Point of Release

by Remy Landon

  At the mention of Brownie's name, she felt a pang of sadness. “Ordinarily, I'd say yes, but I feel weird now since he's going to be leaving in just a few days.” She sighed. “Part of it is I don't want him to get injured or anything when he's so close to going to a new home, but part of it is, my heart just hurts.”

  “Ah, shit...I'm sorry, Cassandra. I understand. You can always ride Tango, or someone else here, right?”

  “Probably, although once Brownie's gone, I may not get to ride as much. Ingrid hasn't really been too pumped about having me work any of the horses. Carl—” She interrupted herself. “The owner of the stable kind of convinced Ingrid to let me ride...Brownie, especially. Ingrid likes to keep me in more of a stall-cleaning, aisle-sweeping mode. And it honestly won't be the same with any other horse, but I'll have to suck it up.”

  “It sounds like the owner is smart enough to see your potential, then.”

  If you only knew, Josh. “I guess.” She forced herself to smile. “But it's a beautiful day to ride. You'll have fun.”

  “Yes—although it would be a lot more fun if you were able to go with me.”

  She turned hastily and picked up her pitchfork to spread out the shavings. Thank God for the pitchfork.

  Josh came over to rest his arms on top of the open stall door. “You know, it's too bad that I didn't know you before.”

  “Before?”

  “When I used to live in Lititz. But you probably would have still been in high school, right?”

  “I graduated three and a half years ago.”

  “And I moved away three years ago, when I was twenty-two. So you would have been out of school, and eligible.” He grinned again. “A few years younger than me, but eligible.”

  “We wouldn't have met, though, since I lived in E-town. And since I was only eighteen, I wasn't exactly going out to bars. You, however, were probably a different story.” She raised an eyebrow at him playfully.

  Josh laughed. “Making assumptions, are we?”

  “I think it's a safe one.”

  “Okay, so you got me. I was a little wilder a few years ago than I am now. I had some growing up to do. But I've matured since then.” Straightening, he reached into Sweet Surrender's stall and lifted out the water pail which had a thin glaze of ice on the top. “I'll dump this for you.”

  “Thank you.” She watched him walk away, trying not to acknowledge that his ass looked really, really good in those jeans.

  He returned with the empty pail and put it back on the hook in the stall. “So. Where were we?”

  “You were saying how mature you were.” She pulled the wheelbarrow into the aisle and slid the door latch closed.

  “I was saying I had matured. There's a difference.” He flashed her a smile. “You, on the other hand, are very mature. You seem wise beyond your years. But most of the time, you look like a young girl, which is deadly.”

  She burst out laughing. “Deadly? What are you talking about?”

  “It drives guys crazy when girls have that young, innocent look.”

  “I don't want to burst your bubble, Josh, but as you get to know me more, you'll find out I'm really not that innocent.”

  “Even better.”

  She felt her cheeks begin to turn red. Hopefully, he'd think it was from the cold.

  “Remember when I was showing you those techniques with Tango, and I told you there was a name for everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Irresistible. That's my label for you, right now.”

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. This was getting a bit intense. She was trying to figure out how the hell to respond when Ingrid suddenly walked in, wearing winter jodhpurs and a slim fit, ice-blue fleece jacket and carrying a large cardboard box, which she set on the bench just inside the door.

  The light mood that Josh had helped to create instantly darkened. Seeing Ingrid brought back the realization of Brownie leaving.

  “Hey, Ingrid.” Josh addressed the stable manager as if she didn't have winter running through her veins all year long.

  “Joshua, good morning.” Ingrid showed her teeth in a rare smile, but as Cassandra had discovered, how could you not feel happy when you saw him?

  “I'm planning to ride soon,” Ingrid continued, “and I'd like it if you'd join me.”

  “Sure. Be happy to.”

  “Cassandra,” Ingrid said, turning toward her. “That box is for you. Mr. Leone asked me to deliver it.”

  Feeling Josh's inquisitive gaze and Ingrid's cold eyes upon her made this awkward with a capital A. She would open the box later.

  “He wanted you to open it as soon as I gave it to you.”

  So the opening it later thing was apparently not an option. Controlling me yet again, Carlo?

  She hoped the expression of mild interest she was faking would override the apprehension she was feeling. “All right.”

  Cassandra walked over to the bench and sat down beside the box, removing her gloves. Lifting the lid, she found a notecard with a cursive letter C embossed on the front, lying on top of crisp layers of red and green striped tissue paper. She opened the note, realizing this was the first time she had seen Carlo's handwriting. It was neat and precise, in all caps, with each letter perfectly formed. Controlled. She wouldn't have expected anything different.

  Cassandra: for this christmas, I Give you warmth. While I would prefer to do this directly, I'll have to settle for indirectly. I have made other arrangements as well which I have asked ingrid to explain. Merry christmas. Carlo.

  Warmth? Gingerly, she removed the tissue paper and set it carefully on the bench beside her, aware of Josh and Ingrid watching, and sucked in her breath. Lying in the box, unwrapped, were winter riding gloves and a fleece helmet cover with ear flaps. There were three pairs of wool socks and a soft fleece jacket, similar to the one Ingrid had on today, deep purple in color. Nestled in the jacket was a heavy ceramic mug with the silhouette of a horse on the front and two hot chocolate packets tucked inside. And at the bottom of the box, a pair of brand new black Mountain Horse winter riding boots.

  As much as she could not stand to admit it—God damn, how she hated to admit it—this was...thoughtful. He had given her something that was so very her. She sat looking into the box, not knowing what to say, until she finally looked up at Ingrid, who appeared irritated to have been kept waiting.

  “Mr. Leone has also asked me to inform you that he is making arrangements to have the indoor arena heated. Your rides—and Joshua's and mine—will be much more enjoyable this winter.”

  Heat for the indoor arena? That would be amazing. She had to think Ingrid was pleased about this, too, even if she didn't appear to be.

  Josh whistled approvingly. “That's quite a gift. I haven't met Mr. Leone, but I'm liking him a whole lot right now.”

  Reality fell on Cassandra with a thud. Riding in a warm arena would be wonderful, yes—but she wouldn't be riding Brownie.

  Her throat felt thick. She swallowed and blinked hard, carefully putting the tissue paper back in the box and closing the lid.

  “I also need to inform you of something else, Cassandra.” Ingrid's tone was sharp as she folded her arms. “Brownie has a new owner.”

  What was Ingrid trying to do, rub it in? “I know,” Cassandra replied, a bit more abruptly than she intended. “When will he be leaving?”

  “He won't be.”

  “What? Why? What about his new owner?”

  Ingrid paused, and Cassandra could have sworn she saw the shadow of a smile cross her face. “I'm looking at her. Mr. Leone has transferred ownership to you.” She reached into her jacket pocket and took out an envelope which she handed to Cassandra. “Here are the papers. His board and all veterinary and farrier bills will be paid in full for as long as you own him.”

  Stunned, Cassandra could only stare at Ingrid, then at Josh, in utter disbelief. Carlo had given her warmth. And he had given her Brownie.

  A rush of emotions she could not name surged through her.
The hand holding the envelope which contained the papers for her horse—started to shake.

  “I'm sure the news will take a while to sink in,” Ingrid said briskly. “God knows, it certainly did for me. Now if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to get Rafsi and have one of the last chilly rides in our soon-to-be-heated arena.”

  Josh turned his head to watch Ingrid walk away and then strode quickly to Cassandra, scooping her up in a bear hug. She laughed, delightedly, as he spun her around.

  “Girl, I am damned happy for you.”

  “Thank you. I am damned happy for me, too. Shocked, but damned happy.”

  What she didn't say to Josh was how amazing it was that she would allow herself to be happy, even though this incredible gift came from Carlo. She knew that somewhere inside her should have been a voice shouting don't accept this...it's a bribe. But she couldn't hear one. Carlo had known how much Brownie had meant to her—he had known this from the very beginning—so it was hard to think of him doing this for the sole purpose of trying to win her back. Call it the magic of the holiday season, but right now, at this moment, she wanted to believe in the goodness of Carlo Leone.

  “Josh,” she said breathlessly, grasping his upper arms as she stood in his embrace. “I guess I'll betaking you up on your offer to ride, after all.”

  chapter twenty-nine ~ Carlo

  He was unaccustomed to feeling apprehensive with a woman, but Liv had him in this state as he drove to the Fulton Steamboat Inn to pick her up. She was unpredictable and strong-willed, but he wanted to maintain a good business relationship with her, and beyond that, he liked her. Last night, it had been easier because he'd brought along Jared and Wayne, his sales rep and regional sales manager, to dinner at Massimo's. But tonight it would be just him and Liv at Bull Feeney's.

  He had chosen Bull Feeney's partly because Liv seemed to be a pub type of girl, and it would be loud and casual with plenty of distractions—not the type of venue for a romantic evening. It would bring back good memories for him, too, of the night he and Cassandra were there—and had ended up in the hayloft of Windswept Stable. Memories were all he had right now, although he was encouraged by the text she had sent him a couple of weeks ago. Just three words: Thank you Carlo. The fact that she had added his name made it mean more, somehow. After receiving her message, he had imagined how it would be to hear her say those words in person—look at him with those beautiful seaglass-colored eyes, her lips parted slightly. He could envision her hair in loose waves, spilling over her shoulders the way he liked it, and he could picture himself putting his hand under it, gripping firmly, pulling her head back until she closed her eyes and waited for him to put his mouth on hers...

  If only this could be reality instead of a feeble fantasy replayed in his mind, over and over, in the darkness of his bedroom, until he grew so full with the thought of taking her that he had to give himself release.

  Carlo had hoped that since she had texted him her thanks, it would open up some sort of dialogue. He never would have expected it—just hoped. He wished he could have seen her face when she opened up the gift of warmth, and especially when Ingrid had made the announcement that Brownie was hers. He had given Ingrid careful instructions on the timing—first let Cassandra open the box, give it a few seconds for it to sink in, and then share the big news. He had no doubt it practically killed Ingrid to participate in this gift for Cassandra—it was amusing as hell for him to imagine his stable manager's face during the presentation—but he knew Ingrid would do it, for him.

  It hadn't taken him long to make the decision that Brownie belonged with Cassandra. Some things, you just...knew.

  Taking a deep breath, Carlo pulled into the parking lot of the inn. It was impressive at night, with all three decks of the riverboat-style building trimmed in white lights. He parked his Mercedes and walked beneath the bright red and yellow striped awning into the Victorian-themed lobby, pulling his phone from his coat pocket to text Liv that he was here. It would be infinitely safer to meet her in the very public inn entrance.

  Moments later, the elevator doors opened, with Liv and a couple of men in business suits stepping out. He had to admit, she looked very attractive. Her hair was styled a bit different than last night, flipping up playfully at chin level with chunky layers that gave it texture and a messy look. She was carrying a black clutch and wearing a long, white, wool coat, opened to reveal her black silk shirt which was unbuttoned down into dangerous territory and tucked into snug white pants. Her waist looked trim, encircled by a wide black belt with a flashy silver buckle, and she wore black high-heeled boots. The only accessories she wore besides the belt were dangly black and silver earrings that shimmered when she moved. Her neck was bare and seemed to need a necklace, but since there was none, your eyes were drawn to the shadowy V of her cleavage. Which was, undoubtedly, the whole point.

  Olivia hurried over as if she was rushing to see a long-lost lover at an airport. “Carlo,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “I've been drinking!”

  He grinned as the scents of booze and her flowery perfume washed over him. “Then it's a good thing I'm driving. How are you?”

  “Mmm...much better now.” She moved closer to snuggle against him, putting her cheek against the front of his coat.

  “How do you like the inn?”

  “It's gorgeous, of course—lonely, though. And only a public hot tub, which as we know isn't nearly as much fun. I'm so glad I have you all to myself tonight.”

  Oh, Jesus. Here we go. He'd play it cool the best he could. “That's very nice of you to say.”

  Olivia tipped her head back to look at him and pouted. Her lipstick was plum-colored, and she had a tiny fleck of it just above her upper lip. He decided he wouldn't mention it. “I'm not saying it to be nice, Carlo. I'm saying it because it's what I feel. If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I'm up front.”

  “I gathered that.” He smiled. “You're wearing your hair differently tonight—it's a good style for you.”

  “You noticed. I'm impressed! Women love when men notice those kinds of things. Are you for real, Carlo, or just some sexy figment of my imagination?” She squeezed his upper arms. “Mmm...even through your coat, I can feel your muscles. You work out, don't you?”

  “All the time.”

  Sighing, she released her hold on him and folded her arms, looking at him almost reproachfully. “You're the entire package, Carlo. Gorgeous, charming, witty, rich—and single, as far as I know. But apparently unavailable.” Her plum lips pouted. “Care to elaborate on the reason for that?”

  The woman was nothing if not blunt. “No.” He flashed her another smile. “Ready to head to the pub?”

  Olivia huffed in exasperation. “Don't think you're getting off the hook, Mr. Leone. I don't give up that easily. But yes, I'm ready. For the pub...” She winked at him suggestively. “And more.”

  The drive to Bull Feeney's was a short one. Liv was flirty and animated, as Carlo had known she would be, and he did his best to divert her with business-related questions. It had just begun to snow as they pulled in to the pub's parking lot. Carlo went around to the passenger's side and opened Liv's door. She climbed out gracefully, tiny snowflakes studding her hair. “And you're also a gentleman—another attribute I forgot to mention.”

  “I'm not always a gentleman, Liv.”

  She slipped her arm through his as they walked toward the door. “If you're talking about in the bedroom, I would be very okay with that.”

  Laughing, Carlo shook his head and reached for the door handle. He had to admit, Liv was entertaining as hell.

  The pub was crowded and noisy—just as he'd hoped, because it would keep the mood light. The lighting was dim, and most of the trestle tables were full, the clientele mainly in their twenties and early thirties. Wait staff in maroon shirts and black pants weaved their way through the crowd, balancing trays of pitchers and bowls of popcorn. The warm indoor air pulsed with the sound of lively Irish music a
nd laughter.

  Carlo spied an available table at the far end of the pub. He pointed it out to Liv, and the two of them began to make their way toward it. She tugged on his arm, saying something about ordering at the bar, and as he turned back to answer her, he felt someone bump into him.

  He heard a female voice, anxious and apologetic. “Oh! I'm so—”

  Turning toward the person, he felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw who it was. Cassandra.

  She stared at him, her eyes round with disbelief and lips slightly parted as she took a step back. She had a sky blue headband in her hair which matched the color of her sweater. The material of her top looked soft and thin, clinging to the gentle swell of her breasts. He allowed himself the slightest of exhales as his gaze traveled down the slight curve of her hips. She wore jeans and clogs with a generous heel, giving her the illusion of height. The young-girl effect the headband gave her, with her hair pulled away from her face and cascading down her shoulders, was utterly charming, and Carlo felt himself lost. His eyes searched hers, and it appeared she was struggling with what she felt in this moment. He saw surprised pleasure, longing and innocence in those beautiful blue-green eyes, and he saw a flash of pain.

  It seemed as though time had stopped and this moment hung between them, with Carlo totally oblivious to any sound or movement—aware of nothing except Cassandra standing in front of him—until she broke eye contact with him, and Olivia spoke in his ear.

  “Carlo?” Her voice was upbeat, but just in that one question, he knew she wanted answers. Why are you just standing here? And who the fuck is this girl?

  “You two obviously know each other.” Olivia smiled and looked expectantly at him.

  He quickly composed himself. “We do. This is Cassandra Larsen. She—” How to introduce her? “She's an employee at my horse stable.”