by Lois Greiman
“That’s because …” She took a deep breath. “The truth is … my injury was incurred while riding.” She cleared her throat. “I shattered my femur. Broke a vertebra.”
“And no one helped you get back on the horse?”
“On the horse. No. In fact, the doctors—”
“Are often wrong. Come.”
“Hunter—”
“I will not let you fall,” he promised and raised his hand for hers.
She gritted her teeth, ready to resist, but he remained exactly as he was, waiting, watching, arm outstretched. She closed her eyes, felt her body tremble, and stepped forward. His fingers felt warm and strong beneath hers. She lifted her gaze. His eyes were steady on hers. “Windwalker will carry us both.”
“Ride double?” She shook her head. “We’ll never both fit in the saddle.”
“Which is why we will ride bareback.”
“What? No!”
“Sydney …” He tightened his fingers around hers. “One should not live in fear.”
“Yes … well …” She sounded hysterical. Felt breathless. “It’s not so great to die in the middle of the night because …” She flapped her trembling left hand at him. “Because some big Indian thinks he’s indestructible.”
His eyes glinted. Was he laughing at her? She caught her breath and lowered her brows. “Is there something amusing about this situation?”
“I do not think myself indestructible.” He shrugged. “And I begin to believe you are not the wild child I once thought you to be if you think ten o’clock is the middle of the night.”
She exhaled carefully. “As it turns out, I don’t particularly wish to die at ten o’clock, either.”
His lips turned up a little. “Come,” he said and tugged her toward the chestnut. She could feel the warmth of the big animal’s body, could smell his sweet equine scent. “Are you ready?”
“If I break my neck, I’m never going to forgive you.”
“Very well. Can you mount alone?”
“I’m accustomed to having stirrups.”
He shrugged.
“And a mounting block.”
“Sorry.”
“And a groom. In fact, two is my preference.”
“Step into my hands,” he said and cupped his palms.
“I can’t. I can’t do this.”
His expression was kindly, his eyes steady. “You, Sydney Wellesley, can do anything you wish.”
She held his gaze for an endless moment, then swallowed once, exhaled shakily, and stepped into his hands. There was a moment’s hesitation before he boosted her upward. She swung her right knee over the animal’s back out of habit and self-defense. Windwalker took a step forward. She grappled for the reins, but Hunter was already swinging up behind her. She had no idea how he managed to do so without unseating her. His chest settled solidly against her back. His thighs cradled hers.
The intimacy of their positions almost made her forget her fear.
“Is that how you mount for the relay race?” Her fingers ached on the smooth leather reins.
“Ai. Are you impressed?”
“I might be if I’m still breathing an hour from now.”
“It is good to have incentive to keep you alive. Let up on the reins a little.”
“What?”
“The reins …” Reaching around her, he gently eased her fingers open. “Loosen up or we’ll never leave the barn.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to.”
“But you do,” he said and nudged the gelding with his endless legs. The chestnut stepped forward.
Sydney’s muscles coiled like springs.
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“I’d hate to see you when you’re anxious.”
“I guarantee it,” she said and exhaled cautiously.
“All is well,” he assured her, but just as they stepped over the threshold, Windwalker tripped.
Sydney grabbed for the mane, but in a second the horse had righted himself. Behind her, Hunter felt as solid as stone.
Embarrassment brushed her. There had been a time, years, in fact, when she had ridden with the same casual effortlessness he exhibited. “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t entirely sure why she was apologizing. “It’s just that … this isn’t easy for me.”
“I know.”
“Have you ever been injured?” she asked and refused to look down, to watch the earth move beneath her dangling feet.
“By a horse?”
“Yes.”
“I dislocated my shoulder coming out of a bucking chute in Boise.”
She nodded and managed to breathe. “Anything else?”
“Tore the ligaments in my knee when one of Tonk’s ponies went over backward.”
She knew his words shouldn’t help relieve her tension, but she felt her shoulders drop a little. “And?”
“Got a concussion jumping a log while riding bareback in the dark.”
“I’m kind of sorry I asked.”
He chuckled.
Silence settled in. Beneath them, Windwalker’s strides felt smooth and cadenced.
“Have you forgiven him?” Hunter asked into the quiet.
“What?” She turned her head a little.
“Your father. It was he who made you believe you could only do those things that are easy, was it not?”
She rode in silence, back straight. “You don’t know him,” she said. Her voice was soft in the darkness as she defended him by habit alone.
“I know it was his job to keep you safe.”
“What are you talking about?” She laughed. It sounded rough and out of place in the quiet darkness. “I was perfectly safe.”
He tightened his arms around her. “You cannot feel safe without feeling loved.”
“I felt …” She paused. “We lived in an excellent neighborhood. I had everything I could possibly want. Except bacon.” She laughed. “An omission for which I am making up even now.”
They rode in silence for a time. Fireflies blinked in the blue-velvet night.
“We often delude ourselves about what is important.”
She watched the mercurial lights blink off and on and felt the magic swell in her soul. “Who’s we?”
“People. Men.” There was impatience in his tone. Anger in the set of his shoulders, in the strength of his arms against hers. “I had things to do. Important things. And Nicole … my wife …” He said the name softly.
“She was an actress, a rising star, the Times called her. There was a party in Malibu.” He was silent as he gazed into the darkness. “Everyone who was anyone would be there. It would have been inappropriate for our daughter to accompany her and of course I couldn’t spare the time.”
His pain was all but palpable, an almost visible force that punched through her back to the core of her being.
“She planned to drop Sara Bear off at a friend’s house.”
Sydney remembered the bear tattoo on his chest, felt his sorrow in the tightness of her throat.
“They were running late,” he said. “In a hurry.” He paused. “She did not stop at a traffic light. The police said she died instantly. Sara lived another forty-eight hours.” Silence echoed around them. “The doctors said they did all they could.”
She felt her stomach drop. Felt her hands tremble on the reins. There was little mystery about why he disliked hospitals. “I’m so sorry.”
“Call your father.” Their faces were inches apart. She met his gaze from a crooked angle.
“Why?”
“It is said that everyone deserves a second chance.”
Light glistened on the smooth surface of Beaver Creek, casting diamonds up to a star-studded sky. “Do you believe that?”
“I would like to.”
They fell quiet. Overhead, the silken clouds flowed like mystery ships past the somber moon. They’d made a loop through the pasture. Ahead, Gray Horse Hill lay like a sleeping dove, strangely restful against the ebony sky. A sa
nctuary of sorts. For her. For Courage. And maybe for Hunter Redhawk.
“Will you?” he asked.
“Will I what?”
“Call him.” Exasperation edged his tone.
“I don’t …” She exhaled, trying to expel the tension that cramped her muscles at the mere thought of such a conversation. “I don’t know what to say.”
“He is your father. The man who shared your yesterdays.” His voice was heartbreakingly soft. “Who picked you up when you fell. Who held you when you cried.”
“We are talking about Leonard Wellesley, right?” She tried to lift the mood, shift it toward something lighter, but he was unmoved.
“Everyone makes mistakes. It does not mean he doesn’t love you, does not have regrets. Be honest with him. Tell him your worries. Your dreams.”
“About making Gray Horse into an equestrian center?”
Somewhere in the distance a coyote yipped to the sky. A chorus of others joined in.
“Is that what you truly want?”
A herd of rough-coated horses, the antithesis of sleek Olympians, raced across the high plains of her mind. “It’s not as if I have a lot of other marketable skills.”
“You might be surprised.”
“I could be a carpenter, I suppose,” she said and winced as she remembered the latest hammer strike to her thumb. “Although I may never be as good as Vura.”
“I’m not certain you would ever be as good as Lily.”
She laughed and felt a bit of anxiety ease out of her shoulders. “You’re making a difference for her,” she said.
“For a short time, perhaps.”
“Are headhunters hounding you to join their ranks every waking hour or something?”
He drew a breath, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. “It is hard to be so desired.”
She smiled. The last of her tension slipped cautiously away.
Windwalker’s footfalls sounded muffled against the packed clay of the barn aisle. Fandango cocked his head at them. From her stall, Courage nickered a low greeting.
Hunter slid to the ground and Sydney swung her leg over the gelding’s croup. But suddenly her thigh cramped. She half fell, only to find herself caught against Hunter’s powerful body.
She turned in his arms, feeling foolish. She was no romance-novel heroine. She lacked the courage. Not to mention the cleavage. And yet she felt breathless.
“Are you okay?” His voice rumbled gently in the center of her being. She could feel the heat from his body, the strength in his arms, the tenderness of his soul.
“Yes. Thank you. I’m fine. I can … I can stand alone.”
Seconds ticked into silence, then, “It is time you realized this.”
His hands felt broad and strong against her waist. His eyes met hers, almost smiling, almost sober. Somehow her fingers had come to rest against his chest. Beneath her palm she could feel the steady beat of his heart, above which he had inked a memory of the daughter for whom he still mourned.
She held her breath, knowing she should draw away, but he was leaning in, eyes intense, hard-packed body tempting. His lips touched hers. She almost resisted. Almost. But he was everything she’d never wanted … until now.
His mouth moved against hers, stirring a thousand unknown feelings, a million sleepy desires.
She slid her hands around his granite waist. He pulled her closer, breathing hard. Their bodies pressed together, chests, hips, thighs. She didn’t realize she was moving into him until his shoulders struck the wall behind him, but she barely noticed. Didn’t care a whit; desire, too long banked, had grabbed hold of the reins. It roared through her like a wildfire, burning her up, consuming her. He kissed her neck, then stormed lower, blazing a trail. She curled her nails like talons against his skin and pulled him closer.
He trembled, froze, then drew back a fraction of an inch, but the knowledge of his desire made her tighten her grip. Her hands had become lost under his shirt, but the distance between their bodies was growing. Her fingernails dragged across his flesh. Some sort of pathetic whimper scraped her throat.
Still, he managed to escape, to capture her hands between his, to catch her gaze, hard and fast.
“Call your father,” he ordered and left her alone in the darkness.
Chapter 27
“Father?” Sydney’s voice sounded small and pitiful in the dimness of her newly spackled bedroom. She tightened her grip on the phone.
Outside her window, the sun had barely crested the burnt-gold bluffs on the eastern horizon. But the Wellesleys were early risers, and it was two hours later in Middleburg, Virginia.
“Sydney?” Was there relief mixed with the surprise in her father’s tone?
“It’s good to hear your voice,” she said and realized with painful disbelief that it was true.
“How are you?”
“I’m well,” she said and felt her face crack into a cautious smile. “Getting stronger.”
There was a moment of silence. “Are you still in North Dakota?”
“South Dakota.” She paused, already at a loss for words. “It’s very pretty out here.” And she was in love, she thought, but she dared not say it out loud, barely allowed herself to think it.
“It could be a nice enough place to vacation, I suppose.” His voice had already chilled a little. She heard ice cubes tick against crystal. Some might say he liked his carrot juice at the same temperature as his interpersonal relationships. “But it’s time for you to come home.”
She didn’t speak.
“Listen, Sydney …” He drank, chairman-of-the-board tone firmly in place. She imagined him in his charcoal suit and dove-gray tie, understated but perfectly tailored. Flamboyance was for those who had something to prove. “I know David made mistakes, but I think you still have a chance of patching things up with him.”
She took a deep breath and held on to the warmth, real or imagined, that she had originally heard in his voice. He was, after all, her father. And he cared for her. She was certain of that.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “David’s a good person.” It was nice to know she could still lie under pressure. “But we’re not right for each other. I see that now. I see a lot of things more clearly now.”
“Do you?”
“I’m riding again.” Excitement soared through her, filling her, like wind in a sail. “Well … a little. And I … I found a horse.”
“A horse?”
“She’s amazing. So brave. So resilient.”
The other end of the line was silent. Leonard Wellesley did not like horses. But he liked the thought of them, the old-world elegance, the ability to dabble where others could not. The plans, the schemes, the training schedules, the dreams of gold metals.
“Is it Pinault?” he asked finally. “Did you fly to Duindigt to see her?”
She shook her head at the absurdity of the thought. How would she afford a ticket to Holland? He had cut her financial strings. But she didn’t mention that fact. Didn’t want to strain the fragile peace that stretched between them. “No. Not a warmblood. She’s a mustang.”
The world went silent except for the hard thrum of her heart against her ribs.
“I beg your pardon.”
“The horse, she’s a mustang. I found her on my … on the land I bought. She was tangled in wire. I thought she wasn’t going to survive, but she’s a fighter. These wild horses, they’re amazing, the foundation for most of our light horse breeds. But they’re disappearing. Most of their natural habitat is gone and they’re breeding with domesticated animals, losing their unique qualities, their hardiness.”
“So this horse you’ve got …” His tone wasn’t exactly encouraging. But it wasn’t condemning, either. Hope sparked cautiously in Sydney’s soul. “It’s a mare?”
“Yes. I call her Courage. She’s a dun. Black mane and tail. Striped legs. The perfect Spanish Mustang coloration. And I keep thinking …” She paused, fear flaring up again. “There are probably hundreds o
f others like her. Horses that have become separated from their herds, who have wandered onto private land where they’ll be …” She paused, momentarily overcome by emotion. “There just isn’t enough raw land for them anymore. And we owe the horse so much.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you know …” Perhaps in her entire life she had never shared a longer conversation with her father. “They say that mankind’s pathway to glory was paved with the bones of the horse.”
“So that’s what you’ve spent my hard-earned money on? Land for a bunch of rat-tailed horses?”
The sudden change in his tone shouldn’t have surprised her. Perhaps it was her time in the Hills that had made her forget how fast he could turn. “No. I … No. Of course not.”
“You’re just like your mother.”
“What?”
“Why, Sydney? Tell me why you insist on dragging the Wellesley name through the mire.”
She actually felt herself wince and braced herself against the onslaught, but he wasn’t through.
“Are you just trying to embarrass me, or is it David you’re—”
“I’m building an elite equestrian center.” The words flew from her like an arrow, striking out in self-defense.
The phone went silent for a moment.
“And how will you finance such an endeavor?”
“That’s my concern.” She didn’t tell him about the loan from Cousin Tori, didn’t mention the fact that Hunter had paid for dozens of necessities out of pocket. He hadn’t asked for a dime in return, had rarely even told her of his purchases. She would pay him back someday. Somehow. But she couldn’t think of that now. “For Olympic-caliber riders,” she added. Her voice sounded strangely robotic. “I’ll have to hire someone to train for the cross-country portion, of course.” Since she had always known she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t good enough for that discipline. “But I’ll teach the dressage riders myself.”
“What makes you think you can attract top-tier equestrians to such an unlikely location?”
“I’m a Wellesley,” she said and felt tears sting her eyes. “Blood always tells, doesn’t it?”
Silence stretched between them. “Maybe I can put the word out. Pull some strings.”
She glanced out the window. A hawk folded its wings and dropped from the sky, skewering a hapless rabbit that had wandered into the open.