“I’m sorry I don’t have better news,” Margaret said.
“Me, too,” A.J. said sadly.
It was incomprehensible to her how anyone could hurt something as magnificent as the stallion who was nibbling at the edge of her jacket collar. His breath was warm on her face and his butter-soft muzzle was ever so gently brushing up against her neck. Her heart bled for the cruelty he’d suffered and for the other animals that had been brutalized. The fact the stable had been closed down would never make up for what had happened to any of them.
“Ah, lass,” Margaret said, slipping an arm around A.J.’s shoulders. “Your heart’s in the right place. This stallion was lucky to find you and you him. It’s a fine pairin’.”
Chester nodded. “Very fine.”
“I need to go talk to Devlin,” A.J. said. “Will you excuse me?”
Margaret smiled. “Of course.”
“I’ll groom him real good,” Chester said before the question was posed. “Go on, now.”
Margaret and Chester watched the young woman leave.
“That’s a fine girl,” Margaret said.
“Yup. An’ you should see her on that horse. She’s brought ’im around like ya wouldn’t believe it.”
“Amazing what a little love will do.”
They were silent for a little.
“Say,” Chester said, looking down at his feet. “You like to play bingo?”
* * *
“Devlin?” A.J. called out as she came in the door.
“I’m in here.”
She followed the sound of his voice to the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich and offered to make her one. She shook her head.
“Margaret Mead just stopped by,” she said.
The distress in her voice made Devlin’s eyes sharpen.
“What did she say?”
As A.J. related the news, his face grew grim.
He let out a curse after she finished speaking.
“I knew some riders at that place. The stable had a high turnover rate and for good reason. There were rumors but a lot of people assumed it was just talk from grooms who’d gotten the pink slip or riders who didn’t agree with the management. Took the state too damn long to shut them down.”
Devlin reached his hand across the table to her and she took it, holding on tight. They talked for a while about the stallion’s misfortune.
“But he’s getting better with the water,” A.J. said, getting to her feet. “I think it’s because he really trusts me. I’m going back out with him now and try to—”
“I think you better take the afternoon off.”
“Why?”
Frustration crossed his face. “You’re upset. You’re tired.”
“Devlin—”
“You need a break.”
“No, I don’t. The Qualifier is only three weeks away.” She reached her good hand back and began unraveling the braid in her hair. When she was finished, she braided it up again, securing it in a tie.
“You’re working too hard.”
“I’m f—”
Devlin exploded, crashing his fist onto the table. “If I hear you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to put my head through the wall!”
A.J. jerked back, surprised at the depth of his emotion. His eyes glittered with anger as he looked at her.
“You’re not eating. You look like hell. You spend all night tossing and turning.” She opened her mouth. “And don’t deny it. I’m in that bed with you.”
He held up his hand before she could defend herself.
“A.J., you’re not going to make it if you don’t relax a little. You’re working yourself too hard and if this continues, you’re going to be no good to anyone the day of the Qualifier. You have to trust me on this.”
She looked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.
In a much softer tone, he asked, “Why is this so important to you?”
Devlin could hear the thread of desperation in his voice. It was a cadence he didn’t recognize as his own and he might have even been ashamed of it at other junctures in his life. The weakness was of no consequence to him now. All that mattered was the woman he loved and the purple scars of exhaustion under her dull blue eyes.
When she didn’t answer him, he thought she was going to shut him out. Then, in a somber voice, she began talking.
“When I was younger, people used to tell me I looked like my mother. That I was her little shadow. As I got older, I became my father’s daughter, the rich girl who rode horses. Now I’m known for being trained by you and buying that horse.” She looked him in the eye. “When the hell am I going to be described by my own adjectives?
“Ever since I left home, I’ve been looking back and thinking that my life has been one long freight train of other people’s definitions. And part of it is my fault because I lived on the fringes of my father’s life for too long. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I picked Sabbath. I picked the Qualifier. I’m doing the work.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be Garrett Sutherland’s society princess. I don’t want to be just another marginal rider. And I’m willing to sacrifice to get what I want.”
Devlin got up from the table with a sharp motion.
“Are you walking out on me?” she asked.
He shook his head and offered her his hand.
When she wound her fingers through his, he took her up the stairs to the top landing and paused in front of the door that had been shut the entire time she’d been at the farmhouse. When he opened it, the hinges creaked from lack of use.
A.J. let out a gasp as she looked past him.
The room was filled with competition trophies, ribbons, photographs. There were large silver plates and event cups, two Olympic gold medals, honorary jackets and horse blankets, pictures of Devlin and Mercy on countless magazine covers. She stepped inside, struggling to take it all in.
Most of the objects had been mounted on the walls, hung lovingly and in order. But not all of them. There was a saddle in one corner that seemed to have been discarded. It lay dying on the floor, distorting under its own weight as it splayed out. Across the pummel was a tangled bridle, and in front of the ruined tack, there were pairs of riding boots that fell across one another haphazardly, like a platoon of wounded soldiers.
All over this anarchy, and covering even those things that had been carefully tended to, there was a sheen of dust.
She turned to Devlin with wide eyes.