Bluegrass Hero

by Allie Pleiter

  Emily couldn’t help but smile. “We were all that young once.” When Gil shot her a look, she added, “Okay, maybe some of us were more subtle about it than others.”

  “Everyone’s more subtle than Peter. He tied soap to a mailbox. I had him pegged for smarter than that.” Gil shook his head and returned to his pie.

  Emily turned to him. “I’m the one who tied that soap to a mailbox, I’ll remind you. And it clearly did the trick.” He gave her a non-committal grunt. “Come on, you can’t tell me you never did anything dumb when you were young?”

  He stopped with his fork in midair. “I never said that.” He kept his fork still, as if he hadn’t finished his thought.

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and said quietly, “I think we can all agree that ‘accessory to felony’ rates as highly stupid.”

  Felony. Serious crime. His insight into the guys and how they ended up where they were came from personal experience. He’d told her as much the last time they were in here. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. He seemed like such a man of principle. Then again, some people come by their principles the hard way.

  Megan’s giggle caught their attention. She had evidently dropped her napkin, and Peter was picking it back up for her like a chivalrous knight. When he dabbed at a bit of blueberry pie on her cheek, it was comically romantic. All that gooey innocence was amusing but a bit hard to bear after a point.

  “Even though the show of lovebirds is mighty entertaining, I’m afraid it’s getting late,” Gil said and pulled a few bills from his wallet, laying them on the counter.

  Emily checked her watch. “Goodness, you’re right—who knew I’d be walking home after midnight on Valentine’s Day?”

  Gil stopped cold. “You walked here? At this time of night? Alone?”

  Emily didn’t take to the overprotective tone of his voice. “It’s three blocks, and I know every single house on the way. It’s a small town and I’m a big girl.” She paid up, as well, forgetting about the second piece of pie for a decadent breakfast.

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m walking you home. Even if I have to follow you in my truck twenty feet back going two miles an hour. I don’t care how big you are or how small this town is.” He squared his shoulders and suddenly there was the gruff Gil Sorrent she’d known—the human fortress of opinions not open to debate.

  Without a word, he opened the door for her and she walked out into the snowy night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She was out of her mind even to think of walking home alone at this hour. He’d have insisted on escorting any woman in that situation, but with Emily it was absolutely non-negotiable. He’d see her home and there was no point in arguing.

  The sky was a bit cloudy, with snow sparkling through the pools of moonlight. A snowflake landed on her eyelash, and she fished that ridiculously fuzzy beret out of her coat pocket and put it on. “Fine. If we’re going to walk, let’s at least enjoy it. It’s a beautiful night, and some of us know how to appreciate beauty.” She gestured up toward the ornate streetlights that lined the sidewalk. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d revised his earlier opinion of them. They were fussy, but they did add atmosphere.

  “Aren’t they charming? Worth the extra money?”

  “I didn’t much take to them at first.”

  “Oh, I noticed,” she said. “One thing I can say about you, Gil Sorrent—you know how to argue your point.”

  “I thought Middleburg had better places to put its money.”

  “And now?”

  “Can we leave the civic budget for another night?”

  “Fine by me.” She ran her bare hand along a fence, brushing the snow off as they walked past.

  “Didn’t you bring any gloves? Or those fuzzy mittens you’re always wearing?”

  She smiled. “I must have been in such a hurry for pie I forgot them. It’s not that cold out.”

  He pulled his gloves off and handed them to her. “Here, take mine. I’m fine without them.”

  She started to protest, and he shot her a look. Sighing, she put her hands into the large gloves and flopped the nearly empty fingers at him. “All safe and warm now, okay?”

  It really wasn’t that far to her frosted-cupcake house. The place looked postcard pretty in the moonlight. Gingerbread latticework collected an icing of snow on the corners of her roof. Pale-green shutters hugged each of the multi-paned windows and a red-heart wreath hung on the front door. The white picket fence around her yard was the finishing touch, making the house look like it belonged on a calendar page. “Your house suits you,” he offered.

  “I love this house. Your office suits you, you know.”

  Another reminder of how different they were. He turned up his coat collar. His hair was practically standing on end, but it had nothing to do with the cold. He unlatched her gate for her.

  She looked up at him as she walked through. Another snowflake settled onto her cheek, and he fought the urge to brush it away before it melted. “You were nice to walk me home. I’m sorry I put up such a fuss. You get enough from other people in the town—I don’t need to add to it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t think of Homestretch as ‘the bad-man farm.’” She caught his eye with a warm smile before she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her keys. Her smile uncurled something deep in his chest.

  “You used to,” Gil said.

  “You’re right,” she admitted, walking up her front steps. “I wasn’t a big fan at first.” She turned to face him. “But I’ve changed my mind. You do fine things up there.”

  Emily had a gift for saying things that made it hard for Gil to keep a safe distance. That woman looked so soft for someone who’d had a hard lot in life. She must have tremendous faith to be able to keep from being bitter about all that had happened to her. There was a part of him that wanted to ask her about that—here, in the middle of the night—but he knew that would be a dangerous place to go. Right now, just being with her felt dangerous. He knew that if he stayed much longer, that safe distance would be come impossible.

  “Well now, you’re home safe and sound.”

  “Thanks to you. My hero.” She fumbled with her keys in the great big gloves.

  Why do they always fiddle with their keys? Don’t women know what it does to us when they stand at the door and fiddle with their keys? He brushed the comment away. “Anyone would have done the same. Matter of honor and all.”

  “You’re coming to the Character Day thing on Thursday, aren’t you? All of the town council was invited.”

  He knew he was invited, he just didn’t think the owner of Homestretch Farm ought to show up to Character Day. It felt a bit ironic to him.

  His reluctance must have shown on his face, because she gave him a heart-melting look and said, “You ought to come. I wish you would.”

  How could anyone fight that look? It wasn’t possible. “Okay,” he said, feeling like he’d just slipped off the edge of something. “I’ll be there. I don’t have to dress up or anything, do I?”

  “No,” she laughed. As her laugh gave way to a gentle smile, she said. “Good night, Gil.”

  “’Night Emily. Take care.”

  He walked back down the block, huffing against the cold he hadn’t noticed earlier. He only got to the corner before he turned and stood, watching until the light finally went out in one of Emily’s upstairs windows. He was freezing, standing there on the corner shivering like an idiot while he stared at some curtained window. On a house that looked like it walked out of a storybook, all white paint and gingerbread trim and cutesy window boxes. Four words banged around in his head.

  She’s getting to me.

  Gil shrugged deeper into his coat and settled his hat farther down on his head, as if he could hide from it. She’s getting to me, Lord. Not that I didn’t think it wouldn’t happen eventually. But I didn’t think it would be
someone like her. She’s so soft and tiny and lacy—we’re nothing alike. I need someone who can shoulder their own. A strong partner. Someone not afraid of the dirt in my barn. In my life.

  She’s not for me. And I’m sure not for her. I don’t even like the way she smells.

  That was an outright lie. If he knew it, surely God knew it. Truth was, he couldn’t get the way she smelled out of his head. It was like a horror movie—something you were sure you hated but couldn’t shake.

  Gil, you jerk, you just decided she smells like a horror movie. How stupid is that? Now do you see why you don’t belong anywhere near someone like her?

  But he wanted to be near her. All the time.

  He would have said yes to Character Day even if she told him he had to wear a tie.

  Oh, man, he was in trouble.

  “Ethan told me I’d find you here. He practically had to draw me a map. Your place is huge.”

  Emily was the last person Gil expected to see today. He was with Lady Macbeth in the clearing he called “the cathedral,” a picturesque spot of tall pines and a sweeping view that often kept him sane on his worst days. The guys on the farm knew to look here if they couldn’t find him anywhere else, but they also knew not to bug him if they found him here. It was never stated, but the cathedral was off-limits to almost everyone but Gil. It surprised him that Ethan had sent her up here. It hinted at things he didn’t like Ethan thinking about.

  “What brings you all the way out here?” he asked.

  “I brought your gloves back. Wow, this spot is beautiful.”

  Gil put down the shears he was using to clear away some dead brush. “Fifteen miles out of your way for a pair of gloves? You could’ve just left them with Ethan at the house.”

  “Yes, I could have, but I seem to remember you being persnickety about the payment of debts. Besides, maybe I was just looking for an excuse to come visit Lady Macbeth.”

  He watched her walk around the edge of the clearing, taking in the view. The cathedral was a wondrous place. The tree trunks seemed to reach up into the clouds, gathering the streaming shafts of sunlight and sending them glittering on the snowy ground. The scent of pine sharpened the air, and the quiet was so powerful it settled deep into his chest.

  “It’s pretty,” she said. “Ethan called it the cathedral. Is it a favorite spot of yours?”

  “It’s sort of a sacred spot for me. I come here when the farm is making me crazy and I need to get my soul back in order. Which means I come here a lot.”

  Lady Macbeth, always one to remember a fan, trotted over to give Emily a friendly nudge. “She thinks you’ve brought her treats. I’ve got one in my coat pocket if you want to give it to her.”

  Emily looked reluctant. Aha, so she wasn’t really out here to cozy up to ’Beth. The knowledge buzzed inside him. “You said you were here to see her, so be neighborly and give the girl a cookie.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an oatmeal cookie. “Spread your hand out flat like a plate and put the cookie on it. She’ll take it from you. Girl to girl with baked goods—you can’t lose.”

  “I can’t lose a finger? She won’t bite?”

  “’Beth knows when people mean her harm, and when people mean her good. She’s smart that way. You can trust her.”

  “You’re sure?” She looked unconvinced.

  Gil walked over and stroked ’Beth’s neck. “Horses are trustworthy by nature. Did somebody teach you not to trust a horse? You have a fall when you were young?”

  “Not really. More like a bad experience. Not that there are lots of chances to have horse experiences in Ohio”

  “You can fall off a horse in France and it’d still hurt.”

  “This is more like embarrassing.” She fiddled with the gloves she was still holding. “It’s nothing, really. ‘Pony Ride Gone Wrong’ is hardly a headline for tragedy. I didn’t even get very hurt.”

  He knew instantly that wasn’t true. Sometimes the regrettable, embarrassing stuff left the deepest scars of all. “Horses are big. Girls are little. That’s a touchy combination sometimes.” He deliberately softened his voice, but didn’t move any closer to her. “What happened?”

  “My seventh birthday party. I’d decided I wanted a princess theme, and I wanted pony rides on white ponies.”

  He grinned. “You do think in specifics, I’ll give you that.” Gil settled onto the bench he’d hewn out of logs that sat at one edge of the circle. She began wandering around the other edge, away from ’Beth. Of course, he knew if she kept pacing she’d eventually end up right next to her. And him. He stayed silent.

  “I had this idea in my head about how elegant it would be to ride a white pony. I had the whole party planned out in my head, how I’d be the first to ride, how my friends would ride after me, what I’d wear—all the classic girl stuff. Of course, white ponies are a bit more challenging to find on the pony-ride circuit, and my parents had to go with a, shall we say, less reputable outfit. The man who hoisted me up onto that pony didn’t look very princely, and he didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to what was going on.”

  She had walked halfway around the circle now, and was only a few feet from his bench. She stopped pacing and hugged her jacket to her body, giving a little shrug as she looked at him. “Long story short, the horse spooked and took off with me on top of it, and…well…it didn’t exactly go the way I hoped.”

  “That’s a lousy thing to do to a girl on her birthday.”

  “I ended up with a bloody nose, a muddy dress and a much shorter birthday party than anyone planned. I mean, that bothered me and such, but it was more the part about being on something I couldn’t control. Feeling like I couldn’t stop that horse or anything it chose to do to me.” Emily turned around and began retracing her steps around the circle. “Naturally I understand that it wasn’t the horse’s fault. Hundreds of safe docile pony rides occur every year, with attentive handlers who keep control of their animals. I know that. But the feeling of hanging on for dear life while that thing bolted around the park isn’t one I’ve ever been able to shake.”

  Gil stared at her. No wonder she liked to have her details lined up and felt comfortable with her high level of control. That’d be a scary experience for any girl, much less one of Emily’s cautious nature.

  “It’s silly, isn’t it? To put a perfectly nice horse like ’Beth in the same category as that carnival pony?”

  Gil got up and held out the cookie he’d been holding the whole time. “Silly? Not at all. Solvable? Completely. You’re one cookie away from a new outlook on horses. Come on, let ’Beth redeem her kind.” He handed her the cookie. “Spread your hand out, just like I showed you.”

  Emily opened her hand and put the cookie on her palm. Slowly, cautiously, she held her hand out in ’Beth’s direction. ’Beth sniffed at the cookie, then used her big, rough lips to pick it up as delicately as any high-society lady selecting a tea sandwich. Emily erupted in tense laughter as ’Beth’s not-so-ladylike whiskers tickled her bare palm.

  “The trick to most animals—and most people, near as I can tell—is to treat ’em with respect. Even if you have to look hard to find something respectable about them.” He walked over to the edge of the clearing and stared down at the rolling hillside.

  “You respect your guys. Is that your secret?”

  “I respect their abilities even if I think their choices…well…often their choices stink worse than my barn. At first.”

  “Do they respect you? In return?”

  “Not always. Actually, never at first. At first it feels like I’m pouring attention down a black hole. They won’t respond. When everybody tells you you’re bad and worthless, you start to believe it. When you grow up in a world where the only way to get what you want is to take it, earning it seems like a waste of time. They try to put me off by bein’ as bad as possible, testing to see if I really mean what I say.” He turned back to face her. “That’s when it’s hard, and I end up here a lot, asking God for strength and
endurance and the guts to do it all over again one more day.”

  “Does it ever get easier?”

  “Ninety percent of the time, I get through to these guys quick enough. It’s the other ten percent that takes it out of me. There’s always one every year. One guy whose neck I want to wring, who I want to shake until he sees the chances he’s throwing away. But then one guy turns, and the rest of them catch on and we make it to the finish line.”

  “The homestretch,” she added.

  “Not very inventive, but it keeps me focused.”

  She suddenly crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at him. “Gil Sorrent, you’re a shameless fraud.”

  “What?” he said, startled by her strong words.

  “You’ve got the world convinced you’re a dark, hard man, someone to be feared, when in truth you’re just a big softie handing out cookies when nobody’s looking. I see what’s hiding behind that well-placed scowl.”

  Without realizing it, she’d voiced the thought he’d been trying to ignore—she saw through his defenses. She was getting to him, all right, getting to him faster than he knew what to do with. There was a part of him that wanted to scoop her up right that moment, to put her on ’Beth with him and show her how a horse’s gallop could be an exhilarating thing. To hold her tight to him and hear her whoop with joy as they barreled across the hillside, ducking in and out of the trees and tearing across the pastures. The urge almost took him over before he had to shake his head to come to his senses. That kind of thing couldn’t happen. Not yet, maybe not ever.

  “Cut that out,” he said, trying to sound gruff but instead barely hiding his sudden surge of emotion. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Character Day was exactly what Gil expected: an hour of sitting in a hard folding chair in a stuffy high-school auditorium watching students amble up to the stage to accept sheets of paper. The quote—evidently every Character Day had a theme quote—made him more uncomfortable than his metal chair. It was the one by Edmund Burke: “The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”