by Nina Crespo
She went with Philippa into a section off from the main area.
A pass-through dishwasher sat on one side of the space. On the other side, dirty pots and pans cluttered a three-compartment sink.
Philippa turned to her. “We’ve been staying on top of cleaning dishes, but as you can see, we’re behind on the pots and pans. You’ll want to get a jump on them before more dishes come in. I have plastic aprons in my office.”
Like a new foreign language she had to translate, seconds passed before Chloe caught on to what Philippa meant. “You want me to scrub pots and wash dishes?”
“For now.”
Chloe remained at a loss for words. Well, she had mentioned having back of the house experience. If she reneged on her offer now, she’d seem insincere, and undoubtedly, Tristan would hear what happened and gloat about it, one arrogantly spaced out word at a time.
“Okay then.” Chloe resisted glancing at her recently manicured nails. “I should get started.”
Chapter Four
The 4:45 a.m. alarm chimed on Chloe’s cell.
Lying in bed, still more asleep than awake, she blindly reached out for her phone on the bedside table. After a couple tries, she found it, hit Snooze and clutched it to her chest. But it couldn’t be morning already. She’d just fallen asleep.
Yesterday, after she’d helped out by washing dishes and pots for the breakfast and lunch service, two of the bussers had called in sick, leaving the restaurant seriously shorthanded for dinner. Understanding the consequences of that for the waitstaff firsthand, and seeing their downcast expressions as they anticipated the rough night ahead, her conscience wouldn’t just let her order a meal to go and walk out. She’d stayed and pitched in as a busser clearing tables.
Afterward, she’d come back to her room, just after ten at night, with barely enough energy to brush her teeth and throw on an oversized sleep shirt before collapsing in bed. She’d even skipped her usual face cleansing routine, not that beauty mattered anymore. She’d said goodbye to her manicure after scrubbing the first dirty pot, given up on maintaining her makeup once the steam from the dishwasher had melted it off. And forget about flat ironing her hair when she got up in five minutes—make that ten—her curls were going into a ponytail. She’d agreed to help out in the kitchen again.
Chloe moved to put the phone back on the table but lifting her arm took too much effort. Her muscles ached from head to toe. What was that saying? Sacrifice for the sake of art... And it was already starting to pay off.
Yesterday, helping the restaurant through a jam had not only increased her standing with the kitchen and waitstaff, but the lodging staff, too. A few had gone out of their way to introduce themselves to her in the staff break room, and on her way back to her guest room last night, the front desk clerk had slipped her one of the special VIP welcome packages reserved for guests in the cottages. She’d definitely put the contents—a moisturizing bath bomb, a bottle of wine and a small box of chocolates, all from local merchants in the area—to good use when she returned to her room that afternoon or whenever she finished for the day.
If she played her cards right, she could get the staff to talk about the true inner workings of the place. Yesterday, she’d overheard snippets of a conversation between Philippa and the housekeeping supervisor about Zurie, Tristan and ownership in the stable. Something about him finally getting his share of Tillbridge back? She’d wanted to ask some of the staff about it, but it was too soon for anyone to feel comfortable giving her the tell-all on the Tillbridges, yet.
Adding the business dynamics to the tension she’d sensed earlier between Tristan and Zurie would bring even more to the character she was developing for her audition. And honestly, she was curious about Tristan. Was he always scowling and serious?
The Drake song she’d programmed for Lena’s number chimed on her cell. Lena, who was just as anxious as she was about her winning a part in Holland’s film, was probably checking in for an update on her progress.
Chloe answered. “Don’t you sleep?”
“I will, after I talk to my favorite client. How are things with you?”
“Fine.” Chloe rested the back of her hand over her closed eyes. “But I’d love to be in your shoes right now. Just going to bed sounds amazing. I could use some more sleep.”
“You’ve only been there a day. Is Zurie’s schedule that intense?”
“She isn’t here. She was called away to teach at some university.”
“Called away?” Lena’s voice rose an octave, and what sounded like sheets rustled in the background. Knowing her, she’d gotten out of bed. “If she’s not there, who’s showing you around?”
“No one, but I’ve been busy. I helped out in the restaurant yesterday, and I’ll probably be there for most of today.”
“What? Why are you working in the restaurant?”
“Because they’re shorthanded.”
“I don’t care what they are. I’m calling Zurie to straighten this out.”
Chloe quickly sat up. “No. Don’t. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. You’re not trying out for a role as a cook or a waitress. If they’re that shorthanded in the restaurant, they need to hire people.”
“They are.”
“It sounds like you’re being used.”
Used. From Lena’s point of view that was an ugly four-letter word. As a former child star, who’d been screwed over financially by her manager and her parents, Lena was tenacious when it came to protecting her clients. If she didn’t pull Lena back now, Lena would move straight into fix-it mode.
“Relax, Lena. I’m not being taken advantage of. I volunteered.”
“You what?” Lena’s tone rose even higher than before.
Ugh! This was almost impossible to explain without an adequate dose of caffeine. “I know this is not what you had in mind for me when you set this up with Zurie, but I came here to really learn about life at a stable so I can genuinely act the part during my audition. The best way for me to learn the inner workings of this place is digging in and sweating through the day-to-day, not rolling over the surface.” Wait. She did not just quote Tristan. She really did need a hit of caffeine if something he said was her go-to for a passable explanation.
Lena released a long breath and paused. “Fine. I’ll hold off on calling Zurie, for now, but don’t forget. This is an important audition for you. You’re one of Holland’s top picks, but the competition is fierce. Everyone and their mother is sniffing around this opportunity, but the one way you can set yourself apart is by impressing her with your knowledge of horse stables, so step it up on the sweating through the day-to-day part but with the horses.”
“I will.”
“You say that now, but I’m afraid without a nudge your little phobia might get in the way of your progress.”
“It’s not a phobia...exactly. More like a teeny discomfort around horses.” That might possibly cause her to panic, freeze up or hyperventilate until she passed out from lack of oxygen whenever she was around them.
The doubt she’d managed yesterday started creeping back in. No. You’re consciously grabbing hold of the future. Remember?
“I can’t believe Zurie just left you like that and didn’t assign someone to take her place,” Lena said. “Is there someone else at the stable who can show you the ropes?
Tristan. She could tattle on him, but as much fun as it would be to sic Lena on Tristan, that phone call would only nose-dive her current chilly relationship with him to an Arctic level freeze.
And worse, letting someone else fight her battles would just support his theory that she couldn’t handle being there. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to help her out, but maybe she didn’t really need him. The staff members she’d met so far were friendly. If she asked around, someone might be willing to assist her in learning what she needed to know. Especially if she continued to make
herself useful.
“Lena, really, I have the situation under control.”
“Are you sure? You can’t afford any distractions, because if you bomb during this audition—”
“I know. You don’t have to say it.” Bad news in Hollywood, like showing up unprepared for a major audition with a prominent director, traveled fast. If that happened, she could kiss her chances of ever being in a Holland Ainsley film, or Holland helping her with her future ambitions, goodbye.
Chapter Five
“Hold on, boy. We’re almost done.” Tristan patted the black gelding while the farrier, Wes, a thin older man with a smooth bald head who usually had a stoic expression on his deep brown face, secured the last of the four padded boots on the horse’s right back hoof.
Jumping Jett started to fidget, and Tristan continued to soothe him. The gelding had come to Tillbridge yesterday from another boarding stable in Virginia. Someone there had cut his hooves too short. Not wanting to risk a crack or an infection, he’d called Wes and asked him to make a special Tuesday trip ahead of his usual Friday visit to check Jett out.
A few whinnies and soft snorts from the other horses echoed along with the hum of the ventilation system in the modern stable.
Grooms and helpers had mucked out the stalls early that morning and exercised their assigned horses. The horses boarding strictly in the surrounding pastures had been attended to, as well. Trainers had also finished working with their horses and conducting lessons with local clients. The busy morning had settled to a quiet afternoon. Temporarily. Basic lessons and trail rides for the guests would take up the rest of the day.
Once summer arrived in a couple of months, beating the heat would become a main priority. Trying to schedule stable activities before noon for the guests, when it was cooler, along with keeping up with the needs of their local clients and the horses, could potentially become a nightmare. That’s why he and Zurie needed to seriously discuss the expansion.
Not only was a large indoor arena needed but also additional boarding stalls and new equipment for riders interested in learning how to ride English-style versus Western. As far as the cost, they could cover the expense by offering riding clinics in the indoor arena or offering it as a practice space for local competitors who participated in events like dressage and show jumping, or barrel racing and other rodeo events.
He knew exactly what needed to be done and how to do it. But just like yesterday morning before she’d left for the airport, Zurie kept setting aside their discussion about it.
Lately, she just seemed focused on the guesthouse and restaurant, which remained consistently booked with people who had an interest in horses and those who just wanted to experience a getaway from the city. There were also more catered events happening on the property from kid’s parties to wedding receptions to wine-tasting events.
He could see where amenity baskets, the catering menu and the thread count of the bedsheets could take up Zurie’s time, but what about the rest of the operation? In his opinion, the comfort of the guests shouldn’t override the needs of the horses. The prime reason owners in Maryland, Virginia and DC boarded their horses at Tillbridge Horse Stable, or more accurately the new name the operation had adopted six months ago, Tillbridge Horse Stable and Guesthouse, was for the expert care and training of their prized equines.
Wes closed the final strip of Velcro on the boot wrapped around Jett’s hoof. “This will take the pressure off so it won’t be painful for him to walk. No need to call the vet unless things get worse, but that shouldn’t happen. Just use the specialized food and supplement protocol for him.”
“Will do.” Tristan glanced out the stall.
Pete, one of the helpers, was spraying down the wide rubber-floored aisle in between the stalls with a water hose. A few of the horses looking out the top part of the navy Dutch-style horizontally split doors watched him.
Tristan slipped his phone from his back jeans pocket and checked the time. Just after twelve. Most of the guests were having lunch at Pasture Lane. The rest of the grooms, helpers and trainers were probably taking advantage of the downtime grabbing food from the van, sent over by Philippa, parked near the outdoor seating area near the stable.
He motioned for Pete to come down to get Jett. The groom nodded a hello to Wes before leading the horse out the rear of the treatment area into the adjoining large fenced-in paddock. From there he’d walk Jett to the rear entrance of his stall.
Wes placed the hoof tester in his scuffed red toolbox. “I heard things are getting busier around here. I guess all the changes Zurie made are paying off.”
“They are.” But some days, it felt as if they were running a vacation resort or a theme park. Or maybe acting camp.
How could she think agreeing to have Chloe shadowing her—correction, shadowing him—was a good idea?
And as far as him being up to the task of running the stable and helping Chloe, she knew that had nothing to do with it, otherwise she wouldn’t have made the decision to leave him in charge in the first place. His busy schedule was the issue and monitoring Chloe was adding to it. How could Chloe learn anything about the operation, anyway, if all she wanted to do was get away from the heart and soul of Tillbridge? The horses.
Wes’s expression grew nostalgic as he continued to pack up his things. “You know, I remember when Mathew and your father partnered in opening this place. Years ago...”
Tristan knew Wes’s often-told story well. Thirty years ago, the operation was just a few acres of land and three horses boarding in the pasture. His father, Jacob, and his uncle Mathew still had day jobs to pay the bills, and his aunt Cherie had taught riding lessons on weekends, even after Zurie and Rina were born.
Tristan nodded and smiled in all the right places as Wes went on. Sometimes he wondered if Wes had forgotten he was a Tillbridge and he was telling him the story about his family. Or at least part of the story. There was an extended, less tidy version that many people, including Wes, didn’t know.
Jacob hadn’t realized he was a father until Tristan’s mother had shown up in Bolan with him when he was two years old. They’d married, and she’d stayed for a few months, but according to his father, she hadn’t been able to take living in the “middle of nowhere” so she’d packed up a short time later, left Tristan behind, and hadn’t come back. He didn’t remember her.
Fatherhood had been a struggle for Jacob, and he’d stayed mainly on the periphery of Tristan’s life. Mathew and Cherie had raised him like a son and Rina and Zurie were like his sisters. But Jacob had been the one to put him on a pony as soon as he’d been able to ride.
Images filtered through Tristan’s mind of growing up in the large white clapboard home, where the guesthouse now stood, with his father, Uncle Mathew, Aunt Cherie, Rina and Zurie.
Following in Zurie’s footsteps, he’d started competing in rodeos at the age of nine. That had prompted Jacob to take more of an interest in him. In his teens, when he’d started riding bulls, his father had even driven him to a few of his bigger competitions.
Wes chuckled, still wandering through the old days. “I’m sure they never imagined the stable would grow into all of this.”
Even at age thirty-two, the lesson Tristan had learned as a boy to respect his elders stuck with him. He tamped down the urge to interrupt and move Wes along. “Yes, we’ve definitely grown.”
“You know, I’m not surprised about how successful Tillbridge has become. Zurie was always smart and she’s just as strategy-minded as her father was. If Mathew and Cherie were still alive, I’m sure they would be proud of how hard she’s worked to save this place from going under.” He shot Tristan an apologetic look. “Not that you haven’t had a hand in things.”
Tristan could see hints of what the older man really believed about him in his eyes—that he’d had a hand in almost dismantling Tillbridge, not saving it. He’d been the one to abandon his
family when they’d needed him most, trying to turn pro as a bull rider. And because he’d selfishly chased his dream, he’d gotten himself written out of his father’s will, opening the door for Erica, his father’s much younger second wife, to inherit ownership in Tillbridge.
When Jacob had died a little over two years ago, she hadn’t given a damn about anything except getting the highest offer for her share of the stable. After several weeks of tense negotiations, Zurie had succeeded in buying back the shares from Erica before she’d sold them to someone else.
Wes picked up his toolbox. “While I’m here, I may as well check out the rest of the horses.”
“I’d appreciate that. Let me know if you need anything.”
As Tristan let Wes go ahead of him out the stall the truth screamed inside of him. He’d never abandoned his family or Tillbridge. He’d given up everything to protect them.
* * *
With Jumping Jett’s checkup off his schedule, Tristan left Wes to check on the horses and went down the long hallway at the back of the stable. As he passed by a series of black and silver framed photos on the wall from the early days, mostly of his father and uncle competing in rodeos, Wes’s bittersweet history lesson revived in his mind.
He paused in front of a photo of him at twenty years old with his father, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders and grinning as they held the large gold oval prize buckle for team calf roping. The event had always been his father’s and Uncle Mathew’s specialty, not his, but it had been Father’s Day and a chance to share a special moment with his father before he’d left for army basic training. Winning had made that day even better.
How could they have known when that photo was taken that their family would experience more sadness than smiles over the next decade?
Like clockwork, heartache had shown up regularly on their doorstep. Aunt Cherie losing her life in a car accident. Rina almost dying in the same way. Mathew, who’d never gotten over losing the love of his life, inexplicably passing away in his sleep.
