by Nina Croft
Josh snorted but remained quiet.
“Two big strong men like you, scared of two little women like us. I don’t think so. Man up. Lunch is nearly ready. Mimi has made mimosas.”
She turned and headed back. Tanner turned to Josh. “We’d better go.”
“Yeah.”
Tanner pushed open his truck door and climbed out. “Mimosas, though. What the fuck’s a mimosa?”
“Beats me,” Josh said as they headed toward the house. “Really, though—last night I spent the evening looking up articles on etiquette so at least I’d know which knife to use.”
Tanner let out a short laugh. “That’s goddamn pathetic.” At the same time, he decided to keep a close eye on Josh—maybe get some clues. Shit, he’d never had to worry about which knife to use—there had only ever been one.
“Tell me about it,” Josh muttered.
Josh had dressed in a pair of dark gray pants and a white shirt. The neck was open, his sleeves rolled up. He looked as smart as Tanner had ever seen him. Tanner, on the other hand, was wearing his usual jeans and a tee. If people didn’t like him the way he was, they could…the truth was they could wave him goodbye and say we don’t want your sorry ass in our lives. And he’d promised her that if she asked he would back off gracefully. He would never make this harder for her than it had to be.
At the same time, his stomach tied up in knots at the idea of walking away.
Emily had disappeared inside, but as they got to the door, it opened as if by magic. A man stood in the doorway. About Tanner’s height and broad at the shoulder, with short military-cut hair, a scowl on his face, and more than a hint of disapproval in his eyes. He gestured them inside, then waved at a door opposite. “Through there.”
Another guest? But he didn’t follow them.
Tanner pushed open the door. It led into a spacious drawing room, which he presumed ran along the back of the house. French windows opened onto a shady stretch of veranda where the two women were sitting. Mimi waved a hand, and they headed over. A table had been set for four, with a white tablecloth and a flower display in the center and crystal glasses. And lots of knives. Off to the left were two floral sofas with a low table in between, where Mimi and Emily sat, presiding over a jug and glasses.
He sat down beside Emily, letting Josh have the seat beside Mimi. He felt scruffy and inadequate in the elegant setting. “Who was the guy who let us in?” he asked. He hadn’t seemed to like them. Best find out who your enemies were sooner rather than later.
“That’s Jeremy,” Emily replied. “He’s Mimi’s foreman on the ranch. But he loves to cook. So he helps out now and then when we have guests.”
“He looks like a soldier.”
“That’s because he was in the military,” Mimi said. “A Navy SEAL, actually. Jeremy came to the ranch for one of my courses and decided he didn’t want to leave. Pestered me mercilessly until I offered him a job. He works with the horses, mostly, but cooking is his passion, and he offered to make lunch.”
Mimi leaned across and picked up the jug, poured them all tall glasses of something orange and fizzy. A mimosa, at a guess. He took a small sip. It tasted okay. At least it was cold.
“Would you prefer a beer?” Emily asked him quietly.
“Nah. This is good. Never had one before.”
“We usually have them on Sundays. It’s become a bit of a tradition. It’s champagne and orange juice.”
“Well, who woulda ever thought Tanner O’Connor would be sitting on a veranda sipping champagne with Emily Towson,” he teased with a wink that made her blush adorably.
“I’m just drinking orange juice,” she said, raising her glass. Of course. She hadn’t touched any alcohol since she’d found out about the baby.
The soldier appeared in the doorway. “Lunch is ready.”
“Thank you, Jeremy. I cannot wait to see what you’ve been cooking up in there for an hour. Smells delicious,” Mimi said with a big smile and turned to the rest of her guests. “Shall we?” She rose and headed for the table, Josh following her. Tanner got up and held out his hand to Emily. She glanced at it and then slipped her palm in his, and he tugged her to her feet. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
“Sick,” she replied. She had lost weight. He thought pregnant people usually got bigger. Was she okay?
“Maybe we should go see your doctor again.”
She flashed him a surprised glance as she sat down. “No need. It’s normal.”
What the hell did he know what was normal or not? But for that matter, what did she know? She hadn’t had a baby before either. He wasn’t the only one in the dark.
Lunch was some sort of vegetarian concoction. But it was good. A sort of lasagna with roasted vegetables and lots of cheese. And a big salad. The knives and forks were pretty straightforward, and he copied the two women’s actions as they shook out their napkins and laid them on their laps. He caught Josh’s eye at that point—he was doing the same—and nearly sniggered.
They didn’t talk much as they ate. Well, he and Emily didn’t, but Josh and Mimi made up for it. They were discussing some book Mimi had lent him last week. Tanner hadn’t realized the two had spent so much time together. He glanced at Emily and raised a brow, but she just smiled serenely. She was good at that.
They drank red wine with the meal, though Emily had water. And Tanner stuck to one glass, as he had to drive back later, and the last thing he wanted was a DUI.
There was peach cobbler for dessert with whipped cream. He decided that one of his brothers was going to have to take a cooking class. If nothing else, it wasn’t fair on little Keira having to eat the crap they produced. Or more usually, the crap they brought in.
“That was great,” he said after the last mouthful went down.
“Not too scary, then?” Mimi raised an eyebrow in his direction. Emily must have told her what he’d said.
He shrugged. “Not yet.”
“Well, make sure you tell Jeremy you enjoyed his food. He likes to be appreciated.”
Jeremy appeared at that moment. “There’s a call for you, Em,” he said, sounding way too informal for Tanner’s liking. “Ryan.”
“Oh.”
Ryan Forrester, he presumed. She didn’t look pleased or displeased. She should tell the bastard to piss off. But she stood up, placed her napkin on the table. “I’ll be right back.”
She shouldn’t be going. He watched her until she disappeared, then turned back to Mimi and Josh, who were both watching him, Mimi with amusement twinkling in her green eyes.
“Ryan is her old boyfriend,” he said to Josh. Then he frowned. “He is ‘old,’ isn’t he?” he asked Mimi. For all he knew, she could still be seeing the bastard. After all, they weren’t going out with each other in any normal sense of the word.
“I believe so. And if it’s any consolation, I would prefer her to be pregnant by you than married to Ryan Forrester.”
Really? That was interesting. Though Emily had told him that her gran had set them up. He still had no clue why. “But not married to me?” He didn’t know where that question had come from.
She studied him, head cocked to one side. “Do you want to marry Emily?”
Did he? Christ, he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Except not to let Emily down. “I want to do what’s right.”
The fact was, he was beginning to want more than that. Because what if what was right was getting out of her life? And the baby’s. And staying out. He did not want to do that.
He was scared because he wasn’t sure he could manage it now. He’d known from the beginning that he should stay away from Emily. That he would fuck up her life. And he’d tried. He’d told her to forget that night. And he’d meant it. Except, if he were honest, even before she’d told him she was pregnant, he’d been itching to hunt her down. Stake a claim. That night at the Founders’ Parade. When he had kissed her. He’d pretty much known then that he was a goner, and he was going to have to have her again or go quietl
y insane.
Once had definitely not been enough.
“Not a bad answer,” Mimi said. “The real difficult part is actually knowing what’s right. And at the moment, I’m not sure that you are right for Emily.” She studied him over the rim of her wineglass. “And do you know why that is?”
He could make a guess. “Because I’m Tanner O’Connor.”
She smiled at the answer. “And what does that mean?”
“That I’m a miserable bastard with an attitude problem, and just about everybody in town either hates me or distrusts me. It means I’m not good enough.”
“No, it doesn’t. It means that you believe you’re not good enough. Which is not quite the same thing, but might as well be if you can’t get over it.” She put down her glass and rose to her feet. “Now, I’m going to show Josh around the ranch. See if I can’t persuade him on the idea of horse riding.” She turned her attention to the other man. Thankfully.
“No way,” Josh muttered but pushed his chair back and got to his feet.
Tanner chuckled. It was nice to see someone else the focus of Mimi’s attention. “Ride ’em, cowboy.”
“Go to hell.”
Mimi ignored the comments. “You,” she said, pointing a finger at Tanner, “wait for Emily. Jeremy has no doubt set up coffee in the drawing room, and she’ll join you as soon as she’s finished with Ryan. If she hasn’t fallen asleep in the telephone conversation. I’ll give you one credit, Tanner O’Connor. At least you aren’t boring.” She hooked her hand in the crook of Josh’s arm and somehow maneuvered him across the terrace and down a set of steps. Tanner watched as they crossed the smooth lawn. As they disappeared around the side of the house, he stretched out his legs and considered what she’d said.
Mostly he reckoned she was right. Maybe he’d had it drummed into him for so long, and so many times, that he wasn’t good enough that deep down he’d started to believe it. And if the thought had needed any help taking root, then Dwain’s death had made that happen.
He ran a hand around the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension.
At least he wasn’t boring.
He smiled at the thought. Well, it was something to work with.
Where was Emily? He didn’t believe for a moment she would have fallen asleep; she was far too good-mannered. He stood up and wandered back to the French doors, peered inside. Coffee had been set up on a table at the edge of the room, and he headed over. Before he got there, his gaze snagged on something in the far corner. He stopped. A grand piano. He’d never played one before, and somehow his feet moved in that direction. He ran his fingers along the silky-smooth wood, then flicked open the lid, revealing the keyboard. He played an A minor chord, and almost jumped as the notes sounded loud in the silence of the house.
He glanced around, but no one was nearby to hear.
Without conscious thought, he sank down onto the bench, stared at the black and white keys. Then lowered his hands and started to play. As the swell of the music filled the room, he lost himself completely.
Chapter Eighteen
She was tall for a woman but still only came to just over his shoulder. Her arm was tucked inside his, and she was steering him in the direction she wanted him to go.
And Josh let her. He liked that she seemed so confident, to know what she wanted and how to get it.
The sun was warm on his back, there was the faint hum of insects in the air, and a whiff of salt filled his nostrils, mixed with the sweetness of flowers that lined the lawn. He reckoned they weren’t far from the sea. If he could have envisaged paradise when he was locked in the grayness of his little cell, then this would have been it. The colors were so vivid, the blue of the sky, the green lawns.
The last couple of weeks, something had changed inside him. Up until then, he hadn’t really recognized his constant companion.
Fear.
Fear of being free, of fucking up, of closed-in spaces, and wide-open spaces. Of never enjoying anything because he was too fucking scared it would be taken away again. That he’d been locked away too long and now would never fit. Fear that the world had moved on without him.
Spending time with Mimi had been a revelation. Seeing how she lived—fearlessly going after what she wanted, standing up for the things she believed in and loved—had made him recognize that his own fears were petrifying him, locking him into a dark place.
And once he’d recognized his fears for what they were, they had lost some of their power. At some time over the past couple of weeks, those fears had loosened their hold on him. Not totally. They were still lingering, and maybe he would never be entirely free of them. But perhaps he could be free of their control. Maybe he could find a life worth living. Somewhere like this, with nature all around him and the smell of the sea on the air.
He cast a glance down at the woman at his side. What did she want with him? She was so far beyond him that under normal circumstances he would never have even noticed her existence. But she’d made him notice, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
They were around the same age, but that was the only similarity. Their lives couldn’t have been more different. She had grown up among all this, never wanting for anything. He’d never had anything. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life somehow surviving on the streets of New York, then five years in the Army. And that was a blur. He’d made sergeant, but only because everyone around him had died. Hell, he’d even gotten a medal—not that that had ever helped with anything. He’d been injured out just before the end of the war, spent nearly a year in the hospital.
After that, it had just been a struggle to survive.
No one wanted to employ a black guy with a limp, even if he did have a medal. He couldn’t blame them. He’d been a screwed-up mess. But then, so had most of the men who had come back from that war. And so he’d been drunk whenever he could afford it.
Drunk when he’d killed a man.
Maybe the man had deserved to die. But it hadn’t been Josh’s life to take, and he’d paid the price. Never questioned that the price was fair and just. A life for a life.
She led him out of the sunshine and into the relative darkness of a huge barn. He breathed in a warm, musky scent. Horses, he presumed. Stalls lined either side of the barn, probably twelve in all, each with an occupant. He knew nothing about horses. Had never been near one in his life before. Wasn’t sure he wanted to go near one now. They were fucking huge.
She patted his arm as if sensing his unease. “We’ll start small,” she said, heading off to the nearest stall. The half doors were open, and as if sensing their approach, the occupant appeared, letting out a low nicker.
“This is Beauty,” Mimi said. “She’s Emily’s horse. Though she doesn’t ride now.”
The horse was small, at least smaller than the others he could see, and black, with a white star across her forehead and dark eyes. She stared back at him. Almost expectantly.
“Wait a moment.” Mimi disappeared through an open doorway next to the stall. She came back a second later and handed him a carrot.
“Really?” He looked at the horse, and she curled her lip. “You want me to get that close?”
“Oh, I want you to get a hell of a lot closer than that. But there’s no hurry. This will do to begin with.”
He shuffled closer.
“Show no fear,” she murmured. “They’ll sense it. Something I think your friend Tanner learned at an early age. He was such a cute little boy. I remember him from when I used to drop Emily off at school. But always fighting.”
“Better than letting them beat you down.”
“Probably. Unfortunately, it’s entrenched, and his natural reaction to the majority of people is aggression. Show them he doesn’t give a shit what they think of him before they even have the chance to form an opinion.”
“He doesn’t fight anymore.” Tanner had told him he hadn’t been in a fight since he got out of prison.
“Perhaps not actual physical
fights, but the attitude is still there. And I’m sure he has good reasons. But I don’t want that for Emily. So maybe it’s time for him to learn a new way.”
Poor Tanner. He had no chance against those two.
He gingerly held out the carrot at arm’s length.
“On the flat of your palm,” she said. “Or you may lose your fingers.”
He almost snatched his hand away but forced himself to uncurl his fingers and hold his breath. The horse’s mouth was soft and gentle as she took the gift.
“There. You mastered your fear. There’s hope for you yet.”
She led him to the next and the next, giving their names and a few details.
“Do they live in here all the time?” he asked. It didn’t seem much better than a prison cell.
“No. We just bring them in at this time of year in the heat of the day. Away from the flies. They go out in the morning and at night. And the rest of the year they are out all the time. We actually close for July and August. It’s too hot to work, and it gives them a break, so they come back fresh. But we’re full-up over the autumn and winter. Sadly.”
“Why sadly?”
“Well, in an ideal world there would be no one in need of our help. Unfortunately, there seem to be more than ever. But at least the world is now admitting that there is a problem.” She cast him a look. “Did you know one study showed that four out of five Vietnam vets had symptoms of PTSD twenty-five years after the end of the war? And that up to one in ten prison inmates have prior military service?”
“I’ve read the statistics,” he said.
“You can’t send a man—or a woman—to war and expect them to come back unchanged.”
He glanced away.
Was she talking specifically about him? He wasn’t sure he was ready to go there. Maybe never would be. But all she did was move to the last stall, this one a little away from the others.
“And finally, best until last, this is the love of my life, Frankie. He’s a stallion quarter horse.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“He likes to think so. But no, it’s a matter of knowing how to handle him. Like most men, I suspect.”