Blades of Bluegrass

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Why? I haven’t seen you bond with a horse like you did with her since your first pony.”

  Britt shoved a forkful of food into her mouth and chewed. She didn’t have a real answer. Maybe because, like Mysty, she’d lost control of her life and career?

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Pop said. “Plenty of jobs for her around the farm. She can mind weanlings. She was a pretty good mama to the one baby she had. She might even work out as a surrogate if needed.”

  It was fairly rare, but they occasionally lost a mare when birthing or the mare rejected the foal for whatever reason, and the orphan would be introduced to a surrogate mare with a tendency to nurture so strong that she’d accept and raise a strange baby.

  “Jill wants to breed her again,” Britt said. Horse talk was safe ground for all of them.

  “Up to you,” Pop said. “You pay the breeding fee, and it’s your foal if she has one.”

  “I’ll think about it. Don’t know how long I’ll be around. I’m currently still a prisoner of the army.” Britt rose and topped off her coffee.

  “You’re not a prisoner, Britt,” her father said. “I had to use every persuasive tactic at my disposal to convince that surgeon to rearrange his schedule and then get the general to fly the guy to Germany. The US Army has made a huge investment in you, and it’s your duty to repay that by finishing your mission. The horses will always be here later.”

  “Persuasive? Is that what you call it, Dad, when you back people into a corner with your money and influence to serve your own needs? I call it abuse of power. I don’t know what you used to lean on the surgeon, but you know damn well the general wouldn’t refuse you because you chair the committee that allocates military money.” She stood and threw her napkin onto her plate of unfinished breakfast.

  “Sit down, Britt.”

  “You don’t get to give me orders in this house, Senator.” Britt pointed to E.B. “The general at this post commands by respect. He doesn’t have to resort to collusion. You and I both know getting me some fancy bionic arm isn’t your real goal.” Britt strode toward the stairs. “I’ll wait for you upstairs,” she said to Teddy, sliding her accusation onto her father’s plate and leaving him to chew on it alone.

  * * *

  Teddy peeked over the top of her mug at Senator Story. He shook his head once, then began to methodically consume his breakfast as if nothing had been said. But E.B. wasn’t going to let it pass.

  He put down his coffee mug and leveled a hard stare at his son. “You got something to do with holding up her papers?”

  Senator Story put his fork down and faced his father. “Some things are more important than her immediate discharge from the army. She’s getting the red-carpet treatment. They’re letting her recover here. Do you think they send every soldier their personal live-in therapist?”

  E.B. leaned across the table, pushing his face into his son’s personal space. “There is nothing more important than my granddaughter, your daughter. And I don’t care if the God-damned army builds a hospital across the street just for her. She wants out.” E.B. poked his finger against his son’s chest. “You’re a big-shot senator. Make it happen.”

  E.B. stood and addressed Teddy. “Please tell Britt that I’ll be in the study when you’re done with her therapy. And leave the dishes for Lynn.” Then he stalked out of the kitchen.

  Senator Story sighed and glanced up when Teddy began clearing the dishes left by E.B. and Britt. His phone pinged, and he drew it from his pocket, read a text, and typed a quick reply. “I’ve got to go to Frankfort to meet with the governor before heading back to DC, but I’ll be in Lexington again in a couple of weeks to connect with some supporters attending the yearling sale.”

  “Have a good trip. I’m just clearing the table before going upstairs. Britt’s waiting for her morning therapy.”

  He shoved his last bite into this mouth and gathered his dishes to add them to the others in the sink. “I’m happy to see you’ve established a close rapport with my daughter.”

  Teddy’s face heated. She didn’t want to think about him seeing them in the bed, however innocent, but with hands entwined and bodies touching. “I’ve come to admire her a great deal. And, despite my initial reservations about this assignment, I’m enjoying my time here at Story Hill Farm.”

  “Good. That’s good.” He propped himself against the counter. His eyes were the same intense blue as Britt’s, but calculating where Britt’s were open, honest. “What has she told you about Afghanistan?”

  Britt had confided nothing, and Teddy wouldn’t tell him anything either. She desperately wanted Britt to participate in their advanced prosthetics program, even though she hadn’t let herself examine why this mission had become so important to her, why it was more than an ordered one. But she didn’t like seeing Britt manipulated for political reasons, especially by her own father. “I’m sorry, sir, but the privacy of anything discussed between myself and my patient is protected by law. I know you’re her father, but E.B. Story is the only person authorized in her file to have access to her medical information.”

  Senator Story cocked his head and spoke as if addressing a child. “The government has access to anything they want, Lieutenant. No information is safe when Washington wants it.” His phone vibrated from where he’d laid it on the counter, and he picked it up to read the text. “I’ve got to go. Tell my father I’ll see them at the yearling sale in a few weeks.” Then he looked her over, his expression reminding her of the way Britt would estimate the value of a racehorse. “And stay close to Britt any way you need to. Your influence will be helpful.”

  He spoke as though ordering rather than requesting she relay his message. Teddy was beginning to understand how Britt had come to see her father and the senator as two different people. She resisted barking a “Sir, yes sir” and snapping a smart salute. Instead, she dipped her chin to acknowledge the message. “Have a nice day, Senator,” she said over her shoulder as she left him standing alone with his phone buzzing in his hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Teddy had never seen so many beautiful horses in one place before. And she was sure she’d never seen Britt look so attractive. She was the picture of country elegance dressed in jeans, a crisp white shirt, a tweed blazer, English boots, and a gold watch and necklace.

  The day was overcast and a little chilly, so Teddy had worn jeans, a turtle-necked sweater, and a down vest. She’d also opted for paddock boots since they’d be walking around the barns, and any rain would likely turn those paths muddy.

  They’d checked in on almost every one of the Story yearlings, saving the top horse for last. It wasn’t hard to find him, because a crowd seemed to form every time Home from War was taken from his stall for exercise or a bath.

  Teddy and Britt rounded the small crowd to see the colt peacefully grazing on a loose lead while his groom used a fly whisk to shoo away the occasional pest.

  “Wow. He looks really calm. Are you sure this is my horse?”

  The groom broke into a broad smile at Britt’s question.

  “Home from war, both of you,” he said, stepping forward and pulling Britt into a tight hug even though she was six inches taller than him. “And who is this?” He turned to Teddy.

  “Roberto, this is Teddy Alexander. Teddy, this is Roberto. He’s the best groom on the backstretch.”

  “She does not lie,” Roberto said, taking Teddy’s hand and bowing as he touched his lips to it. “I am the best with horses, but I would rather have her luck in finding the prettiest ladies.”

  “You, sir, are a charmer,” Teddy said, chuckling at the blush flooding Britt’s cheeks. “So, she brings a lot of ladies around to impress them with her horses?” She smiled at Britt to assure her she was teasing.

  Roberto wagged his finger at Teddy. “Oh, no. Not so many, but always very pretty.”

  “You look good, Roberto.” Britt patted the man’s small pouch of a stomach. “Appears that Melina has been feeding you well. I hop
e she’s also doing okay.”

  “Bossy as ever, and enjoying our two grandchildren.”

  “Grandchildren. Congratulations. The years go by fast, don’t they?”

  “And look at you, chica. All dressed up like the lady of the manor.” He held up a finger. “That’s right. You aren’t that kid tagging along after me any longer. You are back to stay, aren’t you? The old man has been talking about you taking over for a couple of years now.”

  Teddy wanted to laugh at Roberto referring to E.B. as an old man. She figured them to be about the same age.

  “I don’t know yet.” Britt’s smile dimmed. “I still have some things to work out.”

  Roberto frowned and, without a hint of self-consciousness, took the hook mechanism of Britt’s prosthetic arm in his hand. “We heard that you had a wing clipped in that terrible place. But you’ll be fine, yes?”

  Britt nodded. “Yes. I will.”

  Teddy was surprised when Britt reached out, took her hand, and didn’t let go.

  “Teddy is helping me. Among other things, she’s my physical therapist. I’m going to be fine.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Now tell me about my horse. I can hardly tell he’s the same colt. At the farm, he was restless and jittery.”

  “He was a handful when he arrived, but his curiosity at all of the activity around the barns distracted him almost immediately. This colt is a showman, he is. He loves to prance around the barns for an audience, do silly mischievous things at bath time, and pose for pictures. He only gets testy when nobody’s around for him to impress. So, I parade him a lot. He likes it. The buyers like it.”

  Britt ran her hand over the colt, up and down his legs while Roberto talked. When she straightened again, Roberto edged close, and Teddy leaned in to hear, too, as he lowered his voice.

  “Lots of interest in this one, chica. He’s going to bring top dollar. You mark my word.”

  Teddy could see the excitement in their eyes and felt the undercurrent of anticipation as they shared a look. They weren’t building up to a race, but the auction felt no less exhilarating.

  “That’s what we’re counting on,” Britt said. “And thanks for the extra time you spend with him. I didn’t even have to argue with Ross when I asked that you be assigned to him, which means he’s expecting a good sale with a big commission. If he goes at the price we hope tomorrow, there’ll be something extra for you, too.”

  Roberto shrugged. “I don’t need to be paid extra for doing my job.”

  “Those grandchildren are going to need a college fund,” Teddy said.

  Roberto laughed. “Smart and pretty.” He nudged Britt with his elbow. “You have an eye, my friend, for fast horses and excellent women.”

  * * *

  While activity was a constant buzz around the long, shed-row barns, the auction house was like driving through hill country.

  Bidders and curious watchers sat alone, or in pairs, or small groups. Conversations were so muted and private the flipping of pages in the auction catalogue was audible. The hum of the semicircular auditorium would slowly gain volume and momentum, like a truck trudging uphill, in anticipation of the next yearling. Then a horse was led in, and the abrupt introduction was like bursting onto the hilltop. The ensuing auctioneer’s singsong chant was a downhill race, picking up momentum until the final bid was marked by the thump of the gavel, the horse was led out, and everything dropped back to the low hum.

  It was crazy, and Teddy found it a little hard to follow the fast pace of the bidding and odd rat-a-tat bark of the auctioneer. No bidding paddles were distributed like at the estate auctions she’d attended a few times with friends. The faces in the crowd apparently were familiar to the three men who stood outside the ring, scanning for the next person to up the bid.

  A bay colt, sleek and groomed to perfection, was led into the ring, and the announcer began to recite his pedigree and the racing record of the colt’s parents and prominent siblings. Then the auctioneer announced a minimum, and the bidding began.

  Most bids were too quick for Teddy to detect, but she did catch a raised finger, a nod, even several fingers displayed against the shoulder of one bidder who wanted to jump ahead. Teddy became so caught up in it, she almost wanted to bid herself.

  Britt put her hand on Teddy’s arm when she began to squirm in her seat. “Don’t scratch your nose,” she warned her, then chuckled. “You could end up owing a million dollars for a horse you didn’t mean to buy.”

  When the colt’s price did, in fact, surpass the million-dollar mark, the bidding climbed in increments of a hundred-thousand dollars.

  Teddy pressed her shoulder against Britt’s and whispered. “I would never guess these people had that much money to spend.” Most of the crowd were men, dressed in khakis, open-collared shirts, and wind-breaker jackets. She’d expected Arab sheiks, flashy billionaires in designer suits, even a few women in designer outfits that screamed wealth.

  “Even though the core of the racing community still is gentry with bloodlines that go back as far as their horses, consortiums or equity groups, not individuals, own a lot of racehorses today,” Britt said. “So, most of the people you see bidding are trainers or purchasing agents for the real owners.”

  Teddy took in Britt’s blazer and polished boots. “You look nice today. More dressed up than I’ve seen you before.”

  “Thank you.” Britt turned her head and smiled, her lips inches from Teddy’s. “I’m a seller, not a buyer at this auction. I need to look like my horses are good enough that I can afford nice clothes.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “Sold. Hip number zero-five-six for one-point-six million,” the auctioneer announced.

  Britt shifted in her seat but maintained her relaxed slouch. “Next is one of ours,” she said quietly, as a chestnut filly was led into the ring.

  “Hip number six-one. This filly has a blue-ribbon pedigree, folks…sired by Tapit, out of Cat Lady, she’s a full sister to Kat’s Song, a two-point-three-million stakes winner. Bred by Story Hill Farm. Bidding starts at three-hundred-thousand. Thank you. Do I hear three-ten? Three-ten. How about three-twenty. We’ve got three-twenty.”

  Britt’s face was calm, but they were positioned to observe most of the seating, and her eyes flicked sharply back and forth over the crowd. Teddy could hardly breathe when the bidding topped nine-hundred-thousand. She gripped Britt’s forearm as the numbers climbed higher.

  “Nine-fifty. Can I get nine-seventy. Nine-seventy. What? One million. We have one million.” A hand raised in the far corner. “One-point-one. Do I have one-point-two?” A nod confirmed the bid, but the far-corner bidder immediately held up three fingers. “One-point-three. Can I get one-point-four?” A new bidder held up her open hand. “One-point-five? Yes, that’s one-point-five, folks. Can I get one-point-six?” The other two bidders both shook their heads. Either the price was too steep or the woman who had waited to jump in with a high bid was too daunting.

  The auctioneer slammed his gavel down. “Sold. One-point-five-million for hip number six-one, the filly by Tapit, out of Cat Lady.” The slender, older woman turned to Britt, nodded and smiled, apparently pleased with her purchase.

  “Good price.” Britt let out a breath, returning the nod and smile. “The auctions are bringing top dollar this year. That’s a good sign the economy is improving.”

  “How do they know where to start the bidding?” The process fascinated Teddy.

  “A combination of things set it—the horse’s score from the inspection, the pedigree, and the owner. The stud fee alone for Tapit was three-hundred-thousand, so it was expected that would be the minimum acceptable bid.”

  “Wow. Three-hundred-thousand for his little swimmers?”

  “Yep.” Britt checked her auction booklet. “That’s the last of ours scheduled for today’s auctions.” She checked the time on her phone. “So, how much of Kentucky have you seen?”

  Teddy was intrigued. “Not much outside the hosp
ital and the few restaurants between there and my studio apartment. Tom—Colonel Winstead—and I transferred here only four months ago, and we’ve spent about two months of that time traveling to gather research, drum up financial support, form a team, and recruit participants for the prosthetics project.”

  Britt stood and held out her hand to pull Teddy up, too. “I’m shocked, Lieutenant Alexander. Too many military personnel isolate themselves. The most critical element to gaining public support for military funding is for us to infiltrate and engage the community we serve. And, it’s an officer’s duty to lead by example.”

  “An officer’s duty?” Teddy was skeptical. She wasn’t familiar with any military directive like that.

  “Yes. To infiltrate and engage.” Britt held tight to her hand as she led her out of the auction building. “It’s the wrong time of year for the Derby, but I think I can create some semblance of the experience if you’re up for a little adventure.”

  Teddy stopped, her hand pulling loose from Britt’s grip. She couldn’t put words to the feeling that exploded and filled her. It was…it was completely unexpected. It was…it was an emotional orgasm. Yes. An emotional orgasm after what she hadn’t realized was a long, long, long drought. Britt was offering fun. Pure, unadulterated fun. It wasn’t like Teddy had been miserable for years. She had a good relationship with her parents, even if they saw each other only a couple of times a year. And she had Shannon’s family, who still treated her like a daughter. She had friends, and her military family. Her job was interesting and fulfilling. But somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten to have fun. She suddenly felt like that kid who was just told she’s going to Disney World for her first time ever.

  Britt looked uncertain at Teddy’s hesitation, the grasper on her prosthetic arm clicking as she unconsciously shifted her shoulders uneasily. “Unless you already had plans. I mean, it’s no big deal.”

  Unable to contain herself, Teddy gave a little hop. “I’ll need a big hat, right? All the ladies wear those big hats. I’ve seen them on television.”