out.”

“Yeah, like who?”

“George Burns and Gracie Allen. The Captain and Tennille.”

“How about a pair from this century?”

“Bill and Hillary.”

“I don’t know that I’d count them necessarily.”

She reached up and touched his face tenderly. “This is going to work out. You’ll see.”

“I just don’t want to lose you,” he told her.

Despite the stress of the argument, they were able to go down to the stables with a united front. Devlin wasn’t completely comfortable with their decision but he wasn’t going to back out. If it became apparent he couldn’t train them, he had to have faith he’d be able to let them go to someone else and that she’d have the sense to move on to another coach.

The day’s work went predictably, with small steps toward improvement. Sabbath was feeling energetic, so the session
went longer than usual and both A.J. and Devlin were pretty pleased with the results. Afterward, she and Chester went through their ritual of putting Sabbath down and feeding him while Devlin reviewed his notes and planned the next day’s jump course. It was a day like any other except the turmoil over breakfast lingered.

A.J. was leaning against Sabbath’s stall, and watching his muzzle search out the last of the sweet feed in his bucket, when she felt exhaustion come over her. She decided the last twenty-four hours had been like drinking from a glass you expected to be full of water but turned out to be holding vodka. A big ol’ burning surprise.

Although she was encouraged by Devlin’s agreement to continue training her, she’d experienced firsthand one of his concerns. In the ring, she felt the heat between them flare every time he looked at her. Every glance between them was a history book of images to relish. A promise of what lay ahead as soon as they were alone together. Questions asked and answered without words. And the powerful undercurrents made the unremarkable seem sublime, took simple nods and turned them into vows, elevated a conversation about striding counts to a plane it had never been on before.

It was heady. And dangerously distracting.

She heard Devlin approaching as if she’d called him.

“I’m going to go start dinner,” he said, coming in close.

“I’ll be up after I finish with the tack.”

They fell silent and she thought he was going to touch her, but then he gave her a smile that knocked her socks off.

It was almost as good as a kiss, she decided, as he walked away.

Going into the cramped confines of the tack room, A.J. took out a chamois rag that had seen good use and a bottle of Murphy’s Oil Soap. As soon as she wet the cloth, the familiar lemon smell rose to greet her like a good host and she took a deep breath. Rubbing her saddle in the circular motions she’d used since she was nine, her mind wandered off into hazardous territory.

What did their future hold? Was this just an affair? Or the beginning of something that meant so much more?

Head bent and eyes too rapt for the simple task, she didn’t know Chester had paused in the doorway until he cleared his throat. She looked up and was struck by his appearance. With a pitchfork in one hand and his overalls hanging like curtains on his whip-thin frame, he was right out of
American Gothic.
In that moment, standing in the late-afternoon sun, he was one pinpoint along a long chronology of farmers and laborers, a tradition worthy of pride.

He was timeless, she thought, just like the smell of lemon and leather in the room.

“Ya want to get the blacksmith here this week?” he asked.

A.J. wiped a lock of hair away with the back of her sponge hand. Water and soap ran down into her sleeve and she smothered a curse.

“I think we better. That right front shoe just won’t stay tight.”

“With it comin’ loose all the time, a body’s gotta wonder. I don’t know what goes on here after dark, but I think that horse has designs on bein’ the next Fred Astaire. At night, he’s gotta be tap dancin’ in the aisles, or something worse.”

“Jazz?” A.J. grinned.

“Vegas kick line.”

She laughed. “More likely his hooves are soft.”

“Believe what ya have to, but afore ya know it, he could be jumpin’ in high heels an’ a thong.”

A.J. smiled at the image, wiped off the last of the soap from her saddle and stood up.

“Let’s see if that poor man can get here the beginning of next week,” she said, referring to the blacksmith. “I’m hoping if we give him some notice, he’ll like us more. Probably use time to gird himself for the experience.”

“Good call. I imagine he’ll need to order appropriate equipment.”

“Better nails?”

“Hockey pads,” Chester said as he turned to go.

A.J.’s laughter rang out. “Hey, how long have I got before dinner?”

He checked his watch.

“’Bout twenty minutes. An’ speaking of time,” he said,
“I’m glad you an’ Devlin finally got off your duffs. You two’ve been draggin’ your feet like a couple a’ wallflowers waitin’ for the right song.”

The rag hit the floor along with her composure. “What?”

“Life’s too short to not be where you should. You two are both missin’ a piece without the other.”

Oh, my God, she thought, I’ve got a scarlet
A
on my forehead.

Without realizing it, she rubbed the place over her eyebrows.

“I don’t know what you—”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. Devlin’s a good man and you’re good for him. Now, about that blacksmith—ya think Tuesday’s okay?”

After Chester left, A.J. plopped down on a box of leg wraps. Was it that obvious? She thought they’d been discreet all day long.

Damn these horse-sense types, she thought. You can’t have a steamy affair around them in peace.

Stomach clenched in a knot, she felt like her life was spiraling out of control. Between buying the horse, the split with her family, facing the Qualifier and falling for Devlin, it seemed as if she’d thrown herself into a paint mixer. Even worse, she had the notion that eyes were watching, everywhere.

She stood up, feeling trapped, and raised her voice. “Are you finished with me or is there anything else I need to worry about right now?”

Then she knocked the bottle of saddle soap over and it spilled into her barn boots.

Ah, yes, she thought. Now I need dry socks.

“Ask, and ye shall receive,” she muttered as she wiped up the mess.

When A.J. went back to the house, a soggy protest sounded out every time she put her right foot down. It was like being trailed by a whoopee cushion. As soon as she came in from the gathering cold, she shrugged off her coat and leaned against the door, removing the offending shoe and sock. When she glanced up, Devlin was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

And looking at her like she was his favorite entree.

Warming under the glow in his eyes, she decided she could get used to the expression.

Devlin took a step forward just as Chester leaned in from the kitchen and started a conversation. “We’re having the behemoth shod on Tuesday….”

The man continued talking even though his audience was far from captivated. With the reluctance of two people getting up from a good meal before it’s done, Devlin and A.J. stoked the fire between them for later.

“We’ll finish this soon,” he whispered before going into the kitchen.

With a blinding smile of anticipation, A.J. went upstairs to change.

As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out her hair, she couldn’t help noticing the change in her reflection. There was a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, like she had a delicious secret, and a glow on her cheeks that wasn’t just windburn. Even to her jaundiced eye, she looked radiant.

Who needed to waste time with facials and makeovers when you could toss a little passion and chaos into your life and get the same effect?

After she washed up and changed her clothes, A.J. hit the stairs with far more enthusiasm than the mild hunger in her stomach justified. Following the down-home smell of meat loaf into the kitchen, she grinned as she saw Devlin bending over the stove and pumping a masher over a pot of potatoes like a jackhammer.

He looked up the instant she came through the door. “Almost ready. You want to ride shotgun on Chester’s salad?”

“Sure,” she said, pushing aside unexpected shyness.

Hearing Chester grunt in frustration, she went over to the other man, who wasn’t having a lot of luck with a pile of fresh greens and vegetables. Wielding a knife with all the finesse of a backhoe trying to put pansies into the ground, he’d made a mess. Huge chunks of red peppers had fallen victim to his hacking and a misbegotten cucumber looked like it’d been mauled by a dog.

“How you doing there, chef?”

“Damn vegetables,” he said while almost slicing off his finger. “Who the hell needs roughage anyway? Do I look like a damn rabbit?”

“No, you look like a madman. And I think the last thing we need in your hand is a knife,” she said, nudging him aside.

“Ah, c’mon, now,” Chester grumbled good-naturedly. “I’m a pussycat.”

“Tell that to this pepper,” A.J. said, picking up the gnarled carcass. “It looks like it’s been in an accident.”

Before long, they were all sitting down at the table. The food was good but A.J. didn’t really taste it. She was too preoccupied with what awaited on the other side of the meal and Devlin’s eyes flashing across the table egged on her impatience, making her wish dinner was over before it started.

Seemingly oblivious of the undercurrents around him, Chester prattled along, keeping up the conversation by himself. When he wasn’t talking, he was lingering over each mouthful, pausing to savor his meal in a way his two companions had never seen him do before.

By the time the man cleared his plate, after his third helping, he thought the other two were so itchy they looked like a pair of kids in church. A.J. was pushing a bit of meat loaf around her plate like it was a soccer ball, and Devlin was stacking and unstacking the salt and pepper shakers with an urgency Chester found highly amusing.

The groom smiled broadly, an expression they both missed.

“That was a good meal,” he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his meager stomach, satisfied with the angst he was stirring up.

“Yes, it was,” Devlin blurted, getting to his feet like there was something on fire in the oven. A.J. leapt out of her chair, picking up plates from the table in a frenzy.

“What, no dessert?” Chester asked.

“Here,” Devlin said, wheeling around and opening the freezer door. He tossed an ice-cream sandwich across the room with an air of desperation.

“Maybe I’ll just help with the cleanup,” the groom drawled while he unwrapped the paper carefully.

“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Devlin told him.

“You’re a guest,” A.J. said, picking up Chester’s plate.

“So are you,” the man quipped. After he polished off the dessert, he began folding his napkin with the precision of an engineer. “I should probably pitch in somehow—”