“It means, that when people have trouble, they call me.” He nodded to the low, white building, off by itself at the edge of Melody Meadow. “What’s that?”
“Vet clinic. What kind of trouble?”
“Your kind of trouble. You have your own vet?”
“We do. You mean cash flow and too rapid corporate expansion?” That was the Ryder’s corporate issue in a nutshell.
“Sometimes.”
“And the other times?”
He didn’t answer.
“Are you proud of it?” she goaded.
He gave a rueful smile as he shook his head.
She tilted her head to one side, going for ingenuous and hopeful. It usually worked on her brothers.
“Fine. Mostly I identify market sector expansion opportunities then analyze the financial and political framework of specific overseas economic regions.”
She blinked.
“On behalf of privately held companies.”
“The vet’s name is Dr. Anderson,” she offered.
Alec coughed out a chuckle.
“It sounds challenging,” she admitted, turning her focus back to the road.
He shrugged. “You need to develop contacts. But once you learn the legislative framework of a given county, it applies to all sorts of situations.”
“I suppose it would.”
The breeze freshened, while horses whinnied as they passed a row of paddocks.
“Tell me about your job,” Alec prompted.
“I teach horses to jump over things,” she stated, not even attempting to dress it up.
There was a smile in his voice, but his tone was mild. “That sounds challenging.”
“Not at all. You get them galloping really fast, point them at a jump and most of the time they figure it out.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then they stop, and you keep going.”
“Headfirst?” he asked.
“Headfirst.”
“Ouch.”
She subconsciously rubbed the tender spot on the outside of her right thigh where she’d landed hard coming off Rosie-Jo yesterday. “Ouch is right.”
The road tapered to a trail as they came up to the six-foot, white rail fence that surrounded the main riding arena. Alec paused to watch a group of young jumping students and their trainer on the far side.
Stephanie stopped beside him.
“I didn’t mean to sound pretentious,” he offered.
“I know.” She had no doubt that he was accurately describing his job. Her brothers wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t a skilled and experienced professional.
Alec hooked his hand over the top fence rail and pivoted to face her. “So, are you going to tell me what you really do?”
Stephanie debated another sarcastic answer, but there was a frankness in his slate eyes that stopped her.
“I train horses,” she told him. “I buy horses, sell horses, board them, breed them and train them.” She shifted her gaze to the activities of the junior class. “And I jump them.”
“I hear you’re headed for the Olympics.” His gaze was intent on her expression.
“The Olympics are a long way off. I’m focused on the Brighton competition for the moment.”
As she spoke, Wesley appeared from behind the bleachers, leading Rockfire into the arena for a round of jumps. Even from this distance, she could appreciate his fresh-faced profile, lanky body and sunshine-blond hair.
His lips had been
She wondered if he’d try again.
“What about management?”
Stephanie blinked her focus back to Alec. “Hmm?”
“Management. I assume you also manage the stable operations?”
She nodded, her gaze creeping sideways for another glimpse of Wesley as he mounted his horse. This was his first year on the adult jumping circuit, and he was poised to make a splash. He grinned as he spoke to Tina, the junior class instructor, raking a spread hand through his full, tousled hair before putting on his helmet.
“Your boyfriend?” There was an edge to Alec’s voice.
Stephanie turned guiltily, embarrassed that her attention had wandered.
Alec frowned at her, and the contrast between the two men was startling. One light, one dark. One carefree, one intense.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Just a crush then?”
“It’s nothing.”
Alec dropped his hand from the rail as Wesley and Rockfire sailed over the first jump. “It’s something.”
She glared at him. “It’s none of your business, is what it is.”
He stared back for a silent minute.
His eyes were dark. His lips were parted. And a fissure of awareness suddenly sizzled through her. No.
Not Alec.
It was Wesley she wanted.
“You’re right,” Alec conceded into the long silence. “It is none of my business.”
Back inside her house that evening, he found himself staring at Stephanie’s likeness in a framed cover of
The equestrian trophy in her hand, however, was his business, as was the fact that the Ryder name was sprayed across the cover of a nationally circulated magazine.
“That was at Carlton Shores,” came her voice, its resonance sending a buzz of awareness up his spine.
“Two thousand and eight,” she finished, coming up beside him.
He immediately caught the scent of fresh brewed coffee, and looked over to see two burgundy, stoneware mugs in her hands.
“You won,” he stated unnecessarily.
She handed him one of the mugs. “You seem like a ‘black’ kind of a guy.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her accurate assessment. “Straight to the heart of the matter,” he agreed.
“I take cream and sugar.” She paused. “Dress it up as much as you can, I guess.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
She was in a business that was all pomp, glitz and show. Oh, she worked hard at it. There was no way she would have made it this far if she hadn’t. But her division of Ryder International certainly wasn’t the bedrock of the company’s income stream.
He took a sip of the coffee. It was just the way he liked it, robust, without being sharp on the tongue.
She followed suit, and his gaze took a tour from her damp, freshly washed hair, pulled back in a sensible braid, to her clingy, white tank top and the pair of comfortable navy sweatpants that tapered down to incongruous lime- green socks.
