With any other woman in the horse world, I could have explained away the mark on her face as an occupational hazard. I’d had my share of black eyes, and no one had ever laid a hand on me. But no one tried to hide a bruise unless there was a reason for it.
I glanced at the clock beside my bed. It was coming on midnight, and if I wanted to get anything done tomorrow, I needed to sleep. Sleep, however, wasn’t happening as long as I had so many questions tunneling their way through my brain.
Curiosity finally got the best of me.
I went to the other side of my bedroom, sat at my desk and opened my laptop. For a good ten minutes, I debated whether this was creepy or made me some kind of stalker. I wasn’t out to track down everything she’d ever done or everywhere she’d ever been. I was just curious about this enigmatic woman who’d come to my farm out of nowhere.
Finally, I pulled up a search engine and entered her name. It was probably a long shot but worth a try.
Numerous results came up. A doctoral candidate in Rochester, New York. A member of a youth soccer team somewhere in Iowa. A reporter for a small town news site in Arizona.
I added quotation marks to the search. Then “Washington”.
The first result read:
Dover Equestrian
.
Snohomish, Washington. Owned by Sam & Amy Dover.
Sam?
Immediately, my gut twisted with jealousy, and just as quickly, I felt like an idiot. Jealousy? Really? I didn’t know for sure yet if this was the Amy Dover I was looking for, and even if she was, where in the world did I come off being jealous?
I shook my head. Losing my mind. Clearly.
There was a link to the farm’s main page but also one below it for “Meet Our Trainers”, so I clicked on that one.
The page loaded, and my heart skipped. That was definitely Amy. She held up a huge silver trophy in white-gloved hands. Her hair was neatly tied back beneath a black top hat, and the white breeches, shadbelly coat and canary vest were a far cry from the jeans and T-shirts she wore here, but her face was unmistakable. I hadn’t seen her smile much, if at all, never mind like she did in that picture. My God, she was gorgeous. Dressage clothes made most women look good, but Amy put every last one of them to shame, from the curve of her hips and waist inside that form-fitting black coat to the way the white breeches clung to her legs. That smile, though, made me dizzy. Christ, she was beautiful.
Beside her photo was her bio.
Amy’s passion for horses began when she was a little girl, and with the love and support of her family, she went from a young horse lover to a world-class trainer.
My jaw dropped. I looked at the picture again, certain this couldn’t really be the same woman, but indeed, that was Amy.
Beside the next paragraph was an image of the cover of
National Oxer
magazine with Amy in a red hunt coat on the back of a seal-brown horse as they sailed over a jump. Beneath the brim of her black velvet helmet, her expression was one of pure concentration, and both her form and the horse’s were flawless. This woman wasn’t the lost, empty-eyed girl who picked out stalls and turned out horses and lived quietly on the other side of this wall. She couldn’t be.
Intrigued, I read on.
Amy holds countless regional, national and international titles in Hunter/Jumper, Show Jumping and Dressage. She is a two-time recipient of the Washington State Equestrian of the Year Award, and in the fifty-year history of the Rainier Valley Regional Jumper series, Amy is the only rider ever to win the coveted Grand Champion titles in both Hunter/Jumper and Show Jumping in the same year, an honor she has achieved twice.
Amy offers comprehensive training in all disciplines, including lessons for horses and riders of all ages and experience levels. Private and group lessons available.
ADDENDUM: As of June, Amy is taking a leave of absence and will be unavailable until further notice.
I furrowed my brow. A leave of absence? Interesting.
I clicked on the main page.
On any farm’s site, the main page would feature a photo of the facility, a stallion or a recent win. On this one, though, there was a photo of Amy in a green dress beside a slick-looking guy in a suit and tie. He had his arm around her waist, and his smile looked way, way more genuine than hers. In fact, hers looked a lot like it had since she’d been here: mechanical, for someone else’s benefit rather than a reflection of her own feelings. And maybe I was reading too much into things, but I swore she subtly leaned away from him. I could imagine her waiting until the photo was taken, and then shoving his arm away from her.
Above the photo:
In Loving Memory
of Samuel M. Dover, Jr
.
I scrolled below the picture.
It is with tremendous sadness that Dover Equestrian must unexpectedly say good-bye to owner and founder Sam Dover, Jr., who passed away after a motorcycle accident on June 17
th
.
The date took me aback. I had to look twice at the date on my screen to confirm it, but there was no mistaking: He’d died not five days before Amy came here. Three days before we got the call in response to our ad.
Just
a week ago.
Funeral services will be held,
the page continued,
at Valley Congregational Church on June 21
st
at 1 p.m.
The twenty-first? My God, she’d come here straight from her husband’s funeral?
I very nearly had to scroll up and check the photo once again to confirm this really was Amy and not some woman with the same name and an uncanny resemblance, but below the announcement of the date of the funeral was another photo of Amy and Sam. There was a gray horse between them wearing a rose collar around his neck, and Amy wore a medal around hers on a red, white and blue ribbon. Sam beamed at the camera, holding up a trophy and a bottle of champagne, but in Amy’s expression, I caught another glimpse of the woman living on the other side of my bedroom wall. She smiled, but it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes.
The memorial page continued,
Sam is survived by Amy, his devoted wife of eleven years, and was preceded in death by his parents, Sam Sr. and Lynette Dover.
In light of her husband’s sudden and tragic passing, Amy has taken a leave of absence and will be unavailable for training of any kind until further notice.
I sat back from the desk and stared at the screen. My mouth was dry. I wasn’t sure what surprised me more, that Amy was a world-class trainer or that she was a grieving widow. A trainer who probably didn’t bother with a trophy case and instead had an entire room, and a widow who’d left everything behind on the day of her husband’s funeral to come to my ranch and work as a farmhand. Grief did strange things to people, but what was it about Sam and his death that had driven Amy to the equivalent of an Olympic rider quitting the US Equestrian Team to join the Pony Club?
And the mark on her face…
As I shifted my gaze to the wall that separated her side of the house from mine, the same question as earlier echoed in my mind:
What happened to you, Amy?
Chapter Seven
Amy
Sleep wasn’t happening tonight. Not while I kept replaying that short, uncomfortable conversation with Dustin.
He saw the bruise. No way he missed that. Shit, I should have known better than to go outside without covering it up, especially when the barn lights were on, but I’d figured it would just be one of the boarders finishing up a late-evening ride. If they’d noticed or asked, I could have just brushed it off as an occupational hazard from working around horses, or—
And why couldn’t I do that with Dustin?
Groaning, I rubbed my eyes, making sure to avoid the vaguely tender spot just below my left one. Why would he have been any more likely to see right through me to the truth than one of the boarders? And why the hell did I care? I wasn’t trying to impress Dustin.
At least, I didn’t think I was.
Whether or not I was, I was pretty sure I’d failed miserably. Whatever his initial impression was of me or my damned bruise, I could only imagine what he thought of my hurried exit yesterday. Even I wasn’t sure what to think, or why I’d just needed to get away from him, especially after he’d apologized for the exchange that had had me making an extra effort to avoid him all day long.
No doubt about it, madam—you have gone certifiably insane.
Like there was any question about that these days.
Naturally, morning showed up before I’d had a chance to grab more than an hour of sleep. Insane or sleep-deprived or all of the above, there was still work to be done, so I trudged through my daily to-do list. I’d just turned a couple of mares out into the pasture when my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, and thank God, it was just Mariah.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, you,” she said. “Just had a quick question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Has Jade always thrown a fit when you try to bit her up?” Mariah asked. “I swear, every time I put the bit in her mouth, she throws her head and acts like I’m torturing her.”
“Which bit are you using?”
“The O-ring snaffle that was on her bridle.”
I stared at the brown grass at my feet as I strolled down the path between pastures. “Hmm. She’s never had a problem with that one. Has Kelly been pulling hard on her mouth lately? Because she was starting to get a little rough with the reins in some of her lessons.”
“I’ll have to watch her when she comes for her lesson tomorrow. I hadn’t noticed, but that could be it.”
“Definitely keep an eye on her. She’s got quiet hands most of the time, but if she gets frustrated? Not so much.”
“Good to know.”
Cringing inwardly, I asked, “So other than that, how are things going at the farm?”
“They’re going,” she said. “Don’t worry about it, all right?”
“Is something going on? Anything I should worry about?”
“No, no, everything’s fine. I’ve got the training schedule under control. In fact, I’ve been letting Dena take on some of the horses, and she’s really been shining.”
“Oh, good.” I smiled. My niece was a fantastic rider, so if Mariah brought anyone in to help out, I wasn’t going to argue with her choosing Dena. “Always knew she had it in her.”
Mariah laughed. “Yeah, well, Curt’s not too happy about it.”
I snorted. Our brother liked to think he was a business big shot himself, so I could only imagine him trying to step into Sam’s shoes and run the joint. “Tell him to get over it. Dena’s twice the rider you
or
I were when we were seventeen, so it’s not like she’s some green kid just out of walk-trot or something.”
“No kidding. You’d think the man could be supportive of his own niece, but I think he’s just so butthurt about the whole situation, he—”
“Wait, what?”
Mariah sighed. “I’m not going to lie, baby. Curt’s furious that you’re gone.”
“What does he care?” I rolled my eyes and absently grabbed at some long stalks of grass as I walked past. “You and I had things under control before I left, and you’ve got it under control now. What more does he want?”
“He’s convinced this is irreparably destroying the farm’s image,” she said, almost groaning. “That it’s making you look flaky. And he hasn’t out and said it, but I’m pretty sure he’s this close to admitting he thinks everyone is here for your expertise, not mine.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
“Oh, well.” Every ounce of bitterness made it down the line.
“He’s just been drinking Sam’s Kool-Aid for the last few years,” I said. “You know that. All that bullcrap about our image, and our brand, and whatever. All business.”
“God, no kidding,” she muttered. “I’m surprised those two didn’t start installing cubicles and fluorescent lights in the barn.”
I laughed dryly. “Exactly.”
“All right, well, I’d better go,” she said. “Take care of yourself, will you?”
“I will. I promise.”
Horses in, horses out. Story of my life these days. That, and once or twice a week, I was supposed to go around the farm and check the fences for any damage. Broken boards, faulty wires, loose posts, things like that. Whatever I found, I was to mark with an orange ribbon so it could be found easily. Then I’d go through—with John’s help if it was a two-person job—and repair all the problem spots.
On my way out, as I neared her stall, Star had her head over the door, and when she saw me, her ears perked up. She nickered softly, watching me hopefully as I came down the aisle.
“
I know I made myself clear,
” I heard Dustin warning me about the abused horses.
But for as timid and nervous as Star was, she wasn’t an unfriendly horse, and if there was one thing I wanted to relearn how to do while I was here, it was to
not
walk past a horse who just wanted some attention. I’d stopped noticing those innocent bids for a little interaction a long time ago, and damn it, now that I’d noticed this one, I wasn’t ignoring it.
I threw cautious glances up and down the aisle to make sure I was alone, then went to Star’s stall. The filly searched my palm for treats and inspected my sleeve with her nose and mouth. I gently pushed her muzzle away from my arm before she decided to nibble my shirt; better to remove the temptation than startle her with a correction.