Her grandfather was still praising the athleticism of Thoroughbreds and how their competitive nature was important for polo. Usually she appreciated any kind of horse talk with Gramps. But right now, she just wanted to slink back into her room and hide.
She’d totally misjudged Alex’s feelings. Had built their friendship up in her mind, letting it overshadow all other relations. No friend had ever matched him, no lover had ever come close to rousing the same passion. She’d avoided him geographically, hadn’t once googled his name, but emotionally he’d never left her heart.
She’d been a fool.
She ripped off the lid and dumped in the coffee, too off balance to count the scoops. But it would definitely be strong.
“I’ll feed the horses now,” she said, jamming the coffee container back into the cupboard and wheeling toward the door. “Be back in twenty minutes to make breakfast. Then we can talk about the best way to help you retire.”
She shoved open the screen door and escaped onto the verandah. The sun was just poking over the horizon, the morning air crisp. She’d always loved the start of the day here, knowing there were horses to feed, to ride, to teach. But today she just stared blankly at the barn, dismayed at her numbing sense of loss. Really, life was no different than it had been yesterday so it was ridiculous to feel like this—helpless, hollow, unwanted.
A hungry horse nickered from inside the barn and she gave her head a shake. She had to stay focused. Alex was truly out of her life now, and that was a good thing. It wasn’t even his fault. She’d built him up into the perfect man, her soul mate, obsessing about all the thoughtful things he’d done. How he’d always shown her how much he cared.
And maybe he had, once. But that was years ago. Things were different now.
She thumped down the wooden steps and headed toward the barn. At least she was back with her grandfather, home where she’d ached to be for almost a decade. She had to straighten her thoughts though if she were going to be any help to Gramps.
Today she’d ride each horse, except for Ginger, and assess their market value. After that she’d hike down the road and pick up the truck, then find a spare tire and collect the trailer. Hopefully she’d have time to check Internet listings for other clubs. She’d contact them before Rachel had time to spread her poison.
If the four horses didn’t sell as polo ponies, their worth would be drastically reduced. Unfortunately every player in this area belonged to the Ponhook Club so she would have to go further afield for buyers.
She trudged around the corner, making a mental to-do list as she walked past the trailer.
Trailer?
She whirled, her eyes widening. Yes, her grandfather’s horse trailer was really there, parked in its usual spot beside the barn. And the truck was parked beside it. They weren’t sitting on the back road where she’d abandoned them last night. Her body turned so taut it was impossible to move, and she could only stare as if dropped in some twilight zone.
She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the trailer was still there, still sitting on its regular patch of dried-out grass. She reached out, cautiously touching its metal frame. It was reassuringly solid. And it didn’t have a shredded tire. In fact, all four tires were sparkling new, white lines gleaming against the shiny black rubber.
Alex was the only person she knew with enough money and clout to move a locked truck and have four premium trailer tires installed before six am. And he was the only one she’d told about her flat tire. This was the type of thing he used to do for her …before he married Rachel.
But it didn’t make sense. And while she was grateful, the gesture left her bewildered. She wanted him out of her head, for good this time. Not filling it with conflicting feelings of frustration and gratitude.
And worse, even a little hope.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You’d really enjoy working with the film horses,” Cassie said. She leaned further over the kitchen table, her eyes on Gramps. “And you’d like my boss, Dan Barrett. He’s great with the animals. His training philosophy is a lot like yours.”
Her grandfather pushed away his plate, his scowl quick and scornful. “But I wouldn’t like living in a trailer, moving around all the time. Different states, different people. Sounds like you’re nothing but a nomad.”
Cassie flinched. It was an itinerant life. She never was able to memorize the roll of a field, the lay of the land, and the people around her always changed. Some of her jobs weren’t even in North America. But she had learned to like it, and so would Gramps. “I have an apartment in L.A.,” she said, “so I do have a base. But I like to keep busy.”
“I like to keep busy too,” her grandfather grumbled. “But here. In one spot. And I like to get up and feed horses, not live in an apartment and wait for a phone call about my next job.”
Cassie took a pensive sip of coffee. She hadn’t realized he’d been listening so closely during their phone calls. She’d tried to conceal her homesickness. And she was used to that life now. But it was obvious her grandfather wouldn’t be happy sharing her apartment, away from the house and barn and the paddocks he’d built. However, it would be awhile before he’d be medically cleared to resume riding, and even then he’d have to slow down. With no pension or savings, a financial buffer was crucial.
If she were to help him remain in his home, she’d have to sell those horses quickly. And it was vital to obtain a good price. But because of Rachel’s slander their options would be limited. The Internet was vast and far reaching. It might be possible to train the horses to jump but the animals weren’t big enough to make high-level hunters. A polo home would definitely be best—for both the animals and Gramps.
“I’ll call my boss,” she said. “He recently finished a polo film. Maybe he knows of another one that needs horses. And I’ll check with some out-of-state clubs. But first I’ll ride the other horses so I know what we have.”
“Ginger’s the best of the four,” her grandfather said. “She’d suit a high-level player. The others are solid, although Tex is a little suspicious of strange things.” He dragged a worried hand over his face. “Ginger won’t be happy alone in the barn but the old fly sheet is ripped. It’ll be a few days before those cuts are healed enough to turn her out.”
“Don’t worry,” Cassie said. “I’ll take good care of them.”
“I know. You always do.” His voice turned gruff. “And I’m very glad you moved back.”
I’m just back for a few weeks. But there was no point reminding him. She didn’t want to add to his worry. Even though he’d only been up a few hours, dark shadows underscored his eyes. “You have a nap,” she said. “I’ll clean up the breakfast dishes when I come back in.”
“I’ll lie down for a minute,” he said, rising from the chair. “Doubt I’ll sleep.” His forehead creased as he stared out the window. “Who the hell is that kid sitting by the barn?”
Cassie rose, following his gaze. Grace sat on the ground, arms clasped around her knees. A pink backpack lay by her feet. She looked small and uncertain, but there was an unmistakable look of determination in the set of her shoulders.
“That’s Grace,” Cassie said. “Alex’s daughter.” She stepped closer to the window and scanned the driveway, both relieved and disappointed when she didn’t see a car. “It’s time for me to ride anyway,” she said. “See you at lunch.”
She pulled on her boots and stepped outside. Grace scrambled to her feet.
“Good morning,” the girl called. “I brought some ointment for Ginger. It works great on cuts. And I have a flysheet and some molasses treats, and I was really hoping you’d let me see her.”
She spoke fast and was clearly nervous, but her concern for Ginger was heartwarming. It was too bad Rachel didn’t share a fraction of her daughter’s sense of responsibility.
“Of course you can see her,” Cassie said. “Did your dad drop you off?”
“No.” Grace bent down and scooped up her backpack. “I walked
across the fields. It only took twenty-three minutes. I timed it so I could get back in time.”
“In time for what?”
“You know.” Grace gave a vague shrug. “Before everyone finishes riding.”
She followed Cassie into the barn, still talking about the special ointment she’d made and how the local vet had even bought some bottles.
“This is a really cute barn,” Grace said, pausing to catch her breath. “Are those all your ribbons?”
Cassie glanced at the dusty ribbons mounted on the wall. Her grandfather had taken her to a variety of shows, both English and western, depending on the type of horses he was training. “It’s good for folks to see a little girl showing a horse,” he’d said. “And it helps to have ribbons above the horses’ stalls. It adds value.”
She hadn’t thought about how ribbons would help sell a horse and had simply enjoyed the shows, especially the times when Alex had joined them.
“They’re not all mine,” she said. “Some of them are your dad’s.” She gestured at a huge blue ribbon with the silhouette of a horse and rider leaping a fence. She remembered that weekend well. Alex’s housekeeper had been sick and his mom had been in Europe. So his father had dumped him off.
“Give him some riding lessons or something,” Mr. Sutherland had said, leaning out of his big black car and pressing a wad of bills into her grandfather’s hand. “I’ll pick the kid up on Sunday night.”
At first Alex had been grumpy about having to stay the entire weekend, but Gramps had given him their best horse to ride, and Alex had done so well at the hunter show someone had purchased the gelding on the spot. And then she was the one who was grumpy—not just because she’d been riding that horse for months and then Gramps sold him—but also because Alex was constantly beating her.
However, Alex had been a big help, even Saturday night after the show when everyone was tired and hungry. He’d lugged everything in from the trailer, wrapped all the horses’ legs, and also found a hammer and nails so he could hang the ribbons.
“Don’t you want to keep your ribbons?” she’d asked. “You won them.”
“They mean more to your grandfather,” he said, tousling her hair. “I’m glad I could help with the sale though. Did you see that kid’s face? He was sure happy with his new horse. I think your grandfather will have enough money to go out for ice cream tonight.”
She’d been ten years old and that was the day she realized Gramps didn’t sell the horses to be mean. It was how he paid their bills. And that blond kid only wanted to buy the horse because Alex looked so cool, and everyone knew the Sutherlands were great riders. The kid might not have wanted anyone to know that a little girl could ride the horse over jumps too.
“My dad rode horses at shows?” Grace’s surprised voice yanked back Cassie’s attention.
“Sure,” Cassie said. “When he was young. Before he switched to polo.” She paused. Grace was staring up at the wall, a wistful expression on her face.
“Do you want your dad’s ribbons?” Cassie asked. “You can take them home with you.”
“No, thanks. They’re not mine.” Grace wrapped her arms around her backpack and turned away. “I’ll just groom Ginger while you ride…if that’s okay?”
“Sure,” Cassie said. She hesitated a moment then headed toward the bay gelding’s stall. She’d worked with lots of children on film sets, but she’d never met one who was so polite. Or maybe Grace was just insecure. Whatever, there was something different about her. And it made Cassie want to hang around and try to make the kid relax. Which was a little surprising because she’d been prepared to resent Alex and Rachel’s child.
She tacked up Digger, grabbed a helmet and led the gelding outside. She had more important things to worry about, like helping Gramps sell his horses so he didn’t work himself into an early grave.
An hour later, she kicked her feet out of the stirrups, leaned forward and patted Digger’s sweaty neck. He was a lovely horse, responsive, keen and willing. His turns weren’t as crisp as she’d like, but tomorrow they’d go to the south field with a ball and mallet. A lot of horses woke up when they had something to chase. Either way, he’d make a solid polo pony. He wasn’t as fiery as Ginger but he’d be great for an intermediate player. As usual, Gramps had done an excellent training job.
“Did you ride looking like that?”
Cassie swiveled in the saddle, surprised to see Grace standing by the barn door. She’d thought the girl would be long gone by now.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You ride in jeans?” Grace stepped closer, her eyes wide with horror. “Not breeches? Not real riding clothes?”
“I sure do,” Cassie said. Sometimes she added chaps to keep her legs from chafing, but only for strenuous gallops or rough brush rides.
“But Mom says I always have to wear breeches.”
“It’s good to follow the dress rules of every discipline.” Cassie chose her words carefully. “But I work with different horses all day. Both on the ground and in the saddle. So it’s more important to be practical.”
“You mean when you work around famous movie stars, you still wear jeans?”
Cassie nodded, hiding her amusement. The girl looked aghast at the thought of appearing in public without formal riding clothes. But Grace was the daughter of a multi-millionaire. Grooms did all her dirty work and no doubt she owned rooms full of designer clothes. However, she’d already made it clear she preferred to work with horses from the ground, so breeches seemed overdressed.
Maybe Grace wasn’t afraid to ride. Maybe she’d just never had much fun with a horse. When Alex had first shown up here, he’d worn crisp white breeches and fitted shirts. It hadn’t been very long before he switched to blue jeans and T-shirts. And it was her grandfather who’d taught him to appreciate horses, and not just see them as a way to win his father’s approval.
“Want to sit on Digger?” Cassie asked impulsively. “We can walk down to the brook to cool him out, and I can give you some tips about how to train a horse for swimming.”
Grace tugged at her lower lip. “But you’d be holding him?”
“The entire time,” Cassie said. “I won’t let go of the reins.” On a hunch, she added, “And there’ll be no one around to see us. The brook is very private.”
Grace gave a thoughtful nod, more like an elderly woman than a kid. “Okay, then,” she said, turning and hanging her backpack on the hitching post. “I would very much like to accompany you and Digger to the brook.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alex slowed his car, waiting as a groom led a dripping horse away from the wash rack. It was almost noon and activity at the barn had slowed. No one was riding in the practice field, or the ring or on the gallop track. The horses that had competed in the polo game yesterday would have enjoyed a massage and mild limbering session, and the remaining fifteen horses had already been galloped. Of course some animals were hurt and simply needed bandaging or hand walking. Like the mare with the bloody ribs. Cassie’s horse.
His fingers tightened over the steering wheel. She was back. Thank God she’d taken the mare home. He didn’t want to hear her voice, or smell her hair or watch her mouth curve in that sweet smile. Didn’t want to deal with the kaleidoscope of memories…along with the painful wrenching of his heart. What they had was in the past. They’d both moved on and he didn’t need any reports or updates. In fact, he didn’t want to think about her.
She’d been in his mind yesterday though, as if subconsciously he’d been bracing for an encounter. But he hadn’t been prepared to see her charge into his barn last night, eyes flashing, fists locked. Prepared to take on Rachel and her army of staff. Cassie was so damn loyal, so brave. She’d worn that same expression when reporters swarmed the estate, clamoring to interview him after his parents’ deadly car crash.
“How does it feel to be sole heir to a fortune?” one particularly unfeeling reporter had asked. “Will you continue with the Sutherland bu
siness or kick back and enjoy being a wealthy playboy? Money must soften the blow—”
Cassie had seen the misery on Alex’s face and knocked the recorder from the man’s hand, threatening to charge them all with trespass. She’d chased them down the drive, insisting that even the servants’ entrance be locked. Then she’d sat up with him all night, listening to his bourbon-soaked ramblings while he drank himself into oblivion. She was his trusted friend, his staunch ally, the only person who understood his motivation.
His parents had never been more than squabbling figureheads, too busy pursuing their own activities to notice their only child. But he’d always thought that some day he could earn their approval, if not their attention. When he was older, smarter, wiser. Maybe when he was a better polo player or a more astute investor. But that couldn’t happen now. The car accident in Germany had shattered that hope.
Rachel had swooped in the next evening, eager to comfort him and grabbing the role of supportive ex-girlfriend. That’s probably when it had happened. He’d always been careful to use a condom during their turbulent relationship, despite her assurances she was on birth control. But somehow she’d wiggled into his bed, clearly entranced with his newfound wealth. He’d been disgusted with both of them, reminding her that their relationship had been over for months.
“We’ll see,” she’d said, giving a smug smile.
That weekend had changed his life. Not that he regretted it…much. Grace was his responsibility, his life, his joy. And he was determined not to saddle any child of his with the disinterested parenting he’d experienced. Even if it meant being stuck with Rachel and her jealous rages. He might be destined to sleepwalk through life but he could certainly stick around and protect his daughter.
He and Rachel had generally cordial relations. She presided over the house and stable, while he stuck to the poolhouse. Grace never saw them fight. Usually it worked out. But sometimes Rachel crossed the line and he had to put his foot down.
MILLIONAIRE'S SHOT: Second Chance Romance Page 7