by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair
He replaced his hand in his lap.
With a wicked gleam in his powder-blue eyes, Harris asked, “How do the kitties like the floor?”
Amanda shot him a deadly look. “They’re fine with it.”
“Kitties?” Grady asked.
Damn, he’d been listening. Why couldn’t he be completely self-absorbed, like a normal movie star?
“Amanda got cats,” Harris said merrily.
“Did she now?” Grady’s gaze lasered on her face, eyebrows high.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for pity’s sake, they’re just cats,” she said. “Two lousy cats. Every barn has cats to catch the mice. It’s standard issue. It’s like having . . . doors.” She took a Dean Martin–sized gulp of her Mintini. Dutch courage firmly in place, she said to Grady, “Don’t even tell me you’re going to get mad at me for this.”
“Do I smell a spanking?” Harris asked, grinning.
“Harris!” Amanda and Grady said simultaneously, and glared at him. And then Amanda’s slightly tipsy imagination provided an image of her on Grady’s lap. Naked. And she felt her core clench and hoped she disguised it as she shifted.
Grady looked at her, his cheeks pink. Ha! He was flummoxed, too! He licked his lips. “I don’t care that you got them, but what happens when summer’s over?”
“You can take them. If you don’t, I will.”
“I don’t want cats. Solstice and Wave will get attached to them and I’ll have that mess when we leave for LA. Two crying little girls is not my idea of fun.”
She leaned in, and Harris, who had been following the conversation like a tennis match, leaned toward Grady, too. In a hushed tone, Amanda said, “Why don’t you see how things go instead of deciding here and now you’re not taking the cats with you in two and a half months? You might like them.” The damn Mintini had made her reckless, but she didn’t care.
Grady leaned in so that his face was only inches from hers. “You know how kids are. They’re going to love them.” His tone was mildly threatening. His breath was minty. The combination was intoxicating.
Amanda was getting lost in his eyes. Ridiculous, because he was being that stupid, immature horse again, but she was thinking about kissing him. If they were in one of his movies, they would assuredly kiss.
“You know what?” she asked. “I’ll take them. I’ll tell the girls in no uncertain terms that they’re my kittens. How’s that?” She hadn’t meant to sound so virulent, but it was better than kissing him.
He looked at her a moment more before replying. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m just thinking of the girls.”
She bit her lip and tilted her head as a truth cleared in her mind. “Because when you were a kid, you lost a pet.” It was a statement.
Grady shrugged. “Yeah.” He turned his head to the right to look at the glowing blue water in the lighted pool.
Something in Amanda’s chest let go a notch. “I see.”
“That’s how he could cry on cue in acting class,” Harris said. “Just thought about poor Blackie.”
“I’d like to speak to my sensitive, caring, gay friend, Harris,” Grady said, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “Is he still here?”
“Oh, honey, I’m all bitchy queen now, remember?”
Grady and Amanda both laughed, and Grady said, “I’ll take that beer now.”
“I’ll get it,” Harris said. “I need to powder my nose,” and he glided across the patio to the sliding doors in that effortless way of his.
“It’ll be okay. About the cats,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m sure it will.” He was looking at her again. His gaze shifted to her mouth and she wondered, crazily, if he was going to kiss her. Then his gaze slid farther south and she wondered if he was just plain lecherous.
“That’s a nice necklace.”
She mentally chastised herself for assuming he’d been staring at her breasts.
“May I?” He gestured with his hand. His long-fingered, strong, pianist’s hand.
“Sure.” His fingers grazed her skin as he handled the tiny charm. She looked away, knowing her breaths were fast and shallow. She blamed Harris and his Mintini, because surely if she were a) stone-cold sober and b) dating someone, Grady touching her would be exactly the same as her doctor feeling lymph nodes. Seeing as how she was a) slightly inebriated, and b) as single as the Pope, his skin against hers felt like a blowtorch. Plus she could smell him, a clean soap smell, just like that time in the car. And then there was the heat and pressure of his granite thighs against hers, which was a whole ’nother can of sexually attractive worms. So to speak.
“Very pretty. Do you think the girls would like something like that?” He sat back on his chaise.
“Yeah.” Her brain was fuzzy, and it wasn’t just from the Mintini, no matter how much she wished that were the case.
Grady cleared his throat. Her skin was so soft and warm. Her lips would be even softer. But he had to stop thinking like that, so he asked, “Would you tell me where you got it?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was dreamy, and Grady imagined her saying that word exactly like that while beneath him. Naked. Evidently Harris’s Mintini packed quite a wallop. Back to the necklace. Back to the shiny little horse that conducted heat from her skin. Back to her warm, smooth skin stretched over strong collarbones. Collarbones that slanted toward her shadowy cleavage.
He had to stop.
Necklace. Necklace or bust. No, not bust. Concentrate! “Where?” he managed.
“Uh, online. I’ll look up the website and tell Jacqueline.”
He heard her, but he was staring at her lips. Damn it, what was his problem? Sure, she was pretty, but come on! She was his kids’ riding instructor. Better to hold out for an up-and-coming starlet—he’d had no shortage of come-ons from those. He was in demand. Better to be in a Hollywood power couple than to have a summer affair and get stuck with a weepy, starstruck civilian who would expect more from him, or stalk him, or purposely get pregnant. Amanda could make his life a living hell if he gave in to his libido. Yes, he could buy her off, but he’d never done that, and he wasn’t about to start. She was here for the summer and that was all, and he was here to spend time with his daughters. If he wanted sex, there were approximately two dozen famous women who would fly to Aspen in a heartbeat. And they were a heck of a lot sexier than this riding instructor.
Or were they?
How strong was that Mintini?
Solstice stood at the back door of the barn, looking at puddles in the ring as they vibrated with raindrops. “Crap!” she said to the gray tabby cradled in her arms. Amanda had kept the names the Russian volunteer had given the cats at the shelter: Solstice held the light bluish-gray male, Nikolai, and Wave crouched next to Tatalina, his sleek sister, who was the color of gunmetal.
Rain had been falling steadily since dawn, which was unusual for Aspen. If it rained, it usually was a strong, brief shower in late afternoon. Because of this, natives couldn’t help but comment on precipitation that people in Seattle or Boston would consider beyond mundane.
“We really can’t ride?” Solstice asked Amanda, who stood next to her, wearing her Devon baseball cap even though there wasn’t a hint of sun.
“If you were in a show, you’d have to ride. But there’s no point in getting your saddles and bridles all wet, not to mention your trainer. Don’t worry; we’ll have fun. In fact, let’s go see Mr. Smooch.”
For the next hour, Amanda drew bones on the light palomino with Wave’s sidewalk chalk and explained the value of a short cannon bone, a nicely sloping shoulder, and other points of conformation. She had them do gymnastics exercises on the springy new floor to improve their balance, coordination, and strength. While the girls ate lunch with Harris, Amanda drove into town and rented DVDs of National Velvet and International Velvet, deciding to host a double feature in her apartment.
Armed with bowls of buttery popcorn and glasses of iced tea, the three of them sat under a blanket on Amanda’s
couch, since the rain had cooled the air. The two kittens curled up on the girls’ laps, purring and dozing as if they’d lived there for a hundred years. Solstice and Wave devoured the movies, something which Amanda recognized for the amazing feat it was, considering anything longer than a text message bored them. She knew almost all the lines in both films because she had seen them roughly nine thousand times each.
Hours later, as the dewy Tatum O’Neal and her movie husband walked on an English beach with her movie parents, Amanda gathered the empty bowls and glasses. Wave asked, “Do you have any movies of you jumping?”
Amanda’s heart stopped momentarily at the unexpected question. Could she watch Edelweiss without losing it? “Let’s see if I brought it.” But she knew she had. She recovered the DVD from a box in her closet, along with a photo album and two framed photos she kept on her dresser.
“Cool,” Solstice said as Amanda squeezed between them on the couch. She showed them the two framed pictures first, one a side view of Edelweiss clearing an imposing oxer. The gray mare had tucked all four feet up as tightly as possible, and looked for all the world like she was flying. The other was a head-on shot of Edelweiss jumping a five-foot-plus wall made of wooden sections painted to look like bricks.
“Wow,” Wave said.
They looked through the album of pictures of Amanda on Edelweiss, along with other horses she had shown over the years. There was Paramour, the big black stallion who didn’t always care about keeping fences up; Triple Shot, the sturdy bay who more than compensated for his average talent with his above-average heart; High Glory, the catlike black mare who would jump anything, but had no qualms about dumping her rider, either; and Finishing Touch, the ladylike, powerful bay mare who had saved Amanda on several occasions over big, tricky courses. Amanda told the girls about the horses and the shows, and lost herself in the memories of the sport she loved.
When she closed the album, her hands trembled as she fed the DVD into the player and turned it on. Edelweiss filled the screen as she cantered in the Dixon Oval at Devon in front of the famous sky-blue grandstand. Amanda felt a golf ball in her throat as she watched the round, reliving each fence and missing Edelweiss terribly. She quickly wiped a tear away, but Solstice rarely missed anything, and Amanda’s tear was no exception.
When the DVD finished, Solstice asked, “Do you miss your horse?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you have her here?” Wave asked.
“Oh, sweetie, I had to sell her.”
“Why?” Wave asked.
“I couldn’t keep her. But she has a good home.” A new tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it with her fingers.
“Sorry,” Solstice said.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Amanda hugged her bony shoulders. “Hey,” she said, brightening. “The rain stopped. Let’s build a cross-country course—like the one Sarah and Arizona jumped in the movie?”
“We can’t jump yet,” Wave said.
“I know that.” She rolled her eyes lavishly to entertain them. “Let’s make a course that you guys can jump yourselves. I used to do it all the time when I was a kid. It’s fun!”
A couple of hours later, Amanda, Solstice, and Wave had built a ramshackle, girl-sized cross-country course that rambled over the gentle slope between the house and the barn. They used benches, planks, a bicycle, feed tubs, a wheelbarrow, a tree stump, and various other items to construct their obstacles. The girls were particularly proud of a water obstacle where they could land in a puddle. Amanda wondered if Solstice would think that jumping a cross-country course with her baby sister was stupid, but the brunette happily dragged the fence components around, suggested where the next fence should be, and test-jumped each one.
Once they were done, Solstice said, “We’ve never done anything like this.”
Amanda considered this. Is this what computers and video games had done to the girls? Was it the isolation of living in Los Angeles? Being the children of a celebrity? Whatever the reason, she was glad to introduce them to an activity that had been a staple of her youth.
Amanda used the stopwatch function on her watch and played announcer as each girl named her imaginary horse and took her turn. After the first round, they were breathless, giggling, and completely immersed in the game.
“You know,” Amanda said, “the top riders always ride more than one horse. Do you want to go again?”
“Yeah!” they cheered.
“Let’s show Daddy,” Wave said, then looked at Amanda, “Okay?”
“Sure.”
“He’s probably busy,” Solstice muttered.
“Go see,” Amanda said to Wave, and the blond pixie galloped to the house.
Minutes later Wave tugged Grady along and parked him on the stone path that led to the driveway.
He asked, “What’s this game called? Tornado Damage?”
Amanda smiled as she joined them. “It’s a cross-country course. Like in eventing?”
“Ah. Seen it in the Olympics. Hey, that’s my bike!” He looked pointedly at her.
Amanda looked at the expensive mountain bike lying on its side in the grass. “That’s no bike. It’s an obstacle designed to frighten all but the bravest horses. The cross-country course is a test of courage as well as athleticism.”
Grady smiled. “Ah.”
Phew. He was playing along. With the tenor of a seasoned ESPN anchor, Amanda announced the next competitor.
“Next on course, Wave Brunswick riding The Pie, a British thoroughbred.”
“She’s riding a pie?” Grady whispered to Amanda.
“It was Elizabeth Taylor’s horse in National Velvet. Short for ‘piebald,’ Vern’s color, which is what the horse was in the book. In the movie he was a solid chestnut, which always bothered me. Anyway, she loved that movie. I bet she’d love if you watched it with her.”
He whispered, “I’m an action hero. I don’t watch horse movies.”
She laughed.
He smiled broadly at his daughter. “Come on, Waver!” He clapped and whistled, and Amanda turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile.
Amanda sent Wave on course, making a show of clicking her watch. Grady cheered. Amanda announced her time as Solstice started her round, and Amanda did the same drill, narrating and exclaiming as the girl flew over the obstacles. Amanda could see why she was so good at riding—she was a natural athlete.
Grady encouraged his older daughter with the same enthusiasm he had used with Wave. Solstice was just about done, coming down the hill toward the tree stump, when Nikolai decided to chase his new human playmate and bounded across her path. She took off awkwardly and landed on a root. She cried out and crumpled to the ground, and Amanda sprinted to her.
“Wave, ask Harris for ice for a sprained ankle,” Amanda said.
As he strode down the hill to his stricken daughter, Grady said, “Don’t bother, Wave.” Then he summoned Harris on his cell and asked him for the ice.
Amanda knelt at Solstice’s feet. The girl was on her back, her head rolling from side to side, crying. Amanda gently held her ankle and steadied it. Grady knelt at his daughter’s head and stroked her dark hair.
“It’s okay, Solsty,” he said, concern blanketing his face.
“Try to keep still,” Amanda said, knowing exactly how Solstice felt.
Suddenly Amanda’s heart thudded fast against her ribs and she felt icy and hot simultaneously. Sweat droplets materialized on her forehead, and cold trickles ran down her sides. Her breathing took off on her, getting faster and shallower. She felt light-headed. Yet, even as black dots swam before her eyes, a terrible movie started in her brain.
She’d seen it a million times, like her nightmare, but truer to events of that horrible afternoon. A slight blond woman on a huge black horse, jumping in a grand prix. The pair is cantering, thundering on the grass, spectators in the background. The horse leaves the ground in front of a massive oxer. The horse clears it and lands, takes a stride, and gathers himself for the mi
ddle jump of the triple combination. Only, he’s too close. He takes off, hits the front rail of the oxer, and flails. Blood-red poles tumble, tangling in the horse’s front legs. The horse flips and falls heavily. The woman does not roll clear. The horse scrambles to his feet and, terrified, gallops from the ruined jump. Unlike most riders who fall, the woman doesn’t get up. Unlike most riders who fall, she dies instantly.
Amanda pressed her palms into the ground, needing to feel the earth solid beneath her. As a black curtain began to descend in front of her eyes, she closed them and let her head hang, willing the horrible scene to clear and the queasy feeling to pass. She had had flashbacks before, and she knew that concentrating on her breathing was a reliable road to consciousness. She slowed and deepened her breaths, counting to four on each inhale and two on each exhale.
“It hurts,” Amanda heard Solstice say from an impossible distance.
“Is it broken?” Grady asked, slightly closer. A wave of nausea crested in Amanda’s stomach and pain knifed through her head. The pain cleared the mist in her brain and brought her back to full consciousness.
“Hey, Amanda! Amanda, look at me.” It was Grady.
Amanda blinked several times, sat up straighter, and covered her damp face with her cool hands. She took two deep breaths and let them out, then lowered her hands. From the look on Grady’s face, she knew her own looked chalky and sweaty.
“Don’t you faint on me.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice shaky. She looked at Solstice. “Does anything else hurt besides your ankle?”
“No.”
“Is it broken?” Grady asked.
“I can’t tell. She needs an X-ray.”
Harris appeared with a towel wrapped around the resilient bag of frozen peas that had shepherded Amanda’s foot through the Emmy injury. He handed it to Amanda, who placed it gently against Solstice’s ankle.
“Thanks,” Amanda said.
“I’ll take her to the hospital,” Grady said.
“You have a meeting with Boris,” Jacqueline said, joining them. “Oh, my cherie,” she said to Solstice, kneeling next to the girl and stroking her forehead.