Stuck On You

by Christine Wenger

  "A long journey would not have done that much to–"

  Sara held a gloved hand up to quiet him. "I limp from a carriage accident that occurred several months ago," she told him frankly. “It's not from Seawind's rearing, Matter of fact, Seawind has helped to strengthen my leg. He's my horse."

  Sara saw a flush of scarlet cross his face and was dismayed. She didn't mean to embarrass him, nor did she want his pity.

  He sat down beside her, still not letting go of her hand. "I'm sorry, Miss. I just assumed you got hurt just now and–" He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "Please forgive my stupidity."

  His hand was gentle in hers and his concern so genuine that

  Sara rushed to alleviate his discomfort. "Mr. Summers, I assure you that you did not hurt my feelings. I'm quite used to remarks about my limp and–"

  "Remove your hand from my betrothed!"

  Sara was jolted by the loud, voice, and immediately moved her hand from Jack's.

  "Monty, please!" Sara looked at Montague Fordice in dismay. She had never heard such an outburst from him.

  Jack Summers rose to his feet, and Sara noticed that they were about the same height. However, where Montague was a bit soft and gray in pallor with slicked down hair under a bowler hat, Jack was slim, muscular, and sun bronzed with hair that blew free in the summer breeze. It was easy to see that Jack was familiar with hard work and the outdoors, whereas Monty was wealthy and hired others to labor for him.

  "How dare you accost this woman," Montague bellowed. "I demand to know your name at once.

  A crowd was beginning to form around the trio, and it appeared to Sara that Montague was enjoying the attention. However, she was beginning to feel nervous with all those eyes staring at her. She was glad to see her father hurrying through the crowd toward them.

  Sara tugged at her gloves without taking her gaze off her betrothed. "Mr. Fordice, please, do be quiet and let me present Mr. Jack Summers. He has assisted me and has been most kind." She looked at Jack. "Mr. Summers, may I present Montague Fordice?"

  Jack held out his hand, but Montague ignored it.

  "Sara, my precious little girl, are you all right? Toady told me that Seawind reared and you–"

  She put her hand on her father's to calm him. He always worried so about her – sometimes too much.

  "Daddy, I'm perfectly fine," she whispered so no one else would hear. "Seawind was frightened by the crowd, and I was trying to get to him. However, my leg gave out, and Mr. Summers assisted me over to this bench."

  Bond Peterson held out his hand in a gesture of friendship. "I'd like to thank you, Jack. My daughter is my whole life."

  Sara wondered briefly as to how her father knew her rescuer's first name, but then noticed Jack's hesitation, as if he didn't want to touch her father's hand. Finally, with what seemed to be a forced smile, he reached out and shook it.

  Jack's gaze darted to Sara. "Sara is your daughter?" It was more of a question, than a statement. "Oh, I remember. . . she said Seawind was her horse," he muttered under his breath.

  Bond nodded at Jack. "I shall always be indebted to you, Jack, and will be increasing your wages promptly."

  Jack chuckled. "Mr. Peterson, I've only worked for you for less than a day, and you're increasing my wages already?"

  "That's correct. Money is no object when it concerns my Sara."

  "I didn't know he was in your employ, Bond." Monty sniffed. "But I wholeheartedly agree with you. Sara is so precious, such a treasure. We are both indebted to Mr. Summers." He stiffly nodded to Jack. "But I must say that my jealousy flared when I saw you holding the hand of my beloved betrothed.” He bowed to Sara. "Forgive me."

  Jack met Monty's gaze. Something transpired between them that Sara didn't like.

  “You’re forgiven, Monty." She fanned her face. "Now, please, may we proceed to the hotel? It's getting quite hot in this sun."

  Her father patted her hand. "Of course, whatever you wish, my dear. The horses are already on their way to the stables."

  Bond held out the crook of his arm. Sara rose slowly and took it, standing still for a while to get the circulation back in her leg.

  She turned toward her rescuer. "Thank you again for your assistance, Mr. Summers."

  "Any time, Miss Peterson." He started to tip his hat, then realized he wasn't wearing one, and smiled. Sara thought that when he smiled, he looked as handsome as ever.

  "Thank you again, Jack," Bond said. "We'll leave you now.

  I imagine you have a lot of work to do to get Seawind and the other horses settled."

  Jack nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do." Jack excused himself and walked back toward the train.

  Sara thought it strange that he didn't address her father, his employer, as "sir", but as her father took her arm and they walked to their waiting carriage, her thoughts turned to Seawind. She hoped that he had settled down for Toady.

  "Monty, you're welcome to join us in our carriage, unless you have other plans," Bond said, turning toward him.

  Monty brushed imaginary dirt from the lapel of his coat. "I have my own carriage and four." He face flushed red. "And I would be honored if Sara would accompany me in my carriage."

  He didn't address her, but addressed her father, and Sara felt herself getting angry. More and more it seemed that Monty forgot that she was even there or that she had a brain in her head.

  "By the by, Bond," Monty rubbed his hairless chin, "how did you come to hire Jack Summers?"

  "He was highly recommended by a business associate of mine, who's a professor at Cornell. Mr. Summers will be tending to my stable this season."

  Bond looked down at Sara and patted her hand in the crook of his arm. "I'm grateful that Jack was there." Raising an eyebrow, he scrutinized Montague Fordice. "Reflecting back, I don't remember even hearing you say a welcoming word to my daughter."

  "But...but...I was distracted. I w-was highly upset that Sara was almost hurt," Monty stammered. "Thank goodness she is fine. I'd like her to accompany me to the United States Hotel in my carriage, if you wouldn't mind, Bond."

  "Why don't you ask me, Montague? I'm right here," Sara asked as her anger continued to grow. The man must surely think her invisible.

  He looked shocked to see that she actually was present. "Why, of course, you are. Well, then, would you join me?"

  "No, thank you. I'll join my father and Aunt Trixie." Sara took satisfaction in knowing that she piqued him a bit. Turning her back on Monty, she waved to their long-time driver.

  Johnson, clad in scarlet livery, opened the door of the carriage and assisted Sara. Her Aunt Trixie waited in the carriage with her parasol perched high over her head. She was cooling herself with a white lace fan and looked wilted.

  "Sara, where on earth did you disappear to? Are you all right?"

  "Aunt Trixie, I'll tell you the whole scrumptious story later," she whispered.

  Her aunt laughed. "See that you do."

  "Johnson, to the hotel, please," Bond ordered.

  The driver nodded. "Yassir, Mr. Peterson."

  The carriage lurched. Sara glanced back over her shoulder at Jack and Monty still at the train platform. She couldn't make out their words, but it was obvious they were fighting. She saw Monty push Jack. Jack began to walk away, but Monty pushed him again from behind. Jack turned around, swung a muscled arm, and punched Monty in the stomach. Monty doubled over, fell on the platform of the train station, and curled up into a tight ball.

  Sara knew it was wicked of her, but she gave a silent cheer for Jack Summers.

  #

  What a different picture Montague Fordice presented with Bond and Sara Peterson out of sight, Jack thought. The man’s feigned politeness was gone, and he was itching for a fight.

  It was amusing that the man was insinuating that he, a "mere groom", was interested in courting Sara Peterson, a rich heiress. Jack couldn't understand his concern. All he did was save her from getting trampled by her own horse. But when Fordice started shoving him, he
had gone too far. Jack warned him several times to leave him alone.

  And when Fordice pulled his arm back to punch him, Jack socked him first.

  Walking around the prone body of Fordice as if he were a fresh mound of horse droppings, he thought of Sara Peterson, wondering if she knew what a fool she was going to marry, but then he decided that it was none of his concern.

  He thought of how tiny she had felt when he lifted her into his arms. She was as light as a cloud and her violet eyes made him think of the deep purple irises his mother used to grow in the front garden of their home on Union Avenue. Sara's cheeks had flushed easily with a pink glow, probably from the embarrassment of being carried, and then from being gawked at by the growing circle of spectators that Fordice had attracted. She was beautiful, but so very delicate. And she’d hurt her leg.

  He pushed aside his sympathetic feelings toward Sara and reminded himself that she was the daughter of his enemy. He must stick to his plan, with one modification.

  And it was Montague Fordice who gave him the idea.

  He would cultivate a friendship with Sara and use her to get close to her father. If he were in her company on a regular basis, he would be better able to find incriminating evidence on Bond Peterson. Undoubtedly, Bond, the doting father, wouldn't be too far away from his daughter.

  Jack didn't care if she was betrothed to Fordice either. The attention he would pay to Sara would probably aggravate the man. Jack smiled. That would be an extra bonus.

  Jack congratulated himself on the idea of getting to Bond through Sara, then felt a pang of conscience that he quickly dismissed. Although he didn't want to hurt her, if need be, he would. After all, Bond Peterson hadn't cared about the hurt he had caused.

  Because of Bond, his father was in prison and his mother was a recluse.

  Sara Peterson might very well get hurt, but he'd try to make sure that didn't happen. But if it did, she was young and rich and would soon forget.

  However, his mother, once a leading lady of Saratoga society, would never get over the scandal. Nor would his father.

  He thought back to those horrible days. If only his mother had summoned him back from Cornell sooner. After his father's trial, the family's mineral water business started to fail. Jack had to prove his father's innocence, and fast, before the bank took the house and the business. Then what would happen to the last of his mother’s sanity?

  If only he had known a year ago. If only his mother had told him.

  Jack heard noises behind him and turned to see three men helping Fordice to his feet. A skinny little man in an impeccable frock coat dusted off Fordice's clothes with a small hand brush. Must be his valet, Jack thought with sympathy in his heart for the poor man who had to serve Fordice.

  Fordice wiped his sweaty face with a rumpled handkerchief and glared at Jack. "I'll kill you for this, Summers."

  "Better men than you have tried, Fordice."

  "Do you know to whom you are speaking?"

  "A strutting peacock?" Jack replied. The dandy's face became even redder, and for a moment he thought the man might faint on the train platform or have a heart attack.

  "Why...you...you...stable hand!"

  "If that's the best you can do as far as name calling is concerned, Fordice, I suggest you get out of my way. I have work to do at the stables."

  "You haven't seen or heard the last from me!"

  Jack chuckled. "Unfortunately, I suspect you're right about that."

  #

  The sight of the United States Hotel on Broadway never

  failed to send a rush of excitement through Sara. It was a

  monstrous building that went on for a half-mile. Sheltered from

  the afternoon sun, ladies and gentlemen rocked on the piazza that ran the length of the hotel as they sipped lemonade or iced tea.

  Children played nearby under the watchful eyes of an assortment of parents, governesses and nannies. Carriages lined the street as porters scrambled to get the arrivals of the recent train settled into their accommodations.

  Another season at Saratoga. This would be the season that would change her life. Sara could feel it. She hoped that the waters would help Aunt Trixie's arthritis as well as her own twisted leg.

  Sara wanted to continue riding while she was here, the way she did when she was at home. Of course, she'd have to hide her identity here at The Springs. It would be scandalous if anyone knew she was riding astride. But she had to keep Seawind ready for the Travers, the biggest race of the season. The race that would change her life.

  She felt whole again when she was on a horse. It was as if she could use the horse’s legs as her own, and she could walk and run like she had before.

  Her father waved to the three hotel proprietors who

  scurried out to meet the Peterson carriage. "Welcome Mr.

  Peterson...Miss Sara! How wonderful to see you again, too,

  Miss Beatrix!" Those rocking on the piazza halted and stood

  to see who was arriving.

  "Who's arrived so far?" Bond asked one of the hotel proprietors, and Sara knew that her father was eager to talk business as soon as he was able. He always said that more business deals were made in one Saratoga summer then elsewhere throughout the entire year.

  Tompkins' eyes brightened. "William Henry Vanderbilt is in his usual spot on the piazza. I saw Judge Hilton and Richard Canfield with him. John Rockefeller and J.P. Morgan just left for a walk. Nellie Bly, the reporter from the World is in the lobby as we speak, and Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell are expected soon."

  "Are the bookies here yet?" Bond asked.

  Sara knew that question was coming. Her father needed to know who were considered the favorites to win the races.

  "Some are here. Irish John Cavanaugh's here. So are Big Store and Johnny Walters. The Boy Plunger and Fashion Plate have been seen down at the stables looking at Henry of Navarre, the McCelland horse. They've all been waiting for Seawind to arrive and well as Bravo Joe," said Perry, referring to Montague Fordice's horse.

  Bond nodded. "Wonderful. No doubt they want to get an idea of the odds just as much as I do." He stared at the front of the hotel. "It will be good to see everyone again. I have some business to discuss with Morgan, Brady and Vanderbilt."

  "May I add that everything is being readied for Sara's engagement party," said Gage. "Chef Morris just needs to go over the menu at your convenience."

  "I'll leave that up to the ladies. Bea and Sara will take care of that."

  "Very well, Mr. Peterson," Gage replied.

  Tompkins snapped his fingers and three porters appeared. "Your usual cottage is ready Mr. Peterson. We wouldn't think of letting it to anyone else. Let me escort you personally."

  Bond held out his arm and assisted Sara and Beatrix down

  from the carriage. "I'm sorry to keep you ladies out here in the sun. How inconsiderate of me. Shall I call for some maids to help with the unpacking, Bea?"

  Beatrix smiled. "You ask me that every year, Bond, and every year I tell you that I'd rather do it myself."

  "I know, but I thought I'd offer anyway. We don't want all

  those vultures on the verandah to think that Bond Peterson has

  fallen on hard times and can't afford maids for his favorite ladies." He shook his head and frowned. "I simply don't know why you won't let me bring the servants."

  "Oh, Daddy!" Sara chuckled, knowing that everyone else brings at least fifteen servants. "You know we like to do things for ourselves at the Springs. We have enough servants at home. At least in Saratoga, we are finally alone.”

  “I know, honey, I know. But I just don't understand it."

  Bea waved her hand. "You know we don't care what people think. If we need some help, we'll ask for Clara, Sara's friend."

  Bond nodded as Sara and Beatrix each took a proffered arm and walked up the steps of the grand hotel.

  The marble floor of the lobby glowed in the reflection of

  the huge crystal cha
ndeliers overhead. Hundreds of handsomely

  dressed men and women milled around. As her father went to sign the register, Sara moved toward a large gathering of people in the corner of the room to see what the attraction was.

  "It's Nellie Bly, the newspaper woman,” whispered a woman in a light green satin hat and matching dress. Pink plumage cascaded from her hat down her back. “She's here to do a story. I heard her say that this town has gone mad with the mania of gambling."

  "I see," Sara replied. It probably wasn't right, but she often asked Porky or Mike, her Saratoga friends, to place a dollar bet or so on her horses for her. She felt that she was showing her support for their stable by betting that they would win. And she had accumulated a tidy sum from betting on her horses. After one final bet when she would let it all ride on Seawind, she'd be the owner of her own stables.

  "Ready, daughter?"

  Her father's deep voice woke her from her reverie. "Yes,

  father."

  Aunt Trixie took her hand. "I've made arrangements for a light lunch, but after that I think you ought to lie down for a while, Sara."

  "There was a time that I would argue with you, Aunt Trixie,

  but my leg is bothering me more than usual today."

  "Can you walk, honey? Do you want me to carry you?" Bond

  asked.

  Sara saw the sadness that appeared in his eyes whenever they talked about her handicap. "Oh, no, Daddy. I can make it to our cottage." She wasn't in that much pain, and she'd die before she used a wheelchair or had to be carried by her father.

  "Actually, I think she'd rather be carried by that handsome

  groom you hired, Bond," Aunt Trixie teased.

  “Nonsense!” her father bellowed. “She’s going to marry Monty.”

  But if Aunt Trixie only knew how true her statement was! Sara felt a telltale blush heat her cheeks as they began the long walk to their cottage.

  #

  At the Peterson barn, the biggest white barn on the grounds of the racecourse, Jack Summers forked sweet-smelling hay into Seawind's stall, then poured the special feed he had mixed into a wooden trough. Seawind walked over immediately and began eating.

  "There you go, boy," Jack said, petting the horse's sleek chestnut coat. "I made it especially for you." He lifted the metal bucket and poured its contents into another trough to the side of the first. "Here's something to make that plain water taste a little better." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a green bottle and paused to read the label "Wheeler Mineral Water, Bottled in Saratoga Springs, New York." He shrugged his shoulders, took a long draw, then poured the rest of the bottle into Seawind's water. "After all these years, it still tastes good," he said sadly.