Showdown

  Cecil seemed like a good guy. He had a certain brusqueness to him that reminded Bobby of his own father, but, unlike Hank, Cecil tempered his plain speaking with a tangible warmth. On the long drive back from the airport he’d been friendly and funny and avuncular, going out of his way to put Bobby at his ease. He could talk naturally and for hours about his horses, and had clearly forgotten more about their bloodlines than most breeders ever knew in the first place. And he was polite, too, something Bobby had been raised to value very highly but found he encountered less and less the farther he traveled away from Highwood with its strict cowboy code of courtesy.

  Cecil’s son, on the other hand, was a card-carrying jerk. As sullen and moody as a teenage girl with PMS, Jasper had made no effort whatsoever to hide his dislike of Bobby from the moment he stepped off the plane. Used to hostility and resentment from trainers, Bobby couldn’t figure why this small-time British jockey with the ridiculous haircut should feel so threatened by him. But threatened he clearly was. The only time the guy had broken off his pout-a-thon to speak on the journey home was to boast about his own prowess in the saddle, which made him come across as both boorish and insecure. He seemed to know absolutely nothing about his own father’s stallions, odd for an only son who was set to inherit the stud. All in all he was a spoiled, self-absorbed pain in the ass.

  “Jasper, darling. More potatoes?” Linda leaned across the table, proffering the steaming bowl of Jersey Royals like a peace offering, as though it were her fault her son was in such a gruesome mood.

  Hmm. No doubt about it. There was some serious oedipal shit going down there. Obviously Jasper was the apple of Mommy’s eye.

  But it was the poor, neglected daughter who interested him most. At first he thought she was going to be too shy to say anything. Every time he glanced at her she blushed like an overripe tomato, poor thing. But as soon as the conversation turned to her father’s stallions, she was like a different person. Shaking off her gaucheness like a phoenix rising from the flames, she displayed a knowledge of each animal’s bloodlines, offspring, track performance, health, and training regimen that was positively encyclopedic. He was impressed.

  “I’m taking a wild guess here, Milly, and assumin’ you ride a little yourself?” he commented, after listening to her catalog the running problems of one of Sir Michael’s new colts in minute detail. Evidently her knowledge of horseflesh did not stop at her father’s animals.

  “Actually, no,” said Jasper snidely. “These days Milly’s interest in horses is purely academic. Isn’t it, Mill?”

  Bobby noticed the thunderous look she shot her brother and wondered what sort of family minefield he’d inadvertently wandered into.

  “These days?” He raised a questioning eyebrow at Milly, but this time it was her father who answered for her. Did no one ever let this girl speak?

  “Milly’s a wonderful horsewoman,” said Cecil, choosing his words carefully. “But she had to give up her riding for medical reasons.”

  “Made-up reasons,” Milly muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Bobby to hear and flash her a grin that turned her insides to goo and sent the color rocketing up her cheeks yet again.

  Deciding to ignore her, Cecil went on. “Racing’s loss has become Newells’s gain, though,” he said. “My daughter’s an invaluable asset at the stud.”

  “I can imagine,” said Bobby.

  Milly felt her heart give a little leap of delight. He likes me! He actually likes me!

  “Jasper rides professionally,” interjected Linda, offering Bobby some more sautéed courgette. “He rode in the Oaks at Epsom last month, didn’t you, darling?” she couldn’t resist adding.

  “Oh really?” Bobby’s ears pricked up. “That’s impressive. How’d you do?”

  A small vein at Jasper’s forehead had begun twitching and his upper lip gave an involuntary curl. He could have shot his mother.

  “Badly,” said Milly triumphantly. “He came in ninth. Out of ten.”

  Ah, thought Bobby. Not shy then. Just squashed. Evidently there was no love lost between brother and sister. He already knew whose side he was on.

  “His horse was terribly overtrained.” Linda leaped instantly to Jasper’s defense. “He actually rode very well.”

  Milly spluttered so hard with laughter at this that she choked on her red wine.

  “Milly. Make yourself useful and start clearing away the plates,” snapped Linda.

  Mortified that she’d just sprayed a mouthful of wine all over herself in front of the gorgeous Bobby, Milly was only too happy to have an excuse to leave the table. Gathering up the plates in a flash she bolted out into the kitchen to clean herself up.

  She wondered if she’d have time to nip back up to her bedroom and put on some makeup? At least tone down her raging, reddened cheeks before pudding . . .

  Once she’d gone, Bobby turned back to Cecil, his curiosity piqued.

  “These ‘medical reasons,’” he said. “Is it something serious?”

  Cecil frowned, and Bobby instantly regretted having pushed the point. “She had an accident,” he said brusquely. “A long time ago. But it’s all in the past now. Milly’s perfectly happy.”

  Right. And I’m the queen of Sheba, thought Bobby.

  “You know what teenage girls are like,” chipped in Linda. “Terribly easily bored. Any day now it’ll be out with the horses and in with the chaps!”

  Milly, who had walked back in just in time to hear this toe-curling pronouncement from her mother, almost dropped the stack of china pudding bowls she was carrying.

  “I’ll never be bored of horses!” she said vehemently. “Never! And I’m not at all into boys, Mummy, you know I’m not.”

  “Really?” said Jasper cruelly. “Because that looks an awful lot like face powder on your nose. What did you do, slap it on with a trowel?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped back at him, keeping her dignity even through her blushes and setting the bowls down on the table in front of Linda’s steaming apple and blackberry crumble. “Your hair gel must have seeped through your scalp and given you brain damage.”

  Bobby chuckled and for the briefest of moments caught Milly’s eye.

  Oh please, please, God, Milly prayed silently, let him be as nice as he seems. And if it’s too much to ask that he should fancy me, then can we at least be friends?

  If he backed her up with her father the way he already had with Jasper, he might just turn out to be her savior after all.

  Later that afternoon, once Bobby had unpacked, Cecil took him off for an extensive tour of the farm. It was still August, but the weather seemed to have decided that autumn was already upon them. It hadn’t stopped raining all day, although this morning’s torrential downpour had now been replaced by a steady, gray drizzle that blew like a fine mist into their faces as they walked.

  “I’m impressed,” said Bobby, as he was led from the stables to the stallion barn and breeding shed, then up the hill in Cecil’s shabby old farm truck to the gallops and the huge, indoor training ring. “I hadn’t realized you operated on such a grand scale. This place reminds me of Overbrook.”

  Cecil laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Overbrook was one of the biggest, most prestigious stud farms in Kentucky. “But we’re not as much of a backwater as most Americans seem to think.”

  “So you’re what, half stud, half training stables?” said Bobby, gazing in awe at two exquisitely lithe chestnut geldings being put through their paces on the slippery grass of the gallops by their respective stable lads.

  “No, no,” said Cecil firmly. “We’re a stud. That’s the core business, always has been. I got a racing permit a few years ago, just for fun mind you, and I train a few of my own horses on the side. But that’s as far as it goes.”

  “Oh.” Bobby looked surprised. “So, none of your clients train here then?”

  “Well, not officially,” said Cecil with a wink. “But let’s say certain cl
ose friends might unofficially use the facilities from time to time.”

  “Like Delaney, you mean?”

  “Sometimes,” said Cecil. “Yeah, Michael’s been a very loyal client, so I’m happy to accommodate him. Victor Reed, his trainer, works up at our gallops four days a week.”

  “What’s Victor like?” Bobby tried to make it sound like a casual inquiry. In fact he was desperate to find out as much as he could about the famously prickly Victor before their first meeting tomorrow.

  “Truthfully?” said Cecil. “He’s a total wanker.”

  Normally he would be far too professional to let his guard down and speak so candidly in front of one of his clients’ employees. But something about Bobby seemed to invite confidences, and he found himself talking more freely than he’d intended.

  “Is that so?” Bobby nodded thoughtfully. He was disappointed but not surprised. Just what he needed, another resentful trainer to contend with.

  Suddenly he felt cold, wet, and overwhelmingly tired as the full force of his jet lag started to hit him.

  “Cheer up,” said Cecil. He hoped he hadn’t scared the poor boy off. “You’ll be all right. I’m sure you’ve worked with tougher customers than old Victor.”

  “Yeah,” said Bobby, thinking of the tyrannical Henri Duval. “I’m sure I have.”

  Climbing gratefully into the dry warmth of the truck, they drove back to the house.

  “Ah, there you are,” said Linda, swooping down on them as they walked into the kitchen and helping them both out of their wet coats. “Cecil, what have you been doing to the poor boy? He looks done in. Milly, show Bobby up to his room, would you? And make sure he has everything he needs.”

  Bobby looked up and saw Cecil’s daughter, deep in the latest issue of the Racing Post, warming her back against the Aga. She’d changed into an old pair of cords and a V-necked sweater, a distinct improvement on that flowery effort she’d been wearing earlier. She actually had quite a decent figure in a petite, almost boyish sort of way.

  “Hmmm?” Tearing herself reluctantly away from the piece on the Oaks, Milly did a double take when she caught him staring at her. She’d been so engrossed, she hadn’t heard him come in. Suddenly she had no idea what to do with her hands and found herself dropping the paper in a fluster. “Sorry, Mum, what did you say?”

  “Our guest, darling.” Linda sighed wearily. “Could you take him upstairs?”

  “That’s okay,” said Bobby. “I know where I’m going.”

  “No!” said Milly rather louder and more urgently than she’d intended. Both her parents looked at her oddly. “I mean, that’s all right,” she explained, blushing. “I can take him. I can take you.”

  Looking at Bobby, she risked a small smile, which he returned. She was a nice kid, this one.

  Up in the guest room, she made a monumental effort to stay cool as she showed him around. “The shower’s a bit dodgy, but if you leave it for five minutes the water will get hot,” she said, staring resolutely at her shoes whenever she spoke to him. “And the towels are on the bed, and if you need more hangers there are plenty in Jasper’s room, also soap and stuff like that, if you need it, I can always get some more. . . .”

  “I’m fine,” said Bobby, laying a hand on her shoulder to stop the flow of nervous chatter. “Thanks.”

  Milly froze, too overwhelmed at being touched by him to move, let alone speak. Even after he removed his hand she couldn’t seem to regain her composure.

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” he said, “you can talk me through the problems these colts have been having? Your father tells me you know them better than anyone else. If you’re not too busy, that is?”

  Milly nodded mutely. It was the best she could do.

  “Great,” said Bobby. “Well, er . . . I’ll see you later, then?” He raised an amused eyebrow as she still failed to move. He decided to spell it out. “I kinda need some sleep now.”

  “Oh!” said Milly, coming to her senses at last like a tortoise stumbling out of hibernation. “Of course. Sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Bolting out of the room, she shut the door behind her and was halfway down the corridor before embarrassment finally gave way to elation.

  She was going to spend the day with him tomorrow! He’d asked her for help with the colts. She hadn’t had to do anything!

  Skipping into her own room, she climbed up onto the chair and ripped down her posters of Robbie Pemberton and Frankie Dettori. Who needed posters when she had a living, breathing fantasy sleeping right down the hall? Then she got her under-sixteens eventing cup down from the shelf above the bed and clasped it to her chest, spinning around and around till she felt dizzy.

  Jasper and Rachel could be as hateful, and her parents as stubborn, as they liked.

  She was going to ride again. That was all that mattered.

  And beautiful Bobby Cameron was going to help her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “All right, now back, back, back!” Bobby yelled into the echoing emptiness of the indoor school, holding on to his hat with one hand while waving the other at a blissfully oblivious Milly as she cantered past him. “Lean back!”

  It was three weeks since he’d first shown up at Newells, and already she could barely remember the time before he came. “I’m going to call it BC,” she’d told him gleefully, the night after their first training session together. “Before Cameron.” After all her scheming and hoping, winning him over as an ally and mentor had been far easier than she’d expected. Winning his love, sadly, was proving a lot more complicated. But for now his friendship, and the sheer delight of riding again, were enough to put her in a state of semi-permanent ecstasy.

  “Hell, girl.” He shook his head in exasperation. “What part of the word ‘back’ do you not understand?” Thundering over to him on Elijah, one of her father’s most valuable colts, she was standing high in the stirrups, knees up, her upper body jutting so far forward over the horse’s ears she looked as though she might topple off him at any moment.

  “What?” she said, her face a picture of wronged innocence as she reluctantly dismounted. “I was only giving him a bit of encouragement. How can I talk to him or tell him what a good boy he is if I’m not allowed near his ears?”

  Bobby tried not to smile, but it was impossible. She reminded him so much of himself at her age, it was frightening. At first he’d been annoyed by the way she followed him around like a shadow. Every morning like clockwork, she was up at the school before he was, brushing the horses, polishing tack, even making coffee for him and Victor. He’d done his best to put her off politely—the last thing he needed when training was some bright-eyed, bushy-tailed kid distracting him. Finally he’d resorted to his usual, blunter tactics and told her in no uncertain terms to get the hell out from under his feet.

  But Milly had steadfastly ignored him, popping back up like one of those candles you can’t blow out, always cheerful, always there. And in the end, he had to admit she made herself useful. No job was too menial, or too demanding, and both her knowledge and natural instincts around Delaney’s colts made her handy to have around.

  For the first time ever, he’d met someone whose bond with horses rivaled his own. And she was single-minded too—stubborn as a mule, in fact—a trait he had always admired. The more time they spent together, and the more he got to know her, the more sympathy he felt for her situation.

  Silently, he’d watched the bitchy way that Sir Michael’s daughter treated her: Rachel had also taken to hanging around the yard like a bad smell since he’d arrived, prancing around in her sexed-up riding gear trying to get his attention and make Jasper jealous. Even worse was the way that both of Milly’s parents stifled their daughter’s ambitions—this whole riding ban, once Milly had explained it to him, was as crazy and unnecessary as it was cruel. And as for that horrific brother of hers, there was nothing wrong with that asshole that a good horsewhipping couldn’t fix.

  He’d had his misgivings at first when she’d aske
d for his help. Her father was, after all, his host, and he’d hit the roof if he knew Milly was riding and that he, Bobby, was complicit in it. But after she’d persuaded him to watch her in the saddle just once, all his doubts evaporated.

  She was good. Better than good. In fact, considering that she hadn’t ridden at all in two years, she was phenomenal. What struck him most though was how good she was over short distances. Like Jasper, she was an aggressive rider. But unlike him she wasn’t aggressive toward her mount. Instead, she allowed her infectious competitiveness and fearlessness to push horses to the absolute limit of their endurance, turning in some quite astonishing times on short, flat sprints.

  It was kinda ironic, for an English breeder’s daughter. But Milly was, in fact, a natural quarter horse racer. What had Cecil been thinking, to squander a talent like that?

  For the first time since Hank’s death, Bobby found himself focusing on something other than Highwood and his own problems. In a funny way, it was kind of a relief.

  “I’ll ride him back to the yard,” he said, lengthening Elijah’s stirrups by about a foot before vaulting up into the saddle himself. “You’d better stay here and help Pablo rub down Kingdom.” Keys to the Kingdom was the trickier of Delaney’s two colts, and the one they’d been working with the most in the last couple of days. “Oh, and I need you to finish filing Victor’s training notes before tomorrow. I’m going to Jonny Davenport’s party tonight, so I won’t have time.”

  “Okay,” said Milly, her face falling. Desperate to please him in any way she could, she never complained when Bobby palmed work off onto her. It was the thought of him disappearing off to yet another party that upset her.

  Having always thought of the English as standoffish and reserved, no one was more surprised than Bobby by the warm reception he’d received among Newmarket’s hostesses. No one, except possibly Jasper, whose fury at the way the cowboy wonder had steamed in on his territory knew no bounds.