Fool's Gold

by Sarah Madison

  The scores at the end of the second day of dressage had been the real shocker. Newcomer Allison Klein was in first place, followed closely by William Branley. Karen Wilcox was up there on the leader board too. The Moose had entered the dressage arena with controlled elegance, and together she and Jake had turned in a score of 45.9—enough to put them in seventh place. Not bad for her CCI Four Star competition. Her score would have been even lower had she not anticipated a transition and stepped into the next movement before it was time.

  On the third day of competition, they were just getting ready to leave the barn with Kryptonite for the cross-country course when Jake’s cell phone rang out “The Imperial March” from Star Wars.

  “What the hell?” Rich whipped his head around at the sound. “Don’t answer that. Why do you have your cell anyway? Give me that.” He snapped his fingers and held out his hand.

  “I forgot I still had it on me.” Jake had been halfway wishing Tom would call or else he’d have left the phone in the car. “It’s my father. He’s probably calling to wish me luck.”

  “Darth Vader’s theme for your dad? Nice. Don’t answer it.”

  Jake picked up the call before the phone rolled over into voice mail.

  “Why the hell am I just finding out about Tom’s cancer and a change in coaches on national television?”

  His father’s angry voice came across the speaker so loudly that Jake pulled the phone away from his ear and Becky, who was following behind with a grooming kit and fly spray, winced.

  “Father.” Jake tried to keep his cool, but his blood began to pound in his veins. Shit. “I meant to call you the other night, but you know how it is before a competition. So much to do, so little time.” He realized belatedly that he sounded flippant, and he tried to continue. “Look, my ride’s coming up, let me—”

  “Then I’ll be brief. Let me make myself perfectly clear. I do not authorize the substitution. If you need a trainer, we’ll find you one. A good one, someone qualified to take you to the Olympics. I’m sure Mr. Wexford is available. But if you think—”

  “You can’t expect someone of Johnny Wexford’s caliber to drop everything to be a personal trainer to an Olympic wannabe.” Jake glanced at Rich as he spoke. The shuttered expression on his face made Jake realize he was handling this all wrong, that by belittling himself, he’d just insulted Rich as well. He immediately changed tactics. “I trust Rich. He knows Tom’s ways, he knows me, and he knows the horse. This is the right choice, Dad.”

  “If you persist in training with Richard Evans, you’ll find yourself in need of a new stable and a home as well, do you understand me? I won’t fund your deviant—”

  Rich snatched the phone out of Jake’s hand. “This is neither the time nor the place, Mr. Stanford.” Damn. Jake loved it when Rich went all badass. “Your son’s about to go cross-country. You want to have this discussion with him? Fine. Wait until after he qualifies for the Games. I won’t have you distracting him now.”

  “You won’t…. Why you worthless little faggot!” Jake could hear his father’s outraged voice even from this distance. “I won’t let you ruin my son’s chances for a gold medal by hanging on to his coattails and dragging him down into the muck with you! If you’ll recall, we had—”

  They never got the chance to find out what his father was going to say next because Rich hurled the phone down the aisle. It bounced off a bale of hay, startling the horse in the next stall, and landed with a plop in a bucket of water.

  Rich and Jake stood looking at the bucket. Kryptonite snorted and tossed his head.

  “Goddamn it, Rich, that was an iPhone!”

  “I’ll buy you another.” Rich ran his hand through his hair, giving it a tug, even as one of the Angels darted forward and fished the phone out of the bucket. She tried ineffectually to dry it off on her shirttail. Rich turned to Jake. “Put the call out of your mind. Go ride your horse.”

  “I won’t let him—”

  “Later. Ride now, okay? Let it go.”

  Easier said than done. Jake was furious with his father, and Kryptonite picked up on his agitation, jigging his way up the walkway to the cross-country course. Wild plans ran through Jake’s head when he should have been concentrating on settling his horse. He’d tell his dad to fuck off tonight. He’d take the money he’d win at Rolex—because, by God, he was going to win now, no matter what—and move The Moose to Rich’s stable. He’d move in with Rich. He’d find another sponsor for the Games.

  What about Tom?

  There had to be a solution that didn’t have him giving up everything and everyone he loved. Distracted by his thoughts, he circled the start box several times, almost missing the call to enter. Kryptonite felt like bottled nitroglycerin and the wrong move would result in an explosion. For once, Jake didn’t care. He hauled his horse around into the start box at the fifteen-second call and held the gelding like a tightly wound spring until the starting tone sounded.

  His horse charged out of the box for the first fence.

  The course was grueling. Jake had walked it five times since their arrival, judging distances and planning his approaches. Such was his anger that he scarcely paid attention to the first couple of fences, which were meant to be relatively easy jumps to get the horse into a nice rhythm. The course went by in a blur as Jake concentrated all his fury on his ride, anticipating Kryptonite’s weaknesses, goading his horse on when the gelding would have faltered. They jumped big when Kryptonite would have chipped in an extra stride. They hammered down to fences when the chestnut normally would have held back. And in the long uphill gallops toward the end of the course, Jake pressed his tiring horse on, even as he kept an eye on the large digital readout on his left wrist that told him when they were falling behind the optimum time.

  “Holy crap,” Rich said when he met them at the finish line and walked with him toward the vet check. “I’ve never seen you ride like that. I don’t want to see you ride like that again.”

  “Rich—”

  “No, I mean it. I’m speaking as your trainer now. That was insane and reckless, and though it seemed to be just what Kryptonite needed, I don’t want a repeat of that with The Moose. She won’t handle it and she deserves better from you, so build a bridge and get the fuck over it before you mount up, okay?”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Jake nodded.

  “Good.” Rich patted him briefly on the shoulder and walked over to speak with the course veterinarian. One of the Angels darted up to loosen Kryptonite’s girth and take him to be cooled out. Becky hovered on the sidelines with The Moose and handed Jake a bottle of Gatorade when he approached them. He drank half the bottle and handed it back.

  “I got a text from Tom.” Becky smiled at him. “He wants to know who lit your tail on fire.”

  “Tell him not to worry, everything’s under control.” He reached for The Moose’s reins. She was looking at the crowd, ears pricked as she watched the activity around her, but when he spoke to her, she turned and looked at him with huge, liquid brown eyes. She immediately began lipping his pockets for treats.

  “If you say so.” Becky raised an eyebrow and grinned unexpectedly. Jake grinned back. “Have a good ride.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rich came back in their direction, pausing to allow the next horse on the course to pass before crossing the path toward them. “You’re up in forty minutes. If you don’t need a break, I’d mount up and walk her around, let her get a good look at the crowd, take her over a warmup fence. Keep things low-key, all right?”

  Jake checked the girth before putting his foot in the stirrup and swinging aboard. “There won’t be a repeat of the last ride. I’m over it now.” There was so much he wanted to tell Rich. There were ways they could make this work without his father’s money.

  Rich came up to The Moose’s side and placed a hand on Jake’s knee. “I know. I just want you two to come back in one piece, okay?”

  At Rich’s touch, somethi
ng inside shifted. Keeping each other at arm’s length was bullshit. Utter bullshit. It didn’t matter why Rich had come back into his life, what mattered was that he had. Life was too goddamned short to throw away second chances.

  If he could have managed it from that height, he would have leaned over and kissed Rich, right there in front of the crowds, the reporters, the cameras, the world.

  Rich must have seen something of that on his face because he flushed and gave the mare a pat on the neck. “Right you are, then.” His voice was gruff. “Meet you back here.”

  It was as though Jake’s brain had turned on for this ride. He suddenly felt incredibly alive and aware of his horse, the grass, the fences, and the sky. They were all connected and communicating through some secret language. For a moment, laughter threatened to bubble up out of him as he warmed up The Moose for her run. A couple of looping gallops, some easy jumps over the warmup fences, and they were ready to go.

  When he and The Moose met the first fence, he felt only her exhilaration at being on the course. Unlike Kryptonite, who had to be urged at nearly every obstacle, he had the opposite problem with the big bay mare. She would spot the next fence and accelerate toward it, forcing him to package her for the takeoff so she took it at the right distance in order to land smoothly and canter on to the next element.

  He glanced at the big stopwatch on his wrist. The optimum time set by the course designer had been entered, and the timer was ticking down. In order to complete the course without time penalties, they had to average 570 meters per minute, or roughly twenty-one miles per hour. There was no advantage in going too fast—in fact, taking risks could result in a refusal, or worse, a fall, as well as speed faults. But if they were too far over the optimum time, they’d incur penalties, which would lower their ranking. Going twice the optimum time would eliminate a horse and rider. By riding the course previously, Jake knew where the trouble spots were and where he could cut corners, and where he should steal a little extra time to set up the jump safely.

  The simplicity of the earlier fences gave way to the more challenging combinations: a bending three strides to a giant fake duck, a gallop up to a brush with a massive drop down into water, and then on to a skinny set of rails that invited the sort of run-out Kryptonite had given him on the schooling day.

  The Moose continued to cover the ground in a great rolling stride, taking obstacles as though they were a matter of routine. She wasn’t fast, but her stride length made up the distance. It made her a little less handy than a more nimble horse, and Jake took the time to steady her as they tackled the more difficult combinations. She faltered a bit as they approached an open log fence through which water was clearly visible on the other side, but he closed his legs and clucked, and she lifted into the air as though she had wings. The Normandy was another tough combination: up a nearly four-foot bank, jumping a log at the top, and coming down a steep slope, then four strides to a small corner jump that was easy to miss.

  It should have been nerve-wracking; instead, his heart was singing. This is what he was meant to do, and with every galloping stride, he wanted to laugh. All too soon they approached the finish line. They charged past with plenty of time to spare, and it was only then he realized they had an honest-to-God chance of winning this thing. At the very least, barring something unforeseen in tomorrow’s stadium jumping, they would be in the ribbons.

  “That was amazing!” Rich crowed as he and Becky met him at the finish. “Utter, sweet perfection. Oh God, I hope they taped your whole ride because that was fucking gorgeous.”

  Jake laughed as he dismounted, and patted the mare’s neck, which was dark with sweat. “Not too shabby,” he agreed. “Now if we can hold it together for the show jumping. You know how hard she is to fit in the tighter combinations.”

  “She’ll be awesome. The two of you will rock the stadium. Trust me on this one. You’ll see.”

  Rich’s confidence in them was hard to resist. In the end, he’d proven to be right. Kryptonite garnered a disappointing eight faults by taking down two rails in the show-jumping phase the following day. Although The Moose’s performance wasn’t very elegant, she managed to contort her long body into the stride lengths decreed by the course designer and go clean.

  That, combined with her cross-country and dressage scores, as well as eliminations and penalties for some of the other horses ahead of her, moved The Moose into third place. It was a heady experience doing the victory lap around the arena with the yellow third-place ribbon attached to her bridle, the crowds cheering madly as they cantered around the stadium along with the first- and second-place winners. Later, Jake would stand at the podium and receive his award, including a significant portion of prize money that could go toward being independent from his father.

  None of it could compare to the moment when Rich showed up with an exultant look on his face. Jake had been cleaning stalls, prepping the horses for their last night in Kentucky. The shipper would come first thing in the morning to take them back to Foxden. Everything was packed and loaded, and to be honest, Jake really didn’t need to pick out the few pats of manure. He just wasn’t ready to leave for the night yet, still very much connected to the horses and the events of the day.

  When Rich appeared at the stall door, his face alight with excitement, Jake knew what he was going to say. He wanted to hear Rich say it anyway.

  “I hope your passport is in order because it looks like we’re headed to the selection trials overseas!”

  “Yes!” Jake cheered and pulled his fist and elbow into his side, sending The Moose shying over to the corner of the stall before she realized he was just being silly. She went back to munching hay quietly.

  “Not a sure thing by any means, mind you,” Rich said, the voice of reason at war with the look of glee on his face. “But your showing here this weekend has moved you up in standings. We still have to shine at Jersey Fresh in Allentown next month before we head to Branham.”

  “Since when did you become the cautious one?” Jake propped the pitchfork up against the cinderblock wall and slid the stall door open on its track.

  “When did you become the reckless one?” Rich quipped back.

  Jake pulled him into the stall with a beaming smile.

  “What the—Jake!” Rich’s protest was muffled as Jake pressed him up against the wall and thoroughly kissed him. He took Rich’s face in his hands and ravaged his mouth, moving in with his body until Rich melted into the wall and braced himself to take Jake’s weight. “What was that about?” Rich asked when Jake finally tore his mouth away.

  “Come back with me to the hotel.”

  “I was planning on it. That’s where my room is.”

  “You know what I mean. We end this bullshit now.”

  “I’m not going to be the reason you fail to win gold at the Olympics.” Rich breathed heavily, leaning his head away from Jake as though he wasn’t in full-body contact.

  Jake dropped his lips to Rich’s exposed neck. “You won’t be.”

  “This is insane.” Rich’s voice was so soft Jake could almost believe he was talking to himself.

  Jake stepped back but held out his hand. “Come be crazy with me.”

  Silence fell between them as they got into Jake’s car. Just the car itself was enough to squelch any commentary on Rich’s part. The late model Mazda Miata had proved to be an exceptionally smooth ride on the way to Kentucky, and Rich suppressed a moment of supreme envy when Jake had offered him a ride to Rolex in it. With the horses being shipped professionally, taking separate cars hadn’t made sense. Rich had struggled to accept the ride with grace just the same.

  Although the sports car was a sleek ride, it also had its share of mud and bits of hay in the floorboards. Somehow, that accentuated the differences in their backgrounds even more. That Jake could treat such a car as a farm vehicle just showed how far apart their life experiences had been. It could be worse, he supposed. Jake could have driven a really high-end car, something worth more than
Rich’s entire house.

  Even so, as they left for the hotel, he was conscious once again of the casual wealth the car represented. Insecurity nipped at Rich’s heels, determined to make him back away from Jake once more, even though he was shaking slightly from sheer desire.

  “I can hear you thinking from over here.” Jake controlled the wheel effortlessly with one hand as the car took them to their destination with the quiet repose that came from truly expensive technology. “You’re talking yourself out of this. Don’t.”

  “Jake. That day at the hospital—”

  “You don’t need to say anything.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t.” Jake drove the way he rode, with effortless competence. He only took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at Rich. “I don’t know why you said the things you did back then. I don’t want to know, okay? You were hurt—bad. I never should’ve taken you at your word.”

  A thousand objections and arguments sprang to Rich’s mind, but in the end, he knew the only person he had to convince was himself. For some weird reason, Jake was on board with this. It was up to him to make Jake see that the past was dead and gone, that they couldn’t reach for it again, not without sacrificing their future. All too soon they reached the hotel, and every one of Rich’s excuses seemed like cowardice in the face of Jake’s conviction.

  They pulled up into the parking lot outside Jake’s room, and he killed the engine. It ticked over a few times in the oppressive silence that fell between them as they sat in the parking area. Twilight had crept in on the early spring evening. Neither of them moved in the gathering dusk. Rich sat steadfastly looking out the front of the car, refusing to glance at Jake even when Jake half turned in his seat to face him.

  The silent tension weighed between them. Rich cleared his throat and spoke at last. “I’m not just being a princess, you know. There are good reasons for not going through with this right now—not the least of which is your old man.”