“You cannot understand the burden of being a champion. The pressure to perform, to excel. Myself, I face this every time I go into the ring, even to practice.”’
The man had the same conversation with anyone unfortunate enough to get pulled into his orbit. People had been known to back themselves into rakes in hopes of getting free, and A.J., having been the audience herself a few times, was willing to bet that a whack in the head was less painful than listening to the man drone on.
As he continued, she watched Sabbath’s head emerge from his stall. Philippe, however, was too self-absorbed to notice as the stallion inched his muzzle forward. She had a feeling the horse was up to no good but gave him the benefit of the doubt. There was plenty of time to step in, she reassured herself, as she watched Sabbath get closer to Philippe. Surely the stallion had had enough fun for one day.
It turned out she was wrong on both accounts. In a black flash, the stallion lunged forward, grabbed ahold of Philippe’s sleeve and gave it a sturdy tug. The man tottered in his platform shoes and then fell over like a sack of grain, collapsing against the door of the stall.
Philippe’s face ran an indignant red and he brushed off his suit with hands that shook. A.J. figured the torrent of words leaving the man’s lips were probably curses. Even though they were in French and she couldn’t understand a thing, she had a feeling it wasn’t a list of the virtues of falling on his butt.
When the man was sufficiently recovered, he switched back to English. “This horse will never be a champion. He has the manners of a common donkey and I wouldn’t expect him to perform over fences any more than I would hold my breath to see him walk upright. He is stupid and so are you for paying more than a dime for him.”
The word was pronounced stoo-peed.
In an indignant huff, Philippe marched off, still trying to clean off his suit.
Turning to the stallion, A.J. shot Sabbath a dry look.
“That wasn’t very nice. Although I have to say, we’ve all wanted to knock him off that pedestal at one time or another.”
2
IT WAS getting dark by the time A.J. gathered Sabbath’s meager things from his former stable. Her conversation with the stallion’s latest owner had been brief, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind, and the man handed over the registry papers like he was getting rid of a lit stick of dy***ite.
The last thing she had to do before leaving was settle the balance due with the auction house’s office. As she walked through the crowd, her stepbrother’s words drifted back to her. Hearing him refer to Sutherland Stables as his made her stop to think. She’d always been so busy training and competing that she’d never given the business end of Sutherland’s much thought.
Aside from the horses she trained on, the Sutherland compound housed some fifty other jumpers, which were boarded by their riders or trainers. Thanks to the hefty fees they paid, every conceivable training resource was available, including a pool for the horses to work out in. They also had a wide number of arenas, trails and jumping courses as well as multiple paddocks and lunging rings. It was a big business that brought in a lot of money.
It hadn’t started out that way. When A.J.’s mother and father moved into their estate as newlyweds, Garrett had built a barn and a ring for his beloved wife’s horses. A.J.’s fondest memories of her mother were of the two of them together working with the animals, and after her mother died, she’d become even more attached to riding. As her skills and interest grew, so did the compound, and A.J. knew her father had gotten a special pleasure out of watching both thrive. She’d certainly enjoyed seeing the new buildings rise up and having new faces come and join what became for her an extended family. In her heart, Sutherland’s was more than a business; it was her mother’s legacy as well as a community where A.J. felt accepted. The place was more home than the mansion she lived in.
Her stepbrother had a different take on it. Peter had become involved on the business end of things after college because his mother demanded that he make himself useful while he tried to become an actor. Figuring he’d be away a lot on callbacks, and would soon be a Hollywood star, he’d agreed to take on managing the books and quickly displayed a knack for finances. Unfortunately, his fiscal successes didn’t impress him and he viewed time at the stables as a reminder of theatrical failure. After many years of auditioning, it appeared as if that one toothpaste commercial might be the national nadir of his acting career.
Though they fought about money, and just about everything else, A.J. had to admit Peter was good at managing the place. He had a flair for numbers even if his people skills were deplorable, and she knew Sutherland’s wouldn’t be the success it was without him. Sadly, though, he hated going to the stables and made sure everyone knew it. He didn’t like the way the place smelled and the way hay and horse hair clung to his clothes. He hated the mud in the springtime, the bugs in the summer and the cold in the fall and winter. And no matter what the season was, he detested his office. Originally, the room had been a grain storage area and it still smelled like old sweet feed when it rained, no matter how many times he shampooed the rug he’d installed.
The only thing he did like was making money, and he liked for it to accumulate in accounts. Every time A.J. wanted to buy something for the stables, she had to go like a beggar and throw herself at him. She hated the begging. To her, money was all about utility. It gave people the ability to pursue their dreams, and her dreams were expensive. Where money came from had never been of interest to A.J. She was always too busy picking out hooves, carting around bales of hay and bags of grain and giving worm shots. Wasting a moment to worry about how much she was spending on something she needed or waiting to see if a better price came along struck her as pointless.
Courtesy of the two different philosophies coexisting in the same business, there’d been a lot of battles, and the fights didn’t stay at the compound. With both living at home, whatever blowup had occurred at the stables followed Peter and her up the hill to the mansion and was served with dinner. Regina would take Peter’s side, and A.J.’s father, who got gassy in the face of conflict of any kind, would plead for everyone to keep a cool head and a quiet tongue.
Garrett took a lot of antacids.
With her and her stepbrother in their midtwenties, A.J. knew it was high time they moved out but she was too busy training to go look for a place of her own and she knew Peter thrived on all the amenities available to him at the mansion. She also suspected he’d need to be surgically removed from his mother’s influence. Regina Conrad, now Sutherland, was a domineering woman with an insatiable need for approval. As a consequence, she had a burning desire to prove that everything about her and her son was superlative. To A.J.’s mind, the constant barrage of propaganda was hard to be around and she didn’t know how Peter could stand being the subject of so much hot air.