Ian made love to her, and with every stroke, every tender caress, he convinced her of his desperate, hidden desires. It should have had the feel of new beginnings. Instead it felt like goodbye.

  Curled in Ian’s arms, Susan softly pleaded, “Ian, if I say yes—if I say I will wait for you—will you go? Will you do that for me, for us? Two years isn’t such a long time. We can email every day. I’ll visit when I can. It’s not like Florida’s on the other side of the ocean.”

  Ian lifted himself onto his elbows and gazed at her, hope lighting his eyes. “You’ll do that for me?”

  With shallow breaths and a heart about to break, she willed herself to make the sacrifice. She couldn’t let him give up an opportunity like this. She simply refused. If age had some benefits, it was that she could see the long term. The tough part was facing it squarely and making the right choices for the one she cared about. She’d always believed life rested in the hands of fate, a fickle entity that delighted in slapping her in the face even when she held steady to the course.

  But that was the old Susan talking. The new Susan put the past behind her and embraced whatever life threw at her.

  The night passed in a mist of soft murmurings of promises neither of them should ever have to keep. In the end, he agreed as she knew he would.

  He would leave for Florida in two weeks.

  ****

  That first day after she’d seen Ian off wasn’t so bad, just a slight nick on the artery, a tiny trickle of blood. The next week was pretty much okay, but the following month started out as hell and went downhill from there. The emails came every day as promised, at first filled with news and expressions of love, then not so much. On the sixth month anniversary of Ian’s proposal, Susan thought about flying down for a visit, perhaps spending a long weekend, but it seemed like too much trouble. Not long after that, Lotte dropped the bomb about the other dressage student, a talented junior rider, just barely seventeen. The small matter of a switch of affections seemed an afterthought, though the knife was still sharp enough that the artery bled bright red. But not for long. She wrapped her heart in steel and tied the band tight.

  The sugar daddy finally showed up—handsome, divorced, CEO of a pharmaceuticals company, with more money than God and a string of timber horses. Would she be his jump jockey?

  Yeah, I can do that.

  So she rode his horses at the late fall meets, then she rode him though the long winter. In the spring, she took the final stake to the heart. Ian was engaged with nary a word to her. Nothing. Nada. I promise to love you and take care of you forever. Funny thing about love, it came and went so quickly. Blink and it’s gone like the wind. Pain. Now that was something she was going to be on intimate terms with forever.

  Sugar Daddy bought her a six-figure eventing horse, and she trained like the dickens for the South Carolina three-star competition. They took fourth and her future looked secure. Then the gelding pulled up lame, a bowed tendon putting him out for a year. Sugar Daddy found a younger blond bimbo—skinnier, with bigger tits, flatter ass—and Blondie only wanted designer purses, not expensive, lame horses.

  Hasta la vista, Susan.

  Almost two years to the day when Ian had yanked her heart out of her chest, she headed home once more, in a blinding snowstorm, home to recuperate from the crushing emotional blows and to consider her options.

  Her mother met her at the door. Marge had aged noticeably that past year—time, weather and hard work had finally taken a toll. Susan was happy to be home again, to help this time, not mope like a teenager. Lonely Heart Bill was back, along with a mousy little thing that he’d convinced to be his wife. She was happy for him, genuinely so. Just because she’d never feel that way again in her miserable lifetime didn’t mean she couldn’t offer someone else her best wishes.

  Marge’s face lit with delight. “Oh Suz. I’m so happy to have you home. Come on. I’ve redone your bedroom. I hope you like it.”

  She wrapped an arm around her mother’s still slim form, and they walked companionably to the annex. Her mom had decorated everything in cheerful shades of green and yellow, the quilt handmade on her mother’s antique loom. The dresser had been refinished in a light oak and the floors scrubbed to a shine. It was perfect.

  Maybe you can go home again.

  “Oh Mom, it’s beautiful. Thank you.” Susan sat on the bed, still holding her mother’s hand. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Christmas came and went, the Inn full to capacity. Susan busied herself with any chore that did not involve interacting with the guests. A bachelor or two approached her, but the band around her heart held tight. Hard-eyed, rigid spine, she blew off all suitors and dreamt of long-legged horses and impossible jumps. Someday she’d get her dream back.

  Someday.

  Chapter Eight: Meet ’n Greet

  “When are they due in, sis?”

  “Bertie from the airport called. The van we hired met them so they’re on their way.” She took another swipe at an already pristine counter top. “Are you sure about this Manny?”

  He put his arm around the frantic woman and hugged her tightly. She was usually calm, cool and collected, but for the first time in memory Saul and the ranch hands had taken off for Scottsdale, leaving her, the kids and Manny to deal with the arriving guests—and the entire operation. A couple of the kids from the next spread over were coming out later to help for the week. His niece and nephew had cleaned out the small bunkhouse well enough that the teens could crash—not that they’d notice a little clutter.

  “It’ll be okay. I’m all set for the trip. Saul sent supplies out. One of the teens can help me pack when we’re ready to go.” He headed for the kitchen door. “Rosa will take care of feeding the horses.” He paused, then asked with a snicker, “Um, where’s Rico?”

  “I put him down for a nap. Little devil was up half the night building something with those Legos you bought him.”

  Glancing out the back door he asked, “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes, I, uh…” Maria grimaced. “He’s headed for the barn, isn’t he?” She threw her hands in the air. “Manny?”

  “On it. I’ll give him some chores that’ll keep him out of everybody’s hair for a while. You stay here and greet the guests.”

  He gave Maria an encouraging smile and pushed the screen door open. The ‘little devil’ had already vanished from sight. He raced across the dusty yard to his sister’s heartfelt “thank youuuuu” echoing from the kitchen.

  ****

  Susan unfolded herself from the back of the vehicle. The lodge had hired a minivan to pick them up at the regional airport at Riverton. It had been an interminable ride, through stark, forbidding country, wild and unbelievably beautiful. She inhaled the fragrance of pine, the air scrubbed clean by a benevolent god.

  The lodge sat in a hollow cut out by a fast moving stream. She loved the wide, inviting porch with rockers and a swing that twisted in the stiff breeze. Even as sheltered as they were, surrounded by hillocks of low-growing sage and sparse grass, the breeze blew steadily. She’d been warned about ever-windy Wyoming and the variable weather. The pines lined the stream in clumps, with the boughs wavering and shushing a lulling musical cadence. She could hide here and no one would ask questions she didn’t want to answer.

  Her seat-mate grunted and struggled with her luggage. Susan quickly offered, “Here, Georgie, let me help you.”

  She pulled the older woman’s duffel bag from the back of the van and reached for the bulky Australian saddle that she’d lugged with her all the way from Trenton. Georgie was a competitive trail rider with two thousand competition miles under her belt, earned over the years, twenty-five miles at a time. That was pretty darned impressive for a lady of a certain age, pushing mid-sixties was her best guess.

  The other competitive trail rider—or ‘CTR’ as they preferred to call the sport—devotee was code-named Willy for Wilhemina. She was a petite middle-aged divorcée who’d recently shed hubby-number-two. On the road she regaled them with a long treatise on how embracing horseflesh rather than ‘man parts’ was the better option for a fulfilling life. The ladies had all nodded and smiled at that bit of wisdom. She’d kept the group in stitches over her tales about catching husband-number-one with his secretary and what she’d done with certain leather products. Husband-number-two had left for another guy. They were still friends ... go figure.

  Her friends and sometimes employers, the two open jumper riders, were thirty-something significant others, together for ten years. Roberta, aka Bobby, and Beth. They ran a small stable not far from Lotte’s place, and often came over for dressage lessons to improve their seats and their mounts’ flexibility. They’d helped build the cross-country course that Susan trained on when she’d returned from her Mom’s place. While Ian had been off making new friends, Lotte had scored a decent event horse at auction that she was planning to turn around for big bucks with Susan’s expert guidance. That hadn’t worked out, along with the Sugar Daddy. It turned out it was far less stressful to shed men than horses. Lotte gave the squirrelly mare to her neighbors to see if they could do anything with her.

  Men and horses. All talent, no brains, story of my life.

  That Susan was here at the lodge was due entirely to the two B-Girls, as they were affectionately called. They’d insisted that she come along on this jaunt as payment in kind for all the work she’d done with Lotte’s talented, but spazzy, thoroughbred mare. It had only required guiding the seventeen-hand behemoth, with a brain smaller than a chickpea, over a course of five-foot uprights, tight in-and-outs, and awesome spreads—scary as all get-out. She’d gotten the mare around, clear and under time, winning a twenty-five-thousand dollar purse. Not bad for a two minute outing. Ergo—her vacation trip.

  You need to get away, m’dear. Lotte gives her blessing. It will do you good. Take your mind off the…

  Susan grabbed her own saddle—an ancient Stübben, one of the original Swiss models, with nubby leather for better grip and killer knee rolls to hold her on the slopes. She and the saddle had a long history, longer than most marriages lasted.

  Damn, I need to stop thinking about him. Which ‘him’ wasn’t exactly clear.

  None of them brought tons of luggage, just a duffel or two, all stuffed with riding pants, well-worn riding boots, helmets, and gloves. Willy had sing-songed, “All I’ve packed is a shit load of at*ti*tude.” Three of them carried their saddles on one arm like fine porcelain vases.

  The screen door banged open. A short, dark-haired couple exited the lodge and stood on the porch, obviously enjoying the shuffling of tack and duffels. They listened as her friends chatted comfortably with each other. It was nice to travel with a group of people who shared the same passions.

  She leaned against the van, trying to recall the owners’ names. Firestone. Maria. The husband’s name escaped her. The man standing next to the dark-haired woman looked familiar. He was obviously not her husband—they looked too much alike, perhaps brother and sister. Where do I know him from?

  The woman spoke up. “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m Maria and this here is my brother Manny. Please, follow me. The cabins are behind the lodge.” The small man jumped off the porch and took Georgie’s duffel bag. He led the procession around the corner of the lodge.

  Maria joined her brother as they crossed a small footbridge over the rocky stream. She pointed to the B-Girls to take cabin one, while Willy and Georgie shared the next one over.

  That left the last one all for her—something as appreciated as it was unexpected. She was still uncomfortable accepting the B-girls generosity. Fighting off her depression over Ian and all the other crap that had landed on her head the last couple of years wasn’t exactly conducive to a vacation mindset. Being alone, yet with friends, might help her reach some perspective on her situation. Hopefully she would be up to that challenge.

  Maria announced, “We will have dinner at six-thirty, on the dot. I’ve got roast chicken and all the fixin’s and a couple kinds of salad if you want vegetarian.”

  Georgie muttered, “Fuck veggies. Gimme protein.” Willy snorted at that.

  Maria’s brother, wandering behind the older ladies, smiled at Georgie’s comment. It lit his somber expression like an internal lantern. He hadn’t said a word the entire time so it took a while to place where she’d seen his face. Once she realized who he was, it was almost impossible not to stare.

  The other ladies might not realize it, but here was a genuine celebrity standing right next to them. Who’d have ever thought, in a million years, that Manuel Velasquez would be squiring their group around the mountains. Good grief. She knew all about his career, knew about the crash and burn that had sent the other jockey into a coma for four months. She’d also read that Velasquez had paid what the medical insurance hadn’t covered. Rumor had it he’d forked over a hundred thousand out of his own pocket. Apparently the other jockey had finally recovered, though he’d never ride again. The article said he’d gotten a trainer’s license and was running a small boutique stable in California.

  She wasn’t the only one staring. The ex-jockey was eying her like a prime piece of horseflesh. She knew, because she did it herself often enough. He looked ready to mount her and load her in the starting gate. With so many race tracks in Jersey, the sports sections always featured stories on jockeys, trainers and the Sport of Kings. But that wasn’t where she remembered seeing a photo of him, at least not one where he wasn’t covered in mud, wearing goggles and a helmet. That one was from the society section, something about a benefit. He’d been dressed to the nines—the pic had been in black and white so all she could tell was that the suit was dark, expensive and made his athletic build look like a million bucks. Seeing him in person, she thought he looked older than his late-thirties, his face fine-boned and lined from the constant fasting and tough life that made up the racing world.

  Lotte and Jacob had an ex-jockey partner of sorts so Susan had a pretty good idea about the discipline and rigors that a career as a jockey entailed. Even though it had to be way more than a year since he retired, he hadn’t let himself go. He was lean and wiry and moved with authority. He filled his jeans nicely, but the stray thought of what he’d look like in spandex riding pants sent a gush of heat into places she’d vowed to leave in peace for the foreseeable future.

  She gave him a small smile, then ducked into her cabin. Whew, for a small guy, he’s damn hot. There was a hell of a lot of power in that small package. She’d gotten a tingle when he’d raked her with his amazing dark eyes. Like he was sending an electrical current into her brain.

  Damn. I really don’t need this.

  She was celibate, indefinitely, sworn off men for as long as it took to get her head together. Yeah, right. Another five minutes with him might have put paid to that resolution. She took a deep breath and started unpacking.

  ****

  Manny helped the other women get their bags into the cabins, then headed to his own quarters to ruminate over what had just happened.

  He was going to enjoy the two older gals for sure. The significant others weren’t of much interest to him, though he was curious about how well they’d sit their horses. Both women were sturdy stock, with well-muscled legs and exceptionally strong shoulders, almost like they lifted weights, which might not be too far off the mark. He knew how big those open jumper horses were. It took a lot of strength to control those beasts, hurling themselves over what amounted to skyscrapers in his book. He figured they might be nuts enough to enjoy the trip he planned.

  The younger gal intrigued him. She was a looker—tall, leggy with a long torso, narrow-hipped and confident. Damn but she oozed athleticism, and that was something that drew his attention like a moth to a flame. Yeah, that one was built for speed. She had that wild kind of gaze, looking at the horizon, eying the next obstacle. He’d seen jump jockeys built like her, walk like her. Keeping his distance had been difficult. He’d had the urge to get close, close enough to inhale her scent, close enough to maybe risk a touch.

  God damn, this one was going to be trouble. It hadn’t escaped Maria’s notice that he’d homed in on the eventer chica. He saw the hope blossom on her face as she’d hustled off to the kitchen to make dinner. He had a good idea that getting the woman and him together had jumped to the top of the menu for the evening. He knew his sister too well. She’d seen sparks, at least coming off of him—and if he wasn’t too far off the mark, there might have been a few from the woman.

  What was her name again? Susan. Suz a couple of them had called her. He grabbed his tattered work jeans off the hook by the bathroom door. As he unzipped his only pair of dress jeans, his face flamed at his hard on. Jesus, I hope it wasn’t like this…

  ****

  “He’s got your number, Uncle Manny.” Rosa stared down at him with concern.

  Spitting out dirt, he admitted, “You might be right, Rosie Girl.” She grinned at him and gave him a hand up.

  He removed the riding helmet and poked at his cheek bone. Usually he landed on his feet or his ass, not too often on his head. It had actually been on the side of his face so he suspected a black eye might be in his immediate future.

  “Uh, Uncle Manny? Momma says dinner’s almost ready and you’re supposed to clean up and be,” she made finger quotes, “presentable, because of the guests ’n all.”

  He laughed and said, “Sorry little one, I didn’t quite catch all that. Can you say it again, just a little slower?”

  Rosa looked askance at him and started again, “Momma says…” Before she got on her second roll, he scooped her into his arms and spun her around.

  “I got it the first time, squirt. Go tell your mom that I’m gonna be having dinner in my cabin, just me and the ice pack.”

  “Okay, but she won’t be happy.” She turned to skip off, “I’ll bring you a plate, if you want.”