by Tracy Sumner
He strode away, pausing to stare into the distance. He didn’t hear her walk up, but he felt the heat from her body when she halted at his back. A whisper of wind worked its way through the limbs of the oak, soothing, welcoming. He turned to face her—against his will—and found her lovely cobalt eyes pinned upon him. No censure darkened her gaze, and certainly no blame.
“Are you all right, Adam?”
He watched her lips move. A long, blue-black strand slipped into the corner of her mouth. He contained the urge to tell her he was not all right, that he needed her. To pull her into his embrace and let all the emotion he wanted to feel overflow and fill them both. He couldn’t do that, because he didn’t know what it would take from him.
And love? He would never be able to love her, even if he wanted to.
Charlie Whitney deserved more than that.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
Adam went very still. “Why?”
“Tell me about the scar.”
He cursed and threw his hands apart, but it was too late. Goddammit. Flustered, he kneeled to gather his pencil and paper. He knew what she sought to do. If she looked at him long enough, she would find some crack in his facade. Some flaw in the story. He had been training her to do just that.
He laughed, realizing she attempted to beat him with his own stick.
“It’s there, behind the patch of honeysuckle.”
“What?”
“Your neckpiece.”
He frowned, not remembering what honeysuckle looked like.
“My, you are a city-boy aren’t you?”
Laughing softly, she retrieved it for him. It amazed him that people failed to see her wisdom. Her grace. It just went to show how people neglected to seek beyond what was readily apparent.
Undetected, his gaze slid down her neck and along the slim line of her back. “A little worse for the wear.”
He moved closer. “Yes, well, I hate the damn things anyway. The occasion.” Their fingers brushed as he took the strip of material from her.
She cocked her head to one side. “It’s an odd neckpiece. I’ve never seen one like it.”
He twirled it between his fingers, seeing it as if for the first time. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any on the men today. And he thought he needed to teach her to take note of what was going on around her?
A boisterous yell sounded from the general direction of the picnic. They turned in unison.
“You’d better go. The race is starting soon. You must need to get Taber ready.”
His gaze, against his better judgment, found hers.
She stared back, her face devoid of expression.
He almost smiled. She was learning. “Charlie, about today, the barn. It was not fair of me to place you in—”
She cut him off before he could go any further. “Don’t. My problems with Lila have been going on since we were children. We’ve never seen...eye-to-eye.” She paused, struggling. “Blood isn’t always thicker, you see. And, I think I’ll stop before I say too much.”
“Too much? What—” He snapped his fingers. “Because Lila is here with me? Well, let me set you straight.”
“I don’t want you to set me straight, thank you.” She started to turn.
He reached for her. “Charlie, you have it all wrong.”
“Maybe I do.” She tugged her arm from his grasp.
He let her go, watching as she followed the path down the hill, knowing it was best for both of them if she kept thinking whatever it was she thought and him and Lila.
Chapter Ten
Stupidity
The state, quality or fact of being stupid; dullness of mind.
“I wish I could have gotten you to drink more. Damn, I’m in trouble now,” Miles said and threw a blanket across his horse.
Adam grunted as he hoisted his saddle over Taber’s back. He pulled the cinch tight and led the horse in a circle. Reaching underneath, he tightened it a bit more. Taber seemed to sense the coming ride and released a fierce breath. “You hear that? The sound of a champion.”
Taber nickered in response.
“He’s not talking to you, you fool animal,” Miles said.
Adam grinned. “Do you need any help saddling, old man?”
“I reckon I can do it.”
“Fine by me.” Adam led Taber from the barn.
“Hello!” Aldo Friedrich motioned to him.
Adam pointed to the gray steed beside Aldo. “I see you’re racing.”
Aldo nodded. “My wife Rose likes to see me race. Like we did many times in Germany when we were younger. Good fun, no?”
“Excuse me.” Big John Thomason hopped upon a wooden crate and waved his arm. “Excuse me. Gentleman entering the horse race gather round.” The crate wobbled beneath him. Adam was surprised it had made it this far without splintering.
“The race starts by the northern edge of the barn, goes onto the main road, down one-half mile into Myer’s woods. You’ll go through the creek, over the fence circling the Dole’s western field, uncultivated this year, and back to the northern edge of the barn to the finish line. All of this is clearly marked. As you come in, please be sure to notice the lovely finish line, decorated by the Edgemont Beautification Society. That’s where you will pick up your lady’s bonnet.”
Several of the ladies giggled and whispered behind their hands.
Adam jabbed Miles in the ribs as they led their horses to the starting line. “What’s this business about a bonnet?”
“Myra Hawkins’ cousin lives in Ireland, and she got a letter about a horse race in Dublin where the men claimed a bonnet at the end.” Miles pulled his hat low on his brow. “Kath asked me what I thought of the idea. Fine by me.”
Adam took the reins in his hand and placed his foot in the stirrup. He paused with his knee braced against the horse. “Sure, it’s fine with you. You like the woman whose bonnet you have to take.” Pushing from the ground, he swung his leg over. “I, on the other hand, do not.”
Miles mounted, a little slower to get settled. He glanced at his friend and laughed. “Is there another bonnet of your choice, then?”
Adam pulled his head up and lowered his heels, the reins resting lightly in his hand. Taber always worked well on a loose rein. He cued Taber to a walk before Miles had the chance to say anything else. Still, he thought he heard a low chuckle behind his back.
The sun, just beginning to melt into the horizon, shone upon the eleven men trotting toward the starting line. Most looked to be experienced riders on sleek mounts. Adam had questioned if anyone would have a horse to equal Taber. Maybe not, but he was in the country. Three things these men knew well: crops, mash and horseflesh.
“Men, line up.” Mr. Whitefield’s voice rang above the horse’s agitated nickering. Adam leaned forward in anticipation. “On your mark...get set...race!” The whistle blew, startling the riders into action.
As Taber took off like a shot, Adam tucked his elbows into his sides and shifted his weight to the stirrups. As he began to move in a balanced rhythm with his horse, the wind began a mad dance through his hair, slapping his face and pulling at his clothing.
God, he loved to ride. As if Taber understood his thoughts, the horse arched his neck, the powerful muscles beneath Adam twitching.
The horses broke into a mile-eating sprint down the country lane. Adam leaned lower, shouting encouragement to Taber. Glancing to the side, he saw Big John just behind him. They were in the lead.
So, Big John’s black was as swift as they’d said.
Adam turned at the flag, surprised to see the path through the woods was only wide enough for two horses. It would be difficult to establish a lead here—concentration and skill being much more essential than speed. Taber stumbled in a muddy patch, slowing for one, recovering instant. It was enough for Big John to pull to the outside and glide past as if his black was on wings.
A creek appeared ahead. Adam pul
led the reins tighter, while letting Taber keep all he needed to retain balance. The spray of water from Big John’s crossing splashed his face and chest as he bounded through the shallow rivulet.
Adam leaned low and focused on the course ahead.
The picket fence grew closer. Adam leaned, balancing in the stirrups. Taber flexed his legs, preparing for the jump. Man and beast knew each other well, having hurdled many obstacles while racing through the countryside surrounding Adam’s riverfront home.
Big John’s mount was only inches ahead. Inches. A fervid wave of competitiveness flooded Adam. He grinned and clasped the reins, trusting the powerful animal beneath him to take command.
* * *
Charlie strained to see the riders over the top of Kath’s head. She stood with a group of ladies just beyond the fence bordering the western field. She couldn’t see the riders yet, but the cheering meant they weren’t far away. Nervous, she clasped her hands in front of her. She searched for a glimpse of him, his dark hair likely disheveled from the wind.
Guilt hit her hard. She knew she should be cheering for Tom, but Chase loved his horse so much, and she wanted him to win if it would make him happy.
Charlie clapped her hands, the noise lost to the cheering men who stood in front of the fence. Due to the danger of a mount unseating his rider, they placed the women behind. Charlie grimaced. Well, at least she wasn’t stuck at the finish line. With Lila. Lila had glanced at the muddy boots of the men who put up the race flags and proclaimed herself finish line attendant.
Charlie shaded her eyes. Who was in the lead? She stepped in front of Myra Hawkins, ignoring the woman’s glare. The sourpuss was at least three inches taller!
As the riders came into view, Charlie bit down hard on her lip, her fingernails sinking into her palm. Where...where...
Her breath backed up in her throat as Chase materialized before her. He was like a prince in one of the stories her mother had told her as a child or, at least, he would be if it was her story to tell. Sun-darkened features hardened in concentration, brown eyes clear and wide. His energy all but pulsed through her veins, his thoughts through her mind.
He was beautiful. She knew as certainly as anything she had ever known that it was a discounted beauty. Beauty in his intelligence. Beauty in his honorable nature. Beauty in his generous gestures.
Even beauty in his anguish over the past.
She could only stare as he and Big John pulled together, side by side. They were an odd study in contrast. Maybe no one else noticed. But, how could they not?
Big John’s planted his weight in the saddle; Adam’s centered his on the balls of his feet, his bottom not even touching leather. Big John’s elbows and toes pointed out; Adam’s elbows and toes were tucked as far as they could go. Big John sat tall in his seat; Adam curved like an arrow over Taber’s neck.
A prickle of alarm danced along her skin. She stumbled closer to the fence, blindly following instinct.
Chapter Eleven
Foreboding
A prediction; portent.
Adam glanced back, trying to see Big John. He had forgotten to wear his hat and sweat rolled off his forehead, greatly impairing his vision. The fence was getting close. He could see men standing around it. Did they realize how dangerous it was to stand so close to a jump? Hell, he would have to concentrate on clearing it safely and then try to secure the lead. The damn fools. He rested his weight on the inside of his thighs and lifted as Taber stretched. He stole a quick look at Big John, seeing he had fallen behind. Good. It was better if they did not clear the fence at the same time.
Later, he would think it could have been a faultless jump. He was in complete control; Taber’s form was excellent. However, Big John, pushing his mount hard, overlooked how close he was to the fence and increased his speed.
The horses vaulted the fence cleanly, but on the landing, Big John’s—confused from the mixed signals—pulled to the left. Adam felt Taber take the brunt of a kick. He fought to control the bucking animal and watched helplessly as Big John pitched over his mount’s head.
“Get out of the way,” Adam shouted to the men gathered around. Sitting deep in the saddle, he pulled on the reins, hoping Taber would use his head to maintain balance. The horse seemed to understand and limped to the side of the path.
Adam wasted no time getting to the ground. Blood soaked Taber’s hindquarters, thin drops already falling to the ground. He stood as still as a stone, rage, shock and grief tearing through him.
“Here, let me see him.” Charlie stepped to the horse’s side and ran her hand along the wound. She brushed hair from her face, leaving a crimson smudge behind. Her deliberate, confident movements calmed Taber, while igniting a frantic barrage in Adam.
Her gaze lifted to his, her face regaining color. He hadn’t realized how pale she was when she rushed to him. “It’s not as bad as it looks. A long cut, but not deep. We need to put a few stitches in, though. I can do that if you take him back to the house.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t form the words.
“Go to the barn, Adam. Luckily, you’re close. Sit before you fall, and I’ll be right there.” When he didn’t move, she gave him a nudge. “Go on. You need to get Taber off his feet.” She tipped her head in the right direction.
He grasped the reins, all the while talking in a low voice to Taber. The horse followed at a slow pace. As Adam passed the crowd gathered around the fallen rider, he paused.
“How is he?” Adam asked Miles, who was crouched beside Big John.
“I think his arm is broken, but he’s been talking, so his head is fine. Heck, it’s a pretty hard head.”
Big John’s ashen face contorted with pain. “Damn it, man.” His eyes opened, his gaze searching the crowd. “Your horse?” he asked when he located Adam.
Adam went down on one knee. He patted the injured man’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry.” He went to stand, then paused. “Your black?”
Big John closed his eyes, sinking back into the mud.
Adam recalled the sound of bone splitting as the horse dropped to the ground. His stomach churned as he headed to the barn.
* * *
Charlie entered the barn, bucket of water in one hand, box of medicinal supplies in the other. In the shadows of the far corner, she spotted Chase, sitting cross-legged at the rear of his horse.
He looked up as she approached. “Charlie, I didn’t want you to lug a bucket of water all the way in here.” He got to his feet, brushing at the seat of his trousers.
She deposited the bucket on the ground; water sloshed to the straw-covered floor. “I’m not as weak as that, you know.”
“No argument here, Miss Whitney.”
She didn’t think he was laughing at her, but his words carried a slightly amused tone. As the blush swept across her cheeks, she was very glad she stood in shadow.
“Go ahead. Sit.” He indicated the spot he had vacated. “Are you close enough to have a go at it? Do you need more light?”
She glanced at the oil lamp by her side. “Yes, I’m close enough and no, I don’t need more light. Not yet, anyway. Just move the lamp a bit to the left, in case Taber kicks.”
He stiffened. “Yes, of course.”
She inspected the box of supplies. It was a well-furnished kit: needle and thread, cloth, soap, alcohol, ointment. “Good. This should do nicely.” She glanced at Adam and managed a small smile. He looked as nervous as a new father. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this a time or two. We don’t have a veterinarian in town. People tend their own, or they call someone who can.”
Taber blew a breath through his nose as she began washing the wound.
“Take it easy, boy,” Chase whispered.
“It isn’t as deep as it looked. Somewhat jagged, but a few stitches will take care of it.” As she applied alcohol to the wound, she heard only a shallow nicker in response.
* * *
Sensing his scrutiny, she lifted her gaze. “I’m going to stitch now.”
He made no comment, just nodded.
Sitting back, she glanced at him once more. She looked pale, though in the dim light it was hard to tell for sure.
His gaze fixed on her hands.
Taber panted as she pushed the needle through his skin. A thin trickle of blood climbed over her fingers. She wiped it away with the torn cloth. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. She probed the inflamed area with her finger. Satisfied, she rolled her neck and sighed. “All done.”
Adam pulled a trembling hand through his hair. He happened to glance at his boots, and saw they were covered in a mixture of blood, straw and mud. They had looked like this once before, the day he’d run through the field in search of Eaton.
He closed his eyes and took a breath, drinking deeply of the summer night. Sounds called to him: the chirp of crickets, the hum of voices beyond the walls of the barn, the gentle breathing of the woman beside him. Her light touch slipped across his arm. Slipped into his heart.
He shoved to his feet and opened his eyes to find hers fixed upon him.
“Why do you do that?”
Her simple question pressed a harsh laugh from him. “What?” “Why...” She tapped her finger against her lips. “Why do you run away all the time?”
He groaned and knelt beside her. Like a coward, he didn’t get too close. Still, the distance wasn’t enough to obscure the fragrance that was Charlie’s alone. Roses and a natural, sweet redolence that rolled over him as relentlessly as waves over the shore. Fighting the attraction he felt for her, he focused instead on the pine straw beneath his boot and the way it crackled when he shifted.
“I’m not...running.” He grasped a piece of straw and drew a circle in the dirt with it. “You just get so close. I don’t want anyone to get that close.”