Second Time Around

by Nancy Herkness

  She popped a tea sandwich into her mouth, closing her eyes to savor the bite of the watercress with the smoothness of the cream cheese and another flavor she couldn’t quite identify.

  “Mum’s famous recipe for watercress sandwiches,” Will said. She opened her eyes to find him watching her with a slight smile playing around his lips. “She won’t share the secret ingredient with me because she’s afraid I’ll put it on the menu at Ceres.”

  “There is something else there,” Kyra said.

  “I’m guessing it’s radish.”

  “Could be,” Kyra allowed. “However, I was thinking mint.”

  “Maybe it’s both.” Farr bit into his crostini with gusto. “I prefer some good red meat myself.”

  Kyra was about to take another bite for analysis when a woman walked up behind Will. She had dark-blonde hair pulled back in a low bun, sunglasses that concealed her eyes, and a strong resemblance to Betsy Chase.

  “Schuyler!” Farr popped up from his chair to embrace the newcomer, her multihued plaid sundress clashing with his vivid trousers.

  Will rose, too, and hugged his sister. “I thought you might have shown more guts than I have and refused to come.”

  Schuyler laughed without a trace of humor. “Dad’s my boss so I might get fired if I didn’t show up.”

  “Would that be so terrible?” Will asked, making Schuyler laugh. He turned to Kyra. “Kyra, my sister, Schuyler. Kyra’s an old friend from Brunell whom I just reconnected with.”

  “And he brought you here for a date?” Schuyler took Kyra’s proffered hand in a grip that verged on painfully firm. “I wouldn’t blame you if you refused to ever go out with my brother again.”

  “I think it helps not to be related,” Kyra said.

  This time Schuyler’s chuckle was genuine. “No doubt about it. I see you came by helicopter. Can I hitch a ride home with you?”

  Will nodded. “Get some food and join us.”

  “I ate already,” Schuyler said. She hesitated a moment before looking her brother in the eye. “Petra’s here.”

  “Farr warned me.”

  “She’s had too much to drink.”

  Will’s lips flattened into a straight line. “It just gets better.”

  Kyra’s curiosity was at fever pitch now.

  “I’ll be at the stables later if you want to escape,” Schuyler said before she strode off in the direction of the bar and they all seated themselves again. Will chewed through a half-dozen canapés in silence while Farr entertained Kyra with stories of their escapades from boarding school.

  As Kyra applauded their ingenuity in having gotten a large sow into the headmaster’s office, Will turned to her. “Forgive my rudeness. You should know that Petra announced the end of our engagement very publicly at this event two years ago. She doesn’t handle alcohol well, so it was an ugly scene. That’s why the news that she’s here and drinking has made me an appallingly bad companion.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Farr said, raising his martini glass. “Honesty at last.”

  If Will was talking about it, Kyra wanted to know one thing very badly. “Who broke it off?”

  Will cleared his throat. After a moment’s silence, he said, “I did.”

  That explained why Petra still wanted to be engaged to him. But what would make the ever-chivalrous, morally upright Will Chase dump his fiancée? It had to be pretty awful. Maybe Petra had pulled a Babette on him. That made her heart squeeze. He didn’t deserve to be cheated on twice by women he was in love with. On the other hand, she could understand Petra’s refusal to give him up. To win Will’s love only to lose it would be like going from sunlight to fog.

  “We were going to make each other miserable,” Will said. “My mistake for proposing to her, so my responsibility to make it right.”

  “And Will still feels responsible,” Farr said, an odd edge to his voice.

  Chapter 6

  “All right, we’ve done our duty. Let’s head for the stables.” Will steered Kyra past a tipsy older gentleman with a smile and a nod. “I saw Schuyler head in that direction about half an hour ago.”

  “I won’t argue with you.” Kyra had run out of pleasant things to say to all these people with whom she had nothing in common. Although she had to give them credit: No one had been overt about the fact that she didn’t belong. Will’s golden aura had surrounded her so they didn’t dare question her presence. But she was tired of small talk, tired of seeing the dresses and jewelry and shoes that cost more than she made in a month, tired of trying to remember names for long enough to bid their owners farewell with a personal touch. It reminded her too much of her job at Stratus.

  On the other hand, she’d loved watching Will in his natural habitat. The bone-deep confidence with which he carried himself was on display as guest after guest claimed his attention. He would bend his elegant head toward the women for a kiss on the cheek. The men he greeted with a straightforward gaze and a firm, heartfelt handshake. No matter what gender, everyone lit up when he focused his attention on them. She found herself memorizing some of his turns of phrase that said nothing but sounded meaningful. She could use them on customers.

  “You’ve been a trooper.” Will put his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze as they wove through the guests. The strength of his grasp and the solidity of his body against her side made her want to lean into him, just to rest. But that way lay danger.

  “It’s been fun.” She smiled as Will gave her a skeptical look. “Really. It’s like a field study: the plumage and flocking habits of the Connecticut crested upper class.”

  Will choked on a laugh. “That’s the kind of comment that’s kept me sane today. Thank you again for coming.”

  “Will! Wait!” A woman’s voice called from behind them.

  Will went so rigid that he seemed made of stone, the arm around Kyra’s waist like a weight. Every angle of his face sharpened and hardened. “Don’t turn around,” he said through gritted teeth. His grip on her tightened, and he propelled her through the crowd in the opposite direction.

  “Petra, that’s not a good idea.” Farr’s voice was lower in volume but still distinct.

  It took every ounce of Kyra’s willpower not to angle her head around to see what Will’s ex-fiancée looked like.

  “But he’s leaving and I want to meet his date.” Petra’s voice held a hint of petulance.

  “They’re just going to see Schuyler at the stables.” Farr’s voice was receding as Will lengthened his already ground-eating stride. “They’ll be back.”

  Will muttered a curse under his breath before he said, “Farr is going to expect a big favor in exchange for running interference.”

  “I don’t think he’ll expect anything other than a thank-you.”

  Will gave a mirthless laugh. “You don’t know much about investment bankers, even friendly ones.” He changed direction to approach one of the bars, saying, “Let’s take some supplies to the stables.”

  He handed her three empty crystal flutes. “In case Schuyler didn’t think ahead,” he said before grabbing an unopened bottle of champagne from a tub of ice behind the bar.

  Will had been drinking scotch most of the afternoon, so Kyra was relieved that he was switching to lighter stuff, especially since the near miss with his ex-fiancée would certainly justify a more powerful anesthetic. She couldn’t say he was drunk. His balance was firm; his speech clear. However, as the afternoon progressed, he had become less careful in what he said to the other guests. He was never rude, but he slid in a barb every now and then, although the guests never realized it. A few times she’d had to cough to cover up the giggle that threatened. Because Will was very clever.

  “Will!” A man’s voice broke through the chatter.

  “It just keeps getting better,” Will ground out in an angry mutter, and Kyra turned to see Twain Chase approaching them.

  The older man cast a glance at the glasses in Kyra’s hand and raised an eyebrow before turning to his son. “It�
�s impossible to hold a conversation for more than five minutes in this horde,” Twain said. “Your mother and I hope you’ll stay after the party for a family dinner.”

  “Kyra needs to get back to the city,” Will said. “Next time.”

  Somehow she found the presence of mind to smile and nod, even though she had no pressing engagement awaiting her at home. At the same time, she tried to locate Farr and Petra among the swirling crowd without appearing to do so. It might be her only chance to find out what sort of woman had induced Will to propose.

  “It would mean a lot to your mum if you’d give us an hour,” Twain said, but the truth sounded in his voice: a pleading undercurrent that meant he was the one who wanted to spend time with his son. He offered Kyra an apologetic smile. “I don’t mean to upset your schedule.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, trying to give Will a chance to change his mind if he wanted to. She gave up on her surreptitious search for Petra and focused on the two men facing off, the proud angle of their chins and the unyielding set of their shoulders so strikingly similar.

  “We’ll see what we can finagle,” Will said, but Kyra heard the refusal in his voice.

  “I’d appreciate it, son.”

  Kyra caught the flash of disappointment in Twain’s gray eyes. As he walked away, his movements seemed slow and tired.

  “I can stay,” Kyra said when she was sure Twain was out of earshot. “Your dad really wants you here.”

  Will ignored her offer. “I’ve had enough of this party.” He caught her hand and towed her away from the guests, his brisk gait forcing her to trot alongside him. She’d never seen his usually impeccable manners desert him to the point that he forgot to be solicitous of her shorter legs. It was a measure of how upset he was by the conversation with his father and the near encounter with Petra. Farr said Will felt responsible for her, but maybe he was still in love with her even though he had broken off the engagement.

  The thought sent her heart plummeting.

  “Do we walk or drive to the stables?” Kyra asked, breathless from keeping up with Will. “I’d love to take the mini Ferrari for a spin.” And instructing her on how to drive it might relax the rigidity in Will’s jaw and body.

  “Then we shall drive.” She could hear the effort it took to make his response sound easy and casual.

  They arrived at the Ferrari without further incident. Will stowed the glasses in the cart’s trunk and settled the bottle between his feet. His smile was forced when he said, “Don’t want it getting shaken up and exploding behind us.”

  He explained the simple controls to Kyra, the tension in his voice easing as he did so. She gingerly backed the cart away from the wall and then drove it onto the paved lane.

  “Thank you,” Will said.

  “For driving?” Keep it light.

  “For—” He seemed to be at a loss before he bit out a laugh. “For not turning around.”

  “That was pretty hard, to be honest.”

  “You wanted to meet Petra?” His tone was disbelieving.

  “No, just to see her. You nearly married her so I can’t help being curious.”

  He gave her a seductive smile. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

  Kyra wasn’t buying that, but the fact that he would say it sent a warm little glow through her. She gunned the engine down the straightaway.

  The breeze created by the cart’s motion combed through her hair and gave her a sense of freedom. She laughed and glanced over at Will. His eyes were focused on her, hot and intense, while his dark-blond hair ruffled and fluttered around the chiseled bones of his face.

  “Oh,” Kyra said, the cart weaving a bit as she got caught in his look.

  “Steady.” Will grabbed the wheel to straighten their course. He shifted his gaze forward, but the heat of it still licked along Kyra’s nerve endings, making her aware of where he brushed against her at shoulder and thigh. Maybe it hadn’t been an empty compliment.

  “Turn right,” Will said.

  She turned down another paved lane that led to a courtyard surrounded on three sides by the stone stables. About half the stalls had the top doors open and horses’ glossy heads poking out of them.

  “Where should I park? I don’t want to scare them,” she said.

  “Go around to the back. That’s where the trucks bring in the hay and feed.”

  As Kyra pulled in beside a maroon pickup truck with “Arion Farm” lettered on the side, Schuyler walked out of the wide doorway just beside it. “Hey, bro, welcome to the sanctuary.”

  Will raised the champagne bottle. “I’ve brought provisions, Sky.”

  “Such a Boy Scout,” Schuyler said, accepting one of the flutes. “I drank mine straight out of the bottle.”

  Kyra laughed, and Will worked the cork out with a gentle pop, spilling golden liquid into the elegant glasses. “Kyra loves horses,” he said.

  Enthusiasm shone in Schuyler’s eyes. “You ride?”

  “Only in my dreams,” Kyra said.

  “We should change that,” Schuyler said. “But let me introduce you to the residents. We used to leave them out to pasture during the party. Mum liked the pretty picture it made. But one year a couple of drunken guests decided to go bareback riding, and that didn’t end well. For the riders, not the horses, thank God.”

  “Sky would have committed murder if they’d injured a horse,” Will said.

  “I don’t blame her,” Kyra said. “Animals trust us to take care of them. We shouldn’t abuse that trust.”

  Schuyler gave her an approving nod.

  As they toured the stable yard, Schuyler shared little sketches of information about each horse, her deep love for them clear in the way she touched and talked about them.

  “Did you ever consider being a professional equestrian?” Kyra asked her.

  “When I was a kid, sure,” Schuyler said with a shrug. “But when Will ditched law school, I had to step up.”

  She threw her brother a teasing glance but his lips were drawn into a tense, flat line.

  “Lighten up, Will,” his sister said, giving him a nudge on his shoulder before she turned to Kyra. “Honestly, lawyering is in the Chase genes, so I’m happy with my chosen field. I just sometimes wish I could use my skills for something more . . . meaningful.” She shrugged again. “Listen to me, sounding New Agey.”

  “I get it,” Kyra said. “That’s why I work with the kids at the Carver Center. It balances my other job.” And her laser focus on paying off her debt, which made her feel mercenary at times.

  A dark-brown horse stretched out his neck to lip Kyra’s hair into his mouth and give it a gentle tug. “You’re a playful fellow, aren’t you?” she said with a startled laugh, stroking the hard, graceful curve of his neck.

  “That’s Will’s horse, Bucephalus,” Schuyler said, feeding the friendly creature a carrot.

  Will shook his head. “Not mine anymore.” But he stroked the horse’s nose and scratched behind his ears. “How are you doing, old man?”

  “Alexander the Great’s steed,” Kyra said. “You named him?”

  “With an utter lack of modesty,” Will said, still petting his former mount.

  “Do you ever ride him?” Kyra asked.

  “No, and I feel guilty about it. The grooms exercise him,” Will admitted. “But I’m too sentimental to sell him. Horses aren’t always treated well when they get sold on. I owe Buccy a happy life, even if I can’t be part of it.”

  She’d never seen Will around an animal before. His affection for the horse made her heart twist.

  Schuyler took a sip of champagne. “I didn’t hear any explosions so I assume you managed to avoid Petra.”

  “Only by Farr’s intervention,” Will said, the muscles in his face tightening again.

  “Headed her off at the pass, did he?” Schuyler said. “He’s a good friend.”

  “One of the best,” Will agreed. “Why don’t you go out with him, Sky?”

  Schuyler gave
her brother an odd look. “He’s not interested in me.” She tossed back the rest of her drink. “I’m going to return to the fray. The stable office is unlocked but I recommend lounging on the hay bales in the feed storage room. It smells nicer.”

  “Office or hay bales?” Will asked Kyra, as Schuyler climbed into her Mustang golf cart.

  “Definitely hay bales,” Kyra said. “I can pretend I’m a horsewoman.”

  “First stop, the tack room then. I’ve learned that rolling in the hay isn’t as comfortable as it looks.”

  Will led her into a room filled with racks of gleaming saddles and neatly hung bridles with shiny bits, all overlaid by the rich smell of leather polish. Handing her his champagne glass, he flipped open a trunk and pulled out a couple of burgundy horse blankets. “This is where they keep the clean ones,” he said, a glint of humor in his eyes.

  He seemed to have recovered from his sister’s mention of Petra, much to Kyra’s relief. Strolling back through the stable yard, she inhaled deeply and looked around with avid attention. She didn’t belong here, would never belong here, but she wanted to remember it as vividly as she could.

  “No wonder Schuyler likes the stables,” she said.

  “It was her escape when the parental pressure got too overwhelming,” Will said. “Jump on a horse and ride away from it.”

  “Did you try to sail away from it?”

  He shook his head. “My heart wasn’t in sailing. My escape was books. Mostly my parents were impressed with my reading, which meant I could do so with impunity.”

  “You were lucky. My parents thought I was wasting my time reading Victorian novels.”

  Will put down the champagne bottle and shook out the horse blankets, settling them over a mound of loose hay. “That’s why I chose the Greek and Roman classics; I could claim I was prepping for reading them in Latin, so Dad left me alone.” He held out his hand. “Have a seat.”

  As she took his hand and folded her legs under her to sit on one of the blankets, she felt that shiver of awareness run over her skin again. Enclosed in the dim fragrant space of the barn, Will’s presence seemed magnified. Then he dropped onto the blanket next to her and stretched out on his side, propped on one elbow with his champagne glass in the other hand.