The Gift Horse

by Jami Davenport

  Nothing on earth equaled this feeling of controlled impulsion. Sam lived for it. As fleeting as these moments were, they kept her coming back for more. Like most true dressage riders, she’d sacrifice everything for one fluid ride on one very special horse.

  “Is güt! Enough for today.” Hans’ booming voice broke her trance. He graced her with a rare smile and a nod, his way of saying he knew what she’d felt, and words wouldn’t do those feelings justice. Turning, he directed his attention to his next student entering the arena.

  Sam slowed the mare to a walk. Carson stood near the arena gate. She’d been so engrossed in her riding that she hadn’t even noticed him. She halted and dismounted. Candy, a teenage student of hers, took the reins from her and walked the mare around to cool her out. Thank heavens for horse-crazy kids. Candy hung around most of the day now that school was out and did anything she could in exchange for free lessons.

  Thanking Candy, Sam walked toward Carson. He opened the gate for her. “Did you have a good ride?”

  Giddy from the world’s greatest natural high, Sam threw her arms around a surprised Carson. “Oh, Carson. You have no idea how wonderful that was.”

  “Was it?”

  “Yes, even you saw it. Admit it.”

  “It did look pretty good. When will she be ready for the Olympics?” One corner of his mouth lifted in a suppressed smile. Sam beamed at him and gave him another hug. Holding him was the most natural thing in the world. She gazed up at him, and their eyes locked. A hot fudge feeling, warm and gooey and sweet, spread through her body. Reluctantly, she extracted herself from his arms. He grinned at her. She smiled back.

  “So? The Olympics?”

  A small ray of hope set anchor in her soul. Could he possibly be considering keeping the horse? Sam gathered her wits about her and answered him. “She’s inexperienced and inconsistent. It takes years to train a horse to the top levels of this sport. The Olympics are levels above that.” What she’d give to have that chance.

  “Have you ever done that? Trained for the Olympics?”

  Sam’s eyes clouded over. Carson’s innocent question sucked the joy out of her heart. “I came close,” she whispered. “But that horse is dead.”

  “Oh.” Carson shifted his feet and stared at the ground for a minute. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I am.”

  “Could I buy you lunch?” His expectant look warmed her all over again.

  “You’re always feeding me.”

  “I know. You could use a few pounds. When’s the next show?”

  “I have her entered in a big show at the end of the month.”

  “Good. I want to see how my investment measures against the competition when you ride like that.”

  “Don’t expect too much. She’s still unpredictable. It’ll take her a while to adjust to the hustle and bustle of horse shows.”

  “I hope it doesn’t take too long.”

  Sam smiled at him, but her heart did a dive. What a predicament. The better Gabbie performed, the better chance she’d bring a good price and the better for Sam’s business. Yet, she’d lose the horse. Right now she didn’t want to think about that.

  This was the horse of a lifetime.

  She’d rescued Gabbie from mistreatment and bad training. With slow, painstaking patience, the mare was beginning to trust her. What if her new rider didn’t understand her?

  Two things were happening that she swore would never happen. One, she was getting attached to an animal that didn’t belong to her. Two, she was getting way too attached to a controlling, inappropriate man who didn’t fit in her life. Would she ever learn? Or was she doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over?

  * * * *

  After wiping down the sticky table at Character’s, Carson pulled out a notebook and placed it in front of Sam. He watched intently, gauging her reaction.

  “What is that?” She frowned at the notebook, making no move to pick it up.

  “Your show organizer.” He braced himself for the eruption.

  “My what?” Her eyes opened wide. “I don’t need one.” She pushed the book toward him.

  Grinning, Carson leafed through the pages and delivered an explanation of each form. “Here is a list of items that you’ll need to take to every horse show.”

  “Like you would have a clue.”

  “I got it off the Internet on Debbie MacDonald’s website.” That shut Sam up for a moment. There was no disputing Debbie MacDonald. She was an Olympian of the highest caliber.

  Sam tipped her beer to her lips. Carson took a moment to appreciate how she ran her tongue around them afterward. His groin tightened. She was doing it to him again—intentional or not.

  “This is way too rich for my blood.” Sam pointed at the clothes section. “I don’t have enough white breaches and shirts to change every day of the show.”

  “You’re not wearing the same dirty, sweaty clothes every day.” Right now he wished she wasn’t wearing clothes.

  “I always have in the past.”

  Carson raised an eyebrow but chose not to comment. “This is your show-day schedule. It’s adjustable based on your class times. See how it outlines all the preparations you need to make before each class?”

  “Where did you come up with this stuff?”

  “I already told you.” He resisted the urge to be smug.

  “Well, Debbie has full-time grooms. Do you really think she does any of this herself?”

  Carson turned the page. “This is a form to fill out for your show budget, your ride times, your students and their show schedules, your fees, your expenses.”

  “Okay, okay, I get the picture. Do you really think I’m going to spend the time it takes to do all this stuff?”

  “It’s called preparation. And, yes, you will because we’ll be doing it together.” That wasn’t the only thing he wished they were doing together.

  He fought to gain a measure of professionalism. His body refused to behave. Instead, it imagined how much fun it would be to tell professionalism to go to hell.

  * * * *

  The barn was dark and quiet, except for the sounds of horses munching hay or moving around in their stalls.

  Gabbie heard the barn door open and put her head over the stall door, hoping for a late night snack from some kind human.

  The person walking down the aisle was familiar to her. She leaned on the door and stuck her neck out into the aisle. Her friend stole quietly down the aisle in the darkness.

  Gabbie nickered, but the human ignored her. She flattened her ears to express her displeasure at being ignored. The silent figure walked past her and entered the stall of another horse.

  The air around her grew still, too silent. Gabbie snorted, sensing something was not right.

  She heard rustling and a sharp crack followed by scrambling about and banging in the stall. She smelled panic and fear. Several of her stablemates ran to their doors to check out the disturbance. Alarmed, Gabbie whirled around a few times; then shoved her head over the door. She stamped her foot and looked in the direction of the noise. Everything had turned eerily quiet.

  The shadow sauntered past her and out of the barn, sliding the door shut. Gabbie stayed by her stall door for several minutes. Through distended nostrils, she drank in the smells of the barn and pricked her ears to catch the slightest sound. She sensed fear and confusion then acceptance and pain from the stall next to hers.

  With a deep sigh of resignation, she returned to her hay.

  Chapter 21—Something went Bump in the Night

  “Now what?” With a feeling of dread, Sam approached Dr. Brandland, who was examining a horse in the barn aisle.

  The horse’s owner, a sweet amateur rider named Teddi, glanced at her, worry in her eyes. “It appears she cast herself in her stall and was injured trying to get up.”

  “How bad is it?” Sam addressed Dr. Matt.

  “I’ll need to do some x-rays or an ultrasound, but I’d say the horse is out
for the next six months or more.”

  “Oh, no, Teddi. I’m so sorry.”

  Teddi wiped a tear and sighed. “That’s horses.” She’d owned horses all her life. She knew what fragile creatures these big animals were, but that didn’t make it any easier. This particular student had worked really hard this year to improve enough to have a chance at an amateur championship. It looked like that dream would need to wait another year—at least.

  Sam’s heart went out to her. Teddy was a single woman who taught high school during the day. In the evenings and on weekends, she devoted her life to a local handicapped riding organization and her own horse. She deserved better than this.

  Riding and showing a dressage horse was a little spendy for Teddi’s budget, but she hung in there just the same because, like Sam, she had a passion for the sport and those big noble animals.

  Teddi was a true saint and dedicated to her cause. If ever Sam wanted to emulate someone, it would be Teddi. Unfortunately, she never quite made it to the true saint category.

  Instead she spent too much time fixing the things that she broke, rather than building on the future.

  * * * *

  Tonight was like every other night. Sam checked the horses before she went to bed. She walked down the aisle and peered in each stall, looking for signs of colic or distress and doling out carrots. The horses knew the routine. Their heads hung over the stall doors with every eye on her except one.

  The Schraders’ new horse exhibited the same attitude as his owners. He turned his back on her when she approached and stood with his head in the corner. Then he cocked one hind leg as if getting ready to kick. He treated her with the same disdain as the girls. It was funny how things work out like that. She doubted he’d be as tolerant as their old horse. It’d do them good to learn a little tact and discipline. As much as she hated to admit it, Hans was the better person for that job.

  Hans might be hard on horses and people, but he believed in putting the blame where the blame lay. Except with her. He had it in for her, always on her case about something. His constant criticism grated on her. She might be a little bit forgetful and disorganized, but she wasn’t that bad.

  There also was Carson with his imminent lists upon lists, his business plans, and his arrogant assumption that everyone should be as anal as him. After all, his way was the only way. Well, it wasn’t happening. Not to this girl. He’d be smart to give up his crusade.

  Being better organized had nothing to do with winning blue ribbons. She needed more time with the mare, and it would come together—eventually. Oh, yeah, she’d concede that it might make her less stressed to be better prepared, but she didn’t need his brand of over-organization. For the next show, she’d get ready a little earlier and keep everything in its place so she could locate it at a second’s notice.

  All this she could do without Carson’s interference. She knew what needed to be done; she just needed to apply herself.

  Sam stopped her mental berating of Carson to listen.

  Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. It came from outside the barn door.

  She frowned. What the heck was that? Did the barn cat get locked in a horse trailer again?

  Sam walked toward the partially open door. Something felt off. Oddly, the horses stared at the door, and a few of them snorted. She hesitated, then chastised herself for being such an idiot. This wasn’t a scene from Friday the 13th with Freddy lurking in the woods, ready to hack her to pieces.

  Regardless, she peeked around the corner and looked out into the inky blackness. The light in the barn parking lot was out so it was hard to see. She’d forgotten to have Juan fix it.

  If she’d kept a list—okay, she’d stop that line of thinking right now. Carson was contaminating her. On reflex, she looked up the hill to the ranch house. A single light shown through the trees. He was probably home. In her limited experience, Carson rarely went out unless it was business related.

  A twig snapped in the darkness only a few feet away.

  “Carson, is that you?”

  The bushes near the skeleton of the old barn rustled, but no one came out of hiding. A chill passed through her and goose bumps rose on her bare arms. The threatening phone call from a month ago played back in her head. She’d almost convinced herself it was a prank and banished it from her mind.

  “Stop it.” Her voice wavered.

  Again nothing.

  “Juan? Come out from hiding. Now. This isn’t funny. Vamos!”

  Nothing. Just the eerie sound of the wind blowing through the trees. Sam stood in the doorway to the barn and held her breath. This was stupid. She was behaving like a helpless woman, and she abhorred helpless women.

  Scanning the area around the barn, she turned slowly in a circle. The dim light in the barn aisle illuminated only a small patch of ground. A car passed by on the distant road. Its headlights didn’t penetrate the black, starless night. The darkness around the barn gave up nothing, revealed no secrets. Sam groped for the flashlight that Juan kept inside the barn door for emergencies. It wasn’t there.

  Footsteps crunched on gravel. Her heart lodged in her throat.

  “Juan, is that you?”

  Silence.

  “Juan, this isn’t funny.”

  Nothing.

  “Juan, if you don’t come out of hiding, I’m firing you. Again. And for good this time.”

  Dead quiet.

  “Right. Now.” Oh, man, she was starting to shriek a little.

  One more crunch. A single footstep.

  “Juan?”

  Sam backed up a step. If she went further into the barn, she could hide. On the other hand, this person would have her confined in a space with only a few ways out. If she could reach the lights, she could switch them off. She knew the barn layout in the dark, presumably her intruder didn’t. Or did he? She?

  Snap.

  What was that? A wild animal? A deer in the brush? Or a bloodthirsty killer on the prowl, stalking his next victim with a twelve-inch switchblade, chainsaw, hockey mask, and...

  This was all Juan’s fault. His constant paranoia had rubbed off on her. She was probably stressing out over Louie hunting mice in the nearby woods.

  “Here, kitty. Kitty? Lou?”

  But Louie the Executioner, the orange barn cat with a penchant for beheading his victims and leaving them as gifts at her door, didn’t emerge from the darkness. Nor did he emit an annoyed meow, demanding silence for the hunt. Nope, her hunter wasn’t a fat barn cat, but more likely the human kind.

  Something crashed behind her. She leapt in the air and whipped around toward the noise. Somewhere between her apartment and the barn door was the origin of that noise. Someone or something was now in the barn. They’d snuck around the back and entered behind her.

  Then she saw him—the faint outline of a person. She imagined his eyes glowing yellow like a feline’s as he watched her. Once she made a move, he’d pounce on his prey, drag her into the woods, and do unspeakable things before hacking her into a million pieces.

  One thing Sam hated more than a helpless woman was the stupid girl in horror movies who walked into danger despite all the warnings. She never considered herself a stupid girl, messy and disorganized, but never stupid. She didn’t have any intention of being a face on the nightly news or a future subject on one of Juan’s crime TV shows.

  Another noise.

  Footsteps? They stopped, not too far away.

  Sam looked for a pitchfork or something to use as a weapon.

  Bam!

  Sam jumped. What the hell was that? Sheer terror raced through her faster than a thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby.

  She’d seen all the Friday the 13th movies. If Freddie was lurking in her barn, damned if she’d stick around long enough to find out.

  Sam tore out the door, skidded around the corner, through the open gate, and gunned it up the hill with the speed of a world-class sprinter. Her legs pumped harder than pistons on a steam train. Her heart pounded louder than a hor
se’s hooves on concrete.

  Straight ahead was safety bathed in the warmth of the light from the ranch house.

  She was so near and yet so far. Sam rounded the far turn and entered the home stretch. She imagined footsteps thumping on the dirt road behind her. She dug deeper for a little more speed and ignored her protesting lungs.

  * * * *

  The woodpecker was back.

  That damn thing jackhammered somewhere outside Carson’s bedroom window every morning before dawn. The little monster was probably on the endangered species list and knew it. If he wasn’t, he should be endangered and for a good reason.

  Carson rolled onto his stomach and threw the pillow over his head. The pounding got louder. And louder. And louder. It intensified until it occurred to Carson that it would take a 200-pound woodpecker with a sledgehammer to make that kind of racket.

  Bleary eyed, Carson sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

  What the hell?

  Fully awake now, Carson heaved himself out of bed and staggered down the hall to the living room. He stubbed his toe on a chair in the darkness. Cursing, he flicked on a light and headed in the direction of the noise—his front door. The person on the other side better have a good reason for waking him out of the first sound sleep he’d had in months.

  Yanking open the front door, Carson stared.

  Sam stood on his porch like a prey animal, poised for fight or flight. Her wild hair flew every which way. Her eyes were bigger than the zeros in her bank account. She didn’t wait for an invitation to enter. Instead, she burst past him into the hallway, whipped around, and ripped the doorknob out of his hand. She slammed the door shut and drove home the deadbolt. She stood there, chest heaving, body shaking, and stared at the door. Carson said nothing.