by Nina Croft
“Actually,” Josh said, “I’m going out there tomorrow. I’m going to ride a horse.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Nope. You can ride along if you like. Apologize to your girl. Take her some flowers.”
He picked up a wrench and hunkered down in front of a bike needing new brakes. “And see you on a horse? Count me in.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
He felt an idiot with his big bunch of flowers.
The woman in the shop had given him a sly grin. Did she know he was off to do some serious groveling?
He hadn’t made any extra effort with his clothes. He wasn’t Ryan Forrester, and if she wanted someone who wore suits then maybe it was better they find out now.
For once, Aiden wasn’t off racing somewhere. Tanner had left him in charge; his little bro could do some work for a change and earn his keep. He was happy enough spending the money. Racing was an expensive business.
“Come on, cowboy,” he said to Josh. “Let’s do this.”
“I feel sick. Maybe we should head home instead.”
“Hell no. I’m apologizing, and you’re riding a horse. And I think I have the easier task.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
No, actually, he wasn’t at all sure either.
He kept seeing her disappearing off down the road last night, side by side with the town’s most eligible bachelor. As opposed to the town’s most ineligible bachelor. But it was his ring on her finger. He could sort this out.
He’d explain that she just had to understand who he was. They’d get married and that would put an end to the stupid morality clause. But he was never going to be the type to wear a suit and a tie and bow and scrape to all the high and mighty townsfolk. It wouldn’t do any good, anyway. They’d decided a long time ago that he wasn’t worth a shit, and a change of clothes wouldn’t alter that.
As they climbed the steps to the front porch, the door opened. His breath caught, but it was Mimi who stood there, not Emily.
She looked the two of them up and down, an eyebrow raising at the bunch of flowers in his hands. “Morning, ma’am.”
“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, and the look she sent him suggested he wasn’t particularly welcome.
“I came to see Emily.” Christ, maybe she wouldn’t even let him through the door. He tried to look past her but couldn’t see inside.
“I never thought you a coward, Mr. O’Connor. Was I wrong?”
He shuffled his feet, gripped his poor flowers tighter. “I hope not, ma’am.”
“Hmm. She’s on the back terrace. Don’t upset her any more, or you’ll deal with me.” She opened the door wider to let him through, and he moved quickly, before she changed her mind.
He made his way through the house, casting a slightly envious look at the grand piano as he passed—if he lived here he could play every day—and out onto the terrace. She was sitting at the table, her fingers wrapped around a cup, gazing into the distance. But she looked at him as he stepped through the French doors.
Her eyes were red, and in that moment, he felt like the biggest shit in the world. In the next moment, he had a violent urge to punch someone. Lots of someones. Just about the whole population of crappy Saddler Cove for doing this to her. Couldn’t they see she was the best of all of them?
He hurried across, tossing the flowers on the table as she rose to her feet. He didn’t wait for her to speak, just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. For a second, she pressed herself against him. Her arms slipped around his waist, and she laid her head on his chest.
They stayed like that for maybe a minute. Then he put his hands on her arms and put her away from him slightly, so he could look down into her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “What for?”
He couldn’t lie. “For not going to the meeting last night—though that was for the best—they hate me. And I suppose for getting you into this mess.”
She sniffed. “I did my share.”
Yeah. She was no helpless victim. “Well, then, for being the sort of man I am, I guess. Anyone else and they wouldn’t be putting you through this. What happened?”
She pulled free and stepped back. Sitting down, she reached for the coffeepot and poured him a cup. Probably giving herself time to think. He sank down across from her and took the drink.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”
“I was going to get you roses, but I thought these suited you better.” They were a bunch of mixed wildflowers.
“I’m hardly wild.”
“Come on, Emily, what did they say?”
She took a deep breath. “That they don’t think an ex-con is a suitable husband for their first-grade teacher. That you’ll be a bad influence on me and that will rub off on the children. That I’m not a fit teacher, and I could still be in breach of their morality clause even if we get married.”
His stomach sank. “Bastards. So much for paying for your crimes. I did warn you.”
“But it’s so unfair.”
“Jed Forrester lost his son. He probably doesn’t see it like that.”
Suddenly, she looked fierce. “It was an accident. Maybe stupid, but no worse than a lot of the stuff kids get up to. It was just a tragic accident. Dwain died, but that doesn’t mean you have to pay all your life.”
He had to force the next words out. But he owed it to her. “Do you want to call it off?” She’d been staring at her hands, twisting the ring on her finger—at least she was still wearing it—but now she looked across at him and he forced himself to continue. “I know the only reason you’re marrying me is to get past the morality clause in your contract and keep your job. If that’s not going to work, then you can still stop this now. Forget the marriage thing.”
He held his breath as he waited for her answer.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
Maybe he should make it easy on her and say yes. Then she could walk away without a backward glance. But he couldn’t do it. Could not physically get the words out of his mouth. So he shook his head. “No. It’s not what I want. But you have to know what you’re getting yourself into. To the people in this town, I’ll never be anything other than the son of the town drunk and a murdering ex-con.”
“You’ll be my husband and the father of my baby.”
She sounded so fierce that something relaxed inside him at her words. The tight coil of tension that had been squeezing his insides since she’d walked out last night loosened. He’d been so sure he’d lost her, and he really wasn’t ready to examine why that idea hurt so much.
She licked her lips and studied him. “I’m not ashamed of you, Tanner. But maybe you could just try…” She shrugged as though she couldn’t come up with the words she needed, and he decided to help her out.
“Not to embarrass you?”
She frowned. “I don’t embarrass that easily. But perhaps you could just try and not piss people off so much. I know you do it on purpose. You get this look on your face.”
“A look?”
“Sort of mean and sullen and…” She shrugged again. “Maybe you could try…smiling more.”
He blew out his breath. She’d said exactly what his brothers and Keira had been telling him. “That’s all? You don’t want me to change my clothes, wear a suit, maybe cut my hair. Just smile more?”
She nodded. “Nothing else. Just smile.”
“I’ll try.” And he would, because he couldn’t bear being responsible for her crying again. He knew from his reading that she was probably a little hormonal right now, and he had to take more care. Make allowances. Smile. He tried it, a big one with lots of teeth, and she giggled.
Definitely worth the effort.
His smile faltered. “I saw you with Ryan last night.”
Her eyes widened. “You came after me?”
He shrugged. “I knew I’d acted like a jerk—I’m not sayi
ng I was wrong—I wasn’t—it would have been a mistake to go with you. But I could have handled it better. So I came to say I was sorry. You were with Ryan.” He hadn’t meant to make it sound like an accusation. But he was pretty sure it did.
“He wanted to talk to me.”
“What about? I don’t suppose to apologize for punching your fiancé. I owe him one, by the way.”
“Actually, he wanted to ask me to marry him.”
“What did you say?” He tried not to hold his breath, like his whole universe depended on her answer, but he couldn’t exhale to save his life. He was drowning in her gaze, waiting for her to breathe life into him again.
“That I was already spoken for.”
He let out his breath, a little light-headed now. “Well, I suppose it would have been the sensible choice.”
“Probably.”
“But we know you’re not a sensible girl.”
She smiled at that. “No.”
He sighed. “It’s not going to be easy. I’m not an easy man.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “But we’ll get through this. We’ll get you an appointment with a lawyer. See where we stand.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
He leaned across and kissed her on the lips, lingered longer than he meant to. He wished he could take her to bed, make her forget, but maybe now was not the time. A hotel. That’s what they needed. A night out in Virginia Beach and a hotel room with no interruptions.
He smiled. “Now. How about we go watch Josh get on a horse?”
…
“Are you sure about this?” Mimi asked.
“No.”
She grinned, and the expression smoothed the creases from her face, making her look younger.
He still had no clue why she had taken an interest in him. He no longer believed that she was just some do-gooder getting a notch on her bedpost, as it were. She seemed to genuinely like him. And he found her easier to talk to than he could have ever imagined. He hadn’t realized how closed-up he’d become. They talked about everything, from current events, to books, to movies—he hadn’t seen most of the ones she mentioned. She told him about the history of the town, the ponies on the nearby island of Assateague who’d been shipwrecked on a Spanish galleon hundreds of years ago. She knew everyone and divulged the details of the people of the town, who was who, who was doing who.
She’d occasionally asked him about his past, though she never pushed the issue when he changed the subject. She’d talked about her work with veterans, and he knew she believed strongly in the power of words. Of getting things out in the open.
But the fact was, he didn’t need to. He’d read enough to know that he’d been a classic case of PTSD when he’d come back from Nam. The knowledge had come too late to make a difference. And anyway, it would hardly have been a defense. Back then, the country hadn’t supported its veterans, hadn’t recognized PTSD. He was pretty sure there’d been no equine therapy around forty years ago.
Fact: he’d been a black man who killed an unarmed white man. Had things been the other way around, then he doubted he’d have spent forty years inside. But he tried not to be bitter. Things were changing—he’d seen that since he came out—maybe not fast enough, but they were different than when he was locked away.
And he was over it now, had come to peace with who he was and what he had done. He’d told Mimi that much.
He’d started fantasizing about kissing her. Which he was sure was the last thing she wanted. She hadn’t given him any encouragement in that direction. But once he’d had the thought, it wouldn’t go away.
She was beautiful, despite her age, or maybe because of it. Tall and slender, toned from all the hard work she did every day, and the long hours spent in the saddle for pleasure. She had high cheekbones and green eyes that still sparkled when she spoke of the things she loved, and she’d admitted her long black hair was her one vanity and came out of a bottle.
He rubbed a hand over his own graying scalp.
Christ, he hadn’t had a woman in forty years. Had seriously considered he was past all that. The first few years inside had been hard. He’d missed sex. But as the years passed, the memory faded. The need subdued. Now it was like his body had come alive. That morning he’d woken with a boner. The first in more years than he could remember.
He’d taken a cold shower.
It probably didn’t even work anymore. He was scared to try.
And why the hell was he even thinking about it?
Of course she wasn’t interested in him like that. A wealthy, beautiful white woman and a black ex-con who hadn’t been handsome even when he was young.
Anyway, she was seventy. Seventy-year-old women didn’t still do it. Did they?
What the hell did he know?
He was probably just trying to take his mind off what awaited him in the barn. Had he been crazy to agree to this?
He’d never had anything to do with horses. Now he was going to get on one.
He followed her out of the bright sunshine and into the relative shade of the barn.
They passed Jeremy in one of the stalls, bandaging a big brown horse that bared its teeth as its eyes met Josh’s. Could he ask for a horse without teeth? Probably not.
They came to a halt in front of a stall.
“This is Jasmine,” Mimi said. “She’s a fourteen-year-old mare I bred myself. She’s a total sweetie and will look after you.”
She looked huge. A strange sort of pale brown color with a black mane and tail.
“I had Jeremy tack her up for you. Next time you can do it yourself, but I thought it would give you less time to back out if she was ready to go.”
He peered down at her. “You think I’m going to back out?”
“You’re like a skittish colt that’s going to bolt at the first opportunity.” She opened the stable door and stepped inside. He hesitated for a moment, then followed her in. “Horses can sense that sort of thing,” she continued, “but Jasmine’s used to beginners, she makes allowances.”
“That’s good.”
“Go say hello. Approach her from the side, move slowly and stroke your hand along her neck.”
He did as he was told, his hand reaching out gingerly. The coat was soft and silky-smooth and beneath it he could feel the hardness of muscle. He breathed in. This close his nostrils filled with the warm musky scent of animal, overlaid with oil and leather. A sense of peace washed over him. Maybe she was right, and this was good for the soul.
“Right, let’s go.”
She handed him the reins and then headed out, leaving him with the animal. For a moment he hesitated, then he gave a shrug. “You wanna go for a ride, Jasmine?”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and then followed Mimi without any action from him. She definitely knew who was in charge. He had hold of the reins and had no choice but to go along.
Mimi was waiting for him at a gate and as he passed, she slapped a cowboy hat into his hand. He’d never worn a cowboy hat in his life. He’d never even met a real cowboy—they were something you saw in the movies. He settled it on his head.
The back of the barn led directly into a riding area. Big. He’d been hoping for somewhere smaller, just in case Jasmine decided to take off with him. But the area must have been nearly a hundred feet long, plenty of room to get up steam.
He came to a halt just inside, or rather Jasmine came to a halt and he stopped beside her. Mimi strolled up to them, one hand tucked in the pocket of her tight blue jeans. She’d put a cowboy hat on her own head, and he was betting it looked way better than his did.
“This is the cinch,” she said, pulling on the strap of leather that went around the horse’s middle. “Just check it’s tight before you get on or you’ll end up on the floor rather than your horse’s back.” She turned to look at him. “You’re always responsible for your own safety. Never forget that.” She took his hand and placed it on the cinch. “Feel how tight it is.”
He felt.
He certainly didn’t want to end up on the floor. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Actually, he didn’t want to leave the floor. But he’d agreed to this—though she’d sort of goaded him into it—and he wasn’t going to back out now.
At one point in his life, he’d believed he was never getting out of prison. He’d resigned himself to the fact that the rest of his existence would be bound within those gray prison walls. He’d hardly lived before. Drafted at eighteen, then a few years in Nam, a haze of boredom intercepted by moments of overwhelming horror. Then afterward, his life had been dulled by drink and drugs, anything that helped him get through the days. And then prison. Hard at first. Mostly fighting. He’d been so angry.
He’d read enough to know why. But finally, he’d settled to some sort of peace. He didn’t know what happiness was, but the anger had faded, and he’d found his own coping mechanisms. Books. Music. He’d even made friends. Done a little good where he could. He’d saved Tanner. The boy had been on a path to self-destruction, with no clue how to survive on the inside. And that one thing had maybe made it worthwhile.
Tanner had repaid him.
He was out.
So he reckoned this was Tanner’s fault.
“What are you thinking?” Mimi asked.
“That I’m going to whup Tanner’s ass.”
“Why?”
“His fault. I’d still be in my nice cozy prison cell if Tanner hadn’t offered me this job.” Actually, though, the job offer had come through Tanner’s brother, Reese, who was a decorated war hero and so a little more impressive than an ex-con. Whatever—it was down to Tanner.
“I didn’t know that.”
“I’d been turned down for parole so many times. Probably they had no idea what to do with me on the outside. But once I had a guaranteed place to live and a job, they were happy to get rid of me.”
“That was kind of him.”
“He’s a good boy. Don’t forget that.”
“You mean when he behaves like a total idiot and makes my granddaughter cry?”