Chase The Clouds. Lindsay McKenna
Her heart turned over in compassion as she noted several more scars around his mouth and across the top of his nose.
Sam came around, affectionately scratching Altair’s ears. “Remember me telling you that the wrangler who captured him tried to break his spirit?” he asked huskily.
Dany looked up, aware of the simmering anger hidden in his voice and reflected in his eyes. “This is outright cruelty!” she protested, her voice strangled with emotion. Gently, she reached up, caressing Altair’s scarred muzzle. The stallion moved away from her hand, the white of his eye showing as he took another step backward. She shook her head. “I don’t blame him for jerking away,” she said tightly. “What did they do, use wire to try and keep his head and nose down?”
“Yes. It didn’t work, but it made him head shy with everyone except me.” Sam gave her a smile of encouragement. “And I think he’ll eventually let you touch his mouth without going crazy. I can see he’s already responding to you in a way he’s never done before with anyone else.”
“Typical male.”
“Yes, and thank God you’re the one to help him over some of his worst faults,” Sam said fervently. “Altair may not appreciate your beauty, but I do.” He grinned and playfully put his arm across the stallion’s neck and leaned against him.
“How do you get the bit into his mouth if he’s head shy?”
Sam pursed his mouth, casting a troubled glance in her direction. “Very carefully. We use the snaffle only when he shows in the dressage portion of the show.”
Dany gave him an incredulous look. “What on earth do you use, then?” It was beyond comprehension in her mind to ride an eventing horse without a bit in his mouth! Riding over a thousand pounds of horseflesh at twenty-five to thirty miles an hour over a grueling, dangerous course without the control of a bit was impossible to comprehend. No wonder Altair has injured his previous riders, she thought, experiencing a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“We use an aluminum hackamore, Dany.”
She searched her memory for the use of the training device. Hackamores were invented for the horse that wouldn’t carry a bit in its mouth. The rawhide or aluminum loop fit around the muzzle and when it was pulled on, it exerted pressure against sensitive nerve endings that lay on either cheek of the horse’s jaw. She gave Sam a distrustful look. “Is that why the riders have been injured?”
“No. Do you think I’d ask you to ride and train him if he wasn’t manageable?” he demanded.
She bristled. “At this moment, I think anything is possible! You bind me with a contract that was signed by my ex-husband and practically blackmail me to fly me out here to retrain this horse.” She was aware of the effort he was making to control his temper as his gray eyes darkened like ominous thunderclouds.
“I’m not in the habit of risking people’s lives, particularly a woman who I think can salvage my stallion and bring him into his own. I need you alive, not dead, Dany. Sure, he can be dangerous because of his past. But he’s responsive. Altair is not deliberately cruel or vicious. God knows, he ought to be, for what he’s suffered. But look at him. Does he look unsafe?”
As if listening to the heated conversation between them, Altair walked between them, head down, standing quietly while they glared across his back at one another. Dany put her hands on her hips in defiance.
“I won’t ride him unless he’s got a bit in his mouth, that’s final.”
“Fine. You find a way to do it, and we’ll both be happy. He’s extremely responsive to the hackamore, though.”
She shook her head. “Sam Reese, either you’re the most eccentric man I’ve ever met with an even more eccentric horse or—”
“We’re both unique,” he interrupted. His gaze lingered on her. “And so are you. You’re one of a kind, lady. Just the gal to help Altair to become the best Grand Prix jumper in the world.”
She didn’t know how to react to his backhanded compliments, and was continually uncomfortable beneath his warming, caressing gaze. “Tell me what else he has problems with,” she muttered. “The fly in the ointment, no doubt.”
“He doesn’t like water. He’ll damn near do anything to avoid it. Including dumping his rider into an oxer or earth bank.”
Dany looked over at him. “Did your riders quit, or were they killed?”
Sam managed a sour grin. “None killed. One got hurt pretty seriously, and he was out of action for two months. It was after Tony’s fall that I decided I wasn’t going to risk anyone’s life until I could get Richland Stables to honor its commitment.”
Dany frowned, allowing Altair to nuzzle her hair with his velvety nose. “Are you going to let me help you, big boy?” she asked the stallion, giving him a playful pat on the forehead. Altair backed away, snorting. A mare from another pasture whickered a greeting, and the sorrel thoroughbred raised his magnificent head, standing like a marble statue. He bugled out an answering call, the sound raucous and harsh to their ears. Sam smiled and slipped between the railings.
“That’s his way of making sweet talk to them.”
“He’s a nice-looking horse, Sam. So I can’t blame the mares for wanting to entice him over to their paddocks,” she grudgingly admitted.
He took her arm and led her down toward the stable. “We’ve got his yearling crop in here. I bred him to five of my best broodmares. Let’s see what you think of the results.” Dany reviewed the thoroughbred yearlings and stood in the passage between the large, roomy boxstalls with Sam. “That’s simply amazing,” she admitted. “There’s a uniformity in conformation I’ve rarely seen. Each one looks like a stamp of Altair.”
“Exactly. He’s prepotent as hell. I bred him to five different bloodlines to see how his genes would affect the mare’s breeding line. In every case, his stamp came out,” Sam said, sounding somewhat incredulous. “The legs on every yearling are absolutely straight. They’re bred to withstand the strain of jumping.”
Dany smiled. “And you can hardly wait for them to mature enough to put them on the circuit, right?”
He walked her out of the barn, and they ambled at a slow pace toward the house. The sun was barely edging the tip of the Sierras, sending streamers of light through the fog as the thickened mist began to evaporate. The cobalt blue sky turned a shade paler as the sun ascended across the peaks, promising another cool spring day. She was aware of his body only inches from her own, and once again, her skin prickled with a pleasurable tingle as his arm occasionally brushed against her.
Halting at the back porch, he pushed the hat off his forehead, watching her closely. “Well, what do you think? Is he reason enough to stay on?”
She avoided his gray eyes. Instead, she turned her back to him, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. “Please don’t think my decision has anything to do with Altair’s conformation or potential, Sam.” She girded herself inwardly, closing her eyes tightly for a moment. “But I can’t stay. This is too strange an environment for me to stay here. I’m used to the Eastern circuit, and I’m familiar with the people and the land.”
“You’re the only woman capable of bringing Altair around,” he growled.
Dany gritted her teeth. The man was stubborn! Irritation stirred to life within her, and she compressed her lips and turned, meeting his fiery gaze. Part of her resolve disappeared immediately. Sam Reese was no longer pleasant-looking in any sense of the word. He was towering over her, his eyes an angry silver hue. She took a step back, feeling the masculine aura of strength so sharply that it made her dizzy.
“It’s not the training aspect that bothers me,” she managed, her voice strident.
“Then what the hell is it?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it, her sapphire eyes glittering with golden fire. Why