Seven Books for Seven Lovers

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

  He grinned. “Still on UK time. I’m wide awake.” That, and I wanted to see you. He rubbed Titanium’s forehead, much to the gelding’s delight. “How’re you doin’, fella? Huh?”

  “They’re great. I can’t wait to hear all about En­gland.”

  “Just try shutting the girls up—they had a great time. But . . . They missed you. We missed you. We all said it would’ve been more fun if you’d come with us.”

  While in London, he had imagined what it would’ve been like to have her there, to be a tourist with her and the girls. Eating fish and chips out of newsprint. Taking pictures next to Big Ben. Sharing a room with her at one of the quaint inns in the countryside. Who was he kidding, making it sound all G-rated? He had fantasized about sharing his bed with her. Much more than he would have guessed.

  “Someone had to hold down the fort.”

  “And I wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank me?”

  “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have thought to take the girls away to spend time with them. I won’t kid you, there were some rough spots, but I’m glad I did it. And I owe it all to you.” He paused and made sure he held her eyes. He needed her to know he was sincere. “And, hey, any chance I can get a lesson today?”

  “Sure. When?” The red had sprung up in her cheeks again. It was adorable.

  “Sooner the better. Before I fade. Hey, why don’t you come have breakfast? The girls are dying to tell you about our trip; then you can give me a lesson.”

  “Okay.” Her voice sounded shaky.

  “Brilliant,” he said with an English accent. He gave her a slow smile that started at mischievous and would have dialed all the way up to naughty in another context, then left the barn.

  Boy, but she looked great even at the god-awful hour of six thirty. Watching her work, he had appreciated the play of muscles in her arms and across her back. Then there was her bottom, which was on display in jeans today. Would he ever tire of looking at her? The way things were going—no way in hell.

  Amanda knew that when it came to sleep, Harris was a teenager, and breakfast at dawn was not typically on the menu. But today he cheerfully played short-order cook at the Brunswick Diner. Jacqueline, the girls, and Grady sat at the table on the patio. Grady wore a blue dress shirt, tweed jacket, and jeans. His sapphire eyes glinted, and his slight laugh lines set them off even more, like starbursts. A day’s worth of stubble and mussed hair made him look . . . edible.

  When the pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast were on the table, Harris joined the group. Wave and Solstice prattled on about their vacation, especially about the day they took a riding lesson.

  “They don’t call halters halters, they call them headstalls,” Wave said to Amanda as though this might change Amanda’s life. “And a stable is a yard.”

  “Yeah,” Solstice added. “And a stall is called a box.”

  “So, what if you have a box in a stall in a barn? How do you know what you’re talking about?” Amanda asked, to make the girls laugh.

  “I don’t know!” Wave said, giggling. “But they call stuff funny names.”

  The girls told her about the guards at Buckingham Palace and the ducks and swans in St. James Park. Grady commented on how green everything was in Britain, as opposed to the brown alpine valleys and mountains of Colorado in the throes of a dry summer. The trip sounded fabulous and, more important, they had experienced it as a family and not as a celebrity traveling with his children, who may or may not have been under his care.

  “Best of all,” Grady said, “the paparazzi were almost nonexistent. I don’t want to know how she does it, but Jacqueline knows who to bribe and what bodyguards to hire.”

  They ate and talked and laughed for more than an hour. Amanda sipped her second cappuccino and reveled in the moment. It occurred to her that she was content: she was in a postcard-worthy vacation spot, she had just eaten delicious comfort food prepared by someone who had become an important friend, she was surrounded by people she liked immensely, and she was listening to two little girls she felt great affection for—or did she love them?

  She took another sip and looked at the sisters, their faces animated, their eyes dancing. Yes, she did. She bit her lip and let the thought permeate her. Her throat tightened, her nose tingled, and her eyes started to get wet. Yes. She loved Wave and Solstice Brunswick.

  After breakfast the girls napped and Grady changed into his new riding kit, as he called it, having temporarily adopted British vernacular.

  “You had breeches and boots made?”

  “When in Rome . . . What do you think?” He modeled his beige breeches and tall black boots.

  “Very nice.” Her comment encompassed the exquisite craftsmanship and precise fit and the fact that Grady was incapable of looking bad in clothes. She guessed he was even less capable of looking bad out of them. “Don’t you want to digest that breakfast before you ride?”

  “Aha, I thought of that and didn’t eat much. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

  They sauntered to the barn in comfortable silence. Amanda was glad she had kept Titanium in the small enclosure adjacent to the barn so she wouldn’t have to fetch him from the pasture. “Do you know how to tack up?”

  “I think so. Stick close so you can fix anything I screw up.”

  Grady groomed and tacked up the tall horse easily, with minimal input from Amanda.

  “What movie was he in?” she asked.

  Grady buckled the girth. “This indie film. A period piece called Amid the Oaks. A friend made it, and I did it as a favor. It was set in the Carolinas, and we filmed on a plantation. Great script, critics loved it, but not exactly a blockbuster. I rode this guy and fell in love with him.”

  “Who could blame you? He’s got such personality. He’s completely wrong for that movie, by the way. Back then, Friesians were carriage horses, period, and probably not even in America. But they’re so pretty, they’re in lots of movies now, accurate or not.”

  He smiled at her, looking amused. “I’ll let the studio know.”

  When Grady finished, Amanda inspected his work and only had to tuck a few straps into their keepers. Grady donned his helmet and gloves, led Titanium to the mounting block, and got on as though he’d been riding regularly since childhood. Amanda was impressed and said so.

  He said, “I took a lesson in England so I wouldn’t completely embarrass myself.”

  “It shows. Nicely done. Now walk him, no rein contact. Just let him loosen up and get a feel for him. Let your seat move with him and if he moves off the rail, lead him back with your outside rein. Understand? That’s one of my rules—if you don’t understand something, you have to tell me. Agreed?”

  He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Without thinking, she said, “I mean it. Don’t be macho, Brunswick. Ask.”

  He laughed, then squeezed his calves against the horse to ask for a walk.

  Amanda had dreaded giving Grady a lesson because she worried she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. To her relief, she found she could view him as just another student. The only dangerous moment was when she was adjusting his leg position and placed his leg against the horse. The lower-leg part was okay—that was essentially a boot—but the thigh, well, that was definitely not a boot. She touched him as little as possible while still getting the position right, but there it was: his long, hard thigh. She felt a blush begin and was grateful that the bill of her Devon cap hid her face.

  Grady was a good student, with excellent body awareness and control. He listened carefully and could do what she asked. He was also sensitive to the horse, balanced and athletic, much like Solstice.

  At the end of the hour, Grady untacked Titanium, rinsed off the sweat, and scraped off the water. He picked out the gelding’s hooves, fed him carrots, and turned him out. Then Amanda showed Grady how to clean his tack.

  “My kids do this every time?”

  “Every time.”

  �
�And they don’t complain?”

  “They know it’s pointless.” She looked at him. “You weren’t thinking of complaining, were you, Mr. Brunswick?”

  “Who, me? Never.”

  “You’re going to hire someone to clean your tack, aren’t you?”

  “I thought I already had,” he said, firing her a look, but accompanying it with a devastating grin.

  What Grady didn’t tell her was that he didn’t mind cleaning the saddle and bridle, and he enjoyed being with her. He even liked her telling him what to do. She was a good teacher; she explained things clearly and gave him instructions the moment he needed them. And after their talk the night he told her about Annie’s death and kissed her, he felt closer to her. As he worked on the bridle’s thin straps, he said, “My mother’s coming on Tuesday.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “She’s a character. You’ll definitely know she’s here.” He paused, rubbing a sweat mark. “Priscilla Mason’s coming, too. You know her?”

  “Uh, yeah-ah,” she said in a tone that implied, Duh, who doesn’t?

  “You know she did Deadly Horizon with me, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s been begging to come. She’ll stay a few days, then we’ll leave on the tour.”

  “That’ll be nice.” She paused. “Are you two an—um—item?”

  “No, no, just friends. We dated a year ago, while we were filming. She’s great, though. I think you’ll like her. Anyway,” he continued, “our routines are going to be interrupted. Then there’s the tour, then the horse show, and then we go back to LA in time for the girls to start school. I can’t believe the summer’s almost over.”

  “Me neither,” she said quietly.

  Amanda showed him how to “put up” the clean bridle, wrapping, crossing, and buckling the throatlatch and hanging it on a hook. “My girls do this, too?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, they do everything I tell them.” She slid him a sly, sidelong glance. He recalled his bedroom fantasies where she seared him with that look.

  He appraised her and said, in a voice silky enough to seduce nuns, “I just bet they do.” He wanted to raise her temperature. He wanted to make her fantasize about him. And he wanted to kiss her. If this were a movie, some savvy screenwriter would have ended this scene with a shamelessly steamy kiss.

  But the timing wasn’t right, and she wasn’t ready. If he kissed her, he’d scare her into next week. So he looked around the tack room and asked, “Anything else I should do?”

  She shrugged. “You’re free to go. You rode well today. I can see where Solstice gets it.”

  He smiled, genuinely pleased. “Thanks.” He stood near the bridles on the wall, looking at her. “You sure you don’t need any help with anything?” Geez, could he sound more pathetic? But he couldn’t help it.

  She looked up at him from where she sat rubbing Vern’s bridle. She pursed her lips and said, “Nope. Everything’s done.”

  “Okay.” He had run out of his admittedly pitiable stalling techniques. “I’m going to walk on that fantastic rubber floor and go on up to the house. See you later.”

  Monday night, the eve of Estelle and Priscilla’s arrival, Amanda and Harris had what would be their last cocktail hour before what Harris referred to as “the onslaught.” As she sat in what she thought of as “her” chaise longue, sipping a mojito, she blushed as she heard Grady play “I Won’t Dance” on the piano.

  Harris noted her stricken expression and said, “What?”

  “That is a sneaky, sneaky man.”

  “No argument there. Why this time?”

  “Do you know that song?”

  “No.”

  “What kind of gay are you? You’re going to have your membership revoked. It’s ‘I Won’t Dance.’ ”

  “Honey, it’s not like Celine or Gaga or Cher sing it.”

  She told him about Grady catching her singing in the barn, and Harris laughed for what felt like an entire horse-show season. She switched topics to the soup kitchen—and the dashing Alonso, captain of the soup kitchen—and he took the bait like a thirty-something actress takes free Botox.

  Moments later Grady came to the patio looking cool and sophisticated in a black linen shirt and white linen pants. “Hey, Harris,” he said, then looked at Amanda. “Did you like this evening’s selection?” His eyes crinkled.

  Amanda felt herself blush anew. “You’re a very mean person.”

  “Mojito, Brunzy?”

  “Can’t. I’m taking two very lovely ladies to dinner before all hell breaks loose with Grandma.”

  Amanda beamed at him. “That’s great!”

  Tonight she wore a skirt that revealed her legs from the knees down. Grady’s eyes brazenly roamed over her, from her loose hair to her polish-free toes. “Speaking of great, you look . . . great.”

  “Thanks.” She stared at her knees. She felt his eyes linger on her legs.

  “Hot date?”

  “A date, yes.”

  He frowned. “Oh. I gotta go. Good night.”

  “Those Brunswick women will soak you,” Harris called as Grady moved toward the house.

  “Two words: Black. Amex.” He looked at her, holding her gaze for an intense three seconds, then disappeared through the sliding glass doors.

  Harris looked at Amanda. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how he stared at your gams for an hour. When he wasn’t staring at your face.”

  “Didn’t mean anything. Anyway, they’re all pale. Horse people have terrible farmer tans.”

  “If Jacqueline were here, he wouldn’t have noticed she had legs. But you . . . that’s a whole ’nother ball of bikini wax.”

  “You’re just trying to manufacture excitement, drama queen.”

  “Not this time. I know him. He. Likes. You. A lot.”

  Amanda had another date with Luke. Luke, who knew all of her quirky, restrictive romance rules and dated her anyway. Luke, who was the best farrier she’d ever seen and loved horses almost as much as she did. Luke, whose rugged good looks and hubba-hubba sexuality made even the jaded women of Aspen sit up and take notice. Luke, who could talk to her for hours and was an all-around good guy.

  So why wasn’t she leaping into his bed? Because she was using him to divert her attention from Grady.

  She thought all this as she sat next to him in a dark movie theater that evening. She could smell him, all spicy and horsey. She could feel the heat from his body. So why wouldn’t her body act normal and melt?

  Before Rick, the trainer who had betrayed her, she had never had a serious relationship because she had broken them off before they’d gotten too intense. She rode and won and rode some more, and that was plenty. For her, Mr. Right would be a freakishly talented horse who could jump the moon. Now she found herself in the enviable position of dating one great guy while having another great guy possibly interested in her. Too bad. Romance was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She had to devote all her time and energy to training . . . when she got back in the game.

  However. Maybe she should sleep with Luke. If she slept with him—repeatedly—wouldn’t she naturally think about him instead of Grady? Maybe she just needed to release some stress the old-fashioned way. Okay. She’d invite Luke to her place tonight.

  As she made this decision, she nodded and firmed her lips into a determined line. She laced her fingers through Luke’s and rested their hands on her thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance at her.

  After the movie, she invited him up for coffee. He agreed instantaneously.

  Once in her apartment, Amanda revved up her coffee maker. She was going to sleep with Luke. She needed coffee because she was going to have sex with the farrier and she wanted to be peppy. It would be fun!

  They were in her kitchen. She leaned back against the counter next to the hissing coffee maker and he sat on one of the stools, facing her. She stared at his strong jaw and imagined kissing it. She ran her eyes over his shoulders and chest, envi
sioning her hands taking the same paths. She looked at his hands and predicted what they’d feel like on her body.

  And then her imagination broke ranks and placed Grady’s hands on her instead. To switch her train of thought back, she gave Luke her most seductive stare, sauntered around the bar to him, slid her palms around his neck, and kissed him deeply. He moaned and held her close, returning her kiss.

  “Mmm . . . You keep that up, I won’t need any sugar for my coffee.”

  She smiled. The coffee was ready, so she said, “Why don’t you sit on the couch and I’ll get the coffee. Sorry I don’t have anything else. Harris feeds me and is my own personal bartender, so I don’t have much here. Unless you want cereal or popcorn. Those I have.”

  He laughed. His easy, Luke laugh. His appealing, easy, Luke laugh. “Nah. Don’t want to deplete your stores.” He sauntered to an end table and the framed pictures of her jumping. “That’s a mighty tall fence.”

  Amanda looked up. “The gray horse is Edelweiss. My mare. Former mare. That’s us at Devon.”

  Luke sat on the couch. She set spoons, napkins, a sugar bowl, and creamer on the coffee table in front of him.

  “So what’s a big jumper rider like you doing in a place like this?”

  “I told you, I wanted a break.” She poured coffee into two mugs on the counter.

  “Come on.”

  Should I tell him? If I’m going to be physically intimate with him, maybe I should risk my emotions, too. Don’t be a wuss, Amanda. He’s a nice man. He’ll understand.

  As if Luke could read her mind, after she set the mugs on the coffee table, he took her hand with his callused one and said, “Come sit. Tell me.”

  She sat next to him. The homey smell of coffee scented the air. As she poured milk into her mug, she said, “It was winter on the Florida circuit. A freak accident. My best friend got a catch ride on this big, young stallion, really talented. It was a big class in Wellington. He caught a rail somehow and flipped over on top of her. I was next on course, so I galloped over. She died instantly.” She paused. “It affected me big-time. I couldn’t show. It wasn’t fear, exactly, it was more like panic, like I couldn’t breathe when I was warming up or at the in gate. PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder. I could train just fine, jump anything, but competition was out of the question. I had to see a shrink for a while—I, um, took too many pills once, but that was the worst it got—and then decided to skip the summer season. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to get as far away as I could, and Colorado seemed like a good idea.”