“Thanks.” Britt stood and stuffed the remote control into her pocket. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Take a short nap. At least twenty minutes. Then we can head out for the barns. I’d like to tag along, so I can see what daily tasks you’ll need to perform that normally require two hands.”
“I’m only going downstairs to the office. It takes a lot of paperwork to run a farm this size.”
Teddy gave her another long, studied look. God, Britt was beginning to hate when she did that. It was like she was trying to read her mind, and she didn’t want Teddy in her head. “You also need rest to heal. It’s been less than a month since your body went through a huge trauma and major surgery.”
“I need to work right now.” Britt felt like she was about to crawl out of her skin, and her chest was growing tight. She needed to get away before she exploded. She wheeled around but forced herself to walk down the stairs at a normal pace. She went into the farm office, which was adjacent to the living room, and closed the door behind her. Alone at last. She fought the impulse to lock the door, to shut out the world. Only a door couldn’t shut out the demons that haunted her. But then maybe she didn’t deserve to be free of them.
Chapter Four
Well, that didn’t go so bad. Teddy couldn’t fathom why Britt was opposed to a high-tech prosthesis, but she had worked diligently through the exercises that were clearly painful at times. Probably because she was anxious to get rid of Teddy. No. That wasn’t it. Britt seemed to relish the pain, like she felt she deserved it. Teddy would have to deal with that issue at some point. Her job might be to rehab Britt’s body, but she couldn’t do that without trying to help heal her mind and spirit, too.
Truth was, Teddy liked Capt. Britt Story. She wasn’t sure why.
Britt hadn’t gone out of her way to be charming. And why should she? Teddy might be living in her home for a while, but their relationship was purely professional. And Teddy could see that she was struggling mightily to control her agitation. Still, it was hard to ignore those piercing blue eyes and sculpted face. Also, while she might be missing most of one arm, the rest of her body was easy to admire.
Teddy smiled to herself and then closed her laptop.
She couldn’t do anything else on the project until some people answered her emails. She’d put out feelers for army surgeons interested in training for the special amputation surgery. That would be the first step to launch the project. Soldiers had been returning for service after amputation for years now, but those who returned to field duty were still exceptions. This innovation could change that trend, giving amputees almost the same choices as healthy soldiers. The process would be a long one, and the linchpin would ultimately be proving that the talent they were able to retain could justify the dollar-outlay.
She stood and stretched. After lunch, she’d reviewed some stretching exercises with Britt before she disappeared again into the farm office. Now, Teddy was at loose ends. She could drive back to the city and trade the uniforms she’d brought for more casual clothes, but she’d ordered a different shoulder harness for Britt, which should arrive at the hospital soon. It didn’t make sense to drive to Lexington today. She could swing by her apartment when she went to pick up the new harness. But she sure could use some fresh air and a walk now. It would give her the chance to see what type of activities went on around the farm. For that matter, Britt should get some air, too.
Teddy stopped, her hand suspended inches from the partially open door, mouth closing on the invitation to take a walk. The high-backed leather office chair was tilted to slightly recline. Britt’s eyes were closed, her lips barely parted in sleep. Even so, tension filled the room like a bow strung tight. Britt’s brow and the fingers of her right hand twitched at irregular intervals.
Teddy shook her head at the prosthesis lying on the desktop, shoved aside. Britt had worn it the entire morning but complained at lunch that it was rubbing several tender areas on her shoulders. Teddy had expected that reaction. She’d seen the small pink scars along Britt’s neck, a few marring her left cheek, where debris from whatever took her arm had sprayed to nick and burn. Those injuries were minor and would likely fade away after a time. For now, they undoubtedly were sensitive, and Teddy could only imagine what scars the harness might be irritating under Britt’s T-shirt.
She studied her patient. Despite those scars and the tension, Britt Story really was an attractive woman. But the personal space Britt wordlessly communicated was a wide moat around her. Would the angry Captain Story ever let her cross that moat and see the emotional injuries Britt had suffered? She backed quietly away from the door, silently pulling it closed. Britt needed rest as much as she needed exercise.
* * *
Britt woke slowly, stretching her arms—correction, one arm and a stump—over her head. Pop’s chair was just too comfortable, especially after her sleepless night. She glanced at the squat black column on the corner of the desk. She’d given it to Pop as a joke, but he’d embraced the Amazon device once he learned he could get Alexa to recite current betting lines, racing results, and sport scores, and also pipe in his favorite oldies tunes while he worked on the farm’s finances.
“Alexa, what time is it?”
“It’s three twenty p.m.”
Good God, she’d been asleep for nearly two hours. She did feel better rested, but now she needed to get up and move. She hesitated when her gaze fell on the prosthetic arm resting atop the desk. No way was she putting that harness back on and dragging around the dead weight of that fake arm. No way.
The urgent call of nature finally got her up and out of the comfortable chair. After a visit to the facilities, she was drawn to the kitchen by the rich smell of coffee. Lynn was chopping vegetables.
“What’s for dinner?” Britt poured herself a cup of the aromatic brew and hummed at her first taste. Lynn was a coffee connoisseur, always grinding her beans fresh.
“Chicken pot pie. You need to get some meat back on those bones, and I know you can’t resist my pot pie.”
Britt grinned, her mouth already watering at the vision of chicken and diced vegetables swimming in a savory sauce and encased in a golden-brown, buttery crust. “You’re right about that.” She propped her backside against the counter and gazed through the triple windows on the other side of the table. Four long, shed-row-style stables were positioned side by side, parallel to the house. “Pop still down at the barns?”
“Yep. Your friend’s there, too.”
Britt tensed at the reference. “Not my friend. My physical therapist.”
“She seemed pretty friendly to me.”
Lynn’s tone made it clear she was just yanking Britt’s chain, so she took a breath to rein in her defensive reaction. She was feeling good for the first time in weeks and refused to let her father and the US Army spoil her mood.
“She’s here to check off a box for the army, nothing more,” Britt said, keeping her tone mild and disinterested.
She was anything but disinterested, though. As much as she wanted to dislike Teddy, those green-gray eyes and quick, beautiful smile were mesmerizing. She’d been trying to ignore just how mesmerizing during the few therapy sessions they’d worked through so far.
Two women left the closest barn and walked down the drive to the paddock fence. Britt couldn’t positively identify them because of the ball caps pulled low to shield their eyes from the sun, but it appeared to be the manager of the mare barns, Jill, and someone else. Britt cocked her head. The second woman’s long blond hair was pulled through the back of her ball cap. Was that Teddy? Britt had only seen her hair held in a tight regulation bun that made it impossible to judge its length.
A gray horse inside the large paddock raised its head and watched the two women. Mysty?
She saw Jill flash the toothy smile that never failed to entice both male and female. Britt and Jill had been running buddies in high school. During that adolescent discovery period, Britt had realized she was decidedly lesbian, whi
le Jill’s sexuality remained solidly bisexual.
“Hey, get out of my kitchen,” Lynn scolded her when Britt grabbed a couple of the carrots Lynn hadn’t yet chopped and headed out the door.
Teddy—if it was Teddy—had her back to Britt’s approach, but Jill looked up when Britt strode toward them from the porch.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Jill smiled, but it wasn’t the same smile she’d given Teddy moments before. “I heard you were home in one piece.” Her eyes dropped to Britt’s empty sleeve. “Well, mostly.” She reached out and gave Britt’s right arm a squeeze. “I’d hug my old buddy, but I’m afraid I’ll squeeze something that isn’t healed yet.”
Britt realized that she’d charged down the hill with the intent to…what? Rescue Teddy? Warn Jill off? Teddy wasn’t in danger. Jill was a good person. Not to mention that Britt didn’t have, didn’t want to have any claim on Teddy. Giving herself a swift mental kick, she hugged her friend with one arm. “I’m all right…mostly,” she said, echoing her friend’s pattern of speech.
She was about to turn to Teddy when a loud whinny sounded, and Mysty pounded across the paddock to where they stood on the other side of the fence.
Jill laughed. “Here comes your girlfriend. How long has it been since you’ve seen her?” She answered her own question. “Years. That horse has a serious crush on you.”
Britt held up the carrots. “I saw her the day I got here, and she’s just after the carrots I have in my hand.”
Jill laughed. “You always did know how to woo the women.”
Britt’s face heated when Teddy tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at her. Damn it. After all she’d been through, how could Jill transport her back to their high school dynamic—Britt was the quiet one to Jill’s charmer—with one teasing, sarcastic comment.
“As long as they have four legs.” Her quip sounded way more nonchalant than Britt felt about being outed to Teddy.
A worker called to Jill from the front of the stables, and she held up a finger to let him know she heard. “Duty calls.” She flashed that smile at Teddy again, albeit a few kilowatts less, as though she read something in Britt’s sudden appearance. “Nice to meet you, Teddy. I’m sure Britt can answer any other questions.” She started to walk away, then turned back to Britt and spoke softly. “I’m so glad you’re back here and safe again. When you’re ready, make some time for us to catch up with each other.”
“Okay. Sure.” She’d do that at some point, but some things she wouldn’t, couldn’t share. Like the wound that still festered inside and resurfaced as nightmares way too often. Britt stared at the ground. She’d made it back, but others hadn’t. Especially one soldier she had failed to keep safe. A sharp tug of her shirt nearly pulled her off her feet. Mysty, neck stretched over the board fence, held the top of Britt’s sleeve firmly in her teeth as though she was trying to shake the carrots from Britt’s hand.
Teddy laughed. “I believe your girlfriend is demanding the bouquet of carrots you brought her.”
Britt pushed away the morose memories. She was home, not in the desert. And not in the army as soon as she could process out. She scanned the paddocks, house, and barns to ground herself. She was home.
Mysty tried a different tactic, brushing her big, horsey lips along Britt’s cheek and into Britt’s hair. She mock-scowled and waved the horse back. “Mind your manners, you shameless tramp.”
Teddy’s laugh was musical, her smile wide and her eyes warm under the shadow of her cap’s bill. When Britt turned a playful scowl on her, she pulled her lips in, a weak pretense of holding in her laughter. She tilted her head to peer at Britt from under her cap, then slapped her hand over her mouth as she burst into uncontrolled laughter again.
“It’s not that funny,” Britt said, frowning.
But Teddy pointed at Britt’s ear. “You’ve got…uh, you’ve got green slobber…” Teddy pointed to her own ear in demonstration of the location.
Britt shrugged her shoulder up to wipe at her ear.
Teddy shook her head. “You didn’t get it. It’s kind of behind your ear, too.” She unsuccessfully searched her pockets for a tissue, then looked to Britt, who shook her head.
“I don’t have anything either.” She was suddenly conscious of the fact that she had only one hand, which at the moment was filled with carrots.
Teddy held out her hand for the carrots, and Britt gave them over, then pulled the sleeve of her Henley down over her hand and thoroughly wiped her ear dry. After that, she looked to Teddy for confirmation that she’d sufficiently cleaned it. Teddy grasped Britt’s chin with her free hand and turned her head to inspect the offended ear. “I think you got it all.”
Even though Teddy’s hands had been all over Britt’s shoulders, her good arm and her stump…uh, residual limb, the gentle clasp of her chin felt oddly intimate.
“Thank you,” Britt said, her voice raspy from her suddenly tight throat. Their eyes met and held for a long second, until the loud thump of a hoof against wood brought their attention back to Britt’s assailant.
“When did you become such a brat?” Britt fussed at the horse but reached to scratch Mysty’s neck.
“Is she your horse?”
“No. But her mother was one of the mares under my care the year before I signed up with Uncle Sam. Mysty was shy and skittish as a baby, so I worked with her more than the others assigned to me. I guess she got attached.”
“Her name is Mysty?”
“Out of the Myst, spelled with a y.”
“Jill was explaining that the babies stay here only until they’re a year old. Then you sell them, and someone else trains them to race.”
“Yeah. This is strictly a breeding farm, not a racing stable.” Britt took one of the carrots from Teddy. “I’ll show you how to feed them to her without losing any fingers.” She held out the long carrot for Mysty to bite off the end.
“I guess I don’t know much about the horse-racing industry.”
Britt shrugged. “Some of the more famous farms breed and race, but Pop decided years ago it was less of a gamble to simply breed and sell the yearlings. Other than your operating costs, you pay out stud fees and take in money paid for the yearlings you produce. The only real gamble is making sure the yearlings you sell are successful on the track.” When Mysty finished chewing, Britt held out the remainder of the carrot on top of her flattened palm. “Offer the short end like this so she can take it from your hand without nipping your fingers.
Teddy scanned the neat stables, multiple workers moving about their tasks, and manicured stable yard. “Your yearlings must sell pretty well.”
“Pop does his homework and has an instinct for mixing bloodlines. Amateurs think if you breed a champion to a champion, you’ll get a champion. But it doesn’t work that way. Some sires don’t seem to be able to pass along winning genes to their offspring. Others, who might not be as well known, might have the ability to produce winning foals because they draw on genes passed to them from several generations back.”
Mysty finished the first carrot and began searching them for the next. Teddy held one up and smiled when the mare bit off half. “How do you know which horses will have winning babies?”
“Research. The racing association keeps meticulous records on every horse from the time they’re born until they’re retired from racing and breeding. They keep records on the family tree of every horse, so you can trace their bloodlines back as far as the early 1900s, sometimes further. So, when you look for a good sire or dam, you study the racing records of their progeny. Are they sprinters or distance racers? Do certain lines have a lot of leg problems? When you start looking at siblings, half-siblings, three-quarter siblings…it all gets very complicated.”
Teddy flattened out her hand and placed the remainder of the carrot on top to offer it to Mysty. “Seems like there should be an app to sort it all out.”
Britt chuckled. “Some software can run odds for you, but computers can’t walk the barns
and learn from grooms that a certain stud is passing along his cribbing habit, his weak pasterns, or a tendency to sulk. A successful breeder has a network of contacts and tracks the horses his stables produce to be on the lookout for weaknesses that don’t necessarily show up in racing results.”
“Sounds like a lot of work to me. Is that what you’re helping your grandfather with?”
“Yep. It might sound boring, but I take after Pop. We love the hunt to find that gem in a jungle of bloodlines.”
“What did you and E.B. mean when you were talking about Secretariat having a big heart? I’ve watched the Derby on television several times, and the announcers talked about a horse having heart. It sounded like they were referring to the will to win.”
“That probably was what they were referring to,” Britt said. “Secretariat, however, literally had an oversized heart organ. It’s theorized that his larger heart pumped enormous amounts of blood to his legs and lungs and was a factor in his legendary performance. As a sire, he’s known for passing that trait down through females of his line, who, in turn, have produced many winning colts.”
“Wow. Do you have a degree in genetics?”
Britt chuckled and shook her head. “Business. I always figured I’d one day step up to run the farm for Pop. What I need to know about horse genetics, I learned from the master. No college professor could teach me more than Pop about that subject.”
The last carrot eaten, Teddy wiped her hands on her jeans, then petted Mysty’s long neck. “She’s beautiful. No baby for her?”
“Her breeding didn’t take the past couple of times. She had a foal two years ago but had a bad time with the birth. Pop’s thinking she’s not going to work out as a brood mare. Her legs wouldn’t hold up on the hunter-jumper circuit. I’m not sure what we’ll do with her.”
Blades of Bluegrass Page 5
