Chapter 3
Drew
I’ve been up since before dawn exercising four of the horses that I want to show Thomas Doyle today since I couldn’t get back to sleep. They are all pureblood thoroughbreds and can be a little excitable if they haven’t had a good run out. The last thing I need is him getting a hoof to the bollocks—on second thought, maybe I should just let one of them have a bit of fun after all.
I still don’t get why he wants a horse for his daughter. She didn’t strike me as a girl who gets her nails covered in horse shit and hay. Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she is a spoilt princess who has demanded a racehorse for her birthday, and Father must oblige.
The thought sticks in my throat. I won’t part with one of my beauties if that’s the case.
I’ve showered, changed into a pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt, thrown on a blazer that was hanging on a chair, and brushed my hair back off my face.
I look in the mirror and smile as I arrange the collar of my shirt and blazer. “Fuck, you are one handsome bastard,” I say and then laugh. My grandfather used to do the exact same thing. He was always joking, but it stuck with me, and now it’s a habit when I need that extra bit of confidence—?that edge—and although Thomas was polite last night, I have a feeling he’s going to be a royal prick today.
***
I hear the sound of tyres approaching on the gravel path and head downstairs and out into the yard. A big black chauffeur-driven Bently pulls up, and I’m a little taken aback when the dark-haired beauty from last night steps out first.
She gives me a small smile and then bows her head as her father gets out behind her.
“Good morning, Blackmoore!” Thomas says, reaching for my hand to shake.
The hairs on my neck instantly prickle. “It’s either Mr. Blackmoore or Drew, you choose.”
I make eye contact with him, and I don’t move a muscle until he says, “Someone got out of bed the wrong side.” He chuckles and then straightens his face. “Okay, Drew, let’s get on with it. I believe you met my daughter Zara last night.” He glances at her quickly but then looks back at me.
“Briefly, although now I feel like it was a set up. With you wanting to come and look at a horse and all.” I smile, although I’m nearly already done with this meeting. She’s not having one of my babies.
I direct them both into the stables and introduce them to the stable hands, the grooms, and then one of the trainers who works alongside me.
“I’ve got four possibles. This one here is Bailey. His racing name is Bailey’s Broken Promise. He’s five years old, a good temperament. Not the fastest in the paddock, but he has stamina. He can outrun the best. What am I saying? He is the best at the long game.”
I open the stable door and lead Bailey out into the walkway. “He’s sixteen and a half hands, so a big boy.” I smile and wink at Zara, who blushes but doesn’t speak. She walks forward and comes close to Bailey, her face level with his. Hmmm she’s not scared. That’s a surprise. Then she places a gentle kiss right on his top lip and— Fuck . . . I feel jealous. Jealous of a freaking horse.
“He’s beautiful. But I think he’s a little too much for me,” she says, stepping back next to her father.
This whole situation is creeping me the fuck out. It’s like she’s a doll or a robot.
We walk through the stables, and I show her two more horses, which she very politely declines. I’m impressed with her reasoning. Each excuse has been about the horse and its welfare.
“So, this is the final horse I have to show you today: Jasmine. Her racing name is Jasmine’s Keeper. She’s a stunning example of a young racehorse, she’s only four years old, sixteen hands, and flies like the wind. She’s amazing on the flat, not so great over the hedges. She still needs a little more gentling, but she’s mostly there. She just gets nervous around huge crowds; we’re building her up to that. But if you’re not going to be entering her into any major races, you should be fine.”
“What if I don’t want to race her at all?” Zara asks.
“Then I’m not selling. She’s a racehorse. It’s what she does. You don’t race her, and she’ll get depressed, and all the training we’ve done will unravel.”
“We’ll be racing her. If this is the one Zara picks, that is.” I notice the looks between Zara and her father. Zara has no intention of racing this horse, but as she steps forward, I notice the communication between Zara and Jasmine. Jasmine whinnies and shakes her head in excitement as Zara strokes down her nose.
“I’m not sure. It’s a big responsibility,” she says, looking at her father.
“And it’s what you need. You need something to focus on, something you can channel all that wasted energy into.”
“I know, but a horse . . . it’s a living breathing animal. What if I mess it up?”
“You won’t!” he snaps at her, and she dips her eyes and her head in response. “Can you have it brought up to the house tomorrow?” Thomas asks.
“Yeah, but we haven’t discussed price or even if I’m going to sell her to you yet.”
“What’s the price?” he huffs, and I don’t want to cause a rift by refusing to sell, so I double what she’s worth. “A hundred thousand English pounds.”
“Okay, I’ll transfer it to you if you send me your account details. I expect all the paperwork to be in order and the deed over ownership transferred for that price.”
Shit! Think of something . . .
“Okay, no problem,” slips out faster than my brain can work.
“And have it to my house by no later than noon. I have appointments all afternoon, so I need to be keeping Zara busy.”
It . . . It . . . Jasmine is not it. What the hell have I done?
We walk back to the car they arrived in. I admit I have a driver for when I need to be places but this guy . . . he’s wearing a uniform that wouldn’t look out of place at Buckingham Palace. Who the hell do they think they are? And when he calls him Jeeves, I nearly piss myself on the spot. I keep looking forward and focus on the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen in a while: Zara’s ass! And what a peach it is.
She gets into the car, and her father gets in the other side. She doesn’t even say goodbye. And as they drive away, I head back inside, rubbing the back of my neck. What the hell just happened?
“Something up, Boss?” Carlos, my main trainer, asks as he meets me outside Jasmine’s stable.
“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Why? What have you done?”
“Sold Jasmine to Thomas Doyle. I just have an awful feeling.”
“The young woman looked okay. She looked like she likes horses,” he says, trying to put me at ease.
“There is just something weird about Thomas. I can’t put my finger on it. Did you notice anything strange about his daughter?”
“She was quiet and polite.”
“That’s the thing, she wasn’t that quiet at the charity event last night. She was quite chatty and was smiling a lot from what I could see.”
“I’m sure she will look after Jasmine. I can go and keep an eye on her now and again, you know, as the person who trained her.”
“That’s not a bad idea, but I think I’ll be the one doing the checking. We need to get Jasmine’s tack together and give her a good bath before she goes.”
“Do you want to take her out in the morning?” Carlos asks.
“Absolutely.” I pull Jasmine’s face round to mine and give her a good rub down her cheek. “Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re in the right home.”
“You’re a big softie, you know that, Drew?” Carlos says, laughing.
“When it comes to my four-legged fillies, you’re right.” I laugh back. “And I promise you, Carlos, if any harm comes to Jasmine, I’ll snap Thomas Doyle’s neck.”
“I know you will, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves and just keep an eye on things.”
“Can’t wait to see those perfect fingernails covered in horse shit.” I laugh.
“What have you got against the girl?” he asks, and I stand there quiet for a moment.
“I don’t have anything against her. She seems nice. I just noticed her perfect attire, and it worries me that she’ll be more worried about getting shit on her pants than making sure Jasmine is settled.”
“You should send one of our stable hands over to give her a hand for the first few days.”
“Hmm . . . maybe.”
Carlos walks away, leaving me and Jasmine together.
“You’ll be okay. Zara seems nice enough,” I whisper into Jasmine’s neck, and she whinnies back and rocks her head. “You’re a good girl.” I give her a good solid slap and a rub then lead her back into her stall and close the gate.
I’ve bought, broken, and sold hundreds of horses, and I’ve never been this disturbed about a transaction. Nothing makes sense. Zara is a grown woman. A beautiful woman. Not the type of woman that I’d expect to get her hands dirty. A spoilt little princess who does exactly as Father says. It wouldn’t be the first time I’m wrong, but my gut is never normally that far off.
For the rest of the day, I try to keep my mind occupied. Selling Jasmine still doesn’t feel right, but I email over the documents, and within thirty minutes, the hundred grand is in my account.
My stomach churns at the thought of Jasmine being mistreated or left to rot. There’s no way I could live with myself if that happened. So, tomorrow, I will go and deliver her myself. Make sure that everything is as it should be and maybe run Princess Doyle through her paces. Just in the interest of Jasmine, of course.
When the sun sets, I finally make my way up to my apartment over the stables. I have a main house, but I like to be close to my horses. There’s no telling when one of them might get sick or an intruder breaks in.
The sound system plays, and I can hear the horse’s downstairs, whinnying and eating their feed. It’s the only thing that helps me sleep. Babies like white noise. I like the sound of my horses. It’s restful and calming to know that they are all safe, happy, warm, and content. The only thing missing is a woman in my bed.
I flick through my phone and go down the list of possible hookups. Marina . . . No, she gets too clingy. Deborah . . . No, she kisses weird. Samantha . . . No, she’s . . . she’s . . . fuck! The only woman I want is the one I don’t have a number for. Princess-fucking-Doyle. I jump in the shower and then slide into bed, her pretty face still haunting me. The way she didn’t really look at me directly and only spoke when it was necessary still has me intrigued. More than intrigued . . . fascinated.
Maybe I shouldn’t be too harsh on her tomorrow, or maybe I should be the asshole her father thinks I already am.
Sleep happens quicker than I thought it would, and when my alarm blares at 5:30 a.m., I wish I could sleep for another hour. My bed feels like heaven, but I know I’ve got to get up and prepare Jasmine for the short journey to the Doyle's.
It’s only about thirty minutes away, just on the other side of Little Downacre. Little Downacre is a small town about an hour from London. It’s far enough from the big city to be able to breathe clean air, but not that far if I want to go and party and have some real fun.
That reminds me, I still haven’t caught up with Carter yet. I make a mental note to call him after I’ve finished at the Doyles’s.
My morning run takes me longer than normal, and I wonder if I’m subconsciously trying to delay things. I spend the next hour in the gym trying to expel the frustration building inside me.
The money is in the bank now, and it would make me look like an absolute asshole if I backed out now. Maybe I’m just over thinking everything.
I meet Carlos outside Jasmine’s stall. “Is she ready to go?” I ask.
“Not yet. I thought you might want to take her out for one last ride before she goes.” The guy knows me well, and he’s right, I do want to take her out and let her loose for old time’s sake.
I saddle her up and head out into the field that Jasmine loves the most. Selling one of your horses is like your child going off to college, I imagine, only they won’t be back for holidays and birthday parties. Sure, I’ll hopefully still see her, but Jasmine and I have a bit of a special bond.
When Jasmine was born, her mother had had a real hard labour. Jasmine was born with a damaged leg, and the vet said that Jasmine would never make a racehorse and the kindest thing would be to put her down now.
There was no way! Dragon, her mother, was already distressed, so I said no, fired the fucker, and left them to bond for a few hours. When Jasmine couldn’t stand properly as I knew she wouldn’t, we intervened and fed her milk. I stayed awake for four days solid with her, making sure that she was as comfortable as possible. I’d read a book years ago that said if you strapped up the leg quickly enough and kept it strapped until the horse started to grow, you had a chance of the bone fusing together on its own.
And it did. When Jasmine reached two years old, she managed to escape to one of the fields and surprised the lot of us. She ran faster than anything I’d ever seen. It was beautiful. She bucked, frolicked, rolled over, and played like the foal she was.
I decided that day to train her and make her into something special, something she deserved to be. It took less time than normal to break her in, as we already had a ribbon of trust that ran between us, and even less time to have her beating some of the best horses in my yard.
But Jasmine will never be a jumper. It’s not worth the risk. If she lands wrong, that could be the end of everything for her. She’s a flat girl through and through. It’s all written in her paperwork, but I need to make sure the princess understands. No clearing hedges or fences and no dangerous cross-country work.
The lump in my throat gets bigger as I turn around and head back to the stables. Why the hell am I doing this? I don’t need the money, and I don’t need anyone’s approval, but my reputation as a reliable horse trader is on the line. I back out now, and my name will be shit for a good long while.
I slide off the saddle, and Carlos hands me my brush. It’s the one Jasmine really loves, and I give her a last brush down.
“I will be keeping my eye on you, young lady. No horseplay, okay?” I say, smiling, as I step back and admire her glistening chestnut coat.
We load her into the trailer. Carlos is coming with me. I think he’s coming to make sure I don’t do anything ridiculous or slug old Doyle in the mouth.
As we arrive at the Doyles’s estate, I’m not surprised at what I see. A huge old house with a sweeping driveway and a monstrosity of a fountain in front of the grotesque oak double doors.
My stomach flips, and I breathe out a long breath.
“What’s up?” Carlos asks.
“This. This place. It’s all shit. I just hope the stables are better than that old cranky environment-killing house.”
“Will you stop, Boss? Anyone would think you were in love with the bloody horse. I know she’s special to you, but she’s a horse, and if you play nice with the princess, you might be able to visit,” Carlos says with more than a hint of sarcasm.
I can feel my temper rising, but I hold my lips shut. I can’t afford to fire Carlos. First, he’s my best friend, and second, he would just tell me to fuck off and grow up. Wouldn’t be the first time.
We drive around to the side of the house as per the directions, and then I see it, a purposely built building. It’s brand spanking new. The aluminium roof shines in the midmorning sunshine.
This makes me even more nervous. A brand-new horse and brand-new stables. I thought Princess might be spoilt, but this? This is obscene. The place is big—not as big as my stables, but it’s big enough. It could probably house at least ten horses.
As I jump out of the truck, Princess walks out of the building not looking even a little bit excited. What’s the deal with this girl?
“Good morning, Mr. Blackmoore, Carlos,” she says politely.
“Morning,” we both reply.
“My father has had some urgent business in the city, so he won’t be here today.”
“Oh, well, do you think you’ll be able to manage on your own?” I ask before even thinking.
“Well, it’s not like Father was going to give me a helping hand or anything. He probably won’t even visit, for fear of getting something nasty on his shoes,” she replies but rolls her eyes at the end.
“Okay, well . . . Carlos will go and unload Jasmine while you show me around your setup. I want to make sure you’ve got everything you’ll need.”
She nods, turns around, and walks back into the building.
The first thing I notice is the heat. Fuck, it’s warm in here.
“Zara . . . is it always this warm in here?”
“I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed in. I wanted to come in yesterday after we got back from your place, but Father had a dinner he needed me to attend, so I was sent off to the hairdressers.”
“Oh, right, oh.” I don’t really know what to say to that.
“Mr. Blackmoore, I’m really sorry, but my father is a bit of a control freak. He likes me where he can see me. I don’t know why, but that’s just the way he is.”
She turns around and smiles and waves at a camera. “Morning, Father. See, everything is under control,” she says sweetly and then turns her back from the camera and her face drops.
What the hell? Is he really watching her? I look between the camera and Zara, becoming more confused when Carlos appears in the doorway with Jasmine.
“Which stall is hers?” he asks.
“I’m not sure? Which one do you think she’d prefer? Mr. Blackmoore?”
“Please, stop with the Mr. Blackmoore. You’re only a few years younger than me, so it feels kinda weird. Please call me Drew.”
“That’s not possible, Mr. Blackmoore. I only call my friends by their first names, and as we are not and will never be friends—”
“Are you serious?” I ask, cutting her off, completely confused.
“Oh, yes, my father’s instructions, I’m afraid.”
“Well . . .” I look around again, trying to understand this woman, and then I see the perfect spot for Jasmine. “This stall here. She will be able to see you while you work with her tack and prepare her feed. She’ll like that.”
Zara simply smiles and nods and then opens the gate and walks inside. It’s already set up ready for Jasmine. Feed, water, and lots of hay. It looks comfortable.
“Can you show me around a little more? What supplies have you got?”
Again, she nods without speaking and walks away from me, and I follow like a damn pup.
We enter the tack room, and my whole-body freezes as I look at the wall. It has every piece of equipment you would ever need to groom a horse and an array of crops, but my eyes are fixed.
“What the hell is that?” I snap.
“What?” she asks, surprised.
“This . . . this . . . this fucking thing.” I grab at the whip and pull it from the wall. “You ever touch Jasmine with this, and I’ll whip you so fucking hard, you will be begging for your life!” I yell at her, rage running quickly through my veins.
Her eyes widen but then they glaze over. “I didn’t— I didn’t know that was even in here. I swear I would never use a whip.”
“Yeah, you say that now, but when you want it to win . . . I knew there was something off about all this.”
“You think there is something off with me?” she asks, her head bowed and her voice soft.
“Not you per se, but this whole situation. Why do you want a horse anyway?” I ask, running the whip tail through my fingers.
“I can’t talk in here,” she whispers. “Maybe we should let Jasmine see the field that she will be spending some of her time in.” Her voice returns to normal.
This just keeps getting weirder by the minute.
“Yeah, okay,” I agree, if only to get some answers, and if I don’t get them, there is a good chance Jasmine will be back home in time for lunch.