Chapter Twenty-Four Ivy

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ivy

" W hat's his hip number?" Wade asks me the next morning as we slide into the first line of ten outdoor stables at the Tennessee Bred Yearling Sale.

I quickly pull the list of thoroughbreds up and scan it. "543, Book One stalls."

Wade nods. It's a sea of people, owners leading their horses out into the corrals for potential buyers to view. Wade clutches our guidebooks for the Book Ones and Book Twos.

I'm fighting a tired haze after how much I drank last night, but I don't know if I would've made it through without the alcohol.

"Essentially, it's like the NFL draft," he says to me. "Hip 543 or Rustling Winds is a Book One. We would be paying upwards of one million for him. But you're right, with his bloodlines we got a damn good derby shot."

I nod.

These are things I've only heard about and researched; his knowledge is firsthand. I will be letting my gut guide me, going by feel of the horse and his personality.

"There are a few others I want to check out in Book Two, the second-highest class of breed. Even the Book Threes. No one really knows the perfect formula for a winning racehorse."

Wade takes in the horses we pass as we walk, always watching for something no one else sees. In that respect we are very similar; I do the exact same thing.

I watch as his green eyes observe, deep in thought before he speaks, teaching me, and even that is hot. "You hear the saying ‘it's best to find a diamond in the rough'? These are all diamonds, even the Book Threes, it's just finding the right one," he tells me.

I nod as I keep up with his long legs. If he sees a horse he likes we stop for a moment and take notes.

I stop in front of one that catches my eye at the end of the row. He's beautiful, maybe the most beautiful horse I've ever seen in real life. Bellingham had good riding and breeding horses but nothing like the one we're here to see today.

"Crescent's Landing," I say, watching the horse.

Wade stands back watching me relate to the horse. I observe him and try to make eye contact with him for a few minutes, reaching my hand out to touch him, and he pushes his face toward me, asserting his dominance.

"He's pretty, but he's too jumpy," I say, after a few minutes, writing him off.

"That's it? One glance and he's out?" Wade asks, not judging. He seems genuinely curious as to why I would snub a Book One so quickly. "His sire came in third in the Breeders' Cup in '19 …" He begins reading his stats from the book.

I'm only semi-listening to him, we've drifted into the next row now, and the most beautiful chocolate filly and I are having a moment. She's timid but regal, a Book Three. Her stature just says she's a queen, and I instantly love her.

"I don't really go by stats, Chief. I go by their hearts. I can usually tell just by watching them if they're serene but also a fighter, and that has to come naturally. You can't train the heart."

We've reached the filly now and I note her name and hip number.

I smile, my eyes filling with warmth for her as my dad flashes through my mind. Hi, Dad, I throw up into the universe.

It's love at first sight. She comes to me instantly and I trace the lines between her eyes with my hand. Her stature is grand, like she knows a secret I don't. I like to think she's telepathically telling me I'm your girl.

"No training the heart, words to live by," Wade says, looking amused.

"That's right," I tell him. "Just like people. Your heart is what it is the moment you're born. Don't you agree?" I ask Wade without looking at him, I'm still having a moment with hip 211.

"S'pose so, Trouble, never thought of it that way."

I smile at the beautiful horse in front of me and I then let her go. We stand in silence for a beat before Wade clears his throat.

"She hasn't got anything really too noteworthy to speak of with her breeding. Her grandsire raced and won at Keeneland and Crenshaw Downs; he was in the derby but never placed in the top five."

"And she's a filly," I add. Everyone knows fillies rarely win the derby.

"I'm not too worried about that—their hearts may not be able to be trained but their bodies can be," Wade says.

"Again, just like people." I grin. "Think of all the things we do just because it's what we're trained to do, but it's not what's in our hearts."

"True story," Wade replies. "But yes, you're right. Last I checked, only a couple fillies have ever won the derby."

"Three," I correct, without looking at him.

I give her one last little pat. She's a beautiful creature and we'd probably only pay around a half million for her. I force myself to move forward, because as much as I think she could be the one, I would never ask Wade to take such a risk.

"If it was my money, and I had all the time in the world, my money would be on her, but it's not." I shrug. "So, let's go look for your surefire winner," I say, casting one more glance over my shoulder at my girl.

We continue cruising the aisles until we come to the horse we've been looking forward to.

"Well hello, Rustling Winds," I say to him.

He is strong and beautiful, I'll say that. I start at his feet and take in the sight of him. Moving over every inch to search for flaws and strengths. Is it wrong to judge a horse's personality the way I would judge a man's at first glance?

Probably, but do I do it anyway? Absolutely.

And I can already tell that this horse is the small-town superstar quarterback that everyone and their mother has told is a winner since the moment he was born. He's perfectly bred, but he knows it, and that may be his downfall or his triumph. Only time will tell.

"Probably run you more like 1.2 or 1.3," I say as I move to greet him.

He's wonderful. He isn't my girl, but I could definitely help make him a winner.

"I've received five texts from Nash this morning telling me to pay any price. He says his main contribution to help is with the upfront costs of the horse, so ‘go big or go home,'" Wade says with air quotes.

I smile. For being the non-emotional ex-hockey player that pretends he only really likes CeCe, that man has a heart of gold and his love for this family is unmatched.

"Well alright, let's spend his money than, shall we?" I ask, a mischievous grin playing on my lips.

Wade grins back. He is a sight this morning. It's a wonder I made it out of that hotel room alive today when he wandered out of the bathroom in perfectly fitting jeans, a flannel and a thick Carhartt jacket, running his hands through his damp hair from the shower and smelling like the clean spice of his aftershave. Everything about Wade is big, manly and rugged. It takes everything in me not to stare at him and just simmer in the faces he makes, or the way his jaw works as he speaks, even the deep sound of his voice—

"We shall. You have a look down the next row. I'll go make sure we're registered for tomorrow's auction and double-check our seats," he speaks, interrupting my little daydream of him.

I nod and point to the row where I'll be when he's done. Taking in the horses as I pass them, any one of these could do it for us, any one of them could be our winner. I just have to believe I'm good enough to get them there.

"Ivy."

I freeze.

That voice. Instantly, the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I'd know it anywhere. I especially remember the last time I heard it, an inch from my face as its owner stood over me, seething, an evil look in his eye that I'll never forget. I pray I'm just imagining things.

"Ivy Grace." Again.

Fuck.

I close my eyes and take one deep breath before I turn around to face him, silently willing myself not to murder him before I even have the chance to help Wade choose a beautiful new horse.

"Brad," I say, bracing myself for a fight, hoping I can get rid of him before Wade comes back.

"What are you doing here?"

Why am I asking? I don't care.

"I'm here looking at another stud to breed with Mona Lisa," he answers, looking at me almost like he's seen a ghost as he mentions one of his ranch's prized mares. His hat comes off and he runs a hand through his dark blond hair.

He starts coming closer, and my fists ball up at my sides.

"I can't believe you're here." He's all soft and sweet, the way he always was for a time after we fought. It was how he gaslit me into thinking I overreacted to his behaviors.

"You haven't answered me or my family. All I've wanted to do is talk. After you … lost it that night, I realized why you'd think I'd try to hurt you and I forgave you. It took me a while but you don't have to be ashamed anymore. I really miss you. I'm not the enemy here, Ivy, all I've ever done is love you."

I throw a silent prayer up.

Dear Universe, if I stab him with my pen, you know why.