Devlin watched her go into the front hall, shrug on her coat with the toast in her mouth and then hurry out the door.
“So when ya gonna marry her?”
Chester’s calm question fell on his head like a bucket of fish bait.
Devlin sputtered on the rim of his mug. “Excuse me?”
“Myself, I’ve always liked the spring weddin’s.”
“Are you channeling Martha Stewart or something?”
“Go ahead, fight this one like ya do everything else you can’t control. Don’t know why ya bother, though. It’s obvious what’s hangin’ in the air between you two.”
“No, wait—you’re doing Ann Landers.”
The older man shook his head as he took his bowl to the sink.
“Say what ya will, but y’re a goner.”
“I hate to break the news but you’re way off base. She’s sleeping on the couch, not in my bed, and it’s only until the Qualifier.” Devlin shot to his feet. Took his own mug and plate over.
“Whatever ya say.”
“I’m not saying anything. That’s what’s happening.”
“Like I said, whatever ya say.”
The two bickered their way to the door, just like old times.
“There’s nothing going on.”
“Yup.”
“I’m serious.”
“An’ so is what’s not goin’ on.”
Devlin let out a curse, halting in front of the coats. “Since when did you turn into a romantic?”
“At least I’m improving with age.”
“Delusions aren’t improvement. They’re evidence of squash rot.”
“Better than goin’ blind from sheer bullishness.”
“Listen, old man,” Devlin said with a grin, “you want to help me set up the ring, or what?”
“I’m ready to go. Y’re the one dragging your feet.”
Devlin pulled on his barn jacket. “For God’s sake, will you stop it?”
“I’m not the one with the problem.”
“Well, I don’t have one, either!”
“I can tell.”
Devlin had just swung open the front door when Chester put a hand on his shoulder. The older man’s eyes were grave.
“I know this ain’t easy, boy. I’m glad you’re back.”
“I’m not back,” he said gruffly. “It’s not me up on that stallion.”
“Ya don’t have to be on the horse to be back in the game.”
Devlin found that he couldn’t reply.
Before they stepped outside, he looked at his wooden cane, which was leaning against the doorjamb. The handle was worn from his grip and its sturdy length showed the nicks and chips of having been knocked against a variety of things. It had been with him since he’d gotten out of the hospital.
Today he left it behind as he and Chester went down to the stable.
When the two men came through the sliding double doors, Sabbath was on the crossties and A.J. was grooming him.
“I’ll be groomin’ for ya now,” Chester said, stepping forward.
She smiled. “Thanks, but I’d like to do some of it. Gives this lunkhead and me a chance to get to know each other. I’d welcome some help, though. There’s plenty of surface area for two.”
“I’ll say.” The man picked up a currycomb and approached the stallion, who flattened his ears back.
“Oh, get over yourself, ya big baby,” Chester said sharply.
Shocked, Sabbath pricked his ears forward and seemed hurt at being dismissed so easily. He settled down with a sheepish look as the groom went to work.
Shaking off a feeling of nostalgia, Devlin retrieved his clipboard and reviewed his notes from the day before. Instead of throwing in a new complement of jumps, he decided to keep working the stallion over the course he’d laid out yesterday. He was hoping the continuity would help focus the horse.
After Sabbath was saddled, Chester went out to check the fences.
“Want me to bring the hose out there an’ get busy fillin’ the pool?” he asked Devlin.
“Not today, Ches, thanks. Think we’ll stick with what we did yesterday.”
Heaven knows the day before washed up in a tangled mess, Devlin thought. Why add more water to the equation?
Watching the groom amble out to the ring, he chewed on his pencil, finding familiar grooves. He was wondering how the stallion would handle water jumps. It wasn’t uncommon for high-strung horses to have difficulty with them. The shimmering surface looked threatening and some jumpers had problems with visual stimuli. He’d seen fierce creatures like Sabbath throw their riders just to avoid mud puddles. The key was knowing whether your horse was a “spook” or not. It was important information to have but, as he contemplated the day’s work, he decided they had enough to worry about. The water jump would have to wait.
With a final review of her equipment, A.J. led the stallion into the ring. The day was bright and sunny and the clear fall sky stretching overhead was a vast blanket of blue. As she and Sabbath approached Chester, who was waiting to shut the gate, A.J. thought ahead and asked the man to give her a leg up. Devlin wasn’t an option. The memory of his body stretched over hers was still vivid and she didn’t want him too close. She got light-headed just from recollections of the night before and had no intention of getting more distracted.
Once up in the saddle, she threw a smile at Chester while securing the chin strap on her helmet. Coaching Sabbath into a jog at the rail, she felt him bounce under her, his feet light over the earth, his ears flicking front and back. Devlin took up his position in the center of the ring and began calling out gaits. Surprisingly, the flatwork went well and she tried not to get her hopes up though it was hard not to get excited. Even as she urged herself to keep her enthusiasm in check, she was thrilled to get to know the stallion’s rhythms, to recognize how he felt as he changed gaits and directions. She decided that, when he wasn’t acting up, he was responsive and a damn good ride.
Soon enough, Devlin called them over and reviewed the course again.
“You ready to do this?” he prompted, noting how she was stretching out her arms. It seemed as if she was uncomfortable.
“Of course we are.”
“Your arms look sore.”
“They’re fine.”
He approached the stallion and put a hand on her leg. He imagined he could feel the warmth of her skin even through the chaps, and when she jerked her leg away, his eyes turned grim.