The aroma of the food wafts my way, and I realize I’m really hungry. I rise and circle around a recliner but snag my toe on the edge of the area rug. I teeter for a long second, then grab the bookcase next to me to steady myself. I’m not normally clumsy, but I’ve felt off-balance since I first laid eyes on Marsh. The bookcase is tall and wobbles only a little as it bears my weight. Whew. I straighten, glad to avert a most embarrassing face-plant. My relief is short-lived. I watch in slow-motion horror as a silver tray—a trophy from one of Marsh’s many wins—slides from its display on the middle shelf, bounces off the hardwood with a loud crack, and clangs against a metal floor lamp. My eyes instantly go to the closed bedroom door.
“She won’t wake up until morning,” Harrison said. “We could host a rave in here, and she wouldn’t know it.”
I watch the door anyway as I bend to retrieve the silver tray. Alex beats me to it, snatching up the tray, turning it in his hands to inspect it.
“God, I hope I didn’t hurt it. If it’s scratched or dented, I’ll pay to have it repaired.”
Alex shakes his head. “I swear this thing could be used for armor. It can’t possibly be even sterling silver. I personally think it’s some kind of cast-iron alloy that just looks like silver.”
“Does it matter?” Harrison pours iced tea into glasses. “Let’s eat.”
“It matters if it was passed off as valuable silver.” Alex returns the tray to the shelf. “I can’t tell you how many times it’s slid off that shelf and still not a mark on it. I told Marsh to get a plate holder for it, but she still just props it up. I guess I’ll have to get one for her. She’s not very good with details unless it has something to do with horses.”
I don’t point out that the trophy is from a horse show.
“Don’t bother her about it, Alex. She doesn’t care about those trophies anymore.” The sudden edge in Harrison’s tone surprises me, and I log it in the mental notebook writers tend to keep in their heads.
Alex sighs loudly, making clear his exasperation with the unspoken issue of Marsh. “If she didn’t care, her trophies wouldn’t still be displayed all over her house and office.”
I add a few exclamation points and a red underline to the mental note I’ve just made.
Harrison either doesn’t hear Alex’s mumbled response or chooses to ignore it. “Come on,” he said. “The food’s getting cold.”
The salmon is delicious, and I hum my approval with the first bite, then dig into my meal while I listen to Alex and Harrison catch up on each other’s day. I’m biding my time. The silver-tray trophy, ironically, is the door I’ve been looking to open and quiz the guys about Marsh’s past.
I drain my glass of tea and get up to pour refills for all of us. “So, if Marsh won all these trophies riding, why doesn’t she still compete?”
Alex and Harrison look up from their meals, then at each other. They need more prodding.
“I’m just a beginner, so it doesn’t take much to impress me, but I’ve seen her ride. Why would she retire at what seems to be the peak of her career? She won a spot on the US Equestrian Team, for the second time, but she quit for no apparent reason less than a year before the Olympics.”
Harrison stares at his plate while he chews his last bite of steak, but Alex puts his fork down and meets my eyes.
“Marsh likes you, Lauren. She’s beautiful and confident and has never lacked for a bedmate when she wants it. But you’re the first woman she’s looked at twice.” He shifts in his chair as if buying time to choose his words carefully. “You’re the first she’s looked at and seen. She seems strong, but she’s so fragile.”
“Alex.”
He shrugs off Harrison’s warning. “No, Harrison. I love your sister as much as you do, but sometimes she needs a little nudge. I know how private Marsh is. I’m not going to empty her panty drawer.”
I almost laugh hysterically at his metaphor. Instead, I drop that one in my mental “save to use in a manuscript later” box and focus on what he’s about to say next.
This time, Harrison is the one to heave an audible sigh. He stands and begins clearing our plates. “Coffee?” he asks.
“Please.” I respond politely, glad he isn’t going to shut Alex down. I refocus and return to our conversation before Harrison interrupted. “Then Marsh and I are on the same page.” It was my turn to take care with what I said next. “Given my modest success as an author, I don’t struggle for hookups either…when I want one. But Marsh isn’t a one-night bedmate.”
I look to Harrison, who makes quick work of the dishes and leans against the granite-topped counter, drying his hands. “At least I don’t want her to be. Something about her makes me…” To my dismay, heat creeps up my neck and flushes my cheeks. “She makes me want…more.” I stare down at my hands. How did my interrogation about Marsh become a confession from me? “But she won’t let me in. Sometimes, I feel like I’m getting close, but then she backs away.”
I raise my eyes to Alex-the-tell-all because Harrison is still silent and won’t meet my gaze. “Has she always been this closed off? Or did some woman break her heart?”
Alex nearly growls. “Broke her heart? She goddamned betrayed her.”
Harrison practically bounces up from his casual slouch and jumps back into the conversation. “That’s Marsh’s story to tell, not ours…if she ever wants to dig that up for you.”
His tone and the loud silence that follows leave no doubt this conversation is over. Shame at prying into her life again scorches my cheeks. I feel like a scolded child. No. Harrison isn’t my father, and I’m no longer that child. But I have willfully invaded her privacy for my gain—whether for a chance at something more with Marsh or for a pivotal chapter in my next book. My remorse comes from my own sense of guilt. I’m suddenly filled with the need to be near her.
“Maybe I should stay with her tonight to make sure she’s okay.”
Harrison shakes his head, but his expression and tone soften. “Thanks, but Alex and I have already planned to spend the night.”
Alex stands and wraps one arm around my shoulders. “We spent a lot of nights here when her migraines used to be frequent. We still have pajamas in the chest of drawers in the guest room.”
I eye him. “You guys wear pajamas?”
Alex throws his head back and laughs. “You are priceless. Isn’t she, Harrison?”
Harrison chuckles. “A handful, I’ll bet, for any woman who gets tangled up with her.” He cocks his head as he meets my gaze. “Maybe just what my sister needs.”
Drawing a modicum of confidence from his observation, I gesture toward Marsh’s bedroom. “Okay if I just check on her before I leave?”
“Sure. Go ahead. I’m going to gather a few things from her therapy room to take that IV out with before we settle in for the night.”
I leave the door ajar so the trickle of light lets me see my way to her bedside. I sit carefully on the bed next to her. She stirs at the movement, and I still until she settles again, then gently lay my hand on her forehead. It is damp with sweat but cool under my palm. I hope that means her temperature is back to normal. I give in to my need to kiss her lightly, a brush of my lips against her soft cheek, then her dry lips. The murmur of male voices tells me Harrison is ready to come remove her IV, so I stand. Unable to resist, I bend once more and touch my lips to her forehead. “Sweet, pain-free dreams, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.” My next lesson is scheduled three days from now.
Her answer is a soft snore.
When I walk out of the bedroom, they’re waiting, just as I expect. “The IV is almost empty,” I say to Harrison. “Good timing.”
Instead of replying, he nudges Alex. “Go ahead and tell her. I’m going to see to Marsh.” He disappears into the bedroom, and Alex comes over to hook his arm in mine.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says, his tone light but
serious.
When we reach my car, I turn to him. “What are you supposed to tell me?”
He clears his throat and looks everywhere around us, but not at me. I wait, unwilling to leave until he coughs up whatever is stuck in his throat. He finally meets my gaze.
“You shouldn’t come around until your next lesson. Don’t call, either. She’ll be embarrassed that you saw her so vulnerable and probably withdraw a bit.”
“She shouldn’t—”
He puts up a hand to stop me. “I’m rooting for you to break through the walls she puts up, but you need to listen to me. Don’t call or text over the next couple of days. And when you do see her at your next lesson, don’t say anything about today unless she brings it up first.”
“Alex, she’ll think I don’t care if I don’t call tomorrow and check on her.”
“I’ve known Marsh for a long time. Before I knew Harrison. She introduced us, but that’s neither here nor there. What I mean to say is that I know her better than anyone except Harrison. She’ll be embarrassed that you saw her so vulnerable and act like a grumpy old bear. If you call, she either won’t answer or will say something to hurt your feelings so you’ll back off. When you show up for your lesson, just act like nothing happened. Don’t even open the door for her to push you away.”
I mull this advice over. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“She’s worth the trouble, Lauren. But you’re going to need a lot of patience and a thick skin if you want to hang in long enough to get past her walls.”
I nod, still processing his suggestion. “Okay.” I narrow my eyes at him. “But you better be right.”
“Trust me on this,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
I get in the Volvo but power the window down when he knocks on it. “Yes?”
He grins. “We wear pajamas only when we sleep over here.”
TMI. I did not need that image in my head.
Chapter Ten
My heart leaps at the sight of Marsh looking strong and healthy as she encourages and instructs Grace in the dressage ring. It’s been torture to not call or drop by to check on her—especially after I had to cancel my last lesson because of a last-minute change in the production schedule for my appearance on Oprah’s book club. I’ve typed out how are you at least twenty times, then erased the text without sending. I sent texts to Alex a dozen times, to which he patiently answered she’s good as new or she’s fine, don’t contact her…I know you can do this to each of my texts. But I need to see for myself.
In her compromised state, Marsh let me in a little. Marsh’s offered hand, the small squeeze of my fingers, and the whispered thanks have played over and over in my daydreams…and night dreams. Those small gestures make my heart race and fuel a yearning that good sex never has. I can’t even put a name to what I’m feeling, just that it’s…more.
Marsh glances my way, and I wave, aware that a stupid smile is splitting my face and I’m helpless to tone it down.
She acknowledges me with an all-business nod. “Go ahead and saddle Fancy,” she calls out. “We’ll be done by the time you’re ready.”
Okay. Marsh is all business. She hasn’t offered the smile I’d expected, hoped for. A smile that acknowledged something more had happened between us. But she’s busy with a client. I can respect that. Business is business, after all.
Fancy whinnies when I near her stall, more for the apple I always bring than happiness that I’ll spend the next hour bouncing around on her back, I’m sure.
Alex, his back to me, is prying a nameplate from the stall directly across from Fancy’s.
“Alex?”
Spying the bud in his ear when he didn’t respond, I arc a wave to get his attention.
He looks over his shoulder but keeps prying at the nameplate with a flathead screwdriver. “Hey.” His smile is quick as he takes his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, pauses the app he’s using, and removes his earbud. “I’m listening to the audio version of your latest book. I read last night until I couldn’t hold my eyes open. This morning, Harrison announced that he’d downloaded the audio version onto my phone so I could finish it before he got home tonight.” He rolls his eyes. “He apparently was offended last night when he wanted sex and I said only if he didn’t mind me reading while he did what he needed.”
I laugh, leading Fancy out of her stall and clipping her into the corridor’s crossties. “Are you saying my book is better than sex?”
“Of course not, but I think he took it that way.” He grins. “Anyway, I’m down to the last chapters—don’t tell me how it ends. And I’ll make it up to him tonight. Maybe I’ll serve dinner wearing a French maid’s apron and nothing else.”
I cover my eyes as if he’s wearing that now. “Yuck. I really didn’t need that image in my head, Alex.” Actually, it’s tough to picture, given his current very masculine clothing. It’s his day for teaching western-style riding classes, so he’s decked out in his cowboy attire—jeans, Justin boots, a tight black T-shirt, and a well-worn Stetson hat. He’s male-model handsome.
The nameplate pops free, and Alex checks the number of small nails in his hand to make sure he holds all that had attached the plate. Even the tiniest nail can puncture a foot and lame a horse. A weird sense of pride wells up that I know this from being around the barn over the past months. Thinking about this subject is also providing a good distraction. I’m uncharacteristically nervous about my lesson with Marsh. Crap. Now I’m thinking about her again.
Fancy shifts away because my brush along her sleek body has grown too vigorous as my nerves resurface.
“Sorry, girl.” I drop the brushes in a bucket and turn my attention back to Alex, my distraction. He disappears into the tack room and returns with Fancy’s saddle and bridle for me. “Thanks,” I say.
Alex holds the saddle while I position the pad that will absorb her sweat.
“Whose nameplate were you taking down?” I don’t really care. Horses come and go with their riders.
“Butter’s,” he says.
I whirl. “Oh, no. Did he…”
Alex hands me the saddle. “He’s fine, but he was sold, and the new owner picked him up from the veterinary hospital.”
“I thought he was coming back here. Does Marsh know who bought him?” I’d bonded with him during that short visit at the hospital and had talked myself into believing he’d started eating because he liked me. I’d even thought about trying to buy him once he returned to the barn.
Alex shrugs. “I don’t know. She hasn’t said much about it.” He glances at his watch. “You better get out there. It’s almost time for your lesson, and you know Marsh is a stickler for punctuality.”
I wordlessly unclip Fancy from the crossties, and she obediently takes the bit in her mouth and lowers her head so I can slip the bridle over her ears. My heart is pounding again, and I pray that I don’t swoon or faint or, more likely, say something stupid. The questions I want to ask are in my throat. How’s she feeling? Did Butter go to a good home? But I swallow them and lead Fancy into the sunlight and toward the smaller of the oval rings, where my lessons are held.
Grace is mounted on an elegant, sixteen-hand-tall bay mare, and Marsh is walking next to them as they approach. Grace’s smile is beaming, her eyes alight.
“She’s a dream, Marsh. Her flying changes are so smooth.”
Marsh smiles up at her. “I knew she’d be a good fit for you. But you still need to practice a lot to learn each other’s signals. I’m seeing hesitation at some changes, and you need to work on your corners.” She pats the horse on her shoulder. “If you work hard, I think you’ll be ready for the next level by the spring tests.”
“Awesome.”
I can’t help but smile at Grace’s excitement, even though I’m put off by how easily she’s left Butter behind for this new horse.
“Now, go give her a
warm bath and a good rubdown,” Marsh says, stopping near me and lightly slapping the mare on the rump to send them on their way.
I can’t contain myself any longer. “Ready for me?”
Marsh keeps her eyes on Grace and her new horse a few seconds longer, I suspect to mentally adjust from teaching a promising young equestrian to spending the next hour with a middle-aged novice. But, with a nod and final look, she comes over.
“Has your post gotten any better?”
I put my left knee in her cupped hands, and she boosts me into the saddle. “Nope,” I say happily. “I need lots more instruction.”
She looks at the ground and shakes her head, but not before I see a small smile twitch the corners of her mouth. “Then we better get to work.”
An hour later, I’m sweaty, Fancy is sweaty, and Marsh is still shaking her head.
“You post like a piston in an engine,” she says. “Posting a trot is a dance that the horse leads.” Marsh holds the gate open so I can exit the ring. “I thought all debutantes had to take ballroom-dancing classes, but you either skipped out or were a disaster.”
“I was not a debutante.” I put every ounce of indignation I can summon into my denial. “My mother said it amounted to parading girls around like the next cow to be bought, and my father was happy he didn’t have to fork over a couple thousand dollars for a fancy dress I’d wear once.” It was the only time I can remember that my mother stood up for me. Years later, I came to realize it wasn’t much of a stand. My father wasn’t that keen on the old society tradition to begin with. More to the truth, he was glad he didn’t have to lean on a business acquaintance or golf buddy to make one of their sons escort me because I didn’t date or have a boyfriend.
“So that’s why you lack rhythm. No dance lessons.” She closes the gate and walks beside me as she’d done with Grace.
“I had ballroom-dance lessons.”
“Ha. You must have crushed your poor partner’s feet.”
“No. In fact, I was much sought after as a partner,” I say, my tone teasingly flippant. Alex was right. Marsh seems to have relaxed once it was clear I’m not going to mention the migraine incident, and we’ve easily returned to the teasing banter we had before my temper fit over Butter being set aside for a new, better model.
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