She left the library and drove a block to Main Street. The town had been newly replanted with trees—a vast improvement on the barren and ugly four blocks that comprised the heart of the old business section. Traffic was painfully slow. The big WalMart and Delchamps on the south side of town had drawn most of the customers away. When the light changed, she took a left and drove by the restaurant called the Coffee Cup. Willene had told her that once the Coffee Cup, with its scratching post, had been famous. People from all over the country had driven through Lucedale for a cup of coffee and a slice of homemade pie. There wasn’t much business in the restaurant on this day.
She reached the end of town in a matter of minutes and was headed east, toward Mobile. Oaklawn was really only about thirty-five minutes from Lucedale. For her great-great-grandmother, who had to make that trip in a horse and wagon with creeks and rivers to ford, it must have been a long, brutal ride.
In the mid 1800s life had been hard, especially for a young woman with an education and an active imagination. Connor tried to imagine it—clothes boiling in a kettle on a wood fire in the yard, water brought up from a creek or pump in a bucket, children without antibiotics or vaccines, livestock to tend, long dresses and petticoats, lamplight, outdoor toilets. No, it wasn’t an easy life. What had Hilla Lassfolk entertained herself with, other than the dangerous and forbidden embraces of an outlaw?
The big Chevy truck moved easily down the two-lane highway. Connor was at Big Creek Lake before she expected. She was almost home. Just eight or ten miles to the south was Oaklawn.
It was mid-November, and the days were far too short. As she crossed the bridge over the lake, the sun was touching the tops of the big pines. Orange and pink flamed the sky, sending out the promise that dark would descend in little more than half an hour.
Connor sighed. She’d stayed at the library too long. Looking through the books of local history, she’d let time slip away from her. And she had so much to do. She’d purchased the big chestnut gelding, Apollo, for Clay. Although he was five, with little or no training, somehow the horse seemed perfect for him. Connor’s reputation was based on her ability to see potential, in horse and rider, and Apollo was loaded. He had the build of an athlete and a willing attitude.
But he needed to be ridden, and there wasn’t going to be enough light.
Jeff and Old Henry were setting up arena lights, but they weren’t ready yet, and the night had a sharp nip to it. The wind was blowing from the north, and the newscasters on the radio were predicting a heavy frost for morning. Connor would just have to call it a day. Apollo could wait until sunup.
She turned left on the narrow road that wound through the countryside among old farms and plantations now sectioned into nurseries. Mobile had at one time been the camellia capital of the world. European royalty and Oriental businessmen had come halfway around the world to visit the Semmes, Alabama, nurseries.
The grounds of Oaklawn were filled with hundreds of the beautiful shrubs. Their dark evergreen shapes were scattered around the premises, creating small alcoves of privacy in the shade of the enormous oaks that had given the estate its name. Willene had promised that the blooms would start as early as December and continue through the cold months. And then the frills of azalea and dogwood, wisteria and honeysuckle, would sprout forth. Connor found the lush vegetation and the rich perfumes to be one of her favorite parts of the deep South.
As she eased onto the Sumner estate, she turned the truck toward the barn. Even though she couldn’t ride, there were some things she wanted to do before she went to the house.
Though she tried to push the thought aside, she knew Clay would be at the house. Renata had told her he was coming out for a special dinner. Anticipation tingled through her as she drove along the shell drive. Renata and Danny had been in residence at Oaklawn all week because Clay had been in Montgomery. Planning his campaign strategy, Connor suspected, but she hadn’t asked. Now he was home.
Connor wanted him to have plenty of time alone with the children. That was one reason she mentally made a list of chores at the barn. The other was that she wanted to see him too much.
Since the day he’d told her about Talla’s death and his involvement with a young woman, Clay had given her a wide berth. He’d said he wanted her to have time to think about what he’d said, and he’d honored his word. Even though he’d been at Oaklawn on several occasions, he’d scrupulously avoided catching her alone. But Connor knew, by the super-charged glances he threw at her whenever he was at the barn watching Renata or Danny ride, or sitting at the gleaming mahogany table for a meal, that the emotions between them were far from over. And Clay Sumner wasn’t a man who left business unfinished.
For her part, Connor couldn’t make a decision. Every scrap of intelligence she’d learned told her to steer clear. That contrasted with her body clamoring for his touch. The end result had been a kind of limbo, emotional and intellectual.
The lavender haze of dusk had settled over the barn when she pulled up in front of it. Cleo and Tinker both whinnied a greeting to her as she slammed the truck door and went into the barn.
She fed every morning and every night. When she’d first arrived at Oaklawn, Jeff had offered to help her with the task, but she’d thanked him and said no. Jeff would do the work, but he wouldn’t care enough. If she allowed anyone to tend to her animals it would be Old Henry. She’d caught him frequently standing at Cleo’s stall, watching her with appreciation. He had a real fondness for the mare, and he seemed to know a bit about horses—whenever she could get him to utter a syllable or two. For the most part, she did all the horse work herself. She liked to listen to the horses eat. She watched them for any nuance of discomfort. She made sure they cleaned their feed buckets and drank adequate amounts of water. And she cleaned their stalls, checking there for any little sign out of the ordinary.
It was a chore, but it was one she enjoyed, the nightly ritual of putting the horses to bed. The barn was empty and she could relax with the creatures she loved.
“Hey, girls,” she spoke softly as she walked into the barn. A light had been left in the feed room, and the horses were black silhouettes against the windows of their stalls where the sky died minute by minute.
“Hey, Apollo.” She went to her newest charge and rubbed his neck. He nuzzled her hand in greeting.
“How about some supper?” She walked to the feed room and scooped out the feedings. As she dumped the grain into each horse’s feed bucket, she listened to their soft noises of approval.
“Maybe I’ll clean my saddles,” she said. The habit of talking to the horses went all the way back to her childhood, when she’d listened to Thomas Tremaine soothe and relax his own horses. Plenty of other trainers had teased her about it, but the horses seemed to appreciate the conversation.
Since she’d decided to stay in the barn, Connor went to close the door. She glanced up at the house and saw the lights on in the dining room. Clay would be there with Renata and Danny. She could almost feel his presence at Oaklawn. She quickly closed the barn door, shutting out the night.
The barn was warm; the heavy stone walls blocked the rising north wind. Connor brought out her close contact saddle and the saddle soap. The tackroom had a full bath and shower and the luxury of hot water, so she drew a large bucket of warm water and took off her jacket.
The only sounds were the wind moaning high in the eaves of the barn and the horses munching on grain. Connor immersed the slick bar of glycerine soap in the water and filled her cloth. The smell was wonderful. She set to work cleaning the saddle as she listened to the wind and the horses.
Her first warning that someone stood behind her was a tickle of warm breath on her neck. She froze, arms immersed up to the elbows in the warm, soapy water. The work had warmed her and she’d unbuttoned the two top buttons of her long-sleeved shirt and rolled the sleeves well above the elbow.
Before she could turn around, Clay’s hands dipped into the bucket beside hers. His breath was warm on her cheek as h
e stood behind her, his arms circling her.
“I missed you at dinner.” He spoke so that his voice ruffled the hair at her ear.
“I thought you might want a chance to be with the children.” Her voice was short, breathy. A flush of warmth spread over her.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
His voice teased her, tickling her cheek and playing along her skin.
“Willene will keep a plate in the oven for me.” She swallowed, afraid to turn around and face him and afraid to slip out of his arms.
“The water feels good.” His hands captured hers in the water and slid slowly up her arms, wetting the sleeves of her shirt as he cupped water over her arms. “I remember when I was a boy how much I liked to help our barn manager, an old character everyone called Mick, clean the saddles. He was as tough as tree bark.”
Connor started to answer, but she could only feel the beat of her heart in her chest.
Clay lifted one hand from the water and touched her cheek. Warm water ran from his fingers down her neck, soaking into her shirt as it traced in tiny rivulets down her breast. Her breath came on a sharp intake.
In that second, Clay turned her to face him. Their gazes caught and held.
“Connor?”
She lifted her face for his kiss. Whatever the consequences, she had no choice but to explore the passion Clay ignited with a look, a touch. She’d danced around the issue for weeks. Right or wrong, she had to take a chance. After all, as he’d pointed out, they were both single adults.
His fingers were at the buttons of her shirt, her jeans. Just as eager for the feel of his flesh, she opened his shirt and pushed it down his arms. Dropping their clothes around their feet, they undressed. The night air was cool, but neither noticed.
Reaching behind Connor, Clay picked up the sponge from the bucket. Connor caught her breath as the warm soapy water cascaded over her shoulders.
He pressed her against him, their chests slick against each other. His fingers glided over her back, warmed by the water and slick from the glycerine. The sensation was like molten fire.
Clay lifted her arms, locking them around his neck. “I’ve dreamed about this moment,” he whispered. “Trust me, Connor. I won’t hurt you.”
Her breasts slid against the crisp hairs on his chest as he lifted her waist high and eased her down his body, the soapy water creating a smooth lubricant. Connor felt him, hard, ready. Then his hands were moving the bar of soap along her back, her buttocks, her hips and breasts. Warm water cascaded from the sponge once again, and she clung to him, helpless against the sensations he aroused as his hands and lips explored her body.
His mouth closed over hers, and he lifted her, pressing into her as her back found the solidity of the barn wall.
It was much later, wrapped together in the warmth of Cleo’s clean red cooling sheet, that Connor realized the first cold weather of the season had settled in around them. Her breath frosted in the air in front of her face, and she could imagine that the freeze the weatherman had promised had arrived, stealing across the countryside.
In the light from the feed room she could see Clay’s sleeping profile. His hair, still damp, curled on his forehead. What they had started against the wall of the barn they’d finished on the clean sheet. Connor stretched tentatively. She was pleasantly sore. Now they were nestled in the big blanket in a pile of hay, and for the moment she was comfortable. Too comfortable. Clay had changed her perception of making love. He had excited her beyond anything she’d ever known, and the emotions he’d aroused were more substantial than she wanted to acknowledge. She respected the way he took care of his children, and she admired his honesty in telling her about his past. He was a man of integrity. As she watched his chest rise and fall in his sleep, Connor felt a sudden tremor of fear. She felt too much for Clay. That’s why her physical attraction had been so hard to control. Given any encouragement, she knew she could care a great deal for him. And that was really dangerous.
A chill touched her back and she slipped closer to him, drawing warmth from him. In his sleep, he turned to her, pulling her down against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “Have you already gotten your second wind?” he asked. His voice was warm and sleepy, with just the perfect hint of teasing.
In that second, Connor’s gaze found the rafters of the barn. An image came to her mind, unbidden and painful. “No, but I may have gotten a healthy dose of reality.” The past was over. Whatever had happened to Talla Sumner was not Clay’s fault. The man beside her could not be blamed for his dead wife’s excesses. Connor kissed his chin.
“Second thoughts?”
“Third, fourth, and fifth.”
He eased back so he could look into her eyes. “Stay here beside me a while longer, then we’ll both get up and shower. We should try to sneak in the house before anyone else wakes up.”
When she started to snuggle closer to him, he lifted her chin. “Connor, this isn’t a game with me. Tonight was, well, it was very special. It would be foolish to make any rash statements now, but I want you to know my feelings for you are real.” He kissed her forehead, nose, and chin. “Now snuggle up here and help me stay warm. Daylight will be here soon enough.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Put it higher!”
There was a note of command in Renata’s voice. She turned her pony in a circle and faced the jump again. Her mouth hardened into a flat line. “I said put it higher, Connor!”
Taking a deep breath, Connor ignored the imperious tone in the little girl’s voice. “Two feet is high enough, Renata. You’re still standing on your toes. When you get your seat down properly, we’ll put the jump up.”
“If Danny can jump two-six, so can I.” There was mutiny in Renata’s face.
“Look, I don’t know what bee got in your bonnet this morning, but I’ve had almost enough of you.” Connor could feel her temper, slow to ignite but potentially dangerous, begin to flare. “Either get a new attitude, or get off that pony. I’m not your servant, and I won’t have you speak to me that way.”
“My father will never love you!” Renata hurled the words at her.
For a split second Connor felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut. She and Clay had been so careful, so very careful not to let Renata or Danny—or even Willene—know about the new level of their relationship. They had both agreed that it would do Renata no good at this point. Their feelings for each other had strengthened, forming a demanding bond. But neither was willing to say they were at a stage where the children needed to be told. No, they were both far too careful, and too afraid of failure, to take any giant steps such as that.
Over the last few weeks of November and the first week of December, Clay had found more and more reason to stay overnight at Oaklawn. That was undeniable. Once the children were asleep in their beds, Clay found his way to Connor’s room. There, shut off from the rest of the house, they’d made love in slow, unhurried hours. But each morning, Clay was careful to be in the master bedroom long before anyone else in the household stirred. Perhaps, though, they’d been careless one night, and Renata had discovered their secret. Concern shot through Connor. Whatever she and Clay shared together, she had no wish to inflict more trauma on Renata or Danny.
“We aren’t here to discuss your father’s feelings, we’re here to learn to jump,” Connor said, keeping her tone matter-of-fact.
“Daddy loves my mother. He could never love you or anyone else.”
“Get up in the galloping position and try the jump again, Renata. Keep your weight in your heels, and try not to lean on the horse’s neck. Balance there if you have to, but don’t lean.”
“He won’t love you!” Renata’s voice cracked. Her eyes were black pools of fury. “Not in a million years. No matter what you do!”
Connor walked over to the child. “Renata, why don’t we talk about this later. You’re upset with me. I can see that.”
“What’s wrong?” Danny trotted up from the barn on his small gelding, Ali
Baba.
“Daddy will never love Connor,” Renata declared hotly. “It doesn’t matter what she does. She’s a stupid fool if she thinks he will.”
Danny looked from his sister to Connor. His face immediately went blank.
“Danny, why don’t you and your sister take a ride through the woods?” Connor was at a loss for what else to do. She had no intention of lying to Renata. But what truth could she tell her? That she and Clay were involved in a hot affair? That wasn’t exactly what either of the children needed to hear. And it was pointless to try and work with Renata when she was in such a state.
“Can we?” Danny asked, his eyes lighting. “Can we go alone?”
“If you’ll remember that your sister’s pony can’t go as fast as Ali. And promise me you won’t race. That’s the best way I know to break your neck in these woods.”
“We promise,” Danny said, not even giving his sister a chance to answer.
“Be careful,” Connor said. She deliberately turned her back and walked to the barn. She could feel Renata’s eyes boring into her. What had the child seen? She wanted to go to the barn and call Clay at his office as soon as possible.
As she walked across the arena, she could feel Renata and Danny watching her. She kept walking, even though she felt her heart breaking for the little girl. Renata was so afraid of losing Clay’s affection that she viewed everyone except Danny as a potential enemy. Connor had hoped to avoid this issue for a few more months, until she was certain what Clay’s feelings for her were. She had no doubt that she’d fallen in love with him. But in the bliss of love, she hadn’t completely lost her good sense. Just because she was in love with him didn’t mean that he loved her equally.
Then there was Clay’s career. So far, through the fall and early winter, he’d been almost free of political duties. His law practice kept him busy—very busy. But it was nothing compared to what would happen in the spring and summer, when he started his campaign. Connor knew then that her relationship with him would be more liability than pleasure. Having lived in Alabama only three months, she was well aware of the political clout religious organizations held. As much as Clay disdained those organizations, he was going to have to acknowledge them.
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