Willing Love

by Mary Jean Adams

  “Bolt!” Prudence dropped the reins in her haste to grab the saddle lest she roll off Bolt’s back.

  The mare picked her way down the hill at first but gathered speed until she was racing toward the stream.

  “Bolt, no, you can’t jump that. It’s too wide!”

  Prudence could only imagine what thoughts ran through Bolt’s animal brain, for the strip of muddy water had looked considerably narrower from their perch at the top of the hill. Of course, Bolt had little experience in jumping streams and probably not enough intelligence to make a wise choice anyway.

  She leaned forward and tried to find the reins while Bolt’s crimson mane slapped at her face. She grabbed a handful of mane both to save her eyes and to keep from catapulting forward as she felt around for the leather straps.

  Prudence caught glimpses of the stream bouncing in her field of vision between strands of chestnut horsehair mixed with her own auburn locks.

  She had very little time left. Bolt, in her inexperience, could easily injure herself on the slick rocks. Maybe even break a leg. Prudence groaned as she clawed through her mare’s thick mane.

  At long last, firm leather brushed against the tips of her gloves. Grunting, she lunged forward, grasped the reins, and gave a sharp tug.

  Thinking back, the next few moments would remain a blur for Prudence. She would remember pulling on the reins just as they reached the bottom of the rise, yet before they reached the sandier ground of the ancient streambed. Perhaps Bolt skidded on the mud or perhaps she stopped too abruptly. Prudence would never remember for sure.

  What she would always remember, however, was waking up lying flat on her back, the muddy ground chilling her backside and permanently staining her dress. She would also remember the stable master’s face staring down at her with his stormy gray eyes and a ludicrous grin, the stars twinkling behind him.

  “Having a good ride?”

  Chapter Three

  His face hovered mere inches away, gray eyes laughing, his grin filling Prudence’s vision. One of his canine teeth overlapped the others. No wonder he didn’t smile often.

  “Go to hell,” Prudence said, then instantly regretted it, not for the uncharacteristic vulgarity, but for the way it made her head pound.

  Unperturbed, he held out his hand.

  Eyeing it with distrust, she accepted it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Regaining her balance, she winced and would have fallen to one knee had he not been there to grasp her elbow, the other hand at her waist to steady her.

  “Whoa there,” he said, in a soft, accented voice she imagined he used to calm the horses as well. “Perhaps you should take it slowly. You may have hurt yourself.”

  “I’m quite well, thank you.”

  Fine time for him to notice. After he yanked her up like a sack of potatoes…with legs. Prudence shook off the strong arm wrapped about her waist.

  Without his support, she wobbled. He gave her an uncertain look but didn’t reach for her again. She dismissed the fleeting sense of disappointment.

  She attempted to brush the mud from her dress only to smear it in dark streaks while great, greasy clumps clung to the fingers that poked out through the holes torn in her linen gloves.

  Ignoring her ruined dress, she tested her ankle. A stabbing pain made her suck in a sharp breath. Had she broken it?

  “Bolt!” She glanced around for her mare.

  While a broken ankle might mean a few weeks of bed rest for her, for a horse it could be a death sentence.

  Bolt stood a few yards away, munching a tuft of last season’s dried grass. When she heard her name, she looked up and eyed her mistress with curiosity, blades of yellowed grass clinging to the side of her mouth. Prudence gave her horse a scathing look when Bolt bent her head to pluck another mouthful.

  “Stupid horse,” Prudence muttered, returning her attention to her own injuries.

  “You know, I had been wondering why you gave your horse such an unusual name.” The stable master said as though he were unraveling a great mystery. “She is a fine horse, and, at first, I thought it must be because of her speed.”

  Prudence looked up from her inspection of her throbbing ankle. What on earth was he babbling about now?

  Silver moonlight illuminated his profile, and it occurred to her that he had a fine face, for a stable master. When she first laid eyes on him, she had noticed the slight angle to his nose, as though it had been broken and not set properly. With that and the small scar under his right eye, she had taken him for a bit of a brawler.

  Now, in the glow of the moon, he looked far more like a medieval knight than a tavern brawler. His nose, in profile at least, was straight and well matched by a square jaw line, high forehead, and strong cheekbones.

  He would be quite easy to look at, if it weren’t for that obnoxious grin.

  “Now, I am thinking that perhaps you named her Bolt because she has a tendency to do just that.”

  Prudence followed his gaze just in time to see the rump of her horse disappearing over the rise, taking her owner’s spirits with her.

  Oh, Bolt, how could you leave me like this?

  “Well, as long as you’re all right, I have work to do. Mucking out the stalls and such.” With a cheery wave, he turned and started up the rise.

  Prudence scowled after him. Why did he have to be so damned jovial? He hadn’t been like that when they first met.

  She stepped forward, and a stab of pain tore through her.

  “Wait!” Prudence gave a strangled cry, unable to bear the pain as she tested her ankle again.

  Whether broken or merely twisted, she would not make it back to the house by herself.

  The stable master turned. He didn’t speak a word, but at least his irksome grin was gone.

  Prudence winced as she hobbled forward. Even hopping on one foot sent great waves of pain surging up her calf.

  “Don’t just stand there like a clod,” she spat out. “Come and help me.”

  “Back on your horse?” He looked about. “I’m afraid she’s munching hay in her stall by now.”

  “No, you idiot, help me walk.” Her ankle and foot throbbed in time to her heartbeat, and Prudence was in no mood to explain her predicament to this simpleton.

  “Sit.” He pointed to a mossy boulder embedded in the hillside.

  Prudence thought about reprimanding him for ordering her about, but in her condition, she couldn’t afford to have him leave her. She took a seat on the rock, shivering as the cold seeped through her damp skirts.

  He lifted her foot and placed it on his knee. She wouldn’t have imagined such a powerful man could be so gentle. When she winced again, his gray eyes were laced with pain as well

  “Name’s Evan…”

  “Ow!” Prudence said when he reached beneath her skirt to brace her leg, his warm palm against her calf. There had no pain, but the intimacy had shocked her.

  “Sorry, I didn’t think my touching you there would hurt.”

  Had the corner of his lips twitched?

  Prudence considered warning him against toying with her, but the sight of his long fingers picking at the laces of her boot distracted her. He had elegant hands for a stable master. He pulled the knot free, and the blood rushed to her injury.

  “Argh!” Prudence grasped the boulder, the sharp edges biting into her palms.

  “The surge of pain will only last a moment, and then you’ll begin to feel better.”

  “If you say so.” She tried to keep a sob from her voice.

  He rubbed the bottom of her foot with the pad of his thumb until the tension seeped from her shoulders. Then he flexed her foot. To the left. To the right. Then backward and forward, keeping his keen eyes on her face the entire time.

  Prudence, who had never been that fond of pain, made no pretense at bravery. She slapped him on the top of his head when his manipulation sent a stab of fire up her calf. That brought his grin back.

  “The good news is that it doesn’t appear to be
broken, merely sprained,” he said at last, setting her foot on the ground.

  She immediately missed the warmth of his hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. Evan. And the bad news is?”

  He stood and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to ride back.”

  “Ride what?” Prudence made an exaggerated pretense of looking around for her horse. “As you have pointed out, my horse has abandoned me.”

  “Ride me.” He turned and presented her with his broad, wool-clad back.

  “Excuse me?” The heat rose in her cheeks. Did he realize how inappropriate his suggestion had been?

  “Come on. Hop on.”

  Nothing in the man’s expression suggested an intended insult. In fact, he looked a little like Richard had when he had given her piggyback rides through the meadows.

  But she was a grown woman now. Not a child of seven or eight.

  “Never in a million years will I ride on your back.” As though her dignity hadn’t suffered enough! She rose, putting all her weight on her good ankle. “You will help me walk.”

  The stable master shrugged. “Fine, we’ll try it your way. Here, put your arm around my shoulders.” He bent at the knees so she could reach around his neck.

  When he stood, Prudence’s feet dangled off the ground, and her ankle throbbed from the strain of being suspended in midair.

  “That won’t work. You’re too tall. How about if I put my arm about your waist?”

  “Fine.” He lowered her to the ground.

  Prudence put her arm about his waist, and they started forward.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” She stumbled. “That won’t work either. I can’t take enough of my weight off my ankle with my arm merely at your waist. You’ll have to carry me.”

  “Carry you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Evan. Carry me.” Prudence said, glad for the darkness that covered the heat creeping up her neck.

  “Carry you?” he said again, doubt in his voice.

  He looked at the hill as though he could see through it to the land and house beyond. Then he turned to her and gave her a speculative perusal that reminded Prudence of the look a farmer might give a prize hog.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t that heavy. He had lifted her into Bolt’s saddle like she was nothing.

  “It’s got to be half a mile. I could carry you up a flight of stairs, but I couldn’t carry you for a full half mile.”

  Prudence tried to brush the image of him carrying her up a flight of stairs out of her mind. The only stairs she could picture were those leading to her bedroom. The image left her far more discomfited than her ankle.

  “I offered to give you a ride, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept.” He turned his back toward her again, hunched forward and held his hands back, palms facing up. “Hop on.”

  She couldn’t miss the way his breeches stretched over his muscular backside.

  “I…I…I can’t ride on your back with this dress on.” Prudence grasped at the first thought that popped into her muddled mind.

  He turned to face her. “You had no problems with your horse, and I assure you, my back is not as broad as hers.” He turned back again. “The night is not getting any younger, Miss Ashcroft, so I suggest you get on so I may return you safely home before someone in the household starts to wonder where you’ve been.”

  That did it.

  Most of the household staff liked Prudence, but some of them would take great delight in gossiping. The story of how she returned with the stable master, her dress covered in mud, would get juicier with each telling.

  Mr. Evan groaned when Prudence stuck her good foot into his entwined hands. “You could have wiped your boot on the grass first.”

  “Sorry.” She did her best to scrape the mud from her boots before trying again.

  As before, her skirts were hiked up to her knees, and she wrapped one arm about his neck to support herself as she tried to tug one side of her skirt down using the hand that held her spare boot.

  “If you strangle me, I won’t be able to carry you back to the house,” he said in a choked voice.

  “Sorry,” Prudence said again, ceasing her efforts to cover her knees.

  “Oh!” Prudence gasped when he clasped his hands so his interlocked fingers supported her bottom.

  Before she could protest, he started off at a good clip so she had no choice but to press herself against his broad back and hang on.

  Before long, his warmth seeped through the front of her ruined gown, a balm against the chill. Despite her previous misgivings, she laid her cheek against his shoulder.

  She breathed deeply. He smelled good. Not at all like she would imagine a stable master might, of horse sweat and manure, but more like old wood and the salty breeze off the ocean.

  His warmth surrounded her like a blanket. She snuggled closer and let her eyes drift shut.

  Darkness blanketed the hills by the time they reached the edge of the manicured lawns marking the boundary between house and lands. She gave the stable master a tap on the shoulder to get his attention.

  “Mr. Evan, you may let me off here.”

  “But we are still far from the house,” he said, not slowing down a bit.

  Evidently, her new stable master was a bit like Bolt. He needed a firm hand.

  “Yes, and I would prefer no one from the house see my unusual mode of transport. Now let me down.”

  “Very well.” He came to a sudden halt and dropped his entwined hands so the makeshift seat beneath her suddenly disappeared.

  For the second time that evening, Prudence found herself sprawled on her backside on the wet ground. Very much like Bolt indeed!

  Instead of looking contrite, he smiled down at her with his crooked tooth. “Would you like me to saddle your horse again tomorrow?”

  “No, thank you.” She rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster when both her legs were full of pins and needles from lack of blood flow, and her ankle still throbbed.

  “Something tamer perhaps?”

  Prudence tried to brush the drying mud from her dress again but quickly decided her gown would have to follow her favorite boots into the fire as soon as she reached the haven of her bedroom.

  “No, thank you,” she said again, straightening her spine and brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. “I will not need you to saddle any of my horses tomorrow.”

  “That’s too bad.” He raised his chin to the dark sky. “I believe the rain may stop, and the day will be unusually fair. It’s a shame to waste a day like that indoors. The back of a horse is often the best place to enjoy such fine weather.”

  His grin was gone, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes remained.

  Prudence’s temper rose like steam in a kettle. Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? She might have cooled off in the privacy of her bedroom, and he would have been safe for another day. But no, he had to press her.

  “Oh, I probably will go riding tomorrow. However, you will not be saddling anything, Mr. Evan.”

  “I won’t?”

  “No, you won’t,” she said, letting go of the last tentative hold on her simmering temper, “because I will have you released first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” he said, as though they were back to talking about the weather again. “Well, have a pleasant evening.” He doffed an imaginary hat, then turned and headed back to the stables.

  Prudence watched him go in disbelief. He had to be the most irritating man in all of America. That or the biggest simpleton she had ever met. She really must speak to her grandmother about him in the morning.

  Chapter Four

  “I wondered where you had gone off to.” Stu led Evan Foster’s tall, black horse into an empty stall at the front of the stables. “I would have sworn you told me you were going to take care of Demon yourself, and the next thing I know, I see the old boy racing over the top of the hill, riderless, with this one following
on his heels.” He nodded his head toward the stall next to Demon’s where a chestnut mare munched a bucket of oats.

  Evan grinned. “Yes, I had to go out again. In the end, I did not need my horse, so I sent him back alone. Thank you for seeing to him.”

  Stu raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

  Evan wasn’t ready to give one. His former valet would have to wait until he made sense of it himself.

  “Smells like rain again,” Stu commented into the silence.

  “Mmmm.” Evan stroked Demon’s velvety nose. “I can almost feel the storm on the horizon.”

  The very skin on his back felt charged with its power. Did that storm have a name? Sparks in its green eyes? Wisps of auburn hair that refused to be tamed?

  Demon nuzzled his nose into Evan’s palm then nipped at him playfully. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “I had the most interesting encounter.” Demon’s nostrils flared as Evan rubbed between them.

  He hadn’t meant to tell his former valet about the girl, but for the first time in his life, he found he wanted to talk to someone. Almost needed to. It was as if she might be a figment from the storm. If someone else knew about her, it would make her real.

  A flicker of lightning lit the sky, illuminating gray clouds for the briefest of moments before they disappeared into the dark once again.

  “With who?” Stu set the bucket of oats in front of Demon. “Rachel Ashcroft?”

  “No. We arrived so late this afternoon, and I had almost as much mud on me as Demon. I thought it best to wait until tomorrow to begin my employment.” He ran a hand across Demon’s blue-black flanks.

  Stu must have used the shedding blade to finish the job he had been about to start when Prudence interrupted him.

  He patted Demon’s side. “I’ve only met her twice, but I confess that I rather like the old lady. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.”

  “So who did you meet?” Stu leaned against the stable wall.

  “A young woman,” Evan answered, deliberately inciting Stu’s curiosity.

  “A young lady?” Stu straightened. He could be so predictable at times. “How young, exactly?”