There were other messages, but Rhys was out the door before they started playing. Terry dug up a map with the directions to New Skye Hospital, and they made the fifteen-mile trip in under ten minutes.
Rhys stood in line for an endless stretch of time, awaiting his turn at the emergency room information desk. “My son was brought in,” he stated, keeping his voice under control with his clenched teeth. “Andrew Lewellyn. He fell off a horse.”
The receptionist consulted her clipboard. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.” She turned away, reaching for the phone.
“Wait. Do you have any information? Is he all right?”
“I don’t know, sir. The doctor will be able to tell you.”
Fists on the counter, Rhys growled in frustration. Terry took his arm and drew him out of the way, to a pair of free seats in the corner.
“Sit yourself down,” he counseled. “They’ll be with you as soon as possible. Complaining won’t change things.”
Terry would know. He’d sat in a waiting room often enough through the years, while Rhys got a broken arm set or an ankle x-rayed, a concussion observed. And just two months ago, with a broken spine as a possibility…
“Parents of Andrew Lewellyn?”
“Here.” Rhys got to his feet. A vise had closed down on his chest, his gut.
The doctor, a young woman, looked Terry up and down. “I’m afraid I can only allow parents with the patient.”
“I’m his mother,” the Irishman said gruffly.
She winked and smiled. “That’s okay, then. I’m Dr. Singh,” she said, leading them down the long white hallway. “Andrew’s going to be okay. He lost consciousness for quite a long time, but did come to in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. We’ve been waiting for your signature to do a CT scan.”
Rhys took the clipboard she offered and signed at the X without a second thought. He remembered this routine well.
“His mental functions are normal and his physical exam is fine, so we don’t expect problems. And here he is.” She drew back the curtain on a cubicle, closing it behind them as Rhys and Terry stepped inside.
Andrew lay with his eyes closed, looking small and afraid. Rhys couldn’t speak through his closed throat so he simply waited until the boy finally lifted his lids.
Terry gave a grunt. “Hoping we’d think you were asleep?”
“Guess it didn’t work.” His voice was little more than a whisper.
“Not likely,” the Irishman said with a snort.
Rhys cleared his throat. “I warned you about this.”
Andrew shrugged, then winced. “Yeah, you did.”
Moving closer, Rhys extended a hand to touch his son’s tight fist. “What were you thinking?”
“That I’m not afraid.” After a second’s pause, he added, “Like you.”
Anger and hurt froze solid inside him, preventing Rhys from saying anything else at all. He let his arm fall to his side and backed away from the bed.
“That’s enough of that.” Terry cuffed Andrew lightly on the shoulder. “You’re luckier than you deserve, boyo. We’ll talk about it when you get home. They’re coming for some tests, but we’ll be around. See you later.”
A steel grip on Rhys’s arm dragged him down the hallway, through the doors and into the waiting area, where Terry pushed him into the same chair he’d occupied before, then settled beside him.
“Pay no mind to what the boy said. You know he’s trying to goad you, avoid the tongue-lashing he deserves.”
Rhys nodded slowly. “Sure.”
“He idolizes you, always has. That fall of yours shook him up as much as any of the rest of us.”
“No doubt.”
“He’s wanting you to get back to form for his own sake. Just cut him a break.” The Irishman’s weathered hand rested on his arm for a second. “Cut yourself a break.”
Rhys leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Why not?”
Minutes…or hours…later, he heard his name called again. “Rhys, I got here as soon as I could. How’s Andrew?”
He looked up to see Jacquie directly in front of him, eyes wide and worried, face pale, teeth chattering. He got to his feet and took her hands, noticing how cold they were. Noticing that she didn’t jerk away this time.
“He’s going to be fine. They’re doing tests to be sure, but he’s conscious, alert, smart mouthed as always.” He turned them both around and urged her into the chair he’d just left. “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you were out there, that you took care of him. He’s not supposed to ride Imperator, but that’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Terry got to his feet. “I’ll get some tea,” he said, as Jacquie continued to shake. “And blankets.”
Jacquie shook her head as he headed down the hallway. “It’s reaction, I think, as much as anything. I found the horse…well, Erin found him, and I found her. She had no trouble leading him across the park to your barn. I guess he got all his fidgets out.”
For the first time, Rhys became aware of the girl standing to his left, just behind his range of sight. He called on every ounce of willpower he possessed and turned his head to look at her directly.
Only to find himself gazing at an image from his past, a portrait of himself at fourteen. Or of Andrew, yesterday. The tousled hair might be disguised by red dye, but the pale blue eyes and impatient jawline were a feminine version of his own.
With her mother’s cute, pointed chin.
After a couple of tries, he found his voice. “Hi, Erin.”
Her eyes sparkled like blue diamonds. “Hi, Mr. Lewellyn. It’s so cool to meet you.” Her smile faded for a second. “I mean…I am sorry Andrew got hurt.”
“I know you are. And I owe you my thanks for taking care of the horse. He’s more trouble than he’s worth, sometimes. And he’s worth a good deal.”
“One point three million,” she agreed. “That’s what I read.”
“Right. He’s not vicious, though. He just doesn’t have good impulse control. We’re working on that.”
“I would love to ride him. I watched the video of your cross-country run at the Olympics yesterday afternoon and it was just incredible to see him take those walls like they were little crossbars on the ground. I’m doing four-foot jumps with my Thoroughbred, Mirage, but I’m not sure how high he’ll be able to go. He’s fifteen hands—”
“Erin.” Jacquie stood up and put an arm around her daughter. “Mr. Lewellyn has much more to think about right now than your riding questions. We’ll ask him another time.”
Rhys knew that statement for the lie it was. At dinner last night, Jacquie had been quite clear about her intention to keep Erin as far away from him as possible. No lessons, no contact, no chance for anyone—especially Erin—to notice the resemblance and comment.
But this was his daughter, for God’s sake. Did Jacquie really expect him to ignore that fact?
“I’d like to see you ride,” he said to the girl. “Do you have a free afternoon this week? I’d be glad to give you a lesson.”
Erin’s pixie face glowed. “That’s…that’s awesome. Monday? Would Monday be okay?”
“I think Monday afternoon is open.” He’d cancel everything on his schedule, if not. “I’ll see you about four o’clock?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Excuse me.” The harsh tone bore no resemblance to Jacquie’s usual soft Southern drawl. “Do I have anything at all to say about this arrangement?”
THE SIMILARITY of the two faces that turned to her—wearing identical expressions of surprise—was almost more than Jacquie could bear.
“I am the one who does the driving,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I’m the one with a job that takes me from one end of the county to the other, morning till night, shoeing horses to make ends meet. I’m the one who has to balance the budget, and I’m pretty sure high-priced riding lessons would tip us right into the manure pile.”
Lifting on
e arrogant, questioning eyebrow, Rhys crossed his arms over his chest as he looked Jacquie up and down. “I think I owe Erin at least one free lesson for bringing Imperator back safe.”
“Mom, maybe I could work off some of the payment at Mr. Lewellyn’s barn.” Erin stepped close and put her hands on Jacquie’s arm. “He’ll need somebody to clean stalls and stuff while Andrew gets better. I’d be glad to do some of the work in return for lessons.” She looked at Rhys. “Would that be possible?”
“I don’t see why not.” The glint in his eyes challenged Jacquie to disagree.
She looked at her daughter. “You have stalls to clean at home. Horses to be cared for and exercised. Homework.”
“I can get it all done, I promise. It’s just a couple of days a week.”
“Whoa, there. We’re talking one lesson, here. Not a couple of times every week.”
“But you know how much better I’ll get with that kind of training, Mom. Mirage needs the work, if we’re going to be ready for the Top Flight Horse Trials in April. And Mr. Lewellyn—”
“Mr. Lewellyn,” Jacquie said desperately, “doesn’t have that kind of time.”
“Sure, I do. Two days a week sounds good to me.”
She threw him a dirty look.
“Please, Mom. Please?”
Before she could gather the gumption to devastate her daughter in public, a woman in a white coat joined their group. “Mr. Lewellyn, I’ve got the results of Andrew’s tests. If you’ll come back with me, I can discuss them with you.” After a curt nod at Jacquie and a quick smile for Erin, Rhys followed the doctor across the waiting room.
“That’s it. Let’s go.” Jacquie grabbed Erin’s wrist and headed for the door.”
Erin resisted her pull. “Don’t you want to know how Andrew is?”
“I’ll call tomorrow and ask.”
“We didn’t settle about lessons.”
Jacquie didn’t answer, for fear she’d lose her temper in the middle of the E.R. waiting room. She tugged harder on Erin, forcing her to follow through the automatic doors and into the parking lot, where Erin dug in her heels.
“Mom!”
Breathing hard, Jacquie faced her daughter. “Don’t start with me. I don’t want to talk about Rhys Lewellyn, riding lessons, or anything else. I’m tired, I’m cold, and I want to go home. So just get in the truck.”
Erin pouted all the way home, which gave Jacquie the silence she’d asked for. Once in the house, they went to their separate bedrooms without even a good-night kiss. Jacquie emerged briefly to let Hurry outside for her nightly patrol, but was soon back in her bed, lying tense and angry in the dark.
About two in the morning, she heard footsteps in the hallway. “Mom? Mom, are you awake?”
Jacquie turned over to face the door. “What’s wrong, Erin?”
The door opened. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” She sat up.
Erin came to stand by the bed, just beyond touching distance. “I’m sorry I bugged you about the lessons. I don’t have to—” she drew a deep, shaking breath “—to take lessons with Mr. Lewellyn. I’m doing great with you as my teacher.”
Until that instant, Jacquie hadn’t even considered that Erin might think there was a professional competition between her and Rhys. “Erin, I’m not jealous of you taking lessons with somebody else. There are plenty of riders out there who know more than I do.” She leaned forward enough to catch Erin’s hand. “Come here, baby.”
With a grateful sigh, Erin sank onto the bed and let Jacquie hold her. They sat in a peaceful silence for a few minutes.
“Then what’s wrong?” Erin rubbed her head against Jacquie’s shoulder. “Mr. Lewellyn is one of the very best.”
There couldn’t be a more perfect moment to tell the truth. In the cool darkness, with a winter moon shining through the window, she should give Erin her birthright, plus the chance to know her father and benefit from his presence in her life.
Jacquie took a breath, preparing to speak.
In the next instant, she recalled what else Erin would learn from that moment of truth—that her existence was a “mistake.” Her conception had come at the worst possible time for everyone concerned. The father she had believed in for fourteen years, the man she thought had loved her before he’d ever seen her face, was a fallacy. Her mother had lied to her every day of her life.
How would that knowledge improve Erin’s life in the least?
Smoothing her daughter’s hair, Jacquie wove yet another thread into her fabric of truth and lies. “He is the best,” she assured her daughter. “I know he could teach you some important skills. I was stressed tonight, with Andrew’s fall and the missing horse. I’ll talk to Mr. Lewellyn on Monday and see what we can work out.” For one lesson, and one lesson only.
“Thanks, Mom.” Erin sighed happily and snuggled closer. Gradually they eased into bed and under the covers, with Hurry at their feet. Holding her sleeping girl in her arms, Jacquie knew she’d made the right choice.
And she would make sure Rhys Lewellyn agreed.
ERIN SLIPPED OUT to the barn early Sunday morning, where Mirage greeted her with his breakfast-time whicker. She put his grain in the bucket, then stood beside him, stroking his shoulder, while he ate.
“We’re gonna get lessons,” she told him. “From one of the best. Won’t that be awesome?”
Then she thought about last night, and her mom’s deep sighs. “Mom’s not happy, though. Mr. Lewellyn upsets her. He seems nice to me, but she was as nervous as a cat around him. What do you think?”
Mirage, busy with his grain, didn’t answer. “I know, you think all humans are strange. Maybe you’re right.” She hugged her best friend, resting her cheek against his warm neck. “Sometimes I think I should have been born a horse. They make more sense than people, any day.”
AFTER A NIGHT of observation in the hospital, Andrew had been sent home Sunday afternoon with instructions to stay in bed on Monday. Rhys gave him a pass on his daily chores and left him lying on the sofa with a stack of movies to watch. Homework would have been a better idea, but why start off the day with an argument?
He had finished mucking out the ten stalls on one side of the barn and had started on Imperator’s impressive overnight deposits when he heard the sound of an engine outside, soon cut off. The slam of a truck door was followed by the quick thud of boot heels on the brick floor of the barn aisle. Having little doubt about who his visitor would be, Rhys threw a forkful of manure into the wheelbarrow just outside the stall door, to let Jacquie know exactly where to find him.
She faced him across the almost full barrow. “The great man cleans his own stalls?”
Rhys braced the pitchfork upright in the stall bedding and propped his elbow on the end. “Good morning to you, too. Andrew’s fine, thanks.”
Even in the dimness of the barn, he saw the flush stealing over her cheeks. She glanced toward the outside door, like a caged animal wishing for escape.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a minute, bringing her eyes back to his face. “I’m wrong on all counts. You never ordered anybody to do work you wouldn’t do. I’m glad to hear Andrew’s okay—I should have asked about him first.” She kicked at the tire of the wheelbarrow with one toe. “But, dammit, Rhys, what were you trying to do to me, Saturday night at the hospital?”
Now it was his turn to avoid a direct confrontation. He forked up a pile of droppings to add to the barrow. “I suppose you mean about lessons for Erin.”
“What else? I told you I didn’t want you seeing her any more than was absolutely necessary. You said you understood. Encouraging her to think about taking lessons from you is not my idea of cooperation.”
“She wants to train with me.”
“And I wanted an Olympic medal. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”
“You could’ve had a medal, if you hadn’t run away.”
“Oh, right, that would have been so cute—you and your wife and I, all setting up h
ousekeeping together. Except polygamy is illegal in New York.”
“So you ran off, created this fake husband for yourself, and never bothered to let me know you were pregnant.”
“There was nothing you could do about that. What was the point of telling you?” She stared into the empty stall beside her, hiding her face from him for a second. “Look, Rhys, we don’t have to rehash the past. Just understand that I won’t have Erin hanging around with you. I’ll give her the one lesson, tomorrow, because I have to work this afternoon. We’ll trailer her horse over, she can ride for an hour, and then we’re going home. Period.” Pivoting on her heel, she marched toward the end of the barn.
Rhys eased past the wheelbarrow, into the aisle. “Erin is my daughter. You said so.”
Jacquie stopped in the doorway, where early-morning sunlight struck glints of gold in her braid and silhouetted the slimness of her hips, the straightness of her shoulders. She did not turn back. “What’s your point?”
“I can’t just forget she exists. Believe it or not, I care about her, even though I just met her for the first time Saturday night.”
“No, I don’t believe it.” Her fists clenched at her sides. Still, she didn’t face him. “And even if it were true, it’ll be better for both of you if we call a halt right now, before anybody gets more involved. I’m not asking you for anything, Rhys. Not money or time or even the damn riding lessons. Just get on with your life. And stay out of my daughter’s.”
“The hell I will.” With a few quick strides he came up behind her, put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her around. “What do you think I am?”
Even in anger, the physical connection between them caught fire, as it had all those years ago. Rhys felt the heat in his blood, saw the awareness in Jacquie’s eyes…until fury rose up to drown it.
The Fake Husband Page 7
