“I don’t care what you are or what you like. My job is keeping Erin safe. Deal with it.” She shook off his hand and walked away again. This time he let her go, because he knew she would be back tomorrow. With Erin.
And by then, he would have his plans in place.
CHAPTER FIVE
SITTING ALONE at lunch on Tuesday, Andrew kept his eyes on his sandwich—except when the cafeteria door opened and some girls walked through. He wasn’t looking for anyone special, of course. Just looking.
Halfway into the break, Cathy Parr arrived, surrounded by the same crowd she’d been with every day last week. Carbon-copy blondes, all of them…except for one redhead. A redhead with ice blue eyes.
As she had every day last week, Erin Archer walked by him with a sniff and a lift of her chin. Andrew replied with a shrug, though it took a real effort not to turn and watch her walk down the room to the food line. She’d been cute with black hair, but that red tone gave her an edge he kinda liked. Now that he’d seen her ride, he wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Even if she was a pain in the butt about Imperator.
The girls took their trays to a table within his range of sight and sat down to eat. Erin made sure she had her back to him, which suited Andrew just fine. Who wanted her around, anyway?
“So.” Three guys from the jock crowd sat down, one beside him on the bench and two across the table. “You’re new, huh?” The one at his shoulder did the talking, while the other two stuck out their beefy hands and nabbed his potato chips.
“Yeah.” This encounter would not improve his headache.
“What’s your sport? Football? Basketball? Soccer?”
Andrew sighed silently. Been here, done this, didn’t want a T-shirt. “Horses.”
The guys across the table laughed. “Horses? What does that mean?”
“I ride horses.”
“You mean, like the girls do? In those fancy pants and shiny boots? With your butt stuck up in the air?”
Andrew didn’t deign to answer, and got an elbow in the ribs for his effort.
“Answer me, boy. That’s the kind of horse riding you do?”
He shrugged. “At least my fancy pants aren’t all shimmery, like your football duds. And I go up against a thousand pounds of sheer animal adrenaline without wearing a bunch of sissy padding. When I fall, I hit the ground, not some other guy’s equipment.”
Suddenly he was on his feet, courtesy of the fist wrapped in his shirt by the short-tempered guy he’d been sitting next to. “Listen here, you wussy little—” Andrew took a deep breath, centered himself, then sliced down with the side of his hand. Giving a sharp cry, the bully stumbled backward holding his arm against his chest.
“I forgot to mention, I’m also into judo.” Andrew gathered his trash. “Comes in handy now and then.” Again he pitched the bag toward the trash can. This time, thank God, he made his three-point shot. He walked away looking like a winner.
And he didn’t miss Erin Archer’s stare following him as he left the room.
The day went downhill from lunch, though, mostly because the football thug turned him in for that chop. Andrew refused to go into details with the assistant principal, who assigned him detention for the rest of the week. That required a call home to tell Terry to pick him up an hour later than normal, which would earn him one lecture when he got into the car, and another when he reached home. Too bad he couldn’t give one of his dads to somebody else.
When he walked into the barn that afternoon, the great Lewellyn was standing in the doorway to the office. “How was your day?”
He didn’t really want to know, so Andrew shrugged and reached for a pitchfork.
“That’s not much of an answer. How do you feel?”
If he shrugged again, he’d get yelled at. “Okay.”
“You were in a fight at school?”
“A guy was bugging me about the horses. I had to make a point.”
There was a moment of silence. When he glanced at his dad, he was surprised to see a slight smile on his mouth. “Enough said. Erin Archer will be here for a lesson in about ten minutes. Tack up Imperator.”
Andrew felt his brain explode. He threw the pitchfork against the wall of the stall and stamped down the aisle toward the office. “You’re letting her ride Imp? You’ve never seen her on a horse and you’re letting her ride him, when you won’t let me? That so totally sucks, I can’t believe it. You’re doing it just to punish me, right, because I took him out Saturday—”
“I thought,” his dad said, in that voice which could slice through walls, “I would give the two of you a lesson together. She’s bringing her own horse, and you could’ve ridden the stallion.”
With his own shrug, his dad turned back into the office and shut the door. Andrew stood still for a second, paralyzed by the major mistake he’d just made.
Then he picked up a tower of plastic feed buckets waiting to be washed, balanced the stack in one hand over his shoulder and pitched it as hard as he could down the brick-floored aisle of the barn. As far as he was concerned, the clatter of those buckets said all there was to say.
JACQUIE STAYED in the truck after Erin got out to unload and tack up Mirage. She’d brought a book with her and parked the truck in such a way that she had no view of the riding ring. Her investment in the lesson would be nothing more than the time it took, since Rhys had said he owed Erin for catching Imperator.
When she glanced at the rearview mirror though, she caught a glimpse of Andrew astride Imperator. In the bright afternoon sun, the stallion’s black coat shone with the gloss of polished lacquer. And the boyman on his back might have been a young Rhys Lewellyn, filled with the joy of his communion with the magnificent animal.
She was still blinking tears out of her eyes when she saw Rhys himself stride out of the stable. He said something to Andrew, then looked in the direction of her trailer, where Erin was brushing Mirage in preparation for the lesson.
Even through the mirror, Jacquie identified the instant when Rhys focused on her daughter. His daughter. The sudden widening of his eyes, the softening of his lips, revealed a vulnerability she would have preferred not to know about. He said he cared, even without knowing Erin at all. Seeing his face in this moment, she believed him.
But she could not—would not—consider Rhys’s needs or desires in this situation. Only Erin mattered.
Jacquie opened the truck door and hopped to the ground, intending to insert herself between Erin and any revelation Rhys might think about making. She approached from one side as he drew near in the opposite direction. Between them, their child remained unaware of her role as territory under dispute.
“Hi, Mr. Lewellyn.” Erin grinned at him over the horse’s back. “We’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
Rhys’s gaze moved beyond her to connect with Jacquie’s. Her defiance must have been written on her face, because his expression hardened immediately. He looked at Erin again.
“The lesson begins at four o’clock. You’re late.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I don’t wait on students.” The clipped words were an echo of their first meeting, fourteen years ago. Rhys always made sure his students understood his power over them at the very beginning. “In the future, you’ll be ready to ride when I arrive. Do your grooming on your own time, not mine.” Turning on his heel, he walked toward the riding ring.
With a friendly slap on Mirage’s rump as she went by, Jacquie headed after Rhys. She caught up at the side of the ring as he turned toward her. “Good afternoon, Jacquie.”
Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “You didn’t have to be so rough on her. She’s just a kid.”
“She’s a kid who wants to ride and win, presumably, in an adult world. Therefore, she has to accept adult responsibilities.”
“She’s not in control. She can’t even drive, for pity’s sake. The traffic held us up.”
“Then you’ll have to leave earlier, won’t you?” He had the grace to lo
ok away from her face after that unfeeling response. “I gave you the same lecture, remember? You survived.”
“That’s different. I was older.”
“Not much. You were eighteen.”
“I—” She pressed her fingertips against her eyes for a second. “This is not New York, where everybody is so uptight and stressed. We’re more easygoing down here. There’s flexibility.”
“Not at my barn, there isn’t.” Beyond them, Erin had saddled her horse and was putting on the bridle. Rhys lifted an eyebrow. “That color can’t be real. Why the hell did you let her dye her hair?”
“I didn’t let her. She surprised me, after your son got on her nerves. Can you believe it?”
He rolled his eyes. “You should make her change it back.”
The thought had crossed Jacquie’s mind, but now she was certain she wouldn’t. “What Erin does with her hair and what I do about it is none of your business.”
“All that aside, she’s not going to win by being laid-back about the job.”
“Riding is not a job, especially not for a ninth-grader.”
“Then why is she here? What’s the point?” He gave an openhanded shrug. “Either she wants to win big, which means taking lessons from me, or she wants to play around and do something else with her life. It’s a choice she needs to make now, Jacquie. You know that, because you faced the same options. She gives her life to the horses, or she’s just wasting my time.”
“I’m ready.” Erin joined them, leading her horse, and looked him in the eye. “I won’t be late again, Mr. Lewellyn. Because I have made my choice. I want to win. Like you did.”
Jacquie’s heart contracted in her chest. Here she was trying to defend her daughter, and Erin not only bowed to the conquest but placed herself firmly on the side of the enemy.
As a reward, Rhys gave her one of his rare smiles. “Okay, then. Let’s get started. Andrew, bring Imp into the ring.”
Left with the choice of scuttling back to her truck like a beached crab or observing the lesson, Jacquie straightened her back and prepared to maintain her composure for the rest of the hour. She could be indifferent, even with Rhys Lewellyn nearby. No problem.
The riding ring at Fairfield Farm was a large rectangle of well-packed red clay surrounded by a low white fence, with the standard dressage letters marking particular points around the perimeter. Erin guided Mirage through the opening marked A in the center of the narrow end, then along the side at a nice walk. Andrew followed, with Imperator sidling underneath him, not totally convinced of the need to go inside the ring.
Beside her, Rhys tensed as he watched his son and his horse. Jacquie knew he wanted to say something, and approved his effort at restraint. Then again, he’d always been a teacher with insight and instinct.
“How old is Mirage?” he said, instead, catching her off guard.
“Um…seven. He’s a seven-year-old gelding, Warmblood sire and Thoroughbred dam.”
He had his eyes fixed on Erin across the ring, ignoring the big horse nearby. “Good carriage, good build. She sits him well.”
Jacquie couldn’t quell a burst of pride. “She’s been riding alone since she was three years old.”
Rhys smiled tightly. “As did Andrew. It’s interesting that we should think so much alike when it comes to training…our…children.”
She bristled at the emphasis on our, but Rhys walked away, down the long side of the ring, before she could protest. “Pick up the trot, Erin. I want to see strong, forward movement. Andrew, if you can’t get the horse under control, get off.”
The gibe was unfair, Jacquie thought. Imperator had shaken out most of his high spirits, and Andrew was making progress in settling him down.
“Has he been worked regularly since the season ended?” she asked, following Rhys. “He seems to have the idea that he doesn’t really have to do this if he doesn’t want to.”
Rhys hesitated. “Not regularly, no.”
That would explain the fidgets. “Have you decided to retire him to stud?”
“He’s a great horse in his prime. Why would I do that?”
“Then why aren’t you riding him?”
Instead of answering her, Rhys addressed his students. “More inside leg, Erin. Sit back more in the trot, Andrew. You’re letting him pull you forward.”
Jacquie refused to be ignored. “Why aren’t you riding Imperator? Is he injured?”
Rhys lifted his shoulders impatiently. “Imp is fine. I fell.” Staring at him, she waited for further explanation. “In the Adelaide Horse Trials cross-country.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “I gather you hadn’t heard.”
Now she felt embarrassed by her boycott of anything to do with a rider named Lewellyn. “No, I hadn’t heard. Nothing serious, I hope.” The polite phrase didn’t begin to express the sudden gnash of fear in her chest when she thought about what a fall at a championship course like Adelaide might mean.
“I survived.”
His dry response told her nothing. Or everything, if she remembered how much he hated showing any weakness. “Did you break something?”
Again he moved away from her and didn’t answer the question. “Pick up your canter. I want to see a smooth transition.” Mirage fumbled the change from the trot and ended up with the wrong foot in front. “Wrong lead, Erin. Back to trot, try again. Andrew, that transition had all the finesse of a tractor in the middle of the road. Again.” For the next thirty minutes, his focus on the lesson was so intense that Jacquie couldn’t have gotten another question in if she’d tried.
But she didn’t have to, because Terry O’Neal stepped up beside her. “That girl of yours looks like a winner. Light, strong, determined. As her mother was.”
“All we need is a star-quality horse. Mirage is good, but I don’t think he can take her all the way. He’s not big enough to compete with horses like Imperator.” She paused while Rhys expressed his critique of a move Erin had just completed. “I understand Imperator hasn’t competed recently. Rhys took a fall in Adelaide?”
“He told you?”
“Not willingly. How badly was he hurt?” Why did she have to know?
“Not as bad as we thought to begin with. He was paralyzed for three days, until the swelling around his spine subsided.”
An image of Rhys confined to a hospital bed clouded her vision. Jacquie squeezed her eyes shut. “That must have been terrifying.”
“Turned out to be just bruising and torn muscles. The doctors suggested a six-month layoff.”
“He hasn’t worked since November?”
“Not on the champion, here. He’s schooled some of the other horses on the flat.”
“Is he doing therapy?” She couldn’t seem to let the subject drop. “Some kind of treatment?”
“He’s got a whirlpool bath, and he does the exercises the therapist taught him most nights. But work is the best medicine for a man like him. And for the horse.”
A welcome diversion. “Imperator wasn’t hurt?”
“Skinned his back legs, is all. He jumped right up and covered half the county while the rest of us were looking after Rhys.”
She smiled, not surprised. As Andrew and Rhys put Imperator through his exercises, the horse’s energy was easy to see.
“That’s good, Erin.” Rhys nodded and clapped his hands. “You had him nicely collected there. Andrew, you’re letting the horse get away with being lazy. Use your seat to move him forward but your legs keep him slow. That’s better.” When Imp had completed his collected circuit, Rhys clapped his hands. “Okay, you two, let’s move over to the jumping arena. We’ll do some stadium work.”
Terry gave a grunt of surprise and Jacquie looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. He’s never let the boy jump this horse, is all. There’s a first time for everything, though.”
The jumping ring, with its wooden fences painted in bright colors against white, lay beyond the riding ring. Jacquie followed Terry and arrived in time to hear hi
m ask Rhys, “Are you sure about this?”
Rhys nodded. “Crossbars, to begin with. Okay, Erin, take this line in front of me at a slow canter. Easy does it.”
Mirage, who considered jumping his raison d’être, sailed easily over the three fences, each with two poles crossed low in the center, supported two feet off the ground by standards on the outsides.
“Good,” Rhys said, “though a little fast. Okay, Andrew.”
Imperator’s easy canter brought him quickly to the fences, which he barely seemed to notice. Terry moved into the ring and lifted one board to form a straight line across each of the three jumps, setting the other at a prescribed distance on the ground.
“Again,” Rhys said, and the horses flew through the air once again, their young riders in control. The bar on the jumps got raised to two feet, three inches, then two-six and two-nine. Rhys added several other jumps to the course, including a lattice work fence and an oxer—a jump with two parallel boards making the fence wider.
“Imp twisted a little on the oxer,” Rhys called after Andrew finished. “Did you feel him? Let’s run it again before we raise the height.”
Erin took her turn and Mirage did his usual magic. “That’s it for today,” Rhys called. “Good job.” Grinning, Erin rode Mirage off to the trailer to untack.
Andrew began his circle toward the line of jumps. Imperator came forward at a reasonable canter, but at the base of the first jump he stiffened his front legs and slid to a complete stop. The boy fell onto the big horse’s neck and slipped a little sideways, but managed to hang on.
“What the hell was that?” He looked at his father. “What did I do?”
Eyes narrowed, Rhys shook his head. “I don’t know. Come again.”
Again Andrew circled and approached the jump. Imperator thundered on until the last moment, then screeched to a halt.
“You’re a bit forward on his shoulders. Sit back more.”
The third time, instead of stopping, Imperator cut out to the side, away from the jump. Andrew circled back and, using his heels and his crop, tried to drive the big horse over the bar. Imperator bucked and hopped away, with Andrew clinging like a sandspur to his mane.
The Fake Husband Page 8
