Maybe Baby Lite

by ANDREA SMITH

  What’s this? Did he buy yet another expensive car? Trey popped the trunk and the bellboy stowed my luggage inside. Trey handed him a tip, then walked me around to the passenger side, opening the door for me. I got in, noticing the new car smell. Trey got in, instructing me (as always) to fasten my seat belt.

  “Nice car,” I commented. “Is this your Atlanta car?”

  He smiled, “No Tylar, it’s your Bristol car.”

  What?

  “Trey…” I started.

  “I won’t argue with you about this Tylar. This is my gift to you for your 21st birthday. I want you to have it. The color fits you. It's the color of fun, it’s the color of passion, and it’s the color you'll make me see if you give me any shit about taking it. Got it?”

  I leaned over and hugged him. “Thank you, Trey. I love it.”

  I love you, I thought. I love everything you have given me over the past 24 hours.

  He was on the interstate in a matter of minutes. “So,” I asked, “is this as fast as your Lamborghini?”

  Trey laughed good-naturedly. “I’m afraid not, Tylar. I want you to take things a bit slower. This car gets zero to 60 in five point four seconds. I think you can handle that, don’t you?”

  Trey drove past the exit to the airport. I looked over at him for an explanation. “We’re driving back to Bristol, Tylar. How else would we get your car to you?”

  “Oh, right,” I laughed. I settled back in my new sports car. Perhaps eventually Trey would let me drive it. He played soft classical music over the system that lulled me to sleep. I dreamed of our night together and the passion that we'd shared. I wished that it would always be that way between us. I wondered if this was how it was supposed to be when you loved someone. The next thing I knew we were pulling into the long, winding drive of the estate up to the manor.

  “Wake up, baby girl,” Trey said softly, “we’re home.”

  “Trey, we’re at your home,” I replied.

  “You're staying here with me tonight. No argument.” He got out of the car and opened my door for me to get out. As always, Thatcher was coming out the front door, gathering my luggage and taking it into the manor. Trey put his arm around me, leading me up the winding staircase to his suite. I was exhausted.

  “Do you want something to eat, Tylar?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I really want go to bed, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course,” he answered.

  I looked in Trey’s closet for one of his shirts to wear. I put it on, buttoning only a couple of the buttons. I pulled the covers down from his bed, and crawled beneath them. Trey came back into the room just as I got settled in. He came over to my side of the bed, bending down and smoothing my hair back.

  “I’ve got some work to do in my study, okay? I’ll be up in an hour or so.”

  I nodded, feeling his lips brush my forehead again before he went to the door, turning out the light before he left. It was some time later that I felt Trey climb into bed next to me. He smelled freshly showered. He curled up next to me, pulling me in close to him, and wrapping his arm around me. I slept the whole night cradled in the comfort of his strong body.

  CHAPTER 25

  Trey and I ate breakfast together the next morning. He wore khakis and a polo and I was dressed for my day of dressage training. Trey had hired Mark Montgomery, an expert trainer in classical dressage who'd competed both in Europe and the U.S. He'd worked the first couple of weeks alone with Derringer and today was my day to start with him and the horse.

  Mark felt that Derringer would be ready to test at Intermediare I by in a few weeks. I wasn’t sure that I'd be ready. Mark made it look so easy. I was struggling with timing, particularly in the half halt.

  “How’s the dressage training coming along?” Trey asked, as if on cue.

  “Mark says that Derringer is nearly ready to test to Level One; he wondered how much training he had previously.”

  “I bought the horse in England as a yearling,” Trey answered. “Then, my former fiancée trained him for a little more than a year.”

  “I didn’t realize you'd been engaged, Trey,” I lied, hoping for more information.

  “Maybe I'll stop by the arena later and watch you ride. I want to make sure this trainer's worth his fee.”

  Trey had successfully changed the subject. “How late will you be working with Derringer?” he asked.

  “We usually train for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Tylar. What time are you finished for the day? I want to go to dinner tonight.” He sure sounded like it was serious.

  “I’m usually back at my cottage by 4 p.m.”

  He rolled his eyes when I mentioned my cottage. He seemed to be in a mood today. “Good, we’ll leave here around 6 p.m. Can you meet me up here then?”

  “Of course,” I said, and then went down to the stables, thankful to be about my business today. Something was going on with Trey. He seemed agitated.

  One of the downsides with the dressage training was that the arena was located over at the Belle, making it hard to avoid Jenna. She did her share of running into Mark it seemed. It was fairly obvious she had her hooks out for him. Mark didn’t seem to notice.

  Mark had a slender but muscular build, average height, not nearly as tall as Trey. He had sandy-brown hair and green eyes. I estimated that Mark was close to the same age as Trey, though he had a more casual demeanor. Yet when he trained horses, he was extremely intense and accurate. I knew that Derringer was more advanced than I from the way he responded to Mark’s cues versus mine. I certainly didn’t want Derringer to regress in his training when I rode him. Mark said my job was to bring the horse around, not the horse’s job to bring me around.

  When Derringer and I arrived at the arena, Jenna was perched on the gate talking to Mark. She was laughing and flipping her hair. Shouldn’t she have had her hair in a bun by now? The daily tours of the mansion started at 10 a.m. and the workers were supposed to be in full period costume by 9:30 a.m.

  As I approached, Jenna’s smile faded. “Well, I see your star pupil's back, Mark. Good luck with that.” She gave me a smirk as she walked away.

  “Hi Mark,” I said, grinning. “I’m so glad that I give Jenna something to be catty about. What would she do without me?”

  Mark grinned, shaking his head. “Women are brutal.”

  I wasn’t sure if Jenna was continuing with her “Twinkie” campaign. Nothing had been mentioned to me lately, but most everyone else here had far too much class to repeat the venomous things she spread around.

  Derringer and I had a constructive morning session. Mark practiced traditional dressage, and he placed significant importance on the communication and rapport that must be established between the horse and the rider prior to training. Every day, Mark and I reviewed videos taken at the morning session. It was a good tool for me to observe weaknesses in our routine. Mark would point out areas that needed more work, and take me through what movements and aids I should have given to keep Derringer’s gait consistent like a metronome.

  Later in the afternoon I brought Derringer back out into the arena. We'd nearly conquered the rhythm, gait, and tempo. Mark wanted to work on the regularity of the gaits; the evenness and levelness of the stride. He wanted me to start practicing the half halt to improve the horse’s cadence. Derringer was sensitive to both the leg and rein aids, he was reaching for the bit. His stride was collected. We both could tell he was more than ready.

  I mounted Derringer and put him through the beginning paces. We worked into a trot, circling the outer perimeter of the arena several times. At the third round, second turn, I could feel Derringer sidestep because I'd given too much inside leg in my execution. I over-corrected, trying to align his hind legs to follow the path of his front legs. Mark asked me to halt and walked over to us.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said, “Dismount for a moment.” I did as instructed, and stood beside
Mark. He mounted the horse and then reached his hand down, pulling me up behind him in the saddle.

  “It might be easier if I show you how the half halt is properly executed, Tylar. To the naked eye, it looks as if the rider applies all three aids at the same time. However, if we could freeze-frame it you'd actually see that the aids are applied separately in sequence. We’ll go through this a few times so you can feel what your body is supposed to do in conjunction with what the horse is doing, okay?”

  “Sure,” I agreed.

  “Okay, I want you to rest each of your hands on the outside of each of my thighs, as close to the back of my knees as possible.”

  I did as instructed.

  “Okay, now remember what we talked about earlier, there is no ‘halt’ in the half halt. That's a misnomer. Every half halt should contain what?” he quizzed me.

  “The surge,” I answered.

  “Correct,” he said. “It will contain the surge, the drive, and the energy from Derringer’s hind legs, just as if you were asking for a medium gait or a lengthening, right?”

  “Right,” I responded, “but we don’t want him breaking into the medium gait, until after the surge, correct?”

  “Yes,” Mark agreed, “because we know that we always ride the horse from back to front, which is what the surge guarantees.” Mark started Derringer into the routine, my hands placed on the outside of each of his muscular thighs.

  “If we’re lucky, you'll be able to feel my calves close first. It will be a steady squeeze for three seconds, just before the surge. Here we go.”

  We went through the motions three times and, like clockwork, Mark would close his calves with a steady squeeze; I counted to three in my head and the pressure released. Mark then had me put my hand on his hand holding the outside rein and my other hand on his hand holding the inside rein. Through this exercise, I was able to understand that each of these aids occurred separately, though very close in time. It was a steady squeeze of the calves for three seconds, then outside hand on the reins to direct the horse’s power back to the hind legs, then inside rein held with medium contact to keep the horse flexed and straight.

  “Okay,” Mark said, dismounting, handing me the reins.

  “Scoot up; my turn.” He remounted Derringer, this time behind me, putting his hands on the outside of each of my thighs and we went through the routine several times. We continued with the reining as well until I was executing the half halt nearly as well as Mark. I was proud of myself. When we brought Derringer back to the gate, I noticed that Trey was sitting in the grandstand. I couldn’t tell how long he’d been watching, but he appeared upset.

  Holy Moses, now what's wrong?

  Mark set the video camera up and had me take Derringer back out so that he could video tape how a proper half halt should look to an observer. Once finished we called it a day. Mark told me to take the video camera with me to review everything that we'd gone over today.

  I dismounted, leading Derringer to where Trey was sitting.

  “Well?” I asked. “What did you think?” I was smiling, hoping to be praised for the progress we’d made.

  “I think I’m confused as to why Mr. Montgomery needs to have his hands all over you while training you in dressage? I’ve never seen that style of training.”

  “Trey, I was having some problems getting the feel of the surge. Mark thought this would help and it did.”

  “I felt the surge,” Trey replied, “the surge of my blood pressure.”

  “You're being ridiculous, Trey.”

  “Oh am I? You seemed to be enjoying yourself trotting around that track with him all over your backside. I was worried Mr. Montgomery might need a hosing off had the training not ended when it did.”

  “Stop it,” I couldn’t help from laughing. “You’re being silly and you know it.”

  “I’m serious when it comes to you, Tylar.”

  When he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, so serious, so sexy, I wanted to mount him right then and there. I could see that beneath the sarcastic humor, Trey was bothered by Mark’s touching me. I didn’t want him getting in a worse mood. I led Derringer over to him, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him sweetly and longingly. He wrapped his arm around me, tightly, brushing my hair from my face.

  “You've nothing to worry about, Trey,” I told him, snuggling into his chest.

  “Just see that I don’t, Tylar. I don’t share. I'll see you at the main house at six.”

  I remounted Derringer, riding him back to the stables. I told him what a good job he did today. I got him situated in his stall, removing all of the dressage tack. I brushed him down thoroughly, cleaned his hooves, and brought him his treat for a fine day’s work. I put my face next to his as he chewed the last carrot and I kissed his nose. Derringer was born to compete.

  Having concluded my duties in the stables, I started up the path leading to my cottage. Ray’s was the first cottage from the stables. I saw Denise on his porch, shaking throw rugs outside.

  “Denise!” I yelled, running over toward his porch. I hadn’t seen her since the hospital and I was ashamed for not calling her before now.

  “Hey girl,” she hollered back, waving, “how is you?”

  “I’m great,” I said, “I’ve been meaning to call you, I really have…”

  “Hey, I know how it is; I’ve been swamped down at the salon. There are all kinds of weddings this summer. I was thinking maybe we would be adding yours to it?”

  “What?”

  “Ray says you and Trey are really close. He says he’s never seen Trey like this with any other girl, the way he is with you.”

  “Did Ray know his former fiancée, Tess?”

  “Well I’m not sure about that. I don’t know how often Trey got home when he was engaged to her. You want me to ask him?”

  “No, no,” I replied quickly, “so what are you doing?” I asked. “Cleaning Ray’s cottage for him? Now that's definitely a woman in love.”

  “I’m just finishing getting him packed up.”

  “Why, where is Ray going?”

  “Sweetie, he’s finally moving in with me. Hell, he’s there practically every night anyway. He was worried Trey might object and want him to be near the stable if needed, but Trey was fine with it. Trey is a good man, Ty. You make sure you treat him right, you hear?”

  “You do the same with your man, Denise,” I waved and continued on to my cottage. I wasn't as afraid to be there as I was before. I showered and changed into a tight little white jean skirt and dark purple tank top. I blew my hair dry, wearing it down perfectly straight. Being in the sun had really intensified the blond highlights.

  An hour later, Trey and I were cruising down the highway in his Lamborghini. He looked magnificent in his emerald colored polo shirt and taupe Dockers. Trey was extremely attentive in the car, which was a complete 180 to his temperament earlier. He rested his hand on my knee possessively, occasionally letting it travel up to my thigh while he drove. Perhaps I had Mark to thank for that, I thought. He turned the car into Morelli’s parking lot and I was glad. Somehow, Morelli’s had a good vibe for me. As soon as we stepped inside the door, Carmelita greeted us.

  “Saluto il Signor Trey. Vedo che hai il tuo amore con voi questa sera.”

  Hello Mr. Trey. I see you have your love with you this evening.

  “Bueno sera Carmelita. Si puo abbiamo un tavolo privato? Ho molto da discutore con lei.”

  Good evening Carmelita. Yes may we have a private table? I have much to discuss with her.

  “Naturalmente la mia dolcezza. Mi sugua, per piacere.”

  Of course my sweetheart. Please follow me.

  “Voi e il vostro armore, vi rendera splendid bambini!”

  You and your love, you'll make beautiful children!

  “Lo spero, Carmelita, un giormno.”

  I hope so Carmelita, one day.

  Trey and I were seated at the same table as our first date. It was romantic and secluded. Carmelita held m
y chair out for me. I smiled at her. She winked at me. Trey sat down and immediately ordered a bottle of Chianti.

  “What would you like, Tylar?” he asked gently.

  “You choose Trey. I’m not fussy.”

  Trey ordered chicken parmesan for both of us, with spinach salads. The Chianti arrived at the same time our warm bread did. Trey poured me a generous serving of wine.

  Oh my, must be bad news…

  We made small talk waiting for our salads. I told him about running into Denise earlier at Ray’s cottage and asked him what he thought about Ray moving in with Denise.

  “About time,” was his only comment.

  Our salads arrived. More time passed as we ate. This was getting uncomfortable for me. Finally, I spoke up. “There is something you want to say to me, Trey. Will you please just say it?”

  “Tylar, I didn’t want to say anything to you while we were in Atlanta celebrating your birthday this past weekend. I wasn’t in Atlanta last week.”

  My stomach knotted. What was he getting ready to do? Confess?

  “Oh?” I asked, acting as if this was news to me.

  “I visited the agent for the LLC that owns your house in Radcliff.”

  “You went to Jackson, Mississippi?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I needed to investigate your case. I found some things out, but not everything.”

  “Well?” I asked.

  “The good news is that when you turned 21 last week, the deed to that house was transferred into your name. You now own that house, free and clear.”

  “I do?”

  “Your mother obviously knew that this was set to happen which explains her disappearance with your trust money. It would have been next to impossible for her to defraud you out of real estate with the deed plainly in your name. What I haven’t been able to find out, Tylar, is who the trustor is, in other words, the identity of your father.”

  “Well, couldn’t you ask the agent?”