Bad Blood Collection

by Various Authors

  “Failure is liberating. It sets you free. If you are brave enough to fail and still do not quit, you will prevail,” he said softly. “And I do not take you for a coward, querida”

  A breathless, almost painful hope filled her.

  “You don’t?”

  He shook his head.

  “In fact,” he said huskily, moving closer, “I think you are a woman who would rather die before you’d give up—on anything.”

  Their eyes locked. She swallowed, feeling prickles of fire spreading down her body.

  “You just need to remember,” he said, touching her cheek.

  “Remember what?” she breathed.

  “Who you were before your heart was broken.” He lifted her chin. “And who you were born to be.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Annabelle asked as he led her across the courtyard.

  As they walked, Stefano smiled down at her, looking confident and completely irresistible as he pushed open the door to the old stables. “To the paddock on the upper slope. It’s where we train the colts.”

  She halted inside the door, looking with trepidation at the monstrous-size horses inside the wooden stalls.

  “You should change your clothes,” he said yet again, looking down as her designer pantsuit and glossy black heels.

  “If I leave now, I’ll lose my nerve,” she breathed.

  It had been nearly twenty years since Annabelle had last ridden a horse. The same August day she’d decided to sneak out to the party in the village. She’d felt so powerful that day. Fearless. Free.

  But by the end of that night, she had been in the hospital, and Jacob arrested for their father’s murder. Her brother was acquitted, the verdict being accidental death in self-defense, but their family—and Annabelle—had never been the same.

  She swallowed. The last time she’d ridden a horse, she’d been so innocent. So unafraid. So young.

  Coming up behind her, Stefano put his hands on her shoulders. She felt his warmth and strength like a burst of sunshine through rain. “Do you know how to ride?”

  “I used to.” She slowly reached up to stroke the horse’s nose. “I used to race to keep up with my older brothers.” She stopped her hand in midair, not quite touching the animal. She whispered, “I used to be fearless.”

  “You can be again.”

  She swallowed, then looked back at him. “Can I? Can I ever be that girl again?”

  “Yes,” Stefano said steadily.

  With a deep breath, Annabelle turned back toward the horse. Then she hesitated. “But what do I do? How do I start?”

  Coming closer, he smiled down at her. “First, you will choose the right horse. Not Picaro, he is a brute for all of his innocent face. Do not believe his deceit.” He pulled her farther back into the stables. “Now this is Josefina, she is gentle. She will care for you like a mother.”

  He swiftly saddled the horse, then turned back to her.

  Her eyes locked with his, and suddenly, climbing on the horse’s back seemed easy compared to being this close to Stefano, to enduring the searching intimacy of his dark eyes.

  Ignoring his hand, Annabelle went around him. Putting one foot in the stirrup, she threw her leg over the back of the saddled dapple-brown mare. To her surprise, she discovered that she hadn’t forgotten how to do it. Her body somehow still remembered how to use her thighs to grip the saddle, her hands to hold the reins lightly.

  “Excelente,” Stefano said approvingly. “You have not forgotten how to sit a horse.” Swiftly saddling a horse in the nearby stall, he swung up on the black gelding in a single movement of beauty and grace. “Follow me.”

  Annabelle couldn’t take her eyes from Stefano as he led them out of the stable. He moved so well, and never more so than on horseback. She stared at his muscular backside, at his tree-trunk thighs splayed across the saddle. Then as he rode away from her, she blinked and clumsily urged her horse to follow. The gentle mare took pity on her and obeyed.

  The wind blew against them as they rode away from the hacienda. Stefano glanced back at her with a wicked smile, then urged his horse faster with a low whistle. Watching him ride ahead of her, Annabelle was mesmerized by the image of the darkly handsome Spaniard riding the black horse across the wide golden field.

  He looked back at her, his horse rearing back on two legs.

  “What are you waiting for?” he shouted.

  Annabelle felt a fierce answer in her own heart. Leaning low over her mare, she lightly tapped her heels and her horse raced forward with excitement that matched Annabelle’s own. She soon caught up with Stefano. Smiling at him coquettishly, Annabelle gave a wild, joyful laugh, and raced past him.

  She heard Stefano’s shocked laugh behind her, then the rapidly approaching pounding of hooves as he caught up with her.

  “The upper paddock,” he called to her. “It’s this way.”

  Annabelle felt strangely free, her heart light. She felt young again. They raced their horses side by side and, in the distance, she could see the far-off ocean echoing deep blue into the sky above, as the fields shimmered and waved around them like a golden sea. They rode side by side, hooves flying beneath them as Annabelle looked at him.

  Stefano was laughing, his dark eyes alight with joy. “How could you ever give up riding?” he shouted to her. “How could you ever give this up?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried. She felt like she’d been sleeping for twenty years, and in this moment, she awoke.

  They reached a plateau high in the green cragged hills. Following his lead, she tied her reins as she climbed down from the horse, feeling slightly sweaty but exhilarated as her feet touched the soft earth and her weary legs nearly buckled beneath her. The ride had tired her more than she’d expected. But it was worth it.

  Was this all it took for Annabelle to reclaim the girl she’d been? One ride across the fields with a handsome man? If so, why hadn’t she done it before?

  Stefano went inside a large shed, and she surreptitiously checked her hair and makeup in the compact mirror from her jacket pocket. Her hair was ruffled but her makeup still in place. Perhaps working on the ranch wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d feared.

  Stefano came out of the shed with a rope lariat hanging around his neck, then brought out the first of the young foals from the nearby paddock out into the large pen.

  “Stay close,” he told Annabelle when she tried to move back to the shade. “You’re going to do this.”

  For hours, he worked tirelessly to train each young colt to respond to his command, whether given by voice or gesture—to walk, to stop, to change direction or speed. When he returned each colt to the paddock, he brought out another, then another. Some of the animals obeyed. Some refused at first. But Stefano never lost patience. He worked each foal hard, and as the sun beat relentlessly down on them, his skin soon glistened with sweat.

  Annabelle felt a bit sweaty herself, watching him with trepidation. He finally turned back to her, holding out the rope. “Now you.”

  She felt a surge of terror. “No, I really.”

  “Here.” He pushed the rope into her hands. “Now walk him,” he ordered in a quiet, soothing voice, as if training her as much as the horse.

  Annabelle tried her best to follow Stefano’s instructions, but it was physically demanding work. The wily young horse didn’t obey her commands as it had Stefano’s. He kept pulling away, resisting her, yanking hard on the rope until it ripped out of her hands, chafing her skin.

  When he was done, Stefano brought out another horse, then another. He kept forcing Annabelle to try again, until all she wanted to do was return to the house and collapse weeping in her bed.

  But his words kept echoing in her mind. I think you are a woman who would rather die before you’d give up on anything. So Annabelle didn’t give up. She grimly kept trying. She didn’t want to prove him wrong. Stefano’s regard had become important to her, as had the hope he’d given her for a different kin
d of life, a life of fearless passion and joy.

  But by the time they took a lunch break, Annabelle’s whole body was shaking with exhaustion. The white-hot sun beat down upon them as Stefano took the rope from her. “I’ll take the colt back to the paddock.”

  Annabelle exhaled, nearly crying with relief.

  “We’re done?”

  But Stefano barked a laugh. “The day has barely started, querida. But the color in your face suits you.” He smiled down at her. “I think you’re starting to understand what it means to feel alive.”

  Agony flooded through her. “I don’t …” she whispered, then swallowed. “I can’t …”

  He looked down at her. “You can.”

  They sat down at a table beneath a shady tree to eat the sandwiches from Mrs. Gutierrez, but lunch was over all too quickly. It was all Annabelle could do to hold back her tears when they went back to work. As the afternoon wore on, her body ached and her head throbbed from dehydration and heat exhaustion. She could see why he’d wanted her to wear jeans. Her designer pantsuit was dirty and ripped, her black glossy heels impossibly muddy and scuffed.

  Surely they’d be done soon, she told herself desperately. Surely they couldn’t do this much longer. Could they?

  The sun beat down on them, growing hotter by the minute. And the more exhausted Annabelle felt, the less the foals seemed inclined to obey her. Her hair was a mess, her clothes covered with sweat and grime and her pale skin was turning pink in the sun.

  Worst of all: she knew with sickening certainty that the makeup covering her scar was starting to melt.

  When Stefano brought out yet another new yearling to train, she wanted to scream.

  “See this mare?” he said softly. “You wouldn’t know it, but she was beaten by her first owner. I have trained her for months, to help her learn not to be afraid.” He thrust the mare’s rope into her hands. “Hold tightly to the rope.”

  Looking up at Stefano, Annabelle imagined she saw pity in his eyes. A hard lump rose in her throat as she choked out, “I’m meant to be like the horse, right?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Come on. The poor old horse who was once beaten and afraid. She’s me. You’re winning my trust, taming me as you did her. That bit about making me fearless—it’s a trick! It’s all a trick!”

  “I’m trying to help you!”

  “I don’t believe you!” she cried. Part of her knew she was being unfair but as she felt tears rise behind her eyes, she was beyond being reasonable. “Are you torturing me for your own amusement? To finally get me into bed?”

  His eyebrows lowered. “You’re tortured?”

  “I don’t need your pity!” She felt vulnerable and raw. “I’m not going to fall for you. I’m not. You can just … forget it!”

  With a choked sob, she dropped the horse’s rope as she covered her face with her hands.

  “Don’t drop the rope!” he said tersely, but it was too late. As soon as the mare was free, the animal immediately took off at a run, the rope flying behind her in the wind.

  Stefano chased the horse down, caught the rope, soothed her with his touch and soft words, then led her out of the pen. When he finally came back to Annabelle, she could see the grim line of his body, the way he clenched his hands at his sides.

  “I’ve saddled your horse. Go back to the house.”

  He was sending her away? “Fine,” she said over the lump in her throat.

  He came closer, his jaw set, his voice hard. “I was trying to help you, you know,” he said. “I was trying to be unselfish for once in my damned life. But have it your way. Go back to your solitary, lonely world. Enjoy being alone and closed off from the world.”

  She flinched. She’d gotten what she wanted—she’d driven him away. He’d given up on her. Just what she expected. She drove everyone away sooner or later.

  “Fine,” she repeated. She rubbed her aching temple, then wiped away tears with an angry fist as she turned away.

  “What happened to your face?” he demanded harshly behind her.

  Annabelle froze.

  She realized she must have rubbed off the last of her makeup. Now, to top everything else, he’d seen her scar. He knew how vulnerable and ugly she really was.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. She quickened her pace, desperate to get away.

  She heard him come up swiftly behind her. “Stop,” he said roughly. “Let me see your face!”

  Annabelle wanted to collapse on the ground and sob. He’d given her the kiss of a lifetime. For the space of a few hours, she’d almost thought they were friends. Now … this is all he would remember of her. The ugly scarred monster.

  Slowly, Annabelle turned.

  “Oh, my God,” he breathed, coming closer. “What happened to you?”

  Beneath the merciless sun, she lifted her bangs, turning her face upward so he could see the deep red scar stretching down her face.

  “Are you satisfied?” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “This is who I really am. A monster. Why did you have to give me hope I might ever be more than this?”

  Stefano stared down at her, his expression a mask of shock. Annabelle looked up at his wide, dark eyes and saw horror and disgust.

  With a choked sob, Annabelle turned and ran blindly, streaking over the wooden fence toward the forest.

  This is who I really am.

  Her choked, tear-sodden words still echoed in Stefano’s ears as he stared after her, overwhelmed by the vision of her ruined, lovely face. The ugly red line had slithered down her forehead and cheek like a poisonous snake. A monster.

  His heart pounded in his throat. What had happened to her? Had she gotten the scar by accident? Or by the hand of man?

  With a sob, Annabelle had turned and run.

  With an intake of breath, Stefano ran after her. But this time, she was faster than he’d ever expected. She didn’t want to be caught. Grimly, he crashed through the underbrush and into the forest. He saw Annabelle just ahead, her long blond hair streaming behind her. His stride was longer, his legs were faster, his stamina greater. He caught up with her on the other edge of the forest, pushing her into the bright, open meadow beyond.

  “Let me go!” she cried.

  “No,” he said, tightening his grip on her wrists.

  Annabelle struggled and kicked as he pushed her past the trees into the vivid field of red poppies. Shackling her wrists with his large hands, he looked down at her.

  She looked half-wild. Her cheeks were flushed, her chignon gone as her blond hair fell in waves down her shoulders. Her pant leg was ripped, her ivory jacket dirty with splattered mud.

  From this close, he could see every detail of the jagged scarlet line slashing down her beautiful face. But that wasn’t what disturbed him the most. It was what was beneath the scar: the anguish in Annabelle’s trembling face.

  “What do you want?” she cried. “Why do you keep trying to hurt me?” “I’m not! I want to help you!”

  “You can’t.” She shook her head as tears streamed down her sunburned face. “No one can.”

  Amid the waving flowers, she looked so beautiful that his heart turned over in his chest. He took a deep breath. “How did you get your scar?”

  She looked up at him with big eyes, like pools of gray after rain.

  “Please.” His hands gentled their hold. “Tell me.”

  “It hurts too much,” she whispered. “It’s better to be numb.”

  “No,” he said urgently. Looking down at her, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Pain is how you know you’re alive,” he said, searching her gaze. “If you are too afraid to feel pain, you’ll never know joy.” Annabelle turned toward the green mountains jutting into the wide blue sky. With a deep breath, she looked back at him.

  “You think I’m hard and distant and cold.” She shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I wasn’t always like that. My father had eight children by five different women. He hated all of us. He drove each of our m
others away, by force, death or insanity. But we children couldn’t leave.” Blinking fast, she looked down at her hands. “He hit my brothers for the slightest excuse. But not me, never me. I looked too much like my mother, you see. I thought I was lucky. And then …”

  Swallowing, she looked away. “At fourteen I decided it would be fun to sneak away to a party, dressed in a low-cut shirt to see if any of the village boys might notice me.”

  Stefano set his jaw. “And did they?”

  Annabelle sank to her knees abruptly, sitting in the field of red poppies and purple flowers. Her eyes stared blindly at the blue sky.

  “My brother sent me home early from the party to protect me. But I found my father drunk, just returned from an unsatisfactory day of hunting.” She blinked. “He was furious when he saw me. He screamed at me as he raised his whip. ‘You whore,’ he said, ‘no boy will ever look at you again!’”

  Stefano felt a sickening rage inside that nearly turned his vision to black. But she was looking up at him through her lashes, nervously waiting for his reaction. Clenching his hands into fists, he forced himself to sit down beside her amid the flowers.

  “Go on,” he said tersely.

  She exhaled. “My brother saved me,” she said. “Jacob knocked my father aside and pulled the whip out of his hand. My father fell and hit his head on the bottom stair. He died almost at once. And we were glad,” she said dully. “We were all of us glad.”

  “I’m sorry,” Stefano said in a low voice. His hands were still clenched, wanting to punch someone long dead.

  “Now you know.” Annabelle looked down at her own hands, and for the first time he saw that the tiny red lines he’d thought were scratches were actually scars. “Now you know how ugly I really am inside.”

  Stefano stared down at her.

  “Ugly?” A warm breeze ran through the meadow, causing the flowers around them to dance softly in waves of red and purple. Fiercely, he grabbed her by the shoulders. “You are not ugly. You are beautiful and strong. Far stronger than the past actions of a coward like your father.”

  She looked away. Blinking back tears, she whispered, “You were right about what you said. I like being behind a camera. It makes me feel … like I’m invisible. So after living alone for years at Wolfe Manor, I went to university to study photography. But my most trusted mentor, the one I thought was my friend, turned on me after my first success. He was twice my age, but tried to seduce me. When I refused him, he called me a monster. He said no one would ever love a scarred woman like me. He said he’d only tried to seduce me out of pity.”