Leaping Hearts

by Ward, J. R.

  It was hard not to feel frustrated in spite of their progress. Considering they had yet to try him over the jump again, they weren’t where they needed to be.

  A.J. sneezed.

  She was, however, a hell of a lot closer to catching pneumonia.

  As she walked Sabbath out of the pool, she gave in to his hopeful look and decided to take him back to the barn. She was leading him out of the ring when Devlin drove up in the truck, back from getting its bed fixed. He waved to her and went to open the gate. As she approached him, she thought the sound of the sloppy waders and her sneezes were like a bad marching band accompanying her. Even so, his eyes were warm as she looked up into them.

  “How’d it go today?” he asked.

  “’Bout the same as usual. Plenty of time in the jump, no time in the air above it. On the brighter side, he’s going to try out for the Olympic Swim Team. With the kind of water he can displace, he’s a shoo-in for the hundred-meter butterfly.”

  They walked to the stable together.

  “I have this vision of us at the Qualifier,” A.J. was saying. “In the middle of the round, Sabbath comes to a full stop and wades into the pool because that’s what we’ve trained him to do.”

  Chester popped his head out of the tack room.

  “If it ain’t Esther Williams and Fernando Lamas,” he said.

  “Try the Marx Brothers,” she muttered, while putting the stallion into his stall. She began unfastening his soaking wet blanket.

  “I think it’s time to take him over the jump,” she said to Devlin.

  “I agree. The panic’s down enough so he can probably keep his wits about him.”

  “Then tomorrow it is.”

  Devlin handed her a dry blanket that she threw over the stallion’s back and secured under his belly. With Sabbath taken care of, she went out into the aisle and released the dreaded suspenders, relieved to be free of them. Feeling the waders rush to the floor, she thought they seemed equally anxious to see the last of her. She couldn’t resist shooting them a glare.

  Devlin helped her step free and looked down at her wet socks.

  “They never seem to leak when I wear them.”

  “Maybe they like you better.” She went to hang the waders up in the tack room, hoping she’d worn them for the last time.

  When she came back, Devlin and Chester were talking about the condition of the rails around the ring, some of which needed to be repainted.

  “I’ll be takin’ care a’ that in the next week,” Chester said. “’Afore it gets too cold.”

  “Good idea.” Devlin checked his watch. “So’s everyone ready for some dinner?”

  “Not me,” came a happy reply.

  Devlin shot the groom a suspicious eye.

  “Why ya lookin’ at me like that, boy?”

  “You’re far too cheerful for someone who just turned down dinner.”

  “Goin’ to bingo tonight.”

  “You’ve been going to bingo for close to ten years now and you’ve always eaten at my place.”

  “So?”

  “You’ve also never looked so jolly before you went.”

  “Don’t know what ya mean. Can’t a man look forward to a little gamblin’ in peace?”

  Devlin turned to A.J. “Can you believe he’s turning down dinner and being so happy about it?”

  Her eyes turned fond and indulgent as they focused on the groom.

  “Wait a minute,” Devlin said. “What the hell’s going on here? Have you got a date or something?”

  “An’ what if I do?”

  “You’re actually going out somewhere? With someone else?”

  “Ya don’t have to make it sound like such a miracle. It’s not so ridiculous that a lady could find m’ unique charm an’ fashion sense appealin’.”

  Devlin laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Congratulations! Who’s the lucky gal?”

  “Only the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  “You two-timing me?” Devlin tossed at A.J.

  “Well, he does have a certain flair for living. His food is color-coordinated and he’s handy with a wheelbarrow.”

  “M’ girl’s name is Margaret Mead,” Chester pronounced, savoring the sound of the words.

  “Margaret from the auction house?”

  “Yup.”

  “So when’s she coming over here for dinner?”

  “Ya want to screen her like she’s on the block or something?”

  “Got to check her teeth.”

  A.J. sneezed again. “While you two talk this over, I’m heading for the hot water. I hope you have a terrific evening, Chester.”

  “I’m plannin’ on it.”

  “So how’d you meet her?” Devlin was asking as she left.

  As soon as A.J. was back at the farmhouse, she went upstairs to the bathroom. Before she did anything else, she stripped off her socks because she couldn’t stand the way they felt a moment longer. Then she cranked up the heat, turned on the water and started to strip. With her teeth knocking together and the beds of her fingernails an alarming gray color, she wondered if she’d ever be warm again.

  When she started to peel her turtleneck off, she winced as she brought her arm up, and it took several tries until she was finally able to wrench it from her head. Groaning, she tried to loosen the arm up while assessing its range of motion. After all the time that had passed since she’d fallen, it was still no better. Maybe even a little worse, if she was brutally honest.

  Going into her toiletries bag, she took out a bottle of the pills she’d come to rely on with disheartening regularity. The phial was light in her hands and, after she popped off the lid, she was surprised to find it nearly empty. She poured the remaining white capsules into her palm, swallowed them and then threw it in the trash. It was the second bottle she’d gone through in the past week and she made a mental note to buy two or three when she went to the store.

  As A.J. waited for the bath to fill up, she went to the window and looked out to the ring.

  We better get over that water tomorrow, she thought.

  The next day, after a thorough workout over fences, A.J. wheeled Sabbath around and squared him off against the water jump. Her arm was throbbing and she questioned her wisdom of saving the attempt for last. He was always more calm toward the end of the workouts but her pain was always more intense.

  She turned the reins over to her good hand and stretched the arm surreptitiously, trying to loosen it up. Under her, the stallion jogged in place, his hooves shuffling in the dirt. He threw his head up and blew out a burst of air. Gritting her teeth, she settled into position and gave him some leg.

  Sabbath lunged forward, toward the water. Under her, she could feel his tension spike but he didn’t turn away and his stride was full and purposeful. They approached with good speed and, whether it was from internal fortitude or sheer momentum, he took the jump. Not attractively, not confidently, not with style.

  But they got over it in one piece.

  A.J. had been prepared for him to refuse and for her to pull a floater in the pool. Instead, she’d been pleasantly surprised to see water passing under them while in midair.

  “Way to go!” Devlin called out, as she cantered Sabbath around the ring. Chester, standing at the rail, was clapping.

  A couple more tries and the stallion, uncomfortable but still not refusing, was clearing the water with enough confidence that they began to land a little more smoothly. As she reined him in, A.J. was thinking she should feel a triumphant surge of accomplishment. Or tremendous relief, at least.

  Instead, she felt numb. Sure, they’d gotten over the water, she thought, but on his home turf with only Devlin and Chester as the audience. What was going to happen in all the chaos of the Qualifier?

  She directed the stallion over to Devlin, her eyes dark with conflict.

  “They won’t be judging you on form,” he reminded her. “Just whether you get over it in one piece.”

  “We’v
e got six days left. We need more training.”

  “That’s true of every competitor in the ring.”

  “I know.” A.J. dismounted, removing her helmet. “It just seems especially true of us.”

  “Look at me.”

  Her eyes rose to his.

  “You should be proud of yourself. You’ve done a terrific job.”

  She felt his hand caress her cheek. She turned into the palm, seeking his skin with her lips.

  “You know, you’re pretty good at this supportive stuff,” A.J. said softly.

  “Just trying to keep my woman happy.”

  His thumb brushed against and then lingered on her lower lip. As they went on to discuss plans for the Qualifier, her mind drifted to when they’d been alone together last. The afternoon before, Devlin had joined her in the tub, teasing and tempting her until he’d lost control and they’d made love amid the bubbles and the fragrance of lavender. It hadn’t ended there. The hours before dinner had been lost to a haze of pleasure until the hunger in their bellies had forced them downstairs to forage for food. Too impatient to cook, they’d eaten cold meat loaf and raw carrots and felt, as they stared across a single candle, that the meal was a feast beyond measure.

  Just goes to show passion is the best condiment, she thought. Puts A.1. in the shade any day.

  “A.J.?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She smiled.

  “They’re yours for free if you make them come true again.” Her look was full of sensual promise.

  Devlin moved closer, his body throwing off unmistakable signals. “Tell me. I want to hear the words coming out of that sweet mouth of yours.”

  Sabbath tossed his head, stamping a foot.

  Looking at his expression of disapproval, they laughed.

  “He hates when your attention wanders,” Devlin said as they left the ring.

  “He does seem to want my eyes on him all the time.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Two days before the Qualifier, A.J. went to the mansion to get some things she’d wear at the event. She’d left most of her show clothes back in her old bedroom and had a specific pair of boots she was looking for.

  In the intervening days since Sabbath and she had taken the water jump successfully, they’d made some more progress. The two of them had gotten to the point where they could tackle the water in the middle of a course but there were still problems. Whatever rhythm they had would be broken as soon as they faced the jump, and their pace would slow. Although it wouldn’t hinder them in the first round, if they got as far as a timed jump-off, it could be a liability.

  And then there was her arm. She had real concerns about it lasting through the rigors of competition. From a stamina point of view, how effective she could be in the saddle would depend on how much Sabbath fought her and how much pain she could handle. It was an equation she wished she had more influence over. The ibuprofen went only so far and she knew better than to hope for a miraculous recovery or for Sabbath to behave like a perfect gentleman.

  As she opened the door to her bedroom, she was thinking she should probably soak in a hot bath later on in the evening.

  A.J. stopped dead as soon as she walked into the room.

  For a split second, she wondered if she was lost. Or had really lost it.

  Boxes choked the floor and were filled haphazardly with the trophies and ribbons that had been on the walls. The mouths of her dresser drawers were yawning open, showing loose teeth made up of her shirts and slacks. Even her canopy bed had been savaged, the drapery peeled from its perch and the pencil posts unscrewed and lying on the floor.

  In a daze, A.J. stepped over a pile of books and made her way into the bathroom. It was in a similar condition.

  Stunned, she went into her walk-in closet, grateful that at least her show clothes were still hanging up and unwrinkled. She took out two blazers and a couple of her starched shirts and reached into a darkened corner to pick up the boots she wanted. Carefully laying the clothes inside a garment bag, she zipped them in securely, feeling as though they needed the protection.

  In a stupor, she sat on the bed, wondering what she should do.

  Which, in itself, was a change.

  Until recently, her first instinct would have been to race down the corridor, take two lefts and a right and pound on Peter’s door until it was answered or she peeled it off the hinges with her bare hands. Only he could have created the chaos. No one else would have had the gall to move her out of her own bedroom.

  But, sitting amid the ruins of her personal space, she didn’t want to find him. She just wanted to walk away.

  Then Peter showed up in the doorway.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, stepping over the threshold. He was wearing his casual uniform, tinted brown. “Sorry about the mess but my painters are coming tomorrow.”

  He didn’t sound very sorry.

  “Where are you taking all of my things?” she asked. “And when were you going to tell me you’re moving in?”

  “The groundsmen are putting everything in the attic. And there’s nothing to tell. You left on your own accord.”

  “Why are you doing this?” She was more curious than hurt.

  “It’s really a matter of aesthetics. The view from here is better than mine so I’m taking the room.”

  He stared at her, waiting for a response. She thought he looked eager.

  “Well, I hope you enjoy the panorama,” A.J. said, getting off the bed and picking up the garment bag and boots. “I know I always did.”

  When she tried to get past him, he blocked her way.

  “That’s it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re just leaving?”

  “It’s more appealing than arguing with you.”

  “It never has been before.”

  “Is that the real reason you did this? Were you looking for a fight?”

  “No. But I expected one.”

  There was a long pause.

  “So?” he prompted. “You have anything to say to me?”

  “No. I really don’t.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You think there’s something wrong with me because I don’t want to argue?”

  “It’s hardly the A.J. I’ve known and loved,” he said sarcastically.

  “So things have changed.”

  “Oh, I get it. Your horizons are opening up. You’re a new woman. I guess McCloud’s been teaching you there’s something more than the missionary position, right?”

  A.J. winced. “When you say things like that, it really hurts my feelings. In fact, a lot of our arguments have hurt. Both of us.”

  Peter fell silent and she thought she saw a flicker of something other than anger and frustration in his face. That reflected pain was something she recognized in her own heart. She decided to take a chance and reach out to him.

  “Peter, when was the last time you did something you really loved?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not happy at the stables,” she said, putting her bag and boots down. “You never have been.”

  “Just because I don’t think horse manure is a perfume doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job. Or have you forgotten the little promotion your father gave me?”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t good at what you do. I just think it’s a hell of a way to spend your life, trapped in a job you hate.”

  “What does this have to do with your bedroom? And I’m not trapped!”

  “I think it has everything to do with this. You seem so unhappy.” A.J. shook her head. “Do you know how much I love getting up in the morning? I can’t wait to get down to the stables, to smell the hay and hear the sounds of hooves in the stalls. I wake up every morning thankful I’m getting a chance to live my dream and I go to bed every night, even if I’ve failed in the daylight hours, looking forward to doing it again. I can’
t imagine what it would be like to trudge through the day, hating every minute.”

  Peter snorted, and she watched his frustration boil up and escape through his fingertips as he began agitating coins in his pocket and drumming on the doorjamb.

  “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered. “You’re not going to sweet-talk some revelation out of me that you can use later. I’ve been running a tight ship down at the stables. I’ve turned those giant hamsters into profit for your father. He may have you up on a pedestal but he’s got me in the driver’s seat and I intend to keep it that way.”

  “I don’t want to run Sutherland’s. I’m a rider, not a businessman. Besides, you’re fantastic at what you do.”

  Her stepbrother stopped fidgeting.

  “What the hell’s turned you into Glinda the Good Witch?”

  “Let’s just say it’s a change in priorities. Not that I haven’t enjoyed bickering with you all these years on some level. Painful as it’s been, we’ve gotten off some real good ones.”

  He managed a short laugh. “We sure have.”

  “Peter, I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends but I know this: I’m ready to stop being enemies.”

  He stared at her for a long time and she knew he was measuring her, weighing her new words against their long past.

  “Talk to me,” she urged. “For once in our lives, let’s just talk.”

  Peter looked around her room, dwelling on the boxes with her trophies and ribbons. “You were supposed to be gone when I moved in here.”

  “You’re right. I should have taken my things out. I don’t live here anymore—”

  “No, after their wedding.”

  A.J. frowned.

  “Before my mother remarried, she asked me what I thought of Garrett. I liked him a lot and I told her I wanted him, so when she walked down the aisle, I assumed she was doing it to bring him to me. I figured you’d go away so I could have what was mine. Imagine my surprise when I took up residence and you were still around. God, I hated living in the same house with you. You were the perfect student, the perfect daughter, the perfect everything. You rode well, sang well, wrote well. Not only didn’t I get the undivided attention I figured was part of the bargain, but I had to compete with a damn superhero.”