by Susan Wiggs
“Used to?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “He’s busy with his practice. I usually ride alone now. I sometimes wonder who’ll keep them fit when I leave.”
Isabel hesitated. She was not part of this. But she had come to care so much for Lucas. “You have plans, then,” she prompted.
He picked up a currycomb and idly stroked the horse. “I do. The trouble is, they’re a bit different from my father’s plans. He wants me to finish my education here in the city and become a doctor.”
“And what do you want?”
He stopped combing and looked up, as though the question startled him. “I want to win an appointment to the Military Academy at West Point. Senator Stanford has said he’d give me a nomination.”
“That’s an admirable ambition. What does your father think of this plan?”
The comb started moving again, making furrows along the horse’s flank. “I haven’t told him.”
“You told a United States senator, but you didn’t tell your father?”
“He won’t approve. He doesn’t approve of anything I do.” He put the comb away and checked the horses’ feed and water.
Isabel watched him thoughtfully. The urge to get involved with Lucas and his father was overwhelming. She’d never felt anything quite like this before. She hurt for them, but she didn’t know how to fix this. So she said nothing as he held the door for her. Instead, she smiled at him. “Thank you for showing me the horses.”
“Maybe you could learn to ride one day.”
“I’d like that. It would be quite an adventure.” She took his arm and they started back toward the house. “Life is filled with adventures I haven’t had yet,” she told him. “Do you know, I’ve never seen a whale?”
“You’ll see them in the winter, when they migrate from the north,” he said.
She stayed silent, knowing she wouldn’t be here for the event.
“Blue, you must come, and hurry.” On a sunny Sunday afternoon, Belinda found him in his study, conferring with Rory about the finances of the Rescue League. When she spied Rory sitting in a wing chair by the hearth, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh. I suppose you’d better come, too.”
“With an invitation like that, how can I refuse?” said Rory.
Blue was already striding to the door. “What’s the matter?” he asked his sister.
“It’s awful,” she said. “Truly awful. You see, Isabel—”
“What’s happened to Isabel?” he demanded. Even as he spoke, two things struck him. First, even the suggestion of danger to her had the power to knock him over. And second, he had stopped thinking of her as “Miss Fish-Wooten.” She was Isabel, and she had become a permanent fixture in his thoughts, no matter how he resisted.
“This way,” she said. “My driver’s waiting.”
“Confound it, Belinda. Just tell me what’s wrong. Do I need my surgical kit?”
“It’s not a matter of life or death, if that’s what you’re asking.” She stood and stared pointedly at Rory until he handed her up into the buggy, then sat down beside her.
“Then what is it?” Blue climbed up, and the buggy rolled forward even before he took a seat.
“You’ll see.” She focused her attention on the roadway, but failed to conceal a gleam in her eye.
“She’s a nightmare,” Rory said, edging away from her on the seat in mock horror. “She’s kidnapped us.”
“You only wish that were true,” she stated, thrusting up her chin at a haughty angle.
They turned into Laguna Park, crowded with strolling couples. Women in dresses like white blossoms studded the croquet green, and in the distant hills, golfers enjoyed a late-afternoon round. Belinda directed the driver to the far side of the park, past the mirrorlike lagoon, to the riding arena. Even from a distance, Blue recognized Gonzalo, his best horse, tethered in the shade beside the paddock fence.
“Damn it, Belinda—”
“Oh, don’t get all huffy with me. You weren’t using him.” As soon as the buggy stopped, she thanked the driver and gave Rory a shove. “Hurry. Help me down.”
“So what’s the calamity you keep promising me?” Blue demanded, stalking after his sister.
“It’s Isabel. Oh, it’s awful.” Belinda led the way to the horses. In the shade of a eucalyptus grove, Amanda, Hank, Lucas and Isabel were seated, drinking lemonade. The sight of her, calm and quite healthy, made Blue’s gut lurch with relief.
“What’s awful?” Rory asked, as frustrated as Blue now.
“She doesn’t know how to ride. Can you imagine that? The poor woman has no idea how to ride a horse.”
Blue swore under his breath. “You dragged us out here to tell us that?”
“No.” Belinda waved to Isabel, summoning her over. “I dragged you out here to do something about it.”
Isabel had the sort of smile, Blue realized, that wrapped around his heart. It was all he could do not to smile back.
“Thank you so much for offering to teach me,” she said. She wore a light gray riding habit. He thought it might have belonged to Sancha, but in truth, Sancha had owned so many gowns, he couldn’t remember them all.
“I offered nothing of the sort. My sister coerced me into coming here.”
“But now that you’re here, you might as well stay.” Putting on her bowler hat, Isabel slipped her arm into his. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’ve never had a chance.”
He glared at his younger brother and sister, and then at Lucas. The boy lay back against the tree trunk, his eyes lazy slits, watching Blue with frank amusement.
“Any one of you could teach her,” he said to them.
“We certainly could,” Amanda agreed. She beamed at him and Isabel. “Everyone who bears the Calhoun name learns to ride before walking. But Blue must be the one to teach you.” She turned away to pour more lemonade for Lucas and Hank.
“Why would anyone want to learn to ride a horse?” Rory muttered. “I can’t stand horses.”
“I adore them,” Belinda declared. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll learn to adore them, too.”
“I grew up around horses,” Rory reminded her. “Nebraska farm plugs. A horse was nearly the death of me. I’m going to drink lemonade with Amanda.”
Isabel walked over to the paddock and opened the gate. If she truly didn’t know horses, she could get in trouble. Blue hastened to catch up with her and put his hand on the gate. “How is it that you never learned to ride?” he asked.
“Perhaps I was waiting for the right teacher to come along.” She brushed past him and went straight to Gonzalo’s side. “Or the right horse. He’s lovely, isn’t he?”
“He’s my best horse.”
“Well, I’m flattered that you chose him for me to learn on.”
“I didn’t— Watch that,” he said, grabbing her hand. “You don’t want to startle him. You’ve got to approach a horse from this angle, and let him know what you intend.”
“And what do I intend?”
“To ride him.” Blue could only marvel at the turn the day had taken. He supposed he could have flatly refused to go along with the scheme. Then he realized that he wanted to be here, out in the open air on a summer day, teaching someone to ride a horse. Once he surrendered, the rest was easy. He helped her to mount, using a more-than-willing Hank as the mounting block.
Between Blue’s hands, her waist felt slender and fragile. “Are you sure you’re well enough?” he asked.
“More than well enough,” she stated. “Convalescence is so tedious.”
Gonzalo hadn’t worn a ladies’ saddle in years, but seemed unperturbed by the two-horned contraption as Isabel took her seat. “Oh, my,” she said. “A horse is a very tall animal, isn’t he?”
“You aren’t mounted properly,” said Blue, ignoring Hank’s snicker as his brother sauntered away.
“What do you mean?” She clutched Gonzalo’s mane.
“Your legs aren’t situated right. You want the right o
ne hooked over the first horn—” He gave up trying to explain. “It’s like this.” He knew he was breaking every rule of polite society, but he cared even less than she did. Reaching up, he placed one hand on her calf, the other on her thigh. Through the layers of clothing, he could feel the firmness of her muscles. Even more gratifying, he heard her sharp, swift intake of breath.
“Dr. Calhoun—”
“Do you want to learn this or not?” He shed his jacket and waistcoat, and rolled back first one sleeve, then the other.
“Yes,” she said, touching her tongue to her lower lip as her gaze swept over him. “I do.”
Eighteen
“Perhaps it was a good idea to get you out into the fresh air,” Dr. Calhoun told Isabel two mornings later. “Your recovery is remarkable.”
“That’s quite a relief,” she said, folding her hands atop the counterpane. She could hardly believe this was the same man who had taught her to ride a horse, who had handled and teased her with careless affection.
Today he was all business and seemed intent on reminding her of her status as an unwanted intruder. “You’re a fast healer.”
“I always have been. However, I’ve never been shot before. I might have a relapse.”
He regarded her, stony-faced and inscrutable. Honestly, she didn’t know why she liked this man. He mistrusted every hair on her head and clearly wanted her out of his life. Almost as much as she wanted to stay in it.
“Very well,” she said, “you needn’t trouble yourself over me a moment longer.”
“Fine,” he said, putting away his stethoscope.
“Fine,” she said, swinging back the bedclothes. With a twinge of satisfaction, she saw him glance at her bare legs and feet before averting his gaze.
Perhaps he was remembering the way he’d held her and touched her during the riding lesson. She certainly was. There was something happening between them, no matter how steadfast he was in his refusal to acknowledge it. A powerful current of energy, invisible but undeniable, hummed between them. This was both new and surprising to her. She had been in the company of many men, often against her will, yet she had never felt this heat and yearning.
Perhaps he hadn’t, either. Perhaps that was why he wanted to get rid of her.
Some people were reluctant to embrace things that were new. He probably felt an aversion to the unfamiliar. Then again, she conceded, maybe his aversion was specific to her.
She went to the doorway of the adjacent dressing room and paused. “I’ll be needing my belongings back, please.”
He regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Your clothing was ruined. You may help yourself to anything you find here.”
“I already have.”
“I’ve noticed.”
That was something, at least, to know he was aware of more than her pulse rate and temperature. But she knew he wouldn’t be so agreeable about the next issue. “What have you done with my guns, Doctor?”
“I don’t allow firearms of any sort in my house.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“If you must know, McKnight has them.”
So that was it. Now she knew that despite the evidence furnished by Rory McKnight, despite the fact that an eyewitness claimed the shooter wore skirts, Blue Calhoun didn’t trust her and didn’t believe in her innocence. The only way to prove her claim and banish his doubts was to find the culprit who had shot both her and the patrolman that night. Then again, she thought, her guilt or innocence would cease to matter if she simply left, as he seemed so eager for her to do.
And she must, Isabel realized. Staying was impossible, no matter what her heart wanted. She didn’t belong in his world and never would.
A knock came at the door. “You are not setting this poor woman adrift,” said Eliza, entering the room.
“I’m discharging her.” He made a great show of reorganizing his surgical kit.
“It’s all right, really,” said Isabel. “I must be on my way, as well.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’ve been reading Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson’s essays of the south seas. I’ve always wanted to see paradise for myself.”
“Then you should do so as soon as possible,” said Blue.
Eliza smacked him on the arm. “That’s no way to treat a guest.”
Blue glared at Isabel. “She’s not a guest. She’s a patient. Now that she’s better, she’s free to go.” Without another word, he walked out of the room.
Eliza stared at the empty doorway, the clean lines of her profile sharp with concern. “I must apologize for—”
“No, you mustn’t.” It occurred to Isabel that as harsh as he was, he’d shown her more kindness than any other man ever had. She’d come to him, wounded and bleeding. And he had healed her. Not another person in the world had done that for her. Yet that didn’t lessen the pain of his dismissal.
Looking at Eliza, she wondered how much of herself to reveal to this kind, dignified woman who had known Blue Calhoun for so much of his life. Eliza had seen him as a child so devastated by the loss of his mother that he couldn’t speak. She’d known him as a young soldier, a doctor, the bridegroom of an aristocrat. And somehow, for reasons Isabel could not fathom, she seemed to expect something from Isabel.
“I need no apology,” she reiterated. “I cannot even afford to pay his fee.”
“Money has never been important to Blue.”
Because he’s never gone without, she thought. She crossed the room and picked up a porcelain oval frame with a miniature painting of Sancha Montgomery Calhoun. “Delta told me how she was killed. And Belinda told me about their mother.”
“Then you know the ghosts that haunt him. Sometimes I fear his grief gets worse, not better.”
“He thinks he should have saved her,” Isabel said.
“Yes.”
“He’s been trying to save people ever since.”
Eliza smiled briefly. “You noticed.” She took the small picture from Isabel and carefully set it down. “His father was a widower when we met. Hunter took the death of his wife hard, too. But he finally found a way to make peace with the past. In his case, he changed nearly every aspect of his life. He left behind a plantation in Virginia and married me…eventually.”
Isabel was surprised and touched that this woman would share such a personal story with her. She thought about Hunter Calhoun, who seemed so quietly contented in the company of his family. Yet despite that contentment, she sensed a sadness in him, a peaceful melancholy. People with tragic pasts went forward in spite of things.
“If Dr. Cal—Blue wishes to change, it’s up to him, I suppose,” said Isabel.
“Yes, and no.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s entirely up to him. But if he’s going to change his life, he needs a reason.” Eliza reached out and adjusted one of the combs in Isabel’s hair.
Isabel flinched at the look on the older woman’s face. “You think I could be that reason.”
“What I think isn’t important. What do you think?”
“That you want him to marry again and be happy.” Isabel nearly laughed with the irony of it. “You probably say that about every woman he meets.”
“I think you know better than that. You do love him. I can tell.”
The certainty in Eliza’s voice caught at Isabel’s heart. She was shocked at the tug of yearning she felt. “I’m the last person in the world who could be Blue Calhoun’s reason for living.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We’re from entirely different worlds. It’s simply impossible.”
“I’m surprised to hear an independent woman like you declaring anything impossible. Now. What is this nonsense about you leaving?”
“It’s time for me to go.”
“The gala is coming up. You promised my daughters you’d attend.”
Isabel adored balls and social events. She felt torn, and the longing must have shown in her face. “I made no
promises, and as I said, it’s impossible. We’re too different. He can’t leave this place, and I can’t stay.”
Eliza hesitated, perhaps deliberating whether or not to reveal more of herself. She clasped her hands in front of her and regarded Isabel steadily. “Would it surprise you to know my mother was a Negro freewoman from Kingston, Jamaica?”
Isabel studied the pale, porcelain face, the delicate features, the perfectly coiffed hair. “I suppose it’s not the first thing that occurred to me when I met you.”
“Would it surprise you to know that my husband is the son of the slave owner?”
Isabel’s jaw dropped.
Eliza smiled. “You see, there are differences that matter and differences that do not. So I suppose you need to decide whether or not the differences between you and Blue matter.”
“Mrs. Calhoun—”
“Eliza.”
“Eliza. You’ve only just met me. You don’t know anything about me. Yet you seem rather keen on matchmaking. Forgive me for asking, but why?”
“Because I know my stepson. Something new is happening to him because of you. Something good. My dear, when I see the way he looks at you, I know all I need to know. I won’t lie to you and say he’s an easy man to love. But then again, what man is?”
Nineteen
Blue and Rory emerged from the Excelsior Hotel, with its lush court and abundant atrium gardens, out onto the noise and dust of New Montgomery Street. They had just finished a luncheon with Blue’s family, who were staying there.
“Your mother is a wonder,” Rory said, flipping the domed top of his pocket watch to check the time. “She gave me her pledge to raise at least twenty percent of the Rescue League’s annual budget.”
“She’ll do it, too.”
“I used to despise charity balls, but I find I like them when my charity is the beneficiary.” He tucked away the watch. “How about you?”
Blue ran his index finger around his stiff, boiled collar. The morning fog had yielded to glaring sunshine. “You know how I feel about dances and galas, regardless of the cause.”
