by Remy Rose
Listening to his last few words, I felt a sting in my nose—the prelude to tears—and quickly squelched it. I have to think with my head and not my heart, because my heart can be so annoyingly weak. I also have to keep in mind that Carlo is the reason I’m even dealing with this crap in the first place.
The next thing I thought of was the car that followed me last Friday. Could that have been Brock? If it was, hopefully that would be the worst of it, but if he has anything else up his sleeve, I’ll just be extra cautious: have my keys ready when I’m walking to my car, keep the chain on my apartment door, always have my phone with me. I’ve always felt safe in my apartment complex and at Windswept, and if I feel really wigged out about walking out of Tucker's, I can always ask Bruce or someone to watch me go to my car. And it’s not like I go out anywhere by myself; I’m usually meeting Teal and her friends. So it should be fine. No matter what happens, I definitely don’t want to be dependent on Carlo.
After cleaning six stalls, I’m warm enough to take off my wool hat and jacket, working only in a turtleneck, fleece vest and jeans. I have four more stalls to go, and after that, I plan to oil some tack and pour the bags of grain Ingrid bought into the big storage barrels before heading to the grocery store. I’m returning from the shavings pile with a full wheelbarrow when Josh walks into the barn.
He’s wearing his thick cowboy jacket with the Sherpa collar turned up and dark jeans, looking boyish in a navy knit cap. He grins at me, and it strikes me that I’ve never been with him when he wasn't smiling.
“Hey, Cassandra. You look like you're hard at work.”
“Oh, yes. It's keeping me warm.”
“It's funny, I was cold just before I came in here. But now, I'm not.” His dimples are showing. “Why do you suppose that is?”
Someone’s in a flirty mood. I push the wheelbarrow into Sweet Surrender's stall and dump the shavings in before meeting Josh's gaze. “I think it has to do with the sun coming in the barn,” I answer innocently, trying to keep a straight face.
“Maybe. I was thinking of another reason.” He comes closer, his blue eyes light and warm. “Are you going to stick around after you finish your stalls? I was thinking of taking Tango for a ride and wondered if you and Brownie wanted to go with us—maybe warm up in the outside ring and just take a nice walk around the field after.”
At the mention of Brownie's name, I feel a pang of sadness. “Ordinarily, I'd say yes, but I feel weird now since he's going to be leaving in just a few days. Part of it is I don't want him to get injured or anything when he's so close to going to a new home, but part of it is, my heart just hurts.”
“Ah, shit...I'm sorry, Cassandra. I understand. You can always ride Tango, or someone else here, right?”
“Probably, although once Brownie's gone, I may not get to ride as much. Ingrid hasn't really been too pumped about having me work any of the horses. Carl—” I interrupt myself. “The owner of the stable kind of convinced Ingrid to let me ride...Brownie, especially. Ingrid likes to keep me in more of a stall-cleaning, aisle-sweeping mode. And it honestly won't be the same with any other horse, but I'll have to suck it up.”
“It sounds like the owner was smart enough to see your potential.”
If you only knew, Josh. “I guess.” I force myself to smile. “But it's a beautiful day to ride. You'll have fun.”
“Yes—although it would be a lot more fun if you were able to go with me.”
I quickly turn away from him and pick up my pitchfork to spread out the shavings. Thank God for the distraction of doing stalls.
Josh comes over to rest his arms on top of the open stall door. “You know, it's too bad that I didn't know you before.”
“Before?”
“When I used to live in Lititz. But you probably would have still been in high school, right?”
“I graduated three and a half years ago.”
“And I moved away three years ago, when I was twenty-two. So you would’ve been out of school, and eligible.” He grins again. “A few years younger than me, but eligible.”
“We wouldn't have met, though, since I lived in E-town. And since I was only nineteen, I wasn't exactly going out to bars. You, however, were probably a different story.”
Josh laughs. “Making assumptions, are we?”
“I think it's a safe one.”
“Okay, so you got me. I was a little wilder a few years ago than I am now. I had some growing up to do. But I've matured since then.” Straightening, he reaches into Sweet Surrender's stall and lifts out the water pail which has a thin glaze of ice on the top. “I'll dump this for you.”
“Thanks.” I watch him walk away, trying not to acknowledge that his ass looks really, really good in those jeans.
He returns with the empty pail and puts it back on the hook in the stall. “So. Where were we?”
“You were saying how mature you were.” I pull the wheelbarrow into the aisle and slide the door latch closed.
“I was saying I had matured. There's a difference. You, on the other hand, are very mature. You seem wise beyond your years. But most of the time, you look like a young girl, which is deadly.”
“Deadly? What are you talking about?”
“It drives guys crazy when girls have that young, innocent look.”
“I don't want to burst your bubble, Josh, but as you get to know me more, you'll find out I'm really not that innocent.”
“Even better.”
I try like hell, but I can’t stop blushing.
“Remember when I was showing you those techniques with Tango, and I told you there was a name for everything?”
“Yes.”
“Irresistible. That's my label for you, right now.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph...this is getting intense. I’m trying to figure out how to respond when Ingrid suddenly walks in, looking perfect in her winter jodhpurs and ice-blue fleece jacket. She’s carrying a large cardboard box, which she sets on the bench just inside the door.
Seeing her brings back the realization of Brownie leaving. There’s a sudden coldness in my heart.
“Hey, Ingrid.”
“Joshua, good morning.” Ingrid shows her teeth in a rare smile. “I'm planning to ride soon, and I'd like it if you'd join me.”
“Sure. Be happy to.”
“Cassandra,” Ingrid says, turning toward me. “That box is for you. Mr. Leone asked me to deliver it.”
Feeling Josh's curious gaze and Ingrid's cold eyes on me is making this just a little awkward. “Okay, thanks. I’ll make sure to take it home with me.”
“He wanted you to open it as soon as I gave it to you.”
So the opening it later thing is apparently not an option. Controlling me yet again, Carlo? Now I’m feeling a little apprehensive in addition to awkward. “All right.”
I go over to the bench and sit down beside the box, taking off my gloves. Lifting the lid, I find a notecard with a cursive letterC embossed on the front, lying on top of crisp layers of red and green striped tissue paper. I open the note, realizing this is the first time I’ve seen Carlo's handwriting. It’s neat and precise, in all caps, with each letter perfectly formed. Controlled. I wouldn't have expected anything different.
Cassandra: for this christmas, I Give you warmth. While I would have rather done this directly, I'll have to settle for indirectly. I made other arrangements as well which I’ve asked ingrid to explain. Merry christmas. Carlo.
Warmth? Carefully, I take out the tissue paper and set it on the bench beside me, aware that Josh and Ingrid are watching, and then I suck in my breath. Lying in the box, unwrapped, are winter riding gloves and a fleece helmet cover with ear flaps. There are three pairs of wool socks and a soft fleece jacket, similar to the one Ingrid has on today, deep purple in color. Nestled in the jacket is a heavy ceramic mug with the silhouette of a horse on the front and two hot chocolate packets tucked inside. And at the bottom of the box, a pair of brand new black Mountain Horse winter riding boots.
As much as I can’t stand to admit it—God damn, how I hate to admit it—this is...thoughtful. He gave me something that is so very me.
I sit staring into the box, not knowing what to say, until I finally look up at Ingrid who seems irritated that I’ve kept her waiting.
“Mr. Leone has also asked me to inform you that he is making arrangements to have the indoor arena heated. Your rides—and Joshua's and mine—will be much more enjoyable this winter.”
Heat for the indoor arena? That will be amazing. I’ve got to think Ingrid is pleased about this, too, even if she doesn’t appear to be.
Josh whistles approvingly. “That's quite a gift. I haven't met Mr. Leone, but I'm liking him a whole lot right now.”
Reality falls on me with a thud. Riding in a warm arena will be wonderful, yes—but I won’t be riding Brownie.
My throat feels thick. I swallow and blink hard, putting the tissue paper back in the box and closing the lid.
“I also need to inform you of something else, Cassandra.” Ingrid's tone is sharp as she folds her arms. “Brownie has a new owner.”
What’s she trying to do, rub it in? “I know,” I reply, a little more abruptly than I mean to. “When will he be leaving?”
“He won't be.”
“What? Why? What about his new owner?”
Ingrid pauses, and I swear I see the shadow of a smile cross her face. “I'm looking at her. Mr. Leone has transferred ownership to you.”
WHAAAT? My God...what did she just say?
She reaches into her jacket pocket and takes out an envelope which she hands to me. “Here are the papers. His board and all veterinary and farrier bills will be paid in full for as long as you own him.”
Stunned, I can only stare at Ingrid, then at Josh, in utter disbelief.
Carlo gave me warmth.
And incredibly, he gave me Brownie.
A rush of emotions I can’t even name pour through me. My hand—the hand holding the envelope containing the papers for my horse—starts to shake.
“I'm sure the news will take a while to sink in,” Ingrid says. “God knows, it certainly did for me. Now if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to get Rafsi and have one of the last chilly rides in our soon-to-be-heated arena. Josh, I’ll see you in there soon.”
Josh nods, and as Ingrid walks away, he reaches me in three strides, scooping me up in a bear hug. I’m laughing as he spins me around.
“Girl, I am damned happy for you.”
“Thank you. I am damned happy for me, too. Shocked, but so damned happy.”
What I don’t tell Josh is how amazing it is that I’m allowing myself to be happy, even though this unbelievable gift is from Carlo. I know that somewhere inside me should be a voice shouting don't accept this...it's a bribe. But I can’t hear one. Carlo knows how much Brownie means to me—he knew this from the very beginning—so it’s hard to think of him doing this for the sole purpose of trying to win me back.
Call it the magic of the holiday season, but right now, at this moment, I want to believe in the goodness of Carlo Leone.
“Josh,” I tell him breathlessly, grasping his upper arms as I stand in his embrace. “I guess I'll be taking you up on your offer to ride, after all.”
chapter twenty-nine ~ Carlo
I’m not used to feeling apprehensive with a woman, but Liv has me in this state as I drive to the Fulton Steamboat Inn to pick her up. She’s unpredictable and strong-willed, but I do have to maintain a good business relationship with her, and beyond that, I like her. Last night was easier because I brought along Jared and Wayne to dinner at Massimo's. But tonight it’s going to be just Liv and me at Bull Feeney's.
I picked Bull Feeney's partly because Liv’s a pub type of woman. It’ll be loud and casual with plenty of distractions—not the type of venue for a romantic evening. Although it had led to a romantic evening when Cassandra and I were there, the night we ended up in the hayloft of Windswept Stable.
There’s a memory I’ve called upon more than once. Memories are all I have right now, but I’m encouraged by the text she sent me a couple of weeks ago. Just three words: Thank you Carlo. The fact that she added my name made it mean more, somehow. After getting that message, I imagined how it would be to hear her say those words in person—look at me with those beautiful seaglass-colored eyes, her lips parted. I could picture her hair in loose waves, spilling over her shoulders the way I like it, and I thought about putting my hand under it, pulling her head back until she closed her eyes and waited for me to put my mouth on hers...
Christ, if only this could be reality instead of some lame fantasy replayed in my mind over and over in the darkness of my bedroom, until I get so full with the thought of taking her that I have to give myself release.
After she texted me her thanks, I hoped it might open up some sort of dialogue. I never would have expected it—just hoped. God, I wish I could have seen her face when she unwrapped the gift, and especially when Ingrid told her that Brownie was hers. I gave Ingrid careful instructions on the timing—first let Cassandra open the box, give it a few seconds to sink in, and then share the big news. I’m guessing it practically killed Ingrid to participate in this gift for Cassandra—it was amusing as hell for me to picture my stable manager's face during the presentation. But I knew Ingrid would do it, for me.
It didn’t take me long to make the decision that Brownie belonged with Cassandra. Some things you just...know.
And I think my mother would be very pleased.
I pull into the parking lot of the inn. It’s impressive at night, with all three decks of the riverboat-style building trimmed in white lights. I park the Mercedes and walk under the red and yellow striped awning into the Victorian-themed lobby and text Liv that I’m here. It’ll be much safer to meet her in the very public inn entrance.
About five minutes later, the elevator doors open, with Liv and a couple of men in business suits stepping out. Got to admit, she looks really good. Her hair is styled differently than last night, flipping up at her chin that makes it look disheveled and carefree. She’s carrying a black clutch and wearing a long, white wool coat, opened to reveal a black silk shirt unbuttoned down into dangerous territory and tucked into tight white pants. Her waist looks even smaller with the wide black belt. and she’s wearing black high-heeled boots—the knock-me-down-and-fuck-me kind. Her neck is bare, so if you have a penis, your eyes are drawn to the shadowy V of her cleavage. Which is, undoubtedly, her goal.
Olivia hurries over to me like she’s rushing to see a long-lost lover at an airport. “Carlo,” she exclaims, throwing her arms around me. “I've been drinking!”
No shit. I grin as the scents of booze and her flowery perfume wash over me. “Then it's a good thing I'm driving. How are you?”
“Mmm...much better now.” She moves closer to snuggle against me, putting her cheek against the front of my coat.
“How do you like the inn?”
“It's gorgeous, of course—lonely, though. And only a public hot tub, which as we know isn't nearly as much fun. I'm so glad I have you all to myself tonight.”
Oh, Jesus. Here we go. I’ll play it cool the best I can. “That's very nice of you to say.”
Olivia tips her head back to look at me and pouts. Her lipstick is plum-colored, and she has a tiny fleck of it just above her upper lip which I decide not to point out.
“I'm not saying it to be nice, Carlo. I'm saying it because it's what I feel. If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I'm up front.”
“I gathered that. You're wearing your hair differently tonight—it's a good style for you.”
“You noticed. I'm impressed! Women love when men notice those kinds of things. Are you for real, Carlo, or just some fexy sigment of my imagination?” She giggles. “I mean, sexy figment.” Her eyes widening, she squeezes my upper arms. “Mmm...even through your coat, I can feel your muscles. You work out, don't you?”
“All the time.”
Sighing, s
he releases her hold on me and folds her arms, looking at me almost reproachfully. “You're the entire package, Carlo. Gorgeous, charming, witty, rich—and single, as far as I know. But apparently unavailable.” Her plum lips pout again. “Care to elaborate on the reason for that?”
The woman is nothing if not blunt. “No.” I flash her a smile. “Ready to head to the pub?”
“Don't think you're getting off the hook, Mr. Leone. I don't give up that easily. But yes, I'm ready. For the pub...” She winks at me suggestively. “And more.”
The drive to Bull Feeney's is a short one. Thankfully. Liv is flirty and animated, like I thought she would be, and I’m doing my best to divert her with business-related questions. It’s just started to snow as we pull in to the pub's parking lot.
I go around to the passenger's side and open Liv's door. She climbs out gracefully, tiny snowflakes studding her hair. “And you're also a gentleman—another attribute I forgot to mention.”
“I'm not always a gentleman, Liv.”
She slips her arm through mine as we walk to the door. “If you're talking about in the bedroom, I would be very okay with that.”
Jesus, she’s too much. I have to say, Liv is entertaining as hell.
The pub is crowded and noisy, pulsing with the sound of Irish music and laughter. Most of the trestle tables are full, the clientele mainly in their twenties and early thirties. Wait staff weave their way through the crowd, balancing trays of pitchers and bowls of popcorn. I see an available table at the far end of the pub and point it out to Liv, and the two of us start to make our way over there. She tugs on my arm, saying something about ordering at the bar, and when I turn back to answer her, I feel someone bump into me.
