by Amy Knupp
Mercedes did her best to hide her surprise that he’d replied. “That must be rough.”
“It gets to you.” He shook his head. They reached the outdoor stairway and started upward. “Pretty soon, you’re going to have to start paying rent here.”
Mercedes pushed her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m not here that much. You just happen to run into me every single time.”
“Guess I’m used to being alone.”
“Maybe that’s part of your problem.” She strived not to come off as judgmental, thinking she really needed to learn to think about what she said before blurting it out.
“One of many,” Scott said, and she was struck again by how depressed he sounded, instead of grumpy or irritated even when she gave opinions he hadn’t asked for. “So why are you here today? Taking Gemma to work?”
“Today’s my riding day.”
He unlocked his apartment door and she followed him in. “I didn’t see a bike out there. Motorcycle or other.”
“Horses. I drive to a stable in the middle of nowhere every other Saturday. One of Gram’s longtime friends comes and stays with her while I’m gone. Of course…Charlie’s here now… .”
“Do you own a horse?”
“I wish. Maybe someday.”
“I haven’t thought about horses for years.” He threw his duffel bag down by the couch.
“You ride?”
“Did when I was a kid. Couple times a week.”
Gemma walked out of the kitchen toward them, pulling a section off an orange then sticking it in her mouth. “Interesting,” she said, looking between the two of them without hiding her curiosity.
“I’m glad you’re up,” Mercedes said, pretending she didn’t understand Gemma’s comment and pulling her into a one-armed hug. “I thought with all the stress of the past week it might do you some good to come to the stable with me.”
“Stable?” Gemma glanced doubtfully at her protruding belly—it seemed to have popped out this past week—then back at Mercedes.
“Not to ride,” Mercedes clarified. “You’re absolutely not allowed on a horse until that baby’s born. But it’s a pretty drive and the farm is peaceful. Quiet. You could bring something to read and sit in the shade.”
“And breathe in the calming smell of horse dung,” Gemma said. She took another bite of orange, considering. “How can I say no to that?”
“I’ll feed you afterward. Egg City?”
“My weakness. Sure you want to be seen with the immoral pregnant teenager in public?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mercedes said.
There was a hint of a rare grin. “When do we leave?” Gemma asked.
Scott had grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter, peeled it partway and was stuffing big bites into his mouth as he watched them.
“You should come with us,” Mercedes said in a rush, before she could consider the invitation too carefully. “Horseback riding always helps me clear my mind.” She ignored the nagging feeling that she’d regret this move.
“What kind of horses?” he asked.
“They mostly have quarter horses. Beautiful ones,” Mercedes said. “We could find you a gentle one they use for kids’ lessons.”
Scott seemed to not hear the last bit. He looked troubled as he paced to the doorway of the kitchen and then into the living room, rubbing the back of his neck. With a final pained glance toward the kitchen, he made up his mind. “I’m in. Just give me ten minutes to shower.” He picked up his bag and headed toward his room, muttering, “Gentle one, my ass.”
Mercedes couldn’t tell if his grumpiness was real or in jest, but she told herself it was a good thing for him to visit the country. Lied to herself that her only interest in getting him to join them was strictly for his benefit. Denied completely any fluttering of personal interest at the prospect of spending time with him. Besides, there was nothing wrong with a tiny bit of excitement.
* * *
SCOTT HAD FORGOTTEN what being on horseback could do for a person. Feeling the wind whip past him. Moving as one with such a powerful animal.
The gelding the stable owner, Maria, had chosen for him, Serrano, was strong and graceful with an edge of wildness about him. He responded well to Scott, as if they’d been riding together for years.
He slowed the animal to a trot, catching his breath and looking ahead for Mercedes and her chestnut mare. They were a good quarter of a mile up the field on the way back to the barn.
Mercedes on that horse was a thing of beauty. The woman could ride. He could hold his own, but she rode circles around him and looked ten times more graceful doing it. Part of the pleasure of his morning had been keeping one eye on her. From afar.
At first when she’d convinced him to saddle up, he’d figured he’d let himself in for a miserable hour or two of annoying chitchat and acting as if they were good buddies. The only reason he’d given in and come along at all was because the need for a drink had been so overpowering, he’d worried he might go out and buy a bottle once he was alone.
After about three minutes of Mercedes assuring herself he had enough riding know-how to handle Serrano, she’d taken off, leaving him in peace.
Being alone with a horse was calming. Out here, the crap of his everyday life seemed distant. Less weighty.
Out here, he had a greater sense of peace than he’d had for…ages.
He was reluctant to quit when he rode toward where Mercedes waited for him. The only thing convincing him to dismount was the faint memory of the way his leg muscles would protest tomorrow. It’d been a long time since he’d used those particular ones.
He halted the horse and climbed down. Instead of meeting Mercedes’s inquisitive gaze, he turned toward the palomino and patted it on the neck. “You’re a fine horse, Serrano.”
“How was your ride?” Mercedes asked, absently rubbing her horse’s neck. It occurred to him that she had a way with both animals and people. Gemma, for instance. Not him.
“Decent.”
“Want to groom him?” she asked.
Seemed an easy way to grab a little more time to himself. “Why not?”
They took the horses inside, Mercedes leading the way to the center aisle before they headed to their respective stalls on opposite sides of the barn.
It was a lot quieter than when they’d taken the horses out. They’d arrived at the end of lesson time and there’d been kids, parents, instructors everywhere. Now a lone whinny came from the stall next to Serrano’s as Scott and the horse walked by, as if welcoming Serrano back to his spot.
As Scott positioned the horse so it could eat while he brushed, an orange-and-white cat with a fluffy tail appeared on the railing then jumped down into the stall. It boldly wound its way between Scott’s legs.
“Better watch out,” Scott said quietly. “Serrano might decide to use you as a football.”
The gelding watched him with soulful, trusting eyes and he decided then and there he’d be back before he left Texas. He’d never taken part in the therapy offered through work—telling a stranger his thoughts and, God forbid, feelings, had about as much appeal as getting kicked by a horse—but riding…that was the kind of temporary escape he could get behind.
He lost track of time as he stroked the horse and spoke to him in a soft voice now and then. When Mercedes appeared at the stall door several minutes later, he hoped she hadn’t overheard him talking nonsense.
“How’s it going?” she asked, entering the roomy stall.
“Serrano thinks it’s going pretty damn well.”
“You’re good with horses.”
“It’s been a long time. Guess it’s like riding a bike. Where’s Gemma?”
“Maria said she was on a bench in the shade, close to the trees.”
She went to the corner of the stall where the cat had curled up in the straw. Scott hadn’t had the chance to admire the way Mercedes looked in jeans before now and he stole a nice long stare as she bent over to lift the cat. Worn, chambray-colored denim h
ugged her curvy hips and ass in a way that made his body react. When she stood and faced him, the cat was in her arms, blocking his view of the plain purple T-shirt he’d kept an eye on from a distance all morning. The feline rubbed its face against Mercedes’s chin, coaxing a smile from her.
“Serrano and Pumpkin are best friends,” she explained. “Aren’t you, fuzzball?”
She nuzzled the cat as it dug a paw into her long hair. Mercedes had had it pulled back for the ride, but now it hung freely, wild from the wind in spite of her efforts. Scott imagined running his fingers through it like the fat, lucky feline was doing with its paw.
“Has she ever been kicked by a horse?” he asked.
“Once. Pumpkin was young and got behind Serrano. He broke her hip. Required surgery, but she learned her lesson.”
“She hang out with other horses, too?”
“She’ll walk along the tops of the stall walls, but Serrano is the only one she likes to sleep by.”
“You’d think she’d keep her distance from the one that hurt her,” he said, running his hand down Serrano’s neck.
He felt her staring at him curiously. “What?”
“Kind of like people.” Her tone was gentle, almost nonchalant, but he knew she meant him. He wished like hell she hadn’t been there when his father had come by.
The cat leaped from her arms to the railing and walked along it, out of their sight.
“Scott.”
He finished tending to the horse before meeting her gaze. Being called to life-or-death emergencies was one thing, but looking a woman in the eye when she had that tone, that took cojones.
She leaned against the planked-wood wall next to the hook where he’d found the brush, her hips flexed forward and legs crossed at the ankles. “Thank you for sticking up for Gemma the other day. To your dad.”
He took two long steps to the hook next to her. His dad was the last thing he wanted to think about, now or ever. And stick up for Gemma? She wouldn’t thank him if she knew he’d done it out of hatred for his dad instead of support for his roommate.
“I know it meant a lot to her,” Mercedes continued as he hung the brush up. “I don’t think she’s used to having anyone on her side.”
Scott stopped short and opened his mouth to level with her. Thanks was the last thing he deserved. The words got stuck in his throat, though, and his gaze got caught up in that hair of hers. The wild, distracting curls made his fingers itch with the need to touch them. To touch her.
She studied him from behind long, beautiful lashes like he’d never seen. He was close enough he could see caramel-colored specks in her brown eyes. His gaze lowered to the subtle candy-pink sparkle on her lips and he wondered if the taste of her would match the shade.
It took one step to bring him close enough. He braced his forearm along the wall next to her head and leaned in, telling himself he only wanted to rattle her, get her mind off the subject of his father and Gemma.
The first contact was a gentle brush of his lips on hers, as if he was still arguing with himself whether the move was wise. The sample of her soft warmth coaxed a shaky breath from him and he leaned in for more. She tasted of sugared berries as she raised her hand to his nape and forced him closer. The stable and the animals around them faded to nothing as she consumed his entire awareness.
He cradled her jaw, tipping her head to deepen the kiss. As he pressed her body against the wall with his, he dropped his hand to the curve of her waist, relishing her softness. Heat pulsed through every inch of him and centered in his groin.
“Mercedes?”
They whipped apart at the sound of Gemma’s voice in the distance. Lucky thing they didn’t spook the horse. Their eyes met and lust arced between them. Patches of pink colored Mercedes’s cheeks. It didn’t take much to imagine the rest of her naked, blushing like that, in his bed. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
He saw the instant reality hit Mercedes. Otherwise known as regret. Her eyes widened and she looked away. Took a step toward the stall door, flustered.
“There you are,” she said as Gemma’s blond head appeared over the railing.
Gemma looked from Mercedes to Scott. “What are you guys doing?”
“Leaving.” Mercedes exited the stall, hooked her arm through Gemma’s a little overzealously and steered her toward the barn door.
Real smooth, Scott thought, shaking his head and covering the sting of that rejection with a forced grin at Serrano. He stood next to the horse, hand on his neck, taking in that calming smell of dung and allowing his heart rate to slow.
Kissing Mercedes, though it’d been a little slice of heaven, was a mistake. He’d do well to keep her reaction in mind and not let that happen again.
* * *
THE RIDE BACK to the island was the longest drive of Mercedes’s life.
Thinking to put as much space as possible between Scott and herself, she’d climbed into the backseat of his car, letting Gemma sit next to him. That’d been a wrong decision. She’d had almost two full hours of being able to watch his every move. The flex of his biceps whenever he shifted gears. The grip of his fingers at the top of the steering wheel. The determined set of his jaw whenever he turned his head right to scan traffic.
He got to her. Just by breathing.
Dammit.
It was only a physical attraction. It couldn’t be more than that because, well, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Caring. The guy was a jumble of issues, and while Mercedes could fully admit she was easily sucked in to helping people solve their problems, that was not cause for romantic feelings. Especially when said problems weren’t ones she could conquer.
An excruciating eternity later, he drove into the parking lot of his apartment. Sitting there waiting for Gemma to open her door and get out so that Mercedes could escape built up enough nervous energy to power a small battleship. When the seat finally popped forward, she wedged herself out in record time.
She slid into the driver’s seat of her Honda, slamming the door shut in spite of the ovenlike heat. She started the engine, set the air conditioner on High and leaned her head against the rest.
Peace at last. Or as close to peace as she was going to get.
The passenger side opened and Gemma sat, leaving her door ajar.
“What’s wrong with you, Mercedes?” she asked.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Food? Egg City?” Gemma stared at her, a questioning look on her face. “What happened?”
Ah, crap. She’d completely forgotten her promise. “Pancakes,” she acknowledged. “Sorry about that.”
She glanced toward the apartment stairs, hoping to see Scott’s backside moving farther away from her. He was nowhere in her limited line of sight. Instead of a more thorough search, she threw the car into Reverse and made a panicked exit before he could appear at her window. The front wheels squealed on the pavement as she pulled out of the lot.
Gemma continued to stare hard at her, but she kept her eyes forward, acting as if driving required every bit of her concentration.
“Hey, you made me talk about personal stuff,” Gemma said. “Your turn.”
Mercedes drove on autopilot, trying to find words. “I… Scott…”
“He made a move on you.”
She dared a look at Gemma, whose mouth twitched upward at the corners as if she fought a grin. Mercedes nodded once, biting her lip. “He kissed me.” She let out a heavy breath. “How did you know?”
“Hello, obvious. Your guilty look, the way you wiped your mouth really quick, your hurry to get out of there… .”
Mercedes could hear the grin on Gemma’s face, and Gemma wasn’t prone to smiling all that often.
“I thought he had a thing for you.”
Mercedes let out a frustrated groan.
“Oops,” Gemma said. “Not the time for that?”
“It’s never the time,” Mercedes muttered as she parallel parked in front of the restaurant.
“What’s so bad about
Scott kissing you?”
Mercedes put the car in Park and closed her eyes. Where did she begin?
“He’s not…ugly,” Gemma said.
No, not ugly. Quite the opposite. She sighed. “Killer dimples.”
“I’m missing something.”
Mercedes clenched and opened her fist repeatedly. If her best friends couldn’t really understand her reasoning, then Gemma wouldn’t, either. Mercedes knew most people didn’t get her devotion to her grandma, even if they claimed they did. They couldn’t fathom why she’d rearranged her whole life to make Gram’s easier and to keep her out of a care home. The loyalty she felt was difficult to put into words.
“It’s just…why get involved when he’s leaving?” she said. A perfectly valid reason in and of itself, even if it wasn’t the real one.
“Maybe he would stay if he had a hottie like you,” Gemma said.
“You watch too much TV. Let’s go eat.” Mercedes hopped out of the car, nausea rolling through her gut. She frankly had no desire for food but would go through the motions so Gemma wouldn’t feel alone during the meal.
At two-thirty in the afternoon, the restaurant was nearly deserted, so they were seated immediately. They filled their plates—Gemma with a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes and a pile of bacon, Mercedes with a small serving of fruit and a sesame bagel—and returned to their table.
“Maybe you don’t want to talk about Scott, but I feel a little guilty about him,” the teenager said as she poured syrup on her tower of pancakes.
“What? What do you have to feel guilty about?”
“I think our dad’s visit the other day kind of messed him up.”
“I think he was already messed up.” Mercedes jabbed a piece of melon with her fork.
“Well, yeah,” Gemma said as she finished a bite. “But it pushed him further.”
“What makes you say that? Did he say something to you?”
“Are you kidding me? The most complex thing we’ve discussed is Pop-Tarts.”
“What’s his opinion of them?” Mercedes asked before she could stop herself. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Gemma stuffed more food in her mouth and laughed.
“Maybe it’s good for Scott that your dad showed up. Might force him to deal with things one way or another instead of ignoring it all.”
