Fools Rush In

by Cora Marie Colt

  “Go on ahead and fill a bucket with warm water, please,” Oliver requested. “I’ll take care of him.”

  She nodded and went on ahead, giving Oliver time to tilt his head and admire her backside with great appreciation.

  Dascha was like an hourglass, even in the new clothes she wore, which were surprisingly dressed-down. She was finally in a pair of jeans, and it was not wasted on Oliver to notice.

  The corner of his cheek dimpled, making him forget about the impish colt at the other end of the line. Bitter Creek bumped into him, then squealed, as though he were laughing-- like he had done it on purpose. Oliver shoved him back, grumbling.

  If he were human, as goofy as he was, Bitter Creek would definitely be that best-friend bromancer. Go get ‘er, son, he seemed to egg Oliver on.

  When they reached the yard by Oliver’s stable, Dascha was waiting with the bucket, and holding the hose in one hand. She stared at her nails with a grimace.

  “What’s wrong?” Oliver asked.

  She showed him a nail that had snagged and broken. He grinned at her. “Is that the first time you’ve broken one?”

  She passed the hose to him with a pout. “No. Of course not.”

  He took the bucket from her and proceeded to scrub Bitter Creek one-handedly. Dascha hung back and watched the colt whirl in a circle like a kid trying to get away from the tub. Oliver pursued him relentlessly, making it seem like no big deal. They just kept going in circles until the job was done.

  Dascha joined them on the way back to the stall. Once the colt was safely put away, Oliver turned to her and took her hand unexpectedly.

  “Let me see.”

  He went over her fingers with a studying eye, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. “You’re part of the crew now, missy. Getting your hands dirty like that.” A couple of quick clips, and her nails were even again.

  Their eyes met, and he kissed her fingers tenderly. “All better.”

  Gah, why did he have to do that? Dascha went all to pieces inside. She wanted to kiss him. To push him up against the wall and pin him until he had no choice but to surrender. Make him say that they shouldn’t be doing this, but in reality giving her permission.

  Her hand slipped from his. “I’ll help feed,” she said, walking away.

  The sound Oliver made was the same as before. That shoulder-drooping sigh. It made her heart snag painfully the same way her nail had.

  “Is it Faith?” he asked.

  She paused in the walkway. “What?”

  “Every time I try to get close to you, you pull away. Is it the way I claimed Fools Rush In? Did I ruin any chance I had with you then?”

  She turned back to him. Why did he have to have that puppy dog look every time he asked her things like this? She glanced at the chestnut filly who was observing them complacently. Faith whickered at Oliver, and he went to her to rub her neck.

  Seeing the two of them together, the way Oliver treated the filly like she was the entire world to him, made Dascha’s heart soften somehow. No, there was no bitterness left over him claiming her. Watching them, Dascha knew they belonged together now.

  She wished she didn’t question where she fit in on that. Racing was Oliver’s universe. Faith was like the sun he gravitated around. And what was Dascha? A distant star, at best.

  “No,” Dascha said. “I forgive you. We both let ambition get in the way.” And I’m learning to let go...

  Dascha continued to show up for the morning workouts, wondering when Plastic Thunder would race. She was enjoying Oliver allowing her to help with his ten or so horses, but being near him was starting to get painful.

  He celebrated each broken nail, and her slow deterioration from one track minded powerhouse, bent on running a business perfectly, to a country girl with a business mind.

  Oliver even started teaching her how to groom Faith and Petey, since they were the quietest of the bunch.

  Each time Dascha went in to Plastic Thunder’s stall, she smiled and greeted him with, “Hey there, soldier.”

  He always craned his head to look at her and blink with eyes so dark and deep, they were an ocean of wisdom. If she weren’t falling for Oliver, Dascha might admit she had a little pony crush on Petey. She began to understand Oliver’s love for Faith. While Plastic Thunder could work like a farm horse all day long, he was still so gentle and stoic. He almost reminded her of her father.

  Being together in this quiet, more laid back way was a nice change of pace. Dascha was learning to be human again. As Oliver pointed out, you couldn’t learn if you didn’t make mistakes.

  And they had both made plenty.

  Ruefully, Dascha thought about Petey and Oliver as her next mistakes. It was tempting to retire the old gelding, the way Oliver had for Faith, and give him a better life. But she had strict instructions from her father. Everything must go.

  And even though Oliver had changed her life for the better, Dascha knew he was part of the liquidation. She wouldn’t be able to hold onto him once everything was finalized. It wasn’t smart. Her life was back in Boston, not here.

  She sighed, followed by Petey’s sighing snort. She had to laugh. She took his great head in her hands. “What do you think, old man? Should I stay, or should I go?”

  And part of Dascha, deep down inside, really did wish her father would speak through this horse right now. Wyatt would say stay. Would her father agree?

  Petey butted his head against her hard enough to shove her toward the door. Dascha thought that was her answer, but when she turned around Oliver was there hanging up the gelding’s hay net.

  He smiled at her briefly, then focused on feeding the gelding.

  Oliver’s smile was almost worth staying for.

  The way Dascha smiled back at Oliver was almost involuntary. You can tell that about people sometimes. Oliver thought back to his favorite movie, Patch Adams, and the experiment young Patch did where he randomly smiled at people to see if they would smile back. He was able to tell when a smile was genuine or forced. And Dascha’s was definitely genuine.

  Oliver wanted to scream “Stay!”, but he also didn’t want her to know he had heard her conversation with Petey. When he searched himself, he knew he’d walk right to Boston with Dascha if she asked him. He’d find a way to bring Faith, too. She’d fit in the passenger seat, right?

  He imagined cruising down the freeway with a Thoroughbred perched in the seat, possibly with their head out the window dog-style. That made him grin.

  And that made Dascha blush.

  She folded her hands together in that coy way she had. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  And that old urge to call her to stay almost wrecked its way out of his mouth. He wished he could grab her wrist and pull her to him, craving the way she felt against him. The very thought made his chest hurt. Oliver thought nothing outside of racing would ever make him feel this way again. He was wrong.

  He had to swallow to clear the emotion from his throat. “Sure,” he squeaked, his voice betraying him. “Sorry.” Oliver fake-coughed, clearing his throat when Dascha giggled. “Dust.”

  He nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

  Dascha was right there at the rail the next morning with Oliver’s coffee. She scanned the track, looking for any of her father’s horses. She didn’t see them, but she did see Oliver talking with one of the other trainers. When he caught her eye, he brightened and waved. Two more words with the man he was talking with, and he was all Dascha’s.

  He jogged over, eagerly taking the coffee from her and surprising her with a peck on the cheek. Dascha wasn’t sure if a heat wave happened this early in the morning or if her cheeks were as fiery as she felt inside, but either way her face tingled. The corner of her mouth lifted as she rolled the cup between her hands. “Morning.”

  “How are you?” Oliver asked, sipping his coffee.

  “Good. You?”

  His face dimpled with a soft smile. “Better. Now that you’re here.”

>   They glanced at one another, and feelings happened.

  He nudged into her shoulder. Man, was this coffee seeping into her arms now? Because everything was getting a lot warmer.

  “Nobody’s out today,” she said passively.

  “Your horses are off,” he answered. “Even athletes need a rest day. I’ve got another horse out there though. Would you like to get him fed after his workout? I’ll take care of the bath and grooming.”

  Dascha nodded. “Not a problem.”

  They stood quietly, basking in both the sunrise and each other’s company.

  Oliver’s eyes remained trained on a dark horse on the other side of the oval. He cleared his throat, sounding reluctant. “I found a race for Petey.”

  Dascha’s brow knit. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. There’s a great claimer coming up. Should be perfect for him.”

  Suddenly their silence grew awkward. Dascha shifted, almost away from Oliver. His hands tightened on his cup.

  “When?” Dascha finally asked.

  “Next week.”

  She nodded again, this time feeling dismayed. Oliver’s horse was rounding the turn from home, barreling down the stretch. He was a beauty.

  “What does he need? Food-wise.”

  “Just fill his net. I’ll take care of the grain.”

  Dascha went on ahead, knowing the clock was officially ticking down.

  Oliver stared at the dirt spraying as his trainee swept by. Something heavy and disappointed dragged on his heart. Oliver looked over his shoulder as Dascha’s form grew smaller in the distance. He had hoped they’d at least walk together. But even the mention of Petey’s race seemed to put Dascha back in aloof mode.

  Business as usual. Oliver returned his attention to the colt who pulled up, blowing hard from his breeze. The horse’s shadow cast long over him, ominous and powerful. It was a darkness Oliver loved, even the slobber and pungent sweat on the animal, and he realized... this wasn’t Dascha’s world. Standing around in the shadows all dirty, waiting for things to happen. As much as Oliver wanted her here, maybe she was better off in Boston. He would have to accept that.

  The exercise rider was riddling Oliver with a long jargon of words, but all Oliver could do was nod and feel like he was swimming underwater where everything was muffled and slow-motion. He nodded robotic-ly and took the colt, heading back to his barn.

  With the end of their business tryst in sight, Dascha knew she had a decision to make. She couldn’t leave Oliver hanging. It seemed cruel now to take away his horses, and part of his livelihood. She knew there was no guarantee Plastic Thunder’s new owners would want him as a trainer. Dascha wasn’t that person anymore. Something had happened inside. She hadn’t softened. She’d just... changed. Oliver wasn’t only some nail in a plank holding together the ship, he was a real person. He had feelings and needs. So what did he need?

  Dascha’s muscles tightened. The colt’s hay net was hung, and she was almost through with filling it. She’d even gone as far as to bravely muck out his stall-- another broken nail added to the roster, naturally. But she didn’t care. It mattered more what happened after this. Did Oliver even talk to Wyatt anymore?

  Then Dascha realized what Oliver really needed. He didn’t need her or Wyatt. He needed connections. Real ones that would actually give him a shot at stepping up in the ranks. Give him a few stakes horses, or classier ones for better, to play with. Dascha smiled, dreaming of what Oliver could do with a horse like that. And again something inside of her changed. Her heart swelled. Not for love, but a sense of pride. For Oliver. He needed a shot like that.

  Dascha knew important people, and she knew how to work those people. Rich people. Money bags that were bored out of their minds and needed something to throw it all at. Sometimes life was too easy when it was all given to you. Mundane. Who wouldn’t want a thousand pounds of adrenaline hurtling down to a line in their name? The ultimate competition. Oh, yes. Dascha could find people like that.

  So now she had a goal, and she had to make it happen within the next week. Because when Petey was claimed, that was it. She didn’t know what happened after that, but there was Boston and Wyatt, and the company their father had left them. It still needed running. Her office was waiting. And their lives needed to go on. So she had to make sure Oliver was taken care of. And once he had the right connections, what would he need Dascha for?

  It was better this way.

  The colt jittered at the end of the lead shank, catching Oliver off guard. He couldn’t focus. Time was a daze right now, and all he saw was Dascha. A better trainer would’ve yanked the chain on the colt, but Oliver knew it was his own fault. He was distracted. And his colt knew it. Dascha distracted Oliver.

  Here he was ready to give it all up, and now he was deciding she distracted him. It was better to let her go so he could go back to living his life, focusing on what mattered.

  Or did it?

  Why would he give it all up if it mattered?

  Oliver swallowed a lump in his throat. Here he was at the precipice again. That damn ultimatum. The girl or the track. Either way it was the romance he dreamed of. Why couldn’t he have both? He wanted both!

  He sighed, finishing up with his horse and leading him toward his stall. Dascha had finished with the feed, already holding the grain scoop for Oliver. He avoided her gaze.

  She wasn’t even asking him to give it up. She wasn’t asking him to choose. Even dopey, drunk Dascha had said anyone who loved you wouldn’t make you do that.

  He slid the halter from the colt’s face, and slung the lead rope over his own shoulder. Did Dascha love him? Since she wasn’t asking him to choose and all...

  Oliver replaced the stall guard mesh, ready to ask her, but Dascha wasn’t there. He looked around and patted the colt’s neck as the horse reached for its hay.

  “Dascha?”

  She’d left the grain scoop for him on the low wall across from the stall. He grabbed it, rubbing the back of his neck. Where had she gone?

  He tried not to let his heart race, thinking of a life without her. As though the moment were already here. Where he’d call for her and no one would answer.

  Oliver busied himself with getting the colt’s grain, then started peeking into stalls. He found Dascha loving up Petey something fierce. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and her cheek pressed against his soft gray coat while the gelding dozed. Dascha’s hand smoothed over his shoulder, and Oliver’s heart beat a little slower. Calmed. Almost like Petey had. So zen.

  And Oliver wanted that same touch.

  “Dascha?”

  “Hi,” she answered quietly.

  He rubbed the back of his neck again, trying to find the words. “Where do you see yourself in a year?”

  She hummed, as though amused by the question. “Where do you see yourself in a year, Oliver?”

  I’d like it to be with you, he thought, surrounded by a grandstand of screaming fans and a horse with roses over its back. But I wouldn’t be a winner because of that. I’d be a winner because of you.

  He thought it. But it didn’t come out that way. “Here.”

  Dascha turned her head so that she was looking at him, but her other cheek rested against Petey. Oliver had a quizzical look on his face. Maybe even pained. He looked like she felt; she didn’t have a clear image of where she’d be. She didn’t know where she wanted to be. Dascha knew duty called her, that was about it.

  That and she totally loved this stupid horse.

  Petey’s tail swished as though he heard that. He liked her too.

  I want to say here, too. With you, and Faith, and Petey. Like an old couple with their over-sized dogs. She pictured him reading the racing form in a high-backed arm chair, and her curled up nearby with a book in front of a fireplace.

  Yup, he’d definitely changed her.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Oliver stated.

  Dascha stepped reluctantly away from the gelding. The gray shifted his weight and sighed
.

  She went right up to Oliver, practically nose to nose. The old Dascha would hold him there, twist his imaginary guts out, and answer Boston.

  This Dascha?

  A wayward smile turned up the corner of her mouth. She shrugged.

  Oliver’s eyes fluttered shut. Her nose brushed against his. She had to stand on tip toe to do that. She was toying with him. He exhaled, wanting desperately to ask May I kiss you?

  But he held back. “I’ve got some other horses to tend to.”

  And he felt her warmth slip away. A distance open between them.

  He looked at her, and she had stepped back.

  “I’ve got some business too.”

  Oliver sighed the same way Petey had-- with the longing of her presence, and moved on with his day.

  Dascha’s father wasn’t a superstitious man, but if he ever taught her anything, it was this:

  Make sure the last thing you say to someone is kind. Because you don’t know when you’ll see them again. Oh, and never goodbye. That’s bad luck.

  So as Dascha put the final brush strokes against Petey’s coat before his race, she tried not to think about goodbye, only see you soon. She’d see him again in other races. He was a consistent money earner, and sound as they come. There was no reason for his new owners to stop racing him. He might even stay with Oliver, fingers crossed. Then she’d definitely see him again. She’d come to visit, or... something.

  Wyatt would probably laugh and call Oliver for her, and ask to put Petey on the phone.

  When Oliver wasn’t looking, Dascha squeezed the gelding’s neck, accidentally ruffling his previously sleekly coiffed mane. She kissed him, too. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

  Oliver lead him down to the receiving area while Dascha went to change her clothes to look more appropriate for the race.

  It wasn’t a big race like the type of sporting event you get dolled up for, but she still wanted to look appropriate as the role of estate executor or quasi-owner. Whatever they called you. That much of her had stayed the same. Show some decorum.