Fool's Gold

by Sarah Madison

  Force of habit woke Jake at six-thirty the next morning. He had a brief period of disorientation, in which he couldn’t figure out where he was or why there was someone snoring softly next to him. An abortive movement brought it all back: Kryptonite dumping him into the fence, the overnight stay at the hotel, the attempted conversation with Rich. Every muscle in his body protested. He was tempted to snuggle up against Rich’s warmth and close his eyes for another couple of hours. Stifling a groan so as not to wake Rich, he forced himself to get up. As expected, he felt worse today than he had last night, and the knowledge he could only take ibuprofen for the drive home made him cringe inside. It was going to be a long day.

  Jake sat on the edge of the bed for a moment before making himself get up. Sometime during the night, Rich must have gotten hot and had kicked away the covers. He lay on his left side, curled toward Jake, and with his injured leg nestled on top of the blankets, Jake got a good look at it for the first time.

  It didn’t look nearly as bad as Jake had feared. Sure, there was less muscle and some scarring from the surgery. His ankle was a little crooked; probably why it was hard to walk or ride. No matter. It was the way things were now. It was a part of Rich, like his smile, and his temper, and his wicked sense of humor.

  A strong surge of compassion swept over Jake, and more than anything, he wanted to touch Rich, to tell him with his fingers and lips how beautiful he still found Rich to be, how much he craved Rich’s touch in return. The temptation to brush the hair from the back of Rich’s neck was strong, especially since it looked as though he was letting it grow out again.

  Instead he got out of bed. The first couple of steps were bad as he walked over to where he’d hung his clothes to dry, but the more he moved, the less painful he became. As he picked up his breeches, a sock dropped to the floor. Without a second thought, he bent down to pick it up.

  The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, dry-heaving as the room spun.

  Vertigo. That sneaky sonofabitch had sucker-punched him when he wasn’t looking. He lay on the floor, waiting for the room to stop spinning. It was a horrible feeling. Fortunately, his little spell didn’t seem to wake Rich. He’d have to stop by a pharmacy and pick up some anti-vertigo meds, despite their tendency to make him drowsy. He had horses to drive home today. He couldn’t afford to have the world spin while he was driving.

  Or riding either, for that matter.

  He couldn’t think about that now though. What mattered now was getting home in one piece.

  Once dressed, he left Rich a note in case he woke while Jake was gone. After finding the car keys in the pocket of Rich’s now-dry khakis, Jake went to check on the horses.

  He had just swallowed a dose of anti-vertigo medication outside the grocery store when his cell phone chirped, indicating a text.

  Horses ok? It was from Rich.

  Fine, fed, ready to load and hit the road, Jake texted back.

  If you’d woken me, we could have left directly from the hotel, Rich texted.

  Jake didn’t answer.

  Neither of them was in the mood for much conversation when Jake got back to the hotel. Rich had checked out already, and their few belongings were packed and ready to go. Once they grabbed stale bagels and some coffee from the meager free breakfast buffet, Rich drove them back to the Horse Center. After they loaded the horses without incident, silence fell between them, save when they needed to impart information to each other. Halfway home they coordinated by phone a single stop to fuel the van and let Jake stock up on junk food to stay awake on the road. Rich gave him a hard time about eating garbage as an athlete in training, but he loaded up on coffee himself. The morning felt like it would never end, but by one p.m. they pulled between the familiar gates and up to the stable doors. The previous day’s fall and the long drive had taken its toll; Jake could hardly get out of the cab. Everything had stiffened up during the hours behind the wheel.

  Tom met them at the barn door, his niece Carolyn hovering anxiously at his elbow. Jake thought he looked even paler and more tired than before, which sent a stab of fear through his heart. Not Tom. He needed Tom.

  “You look like crap,” Tom said, echoing his own thoughts. “What happened at the water jump?”

  The barn grapevine was obviously working well. No doubt Tom had wanted to know why they’d chosen not to return yesterday, and Becky had told him Jake had taken a fall. Jake explained what Kryptonite had done as the Angels mercifully appeared out of nowhere and began unloading the horses and their assorted gear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rich lurching his way in their direction. The long road trip had played havoc with him as well.

  “We’ll work on it.” Rich raised his voice so it would carry as he made his way over to them. “Tomorrow we’ll—”

  “Tomorrow Jake will see his massage therapist.” Tom’s word was final, cutting off the protests from both Jake and Rich. “After that, we’ll see.”

  Tom walked off to look over the horses, leaving Jake and Rich eyeing each other uncomfortably.

  “I don’t know about you, but I feel as though I just got grounded for a week.” Rich watched Carolyn flutter in Tom’s wake. His mouth twisted in a grimace. “What happened to me being in charge?”

  Jake chuckled. “I guess you’re only in charge so long as you don’t break the rider.”

  “Hey! Not my fault you didn’t stay on the horse.”

  Jake opened his mouth to say something sharp in reply, but Tom called out to them.

  “Boys! These horses aren’t going to put themselves away.”

  Both of them jumped to attention. It was as if someone had rolled back the clock. Jake shot a glance at Rich, and for a split second saw that grin of old, the one that invited him to see the humor in the situation. What could he do but smile back? They snickered as they walked down to the end of the van and joined the others. Some things never changed.

  With the help of the Angels, they soon had everything unloaded and put back in place. A thrill of satisfaction rippled through Jake as he watched The Moose gallop away with a playful buck as she rejoined her herd mates in the field. Tom believed horses were better off in paddocks than stalls, and they turned the horses out as much as possible, even during the show season.

  Rich came up behind him as he stood at the fence, one foot on the bottom rail as he watched the horses.

  “I’m headed home. You have an appointment tomorrow with your massage therapist. Why didn’t you tell me you had a history of neck issues?” Rich’s brows were tight with anger and the corners of his mouth pulled down.

  Jake shrugged and had to hide the wince the action triggered. ‘”It’s nothing new. I thought you knew about it.” You seem to know so much about me already. “It’s not that bad. The fall just aggravated it a bit, that’s all.”

  If he was lucky, he was telling the truth.

  “Tom’s right, we need to get you checked out tomorrow and see what they say before planning the rest of the week. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You asked, I refused. You have nothing to blame yourself for there.”

  “It’s my job as trainer to see that you do what is best for you. Someone with a potential head injury is not the best person to be making decisions for himself. I should have insisted. Next time, if there is a next time, I will insist.”

  There was nothing Jake could say that wouldn’t somehow call to mind Rich’s injuries, or make it look as though Jake was making light of his own.

  “Right, then.” Rich looked around, clearly at a loss for what he should be doing next. He shoved one hand in his pocket and leaned on the other. “I’m headed out. I’ll phone tomorrow for an update and we’ll go from there.”

  Jake turned away from the fence. Beyond the barn, he could see the roof of his father’s house, where there was a swimming pool and a Jacuzzi, both of which would go a long way toward making him feel better this afternoon. It would probably help Rich too. “How long does it take you to get home from
here?”

  Rich frowned, as if uncertain where Jake was going with this. “About an hour, a little less on the weekends. Depends on traffic. Why?”

  Jake hesitated. This was probably the stupidest idea he’d ever had. Only Rich looked so tired. Hell, what was he thinking? What if Rich had a boyfriend he went home to every night? Somehow, Jake doubted it. If he had, surely Rich would have mentioned him by now, right? Still, what would it hurt to offer? Hadn’t they established that they were both adults and the past was the past? “Do you have to go back and forth every day? Can’t someone oversee your other horses in training right now? Having you here fulltime would be a big help to Tom and save you a lot of road time too. I mean to catch Carolyn alone and see how Tom is doing. He looks like crap.”

  Rich just looked at him blankly.

  “The house is practically a hotel. There’s plenty of room.”

  It had nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with Rich. Nothing.

  “You’re insane.” Rich’s voice was flat, though with anger or annoyance, Jake couldn’t tell. “Do you want to make your dad go apeshit on you?”

  Jake couldn’t help it; he grinned. “That would be just one of the perks.”

  “I can’t stay here with you. That would be asking for trouble.” Rich’s expression was dark, and Jake couldn’t help feeling a small sense of gratification that Rich had acknowledged staying in the same house would increase the temptation for both of them. “Besides, I have a cat.”

  “The Brain? You still have him? Bring him along.”

  “His name is Brainchild, and yes, of course, I still have him. It was eight years, not eight decades. What do you think I would’ve done with him?” Rich bristled, his hand tightening on his cane.

  There were so many places Jake could have gone with that comment in light of the way Rich had dropped him back then, but he chose to back off instead. “I’m just making an offer. Bring the cat if you want. Save yourself two hours of driving time every day. You can have a whole suite to yourself if you want it. If you need to, you can go out to your stables once a week to check on things, but we’re getting down to the wire now. Rolex isn’t that far off. Besides, you’re going to be traveling with me all over the world soon.”

  Rich chewed at his lower lip a moment. He hesitated, cleared his throat, and then lifted his chin the way he used to do whenever he felt challenged. “Okay, I have two cats.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Dude, you’re gonna turn into a stereotype if you don’t watch out.”

  To his surprise, Rich sighed. “I know, but you know how it is around barns. Cats just show up. And he was so small, I could hold him in my hands.” Rich cupped his hands, miming holding a kitten, the handle of his cane hooked over his thumb. “He was loaded with fleas, and he was a rack of bones. Nobody else wanted him.”

  Jake ducked his head to hide his smile. Rich had always been a sucker for cats, the mangier, the better. No matter how you looked at it, there was still plenty of room. Hell, the cats could have their own floor. “Well, bring them both. I’ve got the space, and we’ll tell the staff not to let them outside. What do you call this one?”

  Rich turned red. “He’s not very bright. And he’s sort of this pinkish, light tan color.”

  “You didn’t. You did!” Jake hooted with laughter. “You named him Pinky, didn’t you?”

  Rich grinned back. “Well, if the shoe fits….”

  Jake opened his mouth, only to have Rich bump him with a fist to the side.

  “Don’t you dare sing the theme song. If I end up with that as an earworm all weekend, I will hurt you,” Rich promised.

  “But it’s Pinky. Pinky and the Brain.”

  Rich narrowed his eyes in a mock-glare.

  Without any discussion, they turned as one and began walking toward the parking lot. “We’ve got a lot to do before Rolex,” Rich conceded. “We won’t be here all that much longer. Before you know it, we’ll be shipping the horses to Kentucky. I hope I don’t have to fight with you over using professional shippers in the future.”

  Jake shook his head. “I’m not stupid, Rich. I know I can’t always drive the rig. It’s just when I can, I prefer it, okay?”

  Their eyes met for a moment. Rich gave a silent nod.

  Thank God, he gets it.

  They reached the Forrester, and Rich hesitated before entering the car.

  “Fix things up on your end so you can come back and stay here. At least until we get through Rolex.” Jake was surprised at how badly he wanted Rich to come back, even though it was going to be strictly platonic between them, he reminded himself sternly.

  Rich tapped his fingers a couple of times along the frame of the car door without looking at him. “Okay,” he said with a nod. When he looked up, his smile was beautiful to behold, lighting his entire face. “But just until Rolex.”

  The days before Rolex flew by in a flurry of activity. Rowan, the massage therapist, had made grumbling noises over the state of Jake’s neck and shoulders, referring to them as bands of steel that needed serious work before Jake left for the event in Kentucky. Jake persuaded her to come to the house daily to work on him, and somehow managed to get Rich to let her work on his leg as well. She soon forgot to lecture Jake and began fussing at Rich instead. No matter, Rich seemed to be moving better for the muscle work, even if he had drawn the line at taking up yoga, despite Rowan’s insistence.

  Rich had meshed into the household almost seamlessly. Jake had given him a suite of rooms so they had no chance of running into each other in the bathroom, and the cats were relatively contained. The Brain was as grumpy as Jake remembered: a big, green-eyed, white cat that preferred to be left alone. Pinky, on the other hand, was ridiculously affectionate and insisted on draping himself across Jake’s lap when he and Rich were relaxing at the end of the day. Jake promptly renamed him Jell-O because he didn’t seem to have any bones.

  Rich had an absurd collection of taped performances from major events, and when Jake realized they weren’t all of him, it made him feel a bit better about that first day when Rich had brought up file after file of Jake on camera. It had taken some convincing for Rich to give up watching hours of competition every evening, however. Jake had reluctantly eliminated his nightly glass of wine and cut back on the carbs under the strictures of training, and Rich had exchanged recordings of sporting events for an hour or two of Burn Notice or White Collar.

  Thank God for Netflix. Without the service, Jake would probably never watch any television at all. As it was, he was usually five or six years behind the current season.

  Jake enjoyed having Rich and the cats in the house. Even the staff seemed pleased to have someone else to take care of. Martha volunteered to feed the cats when they left for Rolex. She and Jake shared a conspiratorial smile when Rich had handed her an entire page of instructions.

  Once or twice, Jake had thought of emailing his father to let him know about the substitution in trainers, but it never seemed like the right time. It was possible Jake was selling his father short, but whenever he saw Tom pick at his lunch with a wan appetite, or Rich enthusiastically laying out their plans for the next day, and Jake would think there was no rush. His father could wait.

  Wait until after Rolex. If he could present a good ride there, he could prove everything was under control and that Rich was the right trainer for the job.

  Carolyn wasn’t very forthcoming when Jake tried to talk to her about Tom, but he’d gotten the impression Tom was doing as well as could be expected. Though there had never been any question about Tom traveling to Kentucky with them, he still felt a moment of sinking depression when Tom said he wasn’t going to Rolex.

  “I’ll have better seats on my couch,” Tom said. Neither he nor Jake acknowledged how strange it felt for Tom to stay behind.

  Molly ended up slipping in the mud during turnout and strained a tendon, so she was out of the running for Rolex and probably the Games as well. Rich was right about her. She was a n
ice little mare, but she wasn’t quite cut out for the top levels. Once she was sound again, Foxden Farms, Inc. should probably sell her.

  They shipped the horses without incident. Becky drove a couple of the Angels down with her while Rich rode with Jake. It was gratifying to see how many people had asked after Tom, yet were pleased to see Rich as well. The weather for Rolex couldn’t have been more perfect. Kentucky was further along with the march into spring than Virginia, but the weather was still mild and pleasant. Kryptonite and The Moose were as fit as they could be, their coats glossy with health over sleek muscles.

  Even though the sport was still referred to as “three-day eventing,” most competitions took place over four days, with the first two devoted to dressage, and cross-country on the third day. The fourth day was devoted to show jumping, in which the horses performed in the reverse order of their previous scores.

  Having a good dressage score was critical to winning. Each movement in the test was scored on a scale from zero to ten, with the total score depending on the number of elements and the difficulty of the test itself. The marks were then added together, converted to penalty points, and subtracted from the total number of possible points for the given test. Because of this convoluted scoring system in eventing, the lower the dressage score, the better the rank. This was completely the opposite for horses who competed strictly in dressage competitions: they wanted high scores, not low. Jake never failed to be amused that some dressage riders considered “eventing dressage” as an inferior practice of the sport.

  Many riders rode more than one horse at these events and were typically given dressage ride times on separate days. On the first day at Rolex, Kryptonite turned in a disappointing score, blowing a counter-canter transition and compounding the problem by getting pissy about it. Jake was sitting in fifteenth place after his dressage test on the chestnut gelding.