by Lois Greiman
“What?” Vura pivoted toward Hunter. “You’re turning her loose?”
He shook his head. “Not today, Tulip.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “My name’s not Tulip.”
“Snapdragon,” he corrected solemnly. “We will not turn her out unless you are here to give her your blessings.”
“Do you promise?”
“You have my solemn vow.”
“Mom says we can takes your word to the bank,” Lily said and rose to her feet. Today even her shoes were purple. Or had been before she’d tromped through the puddles looking for tadpoles. Skipping over, she handed him her jacket. He squatted down and slipped the garment behind her back. She shoved her little arms through, then turned to fold them around his neck so he could lift her against his chest and breathe in her little-girl innocence. She felt no more substantial than a butterfly against his heart.
“I can’t decide if I should feel jealous or blessed,” Vura said. He cleared his throat, making certain it wasn’t clogged with emotion, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes.
“About?”
“You and her.” She shook her head, tugged the hood over her daughter’s wild-wind hair. “She thinks you’re Wyatt Earp, Iron Eyes Cody, and Batman all rolled into one,” she said and started toward her truck.
He followed, but once they reached their destination, he realized he couldn’t avoid Vura’s gaze forever, tears or no tears.
“Thank you.” The words sounded a little scratchier than he had intended.
“For what?” She stood with her hand on the door handle.
“For this.” He tightened his grip on the little blossom that had bloomed in his heart.
Vura raised her brows at him.
“You wouldn’t have to share,” he said.
She searched his eyes. “Are you kidding me?”
It was a nice idea, but he couldn’t have joked to save his life. “She is sunshine to the shadows. Rain to the desert of my soul.”
Vura stared at him another moment, then laughed, that deep saloon-girl chuckle she had. “Our very own cowboy poet,” she said. “How’d we get so lucky?”
“The sentiment is mine,” he admitted. “But the words are Tonkiaisawien’s.”
“Oh.” She pursed her lips. “Well, they’re still beautiful, and we’re still lucky.”
“I am the lucky one,” he said, and leaning down, kissed her cheek.
From between two fresh-planted posts, Sydney heard Vura’s laugh, saw the adoring gleam in Hunter’s eyes, felt the kick in her gut as she remembered kissing him. Perhaps she had imagined that he had kissed her back. Perhaps she’d imagined a lot of things. Physical fatigue considerably improved her ability to fall asleep, but when she was awake thoughts of his dark workman’s hands …
He turned toward her. For a second their gazes clashed, but she pivoted away and hurried into the cool silence of the barn. There were a thousand things to do and little enough time to do them. She would get one shot at presenting Gray Horse Hill as a premier facility. After that the news would travel fast in the fishbowl of the equestrian world. Good or bad, her reputation …
“It is your turn to choose the meal,” he said.
“What? Oh.” She felt foolishly flustered, disappointingly jittery. “Don’t bother cooking on my account. Do you realize we only have a few weeks until the riders arrive?”
“And you plan to fast until then?”
She forced a laugh. “I plan not to make you cook something I’ll be too nervous to eat.”
He watched while she stacked straw bales, bright as sunflowers and only marginally heavier … a thoroughbred’s bedding in a mustang’s barn.
“You need a break,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “It’s okay, you know.”
“Is it?” he asked.
She turned toward him, flexing her gloved hands. “She’s a wonderful person.”
His brows lowered. “Is she?”
“You know she is. Bright. Skilled. Kind.” She forced a laugh, punctuated it with a shrug. “I’m half in love with her myself.”
“I’d feel better if I knew who we were talking about.”
“Bravura Lambert,” she said and laughed again. It sounded ridiculous even to her. “She’s a phenomenal mother.”
“Ahhh.” He nodded, watching her face. “She is.”
“And she’s … she’s pretty. Her hair …” Good God, was she waxing poetic about another woman’s hair? “It’s lovely.”
The barn went silent. She tapped her thigh.
“You have much in common,” he said.
She stared at him a second, then snickered. “I think you’ve been in the sun too long, Hunter Redhawk.”
“Determination,” he said. “Courage. Caring.”
“If you were a horse I’d give you two grams of Bute and call the vet.”
“You are not entirely dissimilar physically, either,” he added.
“Now I’m afraid you’re hemorrhaging from the brain. Vura could probably bench-press this barn.” And she had more curves in her wrist than Sydney had in her entire body. But she wasn’t jealous. That would be ridiculous.
“You both light up the world when you smile.”
“You are reaching.”
“Your eyes,” he said and scowled as he saw hers widen. “They’re the exact same color blue.”
“You need to eat,” she said and laughed again.
“I’ll leave something in the oven for you,” he said and turned away with a scowl.
Chapter 29
“No!” Sydney said and glanced up. Feather-soft drops pattered on her face. The rain had held off for weeks. Each morning had greeted them with periwinkle skies and popcorn clouds, giving them time to finish a dozen pivotal projects. August had sped past. September was flying by just as fast. Nighttime temperatures were already dropping into the forties. The days, however, had been glorious. Judging by the bubbling thunderheads, though, that trend was about to come to a crashing end; they were not going to finish the jump course today. But they were close; the bullfinch had been covered with brush, the double oxer, much like the one that had caused her injury, looked sturdy and challenging. The sight of it gave her a twinge, but it was just a passing flutter now. Not fatal. Not insurmountable. She was no shrinking violet. She could plant posts, hang Sheetrock, and mount a sixteen-hand horse bareback. In fact, she had done just that the previous night, she thought, and remembered the light in Hunter’s eyes as he watched her canter a circle, arms thrown wide, face lifted toward the endless sky.
“We’re almost finished,” Vura said, and hefting a hammer as long as her torso, swung at the spike holding back the embankment of turf. The combination obstacle would be challenging but not overwhelming, a leap over the ditch in which they currently stood, room for three swift strides, and then a vertical jump. “We can do it.”
Sydney picked up the nearby axe, turned the flat head away from her, and focused on the closest spike. Hammering was still not her forte. Up above, Hunter was wedging a horizontal log between two planted posts.
The rain was driving harder now, striking their bare arms, stinging on contact.
“Let ’er rip,” Vura yelled, and grinned through the slashing drops, never missing a beat as every swing hit the spike dead-on.
Sydney struck her target a glancing blow.
“That’s it,” Vura cheered. “You’re doing great.”
What she wasn’t doing was great, Sydney thought, but there was something about pitting her strength against steel and soil that made her muscles sing. She grinned at the effort, swung again, and missed her target completely. Gritting her teeth, she prepared for another try.
“Your optimism is …” Gathering her flagging strength, she tried again … a swing and a miss. “Sorely misplaced.”
Vura laughed and finished off two more spikes while Sydney battered away at her one.
“It’s raining.” Hunter, three feet above them, had to raise his
voice to be heard above the deluge.
“Really?” Sydney asked. Her hair was dripping down her back.
“I thought you would have noticed,” he yelled.
“Guess we’d better get home before your truck deteriorates completely,” she said.
He snorted. They grabbed their tools.
“Come on, Petunia,” Hunter yelled, and the little girl, mostly sheltered beneath a tarp erected beneath two bur oaks, galloped after them. The rain was a solid sheet by the time they reached the truck, but they laughed as they scrambled inside.
“Where did that come from?” Sydney asked and slammed the door behind her. It remained ajar, partly due to the fact that four drenched bodies were crammed onto a battered bench seat better suited for three.
“Shut the door,” Hunt ordered. “You’re ruining my upholstery.”
Sydney laughed out loud. “Upholstery’s a pretty fancy word for …” She slammed the door again, but it still wouldn’t close.
“Come on, duchess,” he badgered. “A peasant could do better than that.”
Lily giggled as her mother squeezed her tight. Their faces, so close together, looked almost identical. “You’d better watch out, Hunt,” Vura warned. “Syd’s getting pretty good with a hammer.”
“Good?” he asked and raised one dubious brow.
“Good enough to hit you in the head with one,” Sydney said and finally succeeded in closing the door.
He grinned and started the engine. “Duly warned.” His eyes gleamed as his gaze settled on her. “You look good.”
She breathed another laugh and brushed back a few hairs that had come loose from her ponytail. There simply was no time to worry about prim buns and bobby pins. “I bet I don’t.”
“Don’t try your luck at craps,” he said.
She glanced away, blushing. His eyes still burned on her face, but he took mercy on her finally, turning back to stare through the windshield as the rain diminished.
Between them, Lily sang about the travails of the itsy bitsy spider. Vura chimed in, doing the motions above her daughter’s tiny hands. “Come on,” she urged and elbowed her comrades until they joined in.
It was an enthusiastic if off-key quartet that rattled along toward home. Hunter gunned the ancient engine, roaring through a narrow section of Beaver Creek and up the sandy embankment that led into the back acreage of Gray Horse Hill.
“Down came the rain,” Hunter rumbled, and pinning Sydney with his molten gaze, motioned toward his own face. “And splashed mud on your cheek.”
“What?” She mimicked the motion.
“Out came the sun and dried up all the mud,” he said, and shifting into park, turned the key. The truck died a slow, wheezing death.
“I’ve got mud on my face?” Sydney asked, and throwing her weight against the passenger door, managed not to fall on her head when it sprang open.
“Just a little,” he said and nodded toward the side-view mirror.
She took a look. Goo was smeared in a generous arc from her eyebrow to her chin.
Hunter chuckled at her shocked expression as Lily toppled off the seat. Dropping her giddyup bag on the slippery earth, she scooped up a handful of mud. Eyes gleaming with mischief, she lifted the offering to Sydney. Hidden behind the old rattletrap, her actions went unseen. Carefully stifling her grin, Sydney accepted the muck as Vura stepped out of the vehicle.
“You wouldn’t,” she said, but Sydney nodded.
“Hey, Hunt …” she called, and when he turned, launched her gooey missile over the top of the cab.
Maybe it was dumb luck that caused it to hit him square in the ear. Maybe it was endless weeks of sweat and blood and hardening muscle.
Vura rocked back on her heels, belting out her signature laugh. “I warned you about her aim.”
Hunter grunted, then, scraping the muck from his ear, lobbed it back across the hood of his vehicle. It struck her chin dead-on.
She gasped in surprise.
“Hey!” Lily yelled, and grabbing up handfuls of muck, tossed them wildly. They soared two feet and plopped onto Hunt’s cherished truck.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the battle was joined.
It was a free-for-all with no rules. No teams. No real objective but to rejoice in life.
In a matter of minutes Sydney was panting, Lily was giggling, and Hunter, that giant warrior of a man, was covered front and back with enough mud to plant carrots.
Charging around the bumper, he snatched Lily from the ground and shoved her under one arm. She hung there like a programmed missile. In his left hand he held a blob of mud so gooey it dripped from between his fingers like glue.
“Stay where you are,” he warned, “Or Goldenrod here gets it.”
Lily squealed like a piglet just before his remaining opponents plastered him with grime.
It was then that the sky opened up in earnest.
Hunter laughed, squinted up at the clouds, and raced toward Lily’s fallen bag. “Grab it,” he ordered and whooshed her toward the ground.
She snatched one handle with a shriek of joy and then they were all running, racing toward the porch like a mischief of sodden rats.
The stairs clattered as they stormed up them, but at the top Lily shrieked in dismay. “My goodies.”
Already soaked, Sydney bent to scoop up the child’s treasures. A bit of rose quartz, a hank of black mane, a photo of—
Her hand stopped as the others rushed into the house.
“Hurry!” Lily yelled. “Hurry, Sydney.”
But she couldn’t hurry. Couldn’t quite breathe. Instead, she drew the picture from the saturated wooden step and carried it slowly inside.
“Kick off your boots, Lily Belle,” Vura ordered and laughed. “You’re as wet as a—” She stopped when she saw Sydney’s face. Stopped and breathed, hands perfectly still on her daughter’s shoulders.
Sydney’s fingers felt numb, her heart strangely heavy in her chest. “Why do you have a picture of my mother?”
“What?” Beneath the mud smeared across her cheeks, Vura looked as pale as spring snow.
“My mother,” Sydney said, and leaving the door open behind her, took another step into the house. “Lily had her picture. Why?”
“I don’t …” Vura’s voice was strained. She snapped her gaze to Hunter and away. “What are you talking about? That must be something … It’s probably just something Lily cut out of a magazine.”
Sydney glanced at it again. It was a photo of a ballerina. A full shot from a distance. Her dark hair was covered by a feather circlet and her face was in profile. Still, Sydney had been so certain. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head, exhaled a laugh. “For a minute I thought …” she began, but then Lily scampered over and took the photo from her hand.
“Grandma was as pretty as a song,” she said and hugged the picture to her mud-smeared jacket.
The room went silent. Vura’s eyes were wide. Hunter’s were troubled.
“Lily honey …” Vura’s voice was very soft. “Go wait in the truck.”
“But it’s raining and I don’t—”
“Go now,” her mother ordered.
The girl frowned, turned slowly, then scurried away.
Sydney exhaled carefully and glanced at Hunter, but he did nothing to allay her doubts. She opened her mouth, though she had no idea how to begin.
“I wanted to tell you.” The words tumbled from Vura. “Right away. I wanted to tell you as soon as I met you. But you were so distant at first, so …” She shook her head. “Not at all like Mom. Not how Daddy described her. And I thought …” She shook her head. “I really didn’t think it could be true.”
Sydney felt as if she were in a dream, some sort of outlandish fantasy. “You didn’t think what could be true?”
“Hey!” Tonk stepped inside, clothes dry, grin slanted. “It looks as if I finally got the good job this …” His words trailed to a halt. “What’s going on?”
Vura swallowed
and kept her gaze steady on Sydney’s. “See, the thing is …” She shrugged, laughed. “We’re sisters.” She fisted her calloused hands against her tattered blue jeans. “Half sisters.” The words were almost inaudible now, as if they didn’t quite dare disturb the silence.
Sydney remained perfectly still, barely breathing, back painfully straight. “My mother died in a car accident.”
“Yeah.” Vura nodded. “Mine, too.”
“She was attending a ballet in Chicago.”
“Where she planned to meet Dad.”
“That’s not true.” Sydney felt strangely weightless. “She and my father were happily married. She was the chairwoman of Good Samaritan Charities, director of the Middleburg Theatre for the Performing Arts.”
“She had filed for divorce months before the accident.”
“You’re a liar!” The words snapped through the air like a bullet.
“Sydney,” Hunter said and took a step toward her.
She jerked back. “She’s lying.”
“Just breathe.”
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is this a joke? Some kind of practical joke?”
Vura shook her head, expression pained. “I just wanted to meet you. I don’t have any siblings. Thought I didn’t. Always wanted a brother, but …” She grinned. The expression was weak and hopeful, but Sydney shook her head.
“You’re delusional.”
Vura exhaled softly. “I was twelve when Dad first told me about you. I wanted to meet you then, but he didn’t think …” A muscle jumped in her cheek. “He didn’t think you were ready.”
“Ready! For what? For lies? For …” Sydney waved a stiff hand. “Why are you doing this?”
“I wrote to you once.”
Sydney shook her head.
“But your father read it first. Threatened …” Vura stopped, winced, hands splayed in front of her like a shield. “I’m sure he was just worried about you. That he just wanted what was best for you.”
Sydney turned toward Hunter, mind spinning at a world gone mad. “It’s a lie,” she said. “Mother never would have done such a thing. She was above reproach … a trustee for Ashville Academy.”