Page 3 of Legions

I didn’t react to his remark because Miller didn’t get angry easily. This was out of character. I just couldn’t think of what Rog could have done to get this reaction out of him.

“ROG!” he shouted his name again, and the jockey’s eyebrows shot up before he turned to face Miller completely as he drew closer. Stalking like he was hell-bent on a mission.

“Yeah?” Rog replied with confusion in his tone.

“I need you in the stables, NOW!” Miller barked at him.

Rog started to look back at me but stopped when Miller shouted his name again. He tensed up.

“I SAID NOW!”

“Uh, okay, yeah, jeez,” he muttered, not saying anything moreas he started walking away.

Miller’s glare shifted to me; it softened although there was concern in them, and then he nodded his head before waiting on Rog and following him back to the stables.

That was bizarre. Shaking my head, I looked over at Jim, one of the stable hands, who had Pharoah leading him out of the gate. He gave me a tight smile but immediately dropped his gaze as if looking at me was the last thing he wanted to do.

Was everyone uptight today?

Deciding it was best if I just went back to the lounge room inside to wait on Thatcher, I went in the direction that Miller and Rog had just taken. They were too far ahead that I couldn’t hear them, but my curiosity got the better of me. I could ask Thatcher what he knew, or I could stop being noisy. This wasn’t my business.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and checked my text messages. Staring down at the last one my mother had sent, I reread it but didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure how to. We had tried to find a way to communicate or have a relationship, but as long as my parents were against my relationship with Thatcher, I didn’t see it happening. Her last text hadn’t mentioned him, but it had been an attempt at manipulation.

So many people have asked about you. Worried about me. They can’t understand this rift between us. It would ease many minds if you’d attend a service. Think of how it makes our family look. Your father is looked up to. Respected and his daughter is making everyone question the health of our family unit.

I rolled my eyes. That was my mother, for you. Her only concern was appearance—what others thought. She seemed to think our family was important enough for folks to sit and think about, but I highly doubted this was ever the case.

Not today, Mom. I’ll deal with you another time. Perhaps in a week when I’m not annoyed as much. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and walked inside the stables. Nemesis immediately stuck his head out of the stall and looked my way. He was ready to stretch his legs and run. I could see it in his eyes. I hoped Miller was planning on letting Rog take him out next.

I started to turn toward the lounge when I heard Miller’s voice. Not wanting to eavesdrop, I continued until I heard my name. Why was he talking about me? It took me two seconds to battle with my moral code before I went toward the sound of his voice. It wasn’t wrong if you were the topic of conversation. Right?

“She hadn’t said her name,” Rog said, sounding defensive. “I wasn’t aware it was her. Jesus, you’re really making this a bigger deal than it was.”

“No!” Miller hissed. “You do not understand. When I told you that Capri was off limits to even look at or breathe her air, it wasn’t a joke. It was a warning.”

I frowned, waiting for an explanation.

“Okay, yeah. I got it. But she approached me. I didn’t break any rules.”

“It does not matter!” Miller’s tone sounded almost frantic. “You get paid so damn much for a reason. And if you stay the fuck away from Capri, then you have no worries. But the last full-time exercise rider, we had made a mistake in which she was concerned, and Thatcher shot him for it.”

Blood left my face as I stood there frozen.

“What?” Rog asked, his voice raising an octave.

“You heard me. Christopher took the wrong riding crop by accident. He picked up Capri’s. That caused a chain of eventsthat led to her walking in on Thatcher with another woman. She ran. Thatcher shot Christopher for his mistake. Right out there. He didn’t kill him. But he required surgery, physical therapy, and he can no longer ride race horses safely.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rog replied, sounding as horrified as I was.

“And Les, one of our former stable hands, accidentally touched her. Didn’t mean to. Thatcher sliced off his finger.”

Nausea rolled through me. I covered my mouth with a trembling hand, unable to walk away. I didn’t want to hear more. I prayed that there wasn’t more.

“I won’t tell you what happened to another stable hand. He made the mistake of flirting with her. Took her out on a date. I don’t even know the details, but I do know the kid is messed up for life. So, when I tell you to stay the fuck away from Capri Jewel, I mean it.”

Miller had to be talking about JB. I thought he quit. What had Thatcher done to him? WHY? We weren’t together then. I was going to be sick. There was movement in the tack room where they were, and I forced my legs to move before Miller saw me. My breaths had become shallow. I needed air. I rushed to the nearest exit.

The bright sun beat down on my face, and I sucked in the warmth as if it could ease any of this. I didn’t stop. The need to run began to claw at me. My waves of nausea, however, kept me from breaking into a sprint. Distance, I had to get distance from what all I’d just heard. From the stables. From everything.

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