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“He won’t tell me anything. I guess he’s trying to protect me. But it’s not working.” Devon tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My mind’s gone crazy this week. So many crimes and no solution to any of them.” She looked up, her forehead knit with concern. “Was there any progress in figuring out who tried to sabotage you?”
“No. I didn’t expect there to be. The people who do things like this cover their tracks well.”
“You’re more accepting than I am. Not only could you have been disqualified, you could have been hurt, or worse. How’s your horse? Is he all right?”
“Future’s fine. He got really spooked when Granger collapsed. He took off, bolted out of the ring. But my trainer calmed him down. I checked on him later in the day. He was back to himself.”
“So were you, I hope.”
“Yup. Good as new. Stomach bug gone.”
Devon gave a resigned sigh. “Like I said Monday night at dinner, the show circuit is too rough for my tastes. I’ll stick to healing animals. Oh, which reminds me, I met Dr. Vista this week. His work sounds fascinating.”
That caught James off guard. “Where did you meet Vista?” he asked, his tone undeniably strained.
“At your stables. Twice. Once when I was searching for Chomper, and once when I was searching for Roberto. Both times I ran into Dr. Vista instead. And I’m glad I did. I learned a great deal.”
“About?”
“Genetic consulting. It’s an area I was totally unfamiliar with. I’m sure that lack of knowledge doesn’t apply to you.”
Tension creased James’s forehead. “Actually, that’s my grandfather’s area. I don’t get involved much.”
Her brows rose in disbelief. “Cassidy was right. You are too modest. When it comes to anything horse-related, I’m sure your grandfather asks for your input. After all, you’re the guy who’s going to ride his way to a gold medal—probably more than once. Who better to consult on what qualities matter in a show horse?” Devon kept her expression open and friendly. “Dr. Vista mentioned acquiring specimens from a horse farm in Uruguay. Are the stallions there superior to the ones in Germany or the Netherlands?”
A startled look. “Vista discussed that with you?”
“Only in passing. Why? Is it a secret?” Devon drew her fingers across her mouth in a zipping motion. “If so, my lips are sealed.”
“It’s not a secret.” A rapid recovery. “We just like to keep our sources confidential. Otherwise, we’ll tip the competition.”
“That makes sense.”
James sipped his champagne. “So what else did you and Vista talk about?”
“That’s about it. He was in a hurry. He drove off in that monster truck of his. Although ‘drove off’ is an exaggeration.” Devon modified her words, weaving bits of truth into her fiction. “That Suburban is so weighted down it can barely crawl. I was afraid it would bottom out in the snow. There must be some serious equipment in there.”
She was hoping for some sort of reaction.
She got it—subtle, but visible.
James’s hand jerked, and a few droplets of champagne trickled down his chin.
He wiped them away, giving a tight cough.
“Are you all right?” Devon was eager to ascertain if James’s reaction was due to her comment about Vista’s truck.
“Fine,” he assured her. “Just paying too much attention to you and not enough to the amount of champagne I’m drinking.” A practiced smile—one that was visibly forced.
“I’m flattered.” Devon wasn’t letting this opportunity slip by. “Although my guess is you’re more captivated by my words than you are by me.”
The smile froze on James’s face. “I’m sorry?”
“Dr. Vista’s truck,” Devon explained smoothly. “And his heavy-duty veterinary equipment.” A resigned sigh. “You know, boys and their toys—nothing can compete.”
“Yeah. Right.” James took another sip of champagne. He set down his glass, roughly clearing his throat. “Maybe I should eat something.”
“Of course.” Devon’s mind was racing as she prepared a plate of fruit and cheese. James was rattled. She’d definitely hit a nerve.
