Fool's Gold Read online

  Becky loaded Scotty next, and somehow, without making a big deal of it, Tom relieved Amy of The Moose and loaded her himself. Together Jake and Tom closed the ramp, making sure all the latches were secure. Cricket danced around the activity, staying just out of the way. Jake had no doubt if a horse had proven balky about loading, she would have chivvied them up the ramp.

  “I hope we’re going to stop somewhere on the way home,” Rich said as Becky did one last pass around, making sure no one had forgotten anything. “I could eat a horse.”

  “Hah. Don’t give up your day job to do stand-up.”

  “There are snacks in the truck,” Tom said. “I’m pretty sure you won’t starve to death before we get home. I’d hoped we’d get back before dark, but that’s not happening now. You can eat when we get back to the house.”

  “Are you sure he won’t starve?” Jake nudged Rich in the ribs. “He looks awfully skinny to me.”

  “Oh nice,” Rich snapped. “That’s not what you said last—”

  Jake snaked an arm behind Rich’s head to clap one hand over his mouth. “Snacks will be fine. We’re fine. Really we are.”

  Rich licked the inside of his hand. The warm tongue teased Jake’s palm, and he immediately recalled the last time Rich had used his tongue on him and just how wondrously talented a tongue it was. Suddenly his breeches felt far too tight.

  “Obviously, I’m not working you boys hard enough if you still have the energy to horse around.” Tom’s drawl was sarcastic, but there was amused approval in his eyes just the same.

  Jake groaned. “Not another horse joke. Do you two ever talk about anything else?”

  “Why yes.” Rich pushed Jake’s hand aside and shot him an evil smile. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking about what I’d like to—”

  Becky joined them, effectively silencing Rich. “All loaded and ready to go.” She indicated Tom’s old Chevy S-10. “You guys riding with us?”

  As much as Jake would have liked to have discussed the day’s schooling with Tom on the way home, there was no reason he couldn’t do that tomorrow. Besides, he didn’t relish the idea of spending hours making small talk with Amy. “Nah, I’ll keep Mick company.”

  “Me too,” Rich chimed in. “Someone has to keep those two awake.”

  “You?” Jake was incredulous. “I’m not the one who falls asleep before the first stoplight. Tell him, Tom.”

  “You can both keep Mick awake,” Tom said. “Let’s hit the road before it gets any later.”

  They separated to go to their individual vehicles. It wasn’t just a matter of numbers; Tom made it a practice to take a second car to follow the horse trailer whenever they hauled themselves without a professional driver. You never knew when the rig might break down, stranding hundreds of thousands of dollars of horseflesh on the side of the road. At least with a second vehicle, someone could go for help.

  Not that a Stanford rig was likely to break down. Tom might have been used to working on a shoestring before becoming the resident trainer at Foxden, the Stanford farm, but Donald Stanford only bought the best, first for his wife, and now his son. Jake suspected he was luckier than he knew, but for the most part, he didn’t think about it too hard.

  “I’ll take the backseat.” Rich edged in front of Jake so he could squeeze in the back of the king cab. As he climbed in, Jake slid one hand down Rich’s perfect ass cheek, squeezing the taut muscle beneath the formfitting breeches. Rich threw him a bug-eyed glance over his shoulder, eyebrows pushing aggressively into his hairline before his mouth curved into a wicked smile. He obviously couldn’t believe Jake had groped him in public.

  Jake pushed the seat back into place behind Rich and climbed in to shut the door and buckle his seatbelt. He was a little surprised at himself as well. He and Rich had been moving toward each other ever since the day they’d met until they’d finally fallen into bed together. These last few months had been the best in Jake’s life, though he still wasn’t quite ready for public displays of affection or admitting out loud he was in love with another man, even if that guy was Rich. Tom didn’t care—that was obvious, and their evolving relationship was pretty much an open secret among most of the Angels.

  No, it was his father’s reaction that worried him. It didn’t take a psych degree to know his mother’s death when he was ten, combined with his status as an only child, meant his father was a little too invested in his life. Jake had only recently realized he was living in a gilded cage. A very nice cage, huge by most people’s standards, and one that provided him with everything he could have ever desired.

  Except someone like Rich.

  The confrontation had to happen sooner or later, he knew that. Hell, he was almost twenty-one. His father should have no say in how Jake handled his love life. Only Donald Stanford held the purse strings. Jake didn’t even own any of the horses, with the exception of The Moose, which he’d bought with his own winnings from the last show season. If Jake’s father chose, he could pull Puddle Jumper out from under Jake. Right now, Jake didn’t want to do anything to rock the boat. He and PJ had been short-listed for the U.S. eventing team for the 2008 Summer Games in Beijing. If he could just avoid any drama or heartache until after the Games…. Surely if he came away with a medal, his father would be more forgiving of his personal life.

  A small voice in the back of his head whispered it was a damn funny reason to go for the gold. That same voice suggested that no matter what he did at the Olympics, it wouldn’t be good enough to offset his father’s negative reaction to his being gay. The certainty of this knowledge sat like a cold weight in his stomach, negating the beauty of the day.

  With calm efficiency, Mick started up the diesel engine and put the truck into gear.

  “I can make sandwiches,” Rich offered from the back.

  “I’ve already eaten,” Mick said as they trundled out of the horse park, “but I won’t say no to a soda.”

  Rich handed a can to Jake, who passed it to Mick. He popped the ring on the lid and fitted it into a drink holder by the gearshift.

  “One Dagwood-style triple-decker sandwich coming right up,” Rich promised.

  Jake hummed his approval. Life was good. Very good.

  Jake was tired from the day’s activities and replete with food, so the rhythm of wheels on the road kept trying to lull him into sleep. He and Rich dissected the day’s ride for a while, and the possible merits of The Moose, as well as the potential failings of both Goldie and Scotty as top level event horses.

  “Pity The Moose is so young,” Rich had said with a jaw-cracking yawn that made him hard to understand. “She’s going to be an awesome Olympic contender someday.”

  Jake had to agree. The Moose had those special qualities not every competition horse possessed: inalienable courage in the face of scary obstacles, and the drive to push on when another horse would duck out and run. PJ had it as well: the heart of a lion. They were horses that didn’t have to be pushed or pulled but were partners in the endeavor. Jake knew he was lucky to find traits like these even once at his level of competition. Twice was a bloody miracle.

  By the time they’d eaten and rehashed the day’s events, Jake found it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. Even Rich’s lively chatter faded, and Jake caught himself dozing lightly, his head jerking upward when he began to nod off.

  “Not too much further now.” Mick broke the silence that had fallen.

  Ahead, a green-and-white sign proclaimed their exit in twenty miles. One of the nice things about living in a rural area was having the land to support a property the size of Foxden. The downside was that everything was so far away from the farm. If they were going to order pizza, they’d have to wait until they got to Rich’s place.

  “Thank God we’re almost there,” Rich said, his tone making it sound as though they’d spent the day trekking across a vast wilderness with no food or water. “I can’t wait to get home.”

  Jake had to agree. Even with everyone helping, they still had s
everal hours of work ahead of them to get the horses unloaded and everything put away. Tom was a real stickler for that. He felt Rich’s knee press into the back of his seat and smiled. Once they got everything taken care of for the night, Rich was all his. They’d go back to his place, take a long, leisurely shower together, and then….

  What would happen next was bound to be better than his wildest expectations. Rich was always introducing him to something new. Okay, maybe it wasn’t always something outside his realm of experience, though that didn’t take much. With Rich, Jake had discovered a wanton side to himself he hadn’t suspected existed. Maybe it was the freedom to explore his sexuality. Maybe it was just because he was with Rich. Either way, he found himself trying things that would have shocked him only a few months earlier.

  It could be just as simple as the fact he was starved for contact. Rich had taught him the value of a good hug, and Jake craved that touch now. With Rich, even the ordinary took on special meaning.

  “Keep your shirt on, kid,” Mick said, his voice full of good humor.

  In the dark of the cab, Jake’s faced heated up. Taking Rich’s shirt off was one of the things he was most looking forward to doing tonight.

  The wheels continued to hum rhythmically on the highway, and Jake’s eyelids drooped once again. He shook his head in an effort to stay awake. Without warning, a pair of headlights cut across his line of vision, and for a split second, he was confused. Lights shouldn’t be coming from that direction. They were on a divided highway.

  “Mick, look out!” Jake shouted.

  The lights bore down on them relentlessly. Mick swore, cutting the steering wheel hard to the right. The rig swerved, slinging the trailer sideways. Jake could feel the heavy trailer slew to the left, knew the moment the rig jackknifed. He heard the thin, frightened whinny of a horse thrown off balance, just as the car bearing down on them slammed into the driver’s side door.

  The whump of impact had the curious effect of muffling all other sound. Everything felt suspended for a moment, and then the shriek of metal combined with the screams of the horses filled his ears. Jake was thrown forward initially, but he slammed back in his seat when the belt caught him, and he was catapulted into the side of the door. The airbags deployed, filling the interior of the truck with a smoky residue. The sound of metal on metal screeched as the truck slid along the guard rail, and then the rig, carrying over three tons of horseflesh, rocked to one side. Inside the trailer, panicking horses scrambled and flailed. Physics took over as the rig reached the tipping point and went over on its side, lifting the truck and threatening to flip it as well. The wheels actually left the ground for a brief moment, but then settled back on the asphalt with a jarring thump as the hitch broke. The momentum of the sliding trailer pushed the truck forward until it finally slowed to a stop. Jake sat for a moment, stunned and incomprehensible while his brain went offline, then he fought to push the bag down out of his face, gasping at the intense pain radiating from his collarbone and chest.

  Dear God in heaven. The horses. Rich. Mick.

  He freed himself from the seat belt. Twisting in his seat, every breath a searing knife shoved between his ribs, he tried to make out what had happened. A lone headlight from the other car cast some light into the truck’s cab. Mick was face-first into his airbag, collapsed over the steering wheel. Jake gently pushed him back, wanting to be sure Mick could breathe until rescue arrived. Mick flopped back into his seat with the limpness of a dead fish.

  No. No, no, no.

  In painful stages, Jake turned in his seat to check out Rich’s condition. The angle of the other car’s headlight was off to the side, and he could barely make out Rich’s form. Panic rose in Jake’s throat like bile, burning within and threatening to choke him. The headlamps from the truck illuminated some sort of vapor floating in front of the cab. Jake didn’t know if it was steam from a burst radiator or an indication of an engine about to blow. His door wouldn’t open; it was pinned against the guard rail. The other car had smashed in the driver’s side and there was no getting out that way, either. If the engine was about to blow, they were all going to die.

  “Rich!”

  Panic and fear made his voice shrill. There was no answer.

  “Rich! Come on, talk to me. I need to hear your voice.”

  He reached into the back seat, feeling around with his hands and finding where the side of the cab had caved in, trapping Rich’s lower limbs.

  “Come on, buddy. I need to know you’re okay. Talk to me, Richie.”

  “Jake?” The voice was querulous and weak, but Jake nearly sobbed with relief at hearing it.

  “Oh, thank God. There’s been an accident. You hang in there, okay? Help is on the way.” He knew this to be true. Tom had probably directed one of the girls to dial 9-1-1 before he even pulled off the highway.

  “Jake.” Rich’s voice was scarcely more than an exhalation of breath, and with despair clawing at his guts, Jake took hold of his hand for all it was worth.

  “You hang in there, buddy,” Jake admonished. “You hang in there.”

  Though he didn’t say it, the words hovered in the air just the same.

  I need you.

  Donald Stanford hated hospitals, especially at night. He hated their celery-green walls and the muted atmosphere. It was like being inside a library situated within an aquarium, and the patients were on display for the visitors. Something writhed in his stomach as he walked past dimly lit open rooms, from which came the sounds of quiet beeping of monitors. The odor of sickness waged war with the scent of disinfectant, and the battle made him curl his upper lip. As he made his way to the nurses’ station, a frail, elderly voice repeatedly cried out the name of a family member.

  That could be your future someday soon.

  Ruthlessly, he shoved such thoughts aside. That would never be him. He would never be alone and unwanted. Things were different when you had money and prestige. That was the whole point of having those things. It was only the depressing atmosphere and his worry over Jake that had rattled him at the moment.

  Jake had to be okay. Had to.

  He hated this hospital in particular. Even though his connections and wealth meant his wife had received the best possible care after her cancer diagnosis, they’d still spent more time than he’d liked at Riverdale Medical. The small facility didn’t have the top-notch specialists like they did at Johns Hopkins or Duke University, but it had the benefit of being relatively nearby and could perform the monitoring tests Darcy had so frequently needed.

  He passed people in the waiting area set aside for this floor, wan faces that scarcely looked up at his presence, with dark circles under puffy eyes, or foreheads pinched with worry. Perhaps he wasn’t the only person who hated hospitals, and for the briefest of moments, he congratulated himself for such empathy. The moment quickly passed when an exhausted mother lifted a baby to her shoulder and it immediately began to wail. She tried ineffectually to quiet the child, and Donald hurried past, the shrill crying assaulting his ears like a knife. Shooting her a scowl, he continued on.

  He strode up to the nurses’ station. That was another thing he hated about hospitals, dealing with the staff. The doctors would stroll in once a day like visiting CEOs, checking their patients and leaving orders, and then they were gone. Any further communication with them had to go through their intermediaries, and Donald’s opinion of their level of competence and intelligence was nil, especially this far from a major metropolitan area. He wouldn’t let some of these people take care of a sick cat, and yet he had no choice but to rein in his impatience and fury. If they were any good, they wouldn’t be employed here. They’d be working at a better hospital in a bigger town.

  “My name is Donald Stanford. Where is my son?”

  The two nurses behind the desk looked up from their conversation. One of them glanced down the corridor, checked her watch, and then spoke. “They’re getting ready to take him down to radiology. His nurse will be out in a minute, sir. S
he’ll update you.”

  She turned away without waiting for his reply. How dare she? How dare she? Didn’t she know who he was? Who Jake was?

  “Mr. Stanford.”

  The quiet voice behind him made him wheel. Tom Banks had been the trainer at Foxden ever since Darcy Stanford had first started showing horses. Donald should have gotten rid of the horses when his wife died, but they’d been the only thing Jake had shown any interest in at the time, so he’d relented and maintained the stable as before. Since then, the horses had provided him with a unique cachet in certain circles, much like collecting vintage cars or racing yachts. The actual running of the stable he left to Tom. More than anyone else, Tom would know what was going on.

  “For God’s sake, Tom. They won’t tell me anything. How is he? How’s Jake?”

  He knew before Tom responded that things were bad. He’d heard the accident report, had known when Tom called while on his way to the hospital that anything that could cause a gooseneck trailer to jackknife and flip was terrible. When he got his hands on Mick, he’d strangle him. Callahan must have been driving too fast, or maybe even had fallen asleep at the wheel. Donald was going to kill him just the same. Strangle him with his bare hands.

  The expression on Tom’s face was so ghastly that for an instant, Donald’s heart squeezed to a halt, only to start up again like a jackhammer, the thud of his pulse pounding in his ears so loudly he didn’t understand what Tom was saying. Tom’s lips moved, but the words were meaningless.

  “What did you say?” Donald demanded.

  “Jake’s going to be okay. He’s been badly injured, but he’s going to be okay.”