He inched forward, curious about the intruder.
Then he saw her. Her head was turned away from him, a waterfall of lush brown hair falling down her back, glistening with gold-and-red highlights. She was standing on her tiptoes, leaning far enough over the gate to Rowan’s stall that he wondered if she knew she was in danger of falling right in.
He rushed up, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back.
“Careful there!” he exclaimed as she tried to kick free of his grasp.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought you were going to fall,” he said. She straightened up and yanked the waistband of her jacket into place, but not before he saw a band of creamy skin.
“I can take care of myself! And I certainly wasn’t about to fall into a horse stall. I’m not stupid,” she snapped.
Where was that musical voice he’d heard a minute ago? Was there someone else in his stable he didn’t know about?
He fought a smile. He didn’t know who she was, but her brown eyes blazed at him as if he was the one off base here. He lifted his palms apologetically. “Hey, I just wanted to help.”
She snorted.
“I’m Rafe, by the way.” He kept staring at her. She was familiar, but that gloomy fog in his brain refused to dissipate.
The woman gave him a strange look. “Your mom wanted me to bring supper down here for Curt,” she said slowly, pointing behind him to the table. He glanced back, and sure enough, there was a plate of food covered in foil.
Then it hit him. “The cookie girl!”
“Pardon me?”
“Macarons. Or whatever they’re called. You’re the woman my mother hired.”
“Olivia,” she said. He could swear her tone held disappointment.
He grabbed her hand and shook it. “I knew I recognized you.”
“Um...you did?” She was staring at him as if he was nuts. Which he probably was at the moment. He hadn’t carried on a coherent conversation with anyone since his father died. “What I meant was that I didn’t know who you were when I first walked in here, but yes, I remember you now.”
Those eyes. Who could forget those eyes?
She raised her arm and gestured toward the stalls. “Your mother told me it was okay for me to meet her horse and maybe take a few pictures. I didn’t see Curt or anyone else out here, so I sort of...introduced myself to all your horses.”
It was cute, the way she stumbled over her apology. She had a pert mouth with a full bottom lip that was naturally pink. No lipstick. In fact, he didn’t see much makeup at all on her. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment or being caught red-handed; he didn’t know which. He’d have to get his mother to corroborate her story later.
“I love horses,” she explained. “I’ve always thought they were God’s most majestic animal.”
“Don’t tell that to any cat lover,” he joked, shifting his weight. “So, you ride, then?”
“Your mother asked me the same thing. I don’t. But I was around horses a lot as a kid with my friend Sarah Jensen—Bosworth now—when we went to her dressage classes.” She lowered her gaze as if deep in thought. “There were other times I was around horses, too.” She paused for a long moment.
Rafe couldn’t imagine what was going on with her, but he noticed that her shoulders slumped and a frown plowed across her forehead. Whatever she was remembering, it wasn’t good.
“I’m not sure I’d be good at riding,” she continued.
“You just need instruction and practice,” he said brightly, hoping to lift her spirits. “You certainly don’t seem to be afraid of horses. For most people, that’s half the battle.”
“Afraid.” She said the word as if considering its meaning. “Not exactly.” She smiled at him, but it was forced. Her eyes were guarded; she was definitely holding something back.
His own curiosity surprised him. He wanted to know what that something was. Olivia was a total stranger to him, yet he was responding to her as if he’d known her for some time. Maybe it was their shared love of horses. Maybe his grief-torn heart just wanted a distraction from the reality of his father’s death. If he was guilty of using her to ease his pain, he didn’t care. At this moment he felt better. He felt as if he was breaking out of prison.
“Is it all right that I took a couple photos in here? I’m a photographer. An amateur. I mean, not professional by any means,” she equivocated.
He took in the expensive-looking Pentax camera suspended from a strap around her neck. “I don’t know anything about cameras. But I’m guessing you didn’t buy that at Walmart.”
Her ivory skin turned blotchy crimson-red. She touched the zoom lens daintily.
He didn’t know what trigger he’d just pulled, but something had hit home. He was fascinated.
“This is my fourth trade-up since I finished high school. It’s a 645D and has forty megapixels, and I know it looks big compared to a lot of cameras these days, but it takes amazing pictures.” She glanced up at him and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I get carried away talking about my cameras and lenses. Equipment is critical to me. I’m constantly either adding to or improving my stash.”
“Really? I just snap with my iPhone. That’s it. Moment captured. I’m done.”
The look she flashed him was simultaneously empathetic and condescending. He didn’t know why he was trying to impress her, but he was. But he’d messed up on that one. He’d have to backpedal to cover up his mistake.
“Phones are good for those everyday moments,” she conceded. “But if you’re pursuing photography as an art—like Edward Burtynsky or Sebastião Salgado, not that I’m comparing myself to them—you need cameras so sophisticated and accurate that the photos they take bring the viewer into a world they never knew existed. That’s what I’m striving for, anyway.”
Rafe was speechless. She’d put him in his place. That didn’t happen often. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared what anyone thought about his opinions...aside from his dad. It had certainly been a long time since he’d wanted to impress a woman. Was that what was going on? He wasn’t exactly sure. His thoughts were such a jumble, he wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t remember his birthday. “That’s some kind of ambition,” he responded, shaking his head and shoving his hand in his back pocket. “Did you study them in college?”
“I didn’t go to college.”
He guessed from the growing flame in her cheeks he’d hit on a sore subject. Strike number two, he thought. He had to recover this. “Apparently, you didn’t need to. I’d say self-taught and self-motivated suits you.”
“Thank you,” she said, and the crimson in her cheeks faded to a blush. She lowered her eyes, and he could see the shadow of long, dark lashes against her skin. When she met his eyes again, he felt his breath catch. “I guess I do have high aspirations, but the way I see it, if I don’t shoot for the stars, I might never gain the moon.”
“And what moon would that be?” He was delving into some intimate waters here. He didn’t care. He wanted to know more about her.
“I’m hoping to become a photojournalist someday. I’ve been building my portfolio for years and perfecting my skills. I’ve taken some classes here and there at the college branches around the county, but it’s hard to squeeze them in with the catering and keeping the deli going.”
“The deli...” Rafe slapped his palm against his thigh. “The Indian Lake Deli. Now I remember my mom telling me. Sorry, I’m not a customer. Frankly, I don’t get to town all that often. For fun, I mean.”
“What do you do for fun?”
“Ride Rowan,” he replied instantly, glancing over at his horse.
Rowan had come to the stall door when Rafe entered the stable and at the mention of his name, the horse snorted and whinnied.
“Hey, boy!” Rafe
walked over to the stall and opened the door, letting him walk out and join the conversation.
“Are you...a jockey?” she asked with a tight set to her lips.
Funny, he could have sworn her hands had started to tremble, but she clamped them both over her camera before he could be sure.
What was it with this woman? One minute she was as effervescent as bubbles in champagne, the next she looked as if she was about to blow the cork off. Did the horses make her nervous, or was it him?
He decided to try some levity, so he chuckled and hoped it wasn’t too forced. “I could never be a jockey. I’m too heavy and too long.” He motioned to her, but she seemed to recoil. “Come pet him.”
“I shouldn’t.” She remained glued to the spot.
Rafe leaned forward and smiled at her. “C’mon, you were practically throwing yourself at him before. It’s okay. Really.”
“Okay,” she replied finally, stepping closer and lifting her hand.
Rowan moved his head under her palm, forcing her to pet him.
Rafe smiled appreciatively. “He likes you.”
“He’s not this friendly with everyone?”
“Quite the opposite. My mom has never ridden him and he won’t even let her brush him. It’s always been me, my dad or Curt. I’ve joked that Rowan is a misanthrope.”
“Apparently not.” Olivia laughed as she gazed lovingly at Rowan. “He’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen a horse this gorgeous.”
Rowan nudged Olivia’s neck, forcing her to pay more attention to him than to Rafe. If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d say that Rowan was jealous.
Olivia put her arms around the horse’s neck for the second time that evening and kissed his nose. Her eyes traveled over his body, assessing him the way a sculptor would judge a model.
Rowan preened under her inspection, and Rafe allowed her the long moment of adoration for his horse. He watched her slowly make her way along his length, whispering and cooing to Rowan as she circled his haunches and tail. If she hadn’t told Rafe she didn’t ride, he never would have guessed. She was a natural. She reminded him of himself when he brushed or bathed Rowan. She even leaned down to lift his leg and inspect his hoof. He noticed how she used both hands to hold his leg, cradling it as if it was a precious treasure.
Of course, Rowan was Rafe’s prize. But Olivia didn’t know that. She only acted in concert with what she sensed and felt. Rafe found that very endearing.
“You must have some kind of gift with animals,” Rafe said as Olivia stood and looked at him over Rowan’s back.
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s never this quiet for this long. Usually, he’s pushing me out the door to take him for a ride. Or a race.”
Olivia’s neck went stiff. “Race?”
Rafe chuckled. “You seemed so familiar with him, I thought you realized Rowan is a Thoroughbred. A racehorse.”
“Right. Your mother told me,” she replied with so much deliberation he sensed something was not quite right. “He’s expensive, then.” It was more of an observation than a question, so Rafe didn’t take offense.
“He will be when he wins a few races. We got shut out of a few things lately because...” Reality reared its head again. Rafe felt that stone in his heart turn ice-cold. Heavy and foreign as it was, it had taken up residence and he didn’t know what he could do to dissolve it. His eyes traveled over Olivia’s lovely face; for a few moments she’d helped him forget. Brief as they were, he was grateful. He was amazed at the alteration he’d felt, like spring after an empty, frigid winter.
“Because of your dad?” Olivia finished for him. He nodded. “Angelo liked to race horses, as well?”
“Very much. More than me, actually. He was obsessed with racing.”
“Obsessed,” she repeated. The light in her eyes seemed to dim, and her smile disappeared from her face. Her demeanor reminded him of an animal reacting to a looming predator. Fight or flight.
What had he said? They were just talking about the horses. She folded her arms across her chest and gazed absently at the line of stalls, lost in her own world. Was it too soon for him to ask what she was thinking? Why would the mention of horse racing bother her?
She’d dropped her hands to her sides and was no longer touching Rowan.
“You look...sad,” Rafe said carefully.
“I guess I am.” She came back around and kissed Rowan’s nose. She looked at Rafe with the unhappiest eyes he’d ever seen. “I have to go.”
“You can come back,” he blurted. “To see Rowan, I mean. I think he likes you.”
“And I like him.” She smiled, though it did little to decrease the melancholy in her eyes.
Who was she thinking about? Rafe’s curiosity was dusted with a tinge of jealousy, which confused him. He barely knew Olivia—and that was the problem. He most definitely wanted to know a whole lot more about her.
“It’s been a long day. I’m beat.” She exhaled and rolled her shoulders.
“Sure,” he replied. It had been a long day for the Barzonni family, too, but she’d been the one doing most of the work. He turned to walk her to the door.
“Thanks for introducing me to your... Rowan.” She smiled again and this time there was no trace of sadness or tension. Just pure joy. He was mesmerized.
“Anytime,” he managed to say. “You’re welcome back anytime.”
As she continued to gaze up at him, he found himself swimming in her brown eyes. He had no idea what was the matter with him, but he couldn’t talk. He could only stare.
“Thanks again, Rafe,” she said and walked out the door.
“Bye, Olivia.”
As she turned, her camera flashed in the moonlight.
“Olivia,” he called.
“Yes?”
He walked toward her. “Those photos you took. They’re just for you, right?”
“Yeah. Just for me.”
“Good.” He smiled at her. “Enjoy them.” He gave her a little two-fingered salute.
“I will. Thanks.”
Impulsively, Rafe bent and kissed her cheek. Her skin was smooth and cool like fine marble, but soft as down. He closed his eyes. If he lingered, he could get addicted to this bliss.
“Bye,” she whispered and walked into the shadows.
As she disappeared from his sight, Rafe felt lost again.
What was he doing? He should go after her. Walk her to her car. Maybe he could hold the door for her. Hold her. Maybe kiss her again. Really kiss her.
Rowan sauntered up and nudged him, pushing Rafe against the door. The handle slipped out of his hand and the door slammed shut.
Rafe turned around, hand on his hip. “So that’s the way it is, huh? You like her, too?”
Rowan’s head shot up and he whinnied.
Rafe burst out laughing. He patted Rowan’s neck and led him back to his stall. “Come on, boy. I need to close up this stable.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIA PULLED HER van into her spot in the old carriage-house-turned-garage. All the lights in the main house were off, which meant Mrs. Osborn, her landlady, had gone to bed.
Olivia let herself into her apartment, dumped her purse on the little round table in her kitchen and turned on the light. Her camera still hung around her neck. Olivia often had to remind herself to remove the camera when she was at work or going into a store. It was like an extra limb, an appendage that brought her artistry into being.
Carefully, she slipped the strap off and set the camera next to her purse.
Next, she filled a glass of water from the antique faucet and watered the potted herb garden she’d been growing all winter in the large kitchen window. On Sunday she’d take her seedlings out to the raised garden she’d had Luke Bosworth build for her
last summer and plant the herbs she and her mother would use in their special dishes all summer long. Picking up the rosemary bush and smelling its pungent leaves made her smile. Olivia loved rosemary, sage and mint, and often boiled them to fill her rooms with natural fragrance.
Olivia rubbed a few leaves between her fingers and then washed her hands with lavender soap to remove the horse smell.
She lifted her palms to her nose. There was still a trace of Rowan. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was Rafe. She pictured his arctic-blue eyes, flashing with a fire so fierce and compelling that it took her breath away.
When she’d seen him in Gina’s kitchen, she’d thought he was good-looking. But between chatting with him at dinner and their moment in the stable, something had changed. She felt drawn to him like a magnet to steel. And she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
She slumped down on the wrought-iron antique ice cream chair beside the table and dropped her head into her hands. “Just how big a fool did I make of myself?”
When he’d found her in his stable and she was making friends with his horse...how had that looked, really? Like she was trespassing?
Even now, embarrassment flamed her cheeks. She’d been trying to get just the right light on Rowan as he “posed” for her in the back of his stall. She must have looked ridiculous.
He probably saw my butt hanging over the gate, hair swirling all over my face... I was acting like a complete idiot.
“That must have been attractive,” she moaned sarcastically. Not that it mattered. She’d never date a gambler, anyway. She probably wouldn’t even see him again. He’d said he rarely came to town, rarely did anything for fun....
Her breath clung to her ribs.
The baby shower. She’d see Rafe again at Gabe and Liz’s baby shower.
She was filled with anticipation. And dread. She wanted to see him in the worst way, but she also hoped they would never cross paths. Somehow, meeting Rafe had unearthed the most painful parts of her past. Suddenly, she was sharing her every move with the shadow of the terrified child she’d once been. She remembered hearing her mother’s sobs late at night, when there wasn’t enough money for food or their rent was late. She despised the mean kids at school who had mocked her because her clothes came from the Goodwill and she’d outgrown her shoes. She didn’t go to ballet or camp. She didn’t join the Girl Scouts because the uniforms were too expensive. All because of her father’s addiction to gambling.
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