by Nora Roberts
“Tar and feathers?”
“I’m sure you’d prefer that, but we settled on extra kitchen detail.”
“Seems fair. But that doesn’t explain you falling out of my tree and into my arms. Though I’ve about decided not to complain about that. You smell like Paris.” To Eden’s amazement, he leaned down and buried his face in her hair. “Wicked nights in Paris.”
“Stop it.” Now her voice wasn’t calm, wasn’t disciplined.
Chase felt her heart begin to thud against his own. It ran through his mind that he wanted to do more than sample her scent. But when he lifted his head, her eyes were wide. Along with the awareness in them was a trace of fear.
“Explanation,” he said lightly. “That’s all I intend to take at the moment.”
She could hear her own pulse hammering in her throat. Of its own accord, her gaze fell upon his mouth. Was she mad, or could she almost taste the surge of masculine flavor that would certainly be on his lips? She felt her muscles softening, then instantly stiffened. She might very well be mad. If an explanation was what it took, she’d give it to him and get away. Far away.
“One of the girls . . .” Her mind veered vengefully to Roberta. “One of them left her cap in the tree.”
“So you went up after it.” He nodded, accepting her explanation. “That doesn’t explain why you were helping yourself to one of my apples.”
“It was mealy.”
Grinning again, he ran a hand along her jawline. “I doubt that. I’d imagine it was hard and tart and delicious. I had my share of stomachaches from green apples years ago. The pleasure’s usually worth the pain.”
Something uncomfortably like need was spreading through her. The fear of it chilled both her eyes and voice. “You have your explanation, and your apology.”
“I never heard an apology.”
She’d be damned, she’d be twice damned if she’d give him one now. Glaring at him, she nearly managed to look regal. “I want you to let me up this instant. You’re perfectly free to prosecute if you feel the need for compensation for a couple of worm-filled apples, but for now, I’m tired of your ridiculous backwoods arrogance.”
His apples were the best in the state, the best in the country. But at the moment, he relished the idea of her sinking her pretty white teeth into a worm. “You haven’t had a taste of backwoods arrogance yet. Maybe you should.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she began, only to have the last word muffled by his mouth.
The kiss caught her completely off guard. It was rough and demanding and as tart as the apple had been. Forbidden fruit. To a woman accustomed to coaxing, to requesting, the hard demand left her limp, unable to respond or protest. Then his hands were on her face, his thumbs tracing her jawline. Like the kiss, his palms were hard and thrilling.
He didn’t regret it. Though he wasn’t a man used to taking from a woman what wasn’t offered, he didn’t regret it. Not when the fruit was this sweet. Even though she lay very still, he could taste the panicked excitement on her lips. Yes, very sweet, he thought. Very innocent. Very dangerous. He lifted his head the moment she began to struggle.
“Easy,” he murmured, still stroking her chin with his thumb. Her eyes were more frantic than furious. “It seems you’re not the woman of the world you’re reputed to be.”
“Let me up.” Her voice was shaking now, but she was beyond caring.
Getting to his feet, Chase brought her with him. “Want some help brushing off?”
“You are the most offensive man I’ve ever met.”
“I can believe it. A pity you’ve been spoiled and pampered for so long.” She started to turn away, but he caught her shoulders for one last look. “It should be interesting to see how long you last here without the basics—like hairdressers and butlers.”
He’s just like everyone else, she thought; she coated her hurt and doubt with disdain. “I’m very late for my next class, Mr. Elliot. If you’ll excuse me?”
He lifted his hands from her shoulders, holding the palms out a moment before dropping them. “Try to keep the kids out of the trees,” he warned. “A fall can be dangerous.”
His smile had insults trembling on her lips. Clamping her tongue between her teeth, Eden scrambled over the fence.
He watched her, enjoying the view until she was swallowed up by the aspens. Glimpsing the cap at his feet, he bent down for it. As good as a calling card, he decided, tucking it into his back pocket.
***
Eden went through the rest of the day struggling not to think. About anything. She had deliberately avoided telling Candy about her meeting with Chase. In telling of it, she would have to think about it.
The humiliation of being caught up a tree was hard enough to swallow. Still, under other circumstances, she and Candy might have shared a laugh over it. Under any other circumstances.
But more than the humiliation, even more than the anger, were the sensations. She wasn’t sure what they were, but each separate sensation she had experienced in the orchard remained fresh and vibrant throughout the day. She couldn’t shake them off or cover them over, and she certainly couldn’t ignore them. If she understood anything, she understood how important it was for her to close off her feelings before they could grow.
Ridiculous. Eden interrupted her own thoughts. She didn’t know Chase Elliot. Moreover, she didn’t want to know him. It was true that she couldn’t block out what had happened, but she could certainly see that it never happened again.
Over the past year, she had taken control of the reins for the first time in her life. She knew what it was to fumble, what it was to fail, but she also knew she would never fully release those reins again. Disillusionment had toughened her. Perhaps that was the one snatch of silver lining in the cloud.
Because of it, she recognized Chase Elliot as a man who held his own reins, and tightly. She had found him rude and overbearing, but she had also seen his power and authority. She’d had her fill of dominating men. Rough-edged or polished, they were all the same underneath. Since her experience with Eric, Eden’s opinion of men in general had reached a low ebb. Her encounter with Chase had done nothing to raise it.
It was annoying that she had to remind herself continually to forget about him.
Learning the camp’s routine was enough to occupy her mind. Since she didn’t have Candy’s years of training and experience in counseling, her responsibilities were relatively few and often mundane, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing she was more than a spectator. Ambition had become a new vice. If her role as apprentice meant she mucked out stalls and groomed horses, then Eden was determined to have the cleanest stables and the glossiest horses in Pennsylvania. She considered her first blister a badge of accomplishment.
The rush after the dinner bell still intimidated Eden. Twenty-seven girls aged ten to fourteen swarmed the cafeteria. It was one of Eden’s new duties to help keep order. Voices were raised on topics that usually ranged from boys to rock stars, then back to boys. With a little luck, there was no jostling or shoving in line. But luck usually required an eagle eye.
Camp Liberty’s glossy brochures had promised wholesome food. Tonight’s menu included crispy chicken, whipped potatoes and steamed broccoli. Flatware rattled on trays as the girls shuffled, cafeteria-style, down the serving line.
“It’s been a good day.” Candy stood beside Eden, her eyes shifting back and forth, as she managed to watch the entire room at once.
“And nearly over.” Even as she said it, Eden realized her back didn’t ache quite as much as it had the first couple of days. “I’ve got two girls in the morning riding session who show real promise. I was hoping I could give them a little extra time a couple of days a week.”
“Great, we’ll check the schedule.” Candy watched one of the counselors convince a camper to put a stem of broccoli on her plate. “I wanted to tell you that you handled Roberta and company beautifully. Kitchen detail was an inspiration.”
“Thanks.�
�� Eden realized how low her pride had fallen when such a small thing made her glow. “I did have a twinge of guilt about dumping them on Mrs. Petrie.”
“The report is they behaved like troopers.”
“Roberta?”
“I know.” Candy’s smile was wry. Both women turned to see the girl in question, already seated and eating daintily. “It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eden, do you remember Marcia Delacroix from Camp Forden?”
“How could I forget?” With the bulk of the campers seated, Eden and Candy joined the line. “She was the one who put the garter snake in Miss Forden’s lingerie drawer.”
“Yeah.” She turned to give Roberta another look. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”
With a laugh, Eden accepted a scoop of potatoes. “Let’s just say I’ll be checking my underwear.” Hefting the tray, she started forward. “You know, Candy, I—” She saw it as if in slow motion. Roberta, the devil’s own gleam in her eyes, held her fork vertically, a thick blob of potatoes clinging to the tines. Aim was taken as Roberta pulled back the business end of the fork with an expert flick. Even as Eden opened her mouth, Roberta sent the blob sailing into the hair of the girl across from her. Pandemonium.
Globs of potatoes flew. Girls screamed. More retaliated. In a matter of seconds, floors, tables, chairs and adolescents were coated in a messy layer of white. Like a general leading the way into battle, Candy stepped into the chaos and lifted her whistle. Before she had the chance to blow it, she was hit, right between the eyes.
A shocked silence fell.
With her tray still in her hands, Eden stood, afraid to breathe. One breath, one little breath, she thought, and she would dissolve into helpless laughter. She felt the pressure of a giggle in her lungs as Candy slowly wiped the dollop of potato from the bridge of her nose.
“Young ladies.” The two words, delivered in Candy’s most ferocious voice, had Eden’s breath catching in her throat. “You will finish your meal in silence. Absolute silence. As you finish, you will line up against this wall. When the dinner hour is over, you will be issued rags, mops and buckets. The mess area will shine tonight.”
“Yes, Miss Bartholomew.” The acknowledgment came in murmured unison. Only Roberta, her hands folded neatly, her face a picture of innocence, responded in clear tones.
After a long ten seconds of silent staring, Candy walked back to Eden and picked up her tray. “If you laugh,” she said in an undertone, “I’ll tie your tongue into a square knot.”
“Who’s laughing?” Eden desperately cleared her throat. “I’m not laughing.”
“Yes, you are.” Candy sailed, like a steamship, to the head table. “You’re just clever enough to do it discreetly.”
Eden sat, then carefully smoothed her napkin on her lap. “You’ve got mashed potatoes in your eyebrows.” Candy glared at her, and she lifted her coffee cup to hide a grin behind it. “Actually, it’s very becoming. You may have found an alternative to hair gel.”
Candy glanced down at the cooling potatoes on her own plate. “Would you like to try some?”
“Now, darling, you’re the one who’s always telling me we have to set an example.” Eden took a satisfying bite of her chicken. “Mrs. Petrie’s a gem, isn’t she?”
***
It took the better part of two hours to clean the mess area and to mop up the puddles of water spilled by the inexperienced janitorial crew. By lights-out most of the girls were too tired to loiter. A pleasant late-evening hush covered the camp.
If the mornings were the worst for Eden, the evenings were invariably the best, A long day of physical activity left her comfortably tired and relaxed. The sounds of night birds and insects were becoming familiar. More and more, she looked forward to an hour of solitude with a sky full of stars. There was no theater to dress for, no party to attend. The longer she was away from her former lifestyle, the less she missed it.
She was growing up, she reflected, and she liked the idea. She supposed maturity meant recognizing what was really important. The camp was important, her friendship with Candy vital. The girls under their care for the summer, even the dastardly Roberta Snow, were what really mattered. She came to realize that even if everything she had once had was handed back to her, she would no longer be able to treat it in the same way.
She had changed. And even though she was certain there were still more changes to come, she liked the new Eden Carlbough. This Eden was independent, not financially, but internally. She’d never realized how dependent she had been on her father, her fiancé, the servants. The new Eden could cope with problems, large ones, small ones. Her hands were no longer elegantly manicured. The nails were neat, but short and rounded, unpainted. Practical, Eden thought as she held one up for inspection. Useful. She liked what she saw.
She continued her nightly ritual by walking to the stables. Inside it was cool and dark, smelling of leather, hay and horses. Just stepping inside helped to cement her confidence. This was her contribution. In most other areas, she still relied on pride and nerve, but here she had skill and knowledge.
She would check each of the six horses, then the tack, before she would consider her duties over for the day. Candy might be able to build a cathedral out of papier-mâché, but she knew nothing about strained tendons or split hooves.
Eden stopped at the first stall to stroke the roan gelding she called Courage. In her hand was a paper bag with six apple halves. It was a nightly ritual the horses had caught on to quickly. Courage leaned his head over the stall door and nuzzled her palm.
“Such a good boy,” she murmured as she reached into the bag. “Some of the girls still don’t know a bit from a stirrup, but we’re going to change that.” She held the apple in her palm and let him take it. While he chewed contentedly, Eden stepped into the stall to check him over. He’d been a bargain because of his age and his slight swayback. She hadn’t been looking for Thoroughbreds, but for dependability and gentleness. Satisfied that his grooming had been thorough, she latched the stall door behind her and went to the next.
Next summer they’d have at least three more mounts. Eden smiled as she worked her way from stall to stall. She wasn’t going to question whether there would be a Camp Liberty next summer. There would be, and she’d be part of it. A real part.
She realized that she’d brought little with her other than money and a flair for horses. It was Candy who had the training, Candy who had had the three younger sisters and a family that had possessed more tradition than money. Unlike Eden, Candy had always known she would have to earn her own way and had prepared for it. But Eden was a quick learner. By Camp Liberty’s second season, she would be a partner in more than name.
Her ambition was already spiraling upward. In a few years, Camp Liberty would be renowned for its equestrian program. The name Carlbough would be respected again. There might even come a time when her Philadelphia contemporaries would send their children to her. The irony of it pleased her.
After the fifth apple had been devoured, Eden moved to the last stall. Here was Patience, a sweet-tempered, aging mare who would tolerate any kind of ineptitude in a rider as long as she received affection. Sympathetic to old bones and muscles, Eden often spent an extra hour rubbing the mare down with liniment.
“Here you are, sweetheart.” As the horse gnawed the apple, Eden lifted each hoof for inspection. “A pretty sketchy job,” she mumbled before drawing a hoof pick out of her back pocket. “Let’s see, wasn’t it little Marcie who rode you last? I suppose this means we have to have a discussion on responsibility.” With a sigh, Eden switched to another hoof. “I hate discussions on responsibility. Especially when I’m giving them.” Patience snorted sympathetically. “Well, I can’t leave all the dirty work to Candy, can I? In any case, I don’t think Marcie meant to be inconsiderate. She’s still a bit nervous around horses. We’ll have to show her what a nice lady you are. There. Want a rubdown?” After sticking the pick back in her pocket, Eden rested her cheek against the mare�
��s neck. “Oh, me too, Patience. A nice long massage with some scented oil. You can just lie there with your eyes closed while all the kinks are worked out, then your skin feels so soft, your muscles so supple.” With a quick laugh, Eden drew away. “Well, since you can’t oblige me, I’ll oblige you. Just let me get the liniment.”
Giving the mare a final pat, she turned. Her breath caught on a gasp.
Chase Elliot leaned against the open stall door. Shadows fell across his face, deepening its hollows. In the dim light, his eyes were like sea foam. She would have taken a step backward in retreat, but the mare blocked her way. He smiled at her predicament.
That triggered her pride. She could be grateful for that. It had thrown her that, in the shadowed light, he was even more attractive, more . . . compelling than he had been in the sun. Not handsome, she amended quickly. Certainly not in the smooth, conventional sense, the sense she had always gauged men’s looks by before. Everything about him was fundamental. Not simple, she thought. No, not simple, but basic. Basic, like his kiss that morning. Warmth prickled along her skin.
“I’d be happy to help you with the massage.” He smiled again. “Yours, or the mare’s.”
“No, thank you.” She became aware that she was even more disheveled than she had been at their first meeting, and that she smelled, all too obviously, of horse. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Elliot?”
He liked her style, Chase decided. She might be standing in a stall that could use a bit of cleaning, but she was still the lady of the drawing room. “You’ve got a good stock here. A bit on the mature side, but solid.”
Eden had to ward off a surge of pleasure. His opinion hardly mattered. “Thank you. I’m sure you didn’t come to look over the horses.”
“No.” But he stepped inside the stall. The mare shifted to accommodate him. “Apparently you know your way around them.” He lifted a hand to run it down the mare’s neck. There was a simple gold ring on his right hand. Eden recognized its age and value, as well as the strength of the man who wore it.
“Apparently.” There was no way past him, so she linked her fingers together and waited. “Mr. Elliot, you haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
