Maggie
Iwoke up the next morning with the drive and determination of a bull. Today, I would put my pride aside and kick ass at my new job. Despite my complaints to my dad, he was right—working for the Hennickes would put me in the best position to play their horses and attract patrons. This was my shot. My chance at jumpstarting my polo career into a full-time, stable job.
I dressed in jeans and a loose tank top and threw on my old canvas shoes—working in a polo barn ironically didn’t always mean wearing boots—praying today would just be a regular work day. Dad wouldn’t be up for another hour to feed his horses, and I needed to slip out before he offered me some burnt bacon. Our somewhat new but very dirty golf cart waited for me on the driveway, tempting me to drive far, far away from Jack and his devious ways. I shoved the thought away and started the half-mile drive down my driveway to the Hennicke’s farm.
It was early, not even five-thirty, when I parked at the barn, the Pennsylvania sun just beginning to appear. Fog still loomed in the air, and wet dew coated the short blades of grass I drovethrough. A few of the Hennicke’s grooms greeted me as I stepped onto the concrete along with Lenz, Jack’s dad.
“Maggie!” He pulled me in for a hug, German accent bleeding through his voice. “I’m so glad you came to work for us. We love having you here.”
I hugged Lenz back while his lean figure towered over me. “Thank you, Lenz. I’m excited.”
“Good! I think this will work out great. You and Jack can become closer friends and, of course, you can play the horses at any of the practices we can’t make.”
I didn’t expect him to offer so much so fast.Thanks, Dad.
Polo practices conflicting with Lenz’s busy schedule meant someone needed to ride his horses to keep them in shape. It was one of the perks of working for a polo player with so many horses and not enough time to exercise all of them.
“Thank you so much. I would love to play them anytime you’d let me.” I smiled.
“And that would be anytime you want them.” His broad face grinned back at me. Lenz Hennicke was the man everyone went to for everything. He was the kindest, most helpful, and kickass polo player I had ever met. He was constantly giving and smiling and giving more. Whenever my dad and I needed help with anything, Lenz would step in without a second thought. He took care of us.
“Hey! New girl, over here.” Jack’s cocky voice intervened. He stood across the driveway wearing a—tight—white t-shirt and fitted blue jeans with a bucket in his hand.
“Don’t let him work you too hard,” Lenz pointed with a laugh.
“I won’t.” I chuckled and started toward Jack.
“Sexy outfit today, Rynne.” Jack winked at me under his trucker hat. I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, whatever. Shut up and be an actual boss.” A sly smile began to spread on his face—a contagious one.
“Okay, fine. Let’s feed quickly and take out some sets,” he announced, subtly glancing at my lips. No one was paying enough attention to notice, but I disliked the idea of anyone here knowing about Jack and my past activities. I turned to walk toward the feed room, trying to ignore the heat spreading across my body. He lookedsogood today.
I was disciplined enough to restrain myself, but after he reminded my body of what he could do yesterday?
I wasn’t succumbing to the idea of sleeping with my new boss. Female professional players had a much lower chance of becoming prominent players since the bar was raised. The U.S. Polo Association had gotten far enough to declare that there was no league exclusive to men; only co-ed and women’s polo. That didn’t mean the professional titles didn’t consist mainly of men, but women still had to go that extra mile. I wasn’t risking anything.
To say the Hennicke’s farm was extravagant was an understatement. Jack and his dad were full-time players, so they each had their own wing in the massive concrete barn. I entered the paneled feed room to find it organized to every minuscule detail. Everything was clean, labeled, and put in its exact place. The bins where the food was stored sat in the back right corner of the air-conditioned room, next to a leather couch. Above the bins hung an expansive whiteboard with feeding instructions for all of Jack’s horses. It made me feel more comfortable working for Jack, seeing how organized and put together everything was in his section of the barn. It seemed a stark contrast to his carefree personality, but then again, I didn’t know how much he had changed in the few years since we had actually conversed.
The details on the board made it easy to feed the horses. Everything was up to date and in order, and shortly after, we were bringing out horses to take sets—a way to exercise multiple horses at once by leading horses next to your own mount. I rodethe biggest horse, Barcado, and led two horses on each side of me, while Jack took his other five. The beginning of the walk to the club’s exercise track was silent, with only the sound of hooves clicking on Jack’s driveway to fill the air.
“So, how’s your dad dealing with losing his favorite groom?” Jack asked after a few minutes.
“He’s actually the one who suggested I take the job in the first place. Something about not wanting me to end up like him.”
“A successful pro?”
“A lonely alcoholic.” I omitted telling him my dad couldn’t afford to start me up in polo, and he didn’t have the same resources as the Hennickes to get me where I needed to be, but Jack likely already knew that.
While Jack’s dad, Lenz Hennicke, had family money, he also diversified his career as a polo professional. Not only did he play in multiple tournaments per week, traveling to different states for their polo seasons so he could play throughout the entire year, but he also used his knowledge to manage other polo players’ horses. Polo sponsors—usually amateurs in the industry without as much knowledge as true equine professionals—didn’t always have enough time or background to manage their horses’ veterinary and farrier appointments, exercise schedules, and what type of grain and hay they consumed. Lenz acquired several clients in our club to do just that, providing him with an additional source of income. It would come in handy once he retired from playing polo and wanted to stay in the industry.
My dad, on the other hand, wasn’t playing as much as he used to due to his age and the effects his alcoholism was inflicting on his body. And admittedly, he wasn’t always the most reliable professional, also due to his relationship with alcohol. While professional players were paid a good chunk of money for their time on the polo field, their expenses were so costly that many barely broke even.
“Gotcha.”Great way to bring down the vibe, Maggie!There was another pause.
May as well get to know his situation, right?
“Can I ask a question?”
