Cut Throat Read Online Free PDF Page B

he nodded nevertheless.
    â€˜He was a very good steeplechase jockey in his day, until injury put him out of the game,’ the Colonel went on. ‘Never be too proud to ask for his advice.’
    Ross took another sip of sherry, trying not to grimace.
    â€˜Who’s in charge in the yard?’
    The Colonel looked at him keenly. ‘You are, if you want to be. But I had hoped you would work as a team.’
    â€˜Sure. I hope we will, too, but I like to know where I stand.’
    Colonel Preston grunted and poured himself another sherry, offering Ross a top-up that was politely declined. For a moment there was silence.
    Ross looked around appreciatively at the Colonel’s comfortable study. Worn leather armchairs, an untidy desk, bookshelves from floor to ceiling on one wall, and family photographs everywhere, including some of the Colonel in his army days. One caught his eye particularly.
    â€˜My late wife,’ the Colonel said, seeing the American’s interest. ‘Lindsay’s aunt. There is quite a family resemblance, isn’t there? I see Caroline every time Lindsay smiles. It’s almost as though she lives on in her.’
    â€˜I see what you mean.’ Ross leaned forward to look more closely. ‘She’s very beautiful. You must miss her.’
    â€˜Her car was forced off the road by a drunk driver playing chicken. Our twelve-year-old daughter was in the passenger seat. They were both killed instantly.’
    â€˜I’m sorry.’ There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
    The Colonel looked bleak for a moment then pulled himself together.
    â€˜So, tell me about yourself. I’d not heard of you until Lindsay spoke of you, although I believe she may have mentioned you in her letters. How long have you been riding?’
    â€˜About fifteen years. I started when I was twelve, when I went away to school and spent the holidays with my uncle who was a dealer with a small spread in Indiana. It wasn’t – ah – convenient for me to go home at that time.’ No need to mention his overworked lawyer father, and his flighty socialite mother who had begun to see the disadvantages of having a teenage son around to remind people of her encroaching years.
    â€˜Uncle Walter taught me to ride. It was a baptism of fire, I guess you’d say,’ Ross related with a boyish grin. ‘He believed falling off was the best way to learn how to stay on. There were times, when I was spitting out teeth and mouthfuls of dirt, I disagreed with him. But now, I think he was right. It sure taught me to sit tight. Gradually it got so I’d be the one who sorted out the awkward horses, and as I grew older I got a name for it. People would send my uncle their problem horses for retraining, and then one or two of them wanted me to continue riding for them. It was only a seasonal thing because by then I was at college, but I guess I was hooked already. When I graduated I went on to law school – Dad wanted me to join him in partnership – but I couldn’t settle to it. I took a year out, started riding for a yard near my uncle’s, and never went back.’
    â€˜So you’re quite well known in the States, are you?’ the Colonel enquired.
    â€˜In Indiana, maybe.’ Ross laughed. ‘I’m afraid I got caught in a rut, with a name for being a rough-rider, a sort of trouble-shooter, and that was all I was given to do. Then, a couple of years ago, I went to ride for a trainer-cum-dealer with some really promising horses and began to have some success. The trouble was that every time I got a horse up to top level he would sell it on for a handsome profit and I’d be back to square one again. Good for his business, not so good for my career. Last year I toured the circuit with a string of horses, including one permanent ride owned by a friend of the boss. Vixen. A mare with a great deal of talent and, unfortunately for me, a brain