The Stable Affair

by Jessica Andersen

  Early the next morning, after he’d reassured Ellie that he was going to make up with Sarah, Dante phoned Daniel. “Remember that promise? I need to take you up on it now. She’s going to a show in the Western part of the state and she doesn’t want to see my face there.”

  “You told her?”

  “Worse. Seville did it for me. Bender planted a photograph of Susan and me in Sarah’s bedroom.” Daniel swore in sympathy. “Listen. I’m begging you to follow and make sure nothing happens to her.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “I’m staying here to take care of some stuff.”

  “You’re not going after Seville, are you?”

  Dante just grunted and hung up.

  Grosvenor Farms hadn’t changed much since Sarah had been there last. The driveway was still flanked by a pair of stone pillars that required careful planning to squeeze a big rig through. The enormous fields still sloped away gently, and were still dotted with massive cross-country jumps and outbuildings. The tents were still down below the fishpond and a privileged few barns were still housed in temporary quarters in the big indoor arena. Everything was the same.

  Sarah must’ve changed then. She felt no excitement at seeing the banners flapping and the brightly colored jumps rising from the derby field. She jolted when she spotted a dark-haired figure striding across the pony ring, camera in hand, and she took a few steps with her arm raised to wave a greeting before realizing it wasn’t Dante.

  “You told him not to come, so don’t keep wishing he was here,” she chided herself.

  Modi tried his best to behave for Sarah in the jumper ring, but her timing was off and she caused him to have a rail down in both of his classes. He was shaking his head in anger by the time she got off and handed him to Tilda.

  “Sorry about that, boy. You were great and I couldn’t ride my way out of a paper bag. I’m sorry you smacked your feet on those rails. I sucked.” She patted the glistening black neck and shook her head in disgust. She just couldn’t get into a rhythm today and the harder she tried the worse it got. “Maybe I shouldn’t ride Noble, I won’t do him any good.”

  “Nonsense. You just had a couple of off rounds. You’ll be fine with Noble, Freemont’s bringing him up right now for you to get on and warm him up.” Tilda hoped the feel of Sarah’s old partner would snap the girl out of her blues.

  But it was not to be. Sarah bobbled warm-up jump after warm-up jump until Almost Noble finally put on the brakes and slid to a stop underneath a big oxer to let Sarah know that she better find him a better takeoff distance.

  “Sarah! You’re on deck!” the gatekeeper called, and winced as she muffed another attempt. Horse and rider had a few better jumps and Sarah called it quits. She walked her horse to the ring so Tilda could wipe the pair off before they attempted the jumper course.

  The noise of the crowd fell away as Noble stepped onto the derby field and Sarah began to feel that good feeling again.

  The jumps loomed huge between the fluttering pennants atop each standard. Noble slewed his head to eyeball the giant plastic Budweiser Clydesdales flanking one of the sponsor’s jumps, and Sarah lifted him to a canter so he could float around the ring and have a look.

  The tone sounded and Sarah kicked her old friend through the timers and over the first jump with only a slight wobble in the air giving testimony to her weakness. They met the next two combination jumps adequately and Sarah began to relax into the flow and the joy of flying once again with Almost Noble.

  They spun into a short rollback turn, and then leapt up, up, up and over the Budweiser jump with not a peek from the steady gray horse. He galloped bravely and jumped, showing no sign of strain or soreness through the next half of the course even when Sarah made mistakes here and there.

  It wasn’t until the pair made a big, sweeping turn toward the railroad jumps that Sarah knew they were in serious trouble. Noble jerked his head up and shortened his stride as he stared in horror at the flashing lights that topped the “railroad crossing” signs on either side of a single striped plank designed to mimic a nearby commuter rail station.

  Sarah turned her toes out to spur a bit and get her mount’s mind back on the job, but he sucked back again as the flashing lights came closer and for just a moment Sarah questioned her takeoff distance. That one-second hesitation was enough for her horse to spit out the bit and think of stopping.

  “Don’t you dare,” Sarah growled. She refused to have yet another bad round that day. Her horse gathered himself and made an awkward leap that cleared the terrifying obstacle by a huge margin. He landed hard and slid for a moment before his studded shoes caught hold in the chewed-up turf. His head came up to see that there was a second railroad jump a scant stride away in a very tight in-and-out combination.

  Sarah grabbed on with her knees and struggled to bring Noble’s shoulders up underneath her and put him in position to leave the ground, but it was not to be. He tried—he really tried to clear the second obstacle, pushing off the ground with one hind leg, but in mid air he began to paddle his feet furiously. One flailing foreleg slapped against the back plank of the oxer and his head tipped down and his momentum flipped his hindquarters over his fore. Sarah was catapulted free as Almost Noble crashed to the earth in a tangle of legs and leather.

  Sarah felt the moment of freefall then heard the booming thud and sliding rush of grass past her ear that meant she had hit hard. A searing pain sang up her shoulder and her vision went dim as she heard Noble bellow.

  “Crap,” she muttered before she passed out for a moment.

  Tilda sprinted onto the field even as the loudspeaker crackled to life, “EMT to the jumper field, EMT to the jumper field please.”

  Sarah’s aunt found her motionless niece half-buried beneath the remains of a railroad crossing with her horse standing nearby, head down and ribs heaving.

  The girl’s eyes were beginning to flutter by the time a heavyset, bearded man crouched beside her, duffel bag at his side. The thin shell of Sarah’s velveteen hunt cap had fallen aside in the wreck and her vivid hair was beginning to escape from the bobby pins and hairnets that held it in place.

  “Hey Barney! You come to visit me all the way out here?” Sarah forced herself to sound cheerful and coherent, because she knew the paramedic would have her carted off in an ambulance at the least excuse. Her shoulder sang in agony and her fingers weren’t working quite right.

  “How long were you out?” Barney timed her pulse against his watch.

  “I wasn’t,” Sarah lied blithely, “I was just resting my eyes waiting for you to get here.”

  Reassured that her niece would live, Tilda stepped to retrieve Noble and was happy to see that he was standing quietly and not favoring any leg in particular. She heard the voices behind her rise in argument.

  “The hell I will!” yelled Barney, once again cursing the way some riders insisted on punishing their bodies. “You’re going straight for x-rays and you’re insane if you think any different.”

  “The hell I am!” she yelled right back. “If you won’t do it, drag me off the damn field and I’ll have a groom do it, you stubborn Mick!” She made to rise, then sank back weakly, face blanching as the motion jostled her dislocated shoulder. “It comes out easy now, and goes back not much harder. Do it, Barney. Please?”

  Knowing what would come next, Tilda handed Noble to Freemont and returned to Sarah’s side. She sat down on the pitted turf and wrapped her arms around her niece’s torso. Thankfully, they were shielded from the audience by a jumble of fallen standards and rails.

  Sarah let out one cry when Barney took her limp hand and lifted her right arm up. Grabbing just above her elbow, he put his booted foot in the armpit of her expensive Pytchley jacket and pulled, stretching the much-abused ligaments and tendons far out of their normal position.

  Freemont led a seemingly unhurt Almost Noble into her line of sight, and Sarah gratefully locked her eyes on those of her horse as her arm slipped back into its proper
socket with a sickening pop. Her consciousness wavered again, but she held onto it this time, relieved by the immediate relief from much of the pain.

  “You’re wearing this, young lady.” Barney fitted her with a sling and packed it with several quick-ice packs. “I assume you’ve got a full assortment of painkillers with you?”

  When Sarah agreed that she did indeed have a supply of drugs, the EMT and her aunt helped her up and assisted her from the field, followed by Noble and Freemont. The audience applauded fiercely, honoring the fallen competitors.

  “It’s amazing that the most spectacular crashes usually don’t result in serious injury,” Tilda marveled back at the stabling area. “And the little things do the most damage.” They were both reminded of a young horse that had panicked in a tent earlier that season and reared into a crossbeam, killing itself instantly. Tilda turned to her niece. “Are you okay? Really?”

  Sarah shook her head in disgust, accepting full blame for her lapse in judgment. “I should’ve known better than to ride in that frame of mind. Now I’ve set his program back a month or so and the North Shore Classic is next week. Moron.” She kicked at a clod of dirt, hating the way her arm was strapped to her side.

  “He sure was scared of those railroad jumps, I’m not used to seeing him react like that!”

  “Yeah, I wonder if the flashing lights on those crossing signs reminded him of the accident or something.” One never knew what would scare a horse. Born to be herd animals and to run from predators, they saw mountain lions in the weirdest places.

  Sarah straightened. “I’m going to go find Mary Jo and see if she’s got an extra set of those railroad jumps that I can buy. Her company leases jumps to the Classic, so odds are we’ll see those lights again. I’d like to be able to practice over a set for the few days we’ve got before the Classic.”

  Tilda watched Sarah go, knowing from the set of her jaw and the lopsided way she walked that she was hanging on by her fingernails. “Damn him,” she muttered, sorely disappointed in Dante. He’d seemed like such a nice man.

  The door was slightly ajar when Matthew Bender arrived at The Doctor’s office to report on the latest trial of the Huntington’s preparation. It was not good news—the old notes they were using as templates were woefully incomplete and Bender had a strong suspicion that Jay Fontaine had altered several of the sequences to protect his discovery.

  He laid his hand on the heavy door to knock, but stopped when he heard The Doctor’s voice rise from within. “I don’t care how you do it, just make it look like an accident! Yeah, fine. Do it like you did Fontaine. They’ll think she was so upset over Devers that she wasn’t paying attention to the road. Whatever. I really wish you’d been more careful to make sure she was dead the first time. If you had, we wouldn’t be having such a problem now… I don’t care, just do it!”

  Matt stayed where he was for a moment and heard Seville replace the receiver with an oath. Then Seville’s head technician took his hand away from the door and walked very, very quietly to his office where he gathered a few personal items. Before he left, Matt made one phone call, to a number he never thought he’d use.

  “Devers? This is Bender… I don’t care about that right now, shut up and listen. Sarah’s in danger.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Urgh!” Sarah was all but inarticulate in frustration with the students, the horses, and herself. She’d done nothing all day but apologize for snapping at her students, passing it off as due to the pain from her abused shoulder.

  Her shoulder felt fine. It was the absence of a certain photographer that gnawed at her and made her snarl. Had she done the right thing by sending him away? How could she have done anything else? He had lied to her.

  Nicole cantered back out of the gate following an adequate showing in the Maclay class. The girl needed to win one more first place to qualify for the Finals, and had once again come in second.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to keep more pace at your counter canter? A slug could go faster than you were! That second place was a gift from the judges, not that it does you any good.” The other trainers looked surprised at the venom in Sarah’s tone. They were used to her being overly lenient with her students instead of harsh.

  Sarah turned away, but she heard the girl mutter, “What crawled up your butt and died?” She spun back and reached way up to grab Nicole’s jacket, prepared to yank the kid off her horse and tear a strip out of her hide.

  “Sarah.”

  The name cracked like a whip. Sarah hadn’t heard that tone from her aunt in more than a decade. She let go of Nicole and stepped back, accepting Tilda’s rebuke.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry Nicole. You didn’t deserve that.” The poor kid looked more upset that her trainer was apologizing to her than she had been to get yelled at.

  “Uh. That’s okay Sarah. I guess.” Nicole toed her mount away, shaking her head at the abrupt reversal.

  Sarah turned to her aunt. “I’m sorry Tilly. I just can’t do it today. I’m really no good to anyone.”

  “You should go back to the hotel and lie down, watch some TV or something and rest your shoulder.”

  Sarah shook her head, knowing she needed to be further away than that. “No. I’m going home.”

  “You’re what?” But Tilda could see some sense in it. Sarah certainly wasn’t being much help at the show. Maybe some down time at the farm would help.

  “Yeah.” Sarah was warming to the idea quickly. “I could load up Noble and the railroad jump. We could go home and practice over it once Bob and I are sure Noble didn’t hurt himself today.”

  Tilda calculated rapidly. “That should work, actually. I have enough room to ship the rest of the horses home in my trailer and I’ve got Philippe and Freemont to help me at the ring. You can go home if you need to. Are you sure it’s safe?” Sarah hadn’t told her aunt everything, but Tilda knew enough to be concerned for her niece.

  “I’ll be fine, Tilly. We haven’t seen anyone lurking around here, and I have no reason to believe I’m in active danger right now. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

  “You’d better, young lady. I just wish you’d get a phone in that truck of yours.”

  “I don’t like car phones, they’re distracting.”

  Sarah’s aunt hummed a note, but nodded reluctant agreement and called Freemont to help Sarah hitch the rig and load Almost Noble. Sarah, her horse, and a pile of brightly colored lumber pulled out twenty-two minutes later. Sarah still had her right arm in that infernal sling and it stung like something else when she tried to move it, so she slid the transmission into drive with her left hand and spun the wheel to head the rig out. She’d had plenty of experience driving with her left hand over the last two years.

  Waving good-bye to Barney as she passed the EMT in the parking lot, Sarah headed for home. She paid no attention when the battered black pickup slid into traffic behind her, keeping well back.

  The Jeep roared into Grosvenor Farm’s driveway and sped toward the barn, spooking several horses and causing pedestrians to dive for cover. The parking attendant waved his arms irately but was ignored by the vehicle’s driver.

  “Daniel! Why isn’t your cell phone on?”

  Daniel had been half lying on a grassy hill that allowed him a good look at most of the show grounds. He dropped his binoculars at Dante’s sudden appearance. “Huh? What? What are you doing here? What’s wrong? What happened? Did you go see Seville?”

  “No, I never made it. Where’s Sarah?”

  Daniel waved at the field. “Down there on a big white horse.”

  “Where? I don’t see her.”

  The big man pointed again. “Right next to that green and red jump, making a big circle. She’s been on that poor creature for over an hour.”

  Dante’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “That’s not Sarah.” He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. The big white horse was not Almost Noble and the petite rider w
as not Sarah.

  “Sure it is. Blue jacket, tan pants, black hat, white horse.” Daniel listed off the characteristics, faltering a bit as he reached the end and realized he had just described ten or fifteen of the horse and rider pairs right in front of him. He swore briefly and flipped to his feet. “Sorry, man. I screwed up.”

  Sarah jockeyed the rig onto the Mass Pike just as it began to rain. “Oh perfect,” she muttered.

  She clicked the wipers on and decreased her speed. She was extra careful trucking in the rain ever since the accident. There was plenty of company on the road and she tuned the radio to a soft rock station and settled in for the drive.

  She pulled into a rest area about an hour down the road, needing gas and food. Her shoulder was killing and her head was starting to pound from peering through the rainy dusk to see the road. Checking on Noble, she found that he was happily munching at his hay, but that the railroad jumps had shifted a bit in transit, so she secured them against sliding into his legs when she made a turn or stopped.

  The smell of the greasy food at the truck stop made Sarah’s stomach churn, so she supped on granola bars and cola she bought from a machine, with a chocolate bar and a couple of aspirin for dessert. Returning to the The Truck, she was once again grateful for the hordes of travelers occupying the rest stop, making her feel less alone.

  That was not the case a half-hour later when she left the highway to take the cut through that would save her forty minutes of travel time by avoiding the Boston interchange. The beams of The Truck’s headlights speared through the gathering darkness, illuminating the narrower two-lane road in the sudden absence of streetlights.

  Prickling fingers of unease crept up Sarah’s neck as she found herself all alone on the heavily forested gloaming. It was raining and it was dark and she was alone. “I should’ve stuck to the main road, gone the long way ‘round,” she muttered and tried to remember if there was any place up ahead big enough to turn the rig around. She took bend after bend at a moderate speed, looking for a gap between the trees.