Ghost Horse

by Patricia Rosemoor

  He held out his hand, and I realized he wanted to shake on it. His hand engulfed mine, and the first thing I realized was that this was not the soft hand of a man who worked behind a desk but the hand of one used to physical labor. His skin was rough, his fingers lightly callused. The second thing I realized was that he held my hand a bit too long, and an electrifying sensation sizzled up my arm. And the way he was looking at me… heat flushed my cheeks. Wondering if this was some kind of test, I pulled my hand from his.

  With the flick of a black eyebrow, he strode to the fireplace and tugged on a fancy pull that flowed from the wall.

  Just seconds later Mrs. Avery surfaced from somewhere. “You rang, sir?”

  “Mrs. Avery, will you see that Nissa comes downstairs? I want her to meet her new tutor.”

  “Miss Nissa isn’t upstairs, Mr. Damian. She’s gone riding.”

  “I told her I wanted her here when Chloe arrived,” he said tersely, making me uncomfortable.

  “Yes, sir, and I reminded her.”

  “But she went, anyway?”

  I could see Damian’s cheek muscles working as he tried to control his aggravation. He lost the battle.

  “How long ago was this?” he practically shouted.

  “Twenty minutes or so.”

  “So she sneaked out when she saw her tutor arrive.”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “I’m going after her,” he muttered. “When I get her back here, she’ll be lucky if I don’t skin her alive.”

  Startled by the threat of violence, I told myself Damian didn’t actually mean that. Dawn had mentioned his temper, but she’d never said he’d used corporal punishment on his daughter.

  Wishing I were anywhere but in this room, I asked meekly, “What would you like me to do?”

  “Whatever you please!”

  With that, Damian was out the door and I was off to a shaky start. The only one who seemed pleased was Mrs. Avery, who was wearing a satisfied smile.

  “Perhaps you ought to get your bags now, miss. No one will be made available to help you with them. You’ll go through the back door into the kitchen. Take the rear stairs to the second floor. Your room is the one to the far left. The third floor is the attic, used for storage. You are not to go up there.”

  She left me, and I stood there, stunned for a moment, again wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

  What was done was done, I told myself, as I exited the house to get my bags. I did not intend to leave until I had my answers. Hopefully not until I was reconnected with Dawn.

  This past six-month period was the longest time we’d gone without seeing each other since meeting when I was fourteen, Dawn fifteen. When my mother died and my father abandoned me, Family Services placed me in a foster home with the Winstons. Removed from her alcoholic mother’s custody, Dawn was already in residence. We bonded from the first day. She called me Ci-Ci, never Chloe—her version of Sissy, because she said we were just like sisters. We went to the same college, became roomies afterward, and we both took teaching jobs with the Chicago Public Schools.

  Dawn would never just disappear on me if she could help it.

  Outside, I looked toward the barn about a hundred yards away, where Damian mounted a dark bay and raced off across the grounds in the general direction of the river. As if we had some kind of connection I could not fathom, I felt his jumbled emotions.

  I turned from him to gaze at the horses in the connected pastures—mares with their cavorting offspring. I’d always loved horses. Dawn and I both did. When we started teaching, we saved all our spare money to take riding lessons. I was no expert, but I wasn’t bad. So, seeing the horses made me understand why Dawn had been drawn to this place. What I still didn’t understand was why she left it without warning me.

  Unlike my father, Dawn would never up and disappear on me if she could help it.

  Once more I swore I would find her if it was the last thing I ever did.

  DAMIAN CUT THROUGH the apple orchard, intent on getting to Nissa and bringing a quick end to her latest act of defiance. Her mother was gone for good, and the sooner she accepted that, the better.

  Damn Priscilla! He guessed she’d loved Nissa in her own way, just loved money more.

  Preoccupied as he was with solving the failing finances of the estate, he didn’t need more problems from Nissa. She’d always been a wild child but a loving one. With Priscilla out of her life for good, her loving nature too often took a back seat to less admirable traits. In the last year, Nissa had made a concerted effort to actively illustrate her depression and anger, including ignoring her studies so that she’d been in danger of failing and falling a year behind in school.

  Spotting her through the trees on Wild Cherry, a mare whose chestnut coat was nearly as red as Nissa’s hair, Damian squeezed his legs, urging Sargent-Major to catch up. Leaning forward along the bay’s neck, he whistled sharply the several-note call he used to bring in all his horses from pasture.

  Cherry’s ears went up, and the mare started prancing and trying to turn toward him. Nissa fought her, and though irritated with her rebelliousness, Damian also watched with pride as the thirteen-year-old took charge of her equally spirited mount.

  The delay allowed him the time to catch up to his daughter just outside the orchard and in view of the river from high above. Another issue between them—he’d forbidden her to ride anywhere near the palisades if she was alone. He reached over and grabbed Cherry’s halter.

  “Enough,” he said, slowing Sarge and bringing both horses to a halt. “You’re in trouble now, young lady.”

  Nissa’s eyes—a softer color than her mother’s pure green—flashed her rebelliousness. “I was just exercising my mare.”

  “You could have done that early this morning. You waited purposely to insult your new tutor by not being there to meet her.”

  “I don’t need a stupid tutor!”

  Damian clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t respond in kind. At the moment, her defiant expression reminded him of her mother, though she would never be as stunning as Priscilla. Someday Nissa would be striking, rather than beautiful, but right now she was in that awkward growing-up stage where none of her features seemed to work together in her best interests.

  “I’ll be the judge of what you need, young lady. And Chloe Morgan is not stupid. She will be a good summer companion for you.” And a pleasant addition to the household. She was easy on the eyes and in personality. It would be a relief to have a woman of a subdued nature around for once. “When you return to your school in September, I want you to be able to keep up with your classmates.”

  “Who cares?” Nissa said sullenly.

  “I care, Freckles, you know I do.”

  “Don’t call me that! I’m not a little kid anymore.”

  “Then stop acting like one. Be the young lady I know you can be. Let’s go back to the house so you can meet Chloe. And you’ll apologize to her for your rudeness.”

  “Will not,” Nissa muttered, jerking the reins and pulling the mare around so she was headed back to the house.

  Following, Damian knew she would apologize, though it might kill her to do so. The ride back would give her time to consider her actions. She wasn’t a terrible child, just one who was heartbroken at the loss of her mother. She didn’t want to lose her father, too, so she would capitulate because she needed his approval.

  The mild-mannered Miss Morgan might be exactly what Nissa needed to settle down. She’d given Dawn one hell of a time for a while, but Dawn hadn’t taken any nonsense from Nissa, who had eventually come around and acted more like her old self. Not in the last month, though. Obviously, Nissa felt abandoned yet again.

  Which brought him back to Miss Chloe Morgan. She came highly recommended by the agency who’d sent her. Damian only hoped she’d been sincere about meeting her obligations.

  At least she wouldn’t be a disruptive influence in the household. Chloe was a pretty thing—heart-shaped face, dimpled right chee
k, big gray eyes, trim body—not a real looker like Dawn, who’d been a blond bombshell and something of a tumultuous presence. By contrast, having Chloe Morgan around the estate would be peaceful and safe.

  As they arrived back at the barn, Theo Bosch was there to meet them. The barn manager wasn’t much older than Damian, but his dark blond hair was already thinning and he wore a billed cap to hide the fact.

  Visually inspecting both horses as he always did when they came in from a ride, Theo muttered, “They need to be walked,” as if they didn’t always. “Clifford!” he yelled for the groom.

  Not having the time to walk out the horses himself today, Damian dismounted and handed over the reins to the barn manager. “The new tutor has arrived.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  There wasn’t much that happened around the estate that Theo didn’t notice—a fact that sometimes irritated Damian. “I don’t know if Chloe rides or not, but I’ll tell her a horse will be available for her use if she so desires.”

  “I’ll pick one for her based on her experience,” Theo said. An odd expression crossed his features. “So is this one more suitable than the last?”

  Nissa gasped. Damian glanced back to see that she’d gone wide-eyed and her chin jutted out. She turned and fled toward the house.

  Damian gave Theo an angry glare before he followed the girl to the house, where Nissa’s voice carried to him through the open door.

  “Chloe Morgan, where are you? Come down here and get this over with right now!”

  Damian ran the last few yards to the house, and as he bounded up the steps, he heard the tutor answer.

  “I’m right here, Nissa.”

  He entered the foyer as Chloe came down the stairs, the light from the windows glowing around her, making her appear ethereal and somewhat fragile.

  “You’re not to keep me waiting!”

  “Nissa!” Damian growled.

  But Chloe held out a hand, as if warning him to stay out of this. Shocked, Damian simply stared at her.

  “You can count on me to be here for you for the whole summer, Nissa,” Chloe said.

  “No, I can’t! I can’t count on anyone! You’re going to disappear like my mother did and then like Dawn did, so you might as well do it now!”

  Before Chloe could respond, Damian lost the little temper he had left. “Keep it up, Nissa, and you won’t need a tutor. I can still send you to the Grant School for Girls.”

  Damian was instantly sorry, of course, because Nissa’s face crumpled, and tears flowed down her cheeks as she raced up the stairs past Chloe, who stood there staring at him accusingly.

  Damian glared at her in return. She’d best know her place in this household, or she would be history.

  Chapter Two

  I wanted to follow and calm Nissa down, but I knew she needed a few minutes to get herself together first. Waiting until Nissa was out of earshot before turning back to Damian, I demanded, “Whatever were you thinking?”

  I knew speaking to him this way wasn’t the wisest of decisions, especially if I wanted to keep this job. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was a tight line. I could feel his anger washing over me, but I couldn’t help myself. His threatening to send his daughter away—the idea of abandoning her when she needed him most—appalled me.

  “I was thinking that I am the girl’s father,” he said stonily.

  “Indeed you are. That gives you a great responsibility,” I told him more coolly than I was feeling. My pulse jagged and suddenly I had trouble breathing. I choked out, “I hope you are up to it.”

  “You hope? You’re merely my daughter’s tutor—”

  “And because of that, I have her best interests at heart.” I felt myself winding up tight and my words coming out faster. “I don’t just teach my students theory and then shut them out if the real world intrudes. Trust me, I know Nissa doesn’t want to chase anyone away.” I could identify with Nissa in a way he never could. “She’s simply confused and trying to protect herself before someone else can leave her.”

  As I spoke, I saw Damian’s features shift. A neutral expression replaced the anger.

  Was this meant to relax me? I wondered.

  Or did my heartfelt words actually affect him?

  He gave me a curt nod and said, “Go see to your student, then.”

  I watched him leave the house before heading up the stairs. My knees felt like mush, but somehow I made it. Coming up against someone like Damian was intimidating. The kids I could handle—I didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with difficult parents. Plus, Damian was so attractive that it unnerved me a little.

  I pressed my ear to Nissa’s door and heard her sobbing. My heart went out to the unhappy girl. I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her everything would be okay…except I doubted she would let me and I didn’t want to lie.

  I knocked at her door, saying, “Nissa, this is Chloe. May I come in?”

  “I guess.”

  I opened the door to find Nissa standing at the window, her narrow back stiff and turned to me. Her room was a typical one for a thirteen-year-old—little-kids’ furniture but heartthrob posters on the yellow walls, a stuffed horse next to a laptop computer. The most prominent thing in the room, though, was the large tank of pretty fish set against the wall opposite the fireplace.

  I said, “I thought we could use a few moments alone to get to know each other.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I am kind of new at this teaching thing, so I thought maybe you could help me.”

  She turned to give me a curious look, and from the smears of dirt across her cheeks—no doubt the dust from her ride—I could tell she’d wiped at the tears because she didn’t want me to know she’d been crying. Her green eyes were muddied, stirred up by the emotional storm raging inside her.

  “You want me to help you?” Nissa asked disbelievingly.

  “Yes. To sort out what it is you need to work on over the summer.”

  “I am pretty bright, you know.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “I’m all caught up with my studies. My messing up was just a phase I was going through,” she said as if she was all better now.

  “Your father wants to make certain you stay caught up.”

  “Dad thinks I need a babysitter.” She flounced herself across the bed, stomach down, and picked up a framed photo that she set on the bedside table.

  “He doesn’t consider you a baby, Nissa.” I came a little closer, noticed the photograph was one of her and her mother, an exotic beauty with Nissa’s hair and a brighter version of her eyes. “But perhaps he’s too busy taking care of the horses to give you the company he thinks you need.”

  “He does think I’m a baby. He won’t even tell me the truth about Mama.”

  “Divorces are difficult—”

  “Divorce? Yeah, I imagine he’d tell you that. My mother is dead.”

  I frowned. “Dead?”

  “She just wasn’t here one day. She was gone. And I saw Dad take her things out of the house.” All gawky arms and legs, she scrambled to sit on the edge of the mattress. “He said Mama didn’t want to live here anymore and that she would be happier elsewhere. But if that was true, I wouldn’t be here, because Mama would never leave me. She would have taken me with her.”

  I didn’t know what to think. Dawn hadn’t told me anything about Nissa believing her mother was dead. “Perhaps your mother couldn’t take you with her.”

  “Then why doesn’t she come to see me? Or call me? Other kids in my class have divorced parents. Usually they live with their mothers.”

  “You don’t want to be with your father?” I asked, wondering if she had good reason.

  “Of course I want to be with him. When he’s not angry at me, Dad is the best. If Mama was still alive, I would be living with her and seeing Dad on the weekends.”

  “It often works that way, but not always.”

  When my mother died, my father left me to the system
and never looked back. Not exactly the same situation, but close enough. I understood what she was feeling. The sense of loss and abandonment subsided but never fully went away. At times, I still felt all alone—unlovable, even.

  Poor kid. Nissa couldn’t believe that her mother didn’t want her and so she had to pretend she was dead. She looked ready to cry again. I couldn’t stop myself from crossing to her and smoothing the hair from her face. She blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to stop the tears from coming.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I understand.”

  I didn’t cling to the moment. Nissa didn’t know me well enough to throw herself into my arms. She didn’t know me at all. But now I had a lot of insight into her.

  “How about you show me what you and Dawn worked on this spring?”

  We spent the next quarter of an hour going over Nissa’s books and a binder of work. Dawn had done a good job homeschooling her. Nissa was definitely ready to go back to school and keep up with her classmates. But she still needed to deal with her emotions.

  “Very good,” I said, “though I think you could use an extra boost in the composition department.”

  “Composition?”

  “Writing skills. I want you to start keeping a journal.”

  “You mean like a diary.”

  “Sort of. You can write about your thoughts. Or about a great ride you have on your horse. Or about the beauty of the river. Your choice. Every afternoon, I’d like you to take a little time and write.”

  “Who’s going to read it?”

  “Just me, if that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “All right, then. We’ll start tomorrow after breakfast. I see you have a computer. Are you online?”

  “Yeah. I got Dad to go wireless, so I don’t have to go to his study. It’s set up so I can work on my laptop anywhere in the house. Outside, too. Why?”

  “Because you’re going to use the Internet to help you study.”

  The promise sparked a seed of interest. Good. I explained how I would pick one subject per morning and she would get to search the Internet to expand her knowledge on a specific topic. To my relief, Nissa seemed pleased, if not outright enthusiastic.