Angelina lowered the shotgun and stepped back as Ben rose and jumped over the stall door, like an animal in the wild. The light from the lantern glowed a faint orange, outlining the edge of her shoulder underneath her blouse and the angles of her cheekbones. Despite her wet, mussed hair and doe-eyed look, she was breathtaking. Lord, why does she have to be so beautiful?
He tore his gaze loose, suddenly aware that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Grabbing a horse blanket from the stall, he wrapped it around his shoulders, taking comfort in Mighty Wind’s distinctive smell. “You know you’re gonna have to put a diaper on that gelding,” he said, motioning toward Eagle’s Wing’s stall.
“Excuse me?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Well, because of the way you talk to him, like he’s a babe in the womb. That’s no way to talk to a horse that’s got a good set of legs on him and strong hindquarters for running. How’s he ever gonna be the powerful racehorse God intended with you treating him like a helpless child?”
Angelina’s wide-eyed stare went from midnight blue to dark black in a moment. Ben clenched his teeth, trying to hold back his next words, but self-control was never one of his strong suits. “And how do you expect these men around here to make this farm into something special when you go round calling them boy, like this is some plantation run by a buncha slaves?”
Even in the dim light, he could see her face deepen to a crimson red. “You,” she hissed, pointing her finger at him, “you have no right, no right at all to talk to me like that.”
“Maybe not, but someone’s got to. Seems to me like you need a real man around here to show you how to manage things. Tom’s all right, but he’s getting older and the others—well, they’re just hired hands.”
“I suppose you think you’re the only one up to the job?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I’ve shown you I can handle a horse.”
“Huh! I don’t need a man to make Fairington something special. This is the most profitable horse farm in the whole county—probably in the whole state. I’ve handled things just fine since Daddy died, and I intend to keep on handling things on my own, with no help from you, thank you very much.”
For some reason Ben wasn’t listening anymore. All he could think about was how full her lips were and how small her waist was. He imagined putting one hand on each side, seeing if his fingers could touch, pulling her close so he could smell the scent of yellow jasmine in her hair and taste the saltiness of her lips. “What about that Mr. Millhouse?” he asked.
“That’s none of your business. You go off and leave, without a word, a single good-bye,” she said, raising her voice. “And then you just show up like this, out of the blue? Insulting me about my horse and my life? I waited for you all day up at Palmetto Ridge, and all night too, till Daddy came looking for me with this shotgun.”
“He probably woulda shot me too, if he’d found us together.”
“Don’t be talking like that. You know I never believed like he did. I never have.”
“What I know is, you were never good at telling the truth. Just like now.”
Angelina stared at him again, her dark eyes narrowing. “You calling me a liar?
“Your word, not mine.”
She turned abruptly on her heel and marched to the front of the barn, returning the weapon to its place on the wall. “I heard you and your daddy talking,” he said, responding to that familiar anger rising from the pit of his belly. “That no upstanding white woman oughta ever be seen with a red man.”
Angelina stopped in her tracks and twirled around, her curls swinging over her shoulders. “I never said that.”
“That my father shoulda never married my mother. That mixing white blood and Indian was a crime, a sin against the Lord. That it’s because of his sin that he died of scarlet fever. And no Cherokee squaw and her half-breed son oughta be living on the Smith farm.”
“No, you’re wrong!” she protested, shaking her head.
“And now you’re marrying the very man that took our land, forcing my mama to sell.” Ben drew closer, seeing the tears gather in her eyes, knowing he was wounding her. But she first wounded him long ago, hadn’t she? He wanted her to feel his pain, to know what it was like to suffer that dull heartache that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much one tried or prayed. “Good riddance, isn’t that what he said?” Ben was standing so close to her now, he could see her hands tremble and her lip quiver. “Isn’t that what all you white people think?” he said. “Good riddance!”
The sting to his cheek came as a shock, knocking the thoughts clear out of his head. He looked at her, confused, seeing her raised palm near her face and the fire blazing in her eyes. “How dare you! How dare—don’t ever speak to me again, you hear? You so much as look at me, and I’ll have you thrown out!”
He reached for her hand and their fingers met for a moment, sending a jolt of sorrow up his arm and into his heart. “Angel,” he whispered.
“It’s Miss Raeford to you. Miss Raeford!” she said coldly through her tears, glaring at him with hatred in her eyes. “And in a month, it’ll be Mrs. Millhouse. Mrs. Edward Millhouse.” Jerking away from him, she slammed out the barn door, causing a bay-colored mare, Ginger Snap, to sputter and neigh.
Ben stared at her wake, hoping this was a terrible nightmare and that she would come back into the barn and fall into his arms. But the only thing to comfort him was the sound of shifting animal hooves and the continual chewing of hay. His eyes drifted to his boots, and for the first time, he noticed how dirty and worn they were. Gotta get a new pair.
A wave of nausea rolled through him, and his vision wavered a moment as he sunk to his knees. “Oh, Lord,” he whimpered, “Lord, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The tears rolled down the bridge of his nose and dripped onto the hay. “I said I’d do it your way, but it’s so hard—so hard. Help me to be strong.” Then taking a deep breath, he whispered so that only God could hear, Help me to forgive.
CHAPTER 4
“Savage! That’s all he is. Daddy was right, they’re all just savages!” Angelina bit her tongue, wanting to take the words back, but it was too late. She stomped back into the house and up the back staircase, not caring who she woke. As soon as she reached her bedroom, she slammed the door and stifled a whimper. How could she have such thoughts? Ben wasn’t like that—he wasn’t. But he had changed. There was a wild look in his eyes now, an anger that leapt out of him like a roaring flame, threatening to burn everything around him, including her. Well he wouldn’t burn her, he wouldn’t! She’d teach him a thing or two!
She kicked off her shoes and fell into the softness of the down comforter covered in blue toile. Normally the robin’s egg blue walls, white crown molding, and Victorian floral prints framed in gold-leaf plaster frames provided some comfort when she was feeling low, not to mention the mahogany furniture, porcelain doll collection, and slew of horse show ribbons. This was her sanctuary—nothing from the outside world was supposed to enter in and ruin her thoughts of what life could be. But that certainly wasn’t true tonight.
Closing her eyes, Angelina wept, not for the words Ben spoke, but for the loss of the beautiful, smiling boy who rode bareback with her up to Palmetto Ridge, who taught her how to fish and throw rocks across the stream so that they skipped at least three times, and who she taught to read from a black leather-bound Bible with her initials engraved on the front—the boy who came to know the Creator of the world from the words found on those pages. That boy had lived in her heart and soul every day since he disappeared ten years ago, but now it was clear he was long gone, a distant memory that would fade with the years. This revelation bolted from her head down into her heart, piercing it with a pain that was indescribable. She shoved her mouth into the softness of her pillow and gave in to the emotions that ravaged her soul.
Strange images invaded her mind, of Edward chasing her through the woods as she panted for breath while the tree branches tore at her skin and clothes. She fell once, feeling something g
rab her foot, but managed to get back up and keep running. Suddenly, Ben was there on the other side, sitting astride Mighty Wind and shrouded in a great light, ready to rescue her if she could only reach him in time. She ran faster, jumping over fallen logs and dodging twigs and low-hanging tree limbs—so close to breaking through the edge of the woods—when something grabbed her leg and jerked her down to the ground, dragging her back into the darkness, screaming.
Angelina awoke with a start as the sun’s rays streamed through her sheer, white curtains. The scent of Ella’s fried bacon and fresh ground coffee caressed her senses, signaling the start of a new day. Forcing her eyes open, she squinted at the light and thought about her dream, but the images floated from her memory as quick as they had come. The clock on the nightstand said seven, which was much too late for her to sleep. Normally, she was up at five, sometimes four-thirty, helping the boys tend to the horses.
This morning she was supposed to help Tom get things ready for a new crop of thoroughbreds Isaac Richardson, a neighboring horse breeder, was bringing over for inspection. She had her eye on a beautiful, black colt that was old enough to be referred to as a stallion. It had four white socks and was called Midnight Storm. Her daddy taught her what to look for in a racehorse—a small head, long legs, a natural ability for jumping, and a strong, muscular back end, not to mention strong pedigree. This horse had all of those but was feisty and had never been ridden, so Isaac claimed. Many had tried, even Tom, who was an expert horseman, but all had failed.
Angelina stretched her arms and yawned, thinking of Ben and what happened last night. She tried to forget she had struck him, but the pang of shame in her chest and the tingling in her hand wouldn’t let her. Well, he deserved it for all he had said, she thought, rolling over onto her back and staring at the plaster ceiling. She’d show him she knew a thing or two about racehorses. It wouldn’t take her long to break this stallion. Smiling to herself, she tried to imagine the look on Ben’s face as she rode Midnight Storm all the way up to Palmetto Ridge.
“You gonna get up, lazy bones?” Jessie peeked behind the bedroom door, knocking gently. “Tom and the boys are waiting on you. Mr. Richardson’ll be here any minute.”
“Be right there,” Angelina replied, kicking off the bedcovers.
“Goodness knows! You slept in your riding skirt?” Jessie asked with a scowl. “You look a mess. And what were you doing stomping through the house last night?”
“Oh, I was mad.”
“Mad at who?”
“Nobody.”
“Wouldn’t be because of that new boy, Ben?” Jessie gave Angelina a look of warning. “Everyone knows who he is, Angelina. That Cherokee boy Daddy tried to run off a long time ago.”
“Jessie—”
“Fine, I’ll hush,” Jessie said. “But you better hurry it on up, or Ella’s gonna be up here. And she’s in one of her moods today, as mad as a hornet. Probably ’cause of the way you treated Edward last night.”
Angelina’s temper bubbled up at Jessie’s bossy attitude, especially before she consumed her morning coffee. “Don’t you dare mention Edward today, you hear?”
Jessie cocked her head and flashed a sassy smile, chirping like a bird, “Edward, Edward, Edward! Edward, Edward, Edward!”
“Oh—”Angelina grabbed one of her toile-covered pillows and tossed it at the door, but Jessie was too quick. It slammed shut and a loud giggle, followed by another round of “Edward, Edward, Edward,” seeped in from the other side.
Angelina moaned, thinking of her fiancé and the dead look in his eyes that made her sick to her stomach. Their engagement party was only two weeks away, and everybody in Laurel Grove would be there to celebrate their upcoming nuptials. Everybody, she thought. Including Ben.
Ben took his last bite of cheese grits and scrambled eggs and then popped a slice of bacon into his mouth, washing it all down with a gulp of strong, black coffee. Despite his sore cheek, he was able to chew okay, which was a blessing, considering the platters of hotcakes, biscuits, eggs, sausage, and bacon that were strewn across the large pine breakfast table. He remembered Ella and her good cooking from when he was a boy, but he didn’t recall her coffee tasting this good or her biscuits being as tall and flaky. He was sure to put on a few pounds while here at Fairington.
He looked around at the farmhouse kitchen, basking in the coziness of the copper pots hanging from the ceiling, the blue china plates from Shropshire England propped up on the shelf over the oak sideboard, and the heavy curtains made of a bright yellow floral chintz—a feminine touch that reminded him of Angelina. He closed his eyes and rubbed his jaw, picturing her angry look and raised hand. She sure did have a temper. Always did. He was going to have to try extra hard to stay out of her way today, if possible.
“Eat up, fellas. Then Ben, you can get to those stalls,” Tom said as he stood up and adjusted his silver belt buckle around his full belly. Ben nodded in agreement, not looking forward to spending a morning shoveling manure when he could be riding in the bright sunshine. But the job paid, and he needed the money. “Mitchell, you and Billy hurry it on up and get those horses in the round pen,” Tom continued. “Miss Raeford and I have some business to conduct with Richardson. She’s got a hankerin’ to purchase that wild, black stallion. I’ve told her not to, but you think she’ll listen to a word I say? ’Bout as hardheaded as they come—” Tom wandered outside, still muttering to himself, which was a habit of his, Ben recalled.
He felt someone staring at him, and sure enough, it was Billy, who couldn’t be a day over sixteen. He sipped his coffee slowly and gave Ben the eye. “You gotta a problem?” Ben asked.
“Huh uh,” Billy answered with a twinge of nervousness.
“Well, whatcha staring at?”
Billy shrugged his shoulders and set his mug down. “I wasn’t starin’. Just lookin’. Heard a lot about the Cherokee from my pa, but never seen one before. Up this close, that is.”
Mitchell picked a speck of bacon out of his teeth and stood to his feet. “Easy, Billy. Be careful what you say, ’less you wanna sleep with one eye open tonight.” He winked at Ben, plopped his Stetson on his head, and shuffled outside.
Billy gulped hard and smiled. “He don’t mean nothin’ by that.”
“Really?” Ben asked, glad he instilled a bit of fear in the men, despite their friendly jokes. He was used to being mistrusted because of his heritage and knew how to use it to his advantage. “Well, whadda you think? Do I look like someone who might scalp you in your sleep?”
“Naw!” Billy said, blushing red. “You look all right.” He fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug. “You look decent. Nice even. Not mean a tall.”
Ben smiled big, admiring the boy’s honesty. He’s got a lot to learn.
Footsteps clomped down the steps, and suddenly Angelina breezed into the room carrying the scent of linen and jasmine with her—a delicious smell that brought back more memories to Ben. He looked up from his coffee and saw what she was wearing—a pair of tall, black riding boots with beige, canvas breeches tucked in tight and a white riding shirt open at the throat. Wrapped around her slender waist was a wide leather belt that gave no doubt she was a woman. Ben lowered his eyes as his face flushed with heat.
Billy stood to his feet and slammed his Stetson on his head. “Miss Raeford.” Then with a nervous nod, he was out the door.
Ben sat still, waiting for her to say something, but it was as if he didn’t exist. She plopped a metal mug on the table and poured a full cup of coffee in an exaggerated manner, as if she was taunting him with the hot, steaming liquid. His gaze floated toward the stove where an iron skillet sat warming a cake of cornbread. He wondered if she might grab it by the handle and whop him good on the head.
She banged the coffee pot down on the stove, interrupting his thoughts, and popped a biscuit into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge out like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter. Ben tried to hold back a snicker, but he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking w
ith laughter.
“Girl, what’re you doin’ eatin’ like some field hand?” Ella scolded as she stepped inside with a basket of clean clothes retrieved from the clothesline. She dropped the basket to the floor and gave Angelina a good whack on the back until she regained her composure and was able to gulp down a swig of coffee. “And you’re gonna burn your tongue drinkin’ that fast. Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you. You better start actin’ like a lady, you here?”
Angelina glared at her and popped another biscuit in her mouth so that it bulged even more. Ella clenched her jaw and shook her head. “Humph,” she snorted, picking up her basket and staring at Ben. “And to think, you used to call her ‘Angel’.” Angelina shot her a mean look, but Ella wasn’t the least bit phased by it. She raised an eyebrow which meant “don’t argue with me” and shifted the basket on her hip before disappearing into the next room.
Ben watched as Angelina chewed the last of the biscuit and swallowed it with a grimace. He couldn’t help but notice the sheer, flawless skin with a tinge of pink at the cheeks and the thick, soft hair pulled away from her face with a white ribbon, allowing the blonde curls to cascade to her shoulders and down her back. He didn’t care if she did eat like a field hand. She was still an angel to him.
Taking a final gulp of coffee, she glared at him harder than before. “We don’t put diapers on our horses here at Fairington,” she snapped, slamming her mug down on the table. “So it looks like you’ve got a lot of shoveling to do.” Then with a smirk, she was out the door.
CHAPTER 5
Angelina sat on top of the split rail fence outside the main barn, watching Mitchell and Billy replace the rope halter on Midnight Storm with a leather bridle. She was thankful to have a gorgeous stallion to keep her mind off other things for the time being—mainly thoughts of Ben.
“He’s a real beauty, he is,” Isaac boasted, admiring his stock. The horse pranced across the dusty ground, tossing its head and stomping its hooves. It reared up on his hind legs, doing a little two-step that caused Ward and Stevie to emit a litany of “whoa, whoa boy.” They gripped the reins, trying their best to maintain control of the animal, but their expertise was no match for Midnight Storm. Angelina smiled to herself, loving the challenge this horse brought to Fairington. She was bound and determined to ride it in the next steeplechase, known as the Carolina Challenge.
Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) Page 3