Kathryn Jensen – The Royal and The Runaway Bride (страница 3)

She had left him, if not literally at the altar, only hours away from it.

Bitterness and anger seethed within her again, subsiding only as she sipped a cool tropical juice drink. She should have seen the signs, should have learned over the years. The world was full of Robert Marshes, and the only way to have a safe relationship with a man was, ironically, by lying to him.

Thus she would be a horse trainer if that was what she chose to be for a few hours.

Phillip Kinrowan’s estate perched on a cliff overlooking the blue-green Tyrrhenian Sea. The day was bright and warm. The stone had baked in the sun all morning and felt smooth and pleasantly hot against the soles of Alex’s bare feet as she climbed. She squinted up the steep face of the cliff, then looked back down to the beach where the motor launch had left her, its driver pointing toward the ancient stairway. Above her she could see nothing but blue sky. The smell of wild jasmine and portulaca was almost overpowering, a heady brew when mixed with the brine of the ocean lapping at the rocks beneath her.

At last her head rose above the edge of the cliff and a long, low white structure came into view, set back from the rocks by a carpet of manicured emerald grass. She drew in a slow breath. “Oh, my…”

It wasn’t the largest house she’d ever seen, but it had character and charm and something that didn’t come from one or two generations of luck and money. This place had old-world history built into it. It might have been constructed of the gleaming white limestone in the days when Rome or Athens was devouring chunks of Europe. Or it might have been built centuries later to emulate the classic lines of antiquity. Slender white columns stretched up to support a portico of sun-catching stone. Long wings of the low building curved around a fountain, a circular drive, and a beautifully maintained garden. She judged that although there was only one floor, the house could accommodate fifty or more overnight guests within its many sun-drenched rooms.

Feeling less confident about her quick visit, she slowly walked up the path of crushed shells toward the main entrance of the estate. Before she reached the steps, a figure in a white shirt and pants, a straw Panama hat and leather espadrilles moved out of the shadows and came down the steps toward her.

Phillip smiled. “Welcome to my home, Sandora.”

“Have you been lurking there waiting for long?” she asked.

“The launch jockey radioed that he’d dropped you off on the beach.”

“I see. When you said you’d send someone to pick me up in Altaria-Ville, I assumed it would be a car.”

“It could have been, but it would have taken longer. And the view by water can’t be beat.” He held out a hand to her, and she assumed he was either going to shake hands American-style, or kiss her fingertips as Europeans do. Instead he enclosed her fingers in a warm grip and tucked them between his elbow and the side of his body, then began walking her across the lawn toward what she could now see was the stables.

“Well,” she said nervously, “the view was great. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Lunch won’t be ready for an hour. I hope you don’t mind looking at Eros first.”

“Eros?” The god of love, if she remembered her mythology. Another name for Cupid, the imp who had caused Medea to fall in love with Jason while on his search for the golden fleece. The outcome had been tragic.

“My problem horse. He’s always been a wonderful mount. Won me a bundle of Grand Prix ribbons as a jumper. Aside from that, I just plain like him better than any other horse in my stable. But he’s refusing jumps now.”

“When did he start doing that?” she asked.

“About a month ago. It happened very suddenly. No warning at all. One of my exercise lads was taking him through his paces, just warming him up easy before I came out to ride for the day. By the time I reached the ring, the lad was on the ground cursing the horse, and Eros was in a lather, pacing the yard as if he’d been terribly frightened.”

“He might have been. You can never tell with horses what will spook them.” She felt satisfied with how astute and experienced she sounded. “Did you ask the boy what had happened?”

“Of course.” Phillip anxiously dragged fingers through his thick brown hair. “No one in the yard saw anything that might have scared the animal. Nothing out of the ordinary seems to have happened during those few minutes.”

“Hmmm,” Alex said, aiming for an expression of sage perplexity. “Well, let’s take a look at him.”

Phillip led her down a row of half doors, the generous-sized stalls behind them smelling of cedar chips, saddle soap and the natural muskiness of horseflesh. She had always loved this part of being around horses—the smells, rough and masculine textures, sounds of hooves restlessly shifting on wooden planks, snuffles and whinnies of horses talking to one another in their secret language. It was the riding part that hadn’t been as easy, or at least as painless.

Phillip stopped in front of a stall and whistled between his teeth. Almost immediately, an enormous black head with shining dark eyes appeared in the opening. “Hello, Eros, old man,” Phillip murmured tenderly. He ran a gentle hand beneath the horse’s chin and thumped the side of its neck.

“Phillip,” she gasped, “he’s gorgeous.” She meant it.

Her eyes took in the dark line of the animal’s body on the other side of the door. The classic lines of the Thoroughbred were perfected in the shining flanks, the delicate limbs and well-muscled barrel chest of the horse. She’d ridden some wonderful horses as a girl, up until the time she’d quit her lessons fourteen years ago when she turned sixteen and gotten up the nerve to tell her father riding just wasn’t for her. But Eros made them all look like commoners.

Alex swallowed over a lump of emotion in her throat. Would she ever dare ride such a horse? Or course, Phillip probably didn’t let just anyone hop on the back of this magnificent creature, clearly his pride and joy.

“Any opinion?” he asked, interrupting her admiration.

“He’s wonderful, of course,” she breathed.

“I meant, your professional judgment.”

“Oh. Of course.” She recovered quickly, her mind racing to come up with something…anything that might sound like trainer-talk. “Ummm. Well, anyone can see he’s still jittery. Something has broken his confidence.”

Phillip scowled and reached out to rest his palm over the wide, velvety bridge of Eros’s nose. “You can see that in here? Just by looking at him?”

She nodded wisely. “Yes. I’ve seen this sort of thing a lot. The whole character of the horse can change after one bad incident.”

“But nothing happened to—”

“Nothing your stable hands will admit to,” she said quickly. “I don’t know about you, but people who work for my fa— my employer,” she corrected herself hastily, “although they may be loyal and honest in most ways, often have trouble admitting to a mistake. They don’t want to make their boss angry, so it’s natural to cover up, hoping things will mend themselves.”

He studied her for a long moment. “I suppose you’re right. I probably will never know what, if anything, got to Eros that day.”

“Exactly.” She felt more confident now that she’d gotten him to agree with her, even though her point was a vague one at best. “So all we can do now is build the horse’s confidence.”

“How do we do that?”

She only had to think for a second before she remembered how she’d recovered after a few bad falls. “You start at the beginning. Retrain him as if he’s never jumped before.”

Phillip shook his head. “My own trainer said that he must be made to take a couple of high jumps, then he’ll be fine.”

She let out a doubtful chortle. “Right. And how are you going to force a couple thousand pounds of horseflesh over a five-foot hurdle, short of using a forklift?”

He smiled and stepped closer to her, their shoulders touching, and she felt a tingle of excitement. “You have a point. Tell me more,” he said.

She let Eros sniff her palm then stroked his sleek black throat. “Ride him on the flat for a dozen or more loops around the ring. No jumps at all. Then walk him over a rail lying on the ground. After he’s comfortable with that, move up to a rail placed no more than four or five inches off the ground. Keep raising the height slowly, but don’t move him up until he takes the new level without hesitation. If it takes weeks, fine. Don’t push him.”

Phillip nodded slowly. “It sounds logical. You’ve used this technique before with other horses?”

“Zillions!” She smiled when Eros playfully nuzzled her cheek. And now, she thought, time for lunch. She couldn’t get enough of the wonderful Mediterranean seafood found all over the island.

But Phillip had other ideas. “Let’s get him saddled.”

“What?” She stared at him apprehensively.

“No time like the present. Besides, you yourself said you won’t be here for long. I want to take advantage of your expertise.”

“But I’m sure your own trainer—”

“He hasn’t succeeded yet, and I don’t want to take the chance that Eros might connect Marco with whatever originally spooked him. He seems to like you. Maybe a woman’s touch is what he needs.”