Accused - 1. Accused

“What was the nature of your relationship with Thomas Garza?” The detective looked at me like I was something he’d stepped in and needed to scrape off his shoe.

“I was his riding coach.”

“And…?”

I frowned. “And what?”

The balding man crossed his arms over his portly belly. “Don’t be obtuse, Mr. O’Malley. You know exactly why you’re here.”

“Actually… I don’t. I have no idea why Tommy has accused me of such disgusting things! I don’t know why I’m here without my lawyer, when I clearly told you I won’t talk without him present. Why am I being questioned about this when the statute of limitations ran out years ago, and there’s no proof of something that never happened in the first place!” I inhaled, willing myself to calm down. Frazzled nerves would not help me here.

“Sounds like the protestations of a guilty man.” The detective looked at me levelly.

“I’m not saying a word ‘til my lawyer gets here. I won’t have my words misconstrued.” I returned his gaze, refusing to be intimidated.

“Fine.” The man pushed his chair away from the table. “Have it your way. We’ll wait here ‘til your lawyer gets here.” He rose. “In the meantime, I’m getting a cuppa coffee.” He exited the small, stark room, snicking the door locked behind him.

“Fuck….” I muttered, running my hand through my hair. It hadn’t even been a week since my life turned upside down. I relived the moment everything shattered over and over, like a movie stuck on repeat.

“Patrick O’Malley?”

I turned toward the voice calling my name and smiled at the handsome young man walking toward me. “Yes, I’m Patrick. How can I help you?”

He held out a blue envelope, and I took it.

“You’ve been served.” He turned on his heel and strode quickly out of the barn.

I frowned. “What the hell?” I ran my finger along the edge of the envelope, ripping it open. It felt like all the blood drained from my face when I read what it said. I sat down heavily on the tack trunk behind me. How could this be happening?

“Boss? What’s going on? What’s it say?” Danny, my barn manager, stood before me, brow furrowed with concern.

My mind and my body felt frozen. Too many conflicting emotions pelted me to the point of complete shutdown. Shock. Anger. Fear. Betrayal.

“May I?” Danny gestured toward the loathsome paper.

I nodded. Danny was my best friend and right-hand man. He’d been my barn manager for going on twenty-five years. He’d know what to do.

He let out a low whistle. “What the fuck?”

“How could he do this to me? How could anyone think I’d—” I stood and paced up and down the barn.

Danny stopped me by placing both hands on my shoulders. “It’s a load of crap. Anyone who knows you won’t believe a word of it. Now c’mon. Let’s see about getting a lawyer.”

Lawyer. Good idea. Danny had helped me out of sticky situations before. Like when one of my horses had tested positive for bute—a painkiller forbidden at competitions—after winning a major grand prix. Danny hired a lawyer and investigator who traced it back to cross-contamination at the lab. I ran an above-board operation, and the accusation hurt my reputation—at least temporarily.

Even so, years later, I still heard occasional murmurs about me at shows. That’s the guy who drugs his horses. People read headlines but rarely read the follow-up articles. Guilty until proven innocent, and by then, it’s old news. The damage is done.

Thankfully, most of my clients stuck by me through the scandal. Only one decided to leave, and I wasn’t sorry to see her go. Although her leaving under those circumstances had stung at the time.

This was worse.

This was a career-ender.

Once word broke, I could lose everything.

For something that wasn’t even close to true.

I unfolded the paper again and read the disgusting charge one more time: sexual abuse of a minor.

Tears blurred the words as they streamed down my cheeks. I crumpled the paper in my hands as angry sobs wracked my body. How was I supposed to fight this? The accusation alone was enough to ruin my life.

The news broke two days later. The FEI—Federation Equestre Internationale—the governing body of international horse sport, was launching their own investigation and would determine if I was allowed to continue to coach and compete at FEI events. If I was banned, then my career was over. Hell, it probably was anyway, no matter what their findings were. I lost several clients the same day the news report was posted. They didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. In their mind I was already a criminal. Someone to ostracize and protect their children from. Pleading with them was futile.

I jumped as the interrogation room door slammed open. Gordon Whitley, my lawyer, sat next to me and shook my hand. He’d done a good job for me in the past; I only hoped he’d do as good a job now.

“Mr. O’Malley,” he stated, nodding his head once. “So, Detective. Want to tell me what we’re doing here? It’s a waste of time, considering you can’t criminally charge my client. Don’t you have any actual cases to investigate?”

“Once a pedophile, always a pedophile. We may not be able to prosecute Mr. O’Malley for his crimes against Thomas Garza and Joshua Riordan, but he currently coaches several teenage boys, so our investigation is aimed at protecting them.”

I sat upright at the mention of Josh. “What the hell does Josh have to do with this?”

Josh had been my most famous student. I’d coached him from when he was sixteen till he quit the sport in his early twenties. We had a brief affair, but not until he was twenty years old. I loved him, even though he left abruptly after a gruesome accident caused him to leave the sport.

Detective Callahan smirked, clearly happy to provoke a reaction. “His name came up in the course of our investigation.” He shuffled some papers in front of him and slid a recorder to the middle of the table. “Now, I’ll ask you again. What was the nature of your relationship with Thomas Garza?”

****

Thomas Garza. Tommy. I thumbed through the old photo album until I came to a picture of Tommy on his chestnut thoroughbred mare, Dancing Skies. A grinning Tommy held up a long, blue ribbon as he stood next to his beloved horse. It was one of the few competitions they actually won.

Dancer was a good horse and not typical of the reputation chestnut mares had for being cranky. She was as honest as the day was long and tolerated Tommy’s less-than-perfect equitation in the saddle. Tommy was average in everything—looks, personality, talent. He wanted to be an international level rider but didn’t have the skill. I could see it the minute I saw him ride. He tried, though. Man, that kid sure tried.

He was a hard worker and was there for every show, whether he was competing or not. He’d groom for other riders and watch all the top riders in the best classes. He’d sit for hours outside the warm-up areas, watching. He did everything the greats did… except succeed at their level.

Tommy approached me after Josh’s World Cup win. Joshua Riordan was my most successful student. He had all the talent Tommy lacked. Josh was one of the youngest riders to ever win the World Cup and even made the short list for the Olympic team. Tommy never understood it was Josh’s innate ability with horses that drove his success—not, as much as I’d like to take credit—my coaching.

I could tell when Tommy realized this. He became sullen and withdrawn… a shell of the boy I knew. It was sad to see. Tommy had issues… there was always something off about him. Something I could never quite put my finger on. After several years as my student, he abruptly decided to leave and start his own business. He never told me why.

So these accusations, so many years later, were a punch to my gut and the ultimate betrayal after everything I’d done for that kid.

I took a long draw of whiskey from the half-empty bottle next to me.

Betrayal.

Fuck.

The interrogation had not gone well. The detective clearly thought I was guilty. Shit. Even my own lawyer acted like he was defending me out of obligation and not belief in my innocence.

You’re a fifty-five-year-old single man who works closely with children. According to Danny Flaherty—who’s known you for what… close to thirty years—you’ve never had a steady relationship. With the exception of Joshua Riordan, who just happened to be one of your students. Tigers don’t change their stripes, Mr. O’Malley.

The detective’s words still stung. The part about me never having had a steady relationship wasn’t true. But Callahan hadn’t wanted to hear anything about Darragh, the man I dated for three years. And why the fuck hadn’t Danny mentioned him? I slammed my fist on the desk, causing the bottle of whiskey to almost tip over. I grabbed it and drank more down.

My head spun. Looking at pictures of my former students wasn’t helping my frame of mind. They were all gone. And it wasn’t just my students who left, either. The only horses I had left to ride were the few I owned myself. My patrons—well, former patrons—had transferred the rest to other trainers.

Worst of all… was Danny. My best friend. Barn manager for most of my career. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he told me he was leaving. He didn’t want me to take him down with him. I considered myself a pretty level-headed guy, but fuck if I hadn’t screamed at him ‘til my throat ached, calling him every expletive I could possibly think of. I raised the bottle of Jameson in a mock toast. Thanks for the loyalty, asshole!

Fuck.

I guzzled until the bottle was empty, then threw it, shattering it against the wall. Maybe I’d get so drunk, I’d drown in my own vomit. A fitting end for a wretch like me.

I laid my head down on the desk in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. It didn’t help.

****

I stopped going online. The trolls far outnumbered my supporters, but I was surprised and heartened to see I actually had some support out there. One of my former students even started a website defending me. Alex Burton. He’d always been a good kid. Reading the testimonials of riders I’d brought through juniors all the way to the international level gave me hope, even if I knew they ultimately wouldn’t save my career.

Josh defended me. It pissed me off when assholes accused him of lying. It was bad enough no one believed me, but vilifying him as collateral damage was unconscionable.

One comment came from a surprising source. Damiano Rossi. Former rider and now coach of the Italian show jumping team. He was a bigwig in the sport, and his words of encouragement made me proud. At least for a little while.

****

Exonerated.

It didn’t mean much as I stood in the empty barn aisle. The few horses I had left were turned out in the paddock. They’d probably have to be sold, since I no longer had a business. I’d most likely have to sell the farm too.

The investigation had taken months. Months of dodging reporters, getting hate mail and death threats, and being treated like the scourge of the earth.

And not one person apologized after I was found innocent.

The truth was, Tommy was the guilty one, the son-of-a-bitch. He’d been caught molesting one of his students, and tried to blame me for his sick behavior, saying it was because he’d been molested himself as a teenager. Maybe he was… but it sure as hell wasn’t me.

And Tommy refused to say who it actually was. I balled my hands into fists and clenched my jaw. The nerve that little shit had to accuse me, after everything I’d done for him! I exhaled and relaxed my hands. At least the fucker was going to jail. He pled guilty and was awaiting sentencing. I was cleared, and the investigation was over.

But the damage had been done.

And now I didn’t know what to do.

Actually, I knew what had to be done. I just didn’t want to do it. I sighed and headed into my office to work on sales ads for my horses.

I didn’t bother looking up when I heard a knock on my office door.

“Patrick O’Malley?” the heavily-accented voice asked.

“No comment,” I stated. “Talk to my lawyer.”

“I am not here for comment. I am here to bring horses.”

“You mean take horses, right? Well there’s no one left, so you have the wrong place.”

“No, you misunderstand.”

I heard footsteps approach, uneven with the loud stomp of something else. I looked up to see a well-dressed man limping towards me, leaning on a wooden cane.

The man made a soft tsking sound. “Get up, Mr. O’Malley. I have something to show you.”

I scowled. “What the fuck could you possibly have to show me?”

My eyes widened when it finally registered who this man was. This was no reporter. This was Damiano Rossi. One of the greatest Italian show jumping riders in history. Man, I had such a crush on this guy in his heyday. He was a striking figure in his Italian military uniform and had such skill in the saddle. He had a reputation for dealing with unruly horses and making them champions. He truly understood how the equine mind worked.

Unfortunately, only a couple of years ago, one of those horses had injured him so badly it ended his riding career. Now he was a patron of the sport, coach of the Italian team, and owner of several top horses.

And still hot as hell.

What the fuck was he doing here?

“Damiano Rossi?” I said. “What are you doing here? There has to be some mistake.”

“Yes, I’m Damiano, and there’s no mistake. Come and see.”

He led me out of my office, down the barn aisle, to the gravel parking lot. There was a large semi-sized horse trailer parked parallel to the barn. A man was leading a dark bay horse down the ramp. Several of my former students stood nearby, chatting. Why they hell were they here? I hadn’t seen any of them in months.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Darryl, a young rider I’d taught for several years, saw us and approached, the others following behind.

“I’m so sorry about all this, Patrick. I didn’t want to leave, but my mom made me when she heard the accusations against you. I kept telling her you weren’t like that, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Yeah, same here. My mom freaked and said I had to find another trainer,” stated Tony. He was a more recent client.

Several others nodded in agreement.

“You’re a great trainer. None of us want to see you out of business. Damiano contacted us and asked if we were still willing to be your students. I know I don’t want to work with anyone else. I’d love it if you’ll have us back?” Darryl asked hopefully.

I stared at him, slack-jawed. Why on Earth would Damiano do such a thing? We weren’t friends. I’d seen him on the circuit, we’d chatted a few times, but that’s about it. We ran in different circles, since I didn’t have any current international riders.

“Of course I’ll have you all back,” I stated, grinning. “Thank you. Your support means the world to me.” I cleared my throat, choking back tears.

Darryl and Tony high-fived each other. “Yes!”

I watched as a groom led a stunning liver chestnut gelding with a big blaze and four high socks down the ramp. I gasped. “Is that…?”

Damiano nodded. “Luna Piena. I’ve been looking for a new rider for him and several others in my string. I hope you’ll say yes.”

Luna Piena was one of Damiano’s top horses before his accident. He was Olympic caliber, something I’d only ever dreamed of.

“I… I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed by all of this. Why?” I stared at the handsome Italian, wondering if I was dreaming.

“I know what it’s like to be wrongly accused. A long time ago, they tried to convict me of insurance fraud. But it was my manager, not me. But nobody cared, and I almost lost everything because of it.”

Damiano leaned to speak softly in my ear. “I’ve always admired you. You’re a good rider and even better coach. And no one deserves what you went through.” He reached down and squeezed my hand. “I’m willing to take a chance on you, if you’re willing to take one on me.”

I smiled and nodded, then wiped the tears from my face. “Yeah, of course I am.”