by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair
“Ah, but it’s not all coffee, Miss Smarty Breeches. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so there’s regular coffee, decaf, chamomile tea, Earl Grey tea, and hot chocolate. Cookies. And some brandy for the hot chocolate, in case it’s lonely.”
“And two mugs?”
“In case you’re lonely.”
Amanda was touched by this grand beverage gesture. He could be awfully charming when he put his mind to it. Awfully charming. She sighed. “Thank you,” she said, then gave him a small grin. “Two more ears to listen for poop.”
“Just like Christmas Eve, listening for Santa.”
“Mm-hm.” She leaned against the bars on Bramble’s stall because she was nervous about sitting right smack dab next to Grady. She was thinking of his hand on her knee. And how he wanted to sleep with her and all her square inches he wanted to kiss.
“What’s yer pleasure, little lady?” He set the mugs on the trunk.
“Chamomile. Do you have honey?”
“Leave it to you to ask for the one thing I didn’t bring.”
“Sugar’s fine.”
Grady filled both mugs with the fragrant, golden liquid and sugared her tea, the spoon clinking against the mug.
Amanda broke off another piece of carrot and offered it to Bramble. “C’mon, buddy.” The gelding turned his big head toward her and ambled over. He sniffed her hand, then slowly lipped the treat into his mouth and began to chew.
“Good boy!” She beamed and turned to Grady. “He took a carrot!”
“Great!” He brought her tea to her. She took it, and Grady held up his mug to clink against hers. They locked eyes for a moment before she turned to look at Bramble.
“Good boy,” she said again after taking a sip. Then she set her tea on the trunk and got a few carrots for the big dun. Bramble gently took carrots from her and Grady. “One more hurdle to go, now that he’s sort of eating again.”
“While we’re waiting for the next big event,” Grady said, “I was told by those short people I live with that I have to see your pictures and the movie—that’s what Wave called it—of you riding. I swear, they raved about it nonstop for three solid hours.”
“I doubt that.”
“You’re right, it may have been four. Completely annoying. Anyway, I was wondering if I could?” he asked almost shyly, which surprised Amanda. She regarded him, debating.
He gestured toward the cooler. “Do you know how heavy that thing is? And how long it took me to figure out how to make tea?”
She laughed. “You’re on solo poop patrol till I get back.” She ran up to her apartment.
She was back in two minutes with the photo album and her laptop loaded with the video of her grand prix round. She didn’t want to be in her apartment with him—where there was a bed and all. But she cut herself some slack, figuring that the late hour, the stress of colic, and the fact that she had gotten fancy, lacy, take-me-now lingerie that afternoon all rendered her far too vulnerable to the sexual bulldozer that was Grady Brunswick.
“Video or pictures first?” She sat next to him on the trunk. She was happy to hear Bramble chewing his hay.
“I’m an actor. Movie, please.”
She angled the screen so he could see, which meant that their arms sometimes touched. She thanked her stars for the barrier of a nice, thick sweatshirt.
“This was at Devon, a big show in Philadelphia—a pretty prestigious show. It was the first time my mare, Edelweiss, won a grand prix.”
“Aha! That explains your pathological attachment to that hat.”
They watched in silence, the tinny audio coming through the tiny speakers. When it ended, Grady tilted his head at her in a most appealing way and said, “Damn. You are the shit.” She felt her face get hot, so she turned away and sipped tea.
She shrugged. “That was my real job.”
“Let’s see the pictures.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as she replaced the laptop with an album on her lap.
She paged through the album as quickly as she could because it was uncomfortable to share this with him.
“Is this a timed event? Slow down.” He placed the book on his own lap so he could peruse it at his own pace, and asked questions.
It took years, or so she thought, and she felt more exposed than if she were naked in bed with him. At last he was done, and she snatched the book from him. As she took it, she felt something snap in her palm, and the hot pain made her drop the album.
“Ow!” She rubbed her hand.
“What?”
“Cramp. I was massaging Bramble’s neck before. I must’ve overdone it.”
“Here.” He took her hand so fast, she didn’t have a chance to react. He dug his thumb into her palm, soothing the fire there. “Happens when I play piano sometimes, and when I used to play ball. You need more potassium. Bananas.” He pushed her fingers back to gently stretch them. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Give me the other one. It’s only a matter of time till it goes, too.” She gave him her other hand. “When did you get your nails done? Is Harris responsible?”
“As a matter of fact, we both had a mani/pedi this afternoon. For tomorrow’s party.”
“Pretty,” he said simply, which shocked her. He stretched her fingers as he had done with her other hand, but held it when he was done.
“You can keep going,” she said flippantly. The massage felt great, but she also liked him touching her.
“Yes, ma’am.” He continued, moving to her fingers, squeezing down the length of each. “So why did you sell your horse?”
“I had a lot of bills.”
“That was the only way?” he asked gently.
She sighed and sounded sad, even to herself; she looked at Bramble. “She was the last thing I sold.”
“The girls said you cried when you told them.”
“I shouldn’t have, in front of them—I didn’t mean to. Silly. Ancient history now. She was just a horse.”
“Yeah, and my daughters are just my daughters.”
Zing! He got it. A jolt ricocheted through her. She had to change the subject or she’d lose it. “Hey, how about some hot chocolate?”
“As you wish.” As he poured, Amanda slipped off the trunk and went to Bramble. She gave him another carrot as she looked into his stall and squelched the urge to cry.
“Come on, Bramby. You poop all the time. You can do it.”
“High octane or regular?” Grady held up the bottle of brandy.
“The works.”
“Woman after my own heart.” He poured a slug into each mug.
She had her emotions under control again, so she returned to her spot on the trunk. He handed her the hot chocolate and she took a sip.
“Those pictures were pretty impressive. You go over jumps I wouldn’t go over in a helicopter.”
“You know what they say—the camera adds two feet.” She was sitting with her feet flat on the trunk, resting her mug on her knees.
“Cookie?” He held the plate out to her. She took one and took a small bite. He took two, which he ate as he talked.
“So why did you come here? You obviously love jumping. Didn’t you want to do that?”
What should she say? She didn’t want to lie, but telling him about the panic attacks and pills and all the rest felt like she’d be baring her soul. She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth. She looked at him and said, “You don’t want to hear all that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well.” She brought her ponytail over her shoulder and twirled the ends around her finger. She rushed through the story of Courtney’s death, her panic attacks and post-traumatic stress disorder. And the pills.
Just then, they heard the rustling, rhythmic thud of manure hitting shavings, and Amanda set down her mug and jumped off the trunk to look in at Bramble. “Good boy!” Relief rushed through her. The pungent aroma of newly minted horse poop had never smelled so wonderful.
Grad
y came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She let him rub them. His fingers were heaven. He kneaded and squeezed the tension out of her muscles, and she succumbed and rested her forehead against the bars.
“Relax,” he said. “You carry a lot of tension here,” he added as he worked on a knot. “I’ll send Carlos down again. And I want to talk more about your trauma. If you want.”
“Oh. It’s over now. I’m better. I’m fine.”
“You’re here instead of at a horse show. You’re not fine yet.”
“We can talk in a minute.” She groaned. “Keep. Doing. That.”
He laughed. “I’ve found the way to your heart. Two giant slabs of chocolate cake, and one shoulder massage.”
Several minutes later he said, “Come back over here.” He led her to the trunk, handed her her mug, and massaged her hand once more. “How much longer do we need to watch him?”
“An hour, just to be sure. I’m probably being overly cautious.”
“You’re a cautious person.”
“That’s a funny thing to say about someone who makes her living jumping.”
“You’re cautious around me.”
Another bull’s-eye. She looked away from him. “You’re my boss.”
“Honey, that ship has sailed. I’m your boss in name only.” He stopped rubbing her hand and merely held it. “The panic attacks—were they bad?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I’d shake all over. And I couldn’t jump, which was totally foreign to me. I could train just fine, jump at home, but not at a show. It was like I couldn’t tell my body what to do. Needless to say, I lost all my clients, since nobody wants their horses to sit out a season. They were gracious about it, but they hired other riders. It was so strange to have my body react like that, where I had no control.”
“I can’t imagine what that’s like. Do you still have flashbacks, like when Solstice fell?”
“Not really. I guess it was such an obvious similarity—her on the grass like that—it set me off. But I don’t have those very much at all anymore. The occasional nightmare, but even those are fading.”
“Good. I assume you got help at the time?”
“Yes. Therapy. Medication. I’m not taking anything anymore, though.”
He was silent for a time, then said, “I know a few people who committed suicide. There was one friend I talked out of it. I was pretty low after Annie died; I considered it. I can’t imagine what you went through, seeing your friend die during what should have been a fun event. You were both doing what you loved.”
This time she let the tears come. Somehow, he knew exactly how she felt. In a split second she decided to tell him what she’d never told anyone, not even Beth. “I was supposed to ride that horse. I got the catch ride on him. But I had the flu and Courtney insisted. And she died.”
“Why did you ride if you were sick?”
“When you’re at a show, it doesn’t matter. At least, it didn’t to me. I didn’t want the owners to think I was weak. If I thought I could get the horse around the course better than anyone else, I’d do it. Adrenaline kicks in and you just suck it up and ride.” She paused as tears filled her eyes, and said, “Courtney made me give up the catch ride. She tried to talk me out of riding altogether at that show, but I wouldn’t listen.”
Sobs shook her body. Grady put his arms around her and pulled her to him. Her cheek rested on his soft cotton sweater. She could smell him, that clean smell she was beginning to like. His hand was warm on her hair.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said. He ran his hand up and down her back.
When she felt the worst was over, she sat up. He handed her a clean napkin. She hiccupped, blotted her face, and blew her nose. She had just cried all over the man; who cared if she blew her nose? “Sorry about that,” she said.
“Don’t be. You can ruin my sweater anytime.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “You okay?”
“I’d be better with another cookie.”
He grinned and handed her one. “How did you start riding?”
“Same as a lot of girls. I was a horse-crazed little girl and never grew out of it. Begged for a pony—which I never got—took riding lessons, rode anything I could, and eventually got pretty good. But I can’t remember ever not loving horses.” She shrugged. “How about you? How did you get into acting?”
“My mom put me in commercials when I was little.”
“That’s hard to believe,” she said with a snort.
“No kidding. I was in school plays, and then discovered sports. I loved baseball and basketball, played both in high school, played college baseball and wanted to go pro, but I couldn’t hit a major-league fastball. So I decided to try acting—you know, really do it—and the bug bit. And I got lucky.”
“Are movies what you really want to do?”
“Yeah. Well, depends on the director, the script.” He looked at her. “Actually, that’s a lie. My favorite work has always been theater, believe it or not.”
Amanda smiled the I’m-proud-of-you smile she had used on Grady the night he’d taken the girls to dinner. He continued, “So I’m revising my answer—I’d love to do theater.”
“So why don’t you?”
He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Perhaps you don’t know this, but I’m a big movie star. Galactic Special Agent Matt Braxton can’t do theater. I have to do more Galaxy Ops movies.”
“What about Hugh Jackman? Daniel Craig. Pacino. A bunch of others. They all do theater.”
“Theater people don’t think I have the chops.”
“So prove them wrong. Audition and blow them away.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Chicken.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re scared . . . ”
“I’m not scared.”
“Well then, you should go for it. Life’s short. If it’s what you really want, you should just do it.”
Amanda looked at Grady, daring him to whine, and waited for his smart-alecky comeback. Which is why she didn’t immediately realize what was happening when he slid his hand behind her head, pulled her to him, and kissed her mouth. His soft mouth, right there, firm against hers, moving, heating, igniting a riot of sensations that crackled down to the pit of her stomach and skittered along her spine. It was only a couple of seconds, but it felt like he’d been kissing her for the better part of an hour.
His chocolate-flavored tongue’s touch, hot and subtle, spurred her own mouth to new heights of creativity. She allowed herself to simply feel. To flow along with him. To meld into his kiss. To simply be and not think. She was back on that horse, flying over the top of the biggest wall she’d ever jumped. She was lost in a perfect moment.
Until she realized the warm metal she felt under her hand was his belt buckle. She was undressing him. No. You can’t do this. Not now. No. It was just enough to send her brain into lockdown. The caution flags were flying. She had to stop. She twisted away from him. Got off the trunk. Backed up and stood in the aisle, swaying slightly. For a split second she was afraid she’d collapse, but she locked her knees. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? You were doing just fine.” His hair was mussed. She must’ve done that, too. He looked great. Of course.
“I got carried away.”
“I’ve been praying for you to get carried away for weeks now. You can get carried away further. I promise I won’t mind.”
“But if we start, I won’t stop.”
His eyebrows shot up. “How could that possibly be bad?”
“For me, it is.”
“Why? And please, come here.” He patted her spot on the trunk. “I won’t bite. Or kiss. Okay?”
She inhaled. Exhaled. Sat. “I like it here. I never thought I would—this was just a summer gig for me, an escape from gossip on the show circuit. I like—I love—your kids. I like . . . you. You’re here for what, another couple of days, then you’re gone for two
weeks, then it’s the horse show, and then we all leave for good.
“So if we slept together—I’d be angry because you’d have to leave on the tour. And”—she looked at the rubber-brick floor as she uttered the next sentence—“I’d hate that you and Priscilla were together.” She looked at him again. “And then you come home and I go to Florida to try to put my life back together. Now you know what a mess it is. And you can say, ‘Oh, it’s okay, we can have a long-distance relationship,’ except I can’t have any relationship. Do you get that? I don’t have a single client. I have no horse. I have nothing. I have to rebuild, and that’s not going to be a walk in the park, especially when people wonder if I’m still crazy. I won’t have the time or energy to put into a relationship, and that’s not fair to the other person. To you. If that’s even what you were considering.
“And if you weren’t considering a relationship, my apologies; you can ignore my whole conceited argument. But if you weren’t, I really don’t want to sleep with you, because if I have sex, there are strings attached. I don’t do flings. I don’t have casual sex.
“And to tell the truth, my last relationship was a disaster. I’m a terrible risk. I might be one of those people who’s supposed to be alone.
“You might want to give Priscilla another chance. Or if not her, someone like her. A woman who’s more like what you’re used to.”
There was a long silence. Amanda realized she was trembling, just a little. She stared at her hands in her lap.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear anything after ‘I like you,’ ” he said. She smiled and breathed a laugh, which was exactly what he wanted. He poured her a fresh cup of hot chocolate and put even more brandy in it.
“Here. You’ve thought about this for a while, huh?”
“More or less since you caught me holding your Emmy.”
He grinned. “If only that was a euphemism.” She laughed. “So what you’re saying is, when your career is back on track, we can have a relationship?”
“I guess.”
“You know how silly that sounds, right? But in the meantime, I want you to know that I am keenly interested in a relationship. I’m glad you didn’t play the employer/employee card, because we’ve gone beyond that.