Sylvie Kurtz - Ms. Longshot

“Katelyn?” Dawn said to the blonde spreading wood shavings on a freshly cleaned stall floor. “Here’s Ally. The new girl. I’ll let you show her what Waldo and the Hardel horses need.”

I had a bad feeling about Katelyn. Her smile reminded me of a shark—the type that knew the difference between a seal and a swimmer and went after the swimmer every time.

She handed me a pitchfork and said, “Sink or swim, honey. I haven’t got the time or the inclination to hold your hand.”

Welcome to the team, Ally.

Standing on the concrete aisle, I held on to the pitchfork with perhaps a tad too much force as Katelyn left me in her dust. Sink or swim, Katelyn had said. I could already taste the water filling my lungs and the need to put out an SOS screamed inside me like a little girl drowning. I fingered the locket at my throat. Take it easy. No need to call in the cavalry yet. This was no different from societal posturing. And I’d managed that dance often enough. I’d probably act territorial, too, if I felt someone was poaching on my domain.

Okay, since Katelyn was going to let me flounder on my own, the first thing I had to do was figure out what I was expected to accomplish. Hind’s list of tasks was long, but rather slim on details. I headed to the tack room and checked the board. I discovered that my charges had all had their morning rations and their morning grooming. I was expected to have the stalls cleaned before the lunch feed and Cielo Azur ready for the trainer by one.

Feeling a bit more oriented, I trekked back to my section of stalls and dug in.

Within fifteen minutes my back and legs were crying uncle from all the unfamiliar bending and scooping, and I had a line of fresh blisters at the base of my fingers that made each heft of the pitchfork pure agony. Even Jimmy’s torturing workouts had never made me as aware of my hamstrings as I was now. If I moved too fast, I just knew my back was going to spasm.

By stall number four, I was ready to close my eyes and let the jets in my hot tub knead away the tight knots in every one of my muscles. That little fantasy popped at the sound of Bart Hind’s voice barking at me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I looked down at the sinus-clearing, urine-soaked pile of shavings precariously balanced on the pitchfork and had to bite back the automatic remark of, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ and said, “Mucking out Bay Bridge Bandit’s stall.”

“Your résumé says you have five years’ professional experience. At doing what?”

Managing a multimillion-dollar foundation, jack. That’s more money and responsibility than you’ll ever see. But of course, that wasn’t the right answer. “Taking care of horses.”

“Where? In Fantasy Land? Because in the real world, there’s a timetable. And you’re behind schedule. A five-year-old could work faster than you are.”

“Sorry, I’ll kick it up another notch.” I shoved the pitchfork into a pile of wet shavings with renewed enthusiasm. Still, I couldn’t help the first-day-at-school feeling, when you don’t know anyone but want everyone to like you, especially the teacher.

“Sorry isn’t going to get you anywhere,” Hind said, looking a bit Napoleonic with his swept-back forelock and a hand planted across his slight paunch as if it ached. “I don’t care who you slept with to get this job. If you don’t work to my standards, you’ll be out on your ass before you have a chance to go cry in your sugar daddy’s lap.”

He thought I’d slept with Patrick Dunhill to get this lowly job? Ew, gross. The guy had to be over fifty and showed every year of it. As much as I’d like a hot and heavy affair, I’d rather do it with someone closer to my age and easier on the eyes.

Hind pointed at the black horse across the aisle. “Magnus was supposed to get his midmorning hay half an hour ago, and you were supposed to be done with stalls before then. And if that’s what you call grooming, I really don’t know what you did to get your recommendations.”

As if Magnus agreed, he pawed at his bedding. I ground my back teeth and hung on to my cool. “It’s taking me a little time to get oriented to where everything is.”

Hind made a noise that was half growl, half chuff. “I’ll cut you some slack for today.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the bedding in Bandit’s stall. “Don’t be stingy on the shavings. Mr. Dunhill wants the horses comfortable. Get Magnus’s hay. Now. And groom him properly.”

“Yes, sir.” Honest, I tried to keep the biting edge out of my voice.

His scowl deepened, giving him a Cro-Magnon ridge that told me I wasn’t making a friend. “Make sure everyone’s in on time. Azur’s hard to catch. Take a handful of grain.”

“I’m on it.” This time I was thankful for the tip.

After stuffing Magnus’s hay net with hay, I grabbed a lead line and the leather halter marked with Cielo Azur’s name and made my way to the network of paddocks. Might as well get the tough one out of the way first.

I rested my foot on the bottom rung of the fence to take the pressure off my throbbing residual limb and took a minute to bask in the breeze that dried the sweat sticking my shirt to my skin. I closed my eyes, fantasizing about lavender French-milled soap, moisturizing shampoo and the shell-pink silk teddy and tap pants I’d bought in Paris and hadn’t yet gotten to wear. Not that there was anyone special to wear them for right now. With a sigh, I stared at the dozen or so horses grazing in the various enclosures with no idea as to which one I was supposed to put in which stall.

Dawn popped up beside me, startling me. “What’s up?”

“You were right about Katelyn.”

Dawn snorted as gustfully as a horse in a dusty arena. “She’s been bitching about you all morning. She thinks you’re competition.”

“For what?”

“Ross Hardel.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

“You’d be surprised.”

Here was a chance to tap into some gossip. “He has a thing for the help?”

“Not all grooms. His grooms. He wants to be sure his horses get the best of care.”

“Broken hearts get him that? I’d think that’d make him worry about revenge.”

Dawn snorted. “But a girl in love’ll go out of her way to please him.”

“Ah.” I breathed in the scent of spring grass. “It’s so pretty here.”

“Yeah, just wait till the owners show up. It won’t seem quite as serene then.”

“How so?”

“All those Park Avenue princesses can be bitches. Not that the guys are much better. Divas all of them.” Dawn bobbled her head from side to side, taking on a whiny voice. “Do this. Do that. Take care of me first. No, me, I’m more important. Bunch of spoiled brats.”

Was that how I came across to my stable hand? I rolled my aching shoulders, hoping Dawn would take my self-conscious blush for sunburn. “With the competition moving north for the summer, is anyone worried about the Horse Ripper showing up here? I mean what with Firewall and Waldo both training here.”

“Naw, Mr. Dunhill hired a security guard to patrol at night. And there’s security cameras everywhere. I don’t think he’ll show up here.”

“There were guards at the showgrounds in Florida,” I pointed out.

“Showgrounds are more confusing. Strangers come and go. Here everyone knows everyone. It’d be hard to get to a horse without being noticed.”

Unless you were an insider. “Makes you wonder who could do such a thing, doesn’t it?”

Dawn pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Doesn’t surprise me at all. I’ve seen owners stick electrodes up their horses’ butts or noses to electrocute them for insurance money. There was this vet who stole horses, spray painted their markings with Rust-Oleum and sold them to unsuspecting clients in a different city.”