The Gift Horse

by Jami Davenport

  “Why?”

  “Hans has agreed to coach you.”

  “What? That pompous ass? I’m not working with him.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest and dug in her feet.

  “Yesterday you said he was brilliant.”

  “I was sick with a fever.”

  “All the top athletes have a coach.”

  “Like you would know. You’re as into sports as I’m into good wine.”

  Carson raised an eyebrow but refused to play along. “You’d be surprised what I know about sports.”

  “Really?” Sam recognized a good opportunity for a little revenge. “Who holds the home run record? By the way, I’m talking baseball here.”

  Carson grinned like a man who’d just found a million bucks in a Cracker Jack box. “Hank Aaron. 755. You gotta give me a tougher one than that.”

  Lucky guess. Hank Aaron was probably the only name he knew in baseball. “Whose record did he break?”

  “Babe Ruth’s.” His blue eyes sparkled brighter than last year’s fireworks.

  Another lucky guess. “Who holds the record for most strikeouts?”

  “Nolan Ryan.”

  Sam frowned and decided not to bury her ego any deeper. The guy had a cursory knowledge of baseball, which dumbfounded her and ruined her faith in her ability to judge people. Why couldn’t the man stay in this carefully crafted box she’d made for him? “I didn’t know you were a baseball fan.”

  “I didn’t know you were.”

  “Don’t look so pleased with yourself. You just got lucky.”

  “Yep, that’s right. I’m a great guesser.”

  “You’re toying with me again.” She preferred him when he was being a tight-ass. It was much easier to dislike him.

  “So?”

  “Stop it.”

  “Yes, ma’am. So are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “A baseball fan?”

  “As baseball as apple pie. I grew up in a family of men. I learned to love sports out of self-defense. What about you? Are you a baseball fan, or just a man who remembers useless trivia?”

  “Guilty on both counts. I have box seats for the M’s right behind home plate.”

  She couldn’t help but be impressed. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Damn right I am. My brothers would give their left nut for those seats.”

  “Thank God, I didn’t have to go that far.”

  “You’ve distracted me from the point of this conversation.”

  “No, I did not. You distracted yourself. Now that we’re back on track, though, Monday, 10:00 a.m., sharp. I understand The Doctor doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “The Doctor?”

  “I guess that’s what he likes to be referred to—Herr Doctor of Dressage.”

  Carson’s horrid German accent made her laugh, but she quickly sobered. “I can’t take lessons from him.”

  “You want to ride that horse?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Then you need to play the business game by my rules.”

  “I’m not giving that phony one cent of my money.”

  “You don’t have to. He’s getting thousands of mine.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “For your own good and my horse’s. You need his help.”

  “Who told you that? Your sister?”

  “Could be. Or maybe I’m more savvy than you realized.”

  “Carson, seriously, I don’t want anything to do with the man.”

  “Get over it. He promised he could make you and that horse into champions in six months, or I get my money back.”

  “Since when does a dressage trainer give a money-back guarantee?”

  “He didn’t. It just sounded good.”

  “You lied?”

  “Hey, I embellished.”

  “Carson, I can’t work with that man.”

  “You’re a professional, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “As a professional you learn to work with people you don’t necessarily like if the professional relationship is advantageous to you.”

  “What is this? Rule Number One from Carson’s Ten Rules to Becoming a Successful Dressage Trainer?”

  “I prefer to think of them as ‘steps’.”

  “With you, it’ll be rules.”

  He considered that for a moment. “Don’t forget our Monday morning planning meeting. We’ll meet from 8:00 to 9:00. That should give you enough time to prepare for your lesson at 10:00.”

  “There isn’t enough time in the world to help me prepare for that.”

  “I have no sympathy.”

  “You’re not going to expect written weekly status reports, are you?”

  “A good businessperson produces the proper documentation.”

  “How about a seat-of-the-pants, disorganized business person? Can I write a plan on a gum wrapper?”

  “Rule Number Two. Don’t mess with the master. That includes Hans and me. Good night, Sam.” He slanted her a killer smile. Her lungs forgot to function and left her gasping for breath, as he turned and walked away.

  Gabbie watched him go with her big lovesick doe eyes and nickered after him. Sam reached out to pat her neck. “I know how you feel, girlfriend. I really do.”

  Having her emotions involved was bad enough, but learning the next eight rules would be damn near intolerable.

  * * * *

  Pricking her ears, Gabbie nickered as Carson strode out of the barn, his back stiff and his shoulders tight. The two humans had been battling for herd supremacy since they’d met. Sam needed some education. Any good lead mare would grab the offending horse by the scruff of his neck and give him a good shake, followed by a disciplinary nip to the butt. That kept the herd in line. Didn’t she understand that mares ruled the herd, not stallions?

  The motives for such an argument were beyond her. They weren’t fighting over a prime piece of grazing area or a better spot under a shady tree or the first drink in a stream. Instead, it had something to do with those ribbons that humans seemed to find so valuable. Their pursuit of these ribbons mystified her. After all, you couldn’t eat the things. They didn’t scare away predators. They were too small to offer shelter. So who cared whether you got one or not to hang on your stall door or what color it was? It made as much sense as being asked to trot in endless circles that never went anywhere.

  Humans. Gabbie snorted. Poor dumb creatures.

  Chapter 15—Avoiding the Other Eight Rules

  It started as a rumble and rose to a roar. Sam heard the ruckus from inside her apartment and high-tailed it down the stairs. The noise came from the parking lot in front of the barn. She ran out the door and screeched to a halt beside Carson.

  Juan and Hans stood several feet away, toe to toe, chest to chest. Juan cursed a blue steak in Spanish, and Hans held his own with an inventive mixture of English, bastardized German, and some unrecognizable dialect. Bridget fidgeted off to one side, trying desperately to placate her prima donna horse trainer. A small group of boarders and students hovered in the background.

  Sam raised one eyebrow. Even Dr. Matt stood off to one side, watching in morbid fascination. The vet was around so much lately, he might as well put in a change of address with the post office.

  Several horses stood with their heads over the paddock rails, ears pricked, eyes alert. Gabbie, ever the busy body, followed the argument with as much interest as any human.

  “You’re late for our meeting,” Carson noted calmly as Armageddon raged around him. He never once took his eyes off the battlefield.

  “I’m sorry. I had important paperwork to finish.”

  “You? Doing paperwork? I truly doubt that.” He flinched as Juan delivered an impressive verbal barrage that sent Hans staggering back a step.

  Sam smiled sweetly at him. “See, we don’t need to meet. You’ve already become a good influence on me.”

 
Carson snorted. “Bullshit.”

  Sam surveyed the battle waged in front of them. Hans had recovered and advanced once again on Juan. “What’s going on?”

  Carson shrugged. “I think that Juan doesn’t like Herr Doctor’s attitude. Something about müy loco and what I suspect translates in Spanish to jerk.”

  “Oh.” More like ‘asshole’ or worse, but she saw no need to point that out.

  “The hay isn’t up to Herr Doctor’s exacting standards, and Juan is insulted.”

  “I can imagine. He traveled to Eastern Washington and handpicked that hay. You can’t get better hay anywhere in the area.”

  “You have to admit the man is easily offended. I’m into him for two expensive bottles of tequila.”

  “I’m guessing forgiveness will cost you one more bottle. You committed a three-tequila offense. Hans is getting in deeper than that.” Sam leaned against a stall to enjoy the show. “Do you have any popcorn?”

  “Nope, we’re in the cheap seats.”

  As they watched, Bridget attempted to get in between, only to be driven back by the rising decibel level of the shouting.

  “I suppose I’d better intervene before someone gets hurt.”

  “Oh, do you have to?”

  Carson frowned at her. “You’d like to see Herr Doctor ground into horse manure, wouldn’t you?”

  “Hell, yeah. In fact, I’d bet even you could kick his butt.”

  “Ah, now I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “I doubt it can.”

  “I’m sure his artistic side will be too upset to teach this morning, so I fear I won’t get my lesson.”

  “Saddle that horse and get her ready. I’ll unruffle his delicate feathers. You’re not getting out of this.”

  “But...” Sam gave him her best boo-boo lips, but Carson seemed immune. “Carson, I’m dying to hear the other eight rules. In fact, it’s crucial for my professional development. I’m sure Herr Doctor will understand our need to cancel his lesson.”

  “You’d rather hear my lecture on how to run a business? You really don’t want to take lessons from this guy.”

  “No, it’s not that. I respect your professional acumen and hope to soak up your vast knowledge like a sponge.” She slanted a sideways glance at him and was sorry she did. With that face and body, he’d make a Greek god jealous. She dragged her eyes away, but her heart had already picked up the pace.

  “Double Bullshit.” One corner of Carson’s mouth lifted in an amused smile; even those ice blue eyes warmed. “Sorry, lady. I’m not buying it. You’re going to be late if you don’t get your little hind end moving.”

  “Carson...” Damn, the man was cute when he talked like that.

  “No whining. Saddle that horse, or I’ll do it for you, and you don’t want that.”

  She considered arguing, but the stubborn set of his smooth-shaven jaw changed her mind. “You have a point.” Resigned to her fate, Sam trudged into the barn.

  * * * *

  Carson leaned wearily against the arena railing, emotionally and mentally worn out. His head was pounding. Even his eyes hurt. Trying to reason with three eccentric and egocentric individuals took a lot out of a person. Appeasing Hans while preventing Juan from quitting had been child’s play compared to controlling his uncontrollable sister.

  At least, two out of three wasn’t bad.

  “What is that on your horse?” Hans pointed at Sam’s bridle as she entered the ring.

  “My bridle.”

  “Bridle? It looks like something you bought off a gypsy caravan.”

  “The cheekpiece was missing, so I had to improvise with some baling twine.”

  “Why are you always misplacing things? This is careless behavior. Inexcusable. Dressage is a sport of precision and details. If you cannot pay attention to small details such as your equipment, how can you ever expect to put together the complete package?” Hans was on a rant and thoroughly enjoying himself. The more he expounded on Sam’s shortcomings, the stronger his German accent became.

  Sam stiffened and said nothing. Carson had a feeling that she’d been here before.

  “Your horse’s front boots are mismatched. Or are you decorating early for Christmas?”

  “I know, I couldn’t...”

  “...Find the other red one.” Hans finished for her, starting on a new rant. “Bah! This kind of negligence is exactly what holds you back from realizing your potential.”

  Carson suppressed a grin. He couldn’t agree more. She was a walking disaster. Perhaps, with Hans’ help, they could turn her around. He had to hand it to the man, he might be a pain-in-the-ass prick, but he had Sam pegged. He wondered if it was appropriate to tip a horse trainer.

  “I hardly think that color-coordinated boots and matching tack make me a better rider.”

  Carson steeled himself for the inevitable storm. The woman just couldn’t keep her mouth shut, but then she was a female.

  “Perhaps you should try a different sport. Mud wrestling might be your true calling.”

  Carson hooted out loud. Sam whipped her head around. Her glare pierced him like a dagger. Damn, she was so sexy when she was mad. He felt something tighten in his groin and adjusted his stance, trying to find a more comfortable position. Some deep-seated aberration in his subconscious was attracted to grunge, at least Sam’s particular brand of grunge. With the exception of his long-lost fiancé, he couldn’t remember ever being so fixated on a woman.

  These feelings were unwelcome and damned annoying. He needed to work harder on displaying his typical Carson restraint. She was his horse trainer and his summer project—nothing more and nothing less. He’d turn her around by the end of the summer. He’d organize her to the point that her clients and her own family wouldn’t recognize her. He hadn’t looked forward to something this much since he’d played in the state football championship. Inwardly, he smirked, imagining the look on Sam’s face when she found out that he had been a jock at one time in his life, and a good one, not just another pretty face.

  He pulled his attention back to the horse and rider. They were now trotting around the arena. Despite their tacky appearance, Carson thought they looked pretty damn good.

  Think again. Herr Doctor didn’t share his sentiments.

  “Wrap those long legs around that horse like you would a man!” Hans boomed. “How would you give your boyfriend any satisfaction with limp legs like that?”

  Carson adjusted himself again. That piece of crap dryer must be shrinking his clothes. Sam’s face turned bright red. Carson suspected he was red himself. Not that he was her boyfriend. Uh uh. No way. Not him. Never. He just liked the visual of what she could do with those long legs to please a man.

  * * * *

  “Now that wasn’t so brutal, was it?”

  Sam turned to find Carson leaning against a stall door, one ankle crossed over the other. His broad shoulders filled out that tight polo shirt quite nicely. She’d never noticed him wearing such a tight shirt before. She’d rather he wore a bag, so she wasn’t subjected to those sexy muscles. “Brutal? It was beyond brutal. The man is a sadist.”

  “He’s a perfectionist. You could do with a little of that.”

  “Sadism?”

  “No, perfectionism instead of your particular brand of chaos. That’s you, the Chaos Queen.”

  “Well, thank you. I’m flattered.”

  “You should be. I’m a great judge of character.”

  Turning to pick up a brush, Sam stared at the place where she’d left her grooming kit, barely hearing Carson.

  “You’re not listening to me.”

  “Carson, my grooming kit was sitting right here.”

  “It’s not now. You probably put it somewhere else.”

  “I did not. I know where I left it.”

  “Like you knew what happened to your bridle and those leg things your horse wears?”

  “Yes, just like that.
I didn’t lose them. Someone moved them.”

  “You expect me to believe that? I’ve seen your apartment. It terrifies me to look in your tack room.”

  “I know where everything is. There is a method to my madness.”

  “Or a madness to your method.”

  Rolling her eyes, Sam walked to the tack room with Carson on her heels. She glanced over her shoulder as he stopped dead in the doorway and stared. He’d had the same look on his face when he walked in her apartment.

  “I don’t know much about horse stuff, but is that the missing bridle piece?” Carson pointed over her shoulder.

  Sam turned. Hanging on a hook near the sink was the missing part. “I swear that wasn’t hanging there this morning.”

  Skepticism etched wrinkles on Carson’s face. He crossed the small room. “Weren’t you missing a red boot?” He picked up the errant red boot and held it out to her.

  “That wasn’t there. It wasn’t. Really.”

  “We’re going to clean up this disaster and organize it. When do you have some free time today?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Make some. Meet me in my office in an hour.”

  Sam watched him leave. That man sure had a fine butt. If he wasn’t such a priss, she might be able to turn him into a man’s man with a little help from her brothers. Seeing her brothers and Carson in one room—now that that would be worth the price of admission.

  She sighed and directed her attention back to the newly found items. What the heck was going on? She might be messy and disorganized, but she’d left her grooming kit in the aisle. She remembered scattering brushes around trying to find the right one. Then she’d fretted about what Carson might say if he saw the mess she’d left.

  As far as the missing bridle piece, she rarely had the time to clean her tack. Gabbie’s bridle should have been complete and thrown in a corner of the tack room—just where she’d left it the day before.

  Someone was messing with her. But who?

  * * * *

  Frowning, Carson stared at the bill in front of him. What the hell? Who was authorizing improvements to that old barn? He couldn’t believe it. Three thousand dollars for stall mats, new stall doors, and several smaller items. Surely Sam wouldn’t be so presumptuous, but he knew someone else who would. As soon as he got his hands on his sister, he’d... The phone interrupted his planning of his sister’s demise.