Nacho Figueras Presents (11 page)

W
heels up in five minutes,” the flight attendant announced as she passed Alejandro a drink. He settled contentedly back in his seat. The family Cessna was a luxury that never got old.

“When you said work, I expected it to be in your barn, not your jet,” said Georgia.

He smiled at her across the aisle. She looked charming and casual in jeans and a yellow T-shirt. Her cheeks were pink with excitement, her curls in slight disarray. “You like to fly?” he said.

“Well, sure, but usually I'm stuck between two talkative old ladies who smell like cats. I mean, I've never even flown first class, never mind a private jet.” She turned around and peered at the back of the cabin. “Is that a bedroom back there?”

“
Sí
, but it's a short flight. I don't imagine we'll be using it.”

The dimples in her cheeks flashed as she tried to suppress a mischievous smile. He cleared his throat. “I just meant, we won't want to sleep.”

The dimples deepened. “Oh?”

“So,” said Alejandro, suddenly desperate to change the subject, “I have the specifications on the stallion we'll be looking at today, if you'd like to see.”

She nodded, and he passed over the printout. She scanned the pages, her nose wrinkling.

“It's unusual for polo, that he's a stallion. Typically the game's played with mares but this horse—Temper—looks an unusually good prospect, and he might be good for breeding as well. We'll see what you think.”

“Whoa,” Georgia exclaimed. “Is this really the asking price? One hundred thousand dollars?”

“Well, I think we have some room to negotiate.”

She blinked. “I'm sorry. I'm trying to act cool about this but kind of failing miserably. That seems like an awful lot of money for just one horse.”

He looked at her sharply. “In polo, the horse is everything. Without world-class mounts, we cannot win, and I play to win.”

She nodded. “Of course. I just didn't realize that a world-class mount cost quite this much.”

He relented a little. “Not all do. And of course, you're right, it is a lot of money. But you must understand, the game begins and ends with the pony you ride. The horse is as much of an athlete as the rider. I am only as good as my mount, and at the level I play, I have to be sure that I am riding the very best.”

“Because—because it's so dangerous?”

He shook his head. “No. I mean yes, polo is dangerous, and the better the horse, the safer the player, but even the best horse can stumble. I am talking about winning.”

She nodded again, thinking. “Alejandro, I know this isn't going to exactly reward your confidence in me, but I have to tell you something.”

His chest tightened. “Yes?”

“Your game the other night? That was the first time I'd ever seen polo.”

He let out a bark of surprised laughter. “You're kidding me.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm not. And since, thanks to me, it all kind of ended before it began, I wonder if you could tell me the basic rules? I mean, if I'm going to be taking care of priceless horses, I should probably have at least some idea of what we're doing with them.”

“Yes, I imagine that might be useful.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Do you mind if I come sit by you? It will be easier if I can put some of this on paper.”

She nodded and scooted over to make room.

He sat down next to her, exquisitely aware of how close she was. He dug a pen out of his jacket pocket. “May I?” he said and took the papers she had been looking at and flipped them over, quickly sketching out a polo field.

“This is the field of play,” he said. He touched his pen to the paper. “This is the halfway line. These are the score lines. Do you know
fútbal
?”

She leaned closer to look. He could smell her hair—like sweet almonds. “You mean soccer? A little.”

He shifted away a bit. “Okay, imagine
fútbal
—soccer—played with only four players on each side and no goalie. Plus, every time a goal is made, the players change field direction.”

“Like halftime at basketball?”

“
Sí
, but for us, this happens every time we score a point. So you know the basics—we ride the ponies, we hit a small plastic ball with a wooden mallet. The ball goes very fast—up to one hundred miles an hour—and we try to get the ball through the goal. Whoever has the most goals at the end wins.”

“Right. But it seemed like you were stopping and starting every five minutes or so, switching ponies.”

“
Sí
, each period is called a chukker, and it's every seven and a half minutes, actually. We need to switch out the ponies because we ride them so hard. Sometimes a pony can do two chukkers, but that's not so common. Usually only in the semifinals and finals.”

“But MacKenzie did two.”

He smiled, pleased that she had noticed. “Yes. MacKenzie has a rare heart. She lives to play so we gave her two even though it was not a final. Now, in Florida, we play only six chukkers, but in Argentina, we play eight.”

She laughed. “So, they're tougher in Argentina.”

“Oh, yes. Definitely.” He leaned over the paper again and drew four X's on each side of the paper. “There are four positions, each very important. Number four—on our team this is Hendy—is the closest thing we might have to a goalie. He is all defense, blocking shots. Number two—that is Sebastian—plays both offense and defense. He runs the ball back and forth and sets up shots. Very hard worker usually. Which is ironic considering my brother.”

Georgia smiled.

“Number one—this is Rory—is all offense. He is just waiting for the ball to be sent his way, and he usually scores the most goals. And then, Number three—that is me—
el capitán
—the captain. Three hits the ball the hardest, decides all the strategy, also gets a goal or two through when I am lucky.”

“And do you ever switch positions?”

“No. We know what we are best at. There are different types of players, you know? Guys who are amazing with the ball, who have real finesse, and then there are guys who are just
guerreros
—warriors—if that makes sense? They play as hard as they can. Nothing stops them.”

She looked up at him. Her eyes sparked. “Let me guess. You're a warrior.”

He gazed back at her. “I like to play hard.”

“And the ponies, they like to play hard, too?”

“The ponies, they are all heart. A good polo pony is a perfect athlete. A good pony will instinctually know what you want before you even tell them. You cannot love polo if you do not love the horses.”

“But it looks so dangerous, though. For the players and the horses.”

“It is. Every time you go out on the field, you know there is a chance you could get seriously hurt, or die even. But it's an ancient game, Georgia. Thousands of years old. And there is a reason people have played it for so long, even if it is risky. When you are out on that field, if everything goes correctly, it's like you and the pony are one being. You cannot tell where you end and the horse begins. And when you are chasing that ball, and everything is happening so quickly—it's like you are flying together. And when you win…” He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “There is no feeling like that anywhere else in the world.”

“You really love it,” she said huskily.

“I do,” he answered. “Maybe more than anything.”

T
he Lexington horse farm was a glorious piece of property. Georgia took a deep breath of the crisp air as she looked out over the endless, rolling fields of bluegrass.

“It's nice, no?” said Alejandro as they stood waiting for the pony to be brought out. “Not so hot as Florida.”

“And not as cold as New York.”

The farm owner, Mr. Yates, was a gruff sort with the facial capillaries of a drinker but a keen and beady eye. He shook Alejandro's hand, nodded politely at Georgia, and then stood in silence, not bothering to make small talk.

A young groom led out the bay stallion, Temper. He was a beauty, nickering and stamping to live up to his name, his muscles veined and gleaming.

“Hey, good looking,” said Georgia and scratched him under his chin. The horse threw his head back and snorted, rolling his eyes. “Whoa there, a little touchy,” she said, taking a step back.

Yates frowned at her. “He's not touchy. He's sensitive. A good polo horse is always sensitive.”

Georgia shot a questioning look at Alejandro, who shrugged. “High spirited is not necessarily a bad thing,” he conceded as he ran his hand along the pony's neck. He looked at Yates. “May I?”

Mr. Yates nodded, and Alejandro swung up into the saddle. He rode a small circle, and Georgia saw his eyes light up and a tiny smile play at the corners of his mouth, but when he looked back at the owner, his face slid into a composed and neutral mask. “Nice horse,” he said carelessly.

Mr. Yates raised an eyebrow. “A damned nice horse,” he returned. “Go ahead. Take him out.”

Georgia watched as Yates swung open the gate and Alejandro headed out into the open field. The pony was a bit wayward at first, but Alejandro quickly seemed to find a rhythm with him, and soon they were moving together with sweet ease and precision as they went through their paces.

Georgia leaned against the fence, her heart in her throat, as they opened up into a full gallop, streaking across the grass.
God
, she thought,
what a horse. And what a rider.
She couldn't say who was more beautiful—the man or the stallion.

After about twenty minutes, Alejandro cantered back up, swung down, and handed the reins to the waiting groom.

“You want to give him a try?” he asked Georgia.

Georgia blinked. It had been a long time since they'd had a ridable horse at the farm. She hadn't been in the saddle for years. “Oh, no, that's probably not a good idea. I'll just check him out from the ground,” she said, embarrassed.

She asked Yates questions as she did an inventory of the pony. What was his history? How much feed did he consume, and how often? How about water? Any previous health issues? She took the stallion's temperature and checked his pulse and respiration. She peered inside his ears, looking at his teeth and hooves, running her hands up and down his legs and then the rest of his body, checking for any lumps or sores or scars she might have missed.

She couldn't find a thing wrong. He was immaculate. She'd never seen a more exquisite horse. “He seems to be in decent shape,” she said carefully, not wanting to tip Alejandro's hand.

Yates snorted. “He's in perfect health,” he said, “and you know it.”

“Yes, well,” said Alejandro, “he's a nice type, but maybe not at this price.”

The owner sighed and looked greatly put upon. “Well, I suppose I could drop a thousand off. But you'd have to pay for shipping.”

Georgia inwardly rolled her eyes—even she knew that the cost of shipping would easily come to a thousand.

“How about ten thousand off, and I pay for shipping?” countered Alejandro.

Yates bit his lip. Considered. “Five thousand.”

“Seven-five. You ship. And I'll take him. Can you have him delivered this week?”

“You pay for the shipping and I'll have him loaded up before you leave the farm.”

Alejandro laughed and shook the older man's hand. “Done.”

Georgia watched him as he turned back to the horse, finally letting his real feelings show as he ran his fingers down the stallion's long neck, and graced the animal with a heart-stopping smile.

Georgia stepped up closer. “So, I guess you like him,” she said teasingly.

He turned his head, the same magnificent smile now focused on her. “Maybe just a little bit,” he murmured.

T
emper didn't want to go into the trailer. He balked as soon as he saw it, let out a high whinny, and refused to move forward, leaving the groom futilely tugging at his lead.

Alejandro watched, a bit amused, as the farm owner tried to cajole him on from behind.

“C'mon, boy!” Yates said, and slapped the horse's rump. The horse just flicked his tail in response and whinnied again.

From inside the stables came an answering whinny, higher and more desperate than Temper's.

“Aw,” said the groom, “it's like she knows.”

Mr. Yates snorted. “That damned nag. I'll sell her as soon as she foals.”

“Wait, what nag? What are you talking about?” said Georgia.

Temper neighed again—a trumpet-like noise. The horse in the barn answered. Alejandro raised his eyebrows questioningly at Mr. Yates.

“They're in love,” said the groom.

“In love?” repeated Georgia. She looked stricken.

Mr. Yates grimaced. “Don't be ridiculous. They're horses. They're not in love. They're just…attached.” He shoved at Temper. “Walk on!”

The stallion didn't budge. The sounds from the stable grew ever more hysterical.

Georgia looked at Alejandro. “Maybe we can just take a look?” she said hopefully.

Temper pawed the ground and snorted. Alejandro sighed. “Show us the horse in the barn.”

“No,” said Alejandro as soon as he saw the mare. “Absolutely not.”

The horse was bewilderingly average. A weathered palomino, with short bandy legs, a scrubby little mane, and a huge, distended belly. Standing alongside Temper, she looked like a warthog next to a gazelle.

Temper nickered softly and gently nibbled along the little mare's neck. The palomino closed her eyes in bliss.

“Aw,” said Georgia. “Look at how sweet they are together.”

Alejandro shook his head, amused. “Why do you even have a horse like this?” he asked Yates.

“A groom left her behind when he went back to Mexico. She was his own personal pony. I was gonna sell her for dog meat, but then Temper got loose and knocked her up. Just waiting to see what the foal looks like before we ship her off.”

Georgia glared at him. “That's terrible!”

Mr. Yates smirked at her. “Lady, we breed and train Thoroughbreds here. The best horses in the country. This old nag is just taking up resources.”

“She's not an old nag.” Georgia reached over and patted the palomino's nose. “Don't you listen to him, you're not an old nag.”

Alejandro snorted. “No, he's right. She's pretty much an old nag.”

“I think she's lovely,” said Georgia. “Look at those gorgeous brown eyes.”

“I think she might have worms,” answered Alejandro.

Georgia ignored him. “What's her name?”

“Manuel called her
Azucar
,” the groom piped in.

Alejandro laughed. “Sugar,” he translated for Georgia.

“Oh,” breathed Georgia, “that's perfect.” She looked at Mr. Yates. “How much do you want for her?”

He smiled wolfishly. “Since she's carrying Temper's foal, I'd say ten.”

“Wait—” interjected Alejandro.

“Ten thousand?” said Georgia.

“Hey,” said Alejandro, “we are not buying this mare.”

Georgia got a stubborn look on her face. “How about two?”

“I might do seven. That foal could be just like Temper.”

“That foal could be just like her,” protested Alejandro.

“Five,” said Georgia.

Yates looked like he was considering it, but before he could answer, Alejandro yanked Georgia's arm. “Excuse me,” he gritted. “May I speak to you privately for a moment?”

Georgia followed him out of the barn.

“What do you think you're doing?” said Alejandro.

She rapidly blinked her hazel eyes, all innocence. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why in hell are you bargaining for a horse that I do not want?”

“Because you need her.”

“No, I definitely do not need her.”

She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, beseeching. “Temper needs her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Temper will get over her. Have you seen my horses? They are beautiful. He will fall in love with another mare.”

She glowered at him. “But then Sugar will end up as dog food!”

He sighed, exasperated. “That is very sad, indeed. But I am still not buying that mare.”

She got a dogged look on her face. “Fine. Then I will buy that mare. And I will give her to you as a gift.”

He laughed. “Are you crazy? Do you even have five thousand dollars?”

She jutted out her chin. “Well, no, actually. But I will. Because you are paying me a lot of money, remember?”

“Yes, but I haven't paid you yet.”

“You can dock me.”

“You are actually serious? You want to buy me that horse?”

“Dead serious. I will absolutely buy you that horse…if you will loan me the money to do so.”

He looked at her. Her pretty face was flushed, her curls were even more askew than usual, her little nose crinkled…

He threw up his hands and laughed. “Fine. Fine! I will buy that ugly pony! I will buy the nag for Temper. And for you,
Doctora
. But you have to let me negotiate the price. She is definitely not worth five thousand dollars.”

Georgia squealed and threw her arms around him. “Yes! I knew you wouldn't let her be dog food! Thank you!” She reached up and quickly kissed his mouth in innocent joy.

The moment he tasted her lips on his, he stopped thinking. Pure instinct took over. His arms reflexively locked around her waist, he crushed his body to hers, and pinned her up against the barn, intent on finishing what she had started. Breathing heavily, he trailed his hand over her cheek and bent toward her mouth. He could feel the warmth of her breath tremble against his lips, her eyes locked onto his.

“Alejandro, I…” She trailed off, not able to finish her thought.

He knew that he could still do it. That she wasn't saying no. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He could feel her heart hammer against his chest. He could feel her trembling in his arms. But he also knew that if he kissed her, he'd be crossing the line. The line that he himself had created. He closed his eyes. A long shudder tore through him.

“Ahem,” said the groom, who had poked his head out of the barn.

They leapt apart. Alejandro cursed. “What?” He snarled as he turned on the groom.

The groom stepped back nervously. “Uh, Mr. Yates just wondered where you got to. But I can—I can tell him y'all are busy.”

Alejandro took a ragged breath. “No, tell him we'll be right back in. Just give us a second.”

The groom nodded and hustled back inside. Alejandro looked at Georgia, who stood where he had left her, propped up against the barn, her eyes glazed over, her chest heaving.

Their eyes met.

“Do you still want the horse?” he said to her.

She blinked. “Ye-yes,” she stammered.

“Then we need to go back in.” He yanked open the door, striding into the barn, and offered the full five thousand, not bothering to negotiate at all.