Tapestry of Trust

by Mary Annslee Urban

  His muscle in his jaw tightened. Questions only Isabelle could answer.

  “You know, you do look tired. Actually, you look terrible.”

  Charlie blinked as Brenda leaned closer, studying him. “Gee, thanks.”

  “No problem. Not everyone can look fresh and beautiful every day.” Brenda tossed her head back, a smug expression on her face.

  He couldn’t resist. “You know, maybe you should try a new hairstyle. Like a bob or something.” He immediately regretted the ribbing when he saw her eyes round like two burning coals.

  He shot up his hand. “Hey, just a thought.”

  “Well, Mr. Prince-of-Fashion, if your tie wasn’t on crooked, I might consider your advice.”

  OK, she won. Holding all comment, Charlie edged past Brenda to the coffeepot. Another day he would have laughed at the banter. Even shot back another witty riposte, although at the moment he found her quips more annoying than amusing. He poured his coffee, not bothering to add the sugar and cream. “I’ll be in my office.”

  Two steps inside his office, he stopped. On the corner of his desk he noticed the folder of research notes he’d forgotten to take to his grad school class the night before. His head throbbed. His empty stomach growled. And his parched throat burned. He’d spent forty-five minutes scouring his apartment looking for those notes. He looked into his cup of coffee, still streaming with heat. Today wasn’t shaping up any different than yesterday.

  Charlie rubbed between his eyes. Yep, his day was already sprinting downhill. How ironic that what started out as a good deed of returning a neighbor’s cat, ended up turning his life upside down. Seeing Isabelle again stirred something deep inside him. An awareness he hadn’t felt in…well, not in six years. Logically, he knew even though things had been great between them once, people change. He had to admit, he didn’t know Isabelle Crafton anymore. The tension he felt in the parking lot last Friday verified that. And those old scabby wounds needed to be healed.

  Like that would be easy.

  Shrugging off the disconcerting thoughts, Charlie stomped around his desk. He sank into the leather chair, and eyeballed his calendar. Deadlines. He hated them. Yanking open a drawer, he pulled out a bulging file, and chucked it onto the desk. Now if only his head would stop pounding. He grabbed a bottle of aspirin beside his computer, took two tablets, and swallowed them with a gulp of coffee.

  Time to get busy. He opened the file, and as he looked down, a small Bible peeked out from beneath a stack of mail. His gift from Grace Christian Church. Picking it up, he fingered the gold letters etched into the leather, The Holy Bible. God’s perfect word. A truth he’d balked at in the past, but now he knew better. He turned to the concordance and let his gaze skitter down the page, stopping when he came to trust. His eyes rested on Psalm 22:5. They cried to You and were saved; in You they trusted and were not disappointed.

  Head bowed, Charlie meditated on the verse until the sound of footsteps triggered his attention. He glanced up to find Erica in the doorway. She stared at him for a moment, leaning against the doorjamb, her booted ankles crossed. He had to admit she was a beauty. Tall and slender with bouncy, blonde hair curling about her shoulders, and blue eyes fringed by thick lashes, her skin flawless. When they met in grad school and started dating, he’d been the envy of every other guy in class.

  “Busy?”

  Charlie rocked back, the chair squeaking. He closed the Bible on his lap. “My first client rescheduled, but I do have work to do.”

  A grin broke across Erica’s face. Waving a manila folder in her hand, she sauntered toward him. “Guess what this is.”

  He wasn’t in the mood. “Is it something I should know about?” He doubted it.

  Erica tossed the folder onto the desk in front of him then eased into the chair opposite his desk, her fingers stroking his jacket as she refolded it on the armrest. Before he could remind her not to get too comfortable, she crossed her willowy legs. “Open it Charlie. I think you’ll be pleased.” She winked, flashing that same bewitching smile that used to make his heart throb.

  Charlie inhaled a long breath, trying to ignore her sultry perfume. He rubbed his nose. The spell she used to keep him under had long ago dissolved. He no longer desired a relationship built on good looks and business connections. Her shallow tactics wore on him. Not to mention, her shameless flirting with Carson Farthling at the Dallas conference, complete with the “harmless little kiss,” as she defended it. Oh yeah, the last straw.

  Dropping his gaze, he noticed the Bible still in his lap. As discreetly as possible, he slid it into the left desk drawer. “Jamison’s Imports, Jaguar and Porsche,” he read, flipping open the file. He looked from the paperwork to Erica, whose brows cocked beneath wispy bangs. “I don’t understand. Larry Wright has this account.”

  Erica tossed back her hair and stood. “I spoke with Daddy. He agreed you should have it.” She padded her way around the desk and stood at his shoulder. “You know, Charlie, when we get married, you’ll move up to VP and be in charge of all the accounts. You need to get acquainted with our best clients.”

  Charlie clenched his teeth. He adjusted his tie, taking a sturdy hold of his patience. “Erica we’ve been through this. We’re not getting married. You know that. After we broke up, your father requested that I stay on with the firm. He understood things were over between us. I hope you haven’t led him to believe anything different.”

  Silence. Charlie inhaled. “Hey, I need to get to work. You know we agreed not to discuss our personal issues in the workplace.”

  That familiar smile flashed across her face. “Don’t talk that way.” Inching closer, she touched his cheek. “Workplace or not, there’s still time to work things out.”

  Charlie pulled back, his jaw tightening. “Erica, there is nothing to work―”

  Erica jabbed a finger at the Bible stuffed inside the opened top drawer. “This is the reason, isn’t it?” She stomped a high-heeled boot and knotted her fists. “Our problems started with you going to church.”

  Charlie shoved the drawer closed and shot to his feet. “You’re wrong. Church isn’t the reason we broke up. My relationship with God is. Be honest Erica, you know we were going nowhere as a couple. Selfish ambition is the only thing we had in common. Being a Christian changed my life. Something I hope you’ll think about.”

  She laughed at that. “You’ve got to be kidding? Me? A Bible-toting prude?”

  Charlie straightened his shoulders, shook his head. “You’re the one who wanted to go to church. Remember?”

  Erica glanced away, sucking in short breaths as if gathering equanimity. A split second later her gaze latched onto his, anger pulsing in her eyes. So much for composure. “You’re right. I wanted to go to church. That’s what good people do. They attend service, Sunday school, maybe a spring picnic.” Her pupils dilated. “But you…you went to the extreme.”

  Instinctively, Charlie staggered back out of swinging range. A lesson he’d learned the hard way the day they broke up. “I’m not there yet. I hope one day my faith will be extreme.”

  Erica’s squeal echoed like a gunshot in the room. She ripped the file off his desk.

  Shaking his head, he watched as she stomped across the room and out of the office. Charlie caved into his chair and scrubbed his face with his palms.

  And he thought his day couldn’t get worse.

  4

  The old barn was steeped in silence as Isabelle hurled a saddle over Admiral’s back. She gave the girth a tug, cinched it under the horse’s belly, and adjusted the bit in his mouth. With much of the stable staff out of town at a horseshow, the trails were all hers. A rare treat.

  “Ready?” She scratched the side of the buckskin’s long neck.

  Admiral rubbed his nose against her shoulder. A soft whinny followed.

  “All right, then, let’s get going.” As she reached for the horse’s halter to unhook the cross ties she noticed a person trudging downhill from the direction of the main pas
ture. He led a horse behind him. She raised up on tiptoes for a better view over Admiral’s back and squinted.

  Oh, no. Cedar Lake’s ranch hand, Rusty. She sank back on her heels and took a deep breath. If she’d known he would be here running the place, she’d have skipped yet another weekend with Admiral. On her last few visits, Rusty had been acting a little too familiar. He’d brought her cans of cold soda and tried to help with Admiral. He’d even requested that she accompany him to a local rodeo.

  The horse swung his head and neighed.

  “OK.” Isabelle patted his neck. She was here now. She might as well ride. Surely Rusty had given up on her by now.

  She swung into the saddle, tapped Admiral’s flank, urging him forward. “Walk, boy.” It was a great feeling, to be back in the saddle.

  She rode past the paddock, heading toward the north trail, the opposite direction of Rusty. She breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t noticed her. Looking ahead, her gaze reached to the sun-dappled leaves of the woodlands. An early morning storm had passed and given way to a clear blue sky. Inhaling deeply, the scent of honeysuckle and lavender tickled her nose. She loved this time of year.

  The gelding broke into a graceful trot. Isabelle steered him along the narrow trail that circled around the farm. At the first sloping bend, she glimpsed a white-tailed doe foraging along the creek, its nose sniffing through the tall grass. She slowed the horse to watch. For a long moment, the deer seemed unaware. Then Admiral snorted. Startled, the doe leapt forward into the camouflage of the forest. A speckled fawn trotted at her heels. Isabelle’s heart tugged at the sight. Mom with her baby.

  No. She shoved the memories aside, refusing to dwell on the past.

  She tapped the horse’s side. Admiral took off in a canter, thudding across the soft earth. Her heart pounded, matching the beat of his hooves. With a sure-footed gait they galloped along the sloped trail and into the open meadow.

  They looped the field, crisscrossed through patches of wildflowers, and jumped narrow creeks. The sun beat on her shoulders. Wind rustled her hair. Exhilaration raced through her. Her mind finally cleared.

  She slowed Admiral and steered him toward the tree line. They followed the winding path to the crest of the hill overlooking the barn.

  “Whoa, boy.” She leaned into the saddle, patted his neck, and nuzzled her face to his mane. “What a great day.”

  She sat up and peered through the swaying trees, let her gaze sweep the grounds. The arena beside the barn came into view. Rusty stood in the middle holding a short lead on an Appaloosa.

  “Walk. Walk.” She heard him shout.

  Instead the horse picked up into a trot. The lengthy lunge rope hit the sand, kicking up dust. “Whoa. Walk.” Again the horse trotted. Rusty yanked on the lead to stop him.

  She held her breath as Rusty stared at the horse. The horse stared back, his ears pinned, pawing the ground with his foreleg.

  “Walk.” Rusty shouted again.

  With a jerk of his head, the horse yanked the lead. Rusty cracked the whip again and Isabelle’s heart lurched. Dropping his head, the horse stepped into a slow march. After praising the animal with “good boy,” Rusty guided the gelding into a trot.

  Wow. She exhaled. A little rough around the edges, but she had to admit Rusty knew horses.

  Still her heart broke for the poor gelding. He had to be one of the abused horses the barn recently adopted. She couldn’t imagine anyone neglecting a horse, much less abusing one. Shaking her head, she loosened her reins and eased Admiral into a walk. As they followed the trail back to the barn, the results of the horse’s neglect became clear. Thin frame. Unshod hooves. A mangy coat.

  She rubbed Admiral’s freshly trimmed mane, still keeping her eyes on the animal and his trainer. Rusty continued to work the horse in a large circle, alternating between a walk and a trot. The half starved horse glided around the arena with a style and grace Isabelle wouldn’t have expected from the ragamuffin hackney. Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back.

  “Whoa. Good boy.” Rusty shouted, halting the horse and pulling in the lead.

  Her muscles tightened as Rusty flung himself into the saddle. Within seconds, rodeo-style rearing and bucking ensued. Rusty’s legs clamped around the horse’s middle. The reins in his grip flew through the air as the kicking frenzy continued.

  Even being a good distance from the ring, Isabelle could see rage in the horse’s eyes. She knew the battle of wills had begun. With every kick and buck, Rusty yanked firmer on the reins. The horse’s eyes grew wilder and his hooves kicked up a cloud of dust. A frantic whinny screeched from his lungs. Rusty held on. After several long minutes, the horse settled down and hung his head in submission. Isabelle released her breath.

  Rusty led the equine around the ring into a walk at first, then a slow trot before prodding him into a canter for a victory lap.

  A broken spirit for a new lease on life.

  Her eyes went skyward as she thanked the Lord for her broken spirit and His gift of life. Like a breath from heaven, a cool breeze caressed her hair and kissed her cheeks. A perfect day.

  She steered Admiral toward the barn, staying on the northern trail to avoid the ring where Rusty was training.

  In the stall, Admiral’s tail swooshed at a pesky horsefly. Isabelle batted the fly away then went back to brushing the horse. “You were a good boy today.”

  “Why, thank you.” The deep, masculine voice came from behind her.

  Startled, Isabelle’s dropped the curry and wheeled around.

  Rusty stood on the other side of the stall, gawking at her.

  “Oh, Rusty. Hi.”

  Resting both elbows on the metal gate, he scratched his stubbled jaw. “I saw you watching me and Dynamite Jack. What’d you think?” His gaze swept over her like a roaming searchlight.

  Isabelle mentally kicked herself. She shouldn’t have stayed when she saw him working alone.

  Heart racing, she bent down, picked up the brush, and tossed it into the tack box. “You did a great job.” She kept her voice even. “I’m impressed.” She pulled her set of keys from her front jeans pocket and dug three sugar cubes out of another. She turned to Admiral and opened her hand for him to capture the sweets. “Here, boy I’ll see you next week.” His cushy lips chomped the cubes.

  She stroked his forelock and then turned her attention back to Rusty, who pulled open the stall gate to let her out. “So you named the Appaloosa Dynamite Jack?”

  Before he answered, Rusty twisted his head and shot a wad of tobacco juice onto the barn floor. Isabelle swallowed hard, trying not to gag.

  “Yeah, I think he earned that name today.” With the toe of his cowboy boot, he rubbed the slobber into the dirt.

  She glanced away. “I agree. The name fits. You did a good job with him. Firm, but not too rough.” She pinched the ring of keys tighter in her hand, ignoring the metal biting into her palm, and headed out of the barn. “You’ll have a friend for life.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Friend’s are nice.” Rusty stayed close beside her.

  Isabelle didn’t respond and kept walking.

  “Yep, I’m sure looking forward to this weekend. Biggest rodeo of the year. You’re going with me. Right?”

  His question threw her off. She’d already told him she was busy. One glance at his dour expression told her he hadn’t paid attention.

  Isabelle halted in midstride. She needed to take care of this right now. “Remember, I told you I have to help with a wedding shower for my friend this weekend.”

  Rusty’s lifted brow sent a prickle of goose bumps up and down her arms. “Saturday, four o’clock ‘til about eight. I’m sure, you can spare a few hours. When I get up from riding the bull, Miss Isabelle, I want to look up into the stands and see you.”

  With hindsight blazing like a beacon, she wished she’d been more firm last week. “Rusty, I’m sorry. But, I—”

  Rusty gripped her forearm.

  Shock ripped through her.


  Gasping, she jerked back, broke his grasp, and took off in a sprint toward her car.

  A rush of blood pounded in her ears but did nothing to distract the sound of quickened footsteps behind her, crunching solidly against the loose gravel. She quickened her pace, the thumping of his boots growing louder. At the end of the crushed stone path, only steps from the parking lot, Rusty caught the belt loop of her jeans and yanked her back.

  “Stop!” She screamed, thrashing her arms and legs, trying to break away.

  He snickered as he spun her around and pulled her against his chest. The smell of tobacco and sweat reeked from his body. Isabelle scrunched her nose, trying not to breathe.

  “I like you, Isabelle.” He caught her chin in his hand and pushed it up to meet his hard gaze. A sloppy grin twisted his lips. “I thought you felt the same about me.”

  How could he assume that? They’d only had a few cordial conversations. Isabelle struggled and twisted, unable to escape. Rusty tightened his grip, dragging her even closer. Now barely an inch from his face, he caressed her cheek with his filthy finger.

  “Let go!” She stomped her feet trying to whack one of his.

  He shuffled his cowboy boots out of the way and laughed, hot breath fanning her face. “No. I like you this close.”

  Isabelle squirmed harder. Somewhere between a groan and a prayer, she managed to pull one hand free. She reached up aiming her keys to scratch his face. Rusty grabbed her wrist, his fingers squeezing like a vise grip―until—someone grabbed his.

  “Let her go.”

  Isabelle jumped at the voice.

  Rusty, wide eyed and gaping staggered back a couple of steps, finally releasing his grip. “Who…who are you?”

  Isabelle jerked her head around. “Charlie?”

  Rusty spit another wad of tobacco onto the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced from Charlie to her. “Charlie, who?”

  Charlie moved in, draping his arm around her shoulders.

  She didn’t flinch. At the moment, she welcomed it.