The notion was crazy, and downright dishonest. Faith was worth much more than six thousand, but the impulse to acquire her so cheap was too strong. He put his pen to the paper, ready to mark it, when Dascha’s face popped into his mind. Oliver shook his head, as though to shake her from it, but she slid in again. He grit his teeth. He was getting Faith, and Dascha was a means to an end. This was business. She’d never be anything more to him. He finally circled the race.
Later that day, Oliver was busy looking after his charges. Lane had owned not only Fools Rush In, but a dark bay colt named Bitter Creek, and a gray gelding called Plastic Thunder. They were both good looking and winners, probably worth more than Faith anyway. Oliver vowed he’d justify claiming the filly for next to nothing by getting decent prices on the other two. And even though they were leaving him for someone else, at least he knew they’d had a good relationship while it lasted. He loved them, and they seemed to love him back-- unconditionally. Or maybe it was only because he brought them food.
Oliver noogied the bay colt’s forehead with a chuckle. “There ya go, ol’hayburner.”
When he was free of them, Oliver would settle up his debts and hopefully break even at last. His work was everything, and he threw himself against it like a sailboat in a storm. If only to forget...
*
“Are you sure you won’t come down with me?” Wyatt asked, arranging his tie.
Dascha folded her legs on the chaise in front of the TV, flicking it on. “I refuse to deal with that man after how he treated me.”
Wyatt smirked, glancing at her reflection. “Are you saying you’re a widdle embawassed?” he teased.
Dascha puckered, turning pink. She cranked the volume on the TV up.
Wyatt hummed to himself, bemused at his sister. “You’ll have to meet him at some point. What if I arrange a lunch date?”
“There will be no dates.”
He cleared his throat, trying again. “Lunch meeting. As in two business-minded people discussing the bones of things.”
Dascha poured herself a glass of gin, tipped her head back to drown it, then placed the glass down on the coffee table harder than she probably meant it. “Fine.”
He was about to say something more, when she added, “As long as he behaves like a human being this time.”
Wyatt thought Oliver had behaved fine when they met him. Dascha was taking it too personally. He headed for the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”
When he reached barn five, he found Oliver tending to the horses. Wyatt smiled. At least the man was easy to find-- and consistent.
Wyatt got out of the car, not caring if some water and debris got on his leather loafers. He waved to Oliver, but went unnoticed. Wyatt walked toward him, clearing his voice.
“Afternoon, Mister Way.”
Oliver glanced over his shoulder. “Hello.”
“Any progress on the sale situation?”
“Maybe.”
Wyatt slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels briefly. “Want to fill me in?”
Oliver took a bucket full of water and shoved it at Wyatt.
Wyatt’s eyes widened, but he didn’t complain. He followed behind Oliver, his eyes trailing to the man’s well-defined buttocks. Wyatt got a little goofy smile on his face, before Oliver whipped around, hiking a thumb at the stall. “This one.”
Wyatt stepped up and hung the water bucket. A dark bay swung his head out, nosing him.
“Afternoon to you too,” Wyatt greeted him, scratching the horse’s cheek.
“I found races for all of them,” Oliver said, folding his arms. “I think you’ll be satisfied with the arrangement.”
“I’m sure Dascha would love to hear about it.”
A low groan escaped Oliver.
Wyatt glanced at him. “She’s not all bad.” Oliver really was good looking, but Wyatt put himself in check. It wasn’t right to mix business with pleasure. And he didn’t want to lose Dascha in the process. He was already treading a thin line for being such a playboy. Dascha was the last link he had to his family.
"Let me be the go-between for you two." Wyatt leaned toward him, brushing his shoulder with his own. "Your liaison."
Oliver sighed. "I suppose. What did you have in mind?"
"Allow me to arrange a lunch meeting. You two can see where the other stands, and discuss the logistics of this horse business."
The corner of Oliver's mouth tilted wryly. "I suppose."
Wyatt clapped him on the back. “I like you.”
They both blushed rather awkwardly.
"Thank you for meeting me," Dascha said as she spread her linen napkin over her lap.
Oliver nodded. "Yeah, sure." He still sounded so guarded. "Thank your brother."
Dascha took a sip of her water. "So. Tell me Mister Way--"
"Oliver, please," he said uncomfortably.
Dascha offered a smile. It was the first attractive thing Oliver noticed about her. It wasn't just straight and white, a mouth paid for in porcelain, but there was something else to it, something warm and human.
"Oliver," she conceded. "Tell me about yourself."
He leaned back in his chair, relaxing a little. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything really. Where are you from? Did you go to school? That sort of thing."
"I didn't think you were the type for small talk."
Dascha's brow lifted. "Really?"
Oliver toyed with his silverware, pushing the ends up so they matched. "You seem the straight to business type."
"I'm sorry if I've given you that impression." Her eyes turned down. Was she blushing?
Maybe Oliver was the straight to business type. She was getting prettier the more he actually looked at her, and he didn't want to do anything more than notice. "Let's not beat around the bush, Miss Lane." He pointed his finger against the table. "Brass tacks."
"Have you had any interested buyers?"
"Yes, one." He narrowed his gaze on her, focusing the business at hand. "Me."
"What would you possibly want with my father's horses?"
"Just one; Fools Rush In. I'll buy her from you after the other two are sold."
"How does that work? You get a finder's commission from the other two. Letting you buy one would be like you giving us our own money. Like giving you a free horse."
So he was lowballing her. So what? She didn't know their worth anyway. "Really, I'm doing you a favor. You wanted to sell them quickly, correct?"
"Yes."
"So I'm making an offer."
Dascha folded her arms over her chest. The expression on her face said she wasn't buying in. "Tell me about yourself."
Oliver's brow kneaded. He looked confused. "We're back to that."
She nodded. "I want to know what sort of man I'm dealing with, and I deserve to." She sat like some sort of boss-lady air.
"Fine. Born and bred in the South. Grew up around horses. I know what I'm doing. Your turn."
She looked offended. "That's it?"
Oliver sipped his water. "That's it." Or, at least, all she was getting.
"I grew up in New England. I've been around horses most of my life, but only on a spectator capacity. My father enjoyed trotting me around at polo matches he'd sponsor."
Those New Englanders with their old money. Oliver pursed his lips. At least she gave him the courtesy of sounding disdainful about her position.
She took another sip of her water. For whatever reason, Oliver felt like he was stuck in a chess match. He ran his finger around the edge of his glass's rim until it sang.
"I'm still not interested in your offer," Dascha concluded.
"Shame. Faith would be in good hands."
"Faith?"
"Fools Rush In. Faith's her barn name."
"You mean the horse you want."
"She's not just 'the horse'. She has a name, and it's Faith."
"You talk about her like she's a person."
"More of a person than y
ou're acting like."
That got under her skin. Her face crunched.
"Who comes fifteen hundred miles to sell horses and turns down a deal?" he asked.
"It's a bad deal!" Dascha defended herself. "And horses aren't people."
Oliver's heart was racing. This argument got his blood going in a way that made him grin and tingle. "She'd make a better girlfriend than you ever would," he blurted.
Her exquisite jaw flexed, signaling she was probably biting back words. She was kind of cute when her face got pinched up like that.
She kind of intimidated him, but in a way, he liked it. Having something unnerve him made him feel alive for the first time in years.
A big bowl of salad came for them to share. Normally, Oliver would have resented that it was only round one of an uncomfortable situation, but this was thrilling.
Dascha distracted herself by plating some of the salad. “The answer’s no.”
Oliver pulled some of the salad onto his own plate. "Twenty-five."
She didn’t even look at him. "That's less than half."
So she did know what they were worth. Oliver offered his hands plaintively. "Come on...."
"Thirty-five, and that's my final offer," she said firmly.
He stared at her over the salad bowl. She looked like the type of person who was used to getting her way. His stubborness was a challenge to her.
Dascha focused on regaining her composition. She had to keep control of this situation, because the rest of her life was spinning out of control. She focused hard on her salad, glistening with olive oil. Probably as slippery as the position she was in. She knew Oliver’s eyes were on her, and a heat buzzed through her that made her want to squirm.
“We’re selling all three of the horses. Whatever we can get from them we’ll donate to charity,” she said frankly. She met his eyes briefly, but the wild look and grin on him made her stare at her salad again. “You’ll get what we owe you and not a penny more.”
He finally stopped pushing and they ate in silence. She was here on business, she reminded herself. She couldn’t let some wheel’n’deal trainer get under her skin. She was leaving behind the equestrian part of her life and moving on.
As she sipped her water and gazed out the window beside their table, Dascha knew she was spiraling. Her father was gone. Wyatt was running around with who knows what. If she had control of anything, let it be this.
“You got my father into a bad situation when you convinced him to buy those horses. What makes you so sure you’ll do the same to us?” Dascha shook her head. “No, Mister Way, I’m afraid I’ll be the one ensuring the Lanes never make a mistake like that again.”
“It wasn’t a bad situation,” Oliver shot back. “He wanted horses. He gave me a budget. I worked with it.”
“Still, you could have used the money more wisely to acquire a better horse, rather than three.”
“Why would you put your money under a rock when you can put it in a basket full of eggs?”
Dascha sighed, withstraining the urge to scream. “It was a bad investment, and you’re a bad bet.”
Well as Oliver's father told him, handsome is as handsome does. She may be rich, and pretty, but that wouldn't sway ol' Oliver.
Heat rushed up Oliver’s neck so fast, he swore steam would come out of his ears. He wasn’t a bad bet. The Lanes were poor bettors.
“I’m buying Faith one way or another,” he asserted.
Her face did that pinchy thing again, and with a touch of fury, she was even more beautiful. Oliver seriously hated the way his heart wracked his ribs. “You’re bothered by the fact that I’m right,” he growled.
"And you're bothered by the fact that you can't control me, aren't you?" Dascha stood up so quick, her chair tipped backward. Before Oliver could shut his mouth, ice water smacked his face. Dascha stormed off, leaving her glass rolling on the table.
Ugh, rich girls.
Oliver meant to take his mind off things once he got to the barns, but found Lane Junior skulking around. He’d listen to reason, wouldn’t he? But reason is far from what came out of Oliver’s mouth. "Your sister is infuriating!"
Lane Junior turned, not missing a beat. "Does that mean you like her..." he asked hesitantly, "or just find her attractive?"
Oliver glared at him, but after a moment started laughing. He must be losing his mind.
Wyatt broke into a grin. He couldn't get over how the laugh lines and dimples accentuated Oliver's sun-beaten face. Something warmed in Wyatt's heart.
"If you weren't her brother, I'd buy you a beer," Oliver said.
"Let's pretend I'm not," Wyatt offered. "I'm just the go-between guy, remember?"
"I better not." Oliver shuffled off. "The horses need me."
Ah, I see. No time for relationships. Who got to that guy before? What was eating him? He was so stoic and cynical about life, but once you got to know him. Wyatt leaned against the wall behind him, staring at Oliver's backside. Wyatt's head tilted as his eyes fixed on the muscular line running between Oliver's shoulder blades down... down, down, down. He smirked.
Oliver was a good looking man. Wyatt had to make things right between him and Dascha so the deal would go off smoothly. And, alright, he admitted to himself, maybe more. Dascha had been so distant since their father passed. She deserved to be happy, and Wyatt felt it was his responsibility to make that happen for her. Even if it meant his own happiness.
If anything would help her forgive him for his playboy ways in the past, it was showing her he was capable of behaving himself and bringing her an offering. It worked with tampons and chocolate-- usually-- why not this? Wyatt kept his eyes fixed on Oliver shrinking in the distance and smiled more. Dascha Lane, meet your Milky Way.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Dascha said.
Wyatt turned in surprise.
“Dont think I don’t know what’s going on between you two.” Dascha mused. "Your gaydar's broken."
They both looked toward Oliver in the distance.
"I don't care," Wyatt said. "Don't you find him attractive? Even a little bit?"
She shrugged. "We're here to close out Father's estate, not fall in love. Stay focused." She did this funny two finger eye point from her gaze to his. "Eyes on the prize."
"It was." He sulked, thinking of Oliver's dimples when he laughed.
She took his arm and they strolled off together.
“How was the meeting?” he asked.
Dascha rolled her eyes with an exasperate sigh. “Oh, wonderful,” she said, dripping with sarcasm. “He wants to buy one of the horses from us.”
“I don’t see how that’s a problem?” Wyatt whiffled.
“The problem is our directive is to sell the horses, give the money to charity, and pay off any remaining debts.”
“But wouldn’t Oliver buying one of them be double payment? He makes nothing off the deal. We’re selling. He’s buying...” Wyatt shrugged. “We’d pay him from the other two, and he’d give us back the money.”
Dascha glared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Your. Gaydar. Is. B-r-o-k-e-n.”
Wyatt chuckled.
“Don’t treat him like some charity case,” Dascha warned.
“I’m not, I’m not,” Wyatt said defensively. “He’s a nice guy who needs a break. That’s all.”
Dascha rolled her eyes. “His break will be getting paid off, and-- ”
“Out of our lives forever,” Wyatt finished. “Sometimes, Dee, you’ve got your eyes on the prize, but lose sight of what’s really important.” He shook her off and strode ahead until Dascha lost sight of him.
*
When Wyatt returned to the stables the next morning, birds were chirping in the tree tops, the sun was beating down, and a light breeze shifted his hair. He flattened it out again.
Oliver was just coming in from the last training session of the day, leading one of his racers. The rider helped strip the tack from the horse. Wyatt stood back as they washed the horse down
. Steam wafted from its hide, lifting into god rays of sunlight.
“Can I buy you a beer?” Wyatt called, standing back from the sluice of water and soap.
Oliver laughed. “It’s ten in the morning, man.”
Wyatt grinned. “What’s your point?”
Oliver finished bathing the horse and asked that it be put away while he talked to Wyatt. “Feeding time. Walk with me.”
Wyatt helped out with grain buckets. Oliver didn’t say much, but that only endeared him to Wyatt more.
“Do they really eat this much all the time?”
“Yes, they do.” Oliver turned. “I thought you and your sisters have been around horses?”
Wyatt fed another horse. “I played polo matches. She watched. That’s the extent of our knowledge.”
“But you know their worth...”
Wyatt smoothed the forelock of one of the horses. “Oh, yeah. We know the money side. That was first grade math for us. I promise you my father wasn’t a terrible investor. There’s a reason we’re wealthy.”
“Then why don’t you buy the horses from your father’s estate?”
The men stared at one another. That thought hadn’t crossed Wyatt’s mind. Oliver obviously enjoyed his work. The horses were well taken care of. Why not?
“Because they’re bad investments!” Oliver stated the obvious. He turned all broody. When Wyatt didn’t answer, Oliver grumbled, “I’ve made my point.”
“But you picked them out for him,” Wyatt started toward Oliver.
“He picked them out himself. I only advised. He was dead set on these three.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Showed what the Lanes really know about good stock.”
“I know you’re good stock,” Wyatt said.
Oliver’s eyes widened.
Wyatt held his hands up. “Don’t take that the wrong way. I know you’re a good guy. Under that cynical candy shell is a salty, soft center.” He chucked him on the shoulder.
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