Family Love

by Liz Crowe

  “I noticed she’s been working against the bit the last few times, even chewing it.”

  Lindsay sighed. “I’m aware of her flaws, Tony.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Silence descended between them. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just … oh, never mind. Would you saddle Daisy for me? I’m going to run her for a bit first.”

  “Yes, miss.” He set his cup on a shelf and stretched, giving her a distressing view of a line of skin between shirt and jeans waistband. She looked away, heartbeat thumping in her ears.

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Calling you what?” He’d gone into Daisy’s stall. Lindsay could hear her soft nicker of greeting. She was a much calmer horse, easier to train, a real sweetheart. While Zelda matched her own temperament a lot better, Lindsay won more blue ribbons with Daisy.

  “‘Miss,’” she said, following him and hoping to catch him doing exactly what he was doing—caressing the horse’s neck and shoulders, easing the animal from sleep into work mode. The sight of him crooning to her horse, calming her, touching her, made Lindsay’s skin hot—while she wished he was doing the same thing to her.

  Stop it, Lindsay Alice Halloran. That is … sick.

  “All right then,” he said, still facing Daisy, his thick, Kentucky-style Southern drawl more than a little incongruous, considering he looked like he could have stepped off the boat from Italy five minutes ago. “What should I call you?” He turned, gripping her horse’s bridle, his dark brown eyes alight in a way that made her stumble and almost fall over.

  Anger kept her upright. She crossed her arms. He didn’t move or shift his gaze. She felt pinned down by it in way she didn’t understand.

  “Well, Lindsay, of course.” Her voice broke, betraying her. His shy smile and flushed face helped ease her anxiety.

  “Lindsay,” he said, caressing the syllables. She blinked, not pleased with how this encounter was spiraling out of her control.

  “Tony,” she said, walking over to the other side of Daisy’s head. The horse nickered at her proximity, snorting and nodding in pleased anticipation of a workout. Running her palm down Daisy’s other side and ignoring how her nerve endings zinged now she was so close to him, Lindsay peeked under the animal’s neck and caught him with an expression that resembled a herd of deer about to get mowed down by a motorcycle gang.

  “Miss? Uh, I mean … What? Lindsay.”

  “You don’t look like a greaseball goombah.” She averted her eyes, focusing instead on Daisy’s mane, her coat. Anything but meet the man’s eyes again.

  “Um, no, I’m not. I mean, my family’s definitely Italian. My mama is second generation. My grandparents, when they were still alive, spoke nothing but Italian at home.” He mirrored her movements, patting Daisy’s neck then sliding his palm across her right flank.

  “I thought Italians only lived in big cities on the east coast.” Lindsay’s knees were knocking, but she kept talking, eager to establish a connection between them, but at the same time wishing she could maintain the upper hand.

  “Yeah, well, my parents did, but I guess my papa had a thing for horses. He worked at Aqueduct since he was a kid, mucking out, doing anything he could to be near them. By the time he married my mama, he’d gotten a job down here, at Keeneland. That was a Big Deal—capital B and D. As you’d know.”

  “So you and your brothers …” She could listen to him talk for hours. His voice was low and rough, but hit her like sweetest, honey-infused bourbon poured over her twanging nerves.

  “Born and raised in right here in God’s country, ma’am.” He tipped the brim of his cowboy hat with a grin that almost did her in. “All three of us, plus a sister.” He averted his eyes, bent down to grab a bit of hay and stuck it in his mouth. “She’s dead, though.” He crossed himself and closed his eyes, moving his lips in a sort of silent homage.

  “I’m sorry.” She was. But she was also so intrigued she wished she could stay here all day and into the night, skipping the stupid celebration of her engagement to the vapid frat-boy Will Scott. An awkward silence saturated the space between them, making her antsy.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “So, she’s ready.”

  Lindsay blinked, confused. “Oh, right. Thanks, Tony.” She accepted the reins, but stood still, frozen in place.

  He had his fingers hooked in his belt loops, that silly piece of hay tucked into a corner of mouth. His stance was loose-limbed, easy, and tempted her more than anything had in her entire almost twenty-one years.

  “What’s your real name?”

  He frowned and took off his hat, running fingers through his thick black hair. “Well, I reckon it’s Tony. What else would it be?” He grinned and plunked the hat on his head. “If you’ll excuse me, miss—um, Lindsay. I have work to do.” He turned away, sending panic racing down her spine.

  “Is it Anthony?” She felt foolish, trying to force the damn barn help to keep flirting with her. But she could not seem to stop herself.

  He turned to face her, those full lips so perfect she had to keep a death grip on the horse’s bridle to keep from tackling him to the dirt and hay-covered floor. What she’d do then, she had absolutely no idea. But she had a feeling her lack of knowledge wouldn’t be an impediment.

  “No. It’s Anton. Anton Dominic, actually. After some uncles. Once they make it down to the third son, an Italian family usually has to dip into that layer for namesakes.”

  “Anton,” she whispered, then smiled. “Okay. That’s what I’ll call you, then.”

  “Lindsay,” he said. With a tip of his hat he walked off, whistling for the stable boy to come running. Lindsay exhaled and leaned her face into Daisy’s neck, gripping her mane, breathing in the smells of the world she loved while her brain swirled with images of all the naughty things, most of which she had only imagined, that she wanted to do right then with Anton Dominic Love.

  Chapter Five

  Her party was a total bore, complete with annoying future in-laws and toasts from Will’s half-drunk friends. After the canapés were gone and the crowd thinned, she ducked to the ladies’ room to splash her face with water and stare at her reflection, wishing she could be anywhere but here.

  “Lindsay?” She spun around, hearing Will’s voice and wondering if she might get away with pretending she wasn’t in here. “Sugar?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, wiping her hands with a towel and tossing it to the girl who took care of the restrooms. “Hang on a second.”

  She walked out and straight into him. He grabbed her arms, pressed her against the wall and kissed her, though not quite as sloppily as the last time. She let it happen, curious more than anything else, to find out what happened next. She opened her lips to him, molded against him, let him shove a thigh between her legs. Her skin tingled and she took his hand and put it on her breast, then reached down to touch the hard lump alongside his zipper. He grunted and moved out of her reach, wiping his hand across his lips and glaring at her.

  Lindsay’s head was spinning. The concept that she wouldn’t even be allowed to participate in … in this thing with her own husband, made anger simmer across her nerves. She stepped right up to him, went up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his slightly sweaty neck, and kissed him. Even after going so far as to use her tongue to force his lips open in a way she was making up as she went along, he remained stiff, not even touching her.

  Finally, with a weird sound between disgust and impatience, he took her arms and disentangled himself, his deep blue eyes shining with what she saw immediately was fury. “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered, pushing her backwards so they were in the small alcove outside the bathrooms.

  “We are gonna have one boring marriage if I can’t even kiss my own h-h-h-husband.” She hated herself for stuttering, but she was quaking with fury and no small amount of fear. He glared down at her, sweat beading his flushed forehead. She matched his glare, heart thudding in her ears, sk
in similarly flushed for reasons that did nothing but confuse her.

  Just as he was reaching for her—to do what, she had no idea—a voice floated down the hall from the party. “Hey, Scott, you here?”

  Will blinked and stepped away from her. Lindsay stayed pressed to the wall, watching him, trying to conjure something good about him. A familiar expression crossed his face, somewhere between confusion and frustration, before he turned away.

  “Sorry, Linds,” Don said, draping an arm over her intended’s shoulders. “Gotta steal your sweetie a few minutes.” He mimed tipping a glass to his lips. They laughed.

  She rolled her eyes but the hand she put to her mouth once they’d turned away was shaking. After giving herself a minute or two to calm down, she squared her shoulders and rejoined the party. Marching straight up to the bar, she looked the bartender in the eye and ordered a bourbon. He blinked, then glanced over at the older guy who was wiping off the clean glassware.

  “I’m the guest of honor,” she said, drawing herself up and trying to pull off her mother’s level of bossy/haughty. “I can drink whatever I please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The kid blushed and dropped an ice cube into a heavy crystal rocks glass before splashing amber liquor over it. She frowned at it. He poured another splash. She gave him her prettiest smile. He blushed again.

  She took it and turned, daring her mother or her father to say a word about it. They were nowhere to be seen. The room got a little fuzzy until she realized tears were blurring her vision. She gulped the bourbon fast—too fast. But the blaze of fire searing her chest gave her a modicum of strength. She turned and plunked the empty on the bar. The kid frowned at her this time, but dumped in a fresh splash.

  She held it up to him and wandered off, seeking someone, anyone, she wanted to be with in this sea of her parents’ friends, Will’s drunk fraternity brothers, and total strangers. She dropped into a chair with a sigh and put her high-heels-clad feet up on the chair next to her, relaxing and sipping the booze, eyeing the party as if it wasn’t being thrown in her honor.

  “There you are,” Kathy said, emerging from the crowd. “Lordy, Lindsay what are you doing over here?” She shoved Lindsay’s feet to the floor and sat, eyeballing the glass of liquor. “How did you get away with that?”

  “It’s my party.” Lindsay finished it, acknowledging to herself that she probably could have been better served to sip that second one. “Go get us another.” She pushed the glass over to her friend.

  “Are you insane?” Kathy’s face flushed. “I mean, how can I get it past our mamas? You know they’re watching us like hawks.” She glanced around.

  “I don’t care. You shouldn’t either. They’re both probably drunk right now, as we sit here and worry about ‘em. Go on, Kathy. Honey. I need this. I can’t … I mean … Please?”

  Her friend bit her lip, but got slowly to her feet, still looking as if she expected the hounds of hell to plow through the crowd and scoop them up for even contemplating having a grown-up drink.

  Lindsay tried not to bite the girl’s fool head off, since she was the only real friend she had. The only one who shared her passion—her obsession—with horses, and had for most of their lives. She tried to look encouraging when Kathy shot her a last desperate glance before sneaking along the edges of the crowd to the bar.

  She finally returned bearing two fizzy glasses of champagne. Lindsay groaned. “Oh, hell, Kathy, I can’t drink that stuff.” Kathy frowned at her then sat, sipping hers. Lindsay got up and sneaked behind the bar. While the young bartender was serving and the old guy was chatting with one of her father’s friends, Lindsay snagged a bottle from an open box and quickly retreated to the table.

  Kathy had finished both glasses of champagne and was glaring out into the crowd. Lindsay elbowed her, indicating the bottle she was holding beneath the tabletop. Her friend pressed her lips together but pushed the empty champagne glasses over so Lindsay could fill them. They giggled, and clinked, and sipped. Kathy shuddered. “Yuck,” she said, wrinkling up her nose at the amber-colored liquid.

  “It’s not the good stuff, no,” Lindsay said, refilling her glass—they were pretty small, after all—and refilling Kathy’s as well. The other girl held her nose and downed the contents. Face hot, Lindsay put a hand to her mouth, unable to suppress the giggles, or the hiccups, that hit her. Kathy joined her laughter, and they emptied about half the whiskey bottle between them before Lindsay’s mama got wind of it.

  “Well, hey there, Mama,” Lindsay said, blinking fast. Her vision doubled while she grinned up into her mother’s furious face.

  “Let’s go,” her mother demanded, glancing around at the diminishing crowd. “I have no earthly idea what possessed you to get drunk at your own engagement party but …” She blew out a breath. For a moment, Lindsay was tempted to confide in her, to ask her mother why she had to marry a man she’d never cared for, even as a boy. Why she couldn’t go to college and then on to vet school the way she wanted. What, exactly, she could expect when things progressed beyond kissing with a man. How come she wanted to go there, way beyond there, with the handsome man who tended her horses.

  Then she realized she must be really drunk.

  “Kathy, you go on and have the valet bring my car,” her mother said while Lindsay stared down at her feet, marveling at how nice they looked in the shiny red leather shoes.

  “Get up, young lady.”

  “Ow, Mama, that hurts.” Lindsay rubbed her arm where her mother had grabbed her and hauled her to her unsteady feet. “I’m gonna take this with me.” She reached for the bottle, confused by its absence, until she realized it was still under the table. “Hang on a sec.”

  “Don’t you dare, Lindsay Alice,” her mother hissed in her ear as she half-dragged Lindsay through what was left of the party. “Where did your fiancé go, anyway?”

  “Dunno,” Lindsay said, waving at the nice people who were grinning at her while her mother pushed and prodded her along. “Oh, hey, there’s Will’s mama. Let’s go ask her.” She turned and almost fell to her knees when her feet got tangled up in themselves. “Hey, Missus Scott. My mama wants to know where Will’s gone off to.” She cursed under her breath and slipped her feet out of the dangerous shoes, sighing with relief and noting the look of horrified satisfaction that settled on her future mother-in-law’s ugly face.

  “Well, I’m sure I don’t know.” The woman raised an eyebrow at her two ugly daughters who were hovering, all smirky and self-satisfied.

  “He left with Don and them, Mama,” one of the twins said, visibily recoiling when Lindsay flopped into a nearby chair and stuck her stockinged feet on another one. Just as she looked for someone who’d bring her a fresh drink, her mother caught up with her.

  “So sorry, Dorothy,” her mama said, yanking Lindsay to her feet again and giving her arm an extra-hard pinch. “Poor Lindsay here is a little … nervous, is all. You know how it is.”

  Will’s mother pursed her lips even tighter.

  “You look like a fish,” Lindsay said with a giggle.

  “Well, I declare,” the woman said, putting a hand to her chest and moving away, as if Lindsay might be infectious.

  Her own mother blew out a breath and called more apologies over her shoulder while shoving Lindsay in front her this time, until they were outside the club’s front doors. The night air was oppressive and close, pressing against Lindsay’s skin, making her wish she could hang her tongue out and pant.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop it,” her mother said, giving her a firm shake. Lindsay realized she must have given into that urge, but honestly couldn’t recall doing it. The Mustang convertible sat idling, top down, with the valet kid standing next to the open driver’s side door.

  “Help me with her,” her mama snapped at him.

  The young man obligingly trotted around and opened the passenger’s side door. Lindsay frowned at him. “No, I’m okay Mama, really. I think I’ll stay a bit longer. Maybe have another …”
She moved over to the heavy wooden double doors and yanked at one of the handles. “If I can just get … in here. Crap!” She’d been trying the wrong one. But as she touched the other handle, someone lifted her up by the waist, turned and tossed her into the backseat of the car. “Hey!” She righted herself and tried to climb out.

  “No. Stay,” a male voice said. Lindsay blinked.

  “Anton, that you?”

  “Who?” her mother demanded as she climbed behind the wheel, handed the valet a dollar, and put the car in gear.

  “Never mind,” Lindsay said, slumping low in the seat. Nausea rose with every curve in the road, but they finally pulled into the circle drive in front of her childhood home. Lindsay sat gazing up at its painted white Georgian pillars, highlighted by carefully positioned light fixtures, stark against the deep red brick of the two-story mansion.

  “I’m gonna just lie here a minute, Mama,” she muttered, flopping over to her side. The energy required to go inside, strip out of her stockings, girdle, and dress, then get into a bath, simply didn’t exist right then. She patted the soft leather, so warm and comfy and perfect.

  “Lindsay Alice Halloran, you get yourself up and out of that car this minute.” Her mother appeared, looming over the door, her face a mask of fury and melting, overdone makeup.

  “No, no, I’m fine. Go on in. I’ll be along. Soon.”

  “I’m getting your brothers.”

  “Okay,” Lindsay said, dreamy and already drifting as she turned over to look at the twinkly stars between the limbs of the giant oak tree which dominated the front lawn. She stuck her feet on the open window, crossed them at the ankles and grinned. Her mother left her alone, for how long Lindsay had no idea, but just as she was drifting into sleep, someone grabbed her ankle, making her yelp and sit up.

  The quick movement had been a very bad idea. Her mouth watered as she tried to focus on who stood there. “Oh, no … gonna … Move!” She shoved whoever it was aside and threw up over the side of the car.