by Margot Early
“Honey, don’t move,” Bronwyn said. His neck. Had he hurt his neck? And his head?
Raised voices were still calling to each other about the horse.
“An Indecent Proposal,” muttered a voice beside Bronwyn. It was Reynard. He gazed down at Wesley, eyes concerned.
Bronwyn said, “Wesley, hold very still. Can you do that for me?”
“Mum?”
“Don’t move, Wesley. You’re going to be okay,” she said, praying. How on earth had An Indecent Proposal gotten out of his stall? Bronwyn couldn’t imagine any groom at Fairchild Acres being so careless.
“He’s out on the highway,” said Reynard. “Is your boy all right?” He crouched down beside her.
Another voice asked, “Bronwyn, is he okay?”
Helena.
“Marie sent me out.”
Again Wesley said, “Mum.”
“Yes, sweetie. Don’t move. Please don’t move, Wesley. Your horse threw you, and we’ve called an ambulance, just to make sure you’re one hundred percent. How do you feel?”
“Head hurts.”
“Don’t move,” Bronwyn said again, fiercely. She knew how to stabilize an injured neck. It was one of the things she’d learned in first aid and CPR classes at university. “Honey, try not to move a muscle. I’m going to come around behind you, and I’m going to hold your head very tight. This is just in case you’ve had a spinal injury. That’s why it’s very important for you not to move. You know that, don’t you?”
His eyes, in a face so like Patrick’s, watched her solemnly. “Yes, Mummy.”
Helena knelt on the dirt beside them. Beckham sniffed around, tried to lick Wesley’s face, and Reynard grabbed the dog.
“Thank you,” Bronwyn said. “Please hold him. Helena, you can help me hold Wesley. I’ll tell you what to do.”
She had several minutes to think of the fragility of the human head as she held Wesley before she heard the siren.
Almost at the same moment, she became aware of an uneven, slow gait, accompanied by the sound of Louisa’s cane.
“Oh, my God,” Louisa said. “My God. How did that horse get out?”
“Wesley’s all right,” Bronwyn said, not because she knew it was true, but to soothe the older woman. “I’m just taking precautions.” She made herself ask, “Did someone catch the horse?”
“Crystal and Terry.”
Terry. Another of the grooms. “They’re walking him, cooling him down,” Louisa said. She didn’t apologize for checking on the horse first, but Bronwyn wasn’t surprised. She’d expected Louisa to be distraught about the stallion.
But Louisa exclaimed, “I’m going to find out who did this. My great-great nephew could have been killed!”
Helena looked up sharply. Despite the gossip at Fairchild Acres, Wesley’s relationship to Louisa was news to her. Only Wesley, Patrick, Bronwyn and Louisa had known the truth, and none of them had spoken of it to anyone else, except for Bronwyn, who had confided in Marie.
Reynard cleared his throat. “So that’s who he is.”
Bronwyn kept her eyes on Wesley’s face, annoyed at Reynard for speaking about Wesley as though he wasn’t present, upset because she’d felt her son try to turn his head to look at the man who was holding Beckham’s collar.
Louisa said, “Reynard, please take Beckham to his dog trolley.”
The dog trolley was a temporary containment solution for Beckham. His leash was attached to a roller on a cable overhead, so he could be tied and yet have the freedom to run back and forth. Louisa wanted to make a fenced yard for the dog, but she and Patrick hadn’t yet decided the best place for it.
Louisa tried to stoop down to the ground to be nearer Wesley.
“Don’t, Louisa,” Bronwyn said. “Don’t. Look, the ambulance is here. They’ll look after Wesley.”
Patrick drove Bronwyn to the hospital, and Louisa insisted on accompanying them, “An Indecent Proposal be damned,” which of course she hadn’t meant. The ambulance had gone ahead of them, and when they arrived they found that Wesley was already in X-ray.
Patrick hadn’t spoken a word to Bronwyn since the accident.
While they waited, Louisa repeated, “When I find out why An Indecent Proposal was out—”
“I don’t think it was a mistake,” Patrick said.
“What do you mean?” Louisa asked, though from the expression on her face, Bronwyn could tell that the old woman had known exactly what Patrick meant.
“I mean it was sabotage,” Patrick said. “He’s winning. Somebody wanted him to get out, was hoping he’d come to grief, and I have a good idea who.”
Louisa lifted her eyebrows.
“Marie Lafayette was coming out of the stables just before Bronwyn opened the doors.”
“You don’t know that,” Bronwyn said. “It looked that way, but I didn’t see her come out. I just saw her talking to Reynard. Patrick, no one at Fairchild Acres would intentionally let that horse out. An Indecent Proposal is Louisa’s best prospect now, but he isn’t the only horse in the stables. And Marie wouldn’t let a horse out, Patrick. You don’t know her at all.”
“And you’re easily deceived,” Patrick told her.
Irritated by the reference to Ari—Bronwyn could see it no other way—she turned from him, just as a physician in scrubs entered the waiting area.
She stepped toward him.
“I’m Dr. Mosely,” he said. “Are youWesley’s mother?”
“Bronwyn Davies. And this is Patrick Stafford, his father, and Louisa Fairchild, Patrick’s aunt,” Bronwyn fired off rapidly. “What did you find?”
“No spinal cord injury, no broken bones. He has a concussion, and I’m going to let you take him home.You’ll want to wake him up every two hours, make sure he’s okay, knows things he should know. We have a care sheet—things to look for. But I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. He hit his head, but it’s a mild concussion.”
Bronwyn, Patrick and Louisa all sighed in chorus. Then they looked at each other, and all three laughed. The physician gave an understanding smile. “Why don’t you come back and see Wesley. We have some paperwork for you, and we’ll let you get on your way.”
They were back at Fairchild Acres, where An Indecent Proposal was safely in his stall, before the subject of the horse’s escape came up again.
Bronwyn fixed a snack for Wesley, and he and Beck-ham went up to his bedroom to “try to read,” but Bronwyn knew her son was sleepy. Then, Bronwyn joined Patrick and Louisa in the living room, where they were each having a glass of wine before dinner. Patrick poured Bronwyn a glass, too, turning to Louisa as he did so. “She’s hiding something, Louisa. I know it.”
“Not Marie again,” Bronwyn said. “Patrick, I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“She’s my friend, and I wouldn’t believe she’d do such a thing unless I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Maybe not even then,” he replied.
Ari. She hated to hear it, hated that she felt complicit in her husband’s crimes, complicit because at some point she’d realized that something was amiss, and yet she’d done nothing.
Louisa said, “Thank you, both of you, for sharing your thoughts on this. I, too, believe the girl has her secrets. But we can’t know that her secrets are sinister.” She gave a small, tight sigh. “I’d certainly like to know, however.”
“I know,” Bronwyn said softly.
“You like her,” Patrick said. “We’ve both heard you.”
Louisa admitted, “The world of racing has always attracted an unusual breed. Frequently I hire someone knowing he—or she—has a troubling past. Sometimes I know the details. Sometimes I don’t. But we are, none of us, without our pasts.”
Amen, Bronwyn wanted to say.
“You can learn from a person’s past actions,” Patrick said.
“Was that directed at me?” Bronwyn asked.
He spun his head, looking mystified. “What are
you talking about?”
“You think that because I didn’t know what Ari was doing, I’m incapable of judging Marie’s character.”
“I wasn’t thinking about you at all, Bronwyn. This isn’t about you or Ari Theodoros. It’s about something going on right now at Fairchild Acres. I meant that I would like to know more about Marie’s past. Not to mention that uncle of hers.”
Louisa interrupted. “A person’s past actions are like a snake’s skin that has been shed. Yes, they came from the snake, but they aren’t the snake. What’s more, the snake, since shedding its skin, has become something new and different.”
“I like that analogy,” Bronwyn said. She knew she would think of her different pasts—homeless on the streets, a student in love with Patrick, a woman choosing Ari, his wife—as various sheddings of her own skin. But now she was someone new. She had changed.
Patrick, however, said, “I agree that you’ve chosen a good analogy, Louisa. Because no matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it remains a snake.”
Chapter Twelve
“I need to check on Wesley every couple of hours,” Bronwyn said later that evening, when Patrick asked if she would like to join him in his room. “I’ll just lie down in my room so I’ll be closer to him.”
“This is about Marie, isn’t it?” he said.
“No,” she replied truthfully.
He lifted his eyebrows, inviting her to say more.
She lowered her voice to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “Patrick, you asked me to marry you, and I said no. I love you, and I don’t want to do anything…dishonest…with you.”
“Being my lover is dishonest?”
She shook her head. “I need to slow this all down. I like my life now, and I don’t want it to change.”
Patrick smiled gently. “I think you can count on life changing, whether you make love with me again or not.”
She touched his arm, loving him.
“In any case,” Patrick said, abruptly changing the subject, “I hope you won’t discourage Louisa from trying to find out more about Marie. I know Marie has been a friend to you. But that doesn’t make her harmless, Bronwyn.”
“Patrick, I know her. I’m not naive. I’ve lived on the streets, and I trust my instincts.”
“What did your instincts tell you about Ari?”
“See!” she exclaimed. “You are dredging that up.”
Patrick shook his head. “I’m sorry. That was cheap. Look, since you two are friends, you might ask Marie what she was doing around the stable before An Indecent Proposal got out.”
“I’m not going to accuse her of letting that damned racehorse out of his stall. Wesley got hurt, but how that horse got out is nothing to do with me. I’m not a groom. I have nothing to do with the stables.”
His jaw was stiff, his expression hiding something. Anxiety perhaps?
“Patrick, Ari used to like to choose my friends. Now I think it was a way of controlling me. But I’ve made good friends here at Fairchild Acres. Marie and Helena matter to me. I won’t turn my back on a friend just because you don’t trust her—without reason, I might add.”
“I haven’t asked you to turn your back on her.”
“What do you have against Marie?” Bronwyn repeated.
He sighed, seemed to be debating with himself. “She’s furtive, Bronwyn. She’s here for a reason, and she hasn’t told anyone that reason.”
“Like me, coming here to find you? Mightn’t it be something as innocuous as that, Patrick?”
She watched his face, watched him thinking. At last he shrugged. “Maybe you and Louisa are right. I’m riled because of what happened to Wesley. Bronwyn, I’ve never been that scared.”
Bronwyn nodded. “Me, either. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him really get hurt like that.”
He reached for her, giving her a long, comforting hug. “Sure you won’t change your mind about where you’re spending the night?”
She lifted her face and kissed his lips. “Slow,” she said.
He touched her cheek gently. “I’ve always liked your strength, your independence. It’s to your credit that you’re standing up for a woman you like, Bronwyn.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I mean it. I don’t want to control you, God forbid, or pick your friends. I just…”
She studied him.
He never finished the sentence, just gave her a last swift kiss and turned away before she could say another word.
Patrick lay awake. He did know. He knew why he lashed out. He knew why he wanted Bronwyn to take his part.
She didn’t love him enough.
Or rather, he didn’t believe that her love was as strong and real as his for her.
Why?
Because so many years ago she’d picked Ari. Because she’d pushed him away her first weeks at Fairchild Acres. Because she did stand up for herself. Because she was wise enough to see the benefits for Wesley in having his parents married to one another— but also wise enough to want to move slowly. The sum: Patrick was insecure in her love, and he longed for proof that she loved him as deeply as he loved her.
Also, she was wrong about Marie Lafayette. Yes, it was possible that her reasons for being at Fairchild Acres were benign. But if so, why keep her purpose secret? Too much was currently unsettled in the world of Thoroughbred racing. The election, with that sleazy Jacko Bullock running for the ITRF presidency. Sam Whittleson’s murder. And last year in Kentucky, a discrepancy in the DNA registry of champion Thorough-bred Leopold’s Legacy was linked to an international organization involved in breeding fraud.
Not to mention the chaos and lack of trust caused by the shenanigans of Ari Theodoros. The syndicate was still too involved in the racing world for Patrick’s taste, and who was to say that Marie Lafayette wasn’t part of their schemes, placed at Fairchild Acres to damage Louisa’s stable?
He rolled over, smelling the pillow beside him, which still held the scent of Bronwyn. He couldn’t lose her. Yet she seemed more afraid of making herself his.
Uncomfortable with that train of thought, he turned back to Marie. Maybe he would ask Dylan Hastings to look into her background. Yes, why not?
Now, he should be able to sleep.
Right, Patrick.
Bronwyn awoke in the morning knowing she had no classes to teach until eleven. Wesley had made it through the night well and begged to be allowed to go to school since a tarantula expert would be visiting. Bronwyn said he might be able to go briefly to see the spiders. In the meantime he should rest, and she would join Marie on her morning bicycle ride. If Crystal was willing, Bronwyn would coax the groom to come with them. Maybe Helena, too.
She dressed quickly in black cycling shorts and a bright yellow jersey—the best protection against sleepy motorists—grabbed her bicycle helmet and gloves, and hurried downstairs. She’d gone with Marie before, borrowing one of Louisa’s bicycles. As for Crystal, Bronwyn wheeled a second bicycle from the shed for her, checking to make sure that the tires were good. She oiled the chains of both bikes, made a minor adjustment to the gears of one, then headed for the bungalow.
She found Marie already dressed for her morning ride. “Hey, can I join you?” Bronwyn asked.
There was something awry in the glance Marie slid her way.
Bronwyn frowned.
“Sure you want to?” Marie asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Rumor has it that I let An Indecent Proposal out of his stall.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Bronwyn replied. “Who told you that?”
“Oh, Reynard thinks Patrick suspects me. And seeing that you and Patrick…”
“I don’t give a toss what the rumor mill says,” Bronwyn assured her. “I know you wouldn’t do something like that.”
Marie’s eyes suddenly appeared wet and she gazed down at her shoes.
Bronwyn crouched beside her. “Marie, what is it?”
“I’m just glad
you trust me,” Marie said. “Friends, friends you can count on, are the best thing in the world.”
“Amen to that,” said Helena, emerging from her room, ready for a ride. She had a bicycle of her own, though she’d ridden it little before Bronwyn came to Fairchild Acres and encouraged her to train. “Hey, Bronwyn. Why aren’t you curled up with the luscious man of the house?”
Bronwyn shrugged. “As Marie said…”
“Friends,” Helena agreed.
“Speaking of friends, is Crystal around?”
“Out watching the gallops.” Marie sighed. “I asked her if she wanted to come with me, but she said she’d be bad company.”
“I’ll go try to persuade her. I just worked on one of Louisa’s bikes for her.”
“Actually, Crystal has one of her own. She hasn’t ridden since she got the scoliosis diagnosis. She’s sort of in the mode of, ‘If I can’t ride horses, I’m not going to do anything.’”
Bronwyn said, “We’ll see about that.” With a smile, she headed out to the track where the Thoroughbreds were running to look for Crystal.
It was Patrick who woke Wesley again following instructions in a note from Bronwyn.
“Where’s my mum?” Wesley asked.
“Bicycle riding with her girlfriends. Let’s go have breakfast with Louisa and see if you’re well enough to go see those spiders.”
“Okay.” Wesley climbed out of bed, found his school uniform where he’d tossed it on a chair, and began to dress.
“Meet you downstairs,” Patrick told him and went out, heading down to the breakfast room.
Louisa was already at the table.
“Wesley’s just dressing,” Patrick said, “and Bronwyn’s off bicycle riding with Marie, making her point.”
Louisa’s head snapped up. “Surely you don’t expect her to turn her back on a friend just to suit you?”
Patrick pulled out his chair and sat. “No, Louisa. I don’t. I’m just trying to watch out for…everyone.”
Unexpectedly, Louisa laughed. “You’re a fine man, Patrick. I’m not complaining about my great-nephew.”
“Thank you.” He decided not to mention to Louisa that he was going to have Dylan Hastings look into Marie’s background. Louisa could be protective of her employees, and she might not be keen on his idea. He could ask Dylan to do it quietly, and that would help put Patrick’s own misgivings to rest.
