by Margot Early
Nonetheless, he found himself saying, “Wasn’t Dylan interested in some of our employees back when he was working on the Whittleson murder?”
“He was, but his interest was inappropriate, and Robert told him so.”
Robert D’Angelo, Louisa’s attorney.
“My employees are like family,” Louisa said fiercely. “Well—they’re like what family is to other people. Though lately, I’ve come to care for my blood family more than I’d ever thought possible.” She gave Patrick a stern look. “You’re not thinking of giving Marie any grief, are you?”
“I’m thinking of finding out more about how that horse got out. Someone wants to scupper An Indecent Proposal’s chances.”
Louisa sighed. “Patrick, with all the people who are involved in deceit of different kinds in Thoroughbred racing, you can’t believe that Marie Lafayette is the culprit.”
“She’s Reynard’s niece, and he’s around here much more than I like. He’s not even an employee. He works for Lochlain Racing. He may be using her as leverage to get—” Patrick stopped speaking abruptly because Mrs. Lipton had entered the breakfast room. He’d noticed that the housekeeper seemed to have a lot of tolerance for Reynard, even found him charming. Of course, Lipton herself had worked for Louisa for years; she was beyond suspicion.
Louisa said, “I’ve heard all I want to hear on the subject. I think it’s possible that Crystal neglected to fasten his stall after the morning gallops. She’s distracted by her health problems. I’ve questioned her, and she says she follows a detailed routine in securing the stalls. However…”
“She’s not riding.”
“But she led him back to his stall yesterday morning.”
Mrs. Lipton refreshed Louisa’s coffee without asking and topped off Patrick’s, as well. Patrick knew she wanted to hear what he’d been saying about Reynard.
But eventually, she left the breakfast room, and Patrick said, “Well?” as though there had been no interruption.
“I do not suspect sabotage, Patrick. It was an accident, and that concerns me more than paranoid ideas about a plot against my horse. Accidents result in harm to both horses and people. We can’t have that kind of mistake, so I’ve asked our head groom to draw up a protocol for stabling horses.”
“We already have one.”
“We’re refining it to eliminate mistakes.”
Wesley slipped into the room. “Hi, Louisa.”
“Good morning, Wesley. How are you today?”
“I’m okay. I want to go to school. We’re studying spiders, and a tarantula expert is bringing tarantulas to class.”
Patrick said, “I’ll take you later this morning. You’ve had a concussion. A half day of school is the maximum today. And no running around.”
“Do you like spiders?”
Patrick considered. “Well, when they get beyond a certain size, I prefer them to live in the wilderness.”
“I want to have one as a pet,” Wesley announced.
Patrick said, “How do you think your mum would feel about that?”
“I don’t think she minds spiders, as long as they’re not real venomous to people. All spiders are venomous,” Wesley added with authority. “But not all of them have venom which makes people sick. The tarantula man is bringing tarantulas that whistle. Just when they’re mad, though.”
“Is he going to make them mad in the classroom?” Patrick asked.
“I don’t know. You can come to the presentation. Parents are invited.”
“What about great-great-aunts?” Louisa asked.
Wesley tilted his head at her, interested. “Are you afraid of tarantulas?”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Patrick stage-whispered to his son. “She’s not afraid of anything.”
“Except, perhaps, when small boys hit their heads,” Louisa agreed.
“Will you come to school with me?” Wesley asked her.
“Of course,” she said. “I would like to see giant whistling spiders.”
Bronwyn and Marie were alone as Marie hung her bicycle on the hooks in her room in the employee cottage. Marie had seemed sad, withdrawn and frustrated during the entire ride. Crystal and Helena had ridden side by side while Bronwyn and Marie rode ahead.
Now Bronwyn asked, “Marie, whatever it is, do you want to talk about it?”
The blond woman turned to her, the face that was usually so happy now troubled. “I’m not ready, Bronwyn. And it’s nothing bad.” Moodily, she turned toward her bed, where her uniform T-shirt and jeans were laid out. Pausing, very still, she asked, “Does Louisa love Patrick and Megan?”
Bronwyn couldn’t imagine why Marie would ask such a thing, but she answered, “Very much, I think. She values family. God, she loves me, I think, and I’m not even related by blood. And she loves Wesley, is wonderful to him, like a grandmother. I’m so thankful for her presence in all our lives.” She hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
Marie shrugged. “Does she suspect me, Bronwyn?”
“Of what?”
“Of letting An Indecent Proposal out of his stall.”
“No,” Bronwyn replied firmly. She took a breath. “Did you do it, Marie?”
Marie did not lift her head. “No, I didn’t. And neither did Reynard. I’m sure that’s on everyone’s mind, but he wouldn’t do that, either. I know he’s…unconventional…but he’s family.”
Bronwyn hesitated, put her hand on Marie’s arm. “Marie, let’s you and I try to be a kind of family to each other. I think that’s how Louisa sees Fairchild Acres anyway. But I feel so close to you and Helena—and sweet Crystal.”
Marie turned to her suddenly, threw her arms around her and hugged her. “Thank you.”
“And I’m going to see if there’s any breakfast left on the table and check how Wesley is doing.”
Bronwyn entered the breakfast room. “Hi,” she said, coming to the table and—with decision—kissing first Patrick’s head, then Wesley’s, then hugging Louisa. “Sorry I’m sweaty.”
Louisa said, “I’m glad you’re here. Did you know about the exciting school day Wesley has ahead of him?”
“The spiders. Yes. I got a note from the teacher with an invitation.” She pulled out a chair across from Wesley and Patrick and beside Louisa. “But, Wesley—no running, no sports.”
“You can cancel your exercise class if you like, Bronwyn,” Louisa said.
Bronwyn shook her head. “That wouldn’t be fair to the faithful who keep showing up.”
“More of them all the time,” Louisa said. “I hear nothing but good things about you, Bronwyn.”
“Thank you.” Bronwyn helped herself to granola and yogurt from serving dishes on the table. “By the way, Patrick, your campaign of intimidation against Marie is working. She expected me to turn my back on her, too.”
Silence. He lifted his head. “Campaign of intimidation?” he echoed incredulously. “All I’ve said is that I think she—”
“You’ve said too much,” Bronwyn told him.
Louisa cleared her throat, and Bronwyn glanced at Wesley to see a stricken look on his face.
He doesn’t want to see us fight. In fact, Bronwyn could see Wesley’s secure world crumbling in the face of her harsh words to his father. She had just ridden bikes with Marie and had sensed the other woman’s deep sadness and loneliness. Marie was troubled, and Bronwyn absolutely would not turn her back on her.
Your own life, Bronwyn. Sort out your own life. She’d greeted Patrick with a kiss as a sign of love for him, but now she wondered if she should have done that, if she was taking advantage of his love. Last night, it had crossed her mind that by rejecting his proposal of marriage, she might lose him, lose the position of being the woman he loved.
She couldn’t think about that.
And yet, her living situation, hers and Wesley’s, was forcing her hand with Patrick, was pushing her toward becoming his wife.
If I ever do cut it off with him, I’m going to lose this home, as well.
And how would it feel to someday see him with another woman?
But was it fair for her to stay here after saying that she wouldn’t marry him? He was in love with her.
And she with him.
Which left marrying him as the comfortable option— the option that she didn’t want.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “for picking a fight at the table. I apologize to everyone. Tell me more about the spiders, Wesley. Have you ever seen a tarantula?”
She had to tell Louisa how she was feeling, tell her everything. Bronwyn didn’t want to burden Louisa, and yet she felt the necessity of being honest with her employer, her supportive friend, about her conflicted feelings.
So she felt relief when, after breakfast, Louisa said, “Shall we do our work with the treadmill now, Bronwyn, before I go to school with Wesley and Patrick?”
Walking on a treadmill was part of Louisa’s health regimen.
“Great.” It would be a chance to talk. And explain that she might have to leave Fairchild Acres.
Chapter Thirteen
“You would do that to Wesley?” Louisa said, but she didn’t sound angry. Worried, perhaps. Troubled.
“Louisa, I don’t know what to do, but it seems wrong to marry Patrick just because we’re living in the same place and have a child together. And he wants to marry me, and I do love him, so I’m feeling some pressure to agree. But it feels wrong. I need to be sure of the two of us.”
Louisa walked steadily on the treadmill, and Bronwyn slowed the machine and touched the older woman’s shoulder, making a minor correction in her posture. After a few more minutes on the treadmill, they would switch to the Pilates machines.
“I’m happy here,” Bronwyn said. “I don’t remember ever being this happy before. But marriage should be a choice, not an accident of timing and circumstance.”
Louisa nodded. Then, with an air of conviction she remarked, “If you’re willing to risk losing Patrick, I doubt your love is strong enough.”
The words went to Bronwyn’s core.
Was she willing to risk losing Patrick? Lose him again?
Louisa was right. Bronwyn had turned her back on Patrick once before, and even now she wasn’t one hundred percent certain he’d forgiven her. But it did seem she’d regained his trust. Could she risk shattering his faith in her?
But my independence, she thought. Can I relinquish that?
“You’re very wise,” Bronwyn told the older woman. “Thank you for saying that. You’ve given me more to think about. Much more.”
She had drifted away from him. Patrick felt it all that day. It wasn’t just the issue of Marie, their small arguments. Bronwyn had refused to marry him, and it could only be because she didn’t love him enough.
Later that morning, he and Louisa drove Wesley to school to see the presentation by the tarantula expert. In the classroom with Louisa, Patrick decided that looking at large hairy spiders was really stretching the limits of what was expected of a loving parent. His great-aunt had been far more interested in the spiders than he was.
Truthfully, it was hard to think about anything but Bronwyn, how much he loved her, the distance he felt between them. Night before last they’d made love, had lain blissfully in each other’s arms in the rapt state of lovers who couldn’t get enough of one another.
But she’d insisted upon sleeping alone the following night.
Patrick was glad that she’d been honest with him about her feelings. She hadn’t just gone along with him, agreed to marry him because of Wesley. But it was too painful to remain at Fairchild Acres without the closeness he so wanted with her. If he left, he would miss her company. He would grieve the loss of her love. But he had told her his feelings, and she had answered with hers.
When she’d first come to Fairchild Acres, he’d wanted to somehow undo the past, to make Bronwyn admit that she’d made a mistake in choosing Ari Theodoros. Even more, he wanted to erase her rejection of him, to let it never have happened. He wanted to have always been her first choice.
And now—Well, she’d told him he would be her first choice now—after her desire to be alone, to retain her freedom.
The Bronwyn he loved now was a different woman from the Bronwyn of his university days. He loved her as the mother of their son, loved the way he saw her parent Wesley. He loved the vulnerability he saw in her now, something that had been kept more carefully under wraps when they were younger. He loved watching her find herself, express her nature through her work at the fitness center. She was coming into her own being, and perhaps he loved that most of all.
But what tension she must be under now. She’d taken no pleasure in rejecting him again. And he could sense the pressure she was under. She might feel that she should marry him, or at least remain his lover, if she wanted to stay at Fairchild Acres. And now this place was Wesley’s home. Bronwyn wouldn’t want to uproot her son, not now that he’d found a measure of security, now that he was surrounded by love in a wholesome environment.
She wouldn’t want to take Wesley away from Louisa.
Patrick didn’t want that, either. Fairchild Acres was Wesley’s home. He was settled in school in the Hunter Valley.
For the rest of the day, as he handled both his own work, managing investments online, and the business related to Fairchild Acres, Patrick considered his situation with Bronwyn. The longer he thought about it, the clearer the answer became to him.
After all, he already had a place in Sydney.
He would come to Fairchild Acres frequently to visit, and Wesley—and Bronwyn, if she liked—could come to Sydney to see him.
It was the only right thing to do, because they couldn’t both live here, together but separate. Well, he couldn’t. He loved her, was in love with her. He would desire her, he would want her to love him, and she would feel that love as pressure.
No, there was only the one answer.
Strangely, it didn’t make him miserable. It made him comfortable because he knew it was right.
Bronwyn must feel crowded by his love for her, by his yearning for a commitment from her.
He had to remove that stress from her.
Once he’d resolved that problem, he put in a call to Dylan to see if the detective could learn anything useful about Marie and Reynard, but he got the answering machine and decided not to leave a message.
Maybe he was wrong about Marie.
And what right had he to stir the pot when he would likely be returning to Sydney soon?
At midafternoon, he opened a beer and stepped out onto the porch, looking toward the road. Bronwyn. She was just heading toward the drive, starting her walk to the bus stop to meet Wesley, who had felt well enough to remain in school and asked to be allowed to ride the bus home with his friends. “Friends” had been the magic word for Patrick, and he’d relented and explained to Bronwyn when he and Louisa returned to Fairchild Acres.
Now, he left his beer bottle on the table close to where he’d been sitting and called her name.
She glanced up, and Patrick came down the steps and strode across the lawn to meet her.
I have to say it, he thought. Why not now?
“Mind if I join you?”
“No.” But she smiled uncertainly, and doubts crashed through him.
Was that reserve he saw? Was it love? Or was it simply fear of the dilemma he represented for her?
“Bronwyn, I think I’m making things a bit difficult for you here.”
“What?” She stopped walking and stared.
Well, she might look baffled, but Patrick had made his decision. The sense of its rightness remained with him.
“I think my being here is hemming you in. I’m in love with you, and I want to marry you, to be with you always. But you’ve given me a different answer, and I accept that. Wesley’s settled here, you have a job and a home, and Louisa loves you both. I imagine you feel pressure to leave, or if not, to be my lover for all the wrong reasons.”
She said nothing, only began
walking again, her reaction veiled behind her eyes.
He wanted to know what she felt hearing his words. Yet he wasn’t sure her feelings, whatever they were, had the power to alter his resolve. He had made a decision about what was best for all of them.
Bronwyn did not love him enough; it was that simple.
“So I’ve decided to go back to Sydney.”
He didn’t know what reaction he’d been hoping for. A gasp of astonishment? A show of tears? A cry of disappointment?
He received none of them.
She simply walked beside him and finally asked, “How will Louisa feel about that?”
“I think she’ll see the necessity for the move.”
Bronwyn had no doubt that he was right. If Louisa understood anything it was the need for decisions like this. She would be concerned about Wesley’s welfare; Wesley was the one whom Louisa would want to remain at Fairchild Acres, no matter what, because she wouldn’t want to see the boy uprooted.
Bronwyn looked up at Patrick. “I don’t think Wesley will like it.”
“He’ll adjust,” Patrick said equably.
“He’ll go to visit you?” Bronwyn asked.
“With your permission. And I’ll be back here frequently.”
Bronwyn considered everything Patrick was saying. “You’re doing this because…?”
“Bronwyn, you understand why.”
She did. He was granting her freedom, letting her choose, and she was more grateful than she knew how to say.
“Patrick,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Beside her, he swallowed. She felt it and saw it, and her own eyes stung.
The repeat rejection. The thing he hadn’t wanted to experience again. She wanted to scream, Patrick, I love you! Believe that I love you. But it was not fair to say such things to him when she’d said she wouldn’t marry him, when she wasn’t sure of anything but the gratitude and love she felt for him and the choice he was making, a choice that allowed her to choose.