Lillie had awakened that morning sore and bruised in spots she didn’t know existed. The ache in her shoulder was making her testy.
Mrs. Riley smiled and plunked down a bottle of water and two ibuprofen on the counter. “Swain said you’d need these.”
Lillie narrowed her eyes. “Did she, now? Did she think that would make up for leaving me alone with that room full of sharks?”
Mrs. Riley patted Lillie’s leg. “No, dear. She’s down at the barn nursing a sick horse.”
Lillie’s irritation vanished. “Did she say which one? Is it serious?”
Mrs. Riley pointed purposefully to the pills, and she downed them when it became evident she wouldn’t get an answer until she took her medicine.
“Just like Abigail, God bless her soul. Nothing’s more important than those horses.” She pulled off her apron and surveyed the remaining food. “Mary’s here. I’ll ask her to help me start clearing the table out there. That’ll let everybody know it’s time to leave. You just go stand by the front door to say good-bye when they shuffle that way. We’ll have everyone cleared out in thirty minutes. Then you can go to the barn and see for yourself.”
Mrs. Riley was as good as her word. Twenty-five minutes later, the last guest clasped Lillie’s hand and offered his condolences on his way out the door. Lillie hurried up the stairs and changed her black dress for a comfortable pair of baggy jeans. She slowed only when she pushed through the kitchen door and found Mrs. Riley and her friend, Mary, meticulously labeling containers of food that covered the kitchen’s table and most of the counters, then storing them in the huge refrigerator-freezer.
“You go ahead, dear,” Mrs. Riley said. “We’ll put all this away. I’ll make a list with heating instructions for you. There’s enough food here to keep you fed until you can hire someone to help around here.”
Lillie impulsively hugged Mrs. Riley. “Thank you so much. You’re a treasure. Please drop me a postcard when you get settled in Florida.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll keep in touch. Now go check on your horse.”
With one last, quick hug, Lille was out the door and trotting toward the barn.
*
The scent of fresh hay and oiled leather welcomed Lillie into the semidarkness of the barn where the night lighting cast sporadic soft pools of illumination down the long main corridor. The low murmur of Swain’s rich alto and a brighter light halfway down the hall told Lillie exactly where to find her. As she neared the stall, she realized Swain was talking to her patient, not the veterinarian. Lillie slowed to a stop and listened.
“Come on, girl. You’ve got to get better. I sure don’t want to have to ship you off to the vet school for surgery. We’ve still got trails to ride. You’ve got pastures to run. And there’s Lillie. I think she likes you. Abigail would want you to stick around for Lillie.”
Lillie crept forward to peek into the stall, her breath caught in her throat. Finesse, Abigail’s mare, was the one ill. Swain was stroking the mare’s back as she checked the drip of the IV suspended overhead. The mare’s head hung low, but her ears twitched as though she was listening to Swain’s every word.
Swain ran her fingers through her hair and her shoulders slumped. “Christ. I don’t need you to leave me, too. Too much is changing too fast.”
Lillie’s throat tightened at the desolation in Swain’s voice. Was this beautiful, gentle animal about to die? She crept silently back toward the entrance and slumped against the frame of the wide doorway.
What was she doing here anyway? She didn’t want to care about these horses. She didn’t want the attraction she felt to this woman. She didn’t want to be burdened with the Wetherington name any longer.
A sudden thought ran through her like a cold chill. If word got out that Swain was a Wetherington, would she be in danger, too? Swain wouldn’t run like Lillie planned to. She would never leave the ponies. That is, if she wasn’t so angry that she told them all to go to hell.
Please, Lillie, you have to make Swain understand.
The night air was heavy with the scent of flowers. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. It smelled like Grandmum. She began to hum a lullaby, a tune Abigail said she had sung to Eric when he was a boy. She sang it for Lillie as they grieved for Eric and Camille. Her humming gave way to words, and she sang it softly to herself. When she finished, she felt another’s presence and slowly opened her eyes.
“That’s beautiful,” Swain said.
“It’s a very old lullaby. There are a lot of different versions of it, but Grandmum called it ‘All the Pretty Little Ponies.’”
“Are you okay? I’m sorry I had to leave you on your own.”
“I was standing here, feeling sorry for myself. Then the smell from the blossoms on that tree over there reminded me of Grandmum and, when I closed my eyes, it sort of felt like she was here, making everything all right.”
“Magnolias.”
“Sorry?”
“Those are magnolia trees. The blooms can smell pretty strong. It reminds you of Abigail because she wore a designer cologne that was a softer, lighter version of their scent.”
Lillie raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “That explains it.” She took Swain’s hand and tugged her back into the barn. “Now tell me what’s wrong with my grandmum’s horse and what we can do to sort her out,” she said as they walked toward the mare’s stall.
“Colic. The vet was here earlier. He gave her a shot to relax her, filled her stomach with mineral oil, and started an IV. But he had to leave for another emergency.”
“Will she be all right?”
“I won’t lie to you, Lillie. She’s not a young horse and her intestine could twist.”
“Oh, no! Could she die?”
“If her pain gets worse or she doesn’t pass some manure by morning, I’ll have to decide if we should transport her to the veterinary school for surgery.”
“If?”
Swain stopped. “Lillie, surgery can be very expensive. Finesse is well past her usefulness on the polo field. She’s also too old to breed. And…and Abigail isn’t even here anymore to ride her.” Her face was serious as she studied Lillie. “We don’t even know if the Wetherington stables will be here in a few months. If the horses are sold off, nobody will want an old mare with a history of colic. She could easily colic again and cost them a ton of money in vet bills.”
But Lillie had already lost too much. She was determined not to lose anything else without a fight. “None of that matters. As long as the sign out there still says Wetherington, we will do everything possible to get our mare well again. Do you hear me? Everything.”
Swain nodded, her eyes shining with new respect, and Lillie knew she’d said the right thing. At this moment, that felt very important.
“Then I’ll do everything in my power to get her well.”
Lillie persisted. “How can I help?”
“You pay John and me to take care of the horses. I’m going to the office now to call him.”
“I want to help. Don’t call John. Show me what to do.”
Swain hesitated. “It means probably staying up all night, taking turns walking her every time she finishes a bag of IV fluid.”
“I want to help,” Lillie repeated stubbornly.
“Lillie, we could do all this and she could still die.”
“We have to at least try.”
*
Sunlight was streaming in the office window when Swain woke with a start and rolled over, hitting the floor with a thump.
“I was just fixin’ to roll you off that couch myself and send you upstairs. It’s hard to concentrate on this feed order with you over there snoring.” John frowned at her from his desk on the other side of the room.
Swain bolted up. “Finesse. Where’s Lillie?”
“Easy.” John went to the coffeepot and poured Swain a cup. “The mare’s just fine. I cleaned a wheelbarrow-load of manure from her stall when I got here two hours ago. Ms. Wetherington went bac
k up to the house to get some sleep. She did a fine job. She must have walked that horse most of the night while you snored in here.” The coffee he handed her was black and strong, exactly what she needed.
Swain sipped it and glanced at the wall clock. Seven thirty. “We both haven’t had much sleep in the past thirty-six hours. Finesse came down with colic Saturday. She’d pass a little manure, then stop up again. I didn’t think she’d make it. Last night, we were so tired we started switching off every two hours. I walked her last at two this morning. Lillie was supposed to wake me at four to take over.”
“Seems the dam burst about three o’clock. Ms. Wetherington said she watched her another hour and cleaned up the stall. When I got here at five thirty, the stall needed cleaning again and that old mare was rattling her bucket for her morning feed.”
Swain groaned and rubbed her face.
John gave her a hard stare. Swain was his boss, but he was her senior by nearly thirty years and occasionally treated her like a daughter. “When I got here, the two of you were curled up on that old couch together like a couple of kittens. You sure nursing a sick horse was all you were doing?”
Swain choked in mid-swallow and sloshed hot coffee into her lap as she tried to cough up liquid that went down the wrong pipe. “Damn it.” She glared back at him. “She’s the boss lady. I don’t fool around where my bread is buttered.”
“I’m just saying there’s a bed upstairs. You didn’t both have to crowd up on that old couch.”
She made a show of brushing the hot liquid from her pants rather than answer John’s observation. “I’m going upstairs to shower,” she grumbled. “When Rob gets in, tell him to saddle Domino and Astor. We’ll work them first.”
*
Swain stepped into the shower before the water had time to heat. She needed it cold to wake her up and sharpen her focus. She shivered, but it wasn’t from the water. It was from the memories that were beginning to surface.
She dimly remembered Lillie curling against her side to share the narrow space and murmuring that everything was okay now. She wrapped her arms around Lillie…just to make sure she didn’t fall off onto the floor. Lillie snuggled her face against Swain’s neck, her breath a whisper on Swain’s skin as she instantly fell asleep.
Swain, on the other hand, was fully awake. Her hands were resting on the bare flesh of Lillie’s back where her shirt had ridden up. Lillie shifted again and Swain bit back a whimper when her leg fit snugly against Swain’s crotch.
Then Lillie was still, and after a long while, Swain was able to relax and slip back into an exhausted slumber.
She wasn’t sleeping now. She was naked and aroused. She moved her soapy hand across her breasts and groaned. She slid her hand down between her legs. It only took half a dozen strokes to trigger her orgasm. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted Lillie’s fingers stroking between her legs, caressing her breasts, and tweaking her nipples. And she wanted her hands on Lillie’s body.
Gasping for breath, Swain shut off the water and rested against the hard tile of the shower. What she remembered next troubled her more than her desire.
She recalled the cold when Lillie left her. Then a blanket was tucked snugly around her and soft lips briefly touched hers. She remembered fingers combing through her hair, gentling her back to sleep.
She stepped out of the shower and ran a towel roughly over her skin as though she could rub away the unfamiliar longing Lillie’s touch had ignited. This was a very bad idea. It was stupid to think that, in a few short months, she could persuade Lillie to leave her life and friends in London and stay here with a bunch of smelly horses. It was a sure bet she’d be taking her bewitching beauty and that mesmerizing soft British accent right back to England.
Swain had never felt this unsure, this disoriented. Not even when she was eighteen and had stood outside the children’s home with uncharted waters ahead and nothing to anchor her.
Chapter Twelve
Swain slid her feet from the stirrups and dropped to the ground, groaning at the stiffness in her lower back. The colt she’d just exercised was green and his movements on the polo field jerky. Add to that, a short night sleeping on the too-lumpy sofa.
“You need to use some of that liniment you keep trying to push on everybody else,” John commented, slipping off the colt’s bridle and exchanging it for a halter.
Swain glanced wistfully toward the house while John unsaddled the colt. “I’d like to go up to the house and have a good soak in that hot tub by the pool, but I’m not sure I could stay awake that long.”
John handed the saddle and bridle to an assistant groom. “Well, I think you’re just going to have to manage. Miss Lillie called about an hour ago. She wants you to come up there when you’re finished here for the day.”
Swain didn’t miss John’s use of Lillie’s first name and followed as he walked the colt to the wash stall and hooked him into the cross ties.
Rob joined them, slouching against the wall. “Did she say what she wants?” All of the stable’s employees were nervous waiting for Abigail’s will to be read.
John’s face was thoughtful as he sponged the sweat off the colt’s dark hide. “Nope, she didn’t say. We had a good little chat, though. She’s a really nice young woman. Smart, too.”
When Susan or some other local woman stumbled down from Swain’s quarters in the early morning hours, she appreciated the fact that John wasn’t one to talk about another person’s business. But she was tired, so his tendency to be tight-lipped about his conversation with Lillie was irritating her now. “She’s probably been sleeping all day while I worked. I’ll head up there after I shower and grab something to eat.”
“She said send you up right away. Maybe you need to go see what she wants before you go bad-mouthing her.”
Chuckling at John’s reprimand, Rob chimed in. “I heard you were the one sleeping most of the night while she took care of the sick horse.”
Swain scowled but didn’t answer. Men. Just show them a pretty face and loyalty went flying out the window.
*
That pretty face nearly took her breath away when she opened the back door. Lillie had pinned her hair up in a loose twist, accentuating her delicate features, and was lost in concentration as she studied the written instructions in her hand and compared them to the timer on the microwave.
“You really don’t have to watch it cook. The microwave shuts off when the time’s up.”
Lillie wheeled, a broad smile illuminating her face. “Hello. I hope you aren’t too tired to be hungry. I’m cooking dinner for us.”
Swain had nursed her grumpy mood all the way to the house, intending to let Lillie know she didn’t appreciate being summoned at the end of a long, exhausting day. Instead, she could feel her traitor face stretching into a smile that matched Lillie’s. “Should I be worried?”
Lillie put her hand on her hip and gave Swain a mock glare. “Of course not. I have expert instructions.” She hesitated and glanced at the microwave. “I’m just not sure how to tell when something is done. The instructions say, ‘between six and eight minutes.’ How do you know if six is enough or eight is too many?”
Swain laughed. “Well, you won’t be able to tell by staring at it. You cook it until the middle’s hot enough.”
Lillie dropped her chin and shook her head. “Everything is so simple for you.”
Swain noticed for the first time the faint lines and shadows of fatigue on Lillie’s lovely face and wondered if they were still talking about cooking. “Few things are as simple as they seem.”
Lillie looked up and her eyes were so full of longing and sadness that they tore at Swain’s heart. She took Lillie’s hands in hers and stepped closer. She was inches away from pulling Lillie into her arms, a breath away from tasting her full lips when the buzzer on the microwave sounded.
The moment between them gone, Lillie stepped back to retrieve the casserole. She didn’t say anything, but dug a forkful out of the center of the dish
and held it out for Swain to taste.
Swain closed her eyes and hummed her approval. “God, that tastes just like Mary Chandler’s turkey-supreme casserole. I don’t know anybody who can duplicate this, even with the recipe.”
Lillie gave a chagrined shrug. “Okay. I confess. It is Mrs. Chandler’s casserole. It was left over from Saturday, and I just reheated it according to the instructions Mrs. Riley left.”
“Wow! I’m starved.” Swain looked at the table for the first time. It was neatly set for two with fresh salads, linen napkins, and polished silverware next to both plates. The only thing missing was candlelight. “Everything looks great.”
Swain politely pulled out a chair to seat Lillie. Lillie smiled at Swain’s compliment, but put her hand out to stop her from also sitting.
“Would you please let my other dinner guest in?”
Swain was confused. She saw only two plates. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”
Lillie pointed toward the back door and called out. “Beau?” A low woof and rattle of the doorknob confirmed the big dog was waiting patiently by the door. When Swain opened it, Beau gave her a haughty glance and trotted immediately to lie next to Lillie’s chair. Swain rolled her eyes, but took her seat and they hungrily dug into the food.
They chatted as they ate, about Finesse and the other horses. When the conversation moved to the people who came to the house after the funeral, Lillie aggressively stabbed at her salad.
“Some of them made me so angry, looking over Grandmum’s paintings and furniture like they were at an estate sale. Several actually approached me with offers for—” She stopped.
Swain waved her fork dismissively, realizing that Lillie was afraid talking about selling the horses would invite another bout of Butler temper. “I got my first inquiry about the ponies an hour after we got home from submitting Abigail’s obituary to the newspaper. They’re like buzzards circling.”
Call Me Softly Page 9