“I don’t know, thought you might be.”
“We’re all here for the same reason,” she replies, before smiling. “Well, maybe notexactlythe same.”
“Not exactly the same, no.” I lean into her. “I wouldn’t marry just anyone so they could play.”
Gesturing her into the stables ahead of me, she flicks her long auburn ponytail as she passes, peering at me over her shoulder. “Lucky me.”
The stables are a hive of activity as we walk in, and most of the grooms have been in here since sunrise. The team atFoxleigh works twenty-four seven in ten-hour shifts, monitoring each pony’s regimented schedule—from eating to exercise and conditioning, to rest.
Charlie and Annabel—the head grooms today—are leading Maverick out as we arrive.
He looks good.
In the short time since we left Aspen, he’s both thickened out and slimmed down, thanks to his new diet and the training regimen we have him on. Once he’s got a season of hard riding under him, he’ll look incredible.
It’s the first time Ruby’s seen him with his Foxleigh Flyers wraps—duck-egg blue and navy. And when he sees her, his whicker is pure happiness as he drags Charlie toward her. She covers his nose with kisses and runs an approving eye over him.
“What do you think?” I ask, with more nerves than I’d like to admit circling my belly. Normally, it’s my ponies, my rules, but it’s important to me that she’s happy.
“I was kind of pissed when you said he was fat,” she drawls, running her hand down his hind quarters, “but he looks damn good right now.”
I try not to smile as widely as I want to. “That sounds to me like you’re saying I’m right.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” She grins as Maverick nudges me in the ribs.
I lean into his ear, stage-whispering, “You heard her say I’m right, deal?”
“You’re pushing your luck,” she whispers back.
“I’ll take my chances.” I wink, turning to Charlie as he approaches. “Good morning?”
Charlie nods. “Yes, sir, they’ve all had breakfast, and we’re just bringing the last group back from the gallops.”
“What’s happened to your arm?” I ask, noticing a big welt surrounded by a purple bruise on the back of it.
Charlie laughs, his eyes pinging to Ruby and Maverick. “Mav’s not been too happy about his new diet.”
Ruby’s face drops in horror. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you he’s mean when he’s hungry.”
“Aren’t we all?” Charlie replies, patting Maverick on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, comes with the territory. He’ll get used to it.”
She kisses him on the nose again. “I’ll try to sneak you some carrots.”
“You will not,” I say, as firmly as possible. “He’s an athlete now, and first in line for morning inspections. Pay attention, Trouble, you’ll need to oversee this soon.”
After Maverick, we walk down the stalls, individually inspecting each horse for potential injury or swelling, and their hooves are fitted properly. I have to admit, I don’t pay as much attention this morning as I should. My focus is entirely on Ruby. She asks insightful questions, she follows the routine accurately, and leaves every pony we inspect with a kiss on the nose.
The entire process takes an hour and a half, and we’re just finishing when I hear a couple of familiar voices. Billy and Jack—two of the Foxleigh Flyers team—are walking toward us from the far end of the stables. Jack reaches out to pat Mars, a giant chestnut thoroughbred, and last year’s Gold Cup winner.
“Morning, fellas,” I say. “Hope you’re roaring and ready.”
Jack, the shorter of the two but with the bigger mouth, drawls, “Aren’t we always?”
As they reach us, I pull each of them into a hug. Outside of my family, these two are my best friends. We’ve played polo together since our mid-teens on the U18s squad. And since I took over the Foxleigh Flyers, they’ve played with me. When I was out with my accident, they carried the team.
And it’s been these two who’ve been by my side as I’ve pushed myself back up the handicap rankings.
They want this England’s Cup win just as much as I do.
