That’s when Maureen realized Courtney Wednesday Murphy—always in control, always neatly turned out, always organized down to the moment—looked…frazzled. Several bleached strands had dared to escape their careful French twist. Even though it was early, mascara smudged her lower lids. Chipped nail polish, a run in her stockings, and, as she folded herself into a side chair, the overhead lights revealed a spot on the front of her blouse that matched Maureen’s. Except Courtney’s blouse was silk instead of the cheap polyester knockoff clinging to Maureen’s muffin top.
Still, motherly instinct rose to the fore. “Are you all right? You look like you slept in your clothes.”
Courtney smoothed her hair, a tremble making her hands vibrate. Her wide mouth flattened, her lips compressed, she huffed out another breath. “I’m going out of town, and I need you to take care of Lena.” She stood again, looking a little more in command, and pushed the folded paper across the desktop. “It’s all in here. She’s at the house. You know where it is.”
Maureen knew where it was because she had been summoned to work there on the weekend a couple of times. She’d never been past the richly appointed office at the front.
Courtney went to the door, paused, and without turning, said, “You’re the only one I can trust.”
Maureen’s brain spun. Courtney and Joshua didn’t have children. They were separated as far as she knew, not that the woman was forthcoming with personal information. The wretched boss didn’t chit-chat. She was all business, all the time. The news that Maureen was the only one she could trust was alarming. Who the heck was Lena? A dog? Maureen didn’t dog sit.
“I can’t,” she heard herself say.
Courtney’s brisk steps already echoed down the hall. Maureen chased after her, past the reception desk where Jasmine had just set down her trenta latte. She waved, a peculiar look on her face
“When will you be back?,” Maureen hissed at Courtney’s retreating back. “I have my work, and now yours, too. And I have—” She tried to come up with another excuse, but the truth was, she didn’t have anything else to do. Besides mowing the lawn.
At the exit, the retreating woman abruptly stopped and Maureen caromed into her. Courtney grabbed her shoulders—whether to steady her or keep her at arm’s length, she couldn’t tell. Fetid air wafted over them from the parking garage. Fewer than twenty years separated the two women, but at that moment, Courtney looked like a little girl who’d lost her puppy.
She wasn’t wretched, not really. It was just that she was everything Maureen wasn’t and never had been: beautiful, ambitious, successful. Maureen’s heart squeezed.
“Lena’s all I care about,” Courtney whispered. She directed her gaze over Maureen’s shoulder and blinked back tears. “I’ll be back…” Long fingernails dug through Maureen’s thin blouse. “Just take good care of her. She’s my horse…my heart.”
Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle Page 31