Leaping Hearts (36 page)

In the early-morning light, A.J. saw that the crowd had yet to arrive although the press had taken up residence in droves. Already on the job, they were photographing the competitors, who were still in their barn clothes and not yet frazzled, and the club members, many of whom were wearing Borealis jackets, and looks of disdain if they were approached.
The membership tolerated this yearly influx of reporters with even more contempt than they did the crowd’s arrival. If there’d been a way to freeze the press out of going to the bathroom at all, it would have been done.

Out of this scorn was born the strict caste system of the event. Members were at the top of the heap because it was their turf, and even if it wasn’t, their demeanor tended to create insecurity in Nobel laureates and proletariats alike. The horses were the next rung on the ladder, a status that the crowd was reminded of every time they traipsed through the stables and saw the luxury the animals enjoyed. Riders were behind the horses and far, far above any of the others. There’d even been an exception made to the no-guest policy after one particularly muddy event. Competitors had actually been allowed to use the showers in the clubhouse.

Rumor had it, this was how the nonmembers came to know how much better the other bathrooms were.

Somewhere behind the riders, way behind them, were the nonmember owners of the horses. Lumped in with them were their flashy wives or boy toys and the miscellaneous social hangers-on who thought that by walking on Borealis turf, they would somehow get their foot in the door to exalted status. Last stop on the road to inferiority was the press, but everyone, except the membership, only pretended not to like them. The competitors generally wanted to be interviewed, especially if they won, and the social mavens wanted to be photographed. That was why they wore outrageous hats.

Courtesy of having had her picture in the newspaper recently, and dealing with the aftermath, A.J. was feeling more aligned with her fellow members when it came to the press and she grimaced as photographers and reporters started running after the McCloud Stables trailer. When Devlin parked, the knot of harpies caught up with them and flashbulbs started going off like firecrackers.

“Better brace yourself,” Chester said while opening the door.

“Sabbath is going to like these guys about as much as blacksmiths,” she muttered.

In a rush, reporters started throwing questions at her, sharp-tongued footballs she let fall to the ground as she went back and checked on the stallion. She was wondering how she was going to get Sabbath out without him getting spooked by all the commotion, when she got a reprieve as the Sutherland truck drove by. Running headlong like a pack of hyenas, the throng went barking off after the semi. She knew they’d be back so she got to work fast.

Sabbath had handled the journey well and he was excited as she started to unload him, his ears flicking back and forth as his hooves clomped down the ramp. As soon as his coat flashed in the sun, a photographer let out a holler that triggered another avalanche of attention in their direction. Gripping the lead line with two hands, A.J. braced herself, ready to have the horse rear up and lash out at them all.

Instead, he calmly looked over his shoulder and practically batted his eyelashes. While she got over her shock, he flirted with the cameras and she could have sworn he was positioning himself so his best side got the most coverage.

“For heaven’s sake, you’re not Barbra Streisand,” she whispered to him.

But what the hell was she complaining about? A.J. thought, as Chester started to strip the stallion of his travel gear. If Sabbath wanted to play Hollywood royalty, it was better than paying for a bunch of broken camera equipment.

After the press finally dispersed, she turned around to look for Devlin.

“He went to get you registered,” Chester said without her asking.

She smiled and tried to concentrate on the horse but couldn’t. Now, when her focus should have been on the Qualifier and her horse and her riding, concern about their relationship was paramount in her mind. She was terrified about the distance between them, worried about how he felt to be back at the event. Wondering how long it would take them to get back to normal.

She felt trapped. Part of her just wanted to get through the event and then resolve the issues they were facing. But there was also a sense, and a tremendous fear, that there
might not be anything left of their relationship if she waited even that short a time. Devlin had been acting strangely around her since he’d confronted her two nights before. His words when he addressed her were deliberate ones, carefully chosen to approximate normal conversation, but lifeless. Even worse, he hadn’t touched her or held her at night or taken her hand when they walked down to the barn. The few kisses he’d given her were brief and perfunctory, just pecks on the cheek.

A.J. felt as though he’d left her even though he was still around. The loneliness was unbearable and the one time she’d come close to bringing it all up, he’d quickly left the room, retreated into his study and not come out again until very late in the night. It was as if he didn’t want to get her upset right before the event, and to her that meant something was very wrong. Maybe the permanent kind of wrong.

The very idea made her sick to her stomach.

As she went through the motions of getting Sabbath ready, A.J. was feeling a cold fear she’d never known before.

In the growing crowd, Devlin walked around the grounds in a daze, going through the motions of checking A.J. and Sabbath in and getting an overview of the course. It was difficult for him to believe he was back, and he wasn’t the only one who was surprised. As he passed the other competitors, he could feel their shocked eyes and double takes. He ignored them. When reporters approached him, anxious for a sound bite on how it felt to be back, he pushed them away.

With painful irony, he realized that no one had any idea how he was really feeling. They had it all wrong. He wasn’t in mourning and he wasn’t thinking about the past.

A.J. was an ache in his heart that wouldn’t go away. He loved her more than anything in his life, but inside he felt frozen. An awful premonition told him she was on a collision course with disaster and he didn’t know how to stop her. He found himself in the grips of a terrible paralysis.

As a result, he’d pulled away and knew his retreat had hurt and confused her. He saw the sadness in her eyes and it pained him but he didn’t know what else to do. He was at
the breaking point of frustration and the last thing she needed was another argument. The distance between them was the only way he knew how to keep from venting his emotions and putting even more burdens on her as she went into the event.

He paused by the polo field, A.J.’s registration papers gripped tightly in his hand. A few competitors were already surveying the course from the outside with their trainers. When one group walked past him, he could hear their voices drop to a hush. Disregarding them, he tried to concentrate instead on the way the morning’s pale sunlight felt as it beat down on his back.

Warming though it was, it did nothing to relieve the cold vise around his emotions.

Devlin was grateful for the numbness. He had a feeling it was the only way he’d be able to get through the day. He was torn between wanting to be her trainer and being her lover, between having a job to do and wanting to pack her and the stallion back up and drive them all home.

Forcing himself to focus on the jump course, he stared ahead. At first, he could see nothing but rails and grass. Slowly, though, he could recognize jumps and then find the pathways the competitors would be traveling. The course was laid out in a predictably grueling way, with towering fences set close together. Its compact design meant tight corners and no chance of recovery if a competitor hit a stride wrong or was shaken off-balance.

He thought of A.J. and Sabbath and went back to the trailer.

“Stallion all right?” he asked Chester, who was running a brush over the horse’s coat.

“Seems fine, calmer than the last time we took ’im out in public.”

A.J. came around the corner. Anxious for a read on Devlin’s emotions, she scanned his face. “Do I have a good number?”

“Sixteen.”

“The course ready for walking?”

“In ten minutes. We should head over now.”

“Okay.”

As he turned to go, she saw that his face was closed, his mouth set. Together, they walked to the ring, attracting attention they ignored as best they could.

“Sabbath seems fairly calm,” she said.

He nodded.

“Shoes are solid. That loose one is tight as a tick.”

There was no response.

“Devlin, are you okay?” When he didn’t respond, she put her hand on his arm. “Please, talk to me.”

He halted reluctantly. “I don’t think you want me to talk right now.”

“I’ve been in agony for the last two days. It’s like you’ve left me. What’s going on?”

“A.J., now is not the time to go into this.” He looked around, meeting curious stares. “And this is certainly not the place.”

He resumed walking.

Catching up with his long stride, she said, “This has got to be hard for you, being back after what happened….”

Devlin wheeled around and gripped her arms fiercely.

“Nothing matters but you, okay? I don’t care about what happened to me last year. All that I’m thinking about is you.”

“If I’m the only thing on your mind, why do I feel like you’re so far away?”

“A.J., just drop it. Let’s go and look at the course.”

“No!” she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. “Dammit, will you just tell me what’s going on?”

Devlin’s expression grew harsh. “What do you want from me? Do you really need to hear how exhausted and strained you look? I sure as hell don’t want to bring up all the pills you’ve been taking and the sleep you haven’t been getting again. We’ve argued about all of it before and we’re still standing here, at the Qualifier. None of it has changed your mind, and courtesy of your discipline, I’m going half mad, imagining that the worst is going to happen when you get in that ring.”

He swore as he saw the looks they were attracting. Dropping his hands to his sides, he looked uncharacteristically defeated.

“A.J., you don’t need this crap right now. Your focus has to be on the course and the stallion and yourself.”

“But I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Then do something for me. Forget about anything but the event. Put all distractions out of your mind. You’re going to need to focus if you’re going to get through this in one piece and at least I’ll have some peace of mind if I think you’re concentrating on the job.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Hell, what I should be telling you right now is that I admire your strength of character and your hard work and your determination. That’s what your damn trainer should be doing. But I think I’d rather have you safe than successful.”

“Devlin, I—”

Over the loudspeaker came an announcement that the course was open for walking.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Wait. I—”

“You want to be a champion, don’t you?” He looked past her, at the competitors and trainers who were heading toward the jumps. “If you do, we’ve got to get moving.”

But A.J. held them in place, standing still. She was searching for words of reconciliation and reassurance, desperate for some magical combination of syllables that would put his fears to rest, and reunite them.

There were none, she realized. As long as she was going into that ring. She flexed her arm, unconsciously.

“Will you be there after this is over?” she asked. “After the round?”

He sounded exhausted. “Of course.”

“I mean, will you really be there,” she said, meeting his eyes pointedly. “Will you be with me, not just around me?”

In the long silence that followed, her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

“Yes, I will.”

Only then did she take a step forward. Devlin followed.

As soon as they got inside the ring, her feet slowed of their own volition. She’d seen the kind of courses that were set up at the Qualifier, just never from the perspective of an entrant.

“The view is a lot more attractive from above,” she said, nodding at the stands.

Devlin waited for her to get her bearings, remembering when he’d first looked at a Qualifier course from the ground. It took a little getting used to and she wasn’t the only one who was wearing a shell-shocked expression. Only two out of four entrants actually competed. In spite of a hefty registration fee, every year there was a high dropout rate after the jumps were opened for inspection.

A.J. tried to breathe. She’d seen fences of the same height and turns as tight, just not so many packed into one course. There were fourteen jumps in all, including one with water, and they were menacing-looking, done in the club’s black and green colors.

The course started tough with three oxers in a row, a brutal combination that would shake up the field from the get-go. A hard turn to the left would be needed to make the next jump, a long, low wall, which was followed by a towering upright and two more oxers. A wrenching turn to the right would have the field coming into a combination of uprights, a vast wall of bushes and then the water jump. Directly thereafter, the competitors would have to double back in order to confront a mound obstacle that the horse and rider would have to leap up onto, then launch off of, to clear a rail fence at its far edge. The last two jumps were separated by a hairpin turn.

The course lived up to the event’s reputation.

Maybe even pushed the damn envelope, A.J. thought, staring ahead.

She and Devlin walked the course twice, discussing the strides and the angles, where the dangerous spots were. The water jump wasn’t her biggest concern, oddly enough. By dumb luck, it was configured in a way they’d been practicing recently. Sabbath would be familiar with the straight-on approach and the tight turn that immediately followed it. What she was worried about was how the stallion would handle the demands of the course’s turns in the midst of the spectators.