Fools Rush In

by Cora Marie Colt

  Wyatt dipped into the bucket, then scrubbed the horse’s back and belly at Oliver’s instruction. Oliver rinsed. Once or twice, Wyatt got sprayed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He chucked the sponge at Oliver.

  Oliver laughed and sprayed Wyatt.

  The horse threw up her head, pulling on the chain. Dascha got pulled with her, and asked them to stop. But the boys turned to her instead. Oliver sprayed her.

  Dascha squealed, and so did the horse. He took the shank from her, calming his horse down. She was momentarily distracted when Wyatt ran up behind Dascha. She noticed him last second. “Don’t you dare!”

  He dumped the bucket of soapy water on her.

  Both Dascha and the horse squealed.

  “Wyatt,” Oliver chided. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “No, but it was funny.”

  Oliver turned to Dascha, looking entirely sympathetic. “I’ll get you a towel.”

  His horse had seemed to calm down, but Dascha missed how he did it. Probably with sweet nothings he’d never share with her. She shivered.

  The horse looked at her with deep eyes that took Dascha to a different place and time, almost reminding her of her mother. Her mother had gentle eyes like that; deep brown, and soulful. She wanted to swim in them.

  The horse stretched her neck and sniffed Dascha. Dascha reached to stroke the horse’s cheek, and the horse whickered as though speaking to her.

  “What’s her name again?” Dascha asked.

  It seemed to catch Oliver off guard. “Uh, Fools Rush In... but I call her Faith.”

  Dascha stroked the back of her hand across the horse’s face. “Hello, Faith.”

  Oliver rubbed Faith’s mane, smiling. “I’ll go get you that towel.” He lead Faith off, and Dascha made a note to start calling the horse by its name more often.

  Then she wheeled on Wyatt who instantly knew he was about to experience death on threat level midnight.

  He held his hands up plaintively and backed away. “Now, Sis.”

  “Don’t you Sis me, Fancy Man.” She grabbed the hose.

  Wyatt took off running, with Dascha laughing and spraying after him.

  The next few days, Wyatt watched Oliver and Dascha slowly work better together. There was a screaming chemistry between them that was so obvious to him. Oliver was looking forward to the next race where they would run the gray gelding. Everything seemed to be going smoothly at last. He was glad he had stayed.

  But watching them, and knowing how he felt about Oliver, put an needle through Wyatt’s heart. He loved seeing their smiles, and he wanted to help them do that more often. Even though it hurt, he challenged himself to continue their relationship. Push it along any way possible. And maybe, just maybe, he could use the thing that made him love Oliver, make Oliver love Dascha.

  But Wyatt reminded himself he shouldn’t have a physical relationship with the guy he’s trying to hook his sister up with. And yet, putting moves on Oliver might push him away the way Wyatt intended.

  So he took him for drinks.

  “Fancy car,” Oliver noted when Wyatt picked him up from the stable.

  Wyatt honked the horn for kicks and giggles. Oliver laughed.

  “Dascha wants a Bugatti,” Wyatt commented.

  Oliver’s brow went up as he buckled his seatbelt. “You don’t?”

  Wyatt ran his hand over the leather steering wheel. “Nah. I’m a sedan guy. Classic. Black.”

  “Huh. I hadn’t pegged your sister as a car lover.”

  “Apparently the Lanes love fast things.” Wyatt winked and put the car into gear. The tires spun and they flew out of there.

  Oliver cautioned Wyatt to slow down, and Wyatt heeded him, even though he teased that Oliver was being a party pooper.

  “There’s these things called speed limits, Wy,” Oliver said, clinging to the door handle.

  Wyatt laughed and wound his way through town, guided by the onboard GPS. He made casual conversation with Oliver until they arrived at the sports bar.

  “You’ve been so patient with us,” Wyatt said, scooting into one side of the booth they were lead to. “I’ll pick up the tab. Get anything you want.”

  “Are you sure?” Oliver asked, grabbing a menu. “I don’t want to impose.”

  Wyatt turned. “Barkeep!”

  The bartender looked at him.

  “Drinks on the house!” Wyatt called. The bartender gave him a thumbs up. Wyatt turned back to Oliver. “Convinced?”

  Oliver laughed. “You’re crazy.” He opened his menu and started browsing. “The Porterhouse looks so good...” he murmured, but he still sounded like he was testing the waters.

  “Get it!” Wyatt beamed. “I really do mean it.” He stretched his leg, until his foot bumped into Oliver’s shin.

  Oliver shifted, moving his leg out of the way and continued to browse the menu.

  Wyatt opened his own.

  The waitress took their drink order and promptly brought them two steins of beer.

  Oliver closed his menu, having settled on his meal, and chugged the beer unapologetically.

  Equally unapologetic was Wyatt’s foot, inching up Oliver’s ankle.

  Oliver put the stein down and squinted at Wyatt, but Wyatt pretended not to notice.

  “So I think I found the perfect race for your colt,” Oliver said.

  Wyatt leaned forward. “Really.”

  Oliver nodded. “It’s still a claiming race, but the tag is pretty high. He’s young, still green. I think he would make a good project for someone.”

  “Someone like me?” Wyatt smiled. “I think I’d like to get into this business.”

  Oliver drank more of his beer, shaking his head. “Don’t make the same mistake your father did.” He had one hand on the table, and Wyatt reached for it.

  “I’m not.”

  Oliver looked down at their hands together, his brow knit and confused, then looked up.

  “I want to talk about us,” Wyatt said evenly. He was playing his card exactly as he intended.

  Oliver slowly pulled his hand out from under Wyatt’s.

  “I really like you,” Wyatt said.

  Oliver dropped his hands into his lap, along with his gaze. He shook his head, as though trying to shake the embarassment and awkwardness that was coming. “Look, Junior.” Oliver half-smiled, then laughed uncomfortably. He looked up. “I think you’re great, and all. We’d make great pals. But, I told you... I’m straight as an arrow, brother.”

  Wyatt casually withdrew his hand.

  “In fact,” Oliver continued. He folded his hands on the table, and leaned forward with intent. “I’d like permission to date your sister.”

  The waitress brought their food. Wyatt couldn’t wait to dig in, and he thought making Oliver wait until they finished their meal would be great fun. So he cut into his own steak and started eating, carrying on how the baked potato was perfect, and probably-- after too much beer-- made a parable of potatoes and relationships.

  Oliver grew more and more uncomfortable over the course of the meal, asking if he’d upset Wyatt or offended him.

  Wyatt ignored him, offering him a piece of his steak.

  Oliver declined. “Please, can I date Dascha?” he cried.

  Wyatt smirked. Oliver’s honor made him love him more. “Lower your voice.”

  Oliver dropped his head into one hand, tangling his fingers in his hair. He chewed methodically, looking about as hopeless as Dascha acted sometimes.

  Wyatt paid for the meal, still smiling. “Yeah, of course. What did you think I was going to say?”

  Oliver sat up straight as a solider, his face shattering into brightness and smiles.

  “Dascha, will you go out with me?”

  No, no. That’s not it. Oliver paced the aisle of his barn.

  “Dascha, I’d like to buy you dinner.”

  He pulled at his hair. Who was he to buy a rich girl dinner? He could barely afford his own food.

  “Dascha, I like
you.”

  No. His horses were starting to pick up on his nerves. They nickered and whinny.

  “Hey, I know this great spot where we can picnic together.”

  Maybe.

  “Would you like to come watch the other horses train?”

  Er, wrong. Been there. Done that. I screwed that up, too.

  Oliver sighed. None of them sounded right. Wyatt had given him permission, and he couldn’t even figure out how to ask her out. He felt like a fourteen-year-old boy in school again, all anxious and rashy around the cheeks, knowing full well that girl was way out of his league. She’d probably laugh at him, too.

  “What do you think, Faith?” Oliver asked his filly. She blinked at him inquisitively and butted her head against his chest, as if to say, be afraid and do it anyway. Oliver’s tough little claimers and allowance race runners lived their whole lives that way.

  Oliver sighed. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Wyatt. This was crazy getting involved with them on anything beyond business level.

  Who did that?

  Me, apparently. Oliver looked skyward. I’m a fool. Faith whickered at him. He smiled a little, feeling consoled. Lane Senior had picked her name. Maybe Oliver would tell Dascha some time.

  “Why don’t you meet me for our next horse’s race?”

  “Okay!”

  “And Oliver?”

  He looked behind him.

  “No funny business this time.”

  He saluted her and strode off.

  “The early game and mid-race is all about strategy. If the leaders out front are pushing the time hard, it’s better to hang back and wait for them to burn out. They might be rabbits.”

  “Rabbits?”

  “It’s a term for a horse that’s dropped into a race as a pacesetter for another horse. They can tire out the field and set up a win for their stablemate. If you’re dumb enough to get suckered in that is.”

  “And they’re down at the wire, and it’s all adrenaline and determination and who wants it the baddest. Gawd, I love it.”

  She took his arm, and Oliver gulped. That staircase scene from Beauty and the Beast flashed in his head. Even Beast knew Belle was out of his league, but he was dancing with her anyway, gosh-darnit! And just like Belle, Dascha surprised Oliver in the most tender of ways.

  She looked at him with eyes so intense, he wondered if she saw anything else but him. He knew he had her undivided attention.

  “Faith, right?” Dascha asked.

  Oliver nodded, pleased she had remembered.

  Dascha hummed, greeting the filly with scritches.

  “I’m starting to understand why people do this for a living.”

  “I’ll...” Dascha backed away. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Oliver’s brow creased. Where was she going? They were getting along. Everything was going great. He swore she liked him, and then.

  He turned to Wyatt. “She’s knows I’m not gay for you, right?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  Oliver groaned. She was into him, he could sense it. Maybe it was time to start opening up about things.

  “I could... help you woo her,” Wyatt said.

  Oliver turned. Wyatt had his attention. From businessman to wingman!

  “Teach me, Yoda.”

  Oliver grinned, hands behind his back. “Pick.”

  Dascha’s expression went skewed.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  She batted his left elbow.

  Oliver presented her with a Kit-Kat chocolate bar.

  She smiled. “What’s in the other hand?”

  “You made your choice, and have to live with it,” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Oliver laughed and gave her flowers.

  Dascha backed away, pressing her wrist to her nose. “I’m allergic.”

  Oliver didn’t understand. Wyatt said...

  “Once a month I’m allergic.”

  What kind of cockamaney nonsense was that? “How does that work?”

  “My olfactory is fickle,” she said. “Things I love the rest of the month reek one week out of the month.”

  She took the flowers anyway, eyes watering. “I appreciate the thought though.”

  He hung at the door, not sure if he should enter. He peeked inside to watch her cross the room and situate the flowers. She sniffled and sounded congested.

  “Come in.”

  He didn’t want to impose. “I’m good here.”

  “No, really. I’m not feeling well today. It’s better if you come inside.”

  He obeyed and shut the door quietly. “Where’s Wyatt?”

  “At the track. You know you’ve gotten us both way too interested in this sport.”

  Oliver grinned. “Good. It’s a dying sport. It needs new blood.”

  “The rich kind, I assume?”

  Oliver shook his head. “Even a new generation of fans would be great. Right now I feel like all we have is stuffy old money.” He glanced at her. “No offense.”

  She unwrapped the chocolate. “None taken.”

  “They weren’t always rich. My dad worked his way up the corporate ladder. He started as a mail boy and intern. Barely making ends meet when he and my mom married. She was just a farm girl too. But they both had dreams bigger than the both of themselves. And eventually, even with a couple of setbacks named Dascha and Wyatt, they made them come true. Dad was able to start investing. Got very smart about the market. He seemed to have a knack for it even. And mom made a great manager. We’re really not old money.”

  Oliver was surprised. He just assumed Lane Senior was the type of oil-grubbing tycoon or something. The well-to-do Rich Uncle Penny Bags from the Monopoly Set.

  “An as their assets increased, so did prospects for Wyatt and I. We were swept into social circles and expected to adjust, even though our parents had raised us as the type who preferred working. I guess that’s why I’m not happy here in Florida. I’ve got nothing to do. Nothing to strive toward. I want to get home and back to my job.”

  She kept surprising him. He hadn’t expected her to be the office type. Not with that manicure and perfect makeup.

  “And then Mom got sick. When she passed, we all fell apart of course. But we stuck together. We were miserable together. That’s what matters to me. Sure, Wyatt chases after every guy he meets, but he’s not really happy unless we’re on good terms. Same here, I guess. Family is everything. And I missed my mother terribly. Even thought Wyatt and Dad were trying their hardest... no one can replace your mom, you know?”

  Oliver nodded solemnly. He barely remembered his own mother.

  “So, not entirely sure what to do with a girl in the house, my father started doing what every good father does, I suppose. He started parading me off to all the rich boys at polo matches. Wanted to make sure I was taken care of when he was gone some day. Never realizing...”

  “You can take care of yourself,” Oliver finished for her. He took her hand in his without thinking. Their eyes met.

  She nodded, swallowing. “I want the love they had. But I don’t think I’ll find it on a polo field. Maybe that’s why I’m so reluctant to follow you into the racing world.”

  He leaned forward, tilting his head. Her warm breath connected with his, inches apart. Her eyes fluttered shut. He understood her. He knew how she must feel. He was hesitant to really let her in after what had happened to him. Their lips were almost touching when the door creaked open.

  “Five hundred bucks, Dee!” Wyatt crowed.

  Dascha and Oliver broke apart with a slight hiccup, both inhaling sharply.

  “Wait, were you two...”

  Dascha turned away, so did Oliver. Both blushing.

  “Nope,” Oliver said, rubbing his neck.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dascha insisted.

  Wyatt glared at the both of them. A devilish smile warmed his face. “I am so playing poker with the both of you one night. You’r
e terrible liars!”

  Oliver cleared his throat and got to his feet. “I should be going.”

  Wyatt pouted. “Aw, Ollie. Staaaayyy.”

  “I hope you feel better soon, Dascha,” Oliver said, squeaking past Wyatt. Even though Wyatt practically squeezed him against the wall, too playful for his own good.

  “Are you twelve?” Oliver hissed to him.

  “Fourteen. Perpetually,” Wyatt snickered.

  Oliver rolled his eyes, playfully punching Wyatt in the shoulder. “Goodbye, Junior.”

  Wyatt waved the money in Oliver’s face. “I will take you for everything you’re worth, Way.” He leaned in. “P-p-p-poker face.”

  Little did Wyatt know, he already had.

  Dascha managed to cajole herself out of bed before the sun was up a few mornings later. She grabbed coffee on the way to Gulfstream, this time the type Oliver liked. She sent him a sleepy text on the way, and got him what he wanted. She was still bleary-eyed when she showed up at the rail beside him. He was clocking the gray gelding her father had owned.

  “Two down, one to go,” he breathed.

  She passed him the coffee, and he sipped it before thanking her. He raised his cup and bunted it against hers. “Cheers.”

  Dascha tried to find the words for what had happened the other day before Wyatt had burst in. It was nice of Oliver to bring her trinkets. She had kept her distance from the flowers, but appreciated them all the same. She had finally placed them in a perfect spot across her room where the sunshine always struck them in such a way that the crystal vase she’d gotten for them broken into a thousand prisms, and it was all rainbow and fire.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about their almost kiss either. In some ways she was sorry for it, but others she wasn’t. Besides, it was him who had tried to kiss her. And she was all wrong for letting him. He was with Wyatt, wasn’t he? Who was she to steal him away? And now she had to finally admit she really did have a crush on Oliver Way. And just as she found the words to apologize, the gray gelding came off the track and Oliver walked away with him.

  She guess racing moved too fast for love.

  Oliver understood Wyatt’s desire for Dascha to be happy. As Oliver walked beside the gelding, he reflected on the kiss he and Dascha had almost shared. Even though Wyatt was all for them getting together, Oliver still couldn’t bring himself to fully committ. It was wrong. And he just wasn’t the right guy for Dascha. She’d already left once with Wyatt. She confessed she missed her job. What was going to make her stay? Certainly not old Oliver Way.