Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

Nothing. He walked through the barn to the ring and found Amanda raking the footing back into the track the horses had worn along the fence. Her back was to him, and for a moment he just looked and appreciated her close-fitting bluish-gray breeches. “Gardening?” he asked.

  She straightened, snapping her head around to look at him. She put her hand to her chest. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry. I was out for a run and thought I’d stop by.”

  They exchanged pleasantries about the beautiful weather and grounds, which Amanda had explored mostly on horseback. When Grady sensed she was more comfortable, he broached the subject he’d thought about for most of his run. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a clue why Solstice has been moping around the house, would you? Wave said she’s not riding.”

  Amanda leaned against her rake. The brim of her Devon Horse Show cap shaded her eyes so he couldn’t see them, so he couldn’t gauge her expression very well.

  “Yes. I grounded her.”

  She what? “You what?”

  Her lips tightened into a line just before she said, “I grounded her.”

  “She’s been riding for five minutes! How could you ground her? I forbid you to ground her.”

  “She broke a cardinal rule.”

  Good God, she was like a crazy micromanaging director. “What the hell did she do? Murder someone?”

  She licked her lips, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the rake handle harder. “She abused her horse. I don’t tolerate that.”

  His daughter wouldn’t abuse an animal. No way. “What did she do, exactly?”

  “She hit her mare repeatedly for no reason other than she was angry. I can’t allow that. It’s inexcusable.”

  “She hurt the horse that much?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Someone hits you with a riding crop, it hurts.”

  He couldn’t resist. The line was a gift. He raised his eyebrows and said, “You’re into that kind of thing?”

  Her face seemed to acquire an instant, virulent sunburn.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help it. And sometimes I regress to seventh grade. Next I’ll be telling blonde jokes. Now then,” he said, since she hadn’t smiled, “she hit her horse and you grounded her.”

  “That’s right.”

  “For how long?”

  “Just four days. She rides tomorrow.”

  “Four days? You don’t think that’s a little much?”

  “I needed to make a point. This lesson has to stick.”

  “The grounding—it works?”

  Amanda looked surprised and her trim torso relaxed. “Well . . . yeah,” she said, as though it was completely obvious. Grady got the sense she thought he was completely oblivious. “Most of the time. Not that I do it often.”

  “My daughter’s a tough nut. And she has a temper.”

  “I think it’ll work. In fact . . . you might want to try this kind of thing yourself. What I mean is, they’re coming around. Remember that first day when they refused to groom their horses and they dragged you out to argue their case with me?”

  “Yes, and they won. You’re saying that’s changed now?”

  “Yes. Why do you think it changed?” She leaned the rake against the fence and propped her hands on her hips, relaxing one knee.

  “Extortion?”

  She grimaced, and he sensed he’d hit some kind of nerve. Which intrigued him.

  “More like . . . when you train a horse—or any athlete—you have to push them a little more than they’re comfortable with so they’ll improve. It’s a balancing act, because you push too hard, you shake their confidence, too little and they don’t progress or they get bored or frustrated. I’m sure it’s similar with acting. You know.” She had started to use her hands, spreading her fingers and gesturing toward him. “Anyway, I get the feeling these kids have never been pushed at all. Your daughters are just like horses who need a herd leader or they’ll take the job themselves. What I mean is, deep down, Solstice likes that I grounded her.”

  Grady made a face. “Right.”

  “Kids like having structure, boundaries, limitations, all that animal-training stuff. Even if they swear up and down they hate it. Besides, it makes my job easier if I’m not the only bad cop around here. Not that I’m ever really the bad cop. Not that rules are bad. I mean, I treat them well. But . . . oh . . . you know what I mean. It would be more consistent for them if I wasn’t the only one who gave them rules to follow.”

  He had to smile, because she was starting to get flustered. “Except that I’m trying to have fun with my kids this summer. I don’t want to be a cop. I want to be their friend.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes, looked away, then pressed her lips tight together again. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, “but that never works.”

  “And you have how many children?”

  “I know, I know, but I teach kids, and I’ve been in highly emotional, stressful situations with them at horse shows, and I see parents who want to be friends, and it’s a hot mess. Nobody’s happy in the long run. They have friends. You’re their only father.”

  “I know. Last time I checked, that was my permanent role.” He was starting to get irked and knew he sounded it. His shirt was clammy and he wanted a shower.

  Her eyes widened and snapped to his. He could see them better now because the sun was behind a cloud. She pressed her fingertips against her forehead and sighed, then clasped her hands at her waist and looked at him again. “Not my business, except they’re my students. And I do care about them. And I live here. Which is new.” Her hands went into action again. “I’ve never been around students so much unless we’re away at a show, and then it’s just a few days. I’m sorry if I was out of line. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just a suggestion, and I only made it because I think you’d all get along better. But you don’t have to listen to me. Obviously.” She paused, squinted as she bit her lip, then said, “Sometimes I can’t seem to stop teaching if I think I can help. It’s a bad habit.”

  Grady felt the corners of his lips tug upward and he said, “I can see that you care about them. No worries.” Should he apologize? Had he been too harsh? She looked so cute when she bit her lip. Uh-oh. Best to change the subject, so he cleared his throat and glanced at the stall nearest the door. “Where’s Titanium?”

  She blinked. “Uh, in the pasture. I do him in the afternoon. Do you want me to get him now?”

  “No, that’s fine, no need. When is he in the barn? Whenever I come down, he’s gone.”

  Her mouth opened slightly. “You come here?”

  “Yes.” He liked that he’d surprised her. See, Ms. Vogel? I’m not always an ogre.

  “He’s here for breakfast, then he goes in the pasture and I bring him in around two.”

  “I’ll see him one of these days. I’d like to ride him.”

  “I’d like to work with him a bit more first.”

  “All right. Let me know when it’s safe.” He pinched his sweat-sodden T-shirt and pulled it away from his chest. “Whew! I smell like a barn.”

  “Join the club.”

  Good. She had softened. He laughed. He turned to go, then looked at her and said, “Herd leader, huh?”

  She smiled, and this one was real. “Yeah.”

  He scratched the back of his head in the time-honored comic gesture of contemplation and said, “I dunno if I buy it. I’d rather just eat ice cream with them. Do herd leaders eat ice cream?”

  “Sometimes.” She picked up the rake.

  “Remind me to take you out for ice cream sometime, Ms. Vogel.” He grinned at her pointedly and walked into the barn. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but he felt as though he might have just been schooled.

  After her four-day grounding, an invigorated, obedient Solstice took to riding like a starlet to shopping Rodeo Drive. Naturally balanced and coordinated, she was fast developing feel, so she could sense what the horse was doing and influence it instantaneously. Feel came from hours i
n the saddle, and some people never got it; the best riders had it in spades. Amanda had never had a student acquire it so quickly.

  The girls’ work ethic took a quantum leap forward. Grooming and tacking up were no longer issues. Wave no longer feared her big sister’s wrath, was happy to obey Amanda, and loved taking care of Bramble. And since Solstice’s hubris had inadvertently provided Amanda with some effortless blackmail material, the riding instructor relaxed about her job security. The Brunswick demons had become angels.

  Exactly two weeks after the first lesson—deadline day—Grady sat on the patio and sipped his cooling coffee as he watched the end of his daughters’ lesson. He’d had to go to LA for a few days, but now he was back, and happily so. His oldest daughter rubbed and scratched her horse’s neck before she leaned over and hugged the mare. Amanda was talking to the girls, but he couldn’t hear. He read part of a script for the ten minutes it took the horses to cool out, took his empty mug inside, grabbed Amanda’s mail, and walked to the barn.

  “Good morning, cowgirls!” he said.

  “Daddy!” Wave said. “We’re not cowgirls—we ride English.”

  “Did you see us?” Solstice asked.

  “You bet I did. You were great.” He caught Amanda’s eye on this one. “Good morning, Amanda. Your mail.” He handed her a horse magazine and a few envelopes.

  “Thanks. You, um, saw them ride?”

  “From the patio. Great view from there. And your voice carries beautifully. Nice voice, by the way.”

  She furrowed her brow at him. “Thanks.” She set her mail on a tack trunk in the aisle. Somehow, he was once again making her uncomfortable. So much for making up for “muskrat” and scoffing at her “herd leader” theory of child rearing.

  “Damn it!” Solstice said from inside Rainy’s stall.

  “What was that?” Amanda asked.

  “Sorry,” the tall brunette said, and shuffled into the aisle.

  “Five,” Amanda said mildly, and the girl knelt on the barn floor and did five girl push-ups while Wave looked on gleefully.

  “We have to do push-ups if we curse,” Wave told her father. “It builds upper-body strength, which good riders need to have.”

  Grady raised his eyebrows at Amanda. She met his gaze.

  Solstice completed her penance and returned to grooming.

  “Daddy, come see Bramble’s feet. He has frogs in them!” Wave said.

  “Be right there.” Grady stared at Amanda. He went into the stall, inspected Bramble’s hooves, including the raised triangular portion on his sole that was apparently called a frog, and complimented Wave on her work. Solstice requested his presence in Rainy’s stall so she could show him the emerging dapples on the mare’s coat. Both girls chatted him up—Wave more than Solstice—while Amanda disappeared into the tack room.

  Fifteen minutes later the two horses trotted to their pasture mates, and the girls raced each other to the house.

  “You convinced them to groom the horses,” Grady said. “They seem to like it.”

  She shrugged. “They’re doing well. They’re becoming more confident. Solstice is a natural, by the way.”

  “They seem to listen to you—the, uh, push-ups.”

  “I don’t think clean language is too much to ask.” She threw him a sidelong glance. “Besides, they’re girl push-ups.”

  Grady pursed his lips. “They groom their horses and like riding. Seems I was wrong about the, uh, manual labor thing. And the herd leader. And the bad cop. Maybe I should listen to you.”

  She gave him a one-sided, sly smile. “It’s probably in your best interests.”

  Well, well. Amanda Vogel was cheeky. He smiled, and she scraped under one thumbnail with the other thumbnail. He almost flirted with her—but went for “employer” instead. “All right, then. Today’s the deadline. I’d like you to stay on.”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Good,” was all he said. What was it about her? He had dined with royalty—several times—for heaven’s sake! He regularly rubbed elbows with the wealthy and powerful and was fine. But this riding instructor . . . Purely to escape, he clasped his hands behind his back and headed out of the barn using the saunter he’d perfected when he’d played a plantation owner.

  “One more thing,” she said, and he faced her. “The floor?”

  “Yes. I haven’t had time—”

  “I’ll take care of everything if you green-light the project. Isn’t that what they say in Hollywood?” The words tumbled out one after another. She sounded desperate. And adorable. He couldn’t help smiling.

  “Only the posers. I haven’t had a chance to talk with Jacqueline, but I will. I promise.” He wanted to reassure her.

  “I won’t forget about the floor.” He looked at the glazed floor and remembered how Amanda had said it was dangerous. It was hard to imagine that a floor posed a threat when every day his children rode unpredictable animals that weighed a ton. People rode horses all the time and were perfectly fine. But not always. What about Christopher Reeve? He tried to blockade the question in his brain, to prevent it from slipping out, but he failed. He looked at her and said, “This riding thing, is it . . . are my kids . . . safe?”

  Her gaze softened. Was that sympathy? “They’re as safe as I can manage,” she said. “That’s why I bought new horses. These horses are very, very good. I’ll never ask your daughters to do anything dangerous or beyond their skills. I’m not one of those instructors who forces kids to do something if they’re sincerely scared. I’ll push if they need it, but I promise, their safety is my top priority. Always.”

  “But they could get hurt? Fall?” He wanted to suck the words back in as soon as he’d said them. But he couldn’t help himself. His wife’s death was partially his fault—and he didn’t want their first summer together to be memorable because of riding accidents.

  Amanda met his eyes with her brown-and-gold ones. “They will fall off. Anyone who rides for any length of time does. I’ve come off dozens of times. Usually, the worst injury is a bruised ego.”

  “I can trust you on this?”

  She looked a little hurt. “Of course you can.” She sighed. “If you’ll excuse me . . . ” She started to back away, then turned her back to him and strode to the tack room. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn she was fleeing.

  “Have a good afternoon,” he called to the open doorway. How had he offended her this time?

  It took Amanda a solid thirty minutes to get over her annoyance at Grady’s implication that she would get a massage and have a smoke while his children got dragged behind galloping horses. But Solstice’s words echoed in her head: “He has this weird thing about us getting hurt.” Besides, he wasn’t the first overprotective parent she’d encountered. Just the most famous.

  At three o’clock Jacqueline called the barn to ask Amanda if she could meet about the barn floor the next day at one. When Amanda hung up, she did a happy dance on the very floor she yearned to demolish.

  That evening Grady considered demolishing his daughter. Inspired by Amanda, he decided to wage the decisive battle in a small war brewing with his small offspring: Wave vs. asparagus. Harris worked his magic on the grilled vegetable, and had, per Grady’s instructions, placed four of the tenderest spears on Wave’s dinner plate. They made it through the meal unscathed.

  “Bye, Dad,” Wave said as she vaulted off her chair at the kitchen table.

  “Yeah, bye,” Solstice said as she followed suit.

  “Wait a minute,” Grady said. “Ask to be excused.”

  Both girls stopped, then looked at him with disbelief. “Go on,” Grady said. “Say, ‘May I be excused?’ ”

  Solstice screwed her lips into a puzzled pout, glowered, but said, “May I be excused?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  “Is this some new thing we’re doing now?” Solstice asked.

  “Yes,” Grady said. “It’s called learning manners.”

  “Great,” the older girl
said.

  Wave followed her sister out of the kitchen.

  “Wave, come back here, please,” Grady said. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Wave stopped and sighed, sounding like every molecule of air whooshed out of her lungs and said, “May I be ’scused?”

  Grady used the tone he’d used when he played an understanding, yet firm, father. “No you may not. Sit down, please.”

  Wave’s petite face gloomed over. “Daaaad!” she whined. “Whyyy?”

  “I’d like you to eat your asparagus.”

  Wave moved as though her legs weighed four thousand pounds, her head lolling back as if her neck were an empty sock. She grunted as she hoisted herself onto the chair, then fixed her eyes on her father. “I. Hate. Spair-gus. It’s gross.”

  “Asparagus. How do you know you hate it when you’ve never tasted it?”

  Harris came over, rested his butt against the center butcher block, and crossed his arms across his chest, watching. And smiling.

  “I just do,” Wave assured him.

  “Take a bite,” Grady said, trying to sound authoritative. What if he alienated his precious daughter over a vegetable? Was it worth it? He’d heard you’re supposed to pick your battles; was this a good one? He had no idea, since he had never battled at all. Then again, it was just a vegetable. She could eat a vegetable. She was willing to do push-ups for Amanda. Eating a few asparagus spears was nothing.

  “I can’t,” Wave said.

  “Yes, you can,” Grady said.

  “No, Dad,” Wave said, serious as a witness at a congressional hearing. “I cannot.”

  “One bite.”

  “Not possible.”

  “You can use your fingers. How ’bout that?”

  “That’s so Emily Post of you,” Harris said, then grinned.

  Grady sent him a look.

  The chef shrugged. “It’s perfectly acceptable to eat asparagus with your fingers. I’m just sayin’.”

  Grady looked at Wave. Wave looked at Grady. How did Amanda do the herd leader thing?

  “Honey, do your poor dad a favor. Eat your vegetables. Don’t you want to be strong when you grow up?” Then, inspired, he added, “Amanda eats asparagus all the time.” He hoped.