After paying down the mortgage and setting aside for taxes and a savings fund, there would still be money left over--enough to enter Faithful in the Hopeful Stakes in a couple of weeks, have the exterior of the house painted, and buy a few new dresses. Shopping for those would be her reward for enduring Hammersly's presence Monday morning.
"What are you doing, girl?" Mother Hawkes said, coming into the dressing room and giving Imogen a fright.
"Getting rid of Bella's ghost," she managed, after calming herself.
Mother Hawkes nodded. "About time." She gave Imogen a searching look, then. "So, have you heard anything from town? Anyone been out there?"
Imogen set one more dress on the pile. "No. Guaire went to the track to walk Faithful home, but he hasn't gotten back yet."
Mother Hawkes nodded. "Well, the news will get here sooner or later--Hammersly isn't going to be a problem anymore, not where he went."
Imogen frowned down at the pile of unwanted dresses. "Where he went?"
"I'm assuming hell, with that man." Mother Hawkes leaned back against the wall, looking rather pleased. "The board of the Trust hauled him in to meet with them over luncheon. Their internal investigation showed that he'd been using his position to take advantage of certain customers--a breach of ethics, at the least. So they relieved him of his position with the Trust, and informed him that criminal proceedings were in process as well."
Imogen gaped at her. "Is there going to be a trial?"
"No, Hammersly evaded that by having a fit of apoplexy on the steps of the hotel and dropping dead in the street."
Imogen laid one hand over her mouth. "Did the people at the racing association do something to him?"
"Suffice to say that one should never cross them," Mother Hawkes said. "Hammersly should have known better."
"I didn't like him," Imogen whispered, "but I didn't want something like that to happen."
"You are not responsible, Imogen, in any way," Mother Hawkes said firmly. "Now, I passed the younger Mr. O'Donnell and Faithful on the way back from town, almost at the fence. They should be here by now. Maybe you should go down and see that winning colt of yours. Take him a carrot, perhaps."
And Mother Hawkes swept out of the dressing room, leaving shocked silence in her wake. Imogen took a deep breath, and then another, and resolved to take care of her only remaining worry.
In the stable, she gave Faithful the carrot he very much deserved, but didn't find Guaire anywhere. She did find Tommy, however, compiling a list of inventory in the tack room. "Looking to see what needs to be replaced?"
He grinned. "Yes, ma'am. Oh, and Mr. O'Donnell's gone out to look at that fence."
She didn't ask how he knew she was looking for Guaire. "I'll go talk to him them."
"Want me to saddle up Captain, ma'am?"
"No, it's not that far. I can walk."
She hitched up her skirt and began the trek down the west meadow toward that burned tract of land. Guaire waited there, scowling at the fence. Shoots of grass and delicate vines had already begun to grow among the felled trunks of blackened trees. The acrid scent of the ashes was gone, replaced by the freshness of the stream and the damp earth. The breeze plucked at Guaire's dark hair and worn shirt, making him look a bit disheveled, but Imogen preferred the sight of him over any man she'd ever met. "Are you planning to jump the fence?" she asked, only half joking.
"This won't last," he said, turning to face her with a serious look on his face. "If there's a bit of money left over, we might use it to fix this up properly. It needs to be done before the spring rains come, by someone who can handle nails."
"That's a long way off," she said, reflecting how novel it was to have spare money to plan with. "But the Hopeful Stakes is coming up in two weeks. We need to prepare for that. Could you get Faithful ready to run six furlongs? The purse would be a good one."
He came over to where she waited, brushing dirt from the knees of his trousers. "We can start training at that distance, if you want."
She took a shaky breath and asked, "Were you thinking of staying until spring?"
His expression seemed hesitant. "That depends, darling. You said you wanted me to stay at least until the race was over. What did you mean by at least?"
Imogen stared at him, realizing then that he was more nervous than she.
He didn't know if she wanted him to stay--she had never given him permission to do so.
She'd always assumed he had the upper hand in their relationship, more experience in the world, and more control over his life. But she'd been wrong all along. He had no family in America, no safe haven. In worldly terms, he had nothing to offer her. He hadn't even possessed a stitch of clothing when he'd arrived at her farm.
She recalled the worried expression he'd worn when he'd spoken to her about her relationship with her mother, one that seemed now to say he'd feared being sent away. He'd done so anyway, though, risking her ire and his only shelter to tell her something she'd needed to hear.
Imogen met his worried eyes. "Guaire, I release you from any obligation to this farm or to me. You owe me nothing."
His brows drew together, but he didn't say anything.
"You asked what I meant by at least," she said then. "I meant you're welcome to come and go here as you please until the day you die. I'd like you to consider this your home."
A smile spread across his face like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. "I've not had a home in nearly thirty years," he said. "I'll not leave, Ginny, not unless you ask me to."
She felt a giddy sense of relief. "Oh, heavens, I'm glad to hear that."
He came closer. "You know, I've read the words in Paddy's book, and I'm fair certain I'd be able to say them without my tongue turning to ash in my mouth."
Imogen regarded him with a furrowed brow. "The words?"
"Ah," he said. "You know, to have and to hold, from this day forward, and all that. I'm sure I can say those vows."
Imogen touched his sleeve. "They would bind you, Guaire. Are you not afraid of that?"
"With you? No." He leaned close to kiss her, then, but was interrupted by the faint sound of cheering.
Imogen drew back, and then glanced toward the stable yard where she saw the hands congregated at the fence, apparently watching them. Guaire must not have been hiding them from view. She felt her cheeks flush. "Oh, dear."
Guaire just laughed and offered his hand, and together they started back toward the stables. "So," he said in a musing tone, "what would you offer me for training your horse?"
"One night?" Imogen offered, and then amended it. "One night for each day you stay."
"A deal, then?" he said. "Although I can't promise no one will know."
"A deal, then." And since she had no intention of backing down, Imogen put her arms around his neck and kissed him. The hands could think whatever they wanted.
THE END
About the Author:
J. Kathleen Cheney is a former teacher and has taught mathematics ranging from 7th grade to Calculus, with a brief stint as a Gifted and Talented Specialist. She is a member of SFWA, RWA, and Broad Universe. Her works have been published in Jim Baen's Universe, Writers of the Future XXIV, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and Fantasy Magazine, among others. Her website can be found at www.jkathleencheney.com
If you liked this story, please look for the sequel, Snow Comes to Hawk's Folly, coming to Smashwords early October, 2011
About the Story:
"Iron Shoes" was originally published in Alembical 2, June 2010.
Nebula Award Finalist (Best Novella)
PRISM Award Finalist (Best Novella)
Cover photograph by Alex Gorston.
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Iron Shoes Page 12
