“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 actuallyknow.
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.
