The Stable Affair

by Jessica Andersen

  One wag called, “Yeah Sarah, you better be finding some girl clothes now! You got any of those?”

  “Shut up you guys,” Sarah yelled at the barn. “Or I’ll start a rumor you all wear girl clothes too, you got that?”

  * * *

  Sarah crept the Truck along the southbound highway and made a few more feet of headway toward the Sagamore Bridge as she watched the families in the cars surrounding her. Apparently vacationers heading to Cape Cod universally consisted of one or two parents, several bouncing children, and at least one scruffy dog all riding in a station wagon or SUV with lawn furniture strapped to the roof.

  As always, the sign at the apex of the steep arch that spanned the Cape Cod Canal amused Sarah in a morbid sort of way. It read: “Feeling depressed? Call the Samaritans!” and there was a phone number.

  Sarah could think of lots of better ways to end her own life than jumping off the Sagamore Bridge. Then she sobered. Susan St. Pierre certainly had. Or had she? Sarah couldn’t stop thinking of Susan’s phone message. If she had been able to reach Sarah, would Susan still be alive? What had she needed to tell Sarah?

  Sarah didn’t know that, but she did know she’d been very grateful for Dante’s presence at the farm over the last few weeks.

  There had been no further incidents that anyone could consider threatening, but having the handsome photographer nearby when his work allowed meant that Sarah could let someone else look over her shoulder for a while. It had also been a very pleasant distraction to have him around all the time. There hadn’t been many opportunities for stolen kisses, but they had made the most of the ones that presented themselves.

  Daniel had not called, but Dante assured Sarah that he would get in touch when he had something to say and not before. Matt had called once or twice, but only to report that he had nothing to report. Sarah invited him to drop by the horse show if he had the time, but was a bit disappointed by his failure. She had been so sure that someone at the lab would’ve known if the test results had been tampered with.

  There had been no more searched rooms, no more sightings of the squat bald man. Overall, it had been quiet enough that Sarah was starting to wonder if she was just jumping at shadows. Maybe she had panicked unnecessarily. Maybe the fire was just a coincidence. She could hear Gordon’s voice in her head, “You’re just being paranoid again…”

  Not long after they passed over the bridge, the caravan of trailers and cars from Pruitt Farm joined a line of similar flotilla from other stables and Sarah waited her turn to jimmy the big rig up the narrow, winding driveway that guarded the farm at which the Capeside Classic horse show was held.

  This facility boasted no permanent stabling like that at Newcastle, so the horses would be housed in big canvas tents divided into stable blocks. While Philippe and Freemont unloaded the trunks and tracked down the hay and shavings they had ordered, Sarah opened up the trailers and offered the horses water.

  Dante had not yet arrived, but had promised to meet them either at the show or later at the hotel and Sarah was looking forward to seeing him—she had packed a tiny blue dress and skyscraper heels.

  She looked over and saw Ellie at the edge of their little campsite, gazing wistfully at a group of children and dogs playing tag in the field. “You can go on, Ellie. Just don’t go near any horses you don’t know and watch out for trucks and cars.” The little girl scampered off then stopped a little bit away and turned back to Sarah.

  “Do you want me to help with Finnegan first?” Sarah could tell she wanted nothing more than to go play and felt a rush of pride at the girl’s growing sense of responsibility for her pony.

  “Thank you very much for asking, Ellie, but I’m sure we can manage him. You go on and meet some of the kids, I’ll find you before we leave.”

  Sarah had not stayed at the Seaside Motel before, but the HoJo’s she usually used had been booked solid when she called. When she, Tilda, and Ellie unloaded their bags at the Seaside they were unimpressed, but there weren’t many other options besides camping and Sarah hated camping.

  A chipped blue door with “ofice” painted on it led them to a small, crowded space that seemed to function as a combination lobby and living space. The man behind the flimsy desk in the “ofice” was pleasant enough and checked them into their two adjoining rooms efficiently, but when Sarah asked for a wake-up call, he handed her a wind-up alarm clock. She laughed.

  Dante had not yet checked in, so Ellie cheerfully followed Tilda and Sarah to their room to hang out until her uncle arrived.

  Tilda immediately picked up the phone to call Bob and make sure everything was okay at home. She tapped in her phone card number and the number of the farm, then frowned and redialed. She started snorting, then giggling, and then laughing hysterically before hanging up the phone. “Call someone,” she ordered her niece.

  “Who?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Dial the calling card number we usually use, but change any one digit.” Sarah picked up the phone and did as she was told.

  There was a buzz, then a recording clicked in.

  “Hellooo. Are you feeling naughty? If so press ‘one.’ You must be eighteen to continue this call…” Sarah hung up laughing.

  “It seems that any wrong number bumps you directly there. Quality digs you got us here, Sarah. Wanna check under the bed?” When she was a very young junior rider, Sarah had found several packages of condoms under a similar motel bed, prompting Tilda to give her one of their first “birds and bees” talks.

  “No thanks, I think that Ellie can do without that, and I know that I can. What does everyone say to pizza?”

  A cheer from Ellie and a nod from Tilda had Sarah reaching for the phone to very, very carefully dial for delivery.

  They were halfway through their dinner when a heavy tread on the boardwalk and a knock at their door heralded Dante’s arrival. Sarah’s heart lurched and her whole body tingled.

  She had missed him, even though they’d been less than a day apart. How demoralizing.

  Ellie squealed “Uncle Danny!” and flew to the door. She launched herself into his arms and squealed again when he flipped her around and rubbed his stubble-shadowed chin against her tummy.

  “Didja bring me something?”

  He set her down. “Of course, Peanut. If you’re done with your dinner, you can go look for it. It’s somewhere in my luggage.” He waggled his arched eyebrows in challenge and she was out the door in a heartbeat.

  Sarah stood slowly and walked outside, shutting the door behind her, much to Tilda’s irritation.

  “You look tired,” she said inanely.

  Teeth gleamed white against his scruff-shadowed face. “I am tired. I pushed to get here to see Ellie ride tomorrow. Why, did you miss me?”

  “Maybe,” Sarah allowed, and squealed herself when he leaned in and scraped his whiskers against her throat. She grabbed at the stuff and used it to hold his head still while she rubbed at it, fascinated with the coarse prickles.

  She pulled away and held his face at arm’s length. “So I hear you’re taking me out to dinner and that I’ve got to wear girl clothes, huh? Are we celebrating something?”

  “Not celebrating so much as making up for the fact that we’ve never really been on a ‘get dressed up and go out’ kind of date. I thought we could give it a try. If we hate it, we can always go back to necking in the trailer.” He leered at her convincingly.

  Sarah laughed and hugged him, sneaking a quick kiss. “Sounds like a plan. Come to think of it, I made a plan of my own today. Wanna hear it?”

  “But of course!”

  “After the show’s over for the day tomorrow, Ellie is going to dinner and a movie with some of the kids she met today and their parents. They’ll drop her off with Tilda after so we can go out. Sound good?”

  Dante grinned. “It’d sound better if you sealed the bargain with a kiss.” He puckered up and leaned in for a good one, but they were once again interrupted.

  “Uncle Danny! Are
you coming back in? What are you doing out there? Oh, hi Sarah. Do you want to see what Uncle Danny brought me and Finnegan for the show tomorrow?”

  The child’s chatter flowed around the couple until Sarah smiled and stepped back. “I’m sure I’ll see it tomorrow, okay Ellie? I’m going to go to bed now. I’ll see you bright and early at the show, right?”

  “Yep. See ya. Come on, Unc’ Danny.” Ellie scampered back into the room and Dante flashed a rueful smile at Sarah’s retreating back.

  It seemed that they were never to be alone, but maybe that was a good thing. He’d kept her safe from the bad men, but he hadn’t managed to keep her safe from him, nor he from her.

  He was falling in love with Sarah Taylor, but he hadn’t quite figured out what to do about it yet.

  The morning of Ellie’s first competition dawned gray and drizzly, and the child tried bravely to put on a happy face as the mist soaked her little tan jodhpurs and her small navy jacket.

  Dante fluttered around, nervous as any parent at their beloved child’s first competition. He asked Ellie a dozen times if she had her gloves then misplaced the number she was to tie on her back. He panicked.

  “Its okay,” Tilda soothed. She flipped one of Sarah’s numbers over and drew a new sixty-seven on the back with a fat black magic marker they had packed for just that purpose. “Here, she can use this. Just thread the black shoelace through the holes and give it to Sarah, she’ll put it on.”

  Sarah was busy dressing a nervous Ellie, wrapping the jodhpur straps tight around her calf just below her knee and buckling them into place. “Now, remember. Just do your best and practice the stuff we’ve been working on in your lessons. Nothing more. If the judge asks you a question, just answer it the best you can.”

  “Ellie honey, do you have your gloves?”

  Sarah turned to glare at Dante. “If I hear one more word out of you about gloves, I’ll stuff them up your nose.” Ellie giggled, obviously glad that someone else thought her uncle was acting weird. “Now, give me the darn number and go take pictures somewhere else, you’re bugging us.”

  He didn’t leave, but did go sit on a hay bale out of the way while Sarah plaited Ellie’s curly blonde hair into two thick braids and tied them with blue ribbon. The little girl looked awed.

  “How did you know blue is my favorite color?”

  “Magic. Want to see something else? Look at Finnegan’s neck. See that braid near the middle?”

  “It’s tied with blue yarn!”

  “Yep, that’s your lucky braid ‘cause it matches your ribbons.”

  Dante watched them banter back and forth as Sarah tucked Ellie into her little velveteen helmet, and his throat tightened. His women were so beautiful together. Watching them now, he could almost believe in happy endings.

  The loudspeaker crackled to life, welcoming everyone to the Capeside Classic Horse Show and introducing the officials that would preside that week: the judges, stewards, paddock masters, secretaries and so forth. The announcement ended with the disembodied voice giving a five minute ring call for the first classes of the day in each ring: training jumpers in ring one, low hunters in ring two, and leadline equitation in ring three.

  “What’s ekwa… equita…” Ellie was stumped by the word.

  “You have two classes today. The first class is called equitation, which means the judge will be comparing your position to the other kids’. You have to keep your heels down, your reins organized, and remember to check your diagonal at the trot.” Sarah took the handmade number and tied it around Ellie’s waist.

  “The second class is called ‘suitability’ because the judge will be watching Finnegan to compare him with the other ponies and decide if he’s cute and safe and fits you well.”

  She lifted Ellie onto Finnegan and adjusted the little stirrups to fit the child’s short legs. Dante circled around them, camera whirring.

  Sarah looked to the heavens and reminded herself that she had encouraged him to lease the pony so they could all horse show together. Tilda just smirked at the three of them.

  They made it to the ring just in time for the show to begin. The paddock master invited the leadliners, some no more than three or four years old, to enter the ring on their patient ponies led by trainers, parents, and grooms.

  The children exhibited their riding skills at the walk and trot in both directions, and Sarah thought the woman next to her might pass out after the second jog.

  “I’m getting too old for this stuff,” the woman panted. “They make us trot these kids farther each year! I think I should leave this to you young people and your kids.”

  Sarah nodded and smiled at the woman, not bothering to correct her assumption that Ellie was her daughter.

  The judge, a spare woman in a flowing dress and big hat, lined them up facing the crowd and stepped to ask each child a question. Ellie glanced nervously at Sarah out of the corner of her eye and the trainer smiled back encouragingly.

  Farther down the line, they could hear the judge’s questions. “What is your pony’s name?”

  “Punky,” replied one. “Satan,” said another. Sarah grinned to hear that up and down the line, the ponies’ names seemed to imply bad behavior. How appropriate.

  “What does your pony eat?” the judge asked one cherub on a black pony whose forelock completely obscured its eyes.

  “Everything,” the child replied definitely, and the judge chuckled as she moved on to the next rider.

  She finally stopped next to Finnegan and smiled at Ellie. “Can you drop your reins for me and pick them back up again?”

  The child fumbled for a moment, but concentrated fiercely and managed to reassemble her fingers on the braided leather reasonably quickly with just one pinky in the wrong spot.

  “Very well done,” the judge praised Ellie and moved on to the last rider, the only boy.

  “Can you tell me what color your pony is?” Sarah had picked this one as the winner, and apparently the judge had as well since she was asking such a tough question. She wanted to see if the little boy knew that white horses and ponies are technically considered gray since they start life very dark and lighten with age.

  “Brown.”

  The judge looked confused. “What color is your pony?”

  “Brown,” the boy repeated, gleefully ignoring the swirling white hair beneath him.

  “But this pony is gray,” said the judge, obviously trying to help him out a bit.

  The little boy gave her a devilish smile. “This isn’t my pony.”

  The judge laughed in response and patted the white pony before returning to call in her winners. Ellie placed fifth out of seven in that class, beaten by children who clearly had more experience than she did. Finnegan received a third place in the suitability class and Ellie was bubbling over when Sarah led her from the ring.

  “Look Unc’ Danny! I got a pink and a yellow! Tomorrow I want a green and a purple!”

  Sarah blessed childhood, when the color of the ribbons is of primary importance rather than winning. Only a leadliner would hope to move down to sixth and seventh the next day because green and purple are cool.

  Dante exclaimed over Ellie’s treasures and took several pictures of an embarrassed Finnegan wearing them on his bridle.

  “Why don’t you and Ellie go for a walk in the woods?” Sarah gave Dante the lead rope and pointed them down a path. “Just remember to keep your reins organized, Ellie, there’s lots of animals that could spook Finn.”

  Sarah watched the two of them walk into the forest with Dante nodding gravely as Ellie chattered away in birdlike tones.

  For the first time in weeks, Sarah felt eyes watching her.

  That afternoon, Almost Noble and Sarah Taylor competed together for the first time since the accident. They showed in a high schooling class and the old gray horse jumped carefully and slowly, receiving time penalties. Sarah didn’t care; she was elated by the gelding’s economical jump and his obvious joy at being back in the ring.

/>   “He’ll be ready for the Jumper Classic all right! Did you see him? He was so happy being back out there. He shouldn’t need much more time before he’s back in fighting trim!”

  Tilda was more reserved in her opinion. “A schooling class is a far cry from a fifty-thousand dollar Grand Prix, but he looked fit enough today. Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay?”

  Sarah was disgruntled. “Gee. That was an enthusiastic endorsement. Why don’t we just shoot him now and get it done with?” Her aunt looked surprised and Sarah backed down, embarrassed. “Sorry about that, Tilly. That was uncalled for. My only excuse is that I’m nervous about going out on an actual official date tonight. It’s been a long while.” She pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach. “If I head back to the Seaside Roach Motel now can you finish up here?”

  At her aunt’s nod, Sarah wrote her next day’s mounts on the braiding list, checked to make sure the horses all had hay and water, and bolted for The Truck before Tilda changed her mind.

  Sarah wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower and a half-hour to herself so she could prepare to be feminine and scintillating. If she had a few minutes to fuss with her hair, that would be all the better.

  The motel was quiet when she pulled in. Everyone else was still at the show and would be for at least another couple of hours. She let herself into her room and noted with pleasure that the maid had left the windows cracked open so the air smelled fresher.

  She stripped off her sweaty britches and hung them carefully. She’d need to wear them at least another day or else find a one-hour drycleaner nearby. Her shirt was nasty enough to be consigned to the laundry bag, followed by her sports bra and thong underwear. Thongs weren’t the most comfortable things to ride in, but at least they minimized panty lines under the skin-tight riding britches.

  Naked, Sarah stepped into the tiny bathroom and turned the shower to hot. While she waited for the water to warm, she peered into the unsteamed mirror, making a note to get her hair done when she got home. The white was starting to show along the scar on her scalp.