But there was more to her determination than just a fear of being embarrassed. Now that she was on her own for the first time, she was eager to prove she could make it independently. She wanted people to know that she wasn’t just a figment of her father’s money, that she was talented and could compete at the highest levels. She was convinced that turning around the stallion no one else could handle, and taking him into the ring at the Qualifier, would establish her as a serious competitor in the sport she loved. It would put her career on the track she wanted it to be on. Hell, if they did well, she could be on her way to a spot on the Olympic team.
One thing was clear. If they missed any more days of training because of her arm, she’d be forced to give up. Given the stallion’s reaction to water, and the fact that he still needed a lot of work over fences, they had to press on. Every second in the ring was critical and she was determined not to let up just because her body hurt. Besides, it would probably feel fine in the morning.
Going over to Sabbath, who’d been resting in his stall, she stroked his muzzle. She told herself that she was just being an alarmist about her arm. She was coming back from an injury and she should have expected to be sore the first day. It didn’t mean that she was going to have continuing problems with it.
With a hiss and a boil, the automatic water system kicked in and sent a stream into Sabbath’s trough. The stallion flicked his ears nervously and edged his body away from it.
“I wonder why you’re so afraid,” A.J. said aloud.
Chester, who’d started moving grain bags out of the tack room, answered for the horse. “Probably saw Jaws as a young colt an’ never got over it.”
A.J. smiled softly. “I think it’s more than that.”
“Well, that movie sure made a big impression on me,” the man said, coming out with another bag of grain. He dumped it in the wheelbarrow he’d parked in the aisle and rolled the heavy load into a vacant stall, talking as he went. “Haven’t been swimming since. Even in fresh water.”
With a light laugh, A.J. scratched the special spot under the stallion’s chin that made him go limp with pleasure.
There was something lurking behind his phobia; she was sure of it. He was a bad boy, prone to fits of showing off and random acts of playful mischief, but his expression when confronting that water jump was different. She knew naked fear when she saw it, in humans and animals.
“Any chance you’re daydreaming about me?” Devlin whispered into her ear.
She gasped. For a big man, he could move as quietly as a breeze.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” He wrapped his arms around her and she relaxed against his body.
“You can come up behind me anytime,” she murmured, rubbing her hips against his. His groan of need was satisfying.
Suddenly, there was a crash in the adjoining stall. Sabbath let out a shriek as A.J. and Devlin rushed toward the sound.
They found Chester facedown next to the wheelbarrow.
“Chester!” A.J. gasped.
She and Devlin crouched over the man, who was mumbling incoherently and clutching his chest.
“I’ll call the ambulance,” Devlin said, and ran out.
A.J. took the stricken man’s hand, feeling for his pulse. It was erratic and fast.
“M’ chest feels on fire,” he gasped.
“Breathe slowly with me,” she instructed, watching for signs that he was losing consciousness.
“Help’s on the way,” Devlin said as he came back in. “Just hang on.”
The wait for the medics was interminable. A.J. and Devlin communicated through long, desperate looks, traded over Chester’s suffering. Marked by murmurs of support and the man’s rasping breath, the minutes drifted by far too slowly considering the urgency of the situation. When sirens were finally heard, Devlin got up and ran outside, directing the paramedics inside the barn.
The two women entered briskly and cracked open their orange-and-white tackle boxes to reveal medical instruments that made A.J. shudder. As the medics went to work, she and Devlin stepped back, holding on to each other while they watched. Moving quickly, the women spoke in a foreign language of medical terms while trading plastic tubing and needles and, as soon as Chester was stabilized, they loaded him into the back of the ambulance. Devlin rode along and A.J. followed in her car.
Once she got to the hospital, she parked and ran into the emergency room, finding Devlin right away. He took her into his arms.
“How’s he doing?” she asked against his shoulder.
“They’ll know more in a little while. All we can do is wait.”
“Did you call his family?”
“I left a message with his closest relative but she lives in another state. I’m all he has.” Devlin’s features were pale and tight with worry but his eyes were clear.
“I can’t imagine going through this without you,” he told her.
“I’m glad I can be here,” she said softly.
He led her into a sparse waiting room and they took up a vigil on plastic thrones of worry. Besides a fleet of ugly orange chairs, the only other furniture around were a couple of exhausted-looking tables. Their chipped, laminated tops, done in a repeating fake wood grain, were covered by dog-eared copies of popular magazines. In the far corner, there was a vending machine and hanging from the ceiling was an old TV that had a black-and-white picture but no sound. On it, soap-opera characters were emoting to one another with mute intensity.
“I don’t want to lose him,” Devlin muttered. “Mercy was bad enough but him as well?”
A.J. stroked his shoulder as he leaned forward.
“He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve got,” he said.
She sensed that, in the midst of the nightmare, he wanted to talk. “How long have you known him?”
“Years and years and years. He was my first boss. The first adult I ever listened to. He taught me how to be a man.” Devlin pushed a hand through his hair. “God knows, there was no one else around willing or able to. I never knew my own father.”
“Your mother raised you?”
“No. I had a series of foster parents, was bounced around every couple of years. No one wanted to adopt an older kid, particularly after I got in some trouble.”
“How did you get orphan—” She flushed, not wanting to add any pressure. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“That’s okay.” He flexed his arms and brought his hands together in a bridge. Resting his chin on them, he mused, “My past is as good a distraction as any.”