Chapter Seven #4
“We’ve been hit” was all he said. Tim was my dad’s best friend and had been the same age too.
His stud in Yorkshire was world renowned.
His children were big show jumpers on the circuit—his son, Spencer, had always been one of my rivals since our teens.
But we were good friends, as much as two competitors could be.
“What happened?” I said. I knew, of course, but I couldn’t let him know that. Phillip was the best at what he did. I paid him a shit ton of money to keep him working for me. Including keeping things he told me under wraps.
“Anabolics. Performance enhancers on my Grand Prix stallions,” Tim said.
I could hear the rasp of devastation on his voice.
“The pricks broke in, dismantled my top-of-the-range security system, and injected all my superstars for this season.” Tim sighed.
“We interrupted the bastards doing it and scared them off, but the few CCTV cameras they missed only showed men dressed in all black with ski masks hiding their faces.”
The sound of the arena gate opening caught my attention, and I watched Hallie enter the ring.
“Have any leads?” I asked.
“None yet. But I will,” Tim said, as Steve explained what he wanted Hallie to do in the background.
The fence for the shoot had Knighton Equestrian fillers on it, my Lord Henry logo plastered on the wings.
“I just wanted to give you a heads-up, son,” Tim said.
“If there’s someone targeting studs, I wanted to let you know first. Your dad would have done the same for me. ”
My heart fell a little at that. He would have. My dad may have been a ruthless businessman at times, but he was always good to people in our industry. Our stud farm had, of course, always had rivals. But it had never been nefarious.
Hallie walked Huxley around the edges of the arena and moved him into a trot. As she rose up and down, I had to turn away from the sight of her perfect arse when I felt my traitorous cock begin to swell again.
“Do you think the McGowens could be up to their old tricks?” Tim asked in a hushed tone.
Even at the sound of the name, anger took me in its hold.
Five years ago, the McGowen Stud, a hugely successful farm in the Cotswolds, was caught drugging rival studs’ Grand Prix horses, some so much that they never recovered.
It was the biggest scandal to hit the horse world in years.
The owner of the stud, Charlie McGowen, was sentenced to time in prison.
Was still there. We all found out later that he had made some bad gambling decisions on the circuit and needed to make some of his cash back, quickly.
He thought taking down other studs was his answer.
His son, Jacob McGowen, a professional show jumper and the rider I hated most in our world, took the helm and swore to turn the stud around.
He had, it seemed. But while I admired him for picking up the pieces his father left behind, I still hated the arrogant fucker.
He was the one I wanted to beat most of all on the circuits, but as much as I thought he was a smarmy bastard with little to no morals, I didn’t think he was corrupt like his old man.
Then again, I had begun to wonder if I was a crap judge of people these days.
“We’ll keep an eye out,” I said. “Let me know what you learn.”
“Will do, son. Keep safe.” Tim was about to hang up when I asked, “Just out of curiosity, Tim, has Alexis Hobbs ever made you an offer on your business?”
“That bloody woman is like a dog with a bone,” Tim said, and my blood iced over. “She was up here just a week ago flashing her cheque book at me and offering me obscene money for my land and my business—the lot! I told her to sling her hook.” Tim paused, then asked, “Why?”
“No real reason,” I said, trying not to imply anything before I had more information about my suspicions. “I just had the pleasure of her company this morning, and she made me an offer for Golden Oaks too.”
Tim tutted. “More money than sense, that one.” Then he made my spine straighten when he said, “I’m pretty sure your old man mentioned something about her trying to buy your place just before he passed.
I blame her father. He indulged her too much as a kid.
Thinks she can get whatever she wants.” Someone spoke to Tim in the background, and he said, “I must go, Jasper. This place will be like King’s Cross today. I’ll speak to you soon, kid.”
Tim hung up, and I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. Alexis had met with my dad? I let the winter sun warm my face and wished spring would just hurry up and fucking arrive. Everything seemed better in the sun.
I sucked in a deep breath, but nothing would calm the fire inside.
It was taking hold of me, and my mood turned sour.
Forrest was watching me with narrow eyes.
I reached the arena just in time to see Hallie taking to the air, perfect jumping stance and clearing it with ease.
As she landed, her eyes found mine and a smile etched on her lips.
Fuck me, but she was beautiful.
You can’t, a voice said at the back of my head. You can’t put her in danger. You can’t do anything to harm the stud. The horses. But especially Hallie . . .
Hallie trotted past, smiling wider at me.
“Your legs were too far forward,” I said.
Even to my own ears, I caught the arsehole tone of my voice.
Hallie’s smile slipped off her face, and I hated myself in that moment.
But I kept going. “Your reins were too short. Huxley almost hit a pole because you were holding him back.” I flicked my hand to Steve, who was frowning at me.
He checked the last shot he got on the camera, and by his expression, he must have known I was talking utter shite. I waved my hand at Hallie. “Again.”
Hallie took a deep breath, calming herself down, and nudged Huxley into a trot. When she had him in canter, she led him over the jump again. She was perfect. It was perfect. Her eyes fell on me as she landed, and I shook my head.
I hated it. I hated being this prick, but I couldn’t allow her to like me.
I couldn’t like her back. Just look what was happening in our industry, the suspicions I had set off in Alexis.
“You’re too fast on the approach. He’s too under the jump, and on the circuit, that’ll cost you time or points.
” I waved my hand again. “Do it again,” I snapped, and this time I saw ire flare on Hallie’s face at my censure.
As expected, her short fuse had been blown.
But she did as I said. In fact, she did it three more times.
As she landed on the fourth, she drew Huxley to a stop.
She was only meters away from me. “You need to practice more,” I said, my words tasting like acid coming off my tongue.
Hallie undid the chin strap of her hat and pulled it off.
Her hair was in a braid, and she looked unworldly.
But her kind, turquoise eyes were no longer soft, they were like granite as they scored into mine.
“I practice all the time,” she said, her accent holding a pissed-off tone. “I lunge Huxley, work out, and leave no stone unturned. I can’t possibly practice more.”
“This isn’t the Under-25s,” I said. “This is the mainstage. With the most experienced riders in the world all clawing for the top prize money.” I pointed at Huxley. “You’re riding our horse and you’re representing our brand, so you need to measure up. And quickly.”