Winning Ways

by Toni Leland

  As she looked over her show checklist, the memory of their night together pushed into her thoughts, and hot tears rolled down her face, dripping onto the papers. She hadn't cried since the first week without him, but the pain had wedged itself firmly inside and she surrendered to the tears.

  The phone rang, and she grabbed a tissue, wiping her nose as she reached for the receiver.

  Kurt's soft voice came over the line, making her heart thump. She tried to keep her tone even, afraid he might sense her state of mind, or hear her pounding heart.

  His tone was cautious. "How are you doin'? Everything goin' good?"

  She sensed his uneasiness with the conversation.

  "I'm fine. Things are going well. And you?"

  She rolled her eyes at how ludicrous it seemed, to be talking to each other like perfect strangers. Strangers who'd been lovers.

  "Pretty good. Three of my regional prospects got scratched, so I'm down to five. Boss isn't happy, but there's nothing I can do about it. You still takin' that colt of yours?"

  She flushed with anger. It was the wrong question - the call was a fishing expedition. He just wanted to know what the competition would be.

  "Of course I'm still taking him. I intend to beat every horse in the ring."

  He chuckled. "Well, good for you. I wish you the best of luck. I'll see you there...Maybe we can get together for a bite to eat."

  She took a deep breath. "No, I don't think so, Kurt. You've made your position pretty clear."

  "Liz - "

  She put the phone down, her heart heavy with pain. Used. A means to an end. Why couldn't I see it? She smiled sadly. She hadn't seen it because her emotions had camouflaged every obvious sign there might have been. How could winning a damned class be more important than a love affair? Her head echoed with Kurt's warnings about the killer instincts that permeated the important shows. We're so different. We have nothing in common, but sexual attraction. It's probably just as well that it's over. I need a soul-mate more than a bed-mate.

  She had to put him out of her mind, and move on with her life. Fine. Now what do I tell my heart?

  29

  On Tuesday morning, Liz packed the truck and loaded the horses. San Francisco was only ninety miles away, but she wanted to get an early enough start that she wouldn't get tangled up in the rush hour. Pulling a horse trailer through heavy freeway traffic unnerved her.

  As she settled into the rhythm of the road, her thoughts returned to the telephone conversation with Kurt. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach at the idea of showing against him. He knew everything about her horses, and she knew nothing about his. But, so what? Would information about his entries help her win? Make her lose? What really bothered her was his charade. Could his arrival at Tahoe have been a fishing expedition, too? Had their love-making been part of his plan to put her at a disadvantage? Her throat tightened at the painful possibility.

  Deep in thought, she missed the Oakland exit and found herself sailing down the interstate toward San Jose. Disconcerted by the cars and trucks flying past her at eighty-miles-an-hour, she scanned the road ahead for another exit. The next ramp took her over a bridge spanning a finger of the bay, then into the town of Alameda, a charming village situated on an island. She needed to find a place to stop and get straightened out. She cruised slowly through the small, charming town, marveling at the lovely homes and lush gardens. A park entrance appeared and she pulled into a large parking lot overlooking San Francisco Bay. After parking the rig under some shade trees, she checked on the horses, who were looking out the windows and eagerly sniffing the wind, excited at the new smell of salt air. A quick look at the map, and she turned the truck back toward the freeway, putting Kurt out of her mind for the remainder of the drive.

  As she entered the front gates of the show grounds, Liz's heartbeat skipped a little. She drove straight toward the looming building with huge letters spelling "Cow Palace" above the entrance, then cruised slowly through the exhibitor parking lot, looking for "D" Barn. A ripple of excitement ran through her at being in such a famous place. The renowned fairgrounds had been San Francisco's premier livestock show facility since the early forties. When she was small, her father had regaled her with stories of Arabian shows he'd attended there. The arena still hosted livestock shows and the Grand National Rodeo, and in recent years, had been host to several sports teams, concerts, and circuses.

  She drove around behind the building, then up and down the lanes between barns. Being so new to the showing game, she'd barely made the postmark deadline for registration. As a result, she'd been assigned to stalls in one of the farthest barns from the main arena.

  She finally spotted "D" barn, and parked the truck by the back entrance. Inside, the structure had been transformed from utilitarian livestock barns into elegant showcases. Rich colors and luxurious fabrics had been used to construct drapes that covered the rough wood exteriors of the stalls. An arch with a valance of matching fabric spanned the aisle between the two end stalls, giving the effect of the grand entrance to a private estate. Deep burgundy stall drapes were monogrammed in metallic gold lettering large enough to read from a distance.

  To achieve these effects, farm staff worked long hours, sometimes late into the night, hanging drapes, spreading bright, fragrant wood chips or sawdust, arranging potted plants and shrubs, and installing fountains or garden statuary at the public entrance to the stalls. Invitingly-arranged wrought-iron garden furniture encouraged foot-weary barn browsers to stop and rest.

  Liz moved along the outside aisle and came to a table covered with albums filled with professional photos of magnificent horses. Trophies and ribbons proudly advertised past championships to the interested visitor or prospective buyer. Business cards, farm brochures, bowls of candy, or an invitation to watch a farm video completed the enticing web with which stable owners hoped to snare a buyer.

  Beyond the archway, more of the same fabric had been used to frame each stall, and small wood or brass signs identified each horse. In the aisle, director chairs, a radio, and a coffeemaker provided a private area for handlers, grooms, and owners to rest between classes.

  The extent of the decorating efforts proved that showing horses was serious business. Liz looked at the lavish embellishments and felt a prickle of irritation, remembering Kurt's comments. She shook off the memory of that conversation and moved toward the end of the aisle. The fancy trimmings made her feel like a greenhorn. She had only a simple farm sign for her own stall area. Maybe next year.

  She sighed deeply and started dumping bedding into the stalls. After checking each one for safety and filling all the water buckets, she returned to the truck to unload her precious cargo.

  Kurt had just shoved the last tack trunk into the pickup when Eve appeared. He kept his expression neutral as she approached.

  Her manner seemed open, as though there'd never been any friction between them. "Ready to leave?"

  "Yup. Just need to load 'em and go.

  He checked the cargo one last time, then started toward the barn, Eve's voice drifting behind him.

  "Be sure to put up the stall drapes."

  "Right-O."

  He fumed. Just what I need to worry about when I get there - decorating!

  In his previous job, there'd always been a groom or two to help at the shows, and they were the ones who stayed up all night designing the atmosphere. However, since Kurt was taking only five horses, Eve hadn't been willing to send along any of the barn staff. If I have time, I'll put up the stuff. If not, well, too bad. She won't be there, so she'll never know.

  The truck moved slowly down the driveway, Kurt checking the mirrors and his view through the back window into the trailer. Satisfied that the horses were settled and calm, he headed for San Francisco.

  As he drove through the late summer countryside painted with brown and gold and rust, a peaceful feeling came over him. No matter what might happen with his job, he felt good about having stood up to Eve about Ebony's champions
hip chances. I'll do my best - it's the only way I'll ever get out from under her thumb.

  The time had come to move on. Dealing with his pushy boss had been just the prod he'd needed. A long chain of events had brought him to his current circumstances, and it would take at least the same amount of time to make things right.

  30

  The following morning, Liz stretched, trying to work the kinks out of stiff muscles. Man, I never thought hay could be so darned hard.

  Karma was full of himself as Liz slipped the halter over his ears. He shook his head and bobbed around, making it almost impossible for her to hook the buckles.

  She smacked him sharply on the shoulder. "Quit! You're being a brat."

  The feisty little horse stood still long enough to be haltered, then started hopping around again. Liz closed her eyes. Oh, brother, I hope I can work these kinks out before tomorrow morning. She led him out of the stall and down the aisle, followed by indignant whinnies from the mares, their message clear: "Wait! You forgot our breakfast!"

  On her way to the exercise arena, Liz saw several people she'd met at other shows earlier in the summer, and it pleased her that she was beginning to feel a part of the show community. She abruptly remembered Kurt would be there too, and her heart pitched. Distracted by her thoughts, she was unprepared when Karma leapt into the air. The lead rope flew out of her hands, and he was loose. The colt only needed a few seconds to realize he was no longer attached to his handler, and he gleefully pranced across the gravel road toward a patch of green grass on the other side.

  Liz knew better than to shout, or run after him. He loved to play "catch-me" - she'd already had that experience several times at home. Other people in the area quickly recognized the situation, and several men started after the colt. Liz watched him, her heart hammering. The lead rope dangled dangerously near his front feet. Oh Karma, please don't run! The colt was enjoying the game too much to run. He pranced and danced, staying just out of everyone's reach, tossing his head and snorting, his tail held high.

  On Karma's far side, Bill Benton stepped out from behind a shed. The colt focused on the two men approaching him from the front. Benton was only two feet away when Karma realized he'd been ambushed. The trainer's hand whipped out and grabbed the halter, capturing the renegade colt.

  Liz jogged over. "Whew! Thank you! He's the master of elusiveness when he gets away."

  Benton handed her the lead rope, then cocked his head. "If you beat me with this horse again, I'll have no choice but to make you an offer you can't refuse."

  Liz smiled, but said nothing. What part of "no" don't you understand?

  Benton smoothed his hair back, and smiled engagingly. "Listen, come on up to the sky-box this afternoon. We're having a little pre-show party. I'll introduce you around." He turned to leave, then stopped. "And good luck tomorrow. We'll have some real competition out there. Ol' Kurt's bringin' that Egyptian colt. It's gonna be real interesting."

  Liz watched him saunter off. As usual, I'm out of the loop. What Egyptian horse?

  After his brief escape to freedom, Karma played the obedient student. Liz lunged him a little longer than usual to be sure his movements were good, and that he responded quickly to her commands. He went through his paces as though there'd never been any question about his performance.

  At four o'clock, she checked the class schedule one last time, then glanced around at the spotless aisle and nodded, satisfied that everything was in order. Show halters were polished and ready. The horses had been exercised, and now quietly nibbled their hay. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. After combing her hair and swiping her mouth with lipstick, she headed across the road to see how the other half lived.

  At the box office, she flashed her Exhibitor Pass and asked for directions to the skyboxes, located on the upper level. Security guards patrolled conspicuously up and down the corridors filled with bejeweled women and well-dressed men whose raucous laughter ricocheted off the tile walls. Liz knocked on Fire Stone's door and a tall, handsome man with sharp blue eyes opened it immediately.

  "Come on in. I'm Sean."

  Liz shook his hand, aware of his light grip. "I'm looking for Bill."

  Sean's slim fingers fluttered in the direction of the corner. "He's over there, with one of the customers. Can I get you something to drink?"

  "No thanks, I'm fine."

  He patted her arm. "If you need anything, just holler."

  He walked across the room and coyly sidled up to another attractive young man, who was deep in conversation with an older woman. Liz studied the trio for a moment. Unworldly as she was, Liz recognized the scent of ambition.

  The woman was dumpy with over-bleached hair, overly blue eye-shadow, and a red gash for a mouth. Her fingers glittered with diamonds and her sagging, wrinkled neck was wreathed in gold jewelry. She laughed coquettishly at her young companions' comments. The two men hovered over her as though she were a gorgeous twenty-something girl. Liz turned away, a bad taste forming in her mouth.

  The large room was tastefully furnished with comfortable sofas and easy chairs awash with soft southwestern colors. Thick, lush carpet the color of French vanilla ice-cream covered the floor. Art Deco chrome and glass coffee tables held baskets of flowers, bowls of fruit, and trays of hors d'oeuvres. Soft lights cast faint-edged shadows on the pale cream walls, and airbrushed the edginess from the aging faces in the room. The front wall was floor to ceiling sliding glass panels, opening onto a private sitting area with a commanding view of the arena. The skybox was nothing like she'd expected. It must cost a fortune to rent something like this for a week.

  "Hi, Liz. Glad you could make it."

  Bill Benton smiled and took her hand. "Come on over and meet Celia."

  Celia Franklin, rich heiress and owner of Fire Stone Farms, was nothing like the woman Liz had studied earlier. Celia's clothes were elegant, her jewelry minimal, but expensive, and her face and body well preserved. Liz felt completely out of place.

  Celia's voice oozed curiosity. "Billy tells me you have outstanding horses. How long have you been in the business?"

  Liz blanched. "This is my first year."

  Celia's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "Oh. Are you enjoying it?"

  Liz struggled to slow her racing pulse. "So far. I'm working to promote my farm name and bloodlines."

  Condescension magnified the woman's response.

  "Rea-lly."

  Okay. Two can play this game. Liz looked Celia squarely in the eye.

  "Yes, my father is Ben Barnett. I have the cream of his Double B herd as my foundation."

  A smile of recognition changed Celia's face to a friendlier mask.

  "Oh, I remember Ben! What a wonderful trainer!" She tilted head and looked sympathetic. "I was so sorry to hear of his death."

  Liz couldn't believe how far south the conversation had gone, and desperately wanted to leave. Bill stepped in to save her.

  "Let me introduce you to some of our other clients."

  Celia took his cue and offered her hand.

  "It was lovely to meet you, Liz. Come see us at the farm sometime."

  In the space of the next half-hour, Liz met over a dozen people who were deeply involved in the Arabian industry, including Jane Van Wilten, the garish woman who'd been hanging on Sean earlier. The extent of the wealth and power in that room made Liz painfully aware that she viewed only the tip of the iceberg. What am I doing here? This isn't my world.

  "So, are you going to sell me that colt, or not?"

  Bill was grinning mischievously over the rim of his wine glass.

  She laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

  "My dear, in the horse business, ‘give up' is a dirty word." He glanced over at his boss holding court in the corner with Sean and his shadow. "Celia expects me to show the finest horses in the country, and win all the ribbons." He winked. "I do my best to keep her happy."

  Liz nodded thoughtfully, briefly thinking of Kurt's past. Being at the top of the heap had its di
sadvantages: there was no place to go, but down. She couldn't begin to imagine the stress that went with such a life.

  Bill called out across the room. "Sean, I'm taking Dr. Barnett down to the stalls. Keep an eye out for Broderick, tell him I'll be back in a while." He grinned. "Come on, I'll show you the horses."

  The main show barn housed most of the larger farms, breeders who'd been showing at the facility for years, and had firmly acquired the right to particular blocks of stalls. The stall trappings were more luxurious, more expensive, more anything than Liz had seen in "D" barn. Fire Stone held a block of twenty stalls directly in front of the main entrance to the arena - a plum position.

  Benton's manner was relaxed as he guided her along the aisle, stopping at each stall to introduce her to the occupant. Liz was overwhelmed - the horses were so perfect they were almost unreal. Benton's pompous tone emphasized his words as he pointed at the bay mare that had placed second to Ashiiquah.

  "Jane Van Wilten paid eighty-thousand for this mare as a yearling. The horse is worth twice that now." He shook his head. "She was not pleased about losing to your horse."

  Liz stared at him, trying to comprehend the mind-boggling prices he'd just thrown out.

  He continued. "That gray mare over there brought a hundred-thousand, and the colt you beat just sold for sixty.

  He leaned against a stall door. "Arabians are big business, Liz. You should get with the program." He narrowed his eyes, a sly grin playing with the corners of his mouth. "If you won't sell, how about letting me show your horses for you? I can make them worth a fortune, if you'll let me."

  She finally found her voice. "Thanks, Bill, but I'm not in it for the money."

  He blinked. "What the hell else is there?"

  31

  Kurt expertly maneuvering the large rig through heavy traffic, and thinking about the colt in the trailer. Ebony had been in great form the day before, moving through his paces effortlessly, and attentive to each command, taking only seconds to assume a proper halter stance.