Post by syrinx on Jan 18, 2008 12:36:13 GMT -5
How To Part The Sea
By Syrinx
Rating: R for language
Pairing: Brad/Ashleigh, sort of. or not.
Summary: Prequel to This Far, AU version of Pride’s Belmont Stakes.
A/N: This story, and This Far, take place in an alternate storyline, where Ashleigh did not ride Wonder in the Breeders' Cup, and did not become a jockey. Nor did Clay give Ashleigh half of Wonder and her progeny. Townsend Prince did not die in a paddock accident. Mike and Ashleigh decided they were better off as friends. And Charlie died when Pride was two. This is the prequel to This Far and takes place during Samantha's Pride. Enjoy it. Smile
Dedication: To Claire, in celebration of being my new editor. Thanks!
REPOST. REPOST. REPOST. Smile
I
Thunderclouds were creeping steadily in from the west, blacking out the sunset and meeting the steadily darkening eastern horizon. Ashleigh stood outside the equine clinic on the Hempstead Turnpike, staring up at the sky as though daring the clouds to let loose.
It had been several hours since the horses had crossed the finish line in the Belmont Stakes, and proved to Ashleigh that the days that were supposed to end with unexplainable bliss were sometimes ended in sorrow. Thinking about the past three hours made her ache, but it was impossible to forget the shudder that went through the colt halfway down the homestretch and the way he veered to the outside rail.
Ashleigh brushed her hand across her eyes as the first few raindrops splashed over her cheeks and forehead, cold water soaking into her hair and catching on her eyelashes. It was refreshing to stand in the early June evening and let the water run down her bare arms, washing away the grime from the backside and the smell of frantic horses, so Ashleigh stood there until she heard someone calling her back.
“Ashleigh, he’s out of surgery,” she heard Ken Maddock’s drained voice through the pattering of rain on gravel. Ashleigh glanced over her shoulder, and nodded, stepping back inside just as it truly began to pour.
Maddock escorted her through the clinic, further back to the main surgery room. The surgeon, Dr. Selway, was waiting for them outside the door. Ashleigh glanced through the thick window as attendants worked on the colt’s cast – traditional, padded, and white – to fit snuggly around his left foreleg. The gorgeous chestnut animal was still strapped on his side on the table, still dead to the world.
“How did he do, Stephen?” Maddock asked the man in bloodstained scrubs. Ashleigh glanced at the two men, wondering how well they must know each other, and in what circumstances.
“He was a champ all the way through,” Dr. Selway nodded. “The tendons look great, but the fractures will take time. I put four screws in the cannon bone, but the sesamoid you know I can’t do anything for. It will take time for the sesamoid.”
Maddock nodded, running the palm of his hand over his jaw, and sighed. “What does his future look like?”
“Bright as a stallion prospect,” Dr. Selway admitted, crossing his arms defensively, clearly hating to get to this part with trainers and owners. To tell someone their star horse would never run again was no great joy. “You know I can’t tell you a horse with his injuries can get back to one hundred percent to run. With the amount of work I put into him, he’ll live. He won’t race.”
Ashleigh squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that to bemoan the end of the colt’s career was selfish. Pride was alive, and that should be enough, although now he was out of her hands. She could no longer work him or help make decisions for his future. The best she could hope for now was to be his daily exerciser when he became well enough to carry a rider and run as fast as a horse that knows nothing other than breeding and eating can run. He would be different then – not the Pride she knew. Damned if she was being selfish. Her eyes teared up anyway.
“Ash,” Maddock said comfortingly, putting a hand on her back and rubbing circles. They were silent for a moment, Maddock rubbing Ashleigh’s back and Dr. Selway taking a step backward to allow her all the air she needed.
“When can I see him?” Ashleigh asked hoarsely, fighting back the sobs that were starting to boil up under the surface.
“In a little while. We’ll get him revived and up in a stall here, then we’ll let anyone come back to take a look at him,” Dr. Selway said, looking through the window as one of his assistants stroked the sleeping colt’s copper neck. “Give us an hour.”
“I’m going to call Townsend,” Maddock said, referring to Clay. “You know where Brad went?”
“I’m not sure,” Ashleigh admitted, rubbing her nose and taking a deep breath. The heir to Townsend Acres had left an hour ago, unable to stand still for the colt’s surgery. Clay Townsend, the colt’s sole owner, had retired quickly to the hotel, leaving the colt to the care of the surgeons and Maddock. Brad had turned his cell phone off, leaving his whereabouts unknown.
Ashleigh glanced down the hallway to the large double doors, sniffing and frowning. “I can look for him, though. He needs to know.”
“Ashleigh,” Maddock shook his head. “It’s pouring outside; you’ll get soaked through. Why don’t you stay here with the colt, and I’ll go?”
She had always been stubborn, and this time Ashleigh shook her head, living up to expectations. “I’d rather get out,” she responded, backing up and feeling Maddock’s hand fall from her back. “I need some air, anyway.”
With that she turned and walked silently down the barren hallway, feeling sick at the idea of waiting a moment longer in the clinic. She slammed through the heavy double doors, stumbling out into the rain. Ashleigh paused for only a minute, looking down the long side of Belmont Park, the emptying pay lots along the road, and the dreary grandstand across the track.
The rain poured, thunder cracking loudly above her. Ashleigh blinked and turned away from Belmont Park, looking down the road. If there was one place Brad wouldn’t be, it would be the track, and she only knew that because she no longer wanted to be here either.
Ashleigh pushed a hand into her dark, wet hair, smoothing it back from her face, and started to walk.
II.
It was pure chance. The Belmont Park Inn sat off of Hempstead Turnpike, across the street from the track. Ashleigh was dripping wet, even though the rain had lessened to a light spray when the wind kicked up. Her hair was moist and curling, jeans and tank top waterlogged. She had walked the length of the track and more, finally deciding that this was far enough.
The Belmont Park Inn was a brewpub of sorts, set off the road and a little hidden away. Ashleigh tramped inside, wringing out her hair on the doormat. She heard the televisions over the bar proclaiming the news about Pride – three hours of surgery, four screws, no hope to race again – sobering the crowds that drank there to celebrate a big pay off.
Ashleigh didn’t have any money on her, so she hoped to weave through the crowds and find a bathroom to dry off in. Maybe she’d get a glass of water with lemon and wait out the rain. On her way through the bar, she brushed past a booth by the window. A hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, scaring her into immediately resisting.
“Griffen,” she heard his voice murmuring deeply, and relaxed when she turned.
“Brad,” she returned, pulling her damp wrist out of his warm, dry hand. She stood a little awkwardly, looking up at the televisions. “I assume you’ve already heard the news?”
“From the report,” Brad nodded, looking at her hard then. “I assume you’re here to tell me the rest.”
“I,” Ashleigh started, sighing and sinking into the bench seat across from him. “I don’t know much more, to be honest. There isn’t much more to know. They were putting the cast on him when I left.”
“So he won’t race again,” Brad said. “That’s assured.”
“The sesamoids will take a lot of time to heal,” Ashleigh nodded, repeating the surgeon’s words. “But even after they’re healed, he’ll never be fully sound enough to race again.”
“Fuck,” Brad sighed, as though hearing her sure words to back up his assumptions was even worse than already knowing. He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
Ashleigh winced, looking up at the televisions as the race was replayed, showing Super Value pulling away to win the race by five lengths over Ultrasound with Knightshade a neck back in third. At the one-eighth pole Ashleigh had to turn away, focusing on the condensation rings on the wood table. She didn’t need a race replay to remind her of what was already firmly in her memory.
Wonder’s Pride had been racing strongly ahead of the competition by two lengths, Craig scrubbing lightly at the big chestnut’s neck, with Super Value just starting his gigantic run down the center of the track. Then, as soon as the bay colt reached Pride’s flank, Ashleigh remembered gasping with the rest of the crowd. Pride bobbed and stumbled just slightly, allowing Super Value to go blowing by. Then the magnificent chestnut veered right, Craig standing in the stirrups and looking down over the colt’s left shoulder as Pride hauled his head into the bridle and tried to take off after the field.
Ashleigh blinked at the memory, and tried not to remember the way Pride pushed against Craig, his thick red neck dark with sweat, nostrils blowing, eyes wild. Ashleigh had already been on the move then, with Maddock and Ian right behind her. She had shoved her way through the crowds, not being able to see Craig fighting the colt to a halt so he could jump out of the saddle and check for injuries. Attendants had reached the colt before Ashleigh did, the ambulance already rolling down the track to where the colt stood trembling.
“He had a great career,” Ashleigh said softly, not really attempting to console Brad so much as herself. “He won the Fountain of Youth, the Florida Derby, the Bluegrass, the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and broke records as he went. He’ll be a great sire for Townsend Acres. He’ll retire with fanfare.”
“He broke down,” Brad brought her back to reality. “There’s no proof he’ll duplicate himself. Townsend Acres just lost the Triple Crown, and now,” he paused looking up at the televisions. “Now we’ve got questions to answer about the soundness of our horses and our training methods. And, believe me, this is not the time for questions.”
“Pride was sound,” Ashleigh defended, shocked at Brad’s outlook.
“Apparently not,” Brad countered, standing up and shelling a few bills onto the table to pay for whatever he had ordered. He turned and walked back through the crowds, leaving Ashleigh gaping after him.
III.
“What in the hell is your problem?” Ashleigh yelled after she shoved through the front door of the Belmont Park Inn and out into the gray drizzle, stalking after Brad.
“My problem?” he asked over his shoulder as he kept walking, forcing Ashleigh to launch into a quick jog to catch up to him. “I think it’s rather obvious.”
“Look,” Ashleigh demanded, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him around to face her, only to have him pull her around in front of him. She stumbled a little in the puddles, splashing dirty rainwater over the cuffs of their pants as they stopped on the sidewalk.
“What?” he asked as she steadied herself and craned her head back to meet his dark eyes. “What can you say, Griffen?”
“Nothing I can say will make this seem better,” Ashleigh argued, letting go of his upper arm. “Pride isn’t going to race anymore, and I hate that as much as you do. However, being pissed isn’t helping anything. Think about the horse for once instead of the damn farm and your fucking finances.”
“Ashleigh, at the rate Townsend Acres is going, the farm will be in serious financial distress before Pride’s foals even hit the track,” Brad told her evenly. “The bonus money from the Triple Crown could have paid off at least one loan, and now our best horse in training is retired and won’t hit the breeding shed until February of next year. February, Ashleigh. In case you hadn’t noticed, the farm is past its prime. We’re past the days of Townsend Pride. Hell, we’re past the days of Ashleigh’s-freaking-Wonder.”
A sudden streak of lightning branched out underneath the dark underbellies of the thunderheads, lighting up the clouds with an electric glow. Ashleigh blinked as a new wave of rain began to fall, fat water drops slapping down around her.
“Townsend Acres won’t rise or fall depending on Wonder’s Pride,” Ashleigh shook her head slowly, talking over the rain. “Townsend Pride is still a leading sire, the Prince’s foals hit the track next year, there are Wonder’s foals, and Three Foot’s, and…”
“Griffen,” Brad interrupted her, “if I had had my way years ago, Wonder’s Pride would have been sold at auction for more money than he’s earned. The point here is that no, Wonder’s Pride doesn’t mean much to the equation, but now he’s just another bill to pay for.”
“You are such a bastard,” Ashleigh yelled at him through the rain, infuriated. That he could say such things about Pride, now that he had broken a leg running for Brad’s precious farm, was too much for Ashleigh. She had fought to keep Pride on the farm, helped train him, cheered for him in the stands when he turned into the best horse the farm had bred since his dam eight years ago. That Brad could be so cavalier about saying he would have sold the colt then, and implied he would sell him now, made Ashleigh see red.
“Yeah, I’m a bastard,” Brad laughed, running his hands through his soaked hair with frustration. “We bastards tend to be the logical ones, don’t we?”
“Screw you, Townsend,” Ashleigh threw her arms up in the air. “Do you even enjoy doing this? Is this all some gigantic bill to pay for you?”
“Ever since the Prince retired?” Brad asked, shrugging.
“God, this is so sad,” Ashleigh told him. “You are so sad.”
“I’m sad because I’m thinking in the best interest of the business that employs you and owns the horses you help train? Which owns Ashleigh’s Wonder?” Brad asked her snidely. “That’s rich, Griffen. Excuse me if I don’t want to see your famous mare ushered to the auction block just yet.”
“Do not talk about selling Wonder,” Ashleigh told him. “That would never happen.”
“Did I touch a nerve?” Brad asked, making Ashleigh inhale deeply to keep her cool.
“It would never happen,” Ashleigh repeated.
“It would take only a few conversations with my father and our bloodstock agent,” Brad told her. “That’s all.”
“Do not stand there and try to intimidate me,” Ashleigh said. “I know who you are, Brad. I know all you’d have to do is snap your fingers in order to sell a horse for five million dollars. I’m not impressed.”
Lightning spread out again, fingering through the dark sky, thunder rolling quickly behind to balance the atmosphere as the storm raged. Ashleigh was soaked through, her clothes clinging wetly to her skin, hair slicked to her head and neck. Brad’s expensive dress clothes were ruined, his white shirt molding transparently to his arms and torso. They were dripping wet, and silent. Then Ashleigh put her hand to her mouth, feeling a sob rising that she had kept down during the entire day. Now she finally couldn’t find the strength to keep it from rising.
Crying into her hand, Ashleigh squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, unable to bear Brad looking at her. She heard him move in front of her, walking up to her with splashes of rainwater to accompany his feet. Ashleigh squirmed away from him when she felt his hand on her waist, only to be steered into him with his other hand. His shirt was damp and cold, but his skin underneath it was still characteristically warm against her forehead. Ashleigh folded her arms against her stomach, giving in while she cried against his chest.
He held her there silently, letting her seep tears into his already soaked shirt. Finally, he bent his head and said, “I’m not going to sell Wonder.”
“I know,” Ashleigh muttered after a moment through her tears. “It’s just been a really long day, and I can’t stand the thought.”
“I’m sorry I took this out on you,” Brad told her against her hair. “It’s stressful, and Pride’s injury just made everything more clear and much worse.”
Ashleigh sniffed against his shirt, unfolding her arms and hooking fingers into the damp material at his stomach. She looked up at him, brushing her forehead against his chin. He lifted back to his full height to look at her, suddenly making her look small next to him.
“I know,” Ashleigh nodded. “I’m not blind, you know.”
He smiled fleetingly, his mouth curving into a serious frown as he lifted a hand and pushed back a wet clump of her brown hair from her forehead. Ashleigh stared at him hard, wondering what he was thinking when he threaded his fingers through her long hair at the base of her neck, tangling it around his hand.
Leaning down, he put his forehead against hers and looked at her, searching. Ashleigh must have had all the questions in the world in her tear-stained eyes, so he smiled at her slowly, untangling his hand from her hair and letting her fall away from him.
“Let’s go see Pride,” he told her. “I’ve got to get out of this damn rain.”
Ashleigh looked up at the sky, watching the raindrops fall haphazardly down. Then she looked at him, and held out her hand.
By Syrinx
Rating: R for language
Pairing: Brad/Ashleigh, sort of. or not.
Summary: Prequel to This Far, AU version of Pride’s Belmont Stakes.
A/N: This story, and This Far, take place in an alternate storyline, where Ashleigh did not ride Wonder in the Breeders' Cup, and did not become a jockey. Nor did Clay give Ashleigh half of Wonder and her progeny. Townsend Prince did not die in a paddock accident. Mike and Ashleigh decided they were better off as friends. And Charlie died when Pride was two. This is the prequel to This Far and takes place during Samantha's Pride. Enjoy it. Smile
Dedication: To Claire, in celebration of being my new editor. Thanks!
REPOST. REPOST. REPOST. Smile
I
Thunderclouds were creeping steadily in from the west, blacking out the sunset and meeting the steadily darkening eastern horizon. Ashleigh stood outside the equine clinic on the Hempstead Turnpike, staring up at the sky as though daring the clouds to let loose.
It had been several hours since the horses had crossed the finish line in the Belmont Stakes, and proved to Ashleigh that the days that were supposed to end with unexplainable bliss were sometimes ended in sorrow. Thinking about the past three hours made her ache, but it was impossible to forget the shudder that went through the colt halfway down the homestretch and the way he veered to the outside rail.
Ashleigh brushed her hand across her eyes as the first few raindrops splashed over her cheeks and forehead, cold water soaking into her hair and catching on her eyelashes. It was refreshing to stand in the early June evening and let the water run down her bare arms, washing away the grime from the backside and the smell of frantic horses, so Ashleigh stood there until she heard someone calling her back.
“Ashleigh, he’s out of surgery,” she heard Ken Maddock’s drained voice through the pattering of rain on gravel. Ashleigh glanced over her shoulder, and nodded, stepping back inside just as it truly began to pour.
Maddock escorted her through the clinic, further back to the main surgery room. The surgeon, Dr. Selway, was waiting for them outside the door. Ashleigh glanced through the thick window as attendants worked on the colt’s cast – traditional, padded, and white – to fit snuggly around his left foreleg. The gorgeous chestnut animal was still strapped on his side on the table, still dead to the world.
“How did he do, Stephen?” Maddock asked the man in bloodstained scrubs. Ashleigh glanced at the two men, wondering how well they must know each other, and in what circumstances.
“He was a champ all the way through,” Dr. Selway nodded. “The tendons look great, but the fractures will take time. I put four screws in the cannon bone, but the sesamoid you know I can’t do anything for. It will take time for the sesamoid.”
Maddock nodded, running the palm of his hand over his jaw, and sighed. “What does his future look like?”
“Bright as a stallion prospect,” Dr. Selway admitted, crossing his arms defensively, clearly hating to get to this part with trainers and owners. To tell someone their star horse would never run again was no great joy. “You know I can’t tell you a horse with his injuries can get back to one hundred percent to run. With the amount of work I put into him, he’ll live. He won’t race.”
Ashleigh squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that to bemoan the end of the colt’s career was selfish. Pride was alive, and that should be enough, although now he was out of her hands. She could no longer work him or help make decisions for his future. The best she could hope for now was to be his daily exerciser when he became well enough to carry a rider and run as fast as a horse that knows nothing other than breeding and eating can run. He would be different then – not the Pride she knew. Damned if she was being selfish. Her eyes teared up anyway.
“Ash,” Maddock said comfortingly, putting a hand on her back and rubbing circles. They were silent for a moment, Maddock rubbing Ashleigh’s back and Dr. Selway taking a step backward to allow her all the air she needed.
“When can I see him?” Ashleigh asked hoarsely, fighting back the sobs that were starting to boil up under the surface.
“In a little while. We’ll get him revived and up in a stall here, then we’ll let anyone come back to take a look at him,” Dr. Selway said, looking through the window as one of his assistants stroked the sleeping colt’s copper neck. “Give us an hour.”
“I’m going to call Townsend,” Maddock said, referring to Clay. “You know where Brad went?”
“I’m not sure,” Ashleigh admitted, rubbing her nose and taking a deep breath. The heir to Townsend Acres had left an hour ago, unable to stand still for the colt’s surgery. Clay Townsend, the colt’s sole owner, had retired quickly to the hotel, leaving the colt to the care of the surgeons and Maddock. Brad had turned his cell phone off, leaving his whereabouts unknown.
Ashleigh glanced down the hallway to the large double doors, sniffing and frowning. “I can look for him, though. He needs to know.”
“Ashleigh,” Maddock shook his head. “It’s pouring outside; you’ll get soaked through. Why don’t you stay here with the colt, and I’ll go?”
She had always been stubborn, and this time Ashleigh shook her head, living up to expectations. “I’d rather get out,” she responded, backing up and feeling Maddock’s hand fall from her back. “I need some air, anyway.”
With that she turned and walked silently down the barren hallway, feeling sick at the idea of waiting a moment longer in the clinic. She slammed through the heavy double doors, stumbling out into the rain. Ashleigh paused for only a minute, looking down the long side of Belmont Park, the emptying pay lots along the road, and the dreary grandstand across the track.
The rain poured, thunder cracking loudly above her. Ashleigh blinked and turned away from Belmont Park, looking down the road. If there was one place Brad wouldn’t be, it would be the track, and she only knew that because she no longer wanted to be here either.
Ashleigh pushed a hand into her dark, wet hair, smoothing it back from her face, and started to walk.
II.
It was pure chance. The Belmont Park Inn sat off of Hempstead Turnpike, across the street from the track. Ashleigh was dripping wet, even though the rain had lessened to a light spray when the wind kicked up. Her hair was moist and curling, jeans and tank top waterlogged. She had walked the length of the track and more, finally deciding that this was far enough.
The Belmont Park Inn was a brewpub of sorts, set off the road and a little hidden away. Ashleigh tramped inside, wringing out her hair on the doormat. She heard the televisions over the bar proclaiming the news about Pride – three hours of surgery, four screws, no hope to race again – sobering the crowds that drank there to celebrate a big pay off.
Ashleigh didn’t have any money on her, so she hoped to weave through the crowds and find a bathroom to dry off in. Maybe she’d get a glass of water with lemon and wait out the rain. On her way through the bar, she brushed past a booth by the window. A hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, scaring her into immediately resisting.
“Griffen,” she heard his voice murmuring deeply, and relaxed when she turned.
“Brad,” she returned, pulling her damp wrist out of his warm, dry hand. She stood a little awkwardly, looking up at the televisions. “I assume you’ve already heard the news?”
“From the report,” Brad nodded, looking at her hard then. “I assume you’re here to tell me the rest.”
“I,” Ashleigh started, sighing and sinking into the bench seat across from him. “I don’t know much more, to be honest. There isn’t much more to know. They were putting the cast on him when I left.”
“So he won’t race again,” Brad said. “That’s assured.”
“The sesamoids will take a lot of time to heal,” Ashleigh nodded, repeating the surgeon’s words. “But even after they’re healed, he’ll never be fully sound enough to race again.”
“Fuck,” Brad sighed, as though hearing her sure words to back up his assumptions was even worse than already knowing. He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
Ashleigh winced, looking up at the televisions as the race was replayed, showing Super Value pulling away to win the race by five lengths over Ultrasound with Knightshade a neck back in third. At the one-eighth pole Ashleigh had to turn away, focusing on the condensation rings on the wood table. She didn’t need a race replay to remind her of what was already firmly in her memory.
Wonder’s Pride had been racing strongly ahead of the competition by two lengths, Craig scrubbing lightly at the big chestnut’s neck, with Super Value just starting his gigantic run down the center of the track. Then, as soon as the bay colt reached Pride’s flank, Ashleigh remembered gasping with the rest of the crowd. Pride bobbed and stumbled just slightly, allowing Super Value to go blowing by. Then the magnificent chestnut veered right, Craig standing in the stirrups and looking down over the colt’s left shoulder as Pride hauled his head into the bridle and tried to take off after the field.
Ashleigh blinked at the memory, and tried not to remember the way Pride pushed against Craig, his thick red neck dark with sweat, nostrils blowing, eyes wild. Ashleigh had already been on the move then, with Maddock and Ian right behind her. She had shoved her way through the crowds, not being able to see Craig fighting the colt to a halt so he could jump out of the saddle and check for injuries. Attendants had reached the colt before Ashleigh did, the ambulance already rolling down the track to where the colt stood trembling.
“He had a great career,” Ashleigh said softly, not really attempting to console Brad so much as herself. “He won the Fountain of Youth, the Florida Derby, the Bluegrass, the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and broke records as he went. He’ll be a great sire for Townsend Acres. He’ll retire with fanfare.”
“He broke down,” Brad brought her back to reality. “There’s no proof he’ll duplicate himself. Townsend Acres just lost the Triple Crown, and now,” he paused looking up at the televisions. “Now we’ve got questions to answer about the soundness of our horses and our training methods. And, believe me, this is not the time for questions.”
“Pride was sound,” Ashleigh defended, shocked at Brad’s outlook.
“Apparently not,” Brad countered, standing up and shelling a few bills onto the table to pay for whatever he had ordered. He turned and walked back through the crowds, leaving Ashleigh gaping after him.
III.
“What in the hell is your problem?” Ashleigh yelled after she shoved through the front door of the Belmont Park Inn and out into the gray drizzle, stalking after Brad.
“My problem?” he asked over his shoulder as he kept walking, forcing Ashleigh to launch into a quick jog to catch up to him. “I think it’s rather obvious.”
“Look,” Ashleigh demanded, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him around to face her, only to have him pull her around in front of him. She stumbled a little in the puddles, splashing dirty rainwater over the cuffs of their pants as they stopped on the sidewalk.
“What?” he asked as she steadied herself and craned her head back to meet his dark eyes. “What can you say, Griffen?”
“Nothing I can say will make this seem better,” Ashleigh argued, letting go of his upper arm. “Pride isn’t going to race anymore, and I hate that as much as you do. However, being pissed isn’t helping anything. Think about the horse for once instead of the damn farm and your fucking finances.”
“Ashleigh, at the rate Townsend Acres is going, the farm will be in serious financial distress before Pride’s foals even hit the track,” Brad told her evenly. “The bonus money from the Triple Crown could have paid off at least one loan, and now our best horse in training is retired and won’t hit the breeding shed until February of next year. February, Ashleigh. In case you hadn’t noticed, the farm is past its prime. We’re past the days of Townsend Pride. Hell, we’re past the days of Ashleigh’s-freaking-Wonder.”
A sudden streak of lightning branched out underneath the dark underbellies of the thunderheads, lighting up the clouds with an electric glow. Ashleigh blinked as a new wave of rain began to fall, fat water drops slapping down around her.
“Townsend Acres won’t rise or fall depending on Wonder’s Pride,” Ashleigh shook her head slowly, talking over the rain. “Townsend Pride is still a leading sire, the Prince’s foals hit the track next year, there are Wonder’s foals, and Three Foot’s, and…”
“Griffen,” Brad interrupted her, “if I had had my way years ago, Wonder’s Pride would have been sold at auction for more money than he’s earned. The point here is that no, Wonder’s Pride doesn’t mean much to the equation, but now he’s just another bill to pay for.”
“You are such a bastard,” Ashleigh yelled at him through the rain, infuriated. That he could say such things about Pride, now that he had broken a leg running for Brad’s precious farm, was too much for Ashleigh. She had fought to keep Pride on the farm, helped train him, cheered for him in the stands when he turned into the best horse the farm had bred since his dam eight years ago. That Brad could be so cavalier about saying he would have sold the colt then, and implied he would sell him now, made Ashleigh see red.
“Yeah, I’m a bastard,” Brad laughed, running his hands through his soaked hair with frustration. “We bastards tend to be the logical ones, don’t we?”
“Screw you, Townsend,” Ashleigh threw her arms up in the air. “Do you even enjoy doing this? Is this all some gigantic bill to pay for you?”
“Ever since the Prince retired?” Brad asked, shrugging.
“God, this is so sad,” Ashleigh told him. “You are so sad.”
“I’m sad because I’m thinking in the best interest of the business that employs you and owns the horses you help train? Which owns Ashleigh’s Wonder?” Brad asked her snidely. “That’s rich, Griffen. Excuse me if I don’t want to see your famous mare ushered to the auction block just yet.”
“Do not talk about selling Wonder,” Ashleigh told him. “That would never happen.”
“Did I touch a nerve?” Brad asked, making Ashleigh inhale deeply to keep her cool.
“It would never happen,” Ashleigh repeated.
“It would take only a few conversations with my father and our bloodstock agent,” Brad told her. “That’s all.”
“Do not stand there and try to intimidate me,” Ashleigh said. “I know who you are, Brad. I know all you’d have to do is snap your fingers in order to sell a horse for five million dollars. I’m not impressed.”
Lightning spread out again, fingering through the dark sky, thunder rolling quickly behind to balance the atmosphere as the storm raged. Ashleigh was soaked through, her clothes clinging wetly to her skin, hair slicked to her head and neck. Brad’s expensive dress clothes were ruined, his white shirt molding transparently to his arms and torso. They were dripping wet, and silent. Then Ashleigh put her hand to her mouth, feeling a sob rising that she had kept down during the entire day. Now she finally couldn’t find the strength to keep it from rising.
Crying into her hand, Ashleigh squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, unable to bear Brad looking at her. She heard him move in front of her, walking up to her with splashes of rainwater to accompany his feet. Ashleigh squirmed away from him when she felt his hand on her waist, only to be steered into him with his other hand. His shirt was damp and cold, but his skin underneath it was still characteristically warm against her forehead. Ashleigh folded her arms against her stomach, giving in while she cried against his chest.
He held her there silently, letting her seep tears into his already soaked shirt. Finally, he bent his head and said, “I’m not going to sell Wonder.”
“I know,” Ashleigh muttered after a moment through her tears. “It’s just been a really long day, and I can’t stand the thought.”
“I’m sorry I took this out on you,” Brad told her against her hair. “It’s stressful, and Pride’s injury just made everything more clear and much worse.”
Ashleigh sniffed against his shirt, unfolding her arms and hooking fingers into the damp material at his stomach. She looked up at him, brushing her forehead against his chin. He lifted back to his full height to look at her, suddenly making her look small next to him.
“I know,” Ashleigh nodded. “I’m not blind, you know.”
He smiled fleetingly, his mouth curving into a serious frown as he lifted a hand and pushed back a wet clump of her brown hair from her forehead. Ashleigh stared at him hard, wondering what he was thinking when he threaded his fingers through her long hair at the base of her neck, tangling it around his hand.
Leaning down, he put his forehead against hers and looked at her, searching. Ashleigh must have had all the questions in the world in her tear-stained eyes, so he smiled at her slowly, untangling his hand from her hair and letting her fall away from him.
“Let’s go see Pride,” he told her. “I’ve got to get out of this damn rain.”
Ashleigh looked up at the sky, watching the raindrops fall haphazardly down. Then she looked at him, and held out her hand.
