I summed it up in a text to Will that night: I’m back on the horse and I suck.
You’re riding again?
Yes, and I suck.
You’ve been training since you were two. You can’t have forgotten everything you know.
He was either confident in my abilities or dismissing my concern. I wasn’t sure which, but it annoyed me.
Not long after I’d put my phone away, Daddy tapped on my door. “Come downstairs. I want to show you something.”
In the living room, he sat down on the sofa, the remote control in his hand, and patted the seat next to him. Just what I wanted to do, cuddle with him and review training videos.
After my performance today, I didn’t dare whine. I sat down.
“Do you remember your fifteenth birthday?”
“That’s the day I got Jasper.”
“Watch.”
He pointed the remote at the television and clicked a button. The red-and-white-striped metal walls of Frank’s indoor arena snapped into focus. I trotted onscreen riding Jasper. I hadn’t known Daddy had recorded us.
Jasper had put on muscle in the time I’d had him. His neck was thicker, his rump rounder and more defined, his shoulders heavier. He’d retained that floaty gait, though, hoofs skimming the ground, long legs moving in graceful cadence, big body appearing lighter than air.
“He looks good,” Daddy said on the video.
“She looks good on him,” Frank said.
Jasper’s trot was so silken that I’d barely moved in the saddle.
“Canter,” Daddy called.
Effortless.
“Figure eights.”
Through figure eights and lead changes and side passes, Jasper was perfection, and on his back, I was perfection, too.
“Take him over some jumps.”
Jasper took wing over each of the jumps in the middle of the arena, landing softly, his legs and shoulders absorbing the shock like springs. After the last jump, I called, “I feel like I’ve ridden him every day of my life.”
Daddy paused the video. “You and that horse bonded the very first time you rode him. I understand the connection between you. You think I’ve never felt that?”
I wasn’t sure what Daddy felt.
“Today, you were trying too hard. That day, you weren’t trying at all. It came as naturally as breathing. That’s what I want to see from you. I want to see it on Vigo and Diva. When I do, we’ll talk about bringing Jasper back.” He stood up. “If I were you, I’d watch this until I felt it.”
I listened to him go up the stairs, my eyes on the TV. Then I pressed the button and started from the beginning.
* * *
EVEN AN ACTUAL sack of potatoes would have improved under Daddy’s intensive instruction. My balance returned, and the view looked familiar, and I watched the video of Jasper so obsessively that I knew every flick of his tail and twitch of his ears. After I’d watched it countless times, Daddy said, “Enough. If it were going to do any good, it would have done it by now.”
I tried harder.
At school I talked to Will, but at night I fell into bed without texting him, drained from A.M. and P.M. chores, lessons, homework, and walk-throughs. My head swam with training videos, Daddy’s narration, instructions he’d given me in lessons.
On the Sunday before Bluegrass—the first Sunday Vic and his crew hadn’t come to Rosemont—Diva was favoring her off foreleg. After an ultrasound, Glenn diagnosed a strain injury. He prescribed hydrotherapy and bute to reduce inflammation and advised putting her on stall rest.
“Nothing serious,” he said, “but you won’t be riding her next weekend.”
I’d trained hard on Vigo, too, and was prepared to compete on him.
At breakfast the next morning, Daddy told me Jasper was coming home.
He expected gratitude, but if I collapsed with the deep-down relief I truly felt or threw my arms around his neck, he’d accuse me of being dramatic. I smiled broadly, which wasn’t too hard to do under the circumstances. “Thank you, Daddy.”
He smiled, too. “I have more news.”
Jasper was coming home. I couldn’t wait to tell Will.
“I gave it some thought,” Daddy continued, “and you’ll ride Jasper this weekend.”
“Bluegrass is this weekend,” I reminded him.
“That’s where you’ll ride him.”
I stared. “I haven’t ridden him in two months.”
“Perfect ending to your comeback story. You’re not only back, you’re back on Jasper. Think of the optics. Or Frank could keep him. Your choice.”
Putting me on a horse I hadn’t been training on was an unnecessary risk, but I understood why he was doing it: to show me he controlled who I rode and when I rode—and to a large degree, whether I won or lost. He wasn’t wrong about the optics, and no way was Frank keeping my horse.
I had no real choice, but when Daddy presented me with the appearance of one, I needed to opt for the decision he wanted me to make.
“Well, then,” I said, “looks like Jasper’s going to Bluegrass.”
- twenty-three -
THE THURSDAY BEFORE Bluegrass began, Louisville buzzed with energy, traffic, and people. Derby celebrations had been under way for two weeks, and Churchill Downs commanded almost everyone’s attention, but the race those young Thoroughbreds ran on Saturday would be won or lost in two minutes. Eventing horses were seasoned warriors, competing full tilt for three days.
Daddy and I had left Rosemont at four A.M. When we reached Bluegrass Show Park shortly after two, we went straight to the barn. Jasper greeted me with an ear-splitting whinny that caused everyone, even me, to wince.
“He settled right in,” Eddie said, and while he and Mateo caught up with Daddy, I went into Jasper’s stall, wrapped my arms around his neck, and breathed in. He’d been waiting for me when I got home from school Tuesday. I’d ridden him in back-to-back dressage and jumping lessons, and we’d clicked as though our training had never been interrupted. Daddy hadn’t said so, but he’d been impressed. I could tell.
Beyond that, Jasper and I hadn’t had any time together, because Eddie and Mateo had trailered him to Louisville yesterday. I stuck my thumbs in his ears and rubbed the outside with my fingers, and he stretched his neck out farther and farther.
I laughed. “Giraffe.”
His eyes gleamed. Unlike Diva and Vigo, Jasper had a sense of humor.
“Let’s go, darlin’.” Daddy was watching us through the bars in the stall door. “Orientation.”
I half listened to the show officials and lifted my hand in a wave as they welcomed me back. There was a smattering of applause from the other riders. Daddy beamed as if he were responsible for my bones knitting.
Jamie caught my eye from across the room, but I didn’t have a chance to speak to him until we were filing out the door.
“Are we good?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” I refrained from explaining my reaction the day he and Frank had taken Jasper. “Have a good show.”
“You, too.”
Daddy took my elbow.
After the official walk of the cross-country course, we returned to the barn, where Mateo had readied Jasper for the jog. He passed the vet check, and then I was on his back again. It felt like coming home.
“Just ride him around the park, darlin’.”
I’d thought we’d use this time for another lesson.
Daddy smiled. “You’ve earned it. Be back in an hour.”
Cruising around the park was the next best thing to riding out—relaxing, unstructured time, a chance to reconnect with Jasper outside the ring. Some of my competitors were riding around the park, too, while others rode in warm-up arenas and open fields. I kept to the paths, cushioned with pine needles that smelled of turpentine.
The park covered hundreds of acres, meticulously landscaped to mimic nature at its most beautiful. We skirted artificial lakes and fields of dark blue-green grass, and a peace settled into m
e. I didn’t have everything I wanted, but I was where I wanted to be.
“Good luck,” Will had said last night. “You’ve got this.”
We never talked about anything in depth anymore. Sometimes the things that went unspoken pushed up from underneath what we did say, and we’d both go silent.
At sunset, Daddy and I left the park to check into the hotel and get ready for a private supper he’d scheduled with Confections Cosmetics, whose marketing staff thought I might be the new face of their teen skin-care line. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the evening, but I’d resolved to do my best to land the deal.
The hotel parking lot was mobbed. Daddy went inside while I waited in the Land Cruiser and visualized tomorrow’s dressage test. I felt even better about it than I had on Tuesday. Daddy had made the right choice, letting me ride around the park instead of putting me in a lesson.
He returned and got in with a sigh. “We have to share a room.”
“What?” The word escaped before I could translate it into the customary “Sir?”
“They oversold the rooms. It’s either share a room or find a different hotel—and it’s Derby weekend.”
Fuck. Fuck. I’d counted on having my own space here.
He moved the Land Cruiser into a narrow parking space. I carried the garment bag and my backpack while he brought the heavier luggage.
Our room was large and bright, with an antique maple dresser, a matching desk—and one four-poster king-sized bed. My gut plummeted.
“The desk clerk said there were two beds.” Daddy crossed the room to the telephone. “I’ll see if they have a cot. You get ready.”
I hung up the garment bag and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind me and pressing my ear to it.
“So nowhere in this hotel is there a foldout bed? May I speak to a manager?”
I turned on the taps in the shower. Don’t let it throw you. It wasn’t ideal, but we’d spent whole nights together before.
When I emerged from the bathroom wearing one of the hotel’s robes, Daddy said, “There’s nothing. We’ll have to manage.”
While he showered, I put on the red dress Mama had bought me for Thanksgiving. The dinner yawned before me like a chasm. I should be getting some rest tonight, not spending hours at some stupid restaurant with people I didn’t know trying to convince them to like me.
I applied makeup in the bathroom while he dressed in the bedroom, awkward roommates not speaking until both of us were ready.
“That dress looks better and better on you.”
The frank appreciation in his expression made me feel dirty.
I crossed my arms. “I hate it.”
“Then why are you wearing it?”
“You asked me to.”
“I didn’t know you hated it.” He put his wallet in the inner breast pocket of his jacket. “You should have said something. I’ll take you to Leesburg next week. You can get something you like.”
“I don’t want you to take me to Leesburg.” I was deliberately provoking him the same way Mama used to.
“Then Gertrude can take you.”
“Gertrude won’t drive in traffic.”
“Then I’ll drive, and I’ll wait in the car, and you and Gertrude can shop without me. What the hell is your problem?”
I’m half-naked and you like it. I don’t want to have dinner with these people. I have to sleep with you tonight. I can’t do this.
“Nothing.”
He blew out a short, exasperated breath and then said in a carefully modulated voice, “I’ll chalk this up to nerves. You look beautiful. Let’s go.”
On the drive, he reminded me we were interviewing the Confections people as much as they were interviewing us. He’d handle business. I was to put on my public persona: Be modest, be charming, be confident, but don’t be cocky.
“And don’t sulk.”
I slouched in my seat.
The restaurant was his kind of place, clubby, all dark wood and leather. We arrived before our hosts and were shown to a round table in the middle of the room, a see-and-be-seen location. Daddy ordered a bourbon for himself, a sparkling water for me.
Our hosts, a woman with silver hair styled in a severe pageboy and a young man with shaggy blond hair, arrived before the drinks did. She made the introductions—Elise, vice president of marketing, and Tanner, director of marketing. But Tanner’s real job, the one he was uniquely suited for, was to make me miss Will with breathtaking intensity.
He sat to my left, and if I didn’t look at him directly, he could have been Will. Peripherally, his hair looked exactly like Will’s. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to reach over and run my fingers through it. I wondered if he’d kiss like Will.
No point in thinking about that. I’d gotten my horse back by the skin of my teeth.
He and Elise had read The Book on Eventing, and they asked informed questions. Before the waiter even took our order, they’d fallen under the sway of Daddy’s passion and expertise. He feigned self-deprecation so well that I almost forgot who he was.
Tanner sampled the wine and nodded to the waiter, who started to pour a glass for me.
“No—” I began.
“She’s sixteen,” Daddy said.
“Oh. I’m sorry, sir.”
I met Daddy’s eyes as the waiter moved on to the other glasses. I was pretty sure he’d never ask me to wear this stupid dress again.
“You asked how we came up with the name Confections,” Tanner said to Daddy. “We wanted something sweet, and in making the products we’ve used derivatives from plants that are commonly associated with confections—cocoa, vanilla, nuts, coconut, honey, sugar.”
“Honey’s not a plant,” I said.
He chuckled. “I like that. You’re unfiltered.”
Right.
“We want everything to be appropriate for our market, not only the products but also the way they’re represented. That’s why it’s important to choose a spokesperson who’s a genuine role model.”
Elise nodded. “We know a lot more about you than we did when your name came up at our marketing meeting nine weeks ago.”
“The Clox ads are genius,” Tanner said.
“I just did what they told me to.” Namely, that had involved wearing two dozen sports watches on each arm while spread-eagled in the doorway of a specially constructed stall in a studio in Chicago, which hardly seemed like genius.
“Not everyone has such a compelling relationship with the camera. You come by it honestly, though,” he said, acknowledging Daddy. “We saw some of your work.”
Daddy gave an affable wave. “That was a long time ago.”
Over the main course, the conversation turned to Bluegrass. While Daddy answered Elise’s questions, I focused on my lamb chops and wished Will were at the table instead of Tanner.
“You’d rather be riding than sitting here, wouldn’t you?” Tanner asked.
It was better to look at him directly. Straight on, he resembled Will less.
“I’d always rather be riding,” I said.
“Do you enjoy modeling?”
“I’d rather be riding.”
He laughed—not Will’s laugh.
Daddy lifted one eyebrow a fraction of a centimeter, an almost invisible warning, but he’d said this was like an interview, and I’d been asked a question. I couldn’t sit in silence.
I sipped my fizzy water. “Where will Confections be sold?”
“We’ll have no trouble getting into boutiques, but we’re in negotiations with a couple of department stores. We hope an association with the right spokesperson will get us there.”
“Wouldn’t you be better off with a real celebrity?”
“Celebrities aren’t as real as you might think. Some people have a lot of style but not much substance to back it up. We want both. You’ve actually achieved something. But it doesn’t hurt that you have two successful campaigns to your credit—or that your skin is incredible.”
&n
bsp; “Soap and water.”
“There’s that refreshing quality again.”
Daddy’s conversation with Elise had tapered off. “Where do you plan on running the campaign?”
Tanner nodded toward Elise. “This is in your ballpark.”
She rattled off a list of magazines. “We’re launching in September, so we’ll shoot in late June, primarily in New York, but we also plan on some location shooting. Everyone says your farm is very picturesque.”
That should have been Daddy’s opening to talk about Rosemont, but he said only, “It is.”
“With your permission, we’ll send over samples of the entire line. If Roan likes the products, all we have to do is draw up a contract that meets with your approval, Monty.”
She and Tanner looked pleased. I was surprised Daddy didn’t. I’d all but nailed the contract, another win for him and his clever management of my career.
“That’ll be fine.” He took a business card from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to Elise. “I’m sorry to cut the evening short, but we’ve had a long day, and we have an early morning. Thank you.” He was already standing up, holding the back of my chair.
I’d wanted dessert, but I stood up. “Good night.” I shook Elise’s hand. “Thank you.” I started to extend my hand to Tanner, but Daddy took my arm and turned me around with a genial but firm “Good night” to our hosts.
We’d barely made it outside before he said, “I won’t have this.”
“Sir?”
“You. Coming on to that man. I won’t have it.”
I gaped. “What are you talking about?”
He marched me through the parking lot and opened the passenger door of the Land Cruiser, slamming it behind me. The sound jolted through me. In the side mirror, I watched as he stalked around the back of the car.
He started the engine and reversed out of the space. We lurched forward with a shift in gear as abrupt as his change in mood, the streetlights casting shadows across his face.
“That man is at least thirty years old. I won’t have this, Roan.”
“How was I coming on to him?”
“You know how. The way you looked at him. Crossing your legs. Letting your hem ride up your thigh.”
Dark Horses Page 25