by Renee Ryan
“You’re riding? Oh, Garrick, I’m so proud of you. Let’s go see to Gypsy right now. I think the horse race is the next event.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Garrick held her as gently as possible without letting her escape, and they continued toward the field. “What prize does the winner of this race receive?”
“A blue ribbon and china bowl for her hope chest.” She ceased her struggles and walked calmly beside him. “And the right to kiss the man of her choice. On the cheek, of course.”
“A kiss!” Garrick stopped, still holding her arm. “Well, perhaps—” If she won, whom would she choose? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.
She gave him a saucy smile. “All right, then. You’ve convinced me. I’m sure Nolan Means—he’s the banker, you know—would like for me to win. Shall we proceed?”
She broke away and marched in the most ladylike way toward the starting line, where some twelve or so girls lined up, including the two younger Eberly daughters. Beryl was passing out spoons, and her sister Grace was placing a large brown egg on each one. No doubt Beryl didn’t enter because Percy wasn’t there to kiss—a fortuitous situation to Garrick’s way of thinking. Perhaps Grace considered the race too undignified for a deputy sheriff.
As with the children’s events, Grace fired her Colt .45 to start the race. Cheers erupted from the crowd, along with cries of encouragement. From his place on the sidelines, Garrick had a good view of the proceedings, and he cheered Rosamond on. Several girls started too quickly and lost their eggs straightaway or tripped and fell. Yolks and whites splattered down blouses, aprons or skirts. He’d feel quite the cad if Rosamond ruined her lovely pink dress. Too late to purchase one of Mrs. Starling’s aprons. Too late to tell her she needn’t race to please him. But her determined expression as she glided down the course gave evidence that she was thoroughly enjoying the competition.
To his surprise and delight, she won, stepping across the chalked finish line a half step in front of Laurie Eberly. The crowd cheered even louder while the rest of the girls completed the course.
Rosamond carefully lifted her egg from the spoon and carried it back to the starting line, where one of the judges cracked it into a bowl to prove her an honest winner. Garrick made his way over to congratulate her but couldn’t reach her for the cheering crowd. The ribbons were distributed, and the third place winner planted an enthusiastic kiss on her beau’s lips. Laurie accepted the second place award and then looked around as if searching for someone. She shrugged and gave her father a kiss on the cheek.
Rosamond looked around the crowd. Garrick’s heart stuttered. If only he’d planned this better and not insisted she enter the race. Nolan Means stood close by her, his young sister having participated in the event. For all of his banker’s dignity, he looked at Rosamond rather longingly. Or perhaps Garrick was merely seeing his own longing in the other man’s eyes. Still, if she kissed Nolan, Garrick would have all the more reason for stifling his attraction to her. Which, of course, would continue to be quite impossible.
“Hurry up and kiss somebody, Rosamond,” Grace Eberly called out. “We got a horse race to run.”
Her emerald eyes bright, her ivory cheeks flaming, Rosamond stared across the crowd, straight at Garrick. His pulse pounded in his ears. Would she kiss him? Was it even proper for him to let her? Certainly not in England, but these Americans held a different and interesting view of such things.
Rosamond essentially shoved her way through the mob, placed her hands on his cheeks, stood on tiptoes and—to his shock—planted a warm kiss on his lips. She stood back briefly and then kissed him again. Before he realized what he was doing, his arms went around her waist, and he answered in kind, kissing her in a way he’d never dared to dream of. Somewhere in the distance, he heard laughter and cheers and many foolish remarks. But all he could truly know was that this was right, this was good and he loved Rosamond Northam with all of his heart.
She broke from him gently and whispered, “The first kiss was for my race. The second was my best wishes for yours.”
“Thank you.” For the kiss. For the good wishes. For simply being her wonderful self.
He raised his head and looked beyond her. There stood Tolley, hatred burning in his eyes, a shocking yet predictable reminder of one of the reasons why Garrick could never pursue a further relationship with the beautiful lady in his arms.
*
Rosamond felt Garrick’s embrace tighten and then suddenly go slack. Hadn’t he enjoyed being kissed? She certainly had. Yes, she could tell he’d liked it from the surprise and delight on his face between the two kisses and his enthusiastic response to the second one. What had changed? She released him and glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing to explain why his mood had shifted. Tolley was making his way through the crowd toward the horses, so he couldn’t be the cause of Garrick’s change.
“I’m sorry.” She stepped back from him. “So much for the teacher and her dignity.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t be sorry. Please.” A frown darted across his forehead. “I’m quite pleased that you chose me, though I think your banker friend is a bit disappointed.” He added a laugh that seemed forced, not at all like his carefree laughter before her race. “Well, I suppose I should see to Gypsy. Your father tells me she’ll give the other horses some healthy competition. Now let’s hope I can be the jockey she deserves.”
Always the gentleman, he offered his arm. When Rosamond looped hers around it, a pleasing warmth spread through her that was becoming all too familiar—the warmth of belonging, caring, perhaps even loving. Oh, that maverick heart of hers. How would she manage to tame it?
She could feel Garrick’s tension in the corded muscles of his arm as they walked toward the starting line under the Independence Day banner strung across Main Street. Was he merely eager to compete, as many of the men were? Or was something else bothering him?
“Here we are.” Garrick met Adam at the starting line and took Gypsy’s reins in hand. “Hello, my girl.” He ran a hand over the mare’s head and received a nudge in return. “Rosamond, you’ve already given me a token of your best wishes, but I’d welcome your prayers as well.”
She tilted her head and gave him a teasing grin. “Now, now, Mr. Wakefield, you’re an excellent rider. Have no fear.”
He returned a gentle smile that didn’t reflect in his eyes. “You’re kind to say so.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and then swung into the saddle. “By the by, would you kindly keep my hat?” He handed it down to her. “Roberts won’t be at all pleased if it’s ruined.”
“Yes, of course.”
Sheriff Lawson strode into the street in front of the excited horses and riders milling about. “Hold your horses, folks. Brody wants to get a photograph of everybody under the sign.” He beckoned to the newspaperman, who lumbered into the center of the street carrying his large camera and made quick work of photographing the participants. When he finished, the sheriff addressed the competitors again.
“Now you all know the rules. No interfering with the other riders. Just run your own race. There’s watchers along the way in case anybody decides to cause trouble. The course is laid out with red flags so you can find your way if the dust gets too thick. You head west on Main.” He pointed toward the San Juan Mountains. “Turn south on Foster, east on Patterson, north on Kirkland.” He swung his arm over his head to accompany his words. “Last, turn west again on Main. Homer Bean and I are your judges, and a few other folks will watch as you cross the finish line. The winner will receive a ten-dollar prize and a blue ribbon.”
After repeating her good wishes and her promise to pray for Garrick, Rosamond stepped up on the boardwalk to join the crowd in front of Mrs. Winsted’s mercantile.
Laurie Eberly gave her hand a welcoming squeeze. “Congratulations on winning first place in the egg race. Who’re you rooting for in this one?”
“I can’t decide between Garrick and Tolley.�
�� Not true, but she wouldn’t admit to anyone that she hoped Garrick would win.
Laurie laughed. “From the way you kissed Garrick, I think I can guess which one’s your favorite.”
“Nonsense.” Rosamond sniffed artificially. “I was just overly excited about winning.” She must turn this conversation around. “What about you? Any special rider you’ll be cheering for?”
“I can’t decide between Grace and—” Her cheeks reddened. “All the rest of ’em.”
Rosamond studied the girl. At sixteen, she was becoming every bit as pretty and grown up as her three older sisters. Did she have feelings for one of the cowboys? Surely not Tolley. The Eberly girls thought of Nate, Rand and Tolley as brothers. Maybe one of their cowhands had caught her eye.
“Are you ready, men?” Sheriff Lawson bellowed. “And lady?” He tipped his hat to Grace, and everyone laughed. He moved out of the street, took his gun from his holster and fired into the air.
Riders whooped, horses took off and the crowd roared. Gypsy bucked briefly before springing into action. She soon caught up with the pack. Within less than a minute, most of the horses turned the corner and disappeared down Foster Street, although the pounding of their hooves could still be heard.
Almost too late, Rosamond remembered her promise to pray for Garrick. Lord, please take care of Garrick and all of the riders. Keep them safe. Let Garrick win. No, that’s not fair. I don’t mean that. But as she whispered “amen,” she knew that was exactly what she did mean.
*
The moment the sheriff fired the starting shot, Garrick knew he should drop out of the race. Gypsy was running her brave little heart out, but something was wrong with her stride. He’d checked her legs before mounting and knew her to be sound. Adam had agreed. And she clearly wanted to run.
Hugging close to her neck, he glanced ahead, surprised not to see Tolley on his black stallion, Thor. In fact, Gypsy was pulling into the lead ahead of two other horses just as they made their second turn. She swung wide, and Tolley came into view on Garrick’s left. Even with his hat low on his face, his sneering grin was visible. He whipped his mount with a crop, something Garrick never cared to do. If the horse didn’t want to compete, why force him? Garrick turned his eyes forward, urging Gypsy on, just as he felt something sting his left arm. No time to check it.
Gypsy and Thor ran neck and neck the entire length of Patterson Street, but as they turned onto Kirkland, Thor’s longer legs and inside position put him ahead. Garrick let the stallion pass before moving closer to the red flags at the edge of the course. If he could just maneuver past Thor on the next turn, he could still win. A sudden craving to win exploded inside him. He hadn’t entered any sort of race since his Oxford days and had forgotten the wild thrill of it all.
They swept around the corner onto Main Street to the roar of the crowd. Garrick gave Gypsy her head, and she galloped hard. They swept under the banner only inches behind Thor. Had she been only a little larger, they could have won. He kept the reins slack and let her slow down on her own before turning her back to the celebration at the finish line. Rosamond and Adam met him as he dismounted.
“Great race!” Rosamond plopped his hat on his head and then threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “You were wonderful.”
“Thank you.” Garrick huffed out a breath. Surprising how winded a chap got in a race when he was merely the rider. He started to tease Rosamond about the dangers of all these kisses, but Adam waved at him to catch his attention.
“Hey, Mr. Wakefield.” The lad stood beside Gypsy, inspecting her rump. “She’s bleeding.”
“What?” Garrick checked the slight stream of blood oozing from beneath the saddle. “Let’s get this off.” He lifted the left stirrup and loosened the girth so Adam could lift off the saddle and blanket. Underneath they found a prickly bur. “What’s this?” Picking the offending pod out of the wound, Garrick gritted his teeth to keep from yelling at Adam. “Didn’t you brush her before you saddled her?”
Adam blanched. “Yessir. I always brush ’em clean before I put a saddle on any horse.” He glanced at Rosamond and then stared at the ground.
“What are you not telling me?” Garrick softened his tone.
Adam bit his lip. “While I was saddling her at the livery stable, Mr. Tolley said he wanted to check her, her being a Northam horse and all.”
“Surely you don’t think my brother would harm one of our best horses just to win a race.” Rosamond crossed her arms, and her eyes blazed. “Or any horse, for that matter.”
Indeed, I do. “No, of course not. The bur must have caught in the blanket and Adam simply didn’t notice it.” Garrick turned toward Adam and warned him with a look. They would discuss this later. “Take her to the livery stable, tell Ben to check her wound and make sure to put salve on it.”
“Yessir.” His head hanging, Adam led Gypsy away.
Garrick’s heart went out to him. Later he must assure the lad of his full confidence.
“Garrick, you’re bleeding, too.” Rosamond grasped Garrick’s left arm. His shirtsleeve was ripped open, and blood caked on a stinging wound. “What happened?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” But he did have an idea. Tolley had struck him with his crop, and he would call him into account for these injuries. Not for himself but for brave Gypsy, who’d run a magnificent race despite the nasty bur that must have been driven farther into her hide with every stride she took.
*
To Rosamond’s disappointment, Garrick refused her offer to tend his scratch. He located Roberts, claimed his new shirt from Mrs. Starling and went to Mrs. Foster’s house to change. In his absence, Nolan Means and Fred Brody each invited her to eat dinner with them, but she declined. She’d wait for Garrick. Not that she assumed he wanted to spend the entire day with her, but he certainly hadn’t shown interest in anyone else. Besides, she suspected he blamed Tolley for both his injury and Gypsy’s, and she wanted to set him straight. Tolley simply wouldn’t do anything so downright mean.
When Garrick and his valet didn’t return in time for Reverend Thomas’s blessing for the meal, Rosamond found Rita and suggested that they save some fried chicken and all the trimmings for the two men. “If we don’t, they won’t get any.”
“Sí, Senorita Rosamond.” Rita’s sweet face lit up in a smile as they walked toward the food lines. “We must take care of our men, no?”
Rosamond stopped. “Well, I, um…” She mustn’t foster the idea that Garrick was hers. “I’d just say we’re being thoughtful of our guests.”
“Oh, sí. Our guests.” Rita’s merry laugh showed she didn’t believe Rosamond for a single moment. But then, she was free to fall in love and marry, if she wished. Rosamond didn’t enjoy that same self-determination. Maybe those kisses had been a bad idea. What on earth had made her so bold?
They’d endured some teasing from friends for piling four plates high with food but were rewarded when Garrick and Roberts found them seated on a blanket on the church lawn.
“How very thoughtful.” Roberts sank down beside Rita and took the plate she offered. “We passed the serving tables, and they looked as if a swarm of locusts had eaten every bite. I assumed we’d lost out.”
Holding a sheathed rifle, Garrick remained on his feet several yards away. From the way he kept glancing between Rosamond and Roberts, he appeared uncertain about whether to sit. Did he feel above eating with servants? She’d fix that.
“Oh, do sit down.” She didn’t bother to keep the annoyance from her voice.
He blinked in his charming way, still uncertain, but he laid his rifle on the blanket and did as he was told. “Thank you.” He accepted the plate she handed him and began to eat.
Rosamond nibbled the last morsel of meat off of a drumstick, savoring Miss Pam’s perfect fried chicken. Chef Henri would never be able to improve on this, no matter what delicious French dishes he brought to Esperanza’s hotel. She waved a hand toward Garrick’s rifle. “Are you en
tering the shooting match?” She’d never noticed him carrying a weapon.
“I am.” He offered nothing further, and his mood hadn’t improved since the horse race.
Rosamond’s own mood plummeted, and she no longer felt the inclination to set him straight about Tolley. She finished her dinner and dug into Mother’s lemon cake with buttercream frosting. That would probably be the only sweet thing happening at this meal. Even Rita and Roberts barely spoke, probably because of Garrick’s grumpiness.
None too soon, the bell rang for the shooting competition. Excusing himself, Garrick picked up his rifle and strode away, leaving Roberts to see to his plate. Or Rita. Or Rosamond. She couldn’t guess whom he expected to clean up after him, nor could she decide whether she was hurt or irritated. Maybe spilling a drop or two of his aristocratic blood had offended him more than she realized. If so, maybe he was a sissy, just as Tolley claimed. Cowboys got scratches and broken bones all the time but never took offense. In fact, many took pride in enumerating their many injuries in comical narratives. Clearly, Garrick’s pride allowed for no such good humor.
In spite of herself, she couldn’t squelch the urge to watch him shoot, even though many of the ladies were busy cleaning up after dinner. She approached the long tables where pans of soapy water held dishes ready to be washed and the ladies’ sleeves were rolled up.
“Mother, if I promise to wash supper dishes, may I be excused this time?”
Mother gave her that familiar knowing, matchmaking look. “Why, Rosamond, what on earth could be more important than washing dishes?”
“My, my, Rosamond. You young girls today.” Mabel Eberly laughed. “I saw you kiss that Englishman. That story will be repeated for some time.” She waved a soapy dishrag toward the field behind the church. “Go on, join my girls. They’re over at the shooting range getting ready to compete.”
