“First,” Emma says, a hint of amusement in her voice, “you learn to take care of the horses.”
Olivia’s nose wrinkles like she knows she isn’t going to like this part. “I have to shovel up poop, don’t I?” she asks, giving Emma a soulful glance that makes Emma grin. The smile is so genuine and beautiful I feel like someone struck me right in the solar plexus. My heart kicks into overdrive and I notice how her smile dims when she notices me over Olivia’s head.
“You do,” she answers Olivia, staring me down for a moment before her attention returns to Olivia.
Once again, Olivia slips her hand in Emma’s as they walk toward the barn. I hang back this time, looking over the land. It’s nice to put actual land to plans I’ve drawn up in my mind. The grass, once cut, would make beautiful lawns. It’s free of weeds, verdant green, and perfect. Not that it matters. It would all be mud once the contractors came in to lay foundation.
But it’s good to know that the very soil itself is in good condition. Marketing rich, backyard garden quality soil is a huge selling point that hits the market I want right between the eyes.
Catching up to Emma and Olivia, I watch Emma show my daughter how to muck out a stall. I sense she’s enjoying herself. Of course she is. I’m sure she’s getting even with me through making my daughter shovel up dung. What a childlike thing.
But as I watch, I begin to wonder if I’m wrong. There’s an animation in Emma as she talks to Olivia and works shoulder to shoulder with her. Olivia laughs at something Emma says, and I see them share a giggle.
After a few minutes, Emma walks over toward me. “She’s doing good,” she says, focusing on Olivia.
“Thank you for being adult about this,” I say, knowing she could have refused to teach Olivia.
Emma crosses her arms. “I didn’t do it for you,” she says, her tone stony. “I did it for her.”
“I do everything for her,” I say, hearing the truth in my words. “Even trying to buy you out is for her.”
Emma stares at me, shaking her head and letting out an unladylike snort. “Are you kidding me?” she asks, her stare shocked. “Even now you’re trying to use your own daughter against me to make me sell?” she walks away, muttering “Unbelievable.”
“It’s not like that,” I say.
She turns to face me as Olivia continues to work just out of earshot. “No?’ she asks, arching an eyebrow at me like she can convince me to tell the truth. Except I am. That wasn’t my intent. Not really. It was truth first, manipulation second.
Emma looks away, then marches right up to me, planting her hands on her hips. “Look, Mr. Knight,” She says, my name leaving her lips like a curse, “don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like I am.”
“I know you’re not,” I say, and she hesitates, studying me intently. Her full attention feels like a ray of sunlight, warm and comforting. But I don’t have time to ponder why. “But I am going to buy this property.” Lowering my voice to a dangerous growl that demands respect, I say, “I always get what I want.”
She blinks, her gaze softening in a way I didn’t expect. “I’m truly sorry for you, Mr. Knight.”
She walks away, leaving me trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
Chapter 10
Emma
As much as I don’t want to, I do feel bad for Mr. Knight. A man who’s had everything given to him – or who has taken everything – is no man at all. Men understand that life is give and take, not take, take, take. And if Mr. Knight has never lost anything important, then he’s shallow and has never experienced life on life’s terms.
What a pity.
Olivia stands back to admire her handiwork and I praise her. “Keep up the good work and I might have to hire you on!” I say, and her face lights up.
“We’d be a great team,” she says, and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut by an excited mule.
At a loss, I merely walk her over to the mare whose stall she’d cleaned. “This is Dear Dreamer,” I tell her, and she strokes the mare’s nose as she talks to her.
“Hello Dear Dreamer. I feel like we’d be best friends, given enough time.” Her grown up words flash me back to my father. It’s something he would have told a new mare that needed the calming tone of his voice most. And he’d hold the promise through. He’d become fast friends with her, sharing secrets, small talk, and companionable silences all alike with her.
“Emma?” Olivia says, snapping me out of my moment. I realize tears are welling up in my eyes, and I blink them back.
“Sorry, I think I was about to sneeze,” I say, hoping the cover is enough.
“It’s okay to cry,” Olivia says softly, looking over her shoulder at her father, who’s off looking up at the ceiling of the barn, likely appraising the value of the wood. “I cry sometimes too. When I really miss mom, I can’t help it.”
My throat aches for this little girl whose loss is as acute as my own. “I miss my dad,” I tell her, finding comfort in our common ground. “He died and I miss him every day.”
“I miss mom every day too,” she says, her hand finding mine in a gesture of comfort that’s wise beyond her years. With a smile, I steer the conversation back to the horse. If I keep talking like this, I’ll cry for real, and while I’m sure Olivia would be level-headed about it, I doubt her father would be. Hell, he’d find a way to use it against me, I’m sure.
“So, we have to check her hooves.” I show Olivia how to stand and run my hands down Dreamer’s leg. She lifts for me and I use the hoof pick to teach Olivia the parts of the hoof and how to clean them.
As I talk, I feel Knight’s eyes on me and I glance his direction. He’s watching me with an intensity that’s almost unsettling. My heart begins to pound and my mouth dries up. Thankfully, Olivia says she’s got this and I turn away from his stare and watch her. But I can feel his gaze on me.
“Good job,” I tell her and she beams at me in an honest pleasure that’s heartbreaking. “Can you do the rest?” I ask and she nods. While she works, I make my way to her father.
“She’s doing great,” I say, feeling awkward. Part of this job is talking to eh parents. Often I wind up teaching them as much as I teach their children. But not Mr. Knight.
“She generally does,” he says.
“You don’t have to be here,” I say. “You signed the waiver. You can go.”
“I’d rather stay,” he says, leveling that stare at me once more.
“Fine,” I say, refusing to let him get to me.
He seems to consider a moment. “So, how is the farm doing?” he asks, and I know he’s pushing.
“Very well. Overhead is low, profits are high.” It’s not a lie, really.
“Interesting,” He says, studying Olivia as he stands beside me. She’s working hard at the back hoof, her little face screwed up with intense concentration. “You look like you work too hard,” he says, and I struggle not to roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to retire?”
“I’d be bored,” I say, refusing to think about how life would be if I wasn’t working myself to the bone day in and day out.
He glances at me, his expression incredulous. “Really? You wouldn’t like to see the world? Travel? See all the great things the world has to offer outside this place?”
“That would be fun for a little while,” I say honestly. “But I’d get homesick pretty quick and miss my home here, and my life.”
He falls silent, and I wonder what approach he’ll try to take this time. Thankfully, Olivia finishes up and I hurry to her side to see her handiwork. She’s done well, and I show her how to saddle up the mare. She’s a quick study, and she bridles up Dreamer without help.
“Always look forward when leading,” I tell her as she leads Dreamer out toward the round pen. Grabbing a hardhat, I follow her. While I don’t look to see if Knight is following, I sense his eyes on me once more and know he is without a doubt.
At the round pen, I he
lp Olivia put on the hardhat. Once it’s secure, I help her mount and run her through the basics before letting her try for herself. I fall back toward the fence, knowing she’ll learn quickly. Dreamer has been training riders for well over a decade, and she’s good at it. If Olivia makes a mistake, Dreamer will let her know.
“Is she still doing good?”
Without looking at him, I answer. “She’s a natural. Are you sure she’s never had lessons?”
“Quite,” he says, the single word clipped.
“I’m never going to sell,” I tell him, needing him to hear it again. “There’s nothing you can do to me that will make me budge.”
“Why are you so unreasonable, Emma?” he asks. As he says my name, my body lights up like a Christmas tree. Nerves fire off white-hot and excited. It’s confusing, and I try to formulate a response.
“I’m not unreasonable.” How dare he be so rude?
He’s silent, and I can’t help but rise for the bait. “What makes you think I’m being unreasonable?” I ask, feeling anger surging in my gut.
“I offered twenty million on a property perhaps worth five million at most. You turned me down. That’s unreasonable.” He’s so calm and matter of fact it boils my blood.
“Perhaps you don’t understand the notion of sentimentality,” I say, hearing the fury in my words. “But how could you understand sentimental value? You always get what you want, therefore you value nothing.”
“That’s not very nice,” he says, his eyes locked on his daughter as she rides circles around the pen. Dreamer is keeping true to form, moving at a good pace that trains Olivia’s balance without being too quick or changing directions too suddenly.
“You expect me to be nice?” I ask, incredulous. “You’ve done everything you can think of, even resorting to using your daughter, to make me sell my home.”
His eyes leave Olivia to lock on me. There’s an icy chill in them as he stares me down. “I never used her,” he says, his voice dangerous. “She wanted lessons. I allowed it.”
“And it’s luck that brings you both to me?” I say a bit too sweetly. I know he’s lying.
There’s a flicker behind his eyes, as if he’s surprised I’m calling him on his bullshit.
As we both look toward Olivia again, I feel the question forming before I can tamp it back. “Where is Olivia’s mother?” I ask, dreading the answer.
Beside me, I feel Knight tense up and fury begins rolling off him like a choking fog.
Chapter 11
Kieran
She asked a question she has no right to ask, but I’m staring at her lips, wondering if she’d shut up if I kissed her. Would she forget her question then? Her innocent face is sweet, and there’s genuine curiosity in her fresh features.
And the anger that filled me drains away.
Of course I’ve got a canned answer. The same one I give people who ask. It’s been rehearsed to death. I say it in my sleep, I say it to strangers who ask, I say it to teachers who think it’s the root of Olivia’s issues.
But it’s a god damned lie.
As Emma studies me, I find myself unable to feed her that same old lie. And I begin to wonder who she is and why she’s interested. There’s no reason for her to ask. She’s got no vested interest. No reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary.
But as the silence stretches out between us, becoming awkward, I see her lips twist like she’s considering how to fill the void. I feel no such compulsion, and I wait, wondering what she’s going to come up with.
“I’m sorry,” she says, the words popping out like she tried to hold them back. Her face flushes red and she looks toward Olivia who’s still riding well, talking to the horse as she goes in circles. But all I can do is stare at Emma.
I’m torn. Part of me is pissed she’s trying to get so personal. Part of me wants to know why, if she’s someone I need to worry about. I know Cami is looking for me. Is Emma a spy? But the loudest part of me wonders why there’s a sudden sheen of tears in her verdant eyes as she watches Olivia.
“She’s a natural,” Emma says, and I sense she’s trying to fill the silence and bury her mistake.
“It’s none of your business,” I say, needing her to know where she stands as far as my family goes. We’re here so Olivia can learn to ride. Not so Emma can find a way under our skin or into our hearts. She’s got no reason to get personal.
And I don’t want her to.
Emma glances over at me, her cat-like eyes wide and worried. “I know,” she says softly, the words soothing like a bandage on an open wound. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes dart back and forth between mine as the wind toys with a stray lock of her golden hair that’s found its way free and clings to her neck. I want to move it, to brush it back, but I know better than to touch her.
Everything in me feels magnetized to her right now. Her eyes are warm and kind, and I sense something there; not pity – empathy. It’s a refreshing change. Even Nikki looked at me with pity. Everyone does.
But not Emma. There’s something so pure and real; kind, even, in her eyes. It melts the deepest layer of ice around my heart and I instantly struggle to rebuild the protective shield.
As if she feels it too, her eyes dart to my lips, then back up to mine. Her body softens, as if her spine is slowly failing her. But when her pink lips part, just a little bit, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the balls.
She’s hoping I kiss her. I know the look, the longing, the excitement, the feeling that it’s all kinds of wrong that make it the best kind of right.
But I’m not going there. As much as I’d like to, Olivia isn’t out of eyesight, and I know better than to get her hopes up. To her young mind, a kiss is a declaration of love, and I’m sure as hell not going to bring anything like that into her world.
As if reading my thoughts, Emma looks away, and I sense she’s trying to gather herself. Her expression says she’s shouting at herself internally.
“Don’t hold back,” I tell her, and she looks at me in shock. “Neither of us benefit from bullshit. You hate me, so you shouldn’t care if you hurt my feelings. But be honest.”
She shakes her head, her eyes on mine. “If we were mortal enemies, I’d still treat you with compassion,” she says, her pretty lips curling up a little at the corners. “Dad taught me to be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle.”
Her words are an arrow to my heart and I shut down. “Kindness is a trait of the weak.”
Without missing a beat, she responds. “Kindness takes effort. Cruelty is the mark of a lazy or fearful man.”
I’d never tell her, but she’s an interesting person. Someone I wouldn’t mind sitting across a table from and talking out every facet of life. But I have to remind myself she’s not my friend. She’s not someone I can have feelings for. She’s not someone I can get close to. She has something I need. And I’m going to get it, come hell or high water.
“While we’re being honest,” she says, looking back at Olivia, who’s impervious to our mounting tensions, “she said she misses her mom. That’s why I’m curious.”
“It’s till none of your business,” I say, “and Olivia shouldn’t be talking to you about it.”
But Emma seems a million miles away as she watches my daughter while speaking to me. “Perhaps she sees something in me that she can trust.” Her voice lowers to a near whisper that I feel isn’t aimed at me anymore, but is perhaps simply for herself. “Or maybe she sees a kindred spirit.”
I sense she’s dealing with her own painful memories even as mine rise toward the surface. But I shove them back down. I’ll drown them. Nothing good comes from reliving moments we suffered in. My secrets never need to come to light. Some things need to stay buried. And maybe she understands that. After all, she’s not talking about whatever it is that’s bringing her to the edge of tears now.
Hasn’t anyone ever told this woman it’s better to let old secrets stay dust?
Chapter 12
Emma
&nb
sp; I know I hit a nerve. Beside me, Mr. Knight is all tensed up like a wounded tiger. So I focus on Olivia and let him gather himself. He’s rather reasonable, given all we’ve discussed. I’m surprised. He’s actually human under all those layers of monster.
“Keep your arms parallel to the ground,” I tell Olivia. She flashes a smile my direction and lifts her hands so they’re not resting on the pommel.
“This is fun!” She says. The way she grins leaves me feeling like she’s lighting up my whole world. I duck between the fence slats and walk up to Dreamer, who walks right up to me and places her chin on my shoulder.
“Want to try a trot?” I ask Olivia, who nods. “Show me,” she says, kicking both feet free of the stirrups. She waits for me to help her slip free of the saddle, and I carefully guide her to the ground. When she’s at the fence, I mount up and steady Dreamer.
I take the reins and make sure Olivia is watching. Past her, I see Knight watching me too. But I put him out of my mind. The best course of action with him seems to be ignoring him for the moment.
I urge Dreamer into a walk, then into a trot, rising with the pace easily and with all the rhythm that makes Dreamer a dream to ride. When I pull her up, I let her walk the ring twice before bringing her to the halt.
When my feet hit the ground, Olivia materializes by my side. “The trick is,” I tell her as I help her get a foot in the stirrup to mount up, “to move with the horse. You’ll find the right rhythm. Get comfortable. Dreamer is patient, even if you make mistakes.”
Olivia settles into the saddle and grins at me. “She had a good teacher, I’m sure,” she says, and I know the compliment is intended for me, but I can’t help correcting her.
“My dad taught her. And she taught me.” The memories that flood back leave me stunned with agony. Olivia squeezes my hand, then nudges Dreamer into a walk around the ring. I fall back and find myself beside Knight, who has moved up to stand beside the ring.
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