They were drawn to Wellington because it had fast become a premier equestrian destination. The Village of Wellington—something of a misnomer, given its current population of more than sixty thousand—owed its name to Charles Oliver Wellington, a Massachusetts businessman who purchased some 18,000 acres of swampland due west of Palm Beach in the 1950s.
In the late 1970s, the International Polo Club Palm Beach was created and that was when the growth really began to happen. By 2006 the Palm Beach International Equestrian Center was respected as an international center for equestrian sports and hosted world events. It was also where the wealthy and famous horse lovers went during the winter.
Medici was a stunning facility with Mediterranean-style features. The barn was vastly expansive, and no expense had been spared in the creation of an Olympic-quality facility. Hannah rounded the fountain in the circular driveway and parked her sports car in the welcome shade of a large oak tree. She got out and opened up the back of her Cosmos blue Audi Sportback for Max, and was almost knocked over by the excited dog in the process. She cursed as he took off toward the stables, his leash dragging behind him.
Hannah put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. That dog would find his master without any problem. She reached into the car to gather her purse, then at a leisurely pace made her way toward the stables. She knew this area well. Hannah had lived down the road in Palm Beach for nearly twenty years. This was her turf. She had business contacts in the fashion world in Miami and contacts within the social elite in Palm Beach. She’d been smitten with horses since she was ten years old, like so many other girls, and had taken riding lessons and later worked in stables as a groom. She’d left the sport when she left for New York City.
She’d only begun to ride seriously again after she married Randall and retired from her modeling career at forty. Accidents were too common in the horse world, and a broken leg or injured back was out of the question as long as she depended on making her own living. Nor could she dedicate the time that the sport required. Once those issues no longer weighed on her, Hannah regularly took the short drive from Palm Beach to where she boarded her horse in Wellington. With her long legs and trim, well-honed body, Hannah had a natural ability. She made fast progress, reaching low junior amateur jumper status. After a lifetime of taking orders from parents, agents, and photographers, Hannah felt exhilarated when leaning far forward over the neck of her horse and becoming one with the animal as they soared over the jumps as equals. Horses gave her the connection in life she hadn’t felt with people.
The more her life circled around horses, the more she enjoyed the rollicking camaraderie of horse people. Marriage to an older man was confining. Hannah fit in with the crowd of young people who worked hard—and partied harder. She was honest enough with herself to admit that this lifestyle was the major element that had torn her marriage apart. Since the divorce, she’d sold her horse and concentrated on her business career. She still rode, but strictly for pleasure. Her connection to the equestrian world today was largely through Angel.
Hannah heard the barking before she entered the courtyard. There she saw three horse trailers with their doors open, ready to board. A tall, slim groom at the opposite fence held his horse tightly on the lead as it pranced uneasily in front of a barking Max. The groom shot her a nasty look as she ran up to grab his leash, effusive with apologies. She was glad she couldn’t understand his heavily accented English or the undoubtedly scathing remarks as she walked away with Max, who tugged the entire way toward the barn. She wanted to strangle him as he pranced jauntily at her side, pleased with himself. She jerked the leash back at the entrance to the enormous barn.
It was quiet, despite the action in the courtyard. Only two horses remained in the twelve roomy stalls; the other stalls appeared recently cleared out. Despite the high ceilings and numerous electric lights, the overcast skies infused a gloomy grayness into the interior. Peering around the shadowy stalls, she spied movement, recognizing Angel standing in one of them with his horse, Butterhead. Angel wasn’t a tall man, so she saw only the top of his dark head over the open stall door. He stood in front of the palomino mare, his forehead pressed against Butterhead’s in silent communication.
Hannah stepped back, halfway hidden by the arch of the door. She remained quiet, thinking as she watched how Angel had taught her to trust her instincts when she was near a horse.
“Just because she puts her nose near you doesn’t mean she wants you to touch it,” he’d told her the first time he introduced her to Butterhead. Hannah had reached out to pet Butterhead’s muzzle and the horse had swung her head away. Hannah had felt rebuffed, but Angel made her understand the horse’s thinking. “She comes to you because she’s curious. Maybe wants to be nice. But when you reach up, you stop her. Horses no like that. Do you want me to reach out and touch your nose, eh?” he’d asked, playfully tapping her nose with his fingers. “It’s annoying, no? You think, Go away! You bother me! Show some respect, man! What you do is stand quiet and let the horse come to you.”
Hannah had stood quietly, and sure enough, Butterhead had drawn near again. She felt the horse’s breath on her hair, her cheek, warm and welcoming. She remained still and felt the horse’s whiskers, her energy. When Butterhead nudged her gently, Hannah smiled and leaned against her, feeling a profound connection.
Since then Hannah never marched up to a horse and patted its nose. She always waited for the horse to invite her into its space, to show affection on its own terms. Watching Angel standing with Butterhead, she recognized the profound devotion that was being shared between them. He loved that horse, and she trusted and loved him right back. They demonstrated that bond daily in their exercises, in the recognition of subtle body movements, and in a mutual respect.
It was Max who broke the moment with a husky bark. Angel turned around, and broke into a wide grin upon seeing them. He stepped out of the stall with arms spread wide from his slim body, dressed in riding breeches and a black shirt.
“You’re here!”
Angel was always expansive, full of heart. Max tore away from Hannah’s grasp and lunged into Angel’s arms. Angel bent down to rub the big dog’s head.
“Good boy. I love you.”
Hannah waited her turn.
“You okay?” he asked her, lifting his face from the dog.
She refrained from teasing him about greeting his dog first. “I’m good,” she replied, walking into his embrace. At five foot nine to Angel’s five foot six, Hannah might have felt awkward about the height difference—but Angel’s commanding hold always made her feel safe and protected. They kissed briefly, but he gave her an additional squeeze of reassurance.
Drawing back, she asked, “Why isn’t Butterhead in the trailer? That hurricane is on our tail.”
“Is all good,” he said placatingly. “We have plenty of time to get on the road. But for all this craziness, I tell you, Hannah, it is good fortune that this hurricane is coming.”
Hannah looked at him like he was nuts. “What?”
“Yes! You have us staying with your good friend Grace Phillips. This is good.” He kissed her. “I hear something important today. How good do you know the husband of Grace, Mr. Charles Phillips?”
Hannah was curious where this was going. “I’ve known him for years, in a casual way. Grace is a good friend and he’s the husband. You know how that works.”