There was no time to dry Rio’s thick red locks, so Kate sat her in a chair and set to braiding, ending up with a gorgeous inverted French braid so pretty Rio honestly thought she’d never take it out. Kate finished with the barest hint of mineral foundation and some lip color.
“Voila.” Kate stood back. Barely twenty minutes had passed. “Have a look.”
The inside of one wardrobe door held a full-length mirror. Rio dared a glance and caught her own breath. The dress, white with beaded flowers over one shoulder, now hugged her snugly, accentuating her bustline and flowing softly, hombrelike, into silver, deep gray, and then black where it flared gently around her legs. She couldn’t resist one twirl.
“Wow,” she said. “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, Fairy Godmother.”
Kate laughed. “A little enhancement of what was already there, that’s all. Come on, let’s go to a party.”
IT WASN’T THAT Rio didn’t appreciate compliments as much as the next girl, but the response throughout the evening to her metamorphosis was so overwhelming it made her wonder just how pitiful she looked under normal circumstances. First Bonnie, dressed herself in a pretty blue sundress from Kim’s closet, then Stella, then David, fell over themselves raving about the dress, the shoes—also Stella’s—the braid.
She tolerated it exactly the way she tolerated Carter, who captured her several times to regale her with his past, present, and future plans, convincing her he’d one day make it big on ego alone. She also endured Kate’s opening salvos in her war on David, flirting openly, dragging him from person to person collecting introductions. Despite that, he never left Rio alone, and he never let Kate trap him alone, but he belonged in the group the way he belonged with his horses, while she, attractive enough in her borrowed clothes, felt like Thirty-one at the Westminster Dog Show.
Throughout the night she smiled and nodded, and drank her new favorite Minnesota wine wondering how Stella Pitts-Matherson from six thousand miles away had made so many friends. At last, three-fourths of the way through the evening, David took her elbow while she was in the middle of hearing an excruciating diatribe on land, taxes, and foxhunting with Stella and Colin and three members of a hunt club outside the city. She couldn’t have been more relieved.
“I’m afraid I have to steal Rio from you. We’re needed in the barn.” David smiled, but his features held a tightness that set worry gnawing at Rio’s stomach.
“The barn, David, really?” asked his mother.
“Yes. We’ll be back shortly.”
“But you have your man for barn work,” she insisted.
“Mother. I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us anyway.”
Rio thought she’d drop her teeth—right before she cheered. He’d not only stood up, he hadn’t even apologized.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
At the back door she swapped Stella’s black sandals for her barn-grubby tennis shoes and threw on the sweatshirt she and David had slept under the night before. The night breeze held a hint of early fall and lifted the hem of her dress in a teasing swirl.
In the barn she found their weak and bedraggled palomino filly flat on her side in a stall and Ben Thomlinson bent over her with a stethoscope. The first round of antibiotics clearly hadn’t helped, and cold gripped Rio’s heart. David had warned her not to give any of the rescue horses names until they were all declared healthy and fine. It was too risky to become attached.
He’d pack her off for Crazytown if he knew she’d named all twelve and kept them in her mind like a litany: Lacey-Rain-Hank and Digger, Amber-Jewel-Cricket-Dot, Harpo-Zeppo-Zeke . . .
And Glory.
That had always been the name of her fantasy palomino, the one she’d one day own. This ravaged little horse met none of her dream qualifications, yet Rio had known from the first that the filly needed a name worthy of hope.
“She went down about two hours ago,” David told her.
“Is she going to be all right?”
Dr. Thomlinson stroked Glory’s neck and stood. “Her vitals are okay. We need to give these new drugs time to work. But, Rio, sometimes, even when we do everything right in starting to feed starved horses, their systems simply can’t handle the changes. I’d say she’s got a slightly better than fifty-fifty chance.”
David ran a hand roughly through his hair. Rio’s eyes welled. “What should we do?” she asked.
“Watch her. If she tries to stand, encourage her but don’t force her. Our goal is for her to stand and support herself.”
Ben left soon after that, and a sense of helplessness replaced Rio’s sadness. David encircled her shoulders and kissed above her ear.
“Sometimes having animals means dealing with losing them.”
“We won’t lose her.” She had no expertise on which to base such a prediction, but she proclaimed it adamantly anyway.
“All right. I believe you. We can leave her for a little while. We should get back.”
“You go.” She glanced up at him. “Please, let me stay a little while.”
“You sure?”
“Just don’t tell your mother where I am with her dress.”
He tugged on her braid and smiled, then pulled just hard enough to tilt her head back. Hot and sweet, he slipped a kiss onto her lips. “Don’t worry about my mother.”
As soon as he was gone, too, Rio stole into the makeshift tack room and grabbed a saddle pad. She slid open Glory’s stall door, spread the pad on the shavings, and sat by the filly’s head. Softly she stroked the shaggy cheeks and tender muzzle and crooned words of comfort. Time floated past without so much as tapping her on the shoulder.
SHE AWOKE WITH a gasp and shot to her seat in the dark, blinking for orientation. The air hung thick and pungent with sawdust and ammonia. She scrubbed her eyes, remembering where she was.
Glory.
She found the filly’s warm head and heard her breathing noisily. When a small body moved beside her she startled, ready to scream at a mouse or worse until Thirty-one meowed and brushed along her arm, purring like a little cougar.
“Kitty! Oh man, you scared me.” She scooped up the cat and nuzzled her. “I haven’t spent much time with you lately, have I? It’s nice of you to come and take care of us. How’s Glory?”
As if answering, Glory gave a rumbling whicker.
“Hey you,” Rio cooed. “That was awfully nice to hear.”
Thirty-one stepped to the filly and rubbed back and forth along her long, white-blazed face. Glory snorted and raised her head, snuffling at the visitor. Then she threw her head and neck sideways and rolled onto her belly like a dog.
“Good girl!” Rio crowed. “Look at you. You’re halfway up.”
She knelt beside the horse and scrubbed her neck with eager, encouraging fingertips. For several minutes Glory leaned into the touch, her eyes no longer dull. Then her energy flagged, and she grunted, rolling again to her side, her head pressed against Rio’s thighs. Thirty-one sprang to Glory’s shoulder and found a spot she could knead and turn into a roost. The horse sighed. The cat blinked.
Rio scritched beneath Thirty-one’s chin, amazed. “A horse whispering cat. What a rockin’ girl you are.”
She settled back into the shavings with no idea what time it was. Nobody had come to wake her so it couldn’t be awfully late. Her eyelids drooped, and she propped herself against Glory’s neck. The intelligent thing would be to go back to the house, and yet the need to stay held her captive. Sleepiness finally won, and her chin dropped to her chest.
Voices woke her. Once more she fought through the fog of sleep and found herself curled in a ball in the front corner of the stall. It was still dark, but she could see Thirty-one lying between her and Glory, and she could see the filly once again on her belly with her legs tucked comfortably beneath her. She nickered when Rio pushed herself up.
The voices still drifted from far down the aisle near the doorway, but identifying David and Kate took no gue
sswork. Rio’s cheeks heated. They could not find her still in Stella’s cocktail dress, sleeping in shavings with a sick horse. She stood, frantic with groggy embarrassment. The dress skirt hung bedraggled and coated with wood shavings, her hands reeked of horse, and her tongue tasted like a bird’s nest.
“She wasn’t in her room. She must still be in here,” David said.
“No,” Kate replied. “She must be asleep in some corner of the house. She hated the party, you know. And nobody is mad enough to stay five hours in a malodorous barn in dress clothing.”
She had hated the party. But she’d have gone back. Five hours? David had let her stay here until two in the morning?
“No telling what Rio might do. She’s a unique woman.”
“She’s a strange girl, David,” Kate countered. “Not remotely the sort you fall for.”
“In the past that was certainly true.”
Desperately Rio eyed the door across the aisle. She didn’t want to hear another word. But she’d have to cross in full view.
“It’s true now, David. You can’t send a little street girl, no matter how practical she is, onto the Internet to solve this latest crisis. You need a real solution. You need real capital.”
“Rio is hardly a little girl. And practicality is sometimes a rare commodity.”
One point for you, dear David. But what crisis? Her heart raced anew.
“Then be practical. You can’t absorb this. What did the lawyer say again? Twenty-five thousand?”
“For medical costs, yes. But I’m not remotely worried about the frivolous suit—she unquestionably backed into my barn in an area where parking was clearly marked and perfectly level, unlike what she’s claiming.”
“But you have to retain a lawyer regardless. For goodness’ sake, let me help you. You know I have the means.”
“Absolutely not. You know that’s a terrible idea, generous as it is.”
Rio listened in growing dismay.
“Then what would you suggest as the solution? You seem to be addicted to, even attracted to, hard luck stories at the moment—your own most of all. And Rio Montoya and her sister are not helping you focus. What are we doing out here worrying about her?”
“Kate. Rio and Bonnie are special. I don’t want to hurt her by—”
“Then, sweetheart,” Kate interrupted. “If you don’t want her hurt, get her away from this mess. Be smart.”
Tell her. Tell her it’ll hurt you more to send me away.
“Rio has nothing to do with this mess. She can’t help, it’s true, but I’m fond of her. I’ll think of something; there’s still Maxwell’s offer.”
Fond of her? Rio’s heart took a full-on knife stab so painful that tears threatened. And Carter Maxwell? David couldn’t. He would never really sell out . . .
“He seems a decent fellow,” David continued. “I don’t know yet that I think he’s the answer, but isn’t it just possible working with him might be better than accumulating more debt?”
Never. David. He’s arrogant. He’s not like you. You can’t. Tell Kate you can find a way. We can find a way.
Their voices faded, and Rio guessed they’d gone into the ruined tack room. Pressing her luck, she rolled the stall door open two inches and peered down an empty aisle. Grabbing Thirty-one, she slipped out and fled to the back of the barn into the deepest corner, not quite making it to the back door.
“It certainly looks to me as if you can prove your case.” Kate and David returned to the aisle.
“You see? The lawsuit has absolutely no legs; it’s simply annoying. Let’s check the filly and see if Rio’s there. I don’t hold out a lot of hope for that little horse.”
That stupid, simple line broke the dam holding back Rio’s tears. How dare David give up? British understatement be damned. How dare he reduce what they’d shared to fondness of her?
“Bugger all, would you look at that!” David’s astonishment cut through her pain. “She’s up!”
Up? Rio’s sad and confused heart gave a surprised leap of hope.
“Oh David, but she’s so thin. The poor thing. Just put her out of her misery.”
Rio held back a cry of indignation. Of all the uncaring— Suddenly, hiding seemed ridiculous. Why should she care whether Kate saw her caring for the horse? Kate needed a big dose of reality.
“Absolutely not,” David said. “This is the happiest thing that’s happened in two days.”
The knife twisted. Intellectually Rio knew he spoke only of the farm. But nothing felt intellectual while she hid like an idiot in the dark.
Glory nickered. Rio swiped away her tears.
“Where’s Rio, girl?” David rolled open the stall door. “Does she know about you? She’ll be more than a little relieved.”
“You know, love . . .” Kate turned on a surprising Marilyn Monroe breathiness. “There are things even more exciting than a recovering horse. And there are women, like me, who’ve learned their lessons and seen their mistakes. I would love a chance to make you see the person who is waiting for you in the barn.”
Silence fell. David grunted. Kate made a soft, succulent humming sound. Rio’s tears vanished in a red haze. Thoughtlessly, she stepped from the shadows.
They didn’t see her at first, but she saw the kiss. Then David pushed Kate away and staggered backward.
“What the hell?” he demanded.
“Remember how good it used to be?”
“For God’s sake, Katherine. What gave you the idea I’d welcome that? I’ve welcomed you as a guest and an old friend. But—”
He saw her.
“Rio!”
“Well, isn’t this a surprise?” Her pure anger filtered out the rejection she’d just heard him dole out to Kate.
“It certainly was,” he agreed, and spun to embrace her. “Are you all right? Where were you, love? I was worried.”
Being held by him in front of Kate should have been Rio’s dream come true, but she struggled in his arms.
“Oh really,” Kate said, glaring. “You can’t possibly be serious about this.”
“How serious we are has nothing to do with you thinking you can kiss me when I haven’t invited it.”
“Is that right?” Rio broke free. “Well, maybe we aren’t that serious about this after all. Especially since this doesn’t even have a name.”
“What the hell, Rio? Keeping us a secret was done for you. For both of us. We both agreed. What do you want me to say?”
“You already said it. I happen to have heard.” She turned to Kate. “Remember you told me you weren’t going to give up fighting for him? Well, I think I might now be a teensy point ahead in the war. At least he’s fond of me.”
She left them both staring and made herself walk calmly out of the barn.
Chapter Thirty-One
* * *
SHE APPROACHED HIM slowly, tentatively. It nearly killed David to see such defeat in Rio’s demeanor and such wariness of him.
“Hi,” she said, joining him at the little palomino’s stall door.
“’lo.”
“Glory.”
He looked at her, not understanding.
“That’s her name. You told me not to give her one, but I did anyhow.”
She hadn’t lost all her spirit, he thought gratefully. “It’s a perfect name.”
She watched Glory munching her hay for a moment, then leaned sideways on the door. “I’m sorry. David. Really. I was out of line last night.”
“Well, you did see me kissing another woman.”
“I saw another woman kissing you. I’m pretty sure, after what I heard you say to her, there was a difference.”
He smiled. “There was. And Kate knows I’m not interested in having it happen again.”
“She had a right to fight for you. She warned me she was going to do it.”
“Well, nobody warned me. I’m sorry, too, Rio. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
She nodded, resignation and uncertainty still in her
eyes. He cupped her chin and tilted her sweet face upward.
“I told her I loved you.”
That shocked her out of her melancholy. “You did?”
“Rio. Don’t you know that in England ‘fond’ is slang for love?”
Her nostrils flared and her lips pursed as she stared at him, uncertain for only a second. “It is not.”
“It is. I should know,” he said. “I’m ready to tell the world how I feel if you are. I’m sorry I didn’t last night.”
“You were right, though. We’d agreed all along not to tell. I was just so angry she got her lips on you I refused to listen. I was mad, too, that she was still talking about Carter Maxwell.”
“Carter Maxwell,” he repeated, his body weighed down by the very words. Never had a perfect solution to a problem been so incredibly unpalatable. “Believe me, Rio, I don’t want to share this place with him.”
“But you’re thinking about it?”
“It would be stupid not to think about all possible options.” He gathered her into an embrace to comfort himself as much as her. “I meant it. I don’t want to share my farm.”
“I’m glad.”
Glory nickered as David braced her against the stall wall and captured her mouth in a deep, hot makeup kiss.
“Oh, excuse me, I’m so sorry.” The man under discussion stepped through the door and averted his eyes from the kiss but didn’t leave.
“Morning, Maxwell,” David replied.
“I’m about to take a short ride into town with your father, but I wanted to give you this first.” He handed David several sheets of paper. “I know you’re only considering my proposal, but I’m not above pitching as hard as I can. These are owners who’d be willing to board with me.”
David perused the list, flipping pages and scowling. “Twenty-five names,” he said. “I have only five open stalls.”
“You have at least six or eight boarders who aren’t serious about competing. Sending them to more appropriate trainers would free up all those stalls. Then you can charge what this facility is worth and your cash flow immediately improves.”
Beauty and the Brit Page 32