Nothing Better
By Syrinx
Summary: There's nothing better than galloping through the waves.
Disclaimer: All rights to the Thoroughbred series belong to Joanna Campbell and Harper Collins.
A/N: Original character, Cindy Series, sequel to Star Quality.
The ocean was rolling in, the swells turning dark blue and turquoise as the waves tipped over onto the beach in a froth of creamy white. The gulls screamed over head, slipping through the air and lifting up in the current of the breeze. The beach itself was calm, the sand showing the marks of the tide and the litter of the sea.
It was mid morning, and a steady haze was slowly being burned away so the hot summer sun could rain down on the land, turning the ocean into a vast bowl of glittering sapphires. A soft breeze stirred the small dunes of sand and the dark leaves on the trees, casting moving shadows over the house that overlooked the horizon.
Welcome to California at its best.
Jack Fieldman stood on the back porch of his parent's home, shifting his weight over the redwood planks and staring at the hardy shoots of rough grass that survived in the sand at the foundation. It was mid-August and even in the morning things looked as if they had survived a hellish year.
"Are you going to stop by Audrey's?" his mother asked through the open door. She was one of the few people he knew who liked to keep windows open in the summer. She said she loved the smell of the ocean, even when his father complained that everything smelled like salt.
"Nah, Mom," Jack shook his head, pushing away from the railing and walking back into the house, wandering.
"Oh?" Susan Fieldman asked, frowning. "Why not? I thought since she moved away from New York you'd be out here more often."
"We called it quits," he said, not sugar coating anything for Susan. His mother always wanted the truth.
"What?" Susan asked. "You're not serious, are you? She was so wonderful."
"Things got a little rocky in New York," Jack admitted. "When she moved back out here it was just a good excuse, I guess."
"Come on," Susan said, setting a glass of orange juice in front of him even though he had been up for hours and already eaten. Susan still liked to pamper her kids.
"Really," Jack confirmed. "It's over."
There was a small silence before Susan shrugged. "Then you're better off. Besides," she laughed, giving her son a wicked smile. "You're charming and handsome. You'll pick up another girl in no time."
At that Jack gave her one of those wide eyed warning signs. "You're not calling any of your friends and you're not setting me up with anyone. You do that and I'm on the next flight out."
Susan laughed and waved her hand in dismissal. "Oh, I won't do that. You're a grown man, for Christ's sake."
Jack leveled a stare at her. There was no way in hell that he was believing that one.
"I promise," Susan chuckled.
"You know I don't believe you," Jack informed her. "Really. Don't."
"Okay," Susan said loudly as Jack walked to the door. "Where are you going?"
"Down to the stables," Jack informed her. "Mighty needs exercise."
"That he does," Susan nodded. "He nearly ran out from under me last week."
"Yeah?" Jack smiled, picturing it. His mother was an excellent horsewoman, but Mighty sometimes packed a punch that she wasn't strong enough to control. "I'll work out the kinks."
"Good," Susan said. "Sometimes I think that gelding only works well for you."
"He has his moments," Jack responded, before leaving and closing the door behind him.
He had only been in town for two days. Since then he had managed to avoid the Audrey question. His mother had always loved Audrey, and her reaction surprised him. No questions, no nothing. Just silence followed up by the inevitable promise that within the next twenty-four hours she'd have a date lined up for him that he would vehemently turn down. He wasn't dating. Not for a while, at least.
That promise to himself brought up the other inevitable. That certain blond, brown-eyed, pouty-lipped, short inevitable that he had left in New York. Jack wasn't kidding with Lucas when he had told him that he needed a short break. The summer had brought up more than just a few surprises. Bosta's sudden successes in the Triple Tiara against Res Mira had been one headache factor, the break up with Audrey another, and the ever constant presence of Cindy yet a third to add to the mix.
Cynthia Miranda McLean. He had met her in a bar, she had been nothing other than an exercise rider, and now here she was front and center in his head. She had been there far too long, and after Audrey he had to get away. So he came home.
The door to the small family barn slid open easily and Mighty was the first head to appear in the aisle. Jack put a hand on the gelding's nose as he walked by, grabbing the horses equipment before taking him out of the stall. The solid bay gelding was a mess, as it usually was.
"Couldn't have primped yourself just a little in the occasion of me coming home?" Jack asked, putting the upbeat horse in crossties before cleaning up his coat. Mighty Man danced in the aisle, showing off how much of a trial he was going to be this morning. Jack didn't pay much attention to his horse's theatrics, but calmly cleaned him off and tacked him up, undoing the crossties to the gelding dancing straight into him.
"Knock it off," Jack threatened, turning the waltzing gelding around and leading him out to the large arena beyond the barn.
Mighty pranced along next to Jack as they entered the arena, kicking up his hooves and tossing his head.
Jack threw the reins over the gelding's neck and jumped onto Mighty's back as the gelding began striding forward eagerly. He had never really learned to stand still. Three years off the track and he was still going at things as if he was expected to run a race in two weeks. The irony about it was that Mighty had never been even a good race horse.
Jack got Mighty under control after a few rounds around the arena, the bay gelding already working up a sweat as he huffed and fought under Jack, finally allowing himself to be won over. Mighty lowered his head and let out a breath that he had seemed to hold forever, shaking out his mane.
"There you go," Jack patted the gelding's neck before heading him out of the arena, getting Mighty's interest back. The dark bay kicked into a canter and they rolled down the path to the beach, hitting sand with a thunk of hooves. Mighty kicked up plumes of the stuff as Jack let him go, powering toward the ocean.
This was Mighty's favorite thing -- to run through the sand and get his legs wet in the waves. The gelding snorted and thundered down the water-packed sand, splashing salt water that flew up in the air and misted down on Jack.
Mighty slowed only when Jack asked, the bay backing off his speed and coming to a ground-eating canter.
They slowed to a walk and ambled down the rest of the coast line, Mighty prancing through the Pacific and scaring off the sandpipers.
They went in silence, listening only to the rolling waves and the wet sounds of Mighty's hooves splashing and hitting sand. The sun rose steadily up into the sky, and Mighty's coat was soaked both in sweat and water, his chest beginning to lather. But the gelding continued on, oblivious to his medical history and the heat. The salt water was cooling, and he could go forever in the waves.
Jack finally brought the gelding to a halt, and Mighty stood silently under him, staring out at the ocean.
The inevitable showed up again. Even on the beach with a horse she had never met. Jack absently wrapped his fingers in Mighty's pitch-black mane, thinking. He would have to go back to New York soon. Back to Belmont, and Lucas, Bosta, the fresh two-year-olds, Red Army, and her. They would begin their dance again, slowly starting to spin out of control, blind to their efforts to make it work to their wishes. Friendship was a hard thing to maintain.
He knew his mother was up in the house, plotting with her friends, but he knew he was going back to New York. New York and a girl.
Jack put a hand on Mighty's thick shoulder, feeling the reality. It was wet and hot, coarse against his hand. It was reality.
"Come on," Jack said, seeing the gelding's plain bay ears flick back to listen. "Ready to go?"
Mighty drew himself up at Jack's command and turned to gallop up the coast again, running over the waves with his head high and his dark mane and tail twisting through the water that flew up around his feet. Mighty could go on forever like this, and Jack intended to let him. To Mighty there was nothing better in the world than the waves.