by Cajio, Linda
Overwhelming guilt assailed James at the man’s words, and he couldn’t stand it. It was clear the man was devoted to the horse, and he was being pulled apart by the thought of separation. In fact, his entire world was crumbling, and all because he, James, had bought a horse. It was through Mac’s care that Battle Cry had arrived so safely, and he was grateful. More than grateful. What Anne must be thinking of him for creating this mess …
“I’ll pay his salary and room and board, Anne,” he volunteered. “You know that’s no problem. Can he be my employee here to oversee my horse?”
Mac nearly jumped with joy, then looked at Anne hopefully. She glared at James, who knew she had a right to.
“James, I’m sympathetic to Mac,” she said. “We’re all horsepeople, and we know how he feels.”
“He’ll facilitate Battle Cry’s adjustment,” James said, his enthusiasm growing. “After all, he knows the horse better than anyone else.” He turned to Curtis and the other grooms. “I know you men will take good care of my horse. Don’t you think, though, that Mac could help with his transition here?”
The men stared at him. Curtis finally said, “It’s up to Anne.”
James turned back to her. “Can we try it? For two weeks?”
She said nothing, just looked at him.
James realized belatedly he was putting her in an awkward position. Still, he liked the idea of Mac helping Battle Cry through the first few weeks at the farm, and if it worked out … well, maybe a permanent arrangement could be made. He would feel awful if he didn’t help this old man who clearly loved the horse as if it were his own family. “I know I’m putting you on the spot, Anne, but if he keeps only to the grooming and feeding of Battle Cry, how about it? The least little complaint from you or your men, and I’ll fire him. Agreed, Mac?”
“I’ll be no trouble, sir. Honest, miss. Your men will know my boy’s business best now. I’ll do whatever they ask of me.”
Anne stared at Mac, clearly assessing the man’s character, trying to discern if it matched his words. She glanced at her men, all of them impassive. James waited impatiently.
“Two weeks,” she finally said.
Mac cheered, tears actually starting in his eyes. He took her hand and shook it. “You won’t be sorry, miss. None of you will. I promise.”
James grinned when the little man turned to him. His hand was pumped until he was afraid it would be shaken off his arm.
“Thank you, sir. Bless you. I’ll do a good job for you, you’ll see.”
When his hand was finally released, James turned to thank Anne for her generous decision. But she was already halfway down the drive toward the house. Her ramrod-straight back made it all too clear how she felt. Mac was too ecstatic to notice, and her employees were drifting back to their usual work. He admitted none of them looked too happy either. He sighed, knowing he had overstepped himself.
“I think Mom’s mad,” Philip said, looking up at James. “But I’m kinda glad you talked her into it.”
James smiled dryly. “So am I.”
Leaving Mac content to look at his “boy,” James walked with Philip back to the house. Lettice was waiting on the portico.
“My granddaughter just stomped into the house, cursing faster than a sailor,” she said. “She was cursing you, James. What did you do to become persona non grata?”
He shrugged noncommittally. He wasn’t about to tell Lettice what happened. Besides, it wasn’t her business. But it looked as if he’d made more of a mistake with Anne than he’d first thought.
He’d made a biggie.
Five
“Really, Anne. He was right, so why don’t you just admit it and speak to the man? Five days of avoiding him is quite enough punishment.”
Anne took a deep breath to hold her patience and set her spoonful of cereal back into her bowl. She would not argue this point at breakfast.
“I haven’t been avoiding him, Grandmother,” she said in as reasonable a tone as she could muster. “Anyway, I agreed with James when I said Mac could stay, so I don’t see the point of this conversation.”
“Well, I do,” Lettice replied bluntly. “You won’t speak to James.”
“Keep this up, and I won’t speak to you,” Anne said, picking up her spoon again. She stared at Lettice as she ate her cereal.
Lettice stared back.
“Grandmother Lettice, can we go to the zoo this Saturday?” Philip asked into the silence.
Lettice grimaced at being the first to break the eye-to-eye showdown. “Yes, Philip. If you like, I can get us in early to see the baby rhino—”
Anne took the opportunity to escape. She was out the door to begin her morning rounds of the stables before Lettice had finished answering Philip. Her son’s timing was perfect.
“What a way to start a day,” she murmured, sighing. She wished she had never told Lettice what had happened. While her grandmother sided with her, she also seemed to want all the “bygones be bygones” to come from her granddaughter. Bygones when she was furious with him? In a pig’s eye! Anne had no desire to speak to the man except for business purposes, and she’d be damned before she did.
Still, she never would have expected him to hire Mac like that. Sympathetic maybe, but not so … nice. She walked faster, her steps angry. He had done something kind, proving yet again that he was Mr. Perfect, and had usurped her authority at the same time.
The day, unfortunately, went from bad to worse.
“Anne, I want to talk to you.”
She took a deep breath as James blocked her path to the foaling stable. For five days he had made the same demand—when he could find her. This time, though, she was ready for him. This would be a business conversation whether he liked it or not. What else did he want from her anyway?
“I have something for you.” She slipped some papers from her clipboard and held them out to him. The afternoon sun was in her eyes, but she refused to shade them to see him more clearly. Still, her brain registered that he looked as sexy as ever, and she was disgusted with herself for even being interested. She remembered figuring he’d show up at the farm only every couple of months or so to see his horse. So far he’d been there every day.
“This is Battle Cry’s breeding schedule,” she said, and instantly realized her mistake. Breeding was the last thing she wanted to discuss with him.
He took the papers from her, their fingers somehow not touching in the process. Anne ignored the disappointment of her body. James stuffed the schedule in the inside pocket of his corduroy jacket.
“Aren’t you going to look it over?” she asked, shock momentarily overriding her reaction to him.
“I trust you to know your business.” His gaze hardened. “Besides, I know this is an attempt to change the subject.”
Anne glowered back at him. Her fury was refueled at his not looking over the schedule. “If the subject is Mac, I told you before there’s nothing to talk about. You own Battle Cry. You want Mac to take care of him. I agreed.”
“We haven’t talked at all,” he began. “You haven’t allowed me a word—”
“You had plenty to say when your horse arrived. Do you want to take any of it back?”
His face darkened. “No.”
She smiled sweetly. “Fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“No.” He practically straddled the walking path. “I know I put you in a very awkward position—”
“Yes, you did,” she interrupted. “But that didn’t stop you, did it? Nobody felt worse than I did when I had to say no. But I have other employees whose jobs were usurped by your demand that I employ Mac as Battle Cry’s personal groom—”
“Dammit, I didn’t demand.”
“You left me no choice, James,” she said, her anger boiling over. “You even insured I looked like an ogre to my own son. Next time if you don’t like one of my decisions, please discuss it with me in private. I do try to accommodate the horses’ owners as best I can. I have bowed to your wishes, James. We
have nothing further to say, and I will not discuss this again with you. Now, I have three mares in labor to see to, and no, you cannot come along. Strangers can upset them and endanger their foals.”
She walked around him and on up the path. When she didn’t hear his footsteps behind her, she allowed herself to relax. Clearly, he believed her about the mares.
Good, she thought murderously. Her temper frayed at each meeting with him since this business with Mac. It still rankled her that James had embarrassed her in front of her employees and her son by putting her in an untenable position. She was grateful her people had realized that, although she was receiving the cool shoulder from a few for her allowing Mac to stay. Philip had forgotten the incident already, as children did.
At least Mac was sticking faithfully to their agreement and caring only for the horse’s personal needs. Curtis said he was friendly and helpful, fitting himself into the routine of the stallions. That news relieved her anxieties. It irritated her too. She would have felt a certain pleasure in telling James his employee was not working out.
But Mr. Perfect had done the perfect thing again. If only he hadn’t made her into the Witch of Makefield Meadows in the process. It hurt more than she cared to admit. More, perhaps, than it should.
Probably she was holding on to her anger because he was around the farm so damn much these days. She couldn’t turn around without seeing him, and had taken to avoiding the stallion barn.
As she entered the foaling stable, she wondered if she had somehow been getting her hopes up about James. Impossible, she decided. She had learned her lesson years before. All she needed to learn now was how to stay on a professional footing with him. Completely professional. No more wanting to be pulled into his arms, no more urges to be kissed breathless as she had when she’d been seventeen. Certainly no more desire …
“You look about ready to foal yourself, Anne,” Jonas said.
She mentally shook away her disturbing thoughts and smiled at the man in charge of bringing new life into the world. “It’s been a long day. How are my mares?”
“All progressing nicely. No complications so far. Come along and see them.”
She followed Jonas past several unoccupied stalls to the far end of the stables.
“I’m keeping them down this end,” he said. “I have a feeling they’re going to deliver assembly-line style.”
Anne leaned on a stall’s half door. The dark mare inside was lying down, a sure sign of advanced labor. The animal looked placid, though, as if a momentous occurrence was the last thing about to happen. Anne smiled in pleasure, her heart filling at the prospect of another spindly-legged baby romping in her pastures.
Then she remembered the man outside the building. She wouldn’t be surprised if James were waiting for her to come out to resume the “discussion.”
“Mind if I hang around for a while?” she asked Jonas.
He chuckled. “You’re the boss.”
“I like to think so,” she muttered, and turned back to the mare.
James strode toward the house and his car, his teeth clenched with frustration.
He visited Battle Cry every day, and he had tried to apologize every time he saw Anne. And every damn time she managed to prevent him from doing so. She must have taken lessons from her grandmother, he decided. Or else it was in the genes. Whatever, Anne had that regal eye and imperious tone of Lettice’s. Combined with her refusal to back down, she had been a stone wall that he hadn’t been able to chip. It was as if she didn’t want to hear an apology from him. He couldn’t understand her.
One thing he understood, however, was his reaction to her. His own anger had combined with a more primitive urge, and every time he saw her he wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless. He couldn’t keep his mind on anything else lately. A part of him had been empty for so long. He hadn’t realized until he’d seen her at the polo match how he had walled his emotions over.
Anne Kitteridge was driving him insane.
He was passing a group of bushes near the mares’ stables when he saw Philip standing on the bottom rail of a fence, feeding carrots to several mares in the pasture. James thought to pass him with just a wave, then he heard an unhappy sniffling sound. Philip was crying. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the boy.
“Hi,” he said, leaning against the fence.
“Hi.”
Philip ducked his head and surreptitiously swiped at his face. James hid a smile. The mares had moved away for an instant at the sight and smell of a stranger, but the lure of a treat brought them back. Their foals, more cautious with newborn instinct, hovered behind the mothers.
“Can I have a carrot?” James asked.
Philip passed one over, and he broke it into chunks and fed it to two of the mares.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said. “It’s nice to just watch the late afternoon sun turn red with someone, although sometimes, too, a person likes to be alone and think. You look like you have things to think about.”
“I … it’s okay,” Philip said. “You can stay.”
The boy shared the rest of the carrots with him, and the two of them fed the horses and watched the sun set. James didn’t ask any questions, sensing Philip wanted to say something, but wouldn’t if probed. He realized it must be hard for the boy, with his father on the other side of the country.
Finally Philip said, “I hate bullies.”
James considered the comment, then said, “So do I. I used to get picked on a lot when I was a kid.” He grinned. “Now I’m bigger and richer than they are.”
“I didn’t hear the teacher today,” Philip said, unmollified. “Just ’cause I—”
The boy stopped, and James knew instantly what was wrong. Suddenly he was whisked back to his own childhood.
“Because you wear a hearing aid, the kids tease you sometimes,” he said gravely.
“Just one kid,” Philip said, then added the devastating blow. “But even my friends laughed.”
“I see.” James was silent for a moment. “Sometimes people laugh without realizing a person’s feelings are being hurt, or they laugh because everyone else is and they’re embarrassed to be different.”
“Yeah, maybe I should hurt their feelings or make people laugh at them.”
“You might be hurting yourself in the end,” James warned. “It’s not fair, I know. Sometimes things just aren’t fair.”
“That’s really stupid,” Philip said, his voice filled with resentment. “You wouldn’t say that if people laughed and called you dummy because you wore a hearing aid.”
“Yes, I would.” James took a deep breath, amazed that he was about to tell this boy the secret he had kept from so many others for so many years. The secret he had kept from Anne, out of fear. “When I was your age people called me dummy because I couldn’t read. My friends laughed. I was so angry that I hurt them back, and wound up getting more hurt in the end.”
“You …” Philip stared at him. “You couldn’t read?”
“I have a learning disability called dyslexia, Philip.” He patted his pockets for something to prove his point, but the only thing readable was the schedule Anne had given him. He removed it from his pocket and looked it over carefully, just to make sure the schedule was nothing but names and dates. He held it out. “I don’t see letters and numbers the way most people do. Here, read the first line or so of this for me.”
Philip quickly read the first few lines out loud, only stumbling over one of the horses’ names. Constitution’s Preamble would be a tongue twister for most nine-year-olds.
“When I was your age,” James said, retrieving the schedule, “I couldn’t have even read that. The letters would look all mixed up. I’ve learned how to overcome it pretty well. But even now, when I’m tired or angry or distracted, I’ll make mistakes.”
“Would you like me to read the rest for you, Mr. Farraday?” Philip offered.
He smiled and tucked the papers back into his pocket. “Thanks
, but I’m okay now. One of the things that helped me with bullies was to laugh at their jokes, too, along with everyone else. It hurt at first, but they didn’t like it that their victim was laughing and joking around with them. After a while they stopped teasing me.”
“I’ll remember that.” The boy looked away. “Don’t tell my mom I was … they were teasing me. It really upsets her, and she gets mad at my friends and the school.”
“I respect your privacy, Philip, so I won’t discuss this conversation with anyone.” James could imagine how Anne would react with a mother’s protectiveness, which was the kiss of death to a nine-year-old boy.
Philip straightened. “I won’t discuss it, Mr. Farraday.”
“James.”
Philip smiled. “James.”
James realized that Philip’s impairment had an advantage over his own. The hearing aid made it visible early on to people. His dyslexia was easy to hide. People wouldn’t know until he chose to tell them, and it had become a lifetime habit to choose not to.
He had been one of the unlucky ones, and hadn’t been diagnosed early. Instead, he’d been labeled disruptive and lazy, and had been sent away to military school to “shape up.” Finally one of his teachers had realized he needed help, and eventually he’d overcome the dyslexia.
Still, the emotional scars had remained until college. It had been a small college, but just getting in had done much for his low self-esteem. His socially conscious parents, unsupportive as ever, hadn’t wanted him to sully the family name by failing. He’d gone anyway. He’d even gotten engaged in his senior year to a “deb.” And he’d confessed, with a laugh, his dyslexia. Unfortunately, she hadn’t laughed. Instead, she’d broken off the engagement because she didn’t want to have “problem” children.
He had come home that summer so embittered. He’d known he could never open himself again to a woman. And then on impulse he had kissed seventeen-year-old Annie Kitteridge at a dance … and had realized that whatever he’d felt for the deb had been nothing compared to what he’d felt in that instant with Anne. Life, with its wry sense of timing, had really shown him what he could never have. Anne had left shortly afterward for the racing world she loved, and he was never sure if he should have been grateful or angry with her for doing so.
