Bonnie was delighted when David handed her one of their lead ropes. He and Rio took the last two and led the way around the back side of the barn to the pasture where Andy had spread ten bales of hay around the grass and in the two run-in sheds.
“I just used the grass hay,” Andy said. “Figured if they were really in bad shape the alfalfa would be too rich.”
“This is perfect. They were eating some sort of vile ditch cuttings. Thistle-filled and moldy. It’ll be a miracle if they don’t all colic on the pasture grass.”
“Well, it’s eaten down and not very nutritious this time of year,” Andy replied. “They’ll be fine. You did a good thing, boss.”
“I think you should just put the poor creatures out of their misery.” Kate handed David her lead rope when it was time for the little paint to enter the pasture.
“What?” Bonnie swung on her with enormous eyes. “Kill them?” She stroked the thin neck of the horse in her charge.
“They’re so decrepit. Who knows what sort of pestilence they’re carrying.” Kate looked past Bonnie to David and Andy.
“That’s a little extreme.” Rio stared, wondering what had brought on such a reaction. Kate normally had a gentle, if aristocratic, temperament. “It’s not their fault they’re not beautiful.”
“Beautiful has nothing to do with it.” Kate’s eyes censured her for the first time. “David has a lot of very expensive horses here. It would be a tragedy if something were to happen. You don’t want a strangles epidemic or, God forbid, EIA.”
Rio had no idea what either of those things was. She could only assume David had thought of this possibility already.
“It’s not an insignificant worry, Kate,” David said, to Rio’s shock. “That’s why we’ll keep them separate until they can be vaccinated and wormed and thoroughly checked. It’ll be all right.”
“Are you still going to fetch more?” Stella asked. “It’s getting dark.”
“I’d like to,” David said. “There’s so much to do tomorrow. Competitors will start arriving the day after that.”
“What can we do to help?”
“If Andy needs anything, help him. Did you get those messages out?” he asked Kate.
“I did. Everything’s sorted.”
“Brilliant, thank you.”
When all six horses had their noses buried in the hay, David turned to Rio.
“You were wonderful,” he said, “but it’s a long process. You don’t need to do it again. I can take Andy.”
“I don’t mind.” Her heart sank at the thought of not finishing the job with him. “I’d . . . like to go back unless you’d rather I stayed here.”
“No, I’d rather you come along. I just didn’t want to assume you enjoyed it.”
“Hard to say I enjoyed it, but it’s worth this.” She indicated the new residents of the pasture. “They already sound happier. I hate that the others still there don’t know something better is just an hour away.”
“Then by all means let’s go.”
BY 11:00 P.M. twelve horses, two more than the ten David had originally agreed to take, were safely in the pasture, and Rio felt like she’d just saved the world. Even though she was muddy, tired, and smelly, she would just as soon have slept on the ground beside the fence. She had no idea why, but all she wanted was to make sure they felt comfortable, safe, and cared for. David laughingly put the kibosh on sleeping with them.
“You’re so tired you can barely see straight,” he told her, as they stood together, watching the horses snuffle and snort, staking claims to their own places as if fearing the sudden bounty would disappear. “You’ll help these guys more by getting a good night’s sleep and checking on them first thing.”
“Why do I care so much about them?”
He pressed a long, sweet kiss to her temple, and her eyes closed, exhaustion turning to pleasure. When they turned from the fence he took her hand. “For the same reason Kate doesn’t truly get it. It’s part of your DNA, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Because it can get you in twelve half-dead horses’ worth of trouble.”
No regret came through in his words. He had accepted these animals as his responsibility. She could love a man who went where his heart led him.
“Will you be okay taking care of them? This definitely will get expensive.”
“I’ll be looking at the books pretty hard, but I can’t worry about it too much until after the show. It’s going to get crazier yet around here—just so you know.”
“Can I look at your books with you?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she bit her lip in mortification. They hadn’t sounded so utterly presumptuous in her head.
“Look at my books?”
“I’m sorry. No. No, I didn’t mean I wanted to see your personal finances. I only meant I’d be interested in knowing what this costs, feeding twelve horses. I . . . I struggle with my own money issues all the time, and maybe we could figure out something together. I . . . crap, that didn’t sound any better. Just forget it. Sorry.”
His soft chuckle surprised her. “Stop apologizing. What you’re asking is a nice change from people telling me what I ought to do. I can show you what’s involved if you’d really like to know.”
“I wouldn’t tell a soul anything.”
“Do you know, I completely believe you.”
His words wrapped her in a warm glow. He had an amazing ability to turn her gaffes into genuine compliments.
“I kind of wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll miss the horses’ first day.”
“I can ask Dr. Thomlinson to come after you get home. If you’d like to hear what he has to say?”
“You’d wait? Oh, thank you.”
David reached behind her neck and pulled her forward into a long, sweet kiss. “Ah, Rio,” he said against her lips. “You do have it bad.”
“DAMN IT, WHERE did all these people come from?” Bud looked up from the grill and his umpteenth hamburger order of the lunch rush. He’d been uncharacteristically stressed all morning. “It’s Thursday, for crying out loud. Do people think it’s a holiday weekend? I have to get started on the potato salad for that crazy show, and I can’t buy a break.”
“Busy is a good thing,” Rio soothed.
“I want there to be pie and cakes left for the dinner rush. The gals at The Bread Basket are working overtime for me as it is.”
“We are low on desserts.” Vince nodded somberly.
Rio yawned. She’d been up since five, rising to check on the new horses before anyone else had been awake. She still had four hours left in her shift. Maybe fatigue conjured the idea; when it struck she definitely didn’t have the control to assess it before opening her mouth.
“Do you have ingredients to make apple pie?”
“What?” Bud turned uncomprehending eyes on her.
“I can bake pies.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Honey, if you can bake a pie that’s passable, I’ll go get whatever you need myself.”
“Oh no, you won’t,” Vince said. “You aren’t leaving me on this grill alone.”
Bud grinned for the first time all morning. “We’d need some apples. What I have aren’t fresh enough for anything but sauce. But if you’re truly serious, I’ll call and have as many as you need delivered.”
“How many pies do you want?” she asked.
“Three?”
“Five or six apples a pie,” she said.
“I’m on my way to the phone.” Bud handed Vince a long-handled spatula with a triumphant smile. “Think you can manage for five minutes, junior?”
“JUMPIN’ JUDY, JOSEPH, and Mary, girl. Where’d you learn how to make a pie like this?”
Rio blushed with pleasure at the four people crammed into Bud’s booth, surrounding the half-eaten pie in front of them. Claudia, Karla, Bud, and Vince dug into pieces of the warm, gooey filling.
“I think it’s a good thing my Effie isn’t here,” Bud spoke over a mouthful of crust. “She’d be green with envy.”
“That’s a mighty big compliment.” Claudia patted Rio’s arm in congratulations. “But it’s definitely deserved.”
“Rio.” Bud held up his empty fork, his balding head shining under the fluorescent lights and his bespectacled eyes sparkling. “What would you think of changing shifts, coming in early and making a few pies and maybe some other desserts each day?”
“Do you have any other specialties?” Vince asked. “Not that this ain’t enough.” He waggled his fork at the pie.
Overwhelmed, Rio took in the praise, trying to organize her thoughts so she could answer the questions coherently. Actually baking for a restaurant? She’d grilled burgers and deep-fried fish and chips, but she’d never been in charge of something as important as an eating establishment’s signature desserts.
“I’m flattered,” she said finally. “But are you sure? I mean, anyone can bake apple pies. Doughs and things? That’s a baker’s job.”
“Trust me, you’re a baker.” Bud sat back, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“I could try,” she said. “Pies and cookies are easy enough, I guess. I can do blueberry muffins, too.”
“Now that would save me a ton of money,” Bud said. “If you came in at five or so, had a few things ready when we open, helped out with breakfast, and finished up by eleven, you’d have the afternoon free.”
She thought about the horses at David’s. She didn’t mind getting up early. Maybe this would be a better schedule. “When would you want me to switch?”
“How ’bout tomorrow!” Bud laughed. “Claudia, you be willing to come in at two instead of four?”
“For a few pies back in the case, I’ll come in whenever you like,” Claudia said.
“Done,” said Bud, and raised his glass of water. “Here’s to our new baker.”
“Until Effie returns,” Rio replied and then smiled back and lifted her own glass. The new baker. Would wonders never cease?
Chapter Twenty-Two
* * *
“SO, HAY AROUND here is going for upwards of five-fifty a bale for grass and six to eight bucks a bale for the alfalfa mixes.” David sat back in his desk chair and ran a hand across his mouth.
“I can see why this worries you,” Rio said.
She’d learned more about hay than she’d known there was to learn. It fascinated and intimidated her to see what David had to know in order to run his business. From finding sources for hay and feed, to planning the equivalent of a county fair, to hiring help, understanding horse illnesses, and figuring out how to set his prices so he could keep customers and still make a living—he was trainer, teacher, CEO, and CFO rolled into one.
And he was right. The business was hurting.
“If those are your income/expense numbers,” she continued, “and you need another twelve hundred dollars a month just for hay . . .”
“A bit short, right? Pretty much as in twelve hundred dollars short.”
She acknowledged with a sigh. “Yeah. You are already not quite breaking even.”
“If I could get three more boarders back, I could make that up. But this isn’t the time of year people look to add four hundred dollars to their expenses. There’ll be possibilities after Christmas, when parents decide to give their kids that pony they’ve always asked for.” He smiled humorlessly. “Meanwhile, I may have to take up a bit of dishwashing.”
“There have to be things to cut from the budget.”
“I’m down to necessities. Things like electricity and insurance premiums have gone up. Those are not extras.”
“What are these items: Friday Bonus Nights and Scholarship Fund?”
“During the summer the staff here, along with a few of the boarders, work their arses off for me. Friday nights we have a pizza, beer, and movie night—far cheaper than pay bonuses. And the scholarship fund is money to pay show registrations for three kids who wouldn’t get to go to a show otherwise. Both nonnegotiable.”
She nodded, her brain churning with ways those items could be cut back. But it wasn’t her business. Still, when she looked at another number under “Employee salaries,” she couldn’t help but comment.
“This takes up a huge chunk.” She pointed. “Almost four thousand a month. Is that all Andy?”
“Andy and the kids I hire for various things.”
“Just wondering if you’d ever thought about cutting Andy’s hours?”
“Absolutely not.”
He stood with such vehemence Rio backed her chair up and stared. “Okay. Sorry,” she said. “Honestly, I wasn’t suggesting it. I’m just learning here.”
He ran a hand through his hair, and such tiredness crossed his face that Rio stood to meet him.
“I touched a sore spot. David, I really do apologize.”
He pulled her into a hug, brief but desperate. “That sore spot is Andy. You have to know that as long as I’m breathing, he’s going nowhere unless he wishes it.”
“That’s pretty amazing loyalty.”
They both sat again. “I met him two years after arriving in the States at a VFW breakfast where he was volunteering by replacing syrup bottles and filling juice glasses. He was one of the most cheerful blokes I’d ever seen but not very coordinated. For some reason we started a conversation. Discovered we’d been in Iraq at exactly the same time—almost to the dates. I was in Basra, he in Fallujah. The difference was, he’d been severely injured. That’s where he lost his leg. He’d also suffered traumatic brain injury, and he was in the process of looking for work.”
“You gave him a job.”
“Not straight away. We simply stayed connected. I hadn’t found too many fellow soldiers willing to talk. It’s not much of a lark to chatter on about trauma with people who haven’t been through it. Not manly to admit your nightmares. Besides that, it’s amazing how many people talk a good story about supporting veterans and yet can’t tolerate something like Andy’s limp or slow speech. It takes a bit of effort to realize he’s not slow.”
“He certainly is not.”
“He went through three jobs before I finally asked him to come here.”
“How long ago?”
“Almost six years. After struggling for so long, he took to the work here like he was born to it. He loves the animals, and he’s great with the boarders. He’s the brother I never had in far more ways than one.”
“I’m sorry if I sounded like I thought he wasn’t important to you.”
“No. I’m sorry for jumping on you. I get defensive. I identify with Andy because I couldn’t have taken on a regular job when I got out either. In fact, I couldn’t do a lot of things. That’s what lost me Kate and drove me from England. Not many successful, happy soldiers return from that Middle-Eastern sandbox.”
He leaned forward, elbows to thighs, and Rio stroked his bangs from his forehead.
“I have no way to imagine it. Were you injured, too?”
“Not physically, thank God. But I was also a thoroughly unsuccessful soldier. Ask my father, the sergeant-major. He saw minimal action in the Falklands, but he still became one of the most popular men in the British Army. He was part of a special unit that entertained and boosted morale by putting on cavalry exhibitions. A much grander military career than those of grunts like me or Andy who only got shot at.”
His unmistakable bitterness surprised her. She’d never known a more optimistic person than David. Not once had he hinted at this traumatic past.
“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
“It’s a long time past,” he said with a sigh. “Bottom line is, neither Andy nor I had a glorious homecoming. We both lost mates. We both have scars. That Band of Brothers title is truth in our case.”
“There are more stories in your eyes.” She peered at him. “I won’t ask you to tell them, but I’m a good listener if you ever need one.”
He straightened, and his handsome cheekbones lifted in a smile of gratitude. “I really am fine. I hadn’t thought about Andy’s story in a while. I take him a little for granted.”
“I won’t suggest you let him go ever again.” She offered a teasing smile.
“Best not,” he agreed, and his smile returned.
“You’ve been telling me to stand up for myself ever since we met,” she said. “You should do the same. You don’t have to do anything anyone else tells you to do. Not your mother, not me. You can even be mad sometimes. It’s not a sin.”
“I had to learn the hard way that losing my temper never helps anything.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes letting loose is like a teapot whistling—lets out the steam so you don’t explode.”
“You’ve changed since you came here, you know that?”
“I haven’t changed a bit.”
“Have, too. Who’s the wise little bird now?”
“What? I’m not wise, you’re just seeing the bossy, dictatorial real me.”
“Well, you’ve bossed me right out of a foul mood. Even if I haven’t a clue where to find enough hay I can afford to feed twelve orphaned equines.”
“My dad used to sing the old Beatles song Let it Be to me. One line says what he used to say, ‘there will be an answer.’ So let it be for tonight. Enjoy your show. You said it’s a moneymaker.”
“But it’s already part of the budget. I can’t count it as—”
She set a forefinger firmly against his lips. “Stop borrowing trouble.”
A chuckle rose from his throat. David spun his desk chair, grabbed her, and dragged her sideways onto his lap. “You’re right,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “I have enough trouble already.”
SATURDAY NIGHT, DAVID sat back in a canvas quad chair, propped his booted feet on a picnic table bench, and closed his eyes for the first time in eighteen hours. In just a few minutes his party companions would return with second helpings from Bud’s amazing-as-always barbecue feed. He took the moment of peace to thank the gods of three-day eventing, that they were done with Saturday. Cross-country day always threatened to send him to his hidden hunter’s cabin with a whiskey bottle and a padlock. With a hundred riders heading out over the jumps, there was always the chance of accidents to horses or riders, bad weather, angry competitors, broken equipment. He’d dealt with every scenario at one time or another.
Beauty and the Brit Page 23
