13. Miles #2
After that, we stick and ball, three on three.
Over the course of the morning, we ride hard.
We rotate through four ponies each, pushing them through drills and sprints until, eventually, I call time.
By which point all six of us are sweaty, exhausted, and buzzing with excitement for the coming season.
Ruby’s quietness vanished, and she made it clear she’s listened to everything I’ve been teaching her.
She even managed to hook the ball off Juan and score.
I don’t want to tempt fate, but I think we’ve got a shot this year. And because I’m risking everything for it, I need to be right.
“Ruby,” Jack says as we dismount and hand the ponies off for them to be hosed down before they’re rehabbed and rested. “Where did you learn to ride like that?”
“I taught myself,” she replies as we enter the stable yard.
The expression on both Jack’s and Billy’s faces makes me ridiculously proud of her. They know their shit. It takes a lot to impress them. And they’re impressed.
“Good for you.” Jack nods at her, rolls his lips together. When he looks at me, his brows rise into his hairline, and he gives me a thumbs-up.
“Okay, everyone hit the showers, then it’s lunch and a debrief. By the time we leave today, I want a solid game plan and a full practice schedule for the next two weeks before the first tournament.”
Diego passes me with a salute. “You got it, boss.”
I direct Ruby to the female changing room. “You’ll find everything you need in there.”
Her face is red with sweat, and the midday sun makes it look like her freckles are moving. I fight the urge to remove one of the strands of hair stuck to her cheek, especially when she smiles.
“Thank you. See you at lunch,” she says, and jogs away.
We work through lunch, and much to my amusement, the Ruby I first met makes an appearance. She’s opinionated, sharp, and unafraid to challenge people. And frustratingly, she’s usually right.
Twice, she proves Juan wrong while discussing practice schedules, and her previous experience as a groom gives her insight none of us had considered. By midafternoon, we’ve finally landed on a plan everyone’s happy with.
“All right,” I say, standing. “I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow morning. Nice work today, guys . . .” I pause, looking at the five of them all staring back at me, and grin. “This year—we’re gonna fucking win.”
“Yeah, we fucking are,” cries Juan, followed by the rest of them.
“Okay, get outta here.” I peer at Ruby. “Ready to go home?”
“Ready.”
“Miles . . . Miles, wait, I’ll walk you to your car.”
I sigh and turn around to Angus. “Sure, what’s up? We’re heading home.”
“Great, great. Won’t take long.” He jogs over to where we’ve stopped and shoots out a hand to Ruby. “Angus Wetherby-Jones. Lovely to meet you, congratulations and all that.”
I expect her to wince when she takes it because Angus is known for his crushing, overly enthusiastic handshakes, but she surprisingly doesn’t. “Good to meet you, Angus.”
“Angus? What’s up?”
“Right, yes, sorry. You asked me to look out for Torres,” he replies, and as always happens whenever I hear his name, my body stiffens.
I feel it right between my shoulder blades.
“Thought you’d want to know the first big match for Los Tigres Luchadores.
It’s May twentieth, Lions Cup at Guards. You know what that means?”
I manage to unclench my jaw. “Yeah, they’re going for the Cup.”
Angus nods, his face grim. He’s worked at Foxleigh since my dad was alive. He was here when I had my accident, and—like everyone who works here—he hates Torres almost as much as I do.
The summer polo tournament is busy, and there are too many matches for every team to play each one.
But if you strategize properly, you can earn enough winning points early on to be in contention for the Cup.
If you don’t and you’re playing top seeds too early in the season, then your chances slim down, because only two teams make it through.
A key role of Angus’s job is to enter us into the tournaments that give the Flyers the best path and maximize our winning points to get us to the England’s Cup midway through the season.
His plan for this year was to go for the shorter tournaments, play more of them, and front-load the points.
And it’s exactly what Los Tigres Luchadores seems to have planned.
I slap his meaty shoulder. “Thanks, let me know if you find out anything else.”
“Will do.” He salutes before tipping his chin to me. “Ruby, good to meet you.”
“You too,” she calls to his retreating back, and turns to me, hand resting on my arm. “Are you okay?”
I nod, pulling her to the side of the yard to sit down on the wall. It’s time to be totally honest with her.
“Ruby, I need you to tell me everything.”
“Everything about what?”
“Santiago Torres.”
Her brows knit together. “I don’t know him.”
“But you worked for him?”
She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t. Where did you hear that?”
I shrug. I’ve not exactly been caught in a lie, but it feels weird to tell her I researched her. Sneaky, almost. “I asked around.”
She gives me this look like she can’t decide whether she’s pissed or not. “I was supposed to, but I got let go before I started—”
“Why?” She shrugs, and I don’t buy that she doesn’t know. She won’t meet my eyes, so I press, “Why, Ruby?”
“Because of . . .” She sighs deeply. “I was supposed to start working with him after the last England’s Cup, but . . .”
She leaves the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, and I can fill in the blanks. His dangerous and reckless riding caused an accident. I was choppered to the hospital, and he was suspended. Therefore, he didn’t need a new groom when he wasn’t working.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“No, I know it’s not. I’m apologizing because . . .” I scrub a hand down my face. “Ah fuck, I dunno why I’m apologizing. I’m not sorry. He’s a piece of shit, and you had a lucky escape.”
Her expression turns stony, and I know it’s because I should have brought it up yesterday on our ride. I had plenty of time to be honest with her then.
“So you thought I worked for him. Is that why you brought me here? Because of what he did to you?”
I nod, again opting for honesty. “I want to win this year.”
“Enough to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Now what?”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs and looks totally crestfallen. “I’m no longer useful to you. You wanted me here so I could help you somehow, and now I can’t . . . do you want me to go back to the States?”
“Ruby, wanting you on the team is totally separate from any issue I have with Torres. You’re a talented rider, and I mean that. And whether we were married or not, I still want you on the team.”
I don’t know whether she believes me, but every word is true. I value her as more than a player.
“I still know grooms. I can ask around,” she says eventually.
“Thank you.” I smile, grateful. “Seriously.”
“Anytime.” She pushes off the wall and holds her hand out for me. “We’re in this together.”
Her words sit with me. It feels like she means it, that we really are in this together. A team of two.
And this closeness? It’s new.
I can talk to my brothers all day long about polo, about the time, money, and effort it takes to run this yard, but they’ll never actually know.
They don’t come from a background of sportsmanship.
They come from business. And while they love me and support me, it’s not the same as being side by side with someone who understands the pressures of your day, recognizes whether a horse is ready to compete, and what they need to be pushed to get ahead.
They don’t live by seasons, by a schedule that begins before the sun rises.
They won’t ever have a sleepless night before a competition because coming second isn’t an option.
For the first time, I have that person. I have Ruby.
And, kissing aside, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.