“Who’s the lucky lady? Is she here? Does she ride? Will she be here this weekend?”
Jared’s grin never wavered. “Okay, I may not answer your questions in order, but I’ll do the best I can. Yes, the lady is here, and you most certainly will have a chance to meet her. Yes, she rides. In fact, she’ll be riding a horse we affectionately call Raj, because his registered name is in Arabic and I never have been able to pronounce it correctly. Raj is a black stallion, the foundation stallion for the Arabian horses raised here at Morgan’s Walk. Just over there”—Jared pointed toward the arena—“is Bahadur, you’ll want to remember the name because he’s Raj’s son. We expect great things from that little guy one of these days. He’s not usually stabled here, but we want to give his mom some peace. He’s old enough to be weaned and we find it’s less stressful on everyone to keep them apart until he’s not so dependent on his mom. Plus, Bahadur is an attention hound and the students give him lots of TLC. I think someone shared a vanilla cone with him earlier today. We don’t make it a practice of feeding ice cream to the horses, but once in a while…” Jared shrugged. “I heard he liked it and looked for another, so consider yourselves warned.”
There was a little light laughter. A reporter standing close to Tyndal asked, “The colt is cute, but nothing sells like romance, so… Who’s the lady? What’s her name?”
“That’s right, thanks for reminding me. I did promise to tell you. Fionola Morgan is one of the finest ladies I know. She’s been part of my life since I was a kid. She’ll skin me for telling you this, but I just love that woman.” Coldly, Jared stared at the reporter who’d asked the question.
“As for who else I love, that’s not up for discussion. Sorry folks, that’s about all I have time for today. If you still have more questions about the horses, we’ll be doing a briefing every morning during the Classic.”
As more questions were asked, Tyndal shot him a quick smile, offered a thumbs-up for support, and turned into the main barn. Each stall at Morgan’s Walk had the typical double door construction, and most of the time, the top half was left open. By nature, horses were curious and liked to watch whatever was happening. Most of them enjoyed visitors. Bhetami nickered when she caught sight of Tyndal. A few others poked their noses out, likely hoping for food.
Tyndal relaxed, breathed in the scents of horse, alfalfa, and leather, and smiled. She was on her way to Bhetami when a woman’s sharp voice cut in.
“You there! Barn girl! Stop whatever it is you’re doing and help me with this wretched horse. He’s most uncooperative.”
Tyndal glanced up the long hallway. Someone should have been in the barn to handle visitors, but likely they were working in the main arena.
“Well? Is it going to take you all day or what? Maybe I should call Jared and have him find a suitable groom for me. I don’t know what the problem is around here. No one met me when I arrived, and other than you, I haven’t seen any of the staff.”
“Sorry. We’re spread a little thin right now. If you’ll tell me your name, I’ll call the reception center. I’m sure someone can help you with whatever you need.” Determined to be pleasant, Tyndal slid Bhetami’s bridle back onto its peg. The woman was irritating but maybe gorgeous women could get away with having an attitude. Even at Morgan’s Walk, silk shirts and tailor-made jackets were fairly common. But what wasn’t common was the woman’s face. She was the image of an exotic porcelain doll, having almost perfect features and blonde hair that fell to her shoulders.
Tyndal usually wasn’t the envious type, but there was no comparison with this woman’s face to the one she saw in her mirror every morning. She sighed and pulled her cap lower.
“I said I need help now. Are you coming or is there something you’re doing that’s more important?”
“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll be right there.”
The woman looked at her watch. “I’ve waited a ridiculous amount of time already. I really don’t know what’s wrong with this place. Over here and quickly.” The woman gestured toward a stall. “Move this horse somewhere else.” She shoved a halter and lead-rope into Tyndal’s hands and stepped back. “I would do it myself but he’s poorly trained with a remarkably unpleasant attitude. He’s most disagreeable.”
****
Tyndal stared at a very put-out Raj. He tossed his head and kicked at the wall. “Did you teach Bahadur that trick? I bet you did.” She walked to the stallion and rubbed his forehead, unable to do anything but grin at the outraged horse. “She says you’re most disagreeable, do you know that?”
His enormous eyes spat fire as the woman paced back and forth. “It’s okay, sweetheart. If she comes back in and bothers you again, bite her.”
For a moment, she thought he looked hopeful.
When she was little, Chase told her all kinds of legends and stories of the Bedouin. Of how only a foolish soul made an enemy of a desert-bred stallion. Such horses were prized for their courage, for that almost human quality of how they loved—or hated—with equal intensity. Raj was a direct descendant.
Tyndal rubbed his neck a few minutes more, and then faced the woman waiting in the hallway. Raj moved in step with her.
“I’m sorry, Miss. I apologize for what seems to be a stabling mistake. This horse belongs here and is not to be moved. Farm policy. I don’t know if you have a reservation, but there’s a stall available in the next barn over. I could, perhaps, show you that one?”
“No, you perhaps may not. I do have space reserved and I want my horse stabled away from the others. He needs to rest. He needs the room of this stall. I’ve noticed this one is the largest here. Remove that animal!”
“As I said, Miss, this is his stall.” Tyndal wanted to grit her teeth. The woman tried her patience.
“Then we’ll just see about that, won’t we? I insist on speaking with Jared.” Her ice-blue eyes pierced like a sharp blade.
“Fine. I’ll be happy to find him for you. May I say who wants to see him?”
“Tell him Sasha is here.” She tossed her hair, then brushed it back from her flawless face, sending its blonde length sparkling into a dance. “I’m his fiancée.”
Tyndal, for lack of a better description, felt the air leave her lungs. It was at least a gentle way to die. Her heart, after that first searing pain, merely stopped beating. She sagged against Raj, tried to remember how to breathe.
His fiancée? How could that be? She had to be lying.
After all the time he’d spent with her, after all his wonderful words, his whispered promises, Jared was engaged to this stunning woman?
No!
Everything within her screamed out against that unbelievable claim. He couldn’t be engaged. He wouldn’t do this to her. Surely he wouldn’t. He’d left her once. But he’d explained why. Now he was home. She’d trusted him once. She trusted him again. He wouldn’t make a fool of her twice. No!
And then, as her whirling thoughts centered on a memory, everything went silent. Engaged?
Of course he was. It was true.
She’d forgotten the details. The press had made such a big deal out of it too. Sasha Nikolaevna Tarasova was the premier rider on the Russian Equestrian Team. She took silver to Jared’s gold at the World Cup. According to the articles, they’d been together since. Their engagement photo appeared in every newspaper.
So much for not keeping secrets. Tyndal wondered, as bitter tears fought for release, if she’d been the joke of the year to him. How could she have been so blind, so totally brainless? Worse, how had she let herself become vulnerable…again? She had to get herself under control. Had to find a way to stop the bleed long enough to find someplace to be alone.
She absolutely refused to shed a tear, especially in front of this woman who waited, so eager to be escorted to Jared. She couldn’t imagine seeing him share that gentle, welcoming smile she’d believed he reserved especially for her—not with this woman. It would break her heart.
No, she thought after a moment. It wouldn’
t.
That was already done.
“Are you sick or something? I want this situation resolved. Since you won’t move that horse, I’ll speak with your boss. Perhaps he can override your ‘farm policy.’ And if you don’t know where Jared is, just say so. I’m sure I can find someone around here that does.”
“Sorry. I got a little dizzy. It’s been a long day.” Leaning against Raj, Tyndal straightened, gave him an absent pat, seeing the dark, liquid eyes focused on her. If the Bedouins chose their warhorses carefully, they’d have loved Raj. Intuitive and fearless, he sensed a battle was being fought. She didn’t tell him it was over.
“Jared is finishing an interview. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to him.” She wondered what she’d say. “Jared, let me introduce you to Sasha?”
As if his fiancée needed an introduction.
As if he’d wait for one.
In the end, it was Sasha herself who solved the dilemma, dismissing Tyndal with a flick of her wrist when she caught sight of the crowd and the cameras. Sasha walked to Jared, pressed close against his side—as if she belonged there—and slipped her arm through his.
“Jared, darling.” She laughed, that gorgeous face glowing. “I’ve come back. I knew this would be a wonderful surprise for you.” Sasha tossed her head, laughed again. “My handsome lion, you’re as magnificent as ever.” She reached for him, slid her long, jeweled fingers through his hair, kissed him deep and slow.
The photographers and reporters went wild, they snapped pictures, shouted questions like crazy. Sasha smiled, wrapped her arms boldly around Jared. She turned to the press and gave a statement. Tyndal heard every word.
“Jared asked me to marry him years ago and I agreed to the engagement, even though I was much too young for such a major commitment. His love for me, even then, was so strong. I knew it was the kind to last forever, that he would wait. And as you see, he has!” Sasha tossed her long hair, its thick mass floated around her face as she kissed him again.
The reporters continued to ask questions. Only one of her answers held any interest to Tyndal, and that information was minor in its importance.
She’d ride for the Russian delegation during the Classic. When Jared and Sasha walked out of the room together, the reporters were already calling it the story of the year.
****
Sasha tossed her jacket across a chair and opened first couple of buttons on her shirt, enough so Jared could see the pale, rounded flesh beneath. He hadn’t said anything yet, but she knew not to push. He locked the door when he found a vacant office, and turned to her. She’d have to be blind and dumb not to know his anger was barely contained. But men’s anger could be turned to passion if a woman was smart enough, or strong enough. If he were interested, she’d open another few buttons. Since the sofa appeared comfortable, she sat, leaned back and patted the cushion next to her. God, she was having fun.
“Jared, my dear, I assume you have something to say? I’d hoped you’d welcome me rather than act as if I were some criminal. That stone-faced expression of yours wasn’t exactly great press, you know. You used to be so much more inventive.” She leaned forward, trailed a long, manicured fingertip up his sleeve, and her top revealed even more.
“Hands off, Sasha. What’s with all the crap you shoveled out there?”
“My, my, aren’t you the rude one.” She straightened, feeling a trace of fear at what streaked across his face. She’d lit the fuse, and knew it’d take very little to set off an explosion. Jared had always been volatile, but not dangerous. Not like what just moved in his eyes.
“Seems you’ve changed, Jared darling. Still, we have our history. I know you. I know how you like to be touched, to be loved…” She lingered on the word, touched her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Even now”—she fingered a button on her shirt—“look at you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so delightfully aroused. But anger and fury can invite other passions…” She wanted to laugh at his expression.
“You’re a man of strong, powerful feelings. You had feelings for me once. I know that a man of such power may find it hard to forgive, shall we say, my little indiscretion, but such things happen among consenting adults.”
“Sasha, I don’t care about your indiscretion or whatever you call it. You made your choice. I’m fine with it. I’m not fine with the scene you made out there.”
“Scene? That, my dear, hardly qualified as a scene. But I do wonder, would any of this involve that little mouse I met in the barn?” Her eyes mocked his. “You always were a sucker for the small, sweet type.” She held her hands up to the light, frowned when she discovered a tiny chip in her manicure. “That idiot stallion ruined my nail. Oh well. He provided me an opportunity to meet your charming Tyndal. We had such a nice conversation too. Though I noticed she seemed upset with our little reunion. I can’t imagine why. Everybody knows what we mean to one another.”
“Sasha, trust me when I say you should save it for somebody who believes a word that comes out of your mouth. I know you too. You want something or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Want? Why, darling, naturally I want something.” She smiled, reaching for him once more. “I thought that was clear. You. I want you.”
The look in his eyes almost made her want to check to see if she had dirt on her hands. She didn’t live in a tenement anymore. Nobody could remind her of those days. She’d taken the opportunity, she’d trained with the best and had become even better. The only time she’d ever lost was to Jared.
He’d walked away with the gold. His horse. His skill.
Her obstacle. She eyed the man and wondered how it would feel to see him stripped of all that arrogance. She’d know soon enough. “Fine, then. Let’s talk business.” She slipped on her jacket, buttoned up her shirt. “I’m here for the Classic. I intend to win. I need to win. Then, we could part as friends. Is that simple enough for you?”
“What? Has the Russian team had enough? I have to admit, it’s been entertaining to hear of your escapades. I’d guess they’re quite embarrassed over you by now.”
“You fool!” She blazed at him. “You could have had me. I called, begged for your forgiveness. I left you, yes. I was blinded, but only for a moment. It didn’t take me long, not long at all to learn the Count was half the man you are. I begged you to understand, to forgive. We could have made a life together. We could have been the toast of the world.”
****
Jared didn’t bother to suppress the laugh. “There we go. That sounds more like you. It was you who cared about being the ‘toast of the world.’ It took me too much time to figure you out, to learn what was really important to you. How long did it take for you to discover you couldn’t survive on your husband’s bank account? What you wanted, Countess, was the title. And the so-called prestige that went with it. It was just too bad you didn’t discover the guy was broke until after you married him. Repairing what was left of his family home must have been expensive. He probably enjoyed spending that little nest egg you’d collected over the years. Sasha, this is boring. You said something about the Russian Team?”
“They told me if I win, all will be forgiven. So you realize my situation. I’ll do anything to insure a win. And Jared—”her voice thickened—“be sure you understand. I mean what I say. Absolutely anything.”
She met his eyes then and he saw both fear and a terrible pride in her expression. “Regardless…” She moved to look out the window. “What’s it to you? You’re not riding. You have nothing to lose, or gain. I’ve checked who’s here, and there’s really no significant competition.”
During the years since their last unpleasant meeting, he’d learned she could be lethal. He wondered if she knew he could be ruthless. He’d protect what was his—Tyndal, Fionola, the honor of Morgan’s Walk. He’d watched as Tyndal shattered word by word before his eyes. If he could, he would have denied then and there everything Sasha said. But to Sasha, truth hardly mattered. If she knew about his feelings fo
r Tyndal, she wouldn’t hesitate to force her into the spectacle, humiliating her in front of the world. She’d cast Tyndal as “the other woman” and bring a horde of reporters in to ferret out every last sordid detail. Which, true or false, Sasha would happily provide. And looking at her now was like comparing darkness to light. Chase’s words came to mind. You take care of my girls, son.
He intended to.
“You know, Sasha, I doubt the Russian team is quite as forgiving as you think. Your first mistake was your assumption that Pyralis and I aren’t entered. If you choose to compete, it’ll be legal and judged by a team not influenced by anything other than skill. You should read who the evaluators are this year. They know you too. That, my dear, you should understand.
“One more thing”—he paused until she looked at him—“the reason why-to use your words…such a thing is an issue is because it’s all about integrity. A quality you wouldn’t recognize.” He needed to find some fresh air. Her perfume was nauseating. He put his hand on the door.
“Then, Jared darling, I should tell you I hope your Tyndal is stronger than she appears. She seemed quite ill when I shared a few things about my wonderful fiancée.” Sasha’s smile was malicious. “You seem to forget I’m skilled in creating whatever I want someone to believe.” She walked to him. Touched her nails to his face. “I could leave a mark right there on that handsome face of yours. But I think I’ll go for touching you here.” She tapped him lightly on the chest. “Think about it.”
She walked out the door without another word.
It was like a snake slithered by his heart, Sasha and all her venom. Jared locked Tyndal’s office, then climbed the hill to sit beside Chase’s grave. It was the one place he figured he could be alone.
Fionola’s roses were in bloom and from the telltale pieces of cloth tied to tree limbs and around the headstone, the Lakota still took time to visit, to offer prayers in this place of prayer and memories. He sat in silence, wondered if Tyndal was lost to him. Sasha would eventually tire of her game, but until then? Tyndal would be hurt. She was already hurt. He’d seen her tears. He saw it in her face. How could she ever trust him now?
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