by Heather Lin
“Hi, Monroe,” she greeted
“Hi, Ms. Hutter. What brings you down here?”
“Jamal.”
Monroe snorted and stuck a garden hose in the next stall’s bucket. “Did he call out again?”
“Running late. But my schedule isn’t as hectic as usual today, so I can fill in.”
Monroe bit back a laugh. Ms. Hutter was great when it came to running the house and keeping guests happy. She was great when it came to tapping away on the iPad, doing inventory, and overseeing employees. She didn’t really know horses, and she wasn’t too keen on dirty jobs. Monroe could only see the endeavor ending in mutual frustration.
“Thank you, Ms. Hutter, but I can manage.”
“If you’re sure.” Ms. Hutter seemed relieved. “This is the second day in a row he’s been late or absent, isn’t it? And the fourth this month.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“If it doesn’t do the trick, we may have to let him go.”
“If it doesn’t do the trick, I’ll be more than happy to see him go.”
“Keep me updated. I’ll be on the lookout for a replacement.”
“Thanks for coming by.”
The older woman waved as she picked her way through the muck, back to the hard-packed dirt driveway.
Monroe went outside to turn off the water. She pulled the gloves from her hands and the band from her hair, running her fingers through the long blond strands as she took a moment to relax. She locked her fingers behind her head, closed her eyes, and tilted her face toward the sun. Applewild was so calm, so peaceful. All she could hear now were birds singing in the treetops and the occasional pounding of hooves on the ground as the horses got a burst of energy and romped around the pasture.
She was lucky to be here, in this place, alive.
Monroe glanced down at her bare right hand and flexed it. A jagged, long-healed scar went through the heel of her hand, out through her wrist. The unevenness was her own fault; she hadn’t kept still enough to let it heal prettily. The chronic pain was her attacker’s fault. Her doctor had said it was reflex sympathetic dystrophy—her ulnar nerve had been damaged and would never properly heal. In some semi-lucky twist of fate, it only affected her pinky and ring finger instead of the fingers she needed to perform most of her daily activities. And, most days, the ugliness of it bothered her more than the pain.
She pulled her hair back and replaced her gloves. As she turned to get back to work, she glanced at the house and spotted a figure on the veranda. She knew immediately it was Alton, a tendril of smoke rising from his lips. And she knew instinctively that he was watching her. It should have made her uncomfortable—this was the second time she’d caught him in the same place, looking her way—but it didn’t.
A strange awareness pricked her nerves. She felt just a bit like a schoolgirl in close quarters with her celebrity crush, only she didn’t have celebrity crushes. Her time to kiss posters and gab with girls about this hot boy band member or that hot actor or this hot boy band member turned actor had been cut short. His status didn’t faze her. Something else about him did.
Monroe shook her head and reentered the barn, pulling herself out of her reverie and refusing to look back toward the house. Thank God she had a date on her next night off. She needed to work some of these ill-advised feelings out of her system.
*
Jamal finally appeared while Monroe was inventorying supplies. He pulled up to the barn in his jeep, slamming the door shut and plopping down on a straw bale to pull off his shoes and tie on his boots, casual as could be.
“Hey, ‘Roe,” he greeted with a charming grin. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Hey, Jamal. Glad you could join us today,” Monroe replied in a cool voice.
Jamal’s big brown eyes turned puppy dog in an instant. “Are you mad about yesterday? I was sick.”
“No, I’m not mad. I don’t have the time or energy to be mad. I’m annoyed.”
“But I was sick.”
“You were hungover.”
His cheeks flushed. “Why would you think that?”
Monroe placed a hand on her hip, daring him to bullshit her. “You might want to check your privacy settings on Facebook.”
“Seriously? You checked Facebook?”
“Don’t look so shocked. You’ve posted about drinking and missing work before and I’ve let it go.”
Jamal feigned shame. “Am I fired?”
“No. It’s not worth having Ms. Hutter put in the paperwork. But don’t let it happen again. I know you just turned twenty-one, but you need a job to pay for all that liquor.”
Jamal frowned, his charm disintegrating now he’d been found out. “You know you’re not that much older than me. I don’t appreciate you lecturing me like a child.”
“It’s a matter of maturity, not age. I’m your supervisor, whether I’m one, four, or ten years older than you. And arguing with me isn’t in your best interest. Ms. Hutter was ready to let you go today. Should I let her handle this? Since she’s older?”
“No.” He looked sullen for a moment, but then his smile returned. “I wasn’t arguing. No hard feelings, ‘Roe. It won’t happen again. What do you need me to do?”
“You can clean and oil the tack we aren’t using. It’s getting dusty.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” He gave her a playful salute and headed for the tack room.
Monroe pursed her lips and watched him go. He was a good enough worker, when he managed to focus. But lately he just couldn’t be bothered. And Monroe didn’t feel very inclined to be bothered to keep him on.
V
Applewild was quiet, and none of the staff bothered Alton more than necessary. He took his meals back to his room and washed them down with whiskey or beer. Before he was even aware of it himself, three days had passed since his arrival.
This was his first high profile breakup, and he was a mess. But thanks to Madison’s generosity he could almost treat it like any other split. He knew what to expect. He would feel shitty for a while. Then he’d get over it.
But when he stepped out onto the patio for a smoke and caught a glimpse of Monroe, he forgot his misery for a moment. Maybe it was a combination of the sudden, unexpected loneliness and the drink, but he wanted her. Badly. And the more he resisted, the more his mind tried to convince him he had to have her.
He needed to get out for a while, go somewhere he could clear his head and escape his overactive imagination. A bar was the first thought that came to his mind.
As he stood in his bedroom, staring out the window and contemplating, his cell phone rang. It was Madison.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey, Alton. I don’t have long to talk, but I wanted to check in. Ms. Hutter said you arrived in one piece.”
“I did, thanks. Your staff’s been great.”
“No one’s given you any trouble?”
“By ‘no one’ do you mean Monroe?”
“Do you?”
“You were right. She’s fine. Almost anti-celebrity.”
“What do you mean?” Her tone became suspicious, in his defense, he knew.
“Nothing. Don’t worry. She just gave me a hard time about smoking in the truck.”
“Oh, so…nothing important.”
“I didn’t expect any sympathy from you.”
“You know I don’t like the idea of you dying from lung cancer before you’re thirty. And she’s had some health issues. I don’t know the details.”
“She mentioned that.”
“How are you feeling about Sophie?”
“Better, I think. The distance is helping.”
“Told you it would.”
“I always appreciate you’re not the type to say ‘I told you so.’”
“I know. Break’s over. Gotta go. Talk to you soon!”
“Cheers.”
There was a click on the other line, and Alton put his phone back on the dresser before going downstairs. It was better not to risk see
ing Sophie’s number on the tiny screen. He’d intended to get a snack and ask Ms. Hutter how to go about getting into town, to keep his mind off both Sophie and Monroe. But the blond had other ideas. He entered the kitchen to find Monroe sitting at the breakfast nook sipping a cup of coffee and chatting with the cook.
He’d thought the house was a safe zone. His first instinct was to pivot and go back the way he’d come, but her deep green eyes had already met his over the coffee cup.
His second instinct was to stare. Her blond hair was loose, and long, wispy strands brushed her high cheekbones. The top button of her plaid shirt was undone, revealing the smooth, pearly-white skin of her throat. His stomach dropped. Attraction mixed with aggravation. She had no way of knowing about his internal conflict, about the temptation she presented, but he still felt ambushed by her presence.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said flatly.
She seemed taken aback by his tone and glanced at Elsa, who raised an eyebrow in return. Monroe slipped off the bar stool and gave him a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I can take a hint. Thanks for the coffee, Elsa.”
Her dirty boots were by the back door, but instead of taking the time to put them on and remain in the awkward situation of Alton’s making, she took them out to the veranda.
Alton remained where he was, feeling ashamed—and annoyed that he cared enough to feel ashamed. He caught Elsa’s eye. She said nothing, but her disapproval was evident. He released a frustrated sigh and went to make things right.
“I’ll be right back,” he muttered.
He let himself through the double doors to the blue stone veranda. Monroe sat in one of the white, high back rocking chairs, finishing the laces on her boots. She had to know he was there, but she didn’t look up.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I seem to put my foot in my mouth every time I talk to you.”
“Maybe you should stop talking to me.”
“Or maybe I should just stop being a jerk.”
“Or that.” She finally made eye contact and her gaze was softer than he’d expected. “This one’s my fault, though. The house is your space right now, and I shouldn’t invade it.”
Alton shrugged and sat in the other rocker. He checked the wind direction before lighting a cigarette. She looked at him through long lashes as the early autumn breeze carried the smoke away from them.
“You should be able to come and have a cup of coffee with your mate and not have to worry about me ruining your time. Please. Feel free to visit.”
She didn’t reply. She didn’t indicate whether she would or wouldn’t take him up on his offer. The conversation was over, but he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He wanted to use her as a distraction just a little longer—and the sliver of his heart that had managed to avoid being completely destroyed wanted to know her better. Her hands were clasped between her knees, still gloved.
“So you worked here before Madison and Will bought the place?” he asked.
“I did. I used to live in the house.”
Alton was surprised by that. “Did Madison move you to the barn?”
“No, my foster parents did.”
“You were adopted?”
“No one’s adopting a fifteen-year-old.” She laughed, as if it were obvious. “Fostering means money coming in and adopting means money going out. They just held on to me until I was legal. Good people, though. They hired me after I turned eighteen.”
Alton flicked a long stem of ashes into the bowl. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped smoking, but now he took a drag.
“Did they pay you?”
“Of course. They were getting older and needed a hand. I loved the horses. They only sold the place so they could move to a retirement community. Applewild takes a lot of upkeep.”
Alton didn’t shy away from the question he wanted to ask next, and she didn’t shy away from the answer. “And your parents?”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.
“Me, too.”
Alton took another puff and gestured to the pastures. “Do any of them belong to you?”
“Yeah. The paint gelding. Werther.”
“Like the caramels?”
Monroe laughed. “No, like the book.”
He furrowed his brow. He had no idea what she was talking about.
“It’s by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Tragic and romantic. It stuck with me. I just skip the German pronunciation.”
“I’m guessing you made it to college.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Couldn’t afford it.”
“Oh.”
Monroe stood and brushed her gloved hands on her jeans, then graced him with a brief and genuine smile. “Back to work. Enjoy your day.”
“You, too.”
He tossed his cigarette in the bowl and watched her go. He shouldn’t pursue this. He shouldn’t let her distract him.
Distract him from what, though? From Sophie? From drinking? What exactly was he fighting?
But he knew the answer. A media blowup was sure to occur if he even attempted to have a fling. And he already knew a fling could turn into more. Look at his relationship with Sophie. A few hot nights together in Paris, and he was hooked. He should never have let that happen.
Monroe already had him restless, and they’d barely had two conversations. No physical contact. It made him curious to know what getting physical with her could be like. He reached in his pocket for a cigarette and found none. Shit. He needed something.
He went back into the kitchen where Elsa was washing dishes. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and rummaged in a drawer for an opener. Elsa glanced at him over her shoulder.
“We’re good,” he said as he took his beer back through the dining room to Ms. Hutter’s office.
He knocked on the door. She answered immediately. Her office was a sitting room in the entryway of her bedroom. A desk sat against the wall to his left and a loveseat and coffee table were to his right. Straight ahead was a partially-open door, which he tried not to look through.
“Hello, Mr. Daniels. What can I do for you?”
“I thought I might go in town for a drink tonight. Could I catch a ride with someone? Or is there a taxi service?”
“There is a taxi service, but it’s not very reliable. As for catching a ride…” Ms. Hutter put a finger thoughtfully to her lips and went to her desk to check a schedule. Alton took another swig of beer and waited in the doorway. “Jamal works the barn tonight, so I’m guessing Monroe is going out. She picked you up at the airport.”
“I remember,” he said.
“Would you like me to call her and ask if she’s going that way?”
“No, thanks. I’ll go. I could use the walk.”
“If you’re sure. It’s filthy back there.”
“I am.”
“Alright, then.” Ms. Hutter nodded and closed the door behind him.
Alton headed upstairs to find his next pack of cigarettes. He should be angry with himself for jumping so quickly at the chance to see her again. But he couldn’t fight it. She was blond, beautiful, and confident with that alluring air of mystery. She lacked the conscious sexuality of Marilyn Monroe—the person whom he assumed was her namesake—or maybe she just shared that part of herself exclusively, in the most intimate of settings.
That thought put his imagination in danger of going places it shouldn’t—the way she’d slipped her hand beneath the fabric of her shirt the first day they’d met; the hint of bare skin above the back of her jeans while she’d tied her shoes; those captivating green eyes.
He wanted to see them enraptured.
Alton’s blood flowed south, and he groaned in frustration and self-admonition. What the hell was he doing? He downed the rest of the beer and took his cigarettes downstairs. This time, he avoided the kitchen and went through the living room to the veranda. He glanced toward the barn, then out at the pastures. Monroe was n
owhere to be found. And in his current, agitated state it was probably for the best.
He’d wait until the afternoon to talk to her. It would give him a fighting chance to cool down and get a grip.
*
Alton awoke from a beer-induced nap 2:00. The sun shone through his window, making it very difficult to open his eyes. His head pounded. He needed water. He stumbled to the bathroom and threw back three glasses of tap water before stripping and turning on the shower.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, behind the pounding in his temples, he knew he was starting down a dangerous path. When his career was beginning to take off and the pressure was mounting, he’d taken to drinking as a way to cope rather than for fun. He was doing it again now.
He scrubbed his hair and tried to keep his mind off how much he wanted a cigarette. Madison would go bonkers if he smoked in the house. Ms. Hutter was nice, but her first loyalty was to her boss, as it should be. He was pretty sure she’d rat him out if the bathroom smelled like smoke when she came to clean.
He needed a shave but was too desperate to bother. He ran a towel over his body, threw on jeans and a t-shirt, and went down the stairs two at a time. Elsa handed him a plated sandwich on his way out, and he set it by the makeshift ashtray while he lit a cigarette.
His headache had abated, thanks to the water and shower. Now that his nicotine craving was satisfied, he could sit back and relax.
Or at least try to.
He caught a glimpse of a blond figure outside the barn doors. She seemed to turn his way for a moment, but he couldn’t be sure. He puffed and watched her. The desire he’d felt earlier hadn’t left him. Being close to her again might just encourage it. But he finished his smoke, ate the sandwich, and walked toward the barn.
He found her tossing hay over the low stall doors inside. It smelled sweet, somehow managing to overpower the smell of manure. A horse snorted to his left—Xan’s pony. He was chestnut, short and stout. He could barely see over the door, but he tilted his muzzle up and looked hard at Alton, demanding to inspect the newcomer. Alton stuck his hand out for the horse to smell but jumped and pulled back when he tried to nip.
