Pas de deux Page 5

  Her stare dared us riders to object or complain. I had no intention of doing either. Too busy freaking out.

  Mary continued, “Doctor Gardner’s extensive work with performance horses will ensure the highest care possible and she comes highly recommended by a number of top performance veterinarians. I anticipate her integration to be smooth and also extremely beneficial to our preparation.”

  Addison Gardner. My libido got a harsh reality check.

  Shit to the power of infinity. It couldn’t be, could it? I mean it wasn’t exactly a common name, but still… Maybe she was actually Addison Someone Else who’d married a Gardner. But the more I looked, the more convinced I became that it was actually the girl, uh, now woman I’d known at South River Pony Club in Arrington, Tennessee over twenty years ago and who used to go by Addie, not Addison. I wiped my palms on my breeches. A flood of memory washed over me and I had to fight down a wave of panic. Lotte’s delicious snacks suddenly felt very heavy in my stomach.

  We hadn’t been friends back then. Quite the opposite. When I’d arrived for my first Pony Club meeting as a fourteen-year-old who’d just moved to the area, Addie had been the first person I’d seen. She was doing handstands on top of the world’s most patient horse while a group of laughing and cheering girls crowded around her. She’d been in with the group of rich bitches who’d been cruel and aloof in that special way teen girls had down to a fine art when I’d turned up as a newcomer to their established social circle.

  The more I studied Addison, the more I wanted to slap myself for not realizing who she was. Now I knew, it was plain as day. And considering my conflicted feelings back then of being a baby gay who definitely noticed the way girls looked, and who’d spent so much time wondering how someone as cute and funny as Addie Gardner could be so damned mean, her turning up now felt like a cruel joke from the universe.

  Addison leaned forward in the chair and in a low, calm voice, which still held strong hints of the South, thanked Mary then began speaking about herself. I tried to listen but my thoughts kept wandering off. One part of my brain was stuck on the sound of that butterscotch voice. Another part heard her elaborate on her qualifications—impressive, and her work to date—vast. And of course, a big part of my brain kept thinking about everything she’d said and done all those years ago. My focus snapped back to attention when she told us how much she was looking forward to getting to know us and our horses and supporting our Olympic bids. Her gaze lingered on me. She winked.

  I straightened in the chair, only just stopping myself from squirming. Was she playing another mind game with me now? Should I say something about Pony Club? Or just ignore the whole thing? Or wait for her to bring it up, if at all? I had to talk to her, obviously, but everything that’d happened when we were teenagers played through my head at warp speed and I fought to keep calm.

  She made the decision for me. After the meeting I decided to skulk back to the cottage to hide and regroup. And maybe work myself into a good panic at what the next few months held if Addison Gardner was around. I’d almost made it, the front door was in sight, when her unmistakable voice called from behind me, “Caitlyn!”

  My stomach felt like it did in the lead-up to big competitions—excitement and anxiety mixing to create a flutteringly uncomfortable sensation. No option other than stop, turn around and talk to her. I mean, sure, I could have sprinted into the cottage and slammed the door but that would have been a little weird. Somewhere between her teens and now she’d developed a left-leg limp. It was barely noticeable but for someone like me who spent her life studying the way horses moved, any gait that wasn’t smooth stood out. I wondered what she’d done since I’d last seen her when we were both seventeen and moving on from Pony Club to bigger and better equestrian things.

  She seemed shorter than I recalled, though obviously we both could have grown. When she smiled at me, it was warm, genuine, and engaging and her eyes and nose creased with delight. And her eyes. Oh boy. I’d forgotten their exact color and up close they were even prettier—a bright golden brown, ringed with dark. She still had that air of mischievousness about her, an almost casual irreverence as if she was always on the verge of either telling or playing a joke. I’d been on the receiving end of both.

  Thirty-seven-year-old Caitlyn’s libido woke from where it’d fled in panic to come back and take notice. A lot of notice. Fourteen-year-old Caitlyn poked Current Caitlyn in the butt and reminded her that Addison wasn’t a nice person. Or, at least she hadn’t been when I’d known her all those years ago.

  Still smiling, Addison held out her hand and her handshake was firm and warm. She held on for a second longer than for a normal meeting of acquaintances. “Caitlyn Lloyd. We meet again. You’ve done well for yourself, putting South River Pony Club on the map.”

  “Addison. Thank you. It’s…surprising to see you again.” I cleared my throat, fighting to contain my upset inner teen. “So, um, you’re a vet?”

  She grinned, which made her cheeks dimple, which turned some of the fluttering in my stomach from nervousness to excitement. “Nah, I was just wandering around the Netherlands, saw some horses and thought I’d pop my head in. Seems they really need a hand, because Mary grabbed me and asked if I could take care of some dressage horses.” At my apparently stunned expression, she smiled and offered something less facetious but still with that cheeky, teasing grin. “Yes, I’m a veterinarian. And obviously now the veterinarian for the US Olympic Dressage Team. I, uh, have actually been the vet at a bunch of events in the States where you’ve competed but thankfully I’ve never had to see you. Not because I didn’t want to,” she hastened to add. “But, you know, vets at competitions are for when things go bad.”

  “Really? I’ve never seen your name in any of the fine print about organizing committees and whatnot.”

  “Mhmm. They only ever use initials, not full names in those things.” Her smile had a touch of eye roll in it. “Dr. A. Gardner. Probably so they think it’s Andrew, not Addie. Yay, misogyny.”

  “That’s great. Really great. Not misogyny but you being a vet. I didn’t know you’d gone to vet school.” I fought down a blush at the realization that as a kid I hadn’t really thought of her as having any sort of intellect. “Do I call you Doctor Gardner?”

  “If you like, but that’s just a waste of syllables. Addie is fine. I kept telling Mary that only my parents use my full name, but she sure is a stickler for protocol. Addison just makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

  “Sure. Addie it is. Just like old times.” I made a vague, helpless gesture as I stated the obvious. “So, we’re going to be working together.”

  “That we are. Who would have thought it, way back in the Pony Club days, that we’d be horsing together again all these years later.” Her smile was brilliant, as if the two of us interacting was the best thing she’d done all year.

  “Yeah…who would have thought it,” I parroted. The part of my brain that I rarely let loose, the part that acted before thinking, somehow squirmed free to blurt, “Maybe I should just jump in the water trough now to save you the trouble of shoving me into it later.”

  The smile faded until confusion was plainly painted on her face. “I’m sorry, pardon me?”

  “Don’t you remember that?” I remembered the humiliation like it was yesterday. “I could put manure in my helmet too if you’d really like to reminisce.”

  Her forehead wrinkled and I could see her working to make the connections. When she finally spoke, the words were exaggeratedly slow as if she wanted to be sure I really got them. “Okay, sure. But I’m not really sure what you’re gettin’ at.”

  Addie’s deliberate obtuseness made another thing I rarely let loose flare—my, admittedly mild, temper. “No? You need a little reminder? I’m talking about how you and your group of minions made my life hell at Pony Club.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what—”

  “Seriously, it’s fine.” Hello, liar. “Just t
hought I’d clear the air.” I folded defensive arms over my chest.

  “Right…” she drawled. Her expression was still one of absolute disconnection, and I wondered if she’d repressed everything she’d done or watched others do. Her face softened. “Clearly, I really don’t remember things the way you do.” Addie paused, as if trying to decide whether or not to say more. “What I do remember is trying to impress everyone. And I sure as heck never had a group of minions. Not sure where you got that idea. I was a minion, a piece of crap to that group really.”

  I untucked a hand to sketch a dismissive wave. “Mhmm, okay then, sure.”

  Addie’s eyes widened. “Caitlyn, look. I’m sorry, I really am, if something I did upset you. I wish I could offer an explanation or help you work through whatever you’re talking about, but I can’t because all I remember is all of us doing stupid shit to everyone else.”

  “Stupid shit?” My voice cracked up embarrassingly. “You and your group of bitchy bitches bullied the shit out of me for three years.”

  Addie’s voice broke as she exclaimed, “Bullied? Hey, no…that’s not—” She cut herself off and her expression made it clear she was really thinking about it, trying to put the pieces together. But she couldn’t, that much was also clear. She blinked rapidly. “Is now really the time to be talking about this?”

  I made myself stand tall, knowing I would feel stronger for it. But instead, it made me feel as if I was looking down on her. And that felt almost as horrible as the feeling of childhood inadequacy that’d been my constant companion back then, and which had made a poorly timed reappearance now. “Is there a better time?”

  Addie mumbled something that sounded like, “How ’bout never?” After a slow inhalation she said, “I really think you and I have very different experiences and recollections of that time.” She raised both hands, palms up. “Despite appearances, I wasn’t part of that group, not really.” Her voice dropped and took on a fierce intensity. “And I definitely don’t think I was a bully. I was…well, awkward and socially inept doesn’t even scratch the surface of what I was. Remember how I was the poor kid riding a borrowed horse in a group of girls who had endless money?”

  I had no answer for that, because I didn’t remember anything like that. All of my memories were tuned to What Addie Did, not Who Addie Was. I shrugged in response.

  “Caitlyn, I don’t know what else I can say except another sorry, and to point out that sometimes people change drastically from teenagers to close to forty-years-old. I’m not trying to make excuses or diminish something you obviously have strong feelings about but it’s been twenty years since Pony Club so please excuse me if I don’t recall every word I ever spoke to you.” It came out a little snappish and more than a little defensive.

  I responded with my own snappy and defensive, “Fine.”

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose and when she spoke it was calmer, almost resigned. “Look, I’m here to make sure your horse is performing at his best. I’m damned good at my job and my appointment comes with the full support of the US Dressage Federation. They trust me and trust what I can do for the team. So maybe you need to find a way to work past your little bout of teen angst.” She squared her shoulders and smiled, though it was one of those tight, forced I’m trying not to say bad things smiles. “I’m here to help, regardless of what you think happened in our past.” She turned around and walked back toward Lotte’s barn.

  What I thought happened in our past? What the hell? Someone was delusional and it sure as hell wasn’t me. “Hey!” I called at her back, and when she stopped and turned to face me, I demanded, “Why did you push me into the water at the clubhouse sleepover?” Possibly the most pointless thing I could have asked at that moment, but apparently now was the time to get stuck on pointless details.

  Addie threw both hands up in a gesture that was pure exasperation, then spun around and kept walking away.

  Chapter Four

  Addie

  Half an hour after my conversation with Caitlyn my frustration still lingered, leaving my body tight and tense. Frustration around horses, especially highly strung performance horses, was just asking for bad behavior and I decided to settle myself with a walk around the fences enclosing the lush green fields. Being out of sorts with jetlag and hours cramped in a plane seat may have played a part in how I’d reacted, and I hoped some fresh air would settle me. The conversation had struck a nerve I didn’t even know I had and as I walked, I tried to figure out how I’d managed to be on such a different wavelength to Caitlyn.

  Bullying?

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  Sure, we hadn’t exactly been BFFs or BFs…or even Fs at Pony Club, but it wasn’t for lack of me trying. I’d tried so hard to get her to talk to me, to like me, to want to be my friend, and for years had been met by a cool wall of no thank you. Everyone at the club teased and joked and played pranks back then, and I couldn’t understand why she was taking it so personally and seemed to have such a vendetta against me now. Didn’t she realize I was so awed by her incredible natural riding talent and her quiet wit and confidence and oh my goodness those legs and her smile and—

  That teenage Addie who had a massive crush on Caitlyn wilted at the thought that she’d gotten it so wrong. No matter. Kids had stupid thoughts and said stupid things all the time. I was an adult now with a very respectable career that only looked to get more respectable, not the poor kid begging and borrowing gear to attend Pony Club and trying to get the rich girls to like me so they wouldn’t tease me.

  Most importantly, I had a job to do. I shook myself off, squared my shoulders, then collected my equipment from my rental and made my way back to the barn. In my years of vetting I’d learned there were many ways to approach problems, including combative clients, and given this situation, antagonism on my part was only going to create a hostile environment. Hostility in the lead-up to the Olympics was counter-productive, so I’d be polite and friendly, ignore any barbs slung my way and forget that I used to dream about kissing Caitlyn Lloyd.

  The moment I entered the barn I spotted Caitlyn in the laneway outside one of the box stalls. With her was a tall, blue-haired woman and a huge bay horse who I knew was Dewey. I looked at a lot of horseflesh every day and appearances tended to be low on the list of things I appreciated, which started with horses that don’t kick or bite me. But I had to admit he was one of the most stunning horses I’d ever seen. He was huge—a solid and muscular 16.3 hands high, which meant that at five-foot-seven I’d barely be able to see over his back. I crossed my fingers that he was amenable because working with recalcitrant equines sucked. Working with large recalcitrant equines could be a dangerous nightmare.

  The rich dark dappled brown of his coat was set off by a thick black mane and tail, and one fore and both hindlimbs were white with stockings that went halfway up his legs. The other forelimb had an odd not-sock—a slash of white slanted across the lower part of the limb. His head was a refined, elegant shape with a thin white blaze down his face leading to a pink nose that spilled over his right nostril. From photos, I knew he had a little black dot floating in the pink of his nose that just begged to be poked with a forefinger. Dewey’s ears pricked as he turned his head to watch my approach, and I swear those soft brown eyes lit up with curious excitement.

  I set my bag against the outer stall wall and rapped my knuckles on the wood. “Knock knock.”

  The two women turned to face me. The blue-haired one had a pleasant, welcoming expression. Caitlyn, on the other hand, was guarded, bordering on unfriendly. Given the conversation earlier, I hadn’t expected a hug but I had hoped for at least fake politeness. We clearly had different recollections of Pony Club. My time back then had been spent balancing my crush on her, keeping my school and horse lives separate, and trying to fit in while being socially awkward and the poorest member of the club. Which the rich girls never let me forget. Going along with their antics, being a goofball and sometimes verbal whipping girl for that crowd had a
lways felt like a small price to pay for not feeling like a total outcast.

  I slapped on my friendliest smile. “Hi.” I directed my gaze to the person I didn’t know. “I’m Addie Gardner, the new team veterinarian.”

  The return smile was broad and warm, as was her voice. “Wren.” She waved. “Caitlyn’s groom extraordinaire.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I cleared my throat and turned my focus to Caitlyn. “Do you and Dewey have an hour for me?”

  Dewey apparently did, if the way he kept trying to stretch his nose out to touch me was any indication. Caitlyn, on the other hand, seemed as if the thirty seconds she’d already allowed me were too many. Her mouth held a distinctly tight line and her brown eyes narrowed as she studied me. Over the years, whenever I’d thought of her—which was admittedly a fair amount—I’d always remembered those eyes as luminous. Now they felt like a bucket of cold water. After a long moment of staring at me like I was here to euthanize her horse, she gave me a flat, “Why? I’m busy. I have to ride Lotte’s horses this afternoon.”

  I held up my iPad. “I just want to get some basic information, take photos of normal limbs, collect resting vitals and whatnot so I have baseline stats to go on. I’d also like to video his normal trot-up so I know his gait. I have David’s information and I know you’ve already been over some of this with him, but I like to get my own feel for things.” Silence hung thickly, and in an attempt to fill it I added, “I’ll be doing it for all the equine athletes.”

  The suspicious expression eased to a kind of resigned wariness. “Sure.”

  Wren backed up. “If you don’t need me, I’m going to grab lunch.” At Caitlyn’s nod, which was admittedly delayed, Wren said, “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”