Christopher's Medal

by S. A. Laybourn

  “That’s dreadful.” Grace kissed his throat.

  “It was.” He curled his fingers into her hair and clung to her. “Thank Christ for you, Gracey. If it wasn’t for you…well…I think of Mark sometimes.”

  “You’re safe now, darling.” She held onto him and stroked his hair while he trembled against her. “I’ll make sure of that.” It wasn’t how she’d imagined their wedding night, but it didn’t matter. She reached down, pulled the sheet over them both and fell asleep wanting him.

  * * * *

  “Right.” Grace prodded Chris’ shoulder. She hated to wake him, but she’d decided that his new therapy started that morning.

  He rolled over and opened one eye. “What?” His voice was a sleepy rumble. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’ve decided it was time you earned your keep around here. Remember, when you came back I said you should work in the yard? You start today.” He was warm and rumpled with sleep and Grace wanted to kiss him.

  He propped himself up on his elbows. “What time is it?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “In the morning?”

  “Yes.” She climbed out of bed and found a pair of jeans. “Time’s a-wasting. Come on, darling.”

  “Grace.” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “No. Find yourself some clothes you don’t mind getting filthy. I’m going to put the coffee on. You’ve got ten minutes.” Grace fled before he could object.

  “It’s still dark.” Christopher stumbled into the kitchen.

  “Yes, it usually is at this time of morning in September.” Grace handed him a mug of coffee and watched him while he slouched against the counter.

  “What will I be doing?”

  “Mucking out.” She sipped her coffee “I’ll teach you. You’ll be fine.”

  “You seem very sure of that.”

  She loved him when he was like this, half-asleep and compliant. “I am.” Grace kissed the corner of his mouth.

  He set his coffee down and pulled her into his arms. He was still warm from bed and his sigh was soft on her skin. “Couldn’t we just go back to bed?”

  It was tempting. She leaned into him and wished ‘bed’ meant more than just sleep. It was enough that he held her. It was progress. Grace inhaled the scent of his skin and let her hands drift to the small of his back. “No, we can’t.”

  “Cruel woman.”

  “It’ll be better than physio.”

  “Since you put it like that.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll give it a go.” His hands fell away and he reached for his coffee once more. “You’ll show me what to do?”

  “Every step of the way.”

  It was fucking cold. Christopher followed Grace across the gravel, blinking when the security light clicked on, flooding the wide yard with brilliant light. It went off only when Grace turned the main lights on. Horses stirred in their boxes with a rustle of straw and soft whickers. The only horse he recognized was Allonby. Christopher stopped to rub his nose.

  “Come on!” Grace flung the tack room door back. “No time for lollygagging, mister.”

  He looked down the yard at his wife. She stood in the doorway, light spilling around her, hair already tumbling from beneath her battered baseball cap. There was no one else who could’ve persuaded him to crawl out of bed at such an obscenely early hour on a chilly autumn morning.

  She opened the feed room door and started flinging buckets on the floor. “We’ll feed them first. You can help me until Dave gets here.”

  Christopher stood in the doorway and watched Grace. She scooped feed into the buckets, the pellets rattled against plastic and outside, the horses made anxious little noises, accompanied by ominous thumps against stable doors.

  Grace slid a bucket across the floor toward him. “Take this to Allonby. Just tip it into his manger. Don’t worry, he has very good table manners, he won’t rush you.”

  That was easy enough. He picked up the bucket and walked back to Allonby’s box. The colt nickered when he turned on the light and slid the bolt back. Allonby stood patiently and waited for him tip the feed into the corner manger. As soon as Christopher backed away, the colt was at the manger, attacking his breakfast.

  “Bloody hell.” Christopher headed back to the feed room.

  “This one’s for Gormless,” Grace told him. “He’s in the box next to Al’s.”

  “There’s a horse called Gormless?”

  Grace laughed. “No, that’s just what we call him. He’s just stupid. Just keep your eye on him when you go in there. He likes to crowd people at feeding time. He won’t bite or anything.”

  That was scant comfort. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She smiled at him and he realized he would’ve jumped into a shark-infested pond with a bucket of chum for her.

  * * * *

  Grace rubbed Allonby’s cheek while her father walked around him. He paused to pick up his foreleg and examine his hoof.

  “What do you reckon, Grace? Do you think he’ll win the Sprint Cup?”

  “He’s in good nick, Dad. Billy’s been happy with his work, but you know that.”

  “Now, Gracey, assuming the big fella here wins the Sprint Cup, what do you reckon to a run at the Breeders’ Cup?”

  She gaped at her father. “Dirt or Turf?” The yard had never had a horse that came anywhere near Breeders’ Cup class. The Breeders’ Cup was for superstars. The prize for either race was a million dollars.

  “Turf.” He slapped the colt’s broad, gleaming rump. “Close your mouth, before you catch a fly.”

  “I don’t know, Dad. That’s a huge thing. What does the General reckon?”

  “You know the General, he’s up for anything. He definitely likes the idea of going to California in November.”

  Grace stared at Allonby, who stood quietly in his box, resting his off-hind leg while he dozed. It seemed impossible that this unassuming, sweet-natured creature would race on the world stage. “So, you’re going to enter him for the race?”

  “Nothing ventured and all that.” He grinned. “It means you’ll have to run this place for a couple of weeks, unless you want to go.”

  “No, I’d rather stay here.” She thought of the hassle, the press attention, leaving Christopher. November would be quiet and they needed the peace that winter would bring. Her father was the one who had brought the colt to this point, in any event. “Chris and I, we need our time together. He needs time, Dad.”

  “I know.”

  “Anyway, you’re the one who’s done all the work and I hate being interviewed.”

  “How is Chris, anyway?”

  “He’s coping.” She unclipped Allonby and removed his head collar. “I’m hoping that him working in the yard will help.” She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Dad. It’s nice being married.”

  He laughed. “Today was his first day, wasn’t it?”

  “He’s knackered. When I got up for evening stables he was still flat out. I didn’t have the heart to wake him. He’ll be too stiff and sore to think about anything else. I’ll run him a hot bath when I get home.”

  “That’s my girl.” He squeezed her arm. “As long as you’re happy.”

  “I am.” She thought longingly of Christopher waiting for her, waiting for evening stables to be over. He’d fallen into the habit of making the dinner and she had fallen into the habit of returning to a cottage smelling of good food, of music on the radio and her husband working his way through her neglected collection of cookbooks. She wondered if he was awake.

  “Go on, then. You get yourself home. I can see from the look on your face that you want to go. I’ll finish off here.” Her father kissed her cheek. “After all, you’re still newlyweds, a couple of weeks is no time.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She kissed him goodnight and hurried across the yard. The top half of the door was open and the aroma of something garlicky drifted across the drive. She could hear Christopher humming
while he worked in the kitchen. He smiled when she swept through the door.

  “You’re early,” he said when she kissed his cheek. He smelled of soap and garlic.

  “Dad let me off early for good behavior.” She took off her shoes and set them in the laundry room. “I think he felt sorry for me because of the shock.”

  “Shock?” He handed her a glass of wine. “What’s happened?”

  Grace leaned against the counter and watched him while he deftly chopped onions. “He’s only going to run Allonby in the Breeders’ Cup, provided he does all right in the Sprint Cup in a couple of weeks.”

  “What’s the Breeders’ Cup?”

  She loved the way his eyebrows drew together on those rare occasions when he was puzzled. “It’s a huge international race meeting. It’s held in America. The prize money is huge, the prestige is massive and if Allonby won, he could retire to stud the next day and the General would make a tidy sum from the stud fees.”

  “Really? Allonby’s that good?”

  “Yes, he’s that good.” She sipped her wine. “Plus, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have met. So, yes, he’s a special horse.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” He set the knife down and threw the onions into a saucepan. “I guess we owe him.”

  “Yes, we do. Not only that, but we’re getting his half-sister in November.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “It could be, if she’s as good as he is. She’s out of the same mare, just a different sire.”

  “Will you have to go to America?”

  “No, Dad’s going. He’s the one that’s done all the hard work. I don’t think I can bear any more television interviews. It’s not my thing.”

  “I thought you did beautifully at Ascot.”

  Grace winced at the memory. “Oh, yes, terrified that Allonby would finish the race lame. I don’t think so.”

  “I’m glad you don’t have to go.” His hand trailed along her arm.

  “So am I.” She caught at his hand and squeezed it. “I wouldn’t want to leave you, Chris, not even for a day.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Gracey Beaumont.”

  The name still caught her by surprise, even after two weeks. It was one more thing that bound her to him. “I love you too.” She touched his hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired and stiff and sore. I woke up and ran a bath, as hot as I could stand. It’s helped a little. You’re a hard taskmaster, darling.”

  “It’ll get easier.” Grace kissed him. “I promise.”

  “I hope so.” He leaned against her. “You’re right, it’s just what I needed to do.”

  “I usually am about these things.” She touched his face.

  “Why do they have to be so bloody big?”

  “What?”

  “The horses, they’re huge, big, brown, smelly things.”

  Grace laughed and tweaked Christopher’s ear. “You daft bugger. You’ll learn. I’m going for a shower.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Grace felt Allonby’s leg once more. It was a chilly day. The leg should’ve felt cool to the touch, not warm beneath puffy flesh.

  Shit.

  “Grace? Are you in there?” Her father’s voice echoed along the yard.

  “Yeah.” She swallowed and climbed to her feet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Am I that bloody easy to read?

  “His leg’s a bit warm, Dad.” Grace unfastened the rope and led Allonby to the door. “I’m going to hose it and see if I can get the swelling down.” She tugged absently at the colt’s ear. “Perhaps the Sprint Cup wasn’t such a great idea.”

  “It wasn’t up first thing this morning.”

  “It is now.” Grace headed toward the wash room. “Even if he did win.”

  “I’m phoning Brian.”

  “That would be a good idea. I’ll hose it and bandage it.”

  Not to mention pray. What the fuck do we do now?

  She turned on the hose. Allonby sighed and watched the water splash on the concrete floor. He lipped the hose and snorted while Grace trained the cold water on the back of his leg. “We really don’t need this.” She wound her fingers through his forelock. “You need to get better soon.”

  Grace leaned against Allonby’s shoulder and held onto the hose, listening to the tinny sound of the radio from the tack room next door.

  “A penny for them.” Christopher stood in the open door way.

  “No, they’re too dark.” Grace managed a smile. “Allonby’s leg is bad again. Dad’s gone to call the vet.”

  “Bad?” He sidled along the wall.

  Grace giggled. “He’s not going to bite, you daft beggar. You should know that by now.”

  “He’s a big, brown, smelly thing, Gracey. He has big teeth. He’s…well…big.”

  “Wuss.” She closed her eyes when he kissed her forehead.

  “Wuss and proud of it.” He patted Allonby’s shoulder. “Is it really bad?”

  “I don’t know. It depends what the vet says. God, Chris, we’ve been so bloody careful with him and now we’ve only got two months to get him right.” She rested her forehead against his. “We really don’t need this.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Christopher’s hand was warm on her cheek. “You’ll get him right. I have faith in you.”

  “Your faith is touching.” Grace kissed him, relieved he didn’t recoil.

  “You’ve made me better, Gracey. You can make Allonby better.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  * * * *

  “How are you getting on?” Grace peered over the stable door and watched Christopher fork clean straw up against the wall. He was learning.

  “Not bad. What do you reckon, Boss?” His grin was brilliant in the early morning gloom of the stable.

  Grace opened the door and slipped in. “Very nice. You’re learning, Beaumont.” She wanted to hold him, feel his warmth in the frosty chill. “But when you’ve finished here, we’ve got to get cleaned up a bit. Dad just told me we’ve some potential owners coming to have a look around, so we get one of Mum’s breakfasts.”

  “You want me there?”

  She hated the sudden unease in his expression. “Yes. You’re family, remember? You’re not just a shit-flicker, you’re my shit-flicker.”

  Jesus, Chris, please just smile, touch me, kiss me.

  “Since you put it like that, how can I refuse?” He took her hand and gave her fingers a light squeeze.

  That seemed to be about as much as he was prepared to give her at the moment. Grace told herself it was just one of those times when he wanted to disappear. She wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  “You can’t.” She smiled and curled her fingers through his and wished, for once, he’d reach for her for reasons other than comfort.

  Grace led Doctor Saeed and his wife across the gravel to the yard. “I’ll show you around while we wait for my father.” The yard buzzed with an impressive level of activity. Dave prowled between the stables telling everyone to get a move on. Harry swept the pavement with a rare industriousness and Christopher was in the tack room, humming while he cleaned bridles. Grace allowed herself a small, relieved breath. It was better he was absorbed by work than brooding alone in the house. She paused at Allonby’s stable.

  “This is our star.” She rubbed the colt’s nose and offered him a mint.

  “Ah, yes. Allonby.” The doctor patted Allonby’s neck. “He looks very well.”

  Grace hoped he wouldn’t see the bandage on the colt’s leg. The stable star was keeping fit by swimming every day, which would save wear and tear on the temperamental tendon.

  A swift movement from the direction of the tack room caught Grace’s eye. She turned just in time to see Christopher hurry across the yard and disappear behind the stables, nearly knocking Harry over in his wake.

  Shit. Now what?

  “Yes, he is well.” Grace tugged at Allonby’s ear and
was relieved when her father walked toward the yard, whistling. “Will you excuse me for a minute?” She ran after Christopher, shaking and scared.

  “He went that way, Boss.” Harry pointed to the rear boxes, the ones that overlooked the paddock.

  Grace rushed past him and through the shadowed walkway between the stable blocks. A stable door slammed shut at the far end.

  What the hell?

  “Chris?” She peered into the stable. It was an empty box, swept clean of straw. A mouse scuttled across a rafter. “Chris?”

  “Leave me alone, please.” Christopher was a dark, huddled shadow in the far corner.

  “You know I can’t do that.” Grace crept into the stable and knelt on the floor beside him. “What’s wrong?” She put her arm around his shoulders, terrified by how rigid his muscles were.

  “It sounds stupid.” His voice was muffled by his hands.

  “Try me.” Grace fought to keep her voice steady. She rubbed his back absently and kissed his hair.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. “That man…in the yard.”

  “Doctor Saeed?”

  “Where’s he from?”

  “Jordan, I think. Why?” Grace held him close.

  “That voice…it just brought back memories… I didn’t like it.”

  “Oh, Chris.” She wanted to weep.

  He trembled against her, his arms stole around her. “I’m sorry, Grace. I just can’t face him. I’m not ready.”

  “It’s all right,” she soothed. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know I should. I know I’ve got to grow a pair and get on with it, but just not today.”

  “All right.” Grace sighed into his hair. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid when you go back to the house, please?” Mark crept into her memories. She wished she could push those fears aside once and for all. Christopher would never take that road.