Fools Rush In

by Cora Marie Colt

  Oliver lead her to the saddling area. A valet assisted him with the jockey’s tack and gear. Oliver worked quietly, grateful for this distraction. He had to keep calm around Faith. Horses were too empathetic for their own good. She’d pick up any little nerve he laid down.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when the jockey showed up and mounted. Faith was handed off to the track attendants. Oliver could rest easy for a few minutes.

  Returning to the Lanes, he asked if he could join them. Wyatt pulled out a seat for him and offered to buy him dinner. Oliver declined politely. His stomach was still threatening to belch admission.

  Oliver noticed Dascha glance at him once or twice, and offered a smile in return. She’d always turn away, looking uncomfortable. That only made Oliver feel more guilty. Did he actually care about the Lanes? He swallowed uneasily. Please, Lord, no. It would only make things worse!

  Faith loaded into the starting gate with some minor fuss, but nothing the gate crew and jockey couldn’t handle. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Oliver felt as though he were swimming underwater; unable to breathe, unnaturally calm, and still drowning.

  He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he was holding. Just come home safe, Faith.

  The starting bell clanged and the field of horses surged forward. The announcer’s voice was but an odd underwater echo for Oliver. He only had eyes for Fools Rush In.

  She settled midpack, and was moving well. The leaders were battling it out in front. Faith moved up to fourth by the far turn. Her jockey swung his whip out and flashed it by her eye. Faith dug in, pulling into third. The leaders weren’t giving up. They were tough old brawlers, as many claiming horses were. The Fight Club of the racing world. Never catching a break, expected to work harder than anyone else for less.

  Maybe that’s why Oliver loved Faith so much.

  She bullied her way into second, and then it was a charge toward the leader. He was a few lengths in front. As the wire drew closer, Oliver slowly rose, believing in his horse with all of his heart. “C’mon Faith.”

  Wyatt joined in. Within a few jumps, Dascha was into it too. They were whooping and hollering. Fools Rush In was so close to the leader.

  “Come on Faith!” Oliver yelled.

  The wire hit, and the horses finished as one.

  Wyatt was laughing. “What a rush!”

  Dascha pushed a few blonde strands from her face. Oliver couldn’t help notice a slight glow about her. He went all puddly inside. Then sobered up quickly. No, he told himself, cursing subconsciously. Just... NO.

  He turned to Wyatt, shaking his hand. “Congratulations, Mister Lane.” He reached for Dascha’s hand. She took it, and Oliver wanted to pull her close. He wanted to squeeze her until his doubts went away, to feel her heart against his. But when she didn’t meet him, it quickly reminded him what was really at stake.

  “I’ll go collect your paycheck, and take care of Faith.”

  Wyatt, as usual, was quick with the touchy-feelies. Once again, he placed his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, beaming. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to the other races.”

  Oliver nodded, with one last glance to Dascha. She took a sip of her drink, and deep down he felt she was pretending to ignore him. He sighed and left.

  She hoped he hadn’t noticed, but every time Oliver looked at her with those big hazel eyes, Dascha’s skin went to goosebumps. She was only relieved when he left, because then she wouldn’t have to feel him so close to her. She couldn’t help remembering when he had caught her when she fell. The way he made her feel when he looked at her sent her all fiery inside. Nobody had done that to her before. So she drank to numb the feeling, that it would make it easier to ignore.

  “Should we see her off?” Wyatt asked. “Make sure she goes to a good home.”

  Dascha finished her drink, and took her brother’s arm. They wound their way down to the crowd, cautiously following Faith to her presumed new stable. Wyatt chatted merrily, and Dascha listened. She supposed they were both in a good mood. She, for sure, felt some measure of relief knowing one horse was crossed off the list.

  Dascha wished she could tell her father about it. He’d probably impart some wisdom about dealing with the remaining two horses and chuckle over her stubborness toward Oliver. He was always good at reading subtext. She sighed.

  “Everything alright?” Wyatt asked, squeezing her hand on his arm.

  “I miss Dad.”

  She wasn’t really paying attention to where they were going, but when she looked up, she definitely didn’t expect what she saw.

  Oliver was putting the horse back in its stall. In his barn.

  Her fingers dug into Wyatt’s arm. He squirmed.

  “Dee...” His fingers burrowed under hers, desperately trying to release the claws. “You’re hurting me,” he gasped.

  Dascha reeled off his arm, hurtling toward Oliver. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Oliver swung round, his face going stark.

  She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re the one that claimed her, aren’t you?”

  Oliver tried to step back, but bumped into the stable wall. “I can explain.”

  A zing was buzzing through Dascha like a cat with its hackles on end. “We expressly told you not to claim her for yourself, you greedy, dishonest, low--”

  “You don’t care about her anyway!” Oliver cut her off.

  “Guys,” Wyatt tried to intercede.

  Dascha and Oliver ignored him.

  “All you care about,” Oliver growled, “is unloading your father’s horses, getting your money, and paying me off.”

  “I wouldn’t even say that much,” Dascha spat.

  “Guys,” Wyatt called.

  Oliver seemed to be emboldened, he stepped forward, invading Dascha’s space. “I did you both a favor.”

  Dascha looked up at him defiantly, her heart hammering in her chest.

  Oliver lowered his head, his heated breath close to Dascha’s. “I made sure she had a good home,” he hissed. “You’ll get your money. Happy?”

  He was close enough to kiss. Dascha swallowed hard. Oliver had betrayed them. She was angry, to be sure, a little heartbroken even that he would be so underhanded. And yet all she could do was wonder how his stubble would feel against her cheek, how warm his lips would be.

  “Guys!” Wyatt dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “Get a room.”

  Dascha placed her hand on Oliver’s chest, wondering if his heart was working overtime like hers was. She pushed him away, never breaking their gaze.

  “Let’s go,” she told Wyatt, leaving Oliver behind.

  Back at their room, Wyatt wouldn’t shut up about justifying Oliver’s actions. Dascha had to tolerate listening to him while she took off her earrings, and changed into her pajamas. Even when she was in the bathroom, Wyatt wouldn’t shut up.

  “Yeah, I feel a little backstabbed too,” he confessed. “But it’s a good thing he got her. She’s going to have a great home.”

  Dascha rolled her eyes as she brushed her teeth. Wyatt was leaning against the door.

  “She’s in good hands. I’ve seen him with horses. He’s a great guy, Dash. I wish you could see what I saw in him.” Wyatt sighed wistfully. She’d heard that noise before when he’d had a crush. She ripped open the door, her toothbrush still foaming in her cheek. “You hawv feewings for him, don’chu?”

  Wyatt went pink around the ears and smiled sheepishly. “You did say my gaydar is broken.”

  Dascha slammed the door, bracing against the sink. She yanked out her toothbrush and spit into the basin. Something inside her was tearing painfully, serrating her core like a papercut.

  Why did Wyatt have to fall for every guy he met? She rinsed off her toothbrush. Ugh, why did she care? It’s not like she had a crush on Oliver or anything... did she?

  She washed her face, denying it all. But then again, why would she hurt if she wasn’t jealous? Why would she sting at Wyatt confessing he loved Oliver?
>
  Lust was one thing, but real, genuine feelings were an entirely other creature. And she had them. On a leash.

  “Hey Faith.” Oliver noogied the filly’s blaze, and pecked her on the nose. He was in a pretty good place emotionally. Faith was finally his. He might race her a few more times, but after this year he’d retire her. She’d make a good track pony for the rest of the horses in his string.

  But the way Dascha and Wyatt had left... Oliver’s shoulders hung. Dascha had such an injured look on her face. She wasn’t just angry with him. There was more.

  But his father had once told him sometimes you have to do a terrible thing for the right reason. And Oliver felt he had done that.

  He gave Faith some extra grain and scruffled her mane before moving on to the next Lane horse, the dark bay colt Bitter Creek.

  What did the Lanes expect would happen anyway? They were there to sell the horses and succeeded. Everyone came out on top. Oliver just helped them out a little sooner than expected.

  He stood back, admiring the colt. He could be a good horse, but was still young. But it was time to cut him loose, and the Lanes too.

  He patted the colt’s shoulder as the horse tucked into its breakfast. Can’t be too buddy buddy with the boss, Oliver reminded himself.

  The colt slobbered all over Oliver and rubbed his head against the trainer’s chest. Oliver chuckled. He really did love his horses, and the sport. Knowing he was doing what he loved made him feel a little better.

  Oliver jumped when he turned. Wyatt and Dascha were standing there, arms folded, silent.

  “When did you show up?”

  “Perhaps you should ask why we showed up,” Dascha said.

  Oliver turned to fill Plastic Thunder’s, the gray gelding, haynet. “Shoot.”

  “We’ve decided to leave the other two horses in your care and return to Boston,” Wyatt said. “We still want you to sell them, but we feel we’ve gotten too involved in the process.”

  Oliver frowned. He’d been around plenty owners like them, but the Lanes were different. He was beginning to see that. He didn’t want them to go. They’d been the most interesting thing that had happened to him in a long while. Things definitely hadn’t been boring around the barn.

  Oliver wanted to make amends before they left. And strangely, they remained quiet as if waiting for him to say something, as though they didn’t want to leave either.

  He finished with Plastic Thunder and turned to Wyatt. “I’m sorry to see you go,” Oliver murmured.

  Wyatt pulled him in for a hug, and Oliver didn’t resist. Given the choice, he’d keep Lane Junior around as a friend. He was the easiest person to get along with that Oliver had met, and he was in no hurry to let him go.

  Dascha hung back, watching them embrace. Her heart sank. Maybe my gaydar’s broken. Was there any hope for her?

  Obviously Oliver wasn’t interested in women. What they were doing was way more than a bro-hug. She was silly to think there could have been anything between her and Oliver.

  When Wyatt released Oliver, Dascha stepped to Oliver’s side. She battled back tears, still feeling torn and mixed up inside. Her breath caught when Oliver took her hand. She gazed into his eyes and swallowed. His smile was demure. Dascha stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek.

  She lingered, inhaling his personal cologne of leather and earth and horse. It was intoxicating. She wanted to implant it in her memory forever. He didn’t push her away either.

  “Goodbye,” she whispered, easing onto her soles.

  His hand hung in the air as she pulled away, not wanting to let her go. Her kiss seared his skin, sending him back into memory of a girl with dark hair who had sent his heart soaring. Oliver touched the spot Dascha had kissed, making sure it wasn’t actually on fire. His palm slid to his lips, pulling at them. His feet almost launched him toward her, yearning to pull her back.

  And at the same time, he was still standing at the altar waiting for the girl.

  He shook his head, trying to free himself. He didn’t want to deal with her. Not today. Not ever.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to say for yourself, Mister Way?” Wyatt asked.

  “Last chance,” Dascha said, her back still to him. She wanted Oliver to say something. Anything. She knew there was more to him than his pony, but she didn’t know what he was holding back. And she had to be sure before she walked away forever.

  When he remained silent, her head dropped, along with her heart for good.

  Wyatt took her arm and lead her to the car.

  Oliver watched them go. Inside he was screaming come back! Outwardly, his feet were glued in place. There was a girl walking away from him, and a friend. And it was worse than that one day... the one day that was supposed to be his happiest, but she never arrived.

  Wyatt finished packing his clothes with a sigh. Had he ruined Dascha’s chances at romance by being so forward with Oliver? She had been acting extra distant and avoiding Wyatt since they got back to the hotel yesterday.

  And was Wyatt making the right choice by leading his sister home? He had been the one to suggest getting out of Oliver’s way. Things really were getting too personal. They were probably distracting him. Dascha hadn’t leaned one way or the other. So why had she agreed to go home?

  Wyatt zipped his suitcase and went to use the bathroom, but the door was locked.

  “Dash?” He knocked. “You in there.”

  “No,” she sniffled.

  He pressed his ear to the door. His brow wrinkled. “Are you crying?”

  “No,” she mumbled.

  “Well, sis, I gotta go.”

  The door swung open, and he almost toppled onto Dascha. Her eyes were red and puffy, and a kleenex was rumpled in her fist.

  Wyatt put on a pouty face for her, trying to appear sympathetic. “Aw, babe.”

  Dascha slipped into his arms. Wyatt rested his chin on her head.

  “I’ve made a real mess of things, haven’t I,” he said.

  Dascha nodded, sulking.

  He rubbed her back. “Why don’t we stay?”

  She pulled back instantly, her face pinched. “Are you crazy?”

  Wyatt’s eyes widened. “Maaaaybe,” he replied with hesitation. If she was sad because they were leaving, why was she upset over staying?

  Dascha marched away. “He clearly doesn’t want us in his life. Just the horses. He was happier before we came.”

  Wyatt entered the bathroom, pointing toward the chase in the suite. “You go be angry and confused over there. I have to pee.”

  Dascha sank onto the chaise, batting her eyes with the kleenex. She didn’t understand her brother.

  “Go,” she called. “Stay. Make up your mind!”

  Either way it was beating her up inside. She listened to the sink gush as Wyatt washed his hands. When he opened the door, he leaned in the door frame, regarding her.

  “We’re staying.”

  Dascha threw her head back with a groan.

  “You can go home if you like,” he suggested. “You’ve still got a ticket for this evening.”

  Dascha dropped her hands into her lap, staring at the mascara-stained kleenex. It might has well have been old newspaper by now with how gray it had turned. She sniffed. And tried to compose herself. Finally she looked up. “I’ll stay.”

  Wyatt did a crazy touchdown dance. “Yes!”

  She crossed to him, grabbing him by the chin to make sure they made eye contact and he heard her clearly. “But only to keep you out of trouble.”

  He did his pouty face. “Aw. But Trouble is my middle name.”

  “It isn’t.” She pecked him quickly. “It’s George.”

  Wyatt grinned as she walked away.

  Even though he was celebrating, deep down inside Dascha was only concerned was protecting Wyatt’s heart. Oliver had tortured hers enough.

  Readjusting to Lane-less life was like picking up the pieces after a hurricane. They had come and gone from Oliver�
�s life like a whirlwind, with just as much chaos and excitement. Of course they had seemed like a nuisance at first, but Oliver admitted he missed them now. Without them, he was simply going through the motions. The stable seemed too quiet the last few days.

  So when he turned around after feeding the Lane’s grey gelding and saw Dascha and Wyatt walking toward the barn, he was understandably stunned.

  “I,” he stammered, “I thought you were leaving?”

  Wyatt grinned. “So did we.”

  Dascha folded her hands and shrugged shyly.

  Oliver’s heart ascended. “Admit it,” he teased, “You couldn’t keep away from all this.” He motioned up and down himself.

  Wyatt swatted him in the shoulder. “That hot mess? Please.”

  Dascha rolled her eyes. “We couldn’t bare the thought of you without us in your way,” she said, dripping with sarcasm.

  Oliver’s nose wrinkled over his smile. “I’ve got some work to do. Wyatt, would you help?” Oliver moved to Faith’s stall and clipped a lead shank to her halter.

  Wyatt shrugged off his sports jacket, laying it across the brick wall that separated the stalls from passerby. “Love to.” He looked at his sister. “Dasch?”

  “Alright, but don’t you boys ruin my dress.” She rolled her eyes again with a half-smile, but seemed content to be included.

  Oliver lead the chestnut horse into the yard, and asked Wyatt to get the hose. Dascha knew this could only end badly.

  Wyatt turned the hose on and pulled it over, passing it to Oliver. He asked if he could hold the horse. Oliver gave him the lead shank and filled a bucket with water and some soap.

  Dascha decided she didn’t want to get any water on her, so she stepped to Wyatt’s side and asked if she could take over. He obliged, giving her the lead shank. The horse blinked at her, breathing softly. Dascha smiled. It was a pretty animal.

  Dascha heard laughing and knew antics had already begun. Oliver tossed the sponge at Wyatt, telling him to make himself useful. The horse stiffened briefly as the water and soap trickled over its body.