by Nika Rhone
“I took lessons when I was younger,” she said, her voice giving away how much she’d enjoyed it. “English-style riding, and later on dressage. I trained for about five years before I had to give it up.”
Daryl had a hard time wrapping his brain around the thought of Amelia’s delicate form perched on top of a thousand pounds of prancing horseflesh. “Why did you stop?”
“I took a bad fall during a training session and broke my arm.” The joy that had bubbled in her voice just a second ago went flat.
The image of a tiny, helpless Amelia being thrown to the ground by a fractious horse was enough to steal the spit from Daryl’s mouth. “It’s normal to be nervous about getting back on a horse after a bad fall. Maybe while we’re at the ranch we can help get you past your fear and back on a horse again.”
“Thank you, Daryl. That’s sweet of you to offer. But I’m not afraid of horses.”
“Then why did you quit?”
There was a small pause. “Because my parents had the instructor fired from his job after the accident, even though it wasn’t his fault. But they wanted a pound of flesh, and because they were rich and powerful, they got it. I didn’t want that to happen to anyone else, so I just never went back.”
“Didn’t your parents ask why you gave up something you loved so much?”
Amelia’s laugh was soft and derisive. “They had no idea I loved it. It wouldn’t have mattered to them if I’d hated it. They wanted me to train because it would have looked impressive if I’d managed to get onto the Olympic equestrian team, which had been their plan from the day they signed me up for my first lesson. When I refused to go back…well, let’s just say that they weren’t pleased with my decision.”
Just when he thought he couldn’t dislike her parents any more than he already did.
“Well, the offer stands. I’m sure Dad would be happy to put you on the back of any horse you like.”
“Thank you.”
They drove in silence for long enough that he was certain she was asleep. Only then did the muscles in his tight back relax. It wasn’t that Amelia was difficult to talk to. He just didn’t know what he was supposed to talk about.
Fuck.
He’s been so focused on where to take her, he hadn’t given any thought to what he was going to do with her once they got there. At least the ranch had a TV and the internet. Would that be enough to keep her entertained? What the hell did a princess do to occupy her time, anyway?
Whatever it was, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t have it at the Circle R. He could only hope the Davenports and Westlakes conceded defeat and announced the wedding was off before Amelia discovered just how substandard her temporary accommodations were.
****
Consciousness came to Amelia in slow sips.
First, she became aware the sun was shining on her face. Next, she realized she was lying down, which meant she wasn’t in the truck anymore. The third and most disturbing thing she realized was she had absolutely no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there.
That last was enough to make her sit up with a jolt. Heart pounding, she looked around the small room, trying to latch onto something, anything familiar. The small suitcase she’d borrowed from Thea sat on the floor next to the dark wooden dresser near the door. Next to it was the bag from Walmart. Her purse sat on top of the dresser like a big, fluffy white marshmallow.
Her stomach growled at the image.
Slapping a hand over her middle even though there was no one else in the room to hear the undignified sound, Amelia continued the inspection of her surroundings with a less panicked air. The room was small and contained very little furniture, just the dresser with a simple round mirror above, a small nightstand, and the bed. There was a beautiful rug covering most of the worn wood-plank flooring that looked hand woven and expensive, which was at odds with the simple wooden furniture that sat on it.
The walls were also wood, and all but one was bare. That one, opposite the bed, held a large round circle of wood laced like a spider web with white threads that she recognized as being a Native American dream catcher. That, along with the design in the rug, finally gave her the where. They’d evidently arrived at the Raintree ranch as planned. What she still couldn’t retrieve from her memory, however, was the how. The last thing she remembered was talking with Daryl about horses. After that…total blank.
Pushing back the covers and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she noticed for the first time she still wore the previous day’s clothing, minus her shoes. That, more than anything, told her she hadn’t gotten into the bed under her own power. So not only had someone carried her inside from the truck, she’d been so deeply asleep she hadn’t even realized it.
Mortification didn’t come close to what she felt, along with a pinch of unease. She was usually a very light sleeper, not to mention a restless one, more prone to short sleep cycles over the course of the night rather than one good, long sleep. Only when her body was on the last dregs of its reserves did she shut down like that. She hated it. It was as though her body was no longer hers to control, and control was of paramount importance. She’d ceded away too much of it over the rest of her life in recent years. Control over her mind and body were all she had left.
There was no clock in the room, but the sun shining through the large window told her she’d not only slept through the night, but most of the morning as well. Her stomach gave another little growl, reminding her that meant she’d slept through breakfast.
First things first, though. She had a pressing need to find a bathroom.
Luck was with her as she investigated the two doors the room had. One led to the hall, the other to an attached bathroom, which solved the dilemma of meeting her hosts for the first time with sleep-wrinkled clothing and morning breath. She ran her tongue over her fuzzy teeth and grimaced. Not the first impression she wanted to make.
Gathering up her newly purchased toiletries, she went into the bathroom and set them on the sink before doubt took hold. Was it all right for her to just use the shower without asking? Was that being too presumptuous? She shook the thought away. Of course they would expect her to use the shower. She needed to stop worrying so much about doing and saying the right thing all the time. That was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
Just like that, the entire weight of her problems pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She dropped onto the edge of the tub as she fought for air. Oh, lord. What had she done? Had she really broken her engagement and run away like a spoiled child, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces and salvage what they could from her mess? What had she been thinking?
That she needed to escape while she could. That she needed to be as far away from Charles as she could get. That she needed a place to hide and lick her wounds until the worst had blown over.
Had she overreacted?
Possibly.
But would anything good have come of her sticking around to deal with her decision in person?
Absolutely not. Her parents’ presence in Boulder proved that.
Slowly, the tightness in her chest eased and her breaths smoothed out from the choppy gasps of her mini panic attack. She needed to focus on something mundane, something routine, to stop her brain from spiraling back out of control. Resolutely, she stacked her bath products on the edge of the tub and turned the water on, stripping and folding each garment with precise care as she waited for the water to warm.
Twenty minutes later, squeaky clean and dressed in one of Thea’s soft cotton tees and a pair of her jeans that hung so loosely off Amelia’s hips she worried they might slide all the way to the floor if she didn’t find a belt somewhere, Amelia stood in front of the bathroom mirror and realized she hadn’t brought a hair dryer. She swallowed her discomfort about snooping and checked the cabinet under the sink where she found a stack of worn but clean towels, but no dryer.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her damp hair was darker than i
ts usual golden blonde, making her freshly scrubbed skin seem even paler by comparison. Running her fingers through the tangled curls, she tried to find some semblance of order that didn’t make her look like an unkempt urchin, finally giving up with a disgusted groan. There was no way around it. She would have to let her hair dry on its own and then see what she could do with the resultant mess.
Hitching the jeans up one last time, she slid her feet into the brand new sneakers—her first ever—and stepped out of the bedroom into a short hallway. Ignoring her mother’s nagging screech in her head that ladies never, ever were seen without being properly and totally put together, she followed the hallway to what turned out to be a decent sized living room with a high, timbered ceiling. Like everything else she’d seen so far, the furniture was simple but well-maintained, with lots of dark wood and slightly worn fabrics, and there was another of those amazing rugs on the floor in front of the sectional sofa. Anchoring the room was a large, stacked-stone fireplace that climbed to the ceiling.
The scent of food cooking drew Amelia through the empty room to the kitchen, where she hesitated in the doorway. There was only one person in the room, and it wasn’t Daryl. Amelia waffled. It would be better if she waited for Daryl to show up and introduce her. Then again, she had no idea where he was or when he might be back, and whatever was sizzling on top of the huge six-burner stove made her mouth water with anticipation.
The decision was taken out of her hands when the woman at the stove turned. A welcoming smile creased her bronzed face. “Good morning! Come, have a seat.” She placed her hands on the chair in front of the only spot at the table that was set.
“I’m sorry that I slept so late,” Amelia said, only to be silenced by the woman’s waving hand.
“We can only listen to what our bodies tell us. Yours was saying that you were in need of a good sleep.”
She had been, but that didn’t lessen the embarrassment.
Falling back on the manners that had gotten her through other uncomfortable moments in the past, Amelia smiled and stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m sure Daryl already told you, but I’m Amelia. I want to thank you for opening your home like this with no warning. I’m sure it must be a huge inconvenience for you.”
The woman seemed to hesitate before reaching out to grasp Amelia’s hand. In the quick press, Amelia felt the strength beneath the slightly calloused skin, and a flash of inadequacy had her shoving her own soft, perfectly manicured hands into her pockets.
“I am Kimama,” the woman replied. “This is my son’s home, even if he chooses not to visit it anywhere near as often as he should. It’s good that he’s here. You are his friend, so you are also welcome.”
Amelia wasn’t sure friend was the right term, but since she didn’t know what Daryl had told his parents about their sudden appearance at the ranch, she just hummed in noncommittal agreement.
“Come. Sit.” Kimama waited expectantly until Amelia complied before turning back to the stove. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Thank you. I am.” Surprisingly, it was true. “May I help with anything?”
“No need. Everything is ready.”
Uncomfortable with being waited on by Daryl’s mother, Amelia straightened the silverware on the woven placemat before picking up the steaming mug and taking a sip of what turned out to be some kind of tea. Normally, she found tea a poor substitute for her early morning caffeine jolt. But there was a pleasant undertone to the taste of this particular tea that made it interesting. Delicious, even.
Kimama placed a brightly colored plate piled high with food in front of Amelia before taking her seat across the table. “Eat.”
Eat? Amelia stared at the breakfast in dismay. There was no way she would be able to work through even a fraction of the food on that plate. But clearly the woman had gone to the trouble of making a meal just for Amelia when everyone else in the household must have eaten hours ago, so good manners dictated she try.
With a smile that she hoped looked better than it felt, Amelia picked a starting point and cut into the crispy slice of ham. “Is Daryl around?” she asked before popping the tiny bite into her mouth. Delicious.
“I was afraid he was going to wake you, what with his sticking his head into your room every ten minutes to see if you were awake, so I sent him down to the barn with his father to work out his fidgets with the horses.”
The ham nearly choked her. Daryl had watched her sleep? It wasn’t like she’d been undressed or anything, and he’d obviously already seen her sleeping in the truck, so she didn’t know why it should disturb her so much. But being asleep in a bed just seemed so much more…intimate somehow.
“He should be back soon,” his mother continued, as though she hadn’t noticed Amelia’s reaction. “If he’s not by the time you finish eating, I can take you to him if you like.”
“I, ah, yes. Thank you.” Although it might be sometime tomorrow by the time she finished the mountain of ham and eggs on her plate. “This is delicious, by the way.” It was. It was just way more than her usual toast and fruit with the occasional egg-white omelet when she was feeling particularly hungry, which lately had been never.
Kimama gave a small nod of thanks. She studied Amelia with a contemplative expression as she sipped from her mug while Amelia slowly made progress through the scrambled eggs that were not only tasty, but somehow weren’t causing her stomach to rebel. Three meals in a row she’d been able to enjoy. Things were looking up.
Amelia studied Daryl’s mother in return. Her dark skin and hair, tied back in a messy knot at her neck, clearly spoke to her Native American heritage, but her light hazel eyes hinted at a touch of something else in the mix. The combination was striking. Though Kimama looked to be in her late thirties or early forties, Amelia knew that couldn’t be right since Daryl himself was at least thirty. Some women just aged well, she supposed.
The only sound in the room as she ate was the click of knife and fork against the plate. Normally, manners would force her to make small talk. But for some reason, the silence with Daryl’s mother was peaceful rather than uncomfortable, and she was able to finish almost half before she placed her utensils across her plate to signal defeat.
“That was delicious, Mrs. Raintree. Thank you. I’m afraid I can’t eat another bite.”
The woman studied her for a second before giving a shrug that could have meant anything. “Come. I’ll take you to my son.”
Amelia stood, only to grab her jeans as they started sliding down her legs. Mortified, she stammered an apology and retreated to the bedroom where she stripped off the jeans and replaced them with a pair of sweatpants. Those, at least, had a drawstring to keep them up. Barely.
She and Thea had been able to trade clothes almost as long as they’d known each other. Her friend always had a bit more oomph in her butt and bust, true, but Thea’s clothes had never just fallen off her before. Running a hand over her concave stomach to her too-prominent hipbones, Amelia remembered the unspoken censure in the seamstress’s eyes as she’d taken Amelia’s wedding dress in for the third time, and finally had to admit she’d done more than just lose a little weight over the past few months. She looked like a poster child for anorexia.
What the hell had she done to herself?
Suddenly, the delicious breakfast was a hard rock in the pit of her stomach. She grabbed the bottle of antacids from the bag and grimly ate her way through three of them, as though paying penance for her earlier enjoyment of the meal. It was a struggle, but she refused to give in to the nausea that gurgled and pinwheeled through her gut. Her nerves had sometimes gotten bad enough to cause her to vomit in the past. How many times had that happened in the last few months?
Much more often than she’d admitted to herself, it seemed.
The staggering indifference and constant belittlement by her future mother-in-law had worn her down until she’d practically wasted away to nothing. Why had she given her that power? Why hadn’t she fought back before now?
Slipping one more fruit-flavored tablet into her mouth, Amelia squared her shoulders and made herself the promise that no matter what else came of this disaster, she would never, ever again allow herself to be treated as though she didn’t matter, as though her wants and needs fell below everyone else’s. She would stand up for herself, darn it.
She just had to learn how.
Chapter Nine
Daryl leaned against the split-rail fencing of the main training corral, watching one of his father’s hired hands put a sweet bay-colored mare through her paces. The horse circled the man on a lunge-line, small ears pricked forward as she listened to the soft clicks of his tongue that signaled her to change her gait from a walk to an easy trot. Muscles flexed under her sleek reddish coat as she picked it up a notch, tail swishing to show her enjoyment of the faster pace, the small kick in her step indicating she was anxious to go even faster despite the human’s insistence to temper her speed.
Daryl chuckled, knowing that Chaska had seen the mare’s impatience and would keep her to a trot for longer than he might have, just to make sure she knew who was boss. When animals outweighed the humans by eight hundred or more pounds, it was important to establish the proper amount of respect or people—and animals—could get hurt.
Shifting his weight and propping one booted foot on the lower rail, a momentary sense of contentment descended over him. With the scent of horse and leather in his lungs and the sun beating down on his shoulders, the only sounds the clomping of hooves on hard-packed dirt and the bridle’s jingle, the universe centered and righted itself for the first time in…years. Damn, but he’d missed this. Why the hell had he ever left?
A boot scraped against the rail next to his. “That should be you out there.”
Right. That was why.
“She’s a beauty,” Daryl said, ignoring the comment and focusing on the one thing he and his father had ever been able to agree on. Horses.
