by Jillian Hart
“You must really be mad at him. I thought he might have told you but sworn you to secrecy.”
“No. I wasn’t important enough to him for the truth.” There had been plenty of opportunity, like last night when he’d brought her the lilacs. He’d told her a sad story about his heroism and a fine tale about his supposed dreams, but as sincere as he’d seemed at the time she knew him now to be false. He’d told her his family had fallen upon hard times, but that could not be true. Not if he were both a senator’s son and a senator’s grandson.
“I’m so sorry, Meredith.” Tilly hugged her tight. “Maybe you can work things out?”
“What is there to work out?” She set her chin with all the determination she could muster. “He’s a liar.”
“I still like him.” Minnie in the backseat leaned forward to poke her head in between them. “And you’re wrong. Shane wouldn’t lie. Maybe it just seems that way. The truth can sometimes look bad because it’s, well, it’s the truth. A lie can look good every time.”
“She has a point,” Tilly agreed, but there was little hope in her tone.
Meredith didn’t want hope, she wanted the hurt to stop. Everyone was quick to defend Shane, because he was from an impressive and influential family. But that man was a stranger to her. The buggy slowed as the driveway circled up to the house and Sweetie obediently stopped. They were home, but it was the last place she wanted to be. She lingered on the seat, unable to move. Minnie hopped to the ground and pounded up the walkway, her empty lunch pail jingling.
She couldn’t delay the inevitable forever. Resolved, she curled one hand around the buggy’s frame, lifted her skirt hem with the other, and scooted to the end of the seat. Shane was around here somewhere, so she was bound to run into him soon. Completely dreading that, she slid off the seat. She misjudged the distance to the ground and she hit it too hard. Her book bag slipped off her shoulder and crashed on the walkway. Her lunch tin rolled to a stop near the flowerbed.
“Here, let me,” a deep baritone vibrated, a familiar voice, one she had once been so eager to hear. Shane knelt to retrieve her bag and scooped her pail by the metal handle. He strolled toward her looking like any horseman did, with a faint layer of dust on his muslin shirt and denims, his Stetson shading his face, a hint of stubble on his jaw.
It was a lie. She’d believed in him like a story in a book, something that was not real. She stared at his outstretched hands holding her things and remembered every time they had touched. He had made her believe.
Why did she still want the lie to be true? She could not stop wanting to see the goodness in the man when it was the lies that mattered more. She took a step back, her throat closing tight. She had fought all afternoon not to let Narcissa’s words bother her, but they rang through her mind with the force of a rushing river dammed for too long. He’s having fun and sowing his wild oats. I hope you didn’t think his act of love was sincere.
“Meredith, don’t look at me like that. Please.” The quiet plea rang like a prayer, an honest request from his soul. He moved closer, bringing with him only pain. “Let me explain.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Her hands fisted. She straightened her spine and stood her ground. If she gave in one inch, then the pain within her would crumble. The lunch hour they’d shared talking of little things, horses and her sewing and bits of stories about her friends seemed a lifetime ago, last night at her window two lifetimes.
“What does that mean?” His forehead furrowed. Agony touched his voice. “You don’t believe what that girl said, do you? There’s no going back for me. I don’t want that world. I have you now—”
“You do not have me.” She lifted her chin, defiance in her glare but it was not strong enough to hide the pain.
“Meredith, my family is far away across the country and that’s where they will stay. I should have told you about them. I know that. I don’t deny it. But they are not real to my life. I told you I’ve walked away. I’m disinherited. I am making my own way.” All he saw was her hurt, and he wished he understood why. “As for what that girl said, you know my life here has not been about having fun. Your mother has seen to that.”
“Don’t try to lighten the discussion.” She took a step back, holding herself tense and rigid, as if her self-control was all she had. The perfect May day surrounded her with colors and life, flowers nodding, the breeze whispering, birdsong serenading, and yet she looked as if there was no beauty left to her in the world. “I’m sure you are very sorry, but you lied to me.”
“How? I showed you who I am.” He wanted to smooth the crinkle of agony out of her forehead and to kiss away the sorrow on her rosebud lips. Turmoil roared through him, bringing with it the knowledge he was about to lose her. She, who mattered most to him, and he didn’t understand the reason. “Why is this hurting you? What have I done?”
“You were so harsh with me when you discovered I was not the country girl you mistook me to be, when I did not lie to you. I was simply being myself. You have behaved so much worse.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, so alone and vulnerable, with her broken affection in pieces at her feet. “How can I ever trust you again?”
“That’s easy. You can always trust me—”
“No,” she interrupted, her world already shattered, her unrealized dreams of him already crushed. “You have been pretending all along. You told me story after story to make me fall in love with you—”
“You’re in love with me?”
“Not anymore. That’s destroyed, too.”
She broke away, hearing the shards of those stories in her mind, defining tales of his character that she had trusted. Tall tales now of being rejected by his wealthy friends, of humbly living with his grandmother, of long-lasting friendships and making a life for himself on his own. These were the keys that had opened her up, captured her affections and made her think they were soul mates, that only he could truly understand and love her.
She had been misled, and so much of it had been her own doing. Agony hammered through her as she tore up the steps, heaved open the front door. His remorse didn’t stop her. She kept going, putting distance between them.
“Meredith! Why, you look positively wind-blown. Let’s take a comb to your hair.” Mama barreled over with the determination of a navy admiral, skirt snapping, the china figurines on the what-not shelves trembling. “It’s nearly tea time and I thought this afternoon we would have a formal tea. I commissioned Cook to prepare a few refined desserts for the occasion.”
“I’m not hungry.” She had endured one battle. She did not have the energy for a second. “I’m going to my room.”
“But I’ve invited a very special guest.” Mama was delirious with happiness as she clasped her hands together, a woman who mistakenly thought an impossible prayer had been answered. “Someone I think you will be very happy to entertain.”
“I am not going to marry Shane Connelly, so no matchmaking. Please.” She circled around the couch to avoid her mother, and hurried straight to the banister.
“Meredith Henrietta Worthington! You come back here this instant.” Mama’s command echoed through the parlor and bounced against the walls of the stairwell, but Meredith kept going. Her eyes burned, her throat tightened and with every step she took up the stairs and down the hallway she left a piece of herself behind.
At least her room was private. She sank onto the edge of her bed, so hurt the tears would not come, the sobs would not escape. It was silly to hurt so much over a man. She was too independent for that, but she hurt all the same. She was not in control of her heart, not at all.
A light knock rapped at her door. Tilly slipped inside and held up her forgotten book bag. “You left this behind.”
“Thanks.” The word croaked out, heavy with pain. Surely Tilly had noticed.
Pity pinched her sister’s face. Pity. Meredith bowed her face into her hands. Footsteps padded closer, the edge of the bed sank and Tilly’s arm went around her shoulder.
; “I know how it feels,” Tilly confessed. “To fall so far in love, it’s like you’ve both lost and found yourself at the same time. And then to discover you mean so little to him that he doesn’t even look your way when he drives by on the street.”
“You’ve been feeling like this all along?” Meredith choked out.
“Yes. Over Emmett Sims. For almost a year now.”
“I’m so sorry, Tilly.” No one deserved the sharp edges of a shattered love, edges that cut over and over again. “Does it ever end?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know if it does.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” The injury reached into the deepest parts of her, places she didn’t even know she had. Proof of how deep her love for Shane had gone, so quietly and lovely she hadn’t even thought not to let him in. “I’ve changed my mind about love. It’s bad. One should avoid it at all costs.”
“If only we had known that from the start,” Tilly agreed.
It was too late. Meredith took a steadying breath, wondering if Shane was devastated, too, or if he’d been able to go on with his work, his heart and his soul intact. She did not see the man with his head down, looking as if broken, standing at the end of the walkway where she’d left him, alone.
Chapter Sixteen
You have behaved so much worse. Meredith’s accusations troubled him with every breath he took and every minute that ticked by through the worst afternoon of his life. While he’d been saddling one of the two-year-olds, her question filled his head. How can I ever trust you again?
He had his answer. She could not see beyond his family name to the man he was. He took a shallow breath, ignoring the squeeze of discomfort that had settled behind his sternum. The pain had made him numb, and perhaps he would stay that way. He had work to finish, which would give him time to figure out how to make this right. He had to get her to listen.
“Blow out your breath, Apollo.” He gripped the cinch and splayed his hand on the gelding’s ribs. “I know you don’t like it, but we’ve got to get this nice and tight.”
The big Arabian stomped one hoof and sidestepped, as if he didn’t like the notion. Too bad he and Braden were leaving tomorrow. Not only did the horse need more training, but he was a kick to work with. Shane yanked a little harder on the cinch. “C’mon, big guy, let it out.”
Footsteps tapped into his awareness, faintly echoing in the empty stalls. Shane knew who it was without turning around. He’d been expecting a visit from Meredith’s father.
“Connelly.” Robert’s tone had changed, and he was home from work early. Still in his suit and tie, the consummate bank owner tipping his hat to an equal—and not to the horse trainer’s apprentice. A barn swallow flew in through one of the stalls, wheeled around and flapped back out again. Robert cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Braden. My horse and surrey are waiting.”
“Did you find someone to take over the barn work?” Shane buckled the cinch, checked the strap, unhooked the stirrup from the saddle horn.
“One of my teller’s neighbors has a son looking for work. He’s to start in the morning.”
“Good.” He didn’t have to turn around to read the discomfort, perhaps embarrassment, in the father’s voice. He patted Apollo’s flank and walked him a few paces. “I’ll take the kid through the morning routine here. Make sure he knows how things run before we leave.”
“I appreciate it.” Robert fell silent, but he clearly had more to say.
Shane stopped the gelding and checked the cinch. Still nice and tight, so he patted the horse’s shoulder. “Good boy, buddy. That was a good job.”
Apollo preened, pleased with the compliment.
“Connelly.” Robert blew out a sigh, as if he finally had figured out how to say what was on his mind. “About the way I treated you, told you to stay away from my daughter…”
“Said I wasn’t good enough for her?” he finished helpfully, looping the ends of the reins through an iron ring in the wall. Leaving the horse secure, he turned his back. “I remember that talk very well.”
“And I’m ashamed of it.” Robert passed his hand over his face. “I probably looked like a fool, saying those things to you. You clearly are a better man than me.”
“Sir, I’ve been the same man all along. I haven’t changed.” He headed down the aisle, where Robert had left his horse and vehicle standing in the hot sun without care. “I’m still the horseman’s apprentice.”
“Not just a horseman’s apprentice.” Robert relaxed now that his apology was past. He followed behind, his manner friendly. “You’re Stuart Connelly’s son, Aaron Connelly’s grandson. I read a newspaper article about you long ago. Something about charity work.”
“Today I’m the one taking care of your horse.” He held out his hand to let the stately gelding scent him. “That’s all I am.”
“I hope now that this misunderstanding has been cleared up that you will stay on.” Robert seized the bridle. “Of course, you won’t be expected to shovel horse manure and unhitch the family horses.”
“As I understand it, we’re leaving tomorrow.” Shane frowned. Robert had the horse by the bits. Annoyed, he patted the Arabian’s neck and clicked his tongue. The powerful horse turned toward him, breaking Robert’s grip. Shane led the horse deeper into the barn.
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” Robert sounded sincere. He wasn’t a bad guy, not at all. “I want to make things right between us if I can.”
“Believe me, I would like to stay. This is a pretty piece of Montana you live in. I can’t say it doesn’t make a man feel right at home.” He unbuckled the traces one by one and led the horse out from between the bars. “It’s Braden’s decision, and he’s had enough. He’s moving on, and I go with him.”
“I envy you, young man. Long ago was the day I had the longing to do something different than work in my father’s bank. I loved horses and dreamed of my own stables one day with the most beautiful Arabians grazing in my fields. I was forty years old before I brought the first broodmare to these pastures, and the most I can do is watch from the sidelines.” Robert shrugged, looking wistful. “Maybe you can stay in Montana?”
“No. Our next job is in Butte, then we move on to Boise.” He unbuckled the cheek strap and removed the gelding’s bridle. “Not sure where to after that, but I think it’s Salt Lake City.”
“What about Meredith?”
Meredith. He squeezed his eyes shut to hide the crash of emotion. He felt sucker punched, but he didn’t want that to show either. His voice sounded strained, and he hoped it could be attributed to the act of lifting the heavy horse collar off the Arabian’s neck. “I suppose Meredith will be teaching school over the summer like she plans to.”
“I thought the two of you were close.” Not a father’s ambition that spoke, but a father’s love.
“I thought so, too,” he said, keeping his back to the man while he slid the halter over the horse’s nose and behind his ears. The coarse fetlock tickled the backs of his hands as he worked and the thought of Meredith angry and hurt destroyed him. He’d rather die than harm her, but that hadn’t stopped it from happening.
“Perhaps I could talk to her,” Robert suggested. “Maybe Braden could see reason to stay if more money was involved. If you would like to court my daughter, I would heartily give my permission—”
“Papa!” Meredith’s dismay startled the horse and him. “I can’t believe what I just heard.”
The black’s head came up and the powerful animal began to sidestep, nervously, about to bolt. Shane calmed him with a low murmur and a firm grip on his halter, drinking in the sight of his beloved. Like May itself, she swirled into the barn with a snap of her petunia pink dress and a sewing hoop clutching in one hand. Her hair a tumble, her bottom lip quivering with emotion.
“Meredith.” A change came over Robert and his manner softened. The father’s adoration of his daughter was unmistakable. “You surely have heard the good news. Your mother stopped
by the bank on her way home from her meeting to let me know we have a very important person in our employ. I—”
“Papa, don’t you dare try to distract me. You were trying to match me up with him.” She held herself rigid, gesturing in his general direction as if she couldn’t stand so much as to look at him.
Shane hung his head and led the horse away. The black went willingly and he left the father and daughter behind, their voices murmuring in the long stretch of the breezeway and bouncing off the empty walls of the stalls. Outside, horses grazed in summery fields and Braden’s low mumble to one of the two-year-olds he was riding reminded him of what was at stake, more than his future and more than his heart.
He unhooked the stall gate, letting in the horse. Eyeing the paddock beyond and then his empty feed trough, the Arabian waited, giving Shane a look that clearly said, “I’m waiting.”
“All right, buddy.” He grabbed the grain bucket and upended it, the sound of cascading corn and oats drowning all sound of Meredith’s voice.
I cannot lose her. He lowered the bucket to the ground. He would not admit defeat yet, not when there was still a chance. Latching the stall gate, he turned on his heel, determined to talk to her and explain, but she blocked his path.
“I’m sorry about my father.” She faced him, jaw set and braced as if it took all her strength to meet him. “Papa should not have been saying those things to you.”
“About encouraging a match between us?”
“Yes.” A muscle ticked along her porcelain jaw, a sign of how hard it was for her to be with him. She stood stone-still. A slight breeze played with the lace edge of her hemline and teased the flyaway tendrils from her single braid.
“I know he was not speaking for you, Meredith.” He wanted to make her smile. “You are far too independent for that.”
