by Tami Hoag
Christian chuckled and turned back toward the arena. “To answer your question: Yes, she’s very good.”
“She must be something special to keep your feet on the ground.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he said dryly, leaning back to display his crutches, “I am injured.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Maggie murmured, unimpressed by his props. “Like you were injured that time a whole herd of yearlings trampled you and you won the Cavalier Classic the next day?”
He scowled at her sweet, brown-eyed smile. “That was entirely different.”
“Oh, you’re quite right. That time you had three cracked ribs, bruised kidneys, and a mild concussion.”
His scowl darkened, the aristocratic lines of his face sharpening.
“And you didn’t have a pretty, black-haired little gal to take your place so you could spend time trying to charm her.” Maggie put an arm around his lean waist and gave him an affectionate hug. “Don’t try to outfox me, sugar. I know every trick in the book.”
He considered asking her to share a few with him, but the day hadn’t come when Christian Atherton needed to ask advice about wooing a lady. He shored up his pride and held his tongue.
They watched Alex for another moment, chatting companionably as she and Diamond Life worked in the empty end of the ring, moving laterally, cantering in concentric circles that grew smaller and slower, then larger and faster. Finally she slowed the horse to a walk and pulled off her helmet, shaking her hair free in the gesture that seemed hauntingly familiar to Christian.
“Look at all that hair,” Maggie murmured. “Think if it were long, how wild it would be.”
Christian grew still as he tried to capture the ghost of a memory floating through his mind. A petite young woman with a long mane of untamed black ringlets and a bright red blouse that stood out like fire against her olive complexion. He could just see her tossing her head back in that certain way. But he couldn’t quite place the memory, and he couldn’t place Alex.
“How was that?” Alex asked as Diamond Life sauntered lazily toward the gate.
“Smashing.” Christian grinned. “How do you like him?”
Alex rolled her eyes and offered her highest praise in heartfelt Italian. As a groom came into the ring and took the horse by the bridle, she hopped to the ground and began unfastening the girth.
“I’ll see to that, Ms. Gianni.”
“Right.” Alex nodded sheepishly. The days of riding and walking away, leaving the dirty work to someone else, had all but faded from her memory. It was a nice treat. But she couldn’t get used to it, she reminded herself sternly.
“You look wonderful on him,” Maggie said as Alex let herself out the gate. “I’m Maggie Quaid.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Maggie, and thanks. But I think Diamond Life could make anybody look good. He’s a fabulous animal.”
“You’ve obviously never seen me ride,” Maggie said dryly.
There was a sudden commotion in the alleyway, and from around the corner of a stall appeared a sturdy dark-haired little boy of about three leading a big white goat with a length of twine. The goat was protesting loudly. The boy leaned ahead and trudged along as if he were towing a barge, the determined look on his face a miniature version of his father’s scowl.
Alex covered her laughter with her hand. Christian tightened his lips against his.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Buddy, let that goat be. Buddy…”
The toddler and the goat faced-off in a tug of war.
“Thomas Randall Quaid,” Maggie snapped. “Leave that animal alone.”
Buddy Quaid didn’t have a chance to disobey his mother’s dictate. The goat lunged forward suddenly, knocked him on the seat of his miniature blue jeans, and scampered out into the arena, its tether floating behind it like a ribbon.
“See what happens when you don’t listen to your mama?” Maggie said gently, leaning down to help her son up and dust off his britches.
Buddy’s face was a study in disappointment. His lower lip jutted forward threateningly. “Darn goat.”
“Don’t you worry about the goat, young man. You worry about what your daddy’s going to say if he catches you trying to ride that creature again. He’s told you a hundred times you can’t ride goats.”
Buddy scuffed the toe of his little cowboy boot against the concrete and looked dejected. Maggie’s stern expression melted, and she pressed a kiss to her son’s dark head.
“Christian tells me you have a daughter,” she said, smiling up at Alex.
Alex nodded and glowed with maternal pride. “Isabella. She’s ten months old.”
“We’ll have to get together some evening. I can warn you all about the terrible twos.”
“Splendid idea!” Christian beamed, seizing the opportunity with gusto. “Why don’t we do it over dinner? The four of us at Nick’s.”
Maggie gave him a look. “Maybe when Alex isn’t so busy,” she said pointedly. “She’s going to be exhausted, what with having to do your riding on top of her own.”
Christian frowned at her. Loyalty to gender. He should have expected as much. He shifted on his crutches, guilt nipping at him.
Guilt! Gads, he never felt guilt! It wasn’t as if Alex was doing his riding for free. And it wasn’t as if he weren’t really hurt. Besides, Alex needed to become acquainted with the caliber of horse she deserved. She belonged on mounts like Diamond Life and Legendary, not Terminator. He was doing this for her own good. He all but told her as much a few minutes later, after Maggie had said her good-byes and led Buddy away toward the house.
He invited Alex into the dispensary, where the communal coffee pot was kept. Setting his crutches aside so he could use his hands, he poured two cups and offered one to Alex. They leaned back against the counter and discussed the way the stallion had gone and what the training strategy was to have him ready for the upcoming show. Eventually Christian managed to turn the conversation Alex’s way.
“You’re really very talented, Alex,” he said. “And that isn’t simple flattery. Any number of top stables would be lucky to have you, and I think you know it.”
Oh, I know it, Alex thought, glancing away. She also knew that no top stable would hire her without proper references, and her last employer would hardly write a glowing recommendation. By the time the Reidells got through running her down, she’d be lucky to get a job mucking out stalls at a sale barn.
“Why are you doing this, Alex?” Christian asked, bemused. “Why put up with bastards like Haskell and Terminator when you don’t have to?”
“I want to be my own boss,” she answered truthfully enough, though she still avoided his eyes. “I put up with Tully and Terminator because that’s what I have to do if I want to ride A Touch of Dutch. They’re a package deal.”
“You don’t need rides that badly.”
She lifted a black brow but kept her temper in check, projecting ice instead of fire. “Who are you to say so?”
Christian slammed his coffee mug down as an irrational burst of responsibility surged through him. “Dammit, Alex, I’ll send you some of my own if that’s what it takes. I can’t stand to see you risking your neck on that rogue.”
“It’s my neck,” she said stubbornly.
Christian heaved a sigh as he watched her chin go up. “There goes the drawbridge,” he muttered.
Alex gave him a suspicious look. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head wearily, his shoulders slumping. He ran a hand back through his pale hair and sighed again. “You’re right, of course, it’s none of my business. Forgive me for being indiscriminately concerned. I really don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”
Join the club, Alex thought as she stared pensively into her coffee. She had come to Virginia with a simple outline for her life. Suddenly things were getting complicated beyond belief. She found herself recklessly drawn to a man who had a reputation for collecting hearts like charms for a bracelet. She found herself lik
ing him, wanting to be with him, yearning for another of his kisses.
It was the height of folly. Even if she let herself think there could be something special between her and Christian Atherton, even if she agreed to go out with him, what would ultimately come of it? He would expect things to progress on their natural course. What would Christian think of her when she finally told him about her past, which she would have to do. It wouldn’t be fair not to tell him. Would he believe her side of the story when no one else had—including her own family? Why would he, she wondered cynically.
“Where do you go?” Christian asked on a whisper, his eyes as deep and blue as the sea as he leaned nearer. “Where do you go when you drift away?”
“Nowhere,” Alex murmured, knowing the lie was plain on her face.
The corner of Christian’s mouth tilted up. “You’re such a mystery.”
“No, I’m not!” she insisted too vehemently, instinctively wary of having him want to solve the puzzle. She suddenly remembered seeing a shelf full of mystery novels in his cottage, and her blood ran cold. She actually felt herself go pale. “There’s nothing mysterious about me! I’m just trying to make a life as best I can.”
“All right, all right,” Christian murmured, calming her with his soothing, mesmerizing voice. He lifted a hand to gently brush her hair out of her eyes. “It’s all right.”
Alex relaxed by degrees, her breath gradually coming in slower gasps.
“It’s all right,” Christian whispered again, inching closer.
He stroked her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw and tilting her head back with subtle pressure. Their gazes locked, and for an instant there was a communication flowing between them that defied words, a current of feeling that was strong and undeniable. Then his lashes fluttered down as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.
Alex drank in his kiss with a sense of desperation as emotions tore loose from their moorings inside her and crashed into one another. She wanted him, she wanted no one. She wanted to feel, she wanted to remain numb. She wanted a life without memories, she could never forget.
Passion won out momentarily as she blocked out the maelstrom of other emotions. For just an instant she let herself respond the way a woman would want to respond with a handsome, charming man kissing her—hungrily.
Christian groaned low in his throat. Gently he pinned Alex against the counter, flanking her legs with his own. He ran a hand over her short hair, down the sleek column of her throat, down to cup her small, full breast through the loose black polo shirt she wore, and groaned again as her nipple budded beneath his thumb.
“Oh, Alex,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, tortured and ecstatic.
He wanted her with a fierceness he hadn’t experienced since his youth. Just one touch, one taste, and he was hard and straining against the fly of his jeans. He tilted his hips into hers, letting her feel what she was doing to him, letting her know in no uncertain terms what he wanted. Just the thought of her tight, hot warmth closing around him bumped his pulse up another notch. The idea of having her naked and willing in his arms sent heat flaming through him.
He kissed her again, this time seeking entrance to her mouth and all the warm, honeyed delights he knew he would find there. Alex sagged against him for just a second or two, giving in to what she had forbidden herself—the comfort of being held, the electricity of desire, the building sense of urgency.
Feelings she had denied for so long rushed to the surface with overwhelming force, and panic was not far behind. She pulled away from him quickly, almost frantically.
“No,” she said in a tortured whisper as old feelings of guilt and shame swirled with disappointment and despair inside her. She pushed Christian back with her palms splayed across his chest. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. She focused instead on her fingers and the royal blue jersey beneath them.
“Alex?” Christian asked, stunned by her sudden change of heart. She had been responding so sweetly, her body arching into his, her mouth wild and sweet.
“No,” she mumbled again, tears choking her as she stumbled for the door. She pulled up in the doorway, fighting her own urge to flee. Chest heaving, she swallowed hard and said, “I… have to get back to work.”
Christian watched her go, utterly confused and utterly frustrated. He wasn’t used to having a lady fight off the pleasant temptation of desire. Why had Alex? She was single, unattached, definitely attracted to him. There was no earthly reason why they shouldn’t simply enjoy the mutual magnetism. And yet there had been the unmistakable bleak look of self-recrimination in her expression before she’d turned and run.
He had a strong urge to go after her, but he fought it. She obviously wanted time alone. He would give her the chance to sort out her feelings. Going back to the cupboard, he poured himself another cup of coffee and drank it as he mused about the whirlwind of a woman’s emotions.
Ry stomped into the dispensary, grumbling. “Can you believe that Tully Haskell? Called to try to sell me that daughter of Abdullah when he knows damn well she isn’t sound. As if I’d ever buy anything from him.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and jabbed his friend with a pointed look. “I wouldn’t buy a talking dog from Tully Haskell for a nickel, if it sat right up and called me sweetheart. What’s the matter with you?”
Nothing Alex Gianni couldn’t fix in the course of a long, hot night, Christian thought ruefully. “Nothing,” he said. “Just pondering the fact that women are impossible to figure out.”
“Well, hell,” Ry growled. “I could have told you that.”
six
ALEX LEANED AGAINST THE DUN MARE’S side, her eyes drifting shut as sleep beckoned. For the fifth day she had risen at five a.m. to see to some of her own chores before leaving to ride Christian’s horses. She would be home by noon, grab a quick bite, and play with Isabella for a few minutes. Then it would be back in the saddle, riding her own string of six horses in training. Then came after-school riding lessons for three students, evening chores, supper, Isabella’s bath and bedtime, another hour in the barn to tend to the mare’s injured foot, book work until she dozed off, a few hours’ fitful sleep, and the process would start all over again.
Charlie had been a big help with chores and grooming. She would have been an even bigger help if Alex would have allowed it. But Alex was determined not to become dependent on having a stable hand. It was her place, not Christian Atherton’s. The idea of accepting help from him made her uncomfortable. Old instincts died hard. The one that told her men didn’t do favors without expecting something in return prodded at her like a stone in her shoe.
She wanted to trust him. He deserved to have her trust him. Experience had bred caution in her, taught her not to give her trust so easily. She had learned to look for subtle signs of a person’s trustworthiness—the way his contemporaries related to him, the way his employees regarded him. Christian was widely liked by his peers. The people working for him respected him because he treated them well. There were no sidelong, furtive looks following him down the aisle after an order was given. By all signs large and small he was a good man. A tad too sure of himself and inclined to play the rake, but a good man where it counted.
Sighing, Alex bent to check the temperature of the water the horse was soaking its abscessed hoof in. She added a little from the steaming bucket she had carried down from the house and tossed in another handful of Epsom salts. The mare, a boarder’s field hunter, dozed. Alex resumed her casual position against the horse’s side and let her mind wander back over the past few days.
She had done her best to avoid Christian the remainder of her first day at Quaid Farm—not because she had been afraid of him, but because she had been ashamed of herself for letting something get started that she couldn’t finish. It was best for both of them that they not exceed the bounds of friendship.
Guilt made a return visit now as she recalled how Christian had finally caught up with her as she’d b
een about to leave.
“Alex, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
The wind riffled that one roguish strand of hair that fell across his forehead, and he shrugged, a gesture that was the embodiment of male confusion. “Obviously, I upset you…” He let the words trail off, at a loss for the reason.
Alex shook her head and stared down at the gravel of the drive.
“I’m the one who should apologize,” she said. But the explanation didn’t come. Like a logjam trying to move through the narrow neck of a river, the words and reasons stuck in her throat and built up until she could feel the pressure of them.
“I get very high marks for listening,” he said softly, his cultured voice as warm and comforting as flannel on a damp fall day.
Alex just sighed and shook her head again, slowly, regretfully It was a story best left untold, for everyone’s sake.
She repeated that to herself now as she leaned against the dun mare. It had become a litany in the last few days as Christian had done his best to charm her and she had done her best to resist him. A litany with dwindling conviction behind it. Conviction that ebbed during the course of long, lonely nights.
Her shoulders jumped and fell with her breath as she rested her cheek against the horse’s side and closed her eyes. She was so tired. Physically tired. Tired of the sleepless nights. She had been born with emotions that ran high and close to the surface. She was tired from having to suppress them. Tired of altering herself into some pale, unnoticeable, inoffensive imitation of her former self, and afraid that in the end she would become someone even she didn’t recognize.
“How are all my stars?”
The bellowing voice jolted Alex from her trance. She jerked awake with a gasp and a start, spooking the mare, who bolted, overturning the bucket. Tepid water sloshed out, soaking Alex’s sneakers and washing across the cracked concrete floor of the barn’s aisle in a dark stain.