Patricia Davids - A Military Match

Jennifer raised her hand, palm out. “Stop. Don’t say anything that will make me regret coming here more than I already do.” She took a deep breath. “Do you still want a riding coach?”

“Maybe.”

“If I give you lessons, I need something in return. I need to learn how to use a sword.”

“Why ask me?”

She hesitated, then said, “My mother’s instructor is unavailable. I called your captain to ask about your unit’s saber instructor.”

“Which is me.”

Her gaze locked with his. “If you’re worried our past relationship will get in the way, I can assure you it won’t. You want to win the Sheridan Cup. I want to keep my mother’s commitment. We can work together to make this happen or we can fail separately. It’s up to you.”

“No strings attached?”

“None.”

Jennifer ignored the nagging little voice that said keeping things businesslike might prove more difficult than expected.

Patricia Davids continues to work as a part-time nurse in the NICU while writing full-time. She enjoys researching new stories, traveling to new locations and meeting fans along the way. She and her husband of thirty-two years live in Wichita, Kansas, along with the newest addition to the household, a stray cat named Spooky. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can contact her by mail at P.O. Box 16714, Wichita, Kansas 67216, or visit her on the Web at www.patriciadavids.com.

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The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but victory rests with the Lord.

— Proverbs 21:31

This book is dedicated to my brother, Bob Stroda—

a real cowboy and a funny, funny guy. Thanks

for putting up with your bossy big sister and for

making me laugh more times than I can count.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Questions for Discussion

“S tay here…and honk if you see anyone going inside.”

Jennifer Grant pushed open the door of her old dark blue pickup, but paused to glance at her passenger. “Got it?”

Fifteen-year-old Lizzie Grant, the second of Jennifer’s three younger siblings, hooked a lock of curly brown hair behind one ear. She didn’t bother looking up from her math book. “I’ve got it.”

“I’m serious.” Jennifer stressed each word.

Lizzie shut her book and pulled her pink T-shirt collar up to cover the lower half of her face, mocking her sister’s intensity. She glanced in all directions. “Have no fear, Agent Double oh six, Double oh seven is on the job.”

“Don’t be a smart aleck.”

Dropping the fabric, Lizzie opened her book again. “Fine. Then stop acting like a wimp. If I see Avery, which is who you’re really trying to avoid, I’ll honk three times so you’ll know your ex-boyfriend is coming.”

“Very funny.” Jennifer gave her sister a dour look, but knew in her heart that Lizzie was right. Private Avery Barnes was exactly who she wanted to avoid.

“Why do we have to do this now?” Lizzie demanded. “It’s Saturday.”

“Because Dr. Cutter needs the follow-up films on Dakota’s leg done today.” And because Avery should be away from the stable for at least another hour.

Sighing with teenage impatience, Lizzie focused on her homework once more. “Is it going to take long? I don’t want to be late and neither should you.”

“It’ll take ten minutes, tops. I can get you to your chess meeting, drop the films off at the Large Animal Clinic and still get to my horse show on time.”

Jennifer was used to making the most of the limited hours in her day. To save time, she was already dressed in her tan riding breeches and white shirt beneath her pale blue lab coat. Her black show jacket hung in a garment bag behind the driver’s seat. Her knee-high riding boots, polished to a high shine, sat ready to be pulled on before she took the field.

After she stepped out of the truck, Jennifer pulled a large yellow case from the front seat and glanced around. The narrow strip of white gravel between the close, single-story stone buildings reflected the heat of the warm September morning. The parking area contained only a few cars, but one was the sleek lapis-blue Jaguar she knew belonged to Avery.

Glancing into the horse trailer hitched behind her truck, she saw McCloud, her gray ten-year-old gelding, standing quietly, his head up and eyes alert. It was a sign he was ready to get down to business. Both of them needed to be on their game today or she would have wasted an entry fee.

Money was tight in the Grant household, and the possibility that she could earn an extra five hundred dollars in prize money wasn’t to be taken lightly. Her riding, plus her work for Dr. Cutter, were paying her way though vet school. This semester’s fees were due in the next few weeks and she didn’t yet have the full amount she needed.

She walked quickly to the wide doorway of the old limestone and timber stable, pausing to check down the dim, cobblestone paved corridor. It was empty. She glanced over her shoulder at a small building a dozen yards away. It housed the offices of the Commanding General’s Mounted Color Guard at Fort Riley, Kansas.

No one stepped out to greet her. She relaxed and blew out the breath she had been holding. She had permission to be here, she just didn’t want to encounter a certain soldier.

The men who made up Fort Riley’s unique cavalry living history unit should be at their training corrals now. When the unit wasn’t performing around the country they practiced daily to hone their exceptional equestrian skills and train their horses. She didn’t expect anyone back for at least another hour.

Part of her was glad that the maddening Avery Barnes was nowhere in sight. Another part of her half-hoped she’d be able to show him exactly how little she cared if he was. Grasping her equipment case tightly, she walked down the corridor to the last stall on the left.

Inside the old building, the air was cool and laced with the smell of horses, hay and oiled leather. All scents she loved. Opening the upper half of the Dutch door, she spoke softly to the brown horse dozing with his head lowered near the back wall. “Hey, Dakota. What’re ya doing?”

When his head came up and she was sure he wasn’t startled by her presence, she opened the lower half of the door, stepped inside and held out her hand. Dakota whinnied and came to collect the slice of apple resting in her palm.

She patted his neck as she checked behind her. There was still no one in sight.

“Okay, fella, let’s make this quick. I want to get done before you-know-who shows up.”