“Unless there’s a problem.”
She nodded. “Then he should be good for another three weeks, at least.”
Rhys glanced at Terry and got his nod of approval. “Glad to hear it. Andrew, bring Abner out here. Imperator can go into the paddock for a run.”
The shoeing process went as easily with the other three horses. At the end of an hour, Terry and Andrew resumed the schedule for the day as Jacquie put away her tools and took off her chaps. “If that’s all, I’ll write up a receipt.”
Leaving the door open, she climbed into the seat of her truck. On the passenger side, a black-and-white Australian shepherd sat up, panting with pleasure at having company once again.
“Nice dog,” Rhys commented, hoping he sounded more relaxed than he felt.
“We…her name is Hurry.” She didn’t look at him, or the dog.
He went around the hood of the truck and opened the passenger door to pet Hurry. “I’ve still got Sydney. Her arthritis is pretty bad, so she stays inside when it’s cold.”
The hand holding the pen faltered. “She was just a puppy.”
“Fourteen, now.” And an Australian shepherd, same as this one, which unnerved and pleased him, at the same time. “Would you like to come in and see her?” Jacquie was tempted, of that he had no doubt. And he would use any weapon he could find to reach her. “I bet she’d remember you.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got another job in a few minutes.” She handed him the receipt. “The total is one hundred dollars. My address is on there, if you’d like to mail me a check.”
“No, I’ll pay you now.” Trusting that she wouldn’t disappear while he went into the house wasn’t easy, but at least he had her address on the receipt. He could find her, this time. No private detectives, bringing back only dead ends.
On the driver’s side again, he handed her the cash. “Sure you won’t come in? We’ve got hot coffee and cold cinnamon rolls.”
“Tempting, but no thanks.” The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to grin. She tightened her fists around the steering wheel. Neither hand bore a ring or any sign she usually wore one. “So…are you here for the winter? Moving back to New York with warmer weather?”
He’d take any interest she displayed and be glad for it. “Probably not. The New England winters aren’t worth the summers anymore.” That was part of the truth, at least.
“And your family is down here with you?” Her flat tone suggested that she didn’t really care and asked only out of courtesy.
He tilted his head and gave her a bitter smile with the truth. “If you mean Terry and Andrew, yes. Olivia and I were divorced—finally, officially and forever—twelve years ago.”
“Oh.” Jacquie looked stunned for a second but recovered quickly. “Will…will you be teaching?”
“Definitely. I’ll get advertising in place soon, and I’m planning a schooling day when the weather gets warmer, just to let people know I’m here. Meanwhile, if you’ve got any clients who’d like lessons, send them my way.”
“Sure. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She said it without looking at him.
“Thanks.” Rhys decided to push her a little. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”
“What question?”
“Why didn’t you get in touch when you left?”
“I—” For a moment, she looked cornered. “You know why. He’s mucking out stalls while we’re talking.”
The old anger grabbed him. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
“What was the point? You were going back to your wife. I needed to clear out fast.” Her deep breath shook. “And now I’m going back to my own life. Thanks for the business. William Innes is a good farrier, next time you need somebody.” She cranked the engine, put the truck in gear and drove away—once again—without saying goodbye.
Rhys held up his receipt. “Oh, no, my dear. I’ve got a farrier already, by the name of Ms. Jacqueline Lennon.” He glanced at the paper, then did a double take. The sheet read “Ladysmith Farrier Service, Jacquie Archer, Farrier.”
“Archer? Archer? Just what the hell,” he demanded aloud, staring at the black truck now leaving his property, “does that mean?”
SINCE HIS FALL during a competition in New Zealand last November, one chore Andrew’s dad didn’t do was cleaning stalls. Most mornings, Andrew got that task all to himself, though occasionally Terry helped. Like today.
“So they knew each other before?” he asked the trainer, when he was sure his dad had gone into the house. “She was a student?”
“Yeah.” Terry dumped a forkful of dirty shavings into the bin. “One of the best he’s had. She was Olympic material if I’ve ever seen it.”
“What happened?”
“Not for me to say.” Terry pitched another load and then glared at Andrew. “And I wouldn’t ask, if I were you, boyo, unless you relish getting your nose snapped off and your ears singed.”
The old man cast a glance at the three stalls he’d cleaned to Andrew’s one. “Guess you’ve got work to do.” Hanging up his fork, he stomped out of the barn toward the house.
Andrew gave him—no, both of them—the finger while they weren’t looking, then turned back to finish Imperator’s stall. When didn’t he get yelled at around here? Whatever went wrong came down on him, like crap flowing downhill.
Privileges, now, those he had to steal. Yesterday, Terry and his dad had ridden Abner and Lucretia back to the highway to fetch the truck and trailer, leaving Andrew to keep an eye on the place. He’d kept an eye out, all right—just long enough to be sure they got out of sight. Then he’d saddled Imperator and gone for a ride.
The lady farrier was right—being on the big stallion was the absolute best. One side of Fairfield Farm bordered a horse preserve with miles of trails and acres of open ground for riding. Andrew intended to take Imp there one day soon, but to begin with he’d stayed in the pastures behind the barn, knowing his dad would literally kill him if he let Imp get even slightly injured. The horse was as crazy for freedom as Andrew, and enjoyed every second of their stolen gallop. By the time the truck and trailer pulled in at the gate, Imperator was cool and calm and back in his paddock with no evidence to suggest he’d ever been anywhere else.
Today they wouldn’t get such a break. All Andrew could do today was his job—finish the stalls, empty, clean and refill all the water buckets, and sweep the cobbled hallway of the stable. Finally certain that nobody could yell at him for something he hadn’t done—unlike yesterday, when his dad had blown up over the dirty buckets—he went to sit on the fence of the paddock where Imperator waited.
The stallion came over to investigate Andrew’s down vest and pants and shoes. “No fun today, Imp.” He combed his fingers through the thick mane. “Maybe I can sneak out tonight, after bedtime.”
But the weather had warmed up and the snow was melting—how insane was that, in January? Wet, soft ground with patches of snow and ice would make riding in the dark too dangerous. He put his forehead against the horse’s neck. “Or maybe not.”
All he wanted—in fact, all he’d asked for as a Christmas present—was to ride this horse in practice every day. He put up with his dad’s impossible demands and Terry’s grouchy moods, was willing to take lessons and submit to training like a beginning rider, though he’d been on horseback practically since the day he was born—the birthday he shared with the fantastic horse. Whatever his dad and Terry required, Andrew would agree to, if he could just make Imperator his horse.
A door slammed at the house. Imp startled and hopped away, leaving Andrew no choice but to fall forward, off the fence. He landed on his feet and was straightening up when his dad arrived at the paddock.
The great Olympic rider stopped and stared for a minute, stone-faced. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Were you thinking about riding him again?”
“N-no.” He couldn’t help asking, “Again? What are you talking about?”
Not a question. Shit.
“Don’t bother to lie.” His dad leaned his elbows on the top rail of the fence, his gaze following Imperator as he trotted around the paddock. “I did laundry this morning. You had his hair on the legs of your jeans.”
“I was careful. He didn’t get hurt.”
“Believe it or not, I’m thinking more of your safety than his. He’s too much for you.”
“I had him under control the whole time.”
“That’s what he allowed you to think.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“No, you’re just not experienced with top-level horses.”
Andrew managed to resist stomping his foot. “You’re the one with the experience. You’re the one who got dumped.”
His dad’s mouth tightened into a straight line, and his eyes glinted like cold steel. “Exactly. If I can be unseated, what chance has a novice rider got against a horse like Imperator? Stay off of him. Or I’ll ship you back to your grandfather.” Turning on his heel, he stalked to his office in the barn and let the door bang shut behind him.
Now that was a threat worth listening to. Compared to his grandfather, his dad looked like Captain Kangaroo.
Andrew climbed through the fence and straightened up to give Imperator one last pat over the rail.
“Nothing around here ever changes,” he told the horse. “Same shit, different day.”
ANY HOPE JACQUIE HARBORED that she would be given a respite before dealing with the problem of Rhys Lewellyn died the very night after she’d visited his farm. Her phone rang at eight-thirty and Erin answered, using the polite manners her grandmother had taught her. “May I say who’s calling?”
With a gasp, those manners vanished. “Wow, Mr. Lewellyn, it’s so cool to talk to you. My name’s Erin Archer and I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I can remember. I’ve got all sorts of pictures of you and Imperator at the Olympics. That has to be just the most awesome feeling, taking him over fences.”
Erin stopped for a moment, and Jacquie came to get the phone, but her daughter waved her off. “Yes, sir, I’ve been riding since I was little. I’m almost fourteen and I compete at third-level dressage with my Thoroughbred gelding, Mirage. We’re working on training level in cross country and show jumping so I can ride in the Top Flight Horse Trials this spring.” Another gasp. “I would love to take lessons—I was talking to my mom about that when she said she was going to shoe your horses. That is just so amazing. When can I start?”
Caught between horror and despair, Jacquie turned her back to her daughter. Her pulse pounded in her fingertips, her throat, her ears and head. Hadn’t she already paid for her mistakes? Why had retribution come twice?
“Mom?” Erin tapped her on the shoulder before she was ready. “Mr. Lewellyn wants to talk to you.”
She reached for the phone over her shoulder. “Thanks.” When Erin didn’t leave the room, Jacquie cleared her throat. “Privacy, please?” Once alone in the kitchen, she shut the door and put a chair against it to prevent unexpected reentry. “Hello?”
“Hi, Jacquie.” His voice in her ear was like a sip of sweet harvest wine, spicy and intoxicating.
Jacquie collapsed into a chair at the table. “What can I do for you, Rhys? Is there a problem with one of the shoes?”
“No, not at all. I just wanted to ask…” He paused, then cleared his throat. “I was confused, that’s all. But I guess I’ve already got the answer.”
“To which question?”
After another hesitation, he gave an uneasy laugh. “There’s no way to say this gracefully. I didn’t expect you to be married, that’s all, so I was confused by the name Archer on your receipt. But obviously, since you have such a delightful daughter, there’s a…dad…in the picture, too.”
Oh, how she wished that were true. How easy this would be if she could trot out a husband and trail him under Rhys Lewellyn’s nose.
Jacquie sighed. “I’m a widow.” Even that was a lie. But at least it was a lie everyone she knew, including Erin, believed.
“Ah.” The confidence returned to Rhys’s voice in that one syllable. “I’m sorry you lost your husband.”
“Thanks. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Well, it sounds like we need to set up some lessons for your daughter. She’s enthusiastic, to say the least. Is she as good as she says she is?”
A mother’s pride would not be denied. “Better. Better than I was at her age, too.”
“Definitely a student I’d enjoy. Why don’t you bring her over tomorrow and we’ll do some schooling?”
“I can’t.” No hesitation about that answer. “We have church and dinner with my family afterward.”
“Then when would be a good time?”
“I—I’ll have to call you back. My schedule’s pretty full next week. And school starts Monday.”
“Yes, I reminded Andrew of that depressing fact today. He’ll be going to New Skye High School—with Erin, I presume.”
“That’s right.” And she would not offer to carpool with them.
So, of course, Rhys did. “I would be glad to drive her to school along with Andrew. As soon as I figure out how to get there, of course.”
His rueful tone tempted her to smile, and Jacquie had the sensation of clinging by her fingernails to the edge of a crumbling cliff. “Thanks, but I like to drive her myself. We get a chance to talk.”
“Which can be a blessing, or a curse.” He was silent for a moment. “Then if you can’t come for a lesson and I can’t drive your daughter to school for you, I’ll have to go the direct route. Will you have dinner with me next week? Say, Friday night?”
He might as well have punched her in the stomach—her reaction was pretty much the same. “Why?”
“For old times’ sake?”
“Our old times aren’t something to celebrate, Rhys.”
“Why not?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“You were married, remember? What we were…what we did…was adultery.”
“Olivia and I were separated, Jacquie. More than halfway to a divorce.”
“Until you went back to her. End of story.” She was breathing as if she’d run a five-minute mile. “I have to go, Rhys. Good night.”
“Wait, Jacquie—”
But she hung up on him. She knew too well the power of his voice, its effect on her will and her good intentions. If ever a girl had been talked into a man’s bed, it was young Jacquie Lennon.
Erin banged the door against the chair. “Mom? What’s going on? What in the world are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Jacquie moved the chair and opened the door herself.
“Did you talk about lessons? When do I start?”
“We didn’t set a time, Erin.”
“Mom! Why not?”
“Because there’s more to my life than your whims and fantasies,” Jacquie snapped, unfairly, she knew. “Like earning a living to keep a roof over our heads and food in the horses’ mouths. Riding lessons with overpriced, big-ego trainers are just not at the top of my list right now, okay? I’m going to bed. Good night.”
She aimed a kiss at Erin’s head and did an about-face, heading for her bedroom. Behind a closed door, she drove her fists into her pillow until her hands were too heavy to lift, her arms too weak to try. But she’d killed the fear. For now, anyway.
THE EXTENT TO WHICH Rhys’s arrival would disrupt her life became obvious when Jacquie arrived at her parents’ house for lunch on Sunday.
“Hey, sweetie.” While putting the lid back on a steaming pot of green beans, her mother tilted her cheek up for a kiss. “Where’s Erin?”
“She saw Daddy outside and went to talk to him.”
“She’s Grandpa’s girl. How was your week?”
“Same as usual.” And if that wasn’t a lie, what would be? “How about you? You got your hair cut? I really like it.”
“It is ni
ce, isn’t it?” Becky Lennon gave a self-conscious pat to her short blond hair, then smoothed her hands over her plump hips. “I bought this dress, too. I had to get out of the house for a little while. Your daddy was underfoot most of the time.”
“I bet you put him to work.”
“What choice did I have? I can’t have him bothering me all day long.” She bent to the oven and pulled out two trays of golden biscuits. “He put up those shelves I’ve been needing in the sewing room and then installed a new shower door in you girls’ bathroom.” Neither Jacquie nor her sister Alicia had lived at home for ten years, but that was still their bathroom. “Jimmy came over on Friday and the two of them moved the furniture out of the living and dining rooms, gave the carpet a good shampooing.”
“Which is a nice way of saying you let him come over to give his wife the day off.” As farmers, neither her brother nor her dad knew what to do with themselves when confined to the house by ice and snow.
Her mother winked. “Sandy did the same for me yesterday—had your dad come over and help Jimmy put together the furniture for the nursery. We look out for each other.”
“She’s due next month, right?”
“February tenth is her due date, but the doctor says he thinks she’ll go early, from the size of the baby. Though in my experience, most first babies are late. Except Erin was early, wasn’t she?”
“Ten days.”
Becky nodded as she poured creamed corn into a serving bowl. “That’s why I didn’t get to be with you for the delivery.”
Jacquie winced at the unspoken reproof. Erin had been born in Oklahoma, far from family, with only her mother and a midwife to welcome her into the world.
In the front of the house, a door slammed. “That’ll be them, coming in from church. Alicia said she’d ride with Jimmy and Sandy. I’d better get this meal on the table.”
The Fake Husband Page 3
