Even now, the memory fanned a flame.
She smoothed a hand over the front of her dress and inhaled. Fear flooded every corner of her heart, as it had that night, swiftly followed by anger. Anger at her own foolishness. She’d been down this road before with a man. She knew what would happen if she allowed herself to trust again. Ridley seemed so different from Charles. But Charles had seemed kind and charming too — at the start. Even if she could trust that Ridley was genuinely everything she believed him to be — which she thought he was — he wasn’t the kind of man she was looking for.
Feeble, paunchy, and dull. She sighed, tempted to smile as she recalled her mental list of attributes for a second husband.
Ridley Cooper was anything but those things. And knowing he’d only be here at Belle Meade for a short time had given her every reason she needed to pull her hand back and start climbing that lattice.
And yet …
She’d found herself thinking about those snowy peaks — the ones that outlasted the summer sun — so many times since. What a sight they must be. Not that she would ever see them. Or ever cared to.
Olivia was halfway to the stable when she realized she’d forgotten the satchel. She turned back and was nearing the main house when someone called her name. She turned to see General Harding riding toward her on his stallion. The hooves of the giant black beast pummeled the ground, much like she imagined they would pummel her if given the chance.
She’d grown more accustomed to the mares, although she still didn’t like being around them. But the stallions …
They were a rare breed. As frightening as they were fierce. And so unpredictable. She mustered her last shred of courage and stood her ground — shaking — as the general reined in the terrible beast only feet away.
“Good morning, Olivia.” Health flushed his features. “Isn’t this the week of inventory?”
Heart still pounding, Olivia nodded as she peered up, unable to focus on anything but the stallion’s gigantic teeth as the animal worked at the bit in its mouth. “Yes, sir. I’m headed to the mares’ stable now, actually.” She gestured. “I forgot something in my room.”
He nodded, looking as though he had something on his mind. “May I assume you’re still enjoying the work?”
“You may. And I am. Very much.”
The stallion snorted, eying her like she was something he’d like to trample. Or chomp. His head was enormous, like the rest of him, and she couldn’t imagine riding an animal that size or ever desiring to. The mere thought made her weak in the knees.
“Well, I’m glad. I take it you’re in agreement with your increase in pay as well?”
She frowned. “My … increase in pay?”
“Mr. Cooper is a firm negotiator, Olivia. But I still believe I’m getting the better end of the bargain. He assured me the additional responsibilities won’t be too much for you.” A hint of smugness communicated doubt. “I hope he didn’t steer me wrong.”
Feeling as though she’d been thrust mid-stream into a conversation — and one in a foreign language, no less — Olivia wasn’t about to disagree. Not with General William Giles Harding. And not about an increase in pay. “No, sir. I’m certain I’ll be able to handle the responsibilities quite well.” Just like she looked forward to handling Ridley Cooper for obligating her further without her permission. Why he’d felt at liberty to speak on her behalf, she couldn’t guess. Surely his memory wasn’t so dull he’d forgotten her reaction when he’d passed along the teaching advertisement.
Never mind that his instincts had been right about her love for teaching.
The stallion pawed the ground but the general kept him in check. “As I told Mr. Cooper, you’re welcome to take one of the mares. Or a stallion, if you feel up to it. It’s too far a distance to cover by foot. No matter how fond you may be of walking.”
Olivia managed a smile, but only because she was imagining wrapping her hands around Ridley’s muscular neck and squeezing tight. What had that man gotten her into? Nothing short of threat of death would motivate her to get back onto a horse. And she’d rather die straightaway than climb onto a stallion again!
Then again, death would be more a promise than a threat in that situation.
“I assume you’re aware” — General Harding leaned forward in the saddle — “that the doctor visited Mrs. Harding yesterday afternoon.”
Gathering her frayed thoughts, Olivia shook her head. “No, sir. I wasn’t.”
“Did my wife, by chance, share his report with you?” Subtle challenge layered his tone.
“Not this time. But from the time before, she shared that he was pleased to see her regaining her strength.”
“Yes, he said much the same again. But he also confided in me that this … ‘renewed strength’ is most definitely temporary. He’s seen this before. The weak spells will return.” His attention narrowed on her. “I know what you’re doing, don’t for a moment think otherwise.”
Olivia’s stomach dropped. Rachel’s tea. He knew. But how? Elizabeth didn’t even know where the tea came from, and she’d been drinking it now for the past two months. The herbs were most definitely having a rejuvenating effect. But what if the general blamed Rachel for masking the “Negro remedy,” and Rachel got in trouble?
“General Harding, I can explain. I want you to know that it’s not —”
“You’re filling my wife’s head with foolish ideas of what she’ll do once she’s well. Traveling with me, seeing her daughters marry …”
Realizing the mistake she’d nearly made, Olivia felt a flush of hot and cold.
“But we both know that won’t be happening for my wife,” he continued. “What you’re doing is giving her false hope. Which is actually quite cruel.”
“No more cruel than withholding what you believe to be the truth.” Olivia blinked, unable to believe she’d voiced the thought aloud. But seeing General Harding’s eyes darken, she knew she had. “General, I didn’t —”
“Olivia,” he said softly, though it lacked gentleness, much like Charles had sounded whenever he’d used her Christian name. “I realize you’re doing what you believe to be best for Mrs. Harding. But I would prefer …” He paused. “I would request that, in the future, you would, as my wife’s companion, act in accordance with what the doctor deems best for her well-being. Considering your affection for my wife — and all that you are personally afforded by being here at Belle Meade — I don’t believe that’s too much to ask. Do you?”
Hearing a thread of warning, Olivia met his gaze and nodded. “I understand, General.”
His smile came easily as he adjusted the reins in his grip.
“But I also believe the doctors are wrong, sir. I think Aunt Elizabeth is getting better. And loving her as I do, how can I help but want that for her?”
General Harding looked at her as though she were a child. A simpleton. “Wanting something, Olivia, does not make it so. It’s best to accept the world — and our circumstances — for what they are, instead of spending life wishing for something that can never be. But … I would think you would have learned that by now.”
Feeling a prick near the vicinity of her heart, Olivia couldn’t respond.
“Have you received correspondence yet from General Percival Meeks?”
She frowned. “General Meeks?” she repeated, recalling the older gentleman seated to her right at the recent dinner party. The gentleman who — though kind and good natured — fit her less-than-flattering list of husbandly attributes a little too well. “No, sir. Why?”
“I received a missive from the general in which he sought my permission for the liberty of writing to you, and I granted it. With the understanding,” he added quickly, “that it’s strictly in pursuit of friendship. However, if something else were to develop along the way …”
His half smile held possibilities she didn’t care to pursue, and she made no pretense of masking her objection. “I am still in mourning, General Harding.”
&nbs
p; “As I’m well aware, Olivia. However … General Meeks is a very wealthy man. And a very lonely one.” He gripped the stallion’s reins. “Which is a favorable combination for any woman. But especially for one in a situation such as yours.”
Seething inside, Olivia didn’t watch him ride away, but strode back upstairs to her bedroom, grabbed the satchel from the bed — handling it with far less care than before — and stormed toward the mares’ stable. Would there ever come a time when a man wasn’t in charge of her life? Of her?
If she wanted any say at all on this topic, she was going to have to step up her efforts, or General Harding would have her married by Christmas. To Percival Meeks!
Easing her death grip on the handle of the satchel, she slowed her steps and tried to sort her thoughts. Feeble, paunchy, and dull … But also kind and good-natured, she’d already admitted as much. She sighed, feeling an inexplicable moment of reckoning. General Percival Meeks was probably just the type of man she was looking for. Or should be looking for. He was caring. She couldn’t imagine him ever hurting her. He was wealthy. She’d be well provided for. And he was Confederate through and through. He didn’t live in Nashville, but Chattanooga was supposedly a nice enough city. And he was safe. She wasn’t at risk of losing her heart …
Only her dream of what might have been.
Nearing the stable, she spotted Ridley off to the side in a corral, and she paused. Clearly, he was waiting for her. And — upon closer observation — she decided the man had lost his mind. Which worked out rather well at the moment, because she was more than ready to give him a piece of hers.
Chapter
THIRTY
What on earth is he thinking? But looking at the miniature horse cart Ridley stood beside and the not-so-miniature horse whose reins he held in his grip, Olivia could easily guess.
She strode through the open gate, her frustration mounting by the second. Ridley’s mischievous smile said he was waiting for her to say something and that he hoped it would be positive.
He would just have to be disappointed.
“Ridley Cooper.” She willed a steadiness to her voice. “What gives you the right to speak for me? To obligate me to the general in whatever way you’ve done? I may report to you, but you should have requested my permission first.”
His smile faded. His expression turned wary, then apologetic. “Olivia, my inten —”
“You, of all people, Ridley” — she lowered her voice even as her temper rose — “who know how I feel about horses.” Her throat tightened with emotion, making it impossible to speak. She gestured to the horse that — upon second glance — appeared to be either knocking on death’s door or in extremely poor health. Or both. The animal’s back was sunken, its gray coat thinned to almost balding in places, and its spindly legs looked near ready to buckle. But it was still a horse, and Ridley was still wrong.
“Olivia, if you’ll allow me to explain. My original intent in suggesting to the general —”
“Did you or did you not, assure him that I would accept additional responsibilities without speaking to me first? Fully aware that it would mandate me riding a horse. And knowing that I can’t!”
In a blink, Ridley’s demeanor went from apologetic to anything but. The transition was jarring, as was his unyielding stare.
“Yes, Olivia.” He exhaled. “I’m guilty of assuring the general you would accept additional responsibilities.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The first thing I told him was that you would begin reviewing the supply books for the three limestone quarries. All the while knowing it would require you to travel once a month by horse or very small cart” — he indicated the horse cart with a broad wave — “to the quarries on the other side of the plantation.”
The way he said it — with a smartness to his tone — made it sound like she’d be going for a picnic! “But that’s precisely it, Ridley. You had no right to do that. That was my decision to make. You should have told the general to ask me himself whether I wanted to —”
“You’re right. It was your decision to make. And I should have asked you first.”
She blinked, not having expected to win the argument so easily. Nor for him to have acquiesced so quickly.
“But I knew you’d say no,” he continued. “And, to be clear, you weren’t to be asked, Olivia. Because the general had requested I find a foreman to do the job. He believes the detailed work will be too taxing for you. But when I realized how much he was offering to pay … And knowing what little you make per week …”
Olivia winced. She was fortunate to be earning a wage at all. And naturally, Ridley’s salary was significantly more than hers, being a man and the foreman. Still, his comment rankled.
“I suggested to the general that he give you the opportunity instead.”
As his words sank in, so did a glimpse at his original intention. She swallowed, feeling herself grow smaller. She found it difficult to maintain his gaze. Yet looking away would only make things worse. It would be admitting guilt that was already nicking her wounded pride.
“At first,” Ridley continued, “General Harding resisted the idea of you doing the job. Then I told him I’d be more than willing to supervise. Make sure you did it right.”
The way he said it, she knew he hoped to coax a smile. But even though he’d tried to do something nice, she was still angry at the way he’d gone about it. And she was curious too.
“How much would he have paid me?”
“Eight dollars.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s double my monthly salary. For one trip?”
He nodded.
She did the math. The two dollars she made per week now, plus eight … that was sixteen dollars a month. She could hardly fathom making that much. But when she looked at the cart, then at the horse — who suddenly looked surprisingly more alert and agile — all she could think of was how little Copper, the Shetland pony, had bumped and jostled the miniature cart all across the field that day. Her stomach dropped to her feet. She hated for General Harding to win in this situation — or in any other, for that matter — but she didn’t need the money that badly.
She shook her head. “I just can’t do it, Ridley. I …” His eyes narrowed. Sensing what he was going to say next, she raced to beat him to it. “I’m choosing not to do it.” She held up a hand. “All right? Is that better?”
A smile crept back to his face, and the lines in his tanned forehead eased. “Thank you. That’s much better.” He began unhitching the horse.
She watched him, thinking of what he’d done — and her practically taking his head off for the effort — and the emotion that had made it difficult for her to speak moments earlier worked its way to her eyes. Only this time, it wasn’t indignation causing them to burn. He wasn’t angry with her, or sullen and punishing like Charles would have been. The difference was glaring. And humbling. And she squeezed her eyes tight until the intensity — and shame — lessened.
“Ridley,” she whispered.
He straightened and looked back at her.
“I know you think I’m foolish for being scared of horses, but I —”
“Have I ever once called you foolish, Olivia?”
She studied him, reflecting. Then shook her head and lowered her eyes.
“You’re not foolish for being afraid.” With a touch, he urged her chin up. “I don’t know what happened to make you fear horses so much … But I have a feeling it’s something more than just what happened on the way out here that day.”
Hearing his invitation, she debated over telling him, when he moved closer.
“But what is foolish, in my estimation” — his mouth tipped, understanding in his gaze — “is when we let fear keep us from reaching for something within our grasp …” His focus dropped from her eyes to her mouth. “If only we’d try.”
She didn’t know how, but the distance between them evaporated. He gently cradled her cheek, his hand strong and rough, his breath warm and smelling of min
t. And when he leaned in, she jumped, shocked at what he was about to do. But even more so at how much she wanted him to do it. To kiss her.
But it wasn’t proper. There was no understanding between them, no possibility of a future. It wasn’t to be done. And it was up to her to —
He placed a feather soft kiss on her cheek, far enough from her mouth to be considered marginally chaste. Yet close enough where she could imagine his lips full on hers. The image was vivid and inviting. He lingered, his hand tracing a path to the curve of her neck. She shivered, and he smiled.
“You’re stronger than you think, Olivia,” he whispered, drawing back slightly. “I see it in you, even if you don’t.”
She blinked, too stunned to move and half afraid to. His closeness worked like a magnet, pulling her in and making her want more. A satisfied look moved into his eyes, which contrasted with the subtle, unquenched ache he’d awakened inside her. One she couldn’t identify and knew she’d never felt before.
A yearning, she was certain, that General Percival Meeks would never be able to slake.
That afternoon, with Jimmy and Jolene’s lesson completed, the supplies in the mares’ and stallions’ stables inventoried and the order sheet completed, she sought Ridley out, having thought of another question for him. One stemming from something he’d said earlier. She found him in a corral outside the stallions’ stable working with Jack Malone, the stud that was going to put Belle Meade on the international map, or so she’d heard General Harding say.
Ridley was tall but the stallion stood a head taller, all powerful sinew and muscle. She watched them for a while, admiring the strength and grace with which the stallion moved — both stallions, she thought with a smile. Ridley’s skill with the thoroughbred was impressive, and his improvement in recent months undeniable.
Some yards away, Uncle Bob leaned against the fence, overseeing the training at a distance, she guessed, since Ridley would occasionally glance in his direction, and Uncle Bob would either nod in approval or offer further instruction through gestures. The two men communicated with minimal conversation. Which, considering how much time they’d spent together, wasn’t surprising. Still, they made an odd pair, the two of them.
To Whisper Her Name Page 29
