Andrew stared at him with his mouth open for a few seconds. “When?” he demanded. “What do I have to do to prove I can take this horse anywhere he wants to go?”
Rhys rubbed his hand over his face. “More experience. More horses. More time.”
“Right.” Andrew slid down from the horse’s back and stepped close. There was only a head’s difference in their heights, now. “Or am I just supposed to wait until you get your nerve back? Is that it? You don’t want me showing you up, so you’re not going to give me the chance to ride him at all. Afraid you’ll be replaced, Dad?”
“Watch your tongue.” Terry put a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Treat your dad with the respect he deserves.”
“Respect?” Andrew snorted. “He didn’t want me to begin with, got rid of me—and his wife—as soon as he could, then ignored me for years until she gave him no choice but to take me back. And now he’s covering his own ass by making sure I don’t get the chance to succeed. What’s to respect?”
Rhys stood without moving as Andrew turned on his heel and led Imperator back to the stable. Terry shook his head. “Forget that temper tantrum. You’re right, and we both know it. The boy isn’t ready to take those jumps, no matter what he thinks. He’ll get over this.”
“Maybe.” He hunched his shoulders, tried to work some of the stiffness out of his neck. “Or maybe he’s right. Maybe I just don’t want to admit I’m finished.”
“You’re not finished.” Terry grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, hard. “You’ve got years of competition ahead of you, dozens of medals yet to win.”
“But, Terry…” Rhys found that he could actually smile. “First, I have to be able to ride the bloody horse.”
THE PAINTING DAY HAD BEEN rescheduled for Saturday, the fourteenth—Valentine’s Day. Though Andrew started the morning out with a sullen attitude, Rhys was interested to see that Erin eventually badgered him into a better mood. By noon the two kids were flipping paint at each other and trading good-natured insults.
Jacquie, too, took time to warm up. She began working on a pole all by herself, concentrating on getting a smooth line between red and white bars. Then Erin brought her green brush over to paint the center line, teasing her mother about adding a few green dots to the pristine white. Before too long, Jacquie had joined all of them and was trading jokes with the kids, as well as occasional shy smiles with Rhys, himself.
He made every effort to avoid scaring her off. No suggestive comments, no pointed looks, no casual brush of skin against skin. Jacquie needed to feel safe with him, needed to know that he would guard their daughter as carefully as she would, herself. They got through the day, he thought, without a single mistake.
And his reward was Jacquie’s offer to help with dinner while Erin, Andrew and Terry finished up in the barn.
“What are we cooking?” she asked as they came through the back door into the long, stone-floored hallway of the house.
He motioned her to go ahead of him into the gathering room. “No cooking involved. Terry’s been tending a pot of Irish stew since morning. We’ll put some bread in to warm, toss dressing on the salad, and that’s the job.” At the drinks tray, he poured them both a glass of ice, tonic and lime.
“You three seem remarkably self-sufficient. I thought bachelors ate frozen dinners or ordered pizza.” She took the drink he offered and sat down on the end of the couch.
“Terry hates pizza. And he’s always been a good cook. I think he might have worked in restaurants before he came to horses.”
“You think?”
“He’s the proverbial gruff Irishman—doesn’t talk about himself except under duress.” Rhys dropped down into the armchair across from the fireplace. He didn’t want her to feel crowded or rushed.
“As opposed to the proverbial blarney-talkers who won’t stop?”
He raised his glass to toast her insight. “Exactly.”
Seconds stretched into minutes of comfortable silence. “I love this room,” Jacquie said softly. “It’s grand, yet easy to relax in.”
“I wish I could take credit, but we leased the place furnished, down to the bed linens.” He looked around and nodded. “You’re right, though. This is the perfect place—and the perfect company—in which to end the day.” Late-afternoon sun poured through the diamond-paned windows onto warm brown leather sofas and rich wood paneling, while firelight flickered over brass lamps and crystal decanters, bringing life to the golds and reds of the oriental carpet underfoot.
The woman on the couch fit the setting, in her sweater of deep green, with her hair a rosy gold and her skin pale pearl touched with a flush of pink from their day outside. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her and, after a few minutes, she realized it. Her flush deepened and her eyes widened. But for once she didn’t look away. Rhys allowed the idea of touching her, kissing her, into his mind, and saw his desire reflected in her face.
“You aren’t pouncing,” she told him in a breathless voice.
His private battle of will had paid off. He smiled slightly. “Are you disappointed?”
Jacquie held his eyes for another moment, then looked away and got to her feet. “We should get dinner ready.”
She was grateful to find that the kitchen, though pleasant, wasn’t nearly as conducive to intimacy as the gathering room. That moment by the fire had been way too tantalizing.
Yet she couldn’t recover the sense of ease she’d felt most of the day in Rhys’s company. As they moved around the big kitchen, there seemed to be so many occasions when they brushed shoulders, their hands touched, or his fingers rested at her waist as he reached for a shelf over her head. A kiss by the fire might have defused the tension. Instead she found herself more and more…well, excited was the only word. A very dangerous word.
Terry and the kids trooped in as she set the last plate on the table.
“I’m starved,” Erin announced. “And it smells fantastic in here.”
Rhys brought a steaming bowl of stew from the stove. “Let’s eat.” They all sat down and Rhys folded in his hands in front of his plate. “We usually say grace, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Jacquie clasped Erin’s hand, and Andrew’s on her left. Terry and Rhys joined the circle and they all bowed their heads.
“Like the goodness of the five loaves and two fishes, which God divided among the five thousand men, may the blessing of the King who so divided be upon our share of this common meal.” Rhys concluded with a soft, “Amen.”
“That’s the same prayer we use at home.” Erin spoke up as soon as they’d lifted their heads. “Did you learn that blessing when you were in New York, Mom? What was it like, training so far from home? Did you stay in an apartment by yourself? Was there a…what’s it called?…a dormitory for the students?”
Her thoughts jumbled, her brain stumbling, Jacquie handed the stew to Andrew and saw that he was interested in the questions Erin had asked. “Um…”
“We usually take on three or four students at a time,” Rhys said smoothly. “There are two apartments over the barn and another in the basement level of the main house. Terry’s house is separate and has an extra room for a male student or two, if the other three are full.”
Only one of the barn apartments had been occupied that summer. Jacquie tried to block the memory. “Training at Lewellyn Stables was pretty much like a regular day at our farm—feed the horses, turn them out, muck the stalls, clean the barn, groom, tack, ride, unsaddle, groom, tack, ride a different horse. Rhys gave a lesson once a day and either he or Terry supervised the other workouts so all the horses got the proper training. At night you fed, watered, cleaned up, ate dinner and collapsed into bed. We were up every day at six and worked until sundown. Weekends, too, sometimes.” She shook her head. “Just remembering makes me tired.”
And after dark, there were all the lovely hours in that small, utilitarian apartment, to talk with Rhys, to dream, to make love…
Andrew leaned forward. “Mrs. Archer, how
did you decide to train at Lewellyn Stables in the first place? It’s a long way from here to New York.”
That was an easier answer. “Your dad had earned a silver and a bronze at the eighty-eight Olympics, so his name was all over the eventing magazines that year. I read an article featuring Lewellyn which mentioned that they took students to train, and my goal became to graduate high school and then move to New York to train with Rhys Lewellyn. When other kids were applying to colleges, I wrote a letter with a review of my wins—”
“Which were quite impressive.” Rhys helped himself to more stew. “She’d ridden some excellent horses for people I knew in Virginia and Maryland, and scored impressively. Terry agreed just from the letter that she was certainly worth our time.”
Andrew turned his gaze to Jacquie again. “But you didn’t stay very long after all, did you? What happened?”
After a moment of frozen silence, Rhys chuckled. “You may have noticed that Mrs. Archer and I don’t exactly agree on everything. I was pretty full of myself back then—”
“He’s been cured, of course,” Terry commented.
“And she was a very argumentative student. We fought one too many times over some minor lesson detail and I suggested she leave.”
“Actually,” Jacquie said, “we argued and I told him I wouldn’t stay to train with him for a blanket chest full of Olympic medals.”
“What are the Olympics like, Mr. Lewellyn?” Erin had barely touched her dinner—she was leaning on the table, her eyes bright with excitement. “The horse you took the first time was Conundrum, right? Did you know, going with Imperator, that you had a better chance to win? You looked so cool, on the podium with your gold medal. How could you be calm? I’m going to be dancing on air, I think.”
Andrew snorted. “‘Going to be’?”
Rhys grinned. “That’s the attitude you need to win.” He tried answering Erin’s questions, and all the ones that followed, with far more patience than Jacquie would have expected—or would have demonstrated herself. His eyes were soft, his smile easy as he talked to their daughter, explaining the life he lived.
And Erin soaked up every word. If she allowed it, Jacquie realized, these two kindred spirits would bond deeply and irrevocably. Was she ready for that?
She got to her feet, ignoring startled looks from Rhys and Erin. “I think it’s time to clean up. We’ve got horses to feed at home.”
In the process of putting away leftovers, Erin discovered carrots in the refrigerator. “Can I take them out to the horses before we leave?”
“You can’t feed Imperator by hand,” Andrew said. “Stallions bite too easily.”
Erin gave him a superior look. “Duh. Like I don’t know that already?”
“Yeah, well, how am I supposed to know you know what you’re doing? Do you have stallions to take care of?”
“As a matter of fact, we do. Sterling has won his share of ribbons, too. He’s Mirage’s sire.”
They continued to bicker as they went down the hall toward the outside door. Terry shook his head, bid Jacquie a short good-night, and stomped up the stairway to the second floor.
With the kitchen neat again, Jacquie drifted into the gathering room and stood by the sofa, looking everywhere but at the man by the fireplace.
“It’s been a lovely day,” she told the collection of stirrup cups on the mantel. “Thank you so much for dinner.”
“I appreciate your help. And Erin’s. Barring rain, I plan to get more painting done next weekend. Can she join us?” They stood in the hallway now, forced by the walls to stand close together. The only light came from the gentle lamps in the gathering room.
“I—I’ll check my calendar and let you know.” Jacquie couldn’t take a breath without drawing in his scent…warm, spicy, stirring. She was as captivated by this man as her daughter. “We’re meeting Monday, right? With Imperator?”
“Right.” Rhys closed the distance between them with a single step. The shadows of the hallway wrapped them in privacy. “Jacquie, when we were alone together earlier, you thought I was going to kiss you.”
“I…why would I think that?”
“Because I was thinking that.” He put his hands lightly on her shoulders. A shiver ran down her spine.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” He slid his hands down her arms, over her elbows and to her wrists. She felt the calluses on his palms, the strength in his fingers. “I’m going to now.”
“Rhys…” This shouldn’t happen. But she couldn’t stop it.
“Don’t mind too much.” Drawing her hands up, he placed them behind his neck. Her body curved against him.
“No.” Then, as he bent his head, she pulled back slightly. “Are you sure about Galen?”
“I pulled her pigtails when we were kids. We competed against each other in shows—she fell a month before the Olympics and lamed her horse, otherwise she would have been there instead of me. Don’t,” Rhys said, grazing his lips across her cheek as he sought her mouth, “worry about Galen.”
Soft, smooth, sweet. Clean. When had he last kissed a woman who didn’t wear lipstick, didn’t taste of the stuff? Jacquie tasted fresh, like wind and sunshine. He ran his hands down her back, brought her closer, and she bent to him like a blade of spring grass. From the curve of her lips, he realized she was smiling.
The pleasure, the joy of it, made him crazy. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet. She held on to his shoulders, her fingers curled in his shirt, and gave back every measure of passion—with kisses, with sighs, with the tremors he could feel running through her body.
“I’ve needed you so much.” He could hardly breathe to speak. “Where the hell have you been?”
As if commanded by his voice, the door at the end of the hallway opened with a rattle of glass. Shocked, shaken, Rhys stepped in front of Jacquie to confront the intruder—his son.
After a long pause, Andrew said, “Erin’s waiting in their truck.”
“Her mother was just coming. Did you lock up the barn?”
“I figured you would want to, as usual.”
“Why don’t you do it tonight? Just make sure all the stall latches are on and turn out all the lights.”
Andrew stood motionless for a minute of silent struggle. “Sure.”
When he’d left, Rhys turned to Jacquie. “Are you okay?”
She slapped her thigh with her hand. “Oh, of course. I was just caught necking with you by your fourteen-year-old son.” Her voice broke. “But I should have known better—you are nothing but disaster for me, whenever I get involved.” She stepped around him to walk toward the door.
Rhys caught up and put a hand on her shoulder to turn her to face him. “This is not a disaster.”
“Yes, it is. He’s already asking dangerous questions. He told Erin I was riding Imperator before I told her myself, so I think it’s a good bet he’ll keep her informed of whatever he thinks she doesn’t know. All he has to do is look at his birthday, and hers, and maybe ask when I left New York. He’s a bright kid and he’ll figure it out. Then he’ll tell Erin.”
Rhys couldn’t disagree. “I could tell him the truth—”
Jacquie held up a hand. “No. No one else knows until Erin does.”
The possibility that she was considering giving Erin the truth held him speechless for a moment. “Okay, then. Can you at least agree to let me give Erin lessons between now and the schooling day? She deserves them, don’t you think?”
Her shoulders lifted in a sigh. “I—I…okay.”
“Thanks.” He wouldn’t push for more. Tonight. “I’ll walk you outside.”
“Please, don’t. Just let me leave.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “Whatever you want.”
She stared up at him through the darkness. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
Which was, Rhys reflected as he watched her cross the stable yard to her truck, an improvement over her initial response to his arriva
l—“stay away from us” had become “I don’t know” in a matter of weeks.
As he was pouring a drink to celebrate that achievement, Andrew returned to the house. He paused in the doorway of the gathering room. “’Night,” he said, and turned back into the dark hallway.
“Andrew? Can I talk to you a minute?”
The boy paused, then came a short distance into the room. “I suppose you want to explain—justify—why I caught you making out with her.”
“Justify, no. The why is none of your business. Where is, though, and I apologize for not choosing a more private place.”
Andrew hunched his shoulders. “It’s no big deal. Kids do it all the time at school.”
“Does the principal know about that?”
“Probably. You two were…together…in New York when she was there, weren’t you?”
Jacquie would expect him to evade, or lie. Rhys didn’t want to do either. Nor did he want to hurt her. “I was married to your mother.”
“Yeah, but she told me she left for a while before I was born, and the guy she was with didn’t want kids so she came back.”
“She told you that?” The bitch.
“It was one of her ‘poor pitiful me’ periods. Between boyfriends, in other words.”
“Recently?”
“I was about ten.”
“Damn, Andrew.” He ran a hand over his face, rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry I let her take you. I honestly thought she would care for you better than I could.”
“Hey, no problem. I like knowing where I stand.”
Hearing the bitterness, Rhys knew he couldn’t lie to his son, or evade the truth. “Your mother left me in February. Jacquie arrived in June. And, yes, we fell in love and were together while she stayed at the stable.”
Andrew nodded. “Thanks. Can I go now?”
“Good night.”
Climbing the stairs, Andrew reflected that the old man must still have some life in him, at least as far as women were concerned. That scene had been a shocker, for sure. R-rated, at least.
Even weirder was the possibility that the resemblance between Erin and himself was more than just coincidence. The timing looked suspicious—his birthday, and Imperator’s, was in September, just after his mom went back to his dad. Erin had said she wouldn’t turn fourteen until May, after the Top Flight Horse Trials…fourteen years and nine months, more or less, from the time Miss Jacquie left New York.
The Fake Husband Page 13
