Читать книгу Winning Heart - Laura Browning - Страница 10

Chapter 6

“Wynter!” Thomas Sinclair shouted down the length of the barn. “Come on out here, lass, and put on your paddock boots before you do.”

Wynter wrinkled her brow while she stowed the pitchfork and wheelbarrow in the shed. She had hoped to grab a little down time before she left for campus. It was one of those bright fall days she loved. The sky was crisp and clear blue, and the trees blazed in an array of colors from palest yellow to a deep, rich red. At home, Wythe would be hunting or hacking out in the afternoons. She missed those rides with him. He was the first person to put her on a horse.

While she worked, she took off the sweater Mama had knitted. It was too warm for mucking stalls, and she didn’t want to get it dirty. After grabbing her paddock boots from the back of the truck, she slipped them on, zipped them up and sprinted out to the ring while she pulled her sweater back on to hide her threadbare shirt.

Thomas stood holding the reins of one of their show jumpers, a big bay mare named Rosie, but her attitude on life was anything but. In his other hand, Thomas held a hard hat.

“I need your help. Rosie’s rider just quit on me. Put on the helmet and hop up, so I can see what you can do. The mare’s already entered this weekend in Raleigh.”

Wynter looked at Thomas dubiously but strapped on the helmet and adjusted it to fit. “I haven’t ridden in six months, Thomas,” she warned when she put her foot in the stirrup and swung up. She settled in the saddle, making Thomas smile as he handed her the reins. “And I’m self-taught.”

“You’ll be fine. Take as long as you like getting your legs under you. Rosie likes a long warm-up.”

“Okay.” She started the mare like she had most of the field hunters she’d exercised, working at a walk on a long rein until she picked up on the mare’s rhythm. Rosie moved big, even at the walk. Slowly, Wynter collected her, getting her to step under herself more and engage the hind end. There was a lot of power back there. She’d seen the mare jump, and she’d known Rosie was talented, but also temperamental. While Wynter rode, one of the mare’s ears flicked back and forth before rotating forward again. It was as though she asked who was on board.

“Push her up to a trot,” Thomas called.

Just a light squeeze of the leg, and the mare responded with a smooth transition into the higher gait, still maintaining her rounded profile, hind end engaged and front on the bit. The mare floated across the ring. Wynter tested her responsiveness with a couple of leg yields down the outside length of the arena, then at the corner asked for the canter transition. Once again, it was smooth.

“Take the oxer on the diagonal whenever you’re ready,” he instructed.

It was the smallest fence out there, a shade over four feet. Wynter circled and looked for the line to the fence, Rosie smooth and collected beneath her. When she turned to line up, the mare’s ears flicked backward and forward, and Wynter felt her back off the fence, so she squeezed her forward. It was to reassure the nervous horse she knew what they were doing, and the mare should trust her. Rosie’s stride equaled out, but Wynter felt her picking a big spot. Rather than ask the mare to insert another stride, the girl pushed her forward even more. Rosie sailed the oxer with plenty of room to spare.

“Now the outside line.”

Wynter nodded at the trainer and looked around the turn. It was a triple. A two stride to a one stride, all verticals and all big. She narrowed her eyes. It was more than she was used to from her experience exercising field hunters, but Rosie could do it if Wynter could boost the mare’s confidence. The horse ticked the first jump, and Wynter felt her start to waffle.

“No, you don’t,” she hissed near the horse’s ear. “You can do this, Rosie, stay with me.”

Since the mare had flattened out, Wynter rebalanced her, and when they cleared the second element, collected her even more. One stride and they were up again, the mare powering off her hindquarters. It wasn’t pretty, but they cleared all three.

“Bring her over,” Thomas ordered.

Wynter blew out a breath in relief and patted the mare on the neck while she brought her down to a walk on a loose rein. Only then did she turn back to where Thomas leaned against the fence. Her breath caught and heat rose to her cheeks when she saw Nelson Anderson and an older woman standing at the rail. Thomas, who smiled with a bit too much satisfaction, stood next to them.

She’d been set up.

Wynter nodded at Nelson, and he returned it, expression unreadable. She’d seen very little of him since that night at the show in Raleigh when he had offered to pay her not to take braiding jobs. She had taken him up on his offer and set the money aside. It would go for school expenses or to help her mother, nothing else. Other than the odd glimpse at some of the horse shows, he’d spent a lot of time away on business she guessed. She glanced at the older woman next to him with a nod and a slight smile. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Hop down, girl,” Thomas chided, “and introduce yourself properly.”

Wynter felt herself blush as she leaned over to give the mare another pat, hoping some of the color would leave her cheeks before she faced everyone. How the hell would she know how to talk to someone who was a client? She was just a shit shoveler. Wynter hopped to the ground and glanced at Thomas.

“Shouldn’t I walk her first, Thomas? She’s sweaty.” She said it with a hint of pleading, but the trainer wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

“I’ll take her around while you make your introduction.” He held out his hands for Rosie’s reins, and Wynter handed them over to him before unstrapping the helmet and shaking her braid loose from where it had been tucked up to help make the hard hat fit.

“What glorious hair, child,” the older woman next to Nelson commented. Wynter saw his glance flick over her hair then away. When the older woman stretched a hand out, Wynter placed hers in the woman’s palm. The older woman held on after shaking it and turned Wynter’s palm up. “No stranger to work, I see.”

“No, ma’am.” When she once again became aware of the dark blue eyes studying her calloused hand, Wynter wanted to curl it behind her back. She remembered once in school how Tory, Payton Southard’s girlfriend, had made fun of her work-roughened hands.

The older woman dropped Wynter’s palm and smiled. “Call me Miss Olivia. My real name’s Olivia Rutledge, but my husband’s long gone, thank God, so I prefer Miss Olivia. I’m too old now to drop the Rutledge name.”

Wynter giggled. She couldn’t help herself. She’d never met anyone quite like this woman.

“Stop, Olivia,” Nelson said with unexpected humor. “Wynter’s hard-headed enough without you adding fuel with your misandry.” He turned toward Wynter, his deep blue eyes searching her face before he looked away. “Let’s do this right. Olivia,” he said formally, “I’d like you to meet Wynter O’Reilly.” Nelson turned to Wynter again. “Wynter, this is Miss Olivia Rutledge, a neighbor as well as a client.”

She smiled at the older woman, liking her kind expression. Laugh lines surrounded her eyes and mouth. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Olivia.”

“Nicely done, girl.”

Wynter glanced at her in confusion.

“The ride, I mean,” Miss Olivia added. “I never did like the last girl. She was too rough, too abrupt. Rosie didn’t like her, but she likes you.”

“Thank you. She’s a wonderful horse.”

“Then it’s settled? You’ll ride her this weekend in Raleigh?”

Nelson and Wynter both turned their heads at the same time to stare at Miss Olivia. “What?” they said in unison, Wynter with confusion and Nelson with fury.

“Sure she will, Miss Olivia,” Thomas said, having just arrived back around the ring with a now cooled-out Rosie.

“Thomas,” Nelson warned. “Don’t you think we should discuss this first?”

Thomas looked at his employer. “I wouldn’t enter the girl in an equitation class, Nelson, but when it comes to raw talent, she’s one of the best I’ve seen. Gutsy too. Do you know,” he continued, adding fuel to the fire, “she hasn’t ridden in six months, and look what a fine job she did!”

Wynter’s confusion grew when Nelson’s face darkened with anger. “What on earth were you thinking?” he snapped. “The girl’s not ridden in six months, you’ve not seen her ride, and you put her on the most complicated mount in the barn?”

Wynter recoiled in hurt confusion from his anger. She knew how to ride, damn it, and she’d done a good job with the mare. He had no right to be so angry.

“I would never have let her jump the horse if I thought she would hurt the mare!” Thomas protested.

Nelson’s hand sliced through the air and slapped against the fence. “It’s not the mare I’m concerned about.”

Silence followed the unexpected outburst and everyone looked at him with expressions ranging from satisfaction to Wynter’s stunned confusion.

“I’m fine with it,” Wynter ventured. She saw Nelson was embarrassed.

He glared at them. “Then settle it among yourselves. I have work to do.” He turned on his heel and limped toward the office.

Olivia chuckled, meeting Thomas’s twinkling blue eyes as she pulled a crisp twenty from her wallet. “You were right, Thomas. I would never have believed it after what had happened last fall.”

“Am I missing something here?” Wynter questioned, wondering what the bet was.

“Not at all, my dear,” Miss Olivia smiled. “Pay no attention to us or Nelson.”

“I’ll take Rosie and untack,” Wynter volunteered, but Miss Olivia shook her head.

“Let Thomas do it, my dear. The old coot should earn his feed every now and then. I’d like to chat with you for a few minutes before you leave. Thomas tells me you have class soon.”

“Yes, ma—Miss Olivia.”

Thomas and Rosie disappeared into the barn. With regret, Wynter watched the mare go. She had enjoyed riding her. Rosie had plenty of talent, she just needed confidence.

Olivia Rutledge put a hand on Wynter’s arm to draw her attention away from the mare. “Rosie is my mare, Wynter. She was born on my farm…the last foal out of my old hunt mare. Even as a foal, I saw she had potential, so I brought her over here to Thomas because I’ve known him for years, and I trust him. But so far, Rosie hasn’t lived up to our expectations. If Thomas trusts you to ride her, so do I. I want you to ride her this weekend in Raleigh.”

Wynter longed to say yes, but she shook her head instead.

“If the problem is money, dear, I’ll pay you to ride. There are two classes. One Friday evening and one Saturday evening.”

“It’s not that, Miss Olivia,” Wynter stated. “I can’t. I mean, I won’t go against Mr. Anderson’s wishes.” She stared at the older woman, pleading for understanding. “He’s been very kind to me, kinder than almost anyone, except maybe my Ma.”

Olivia Rutledge laid a thin, veined hand on Wynter’s arm. “Don’t you worry about Nelson, my dear. I’ll handle him. You just concentrate on riding these next few days.”

Wynter smiled, allowing hope to grow. “I’ll have her ready for you, even if I don’t ride this weekend.” She glanced at her watch. “I should go. I have midterms coming up soon. It was nice to meet you, Miss Olivia.”

Olivia Rutledge laughed. “Oh, trust me, the pleasure was mine.”

Wynter sprinted back along the barn, afraid she would be late. It was a tough semester, with both accounting and economics courses. She hadn’t told anyone at Pheasant Run how many hours she took. If everything went according to plan, she would have her undergraduate degree in two, three years at the most.

She ran up the narrow stairs into the loft and turned to the entrance of the small apartment. It was an afterthought to the barn, but she was glad they had added it. Set up as a studio apartment, there was a small kitchenette with a table and two chairs, and a futon served as both couch and bed. No phone, no TV. It wouldn’t suit many people, but it was perfect for Wynter. She could study in the evenings uninterrupted. The faint sound of the horses in the barn below drifted up. The one drawback was the bathroom was the one downstairs off the tack room. She took to showering at night, so she avoided the risk of running into anyone.

After grabbing backpack and sneakers, Wynter ran back again and sprinted for the truck. It had been acting up but started without a hitch.

While she drove to campus, she thought again of Miss Olivia’s offer. Wynter wanted nothing more than to ride Rosie, but it would make a tough weekend. She had planned on asking Thomas to let her stay back at the farm to study. With two midterms Monday morning in Accounting and Political Science, she would have to find a way to get it done, if Nelson gave the okay. And just when had she started to think of him as Nelson?

Wynter fumbled for a cigarette while she drove. She’d seen the way Nelson had looked when he’d caught her smoking, but it wasn’t as if he were her dad—or anything else—a small voice inside her head taunted. She tried to deny it, but Nelson fascinated her like no one else ever had. She recalled his outburst beside the ring. Why would he worry?

* * * *

Nelson stood next to the ring every morning the rest of the week, watching, but saying nothing while Wynter rode Rosie. Thomas delighted in taunting him as he set the fences higher and made the combinations tighter and the turns more technical.

They were tougher courses than she’d ever ridden, but she sensed when she’d made a mistake. If there was no time to correct and jump safely, Wynter pulled Rosie up. She refused to damage the horse’s growing confidence.

It was Thursday morning, the day before they were to leave, and Nelson was once again standing watch at the side of the ring. Although he’d told Wynter it was all right to ride, she had sensed a worry deep inside him he couldn’t let go.

He seldom spoke all week, and this day had started the same. He scowled while he watched them warm-up, and his expression never lightened the entire time she rode. It was distracting, but Wynter tried hard to ignore him.

“That’s enough today,” Thomas called from the center of the ring. “Walk her out before you dismount.”

She nodded and loosened the strap on the helmet. Keeping her long braid tucked up inside it made her head hurt. She hadn’t dared mention to anybody that she owned nothing to wear, and nobody had said anything, so Wynter decided she would stop by a consignment tack store that afternoon. If she was lucky, she might be able to find everything she needed without putting too much of a dent into her computer fund.

When she passed Nelson, he stopped her. “Come get me in the office when you’ve finished. I have something for you.” He turned without another word and limped away.

Wynter stared after him. She missed the Nelson Anderson she’d first met, she realized. The man from that horse show in Raleigh. The man who had rubbed her palm with his thumb and told her not to cover her hair because it was lovely. This Nelson was abrupt and remote. Wynter gulped and turned Rosie away to continue walking around the ring.

It was almost a half hour later before she had finished untacking, grooming and settling Rosie back in her stall. She could have dumped the work off onto one of the grooms, but it didn’t feel right. Wynter wanted to get as close to Rosie as possible in the time remaining before the show, but the real truth was she tried to put off the meeting with Nelson. Her feet dragged when she headed toward the office. She pulled the sweater back on, but the rest of her was getting pretty scruffy. She glanced down at her favorite jeans. There were holes in both knees, and they were so worn on the thighs, she knew she should get rid of them soon. It would have to wait now. She couldn’t buy riding clothes and new jeans.

Wynter knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Thomas’s voice boomed from inside.

As always, Nelson was in the back corner on a computer. She wondered about that for a moment and then dismissed the thought.

“I’ve put Rosie back,” she said before turning her attention to Nelson. “Mr. Anderson, you asked me to come get you.”

He looked up from the computer screen he’d been studying. “Right. Just let me log off, and I’ll be right out.”

His mood seemed lighter than in quite some time. Wynter smiled and was relieved to see his face soften a bit. He never quite smiled, she thought, as she went out the door. During the months she’d worked here, Wynter had seen him smile a handful of times, but she remembered him laughing only one time—when she’d told him he wasn’t old.

She cocked a hip against the porch railing. A few minutes later, the door opened and Nelson came through. Automatically, she moved to help him shut it, but he waved her away.

“I can get it, Wynter,” he barked. “I’m not a complete cripple.”

She retreated, feeling stung. Something of what she felt must have shown. When Nelson turned, he paused as though he wanted to say something then decided against it. Wynter followed while he led the way down the steps to the back where the Rolls was parked. He popped the trunk with a remote key as they approached. When Wynter stopped beside him, she looked inside to see several boxes.

“These are for you, Wynter.” When she hesitated, Nelson urged, “Go on, open them.”

Her fingers shook. She saw the labels on a couple of the boxes. There were boots, breeches, a helmet, jacket, shirt and stock tie with a diamond studded pin nestled inside. She gaped at everything, stunned someone would do this for her. She felt her throat tighten. She would not cry. She would not.

“Well?” Nelson prompted.

Wynter couldn’t answer, couldn’t even look at him. Without thinking, she turned and buried her head against his shoulder. He staggered before she felt his arm circle her and pull her closer. Finally, in a choked whisper Wynter managed, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Nelson’s arm tightened, surprising her when he leaned his head against hers, cheek on her hair.

“You never ask for anything,” he murmured, “do you, Wynter? What were you planning to ride in?”

She rubbed a hand across her eyes but still stayed where she was in the circle of his left arm. “I found a consignment tack shop. I was going to check there after class today.”

Nelson cleared his throat, and Wynter stepped back, feeling uncomfortable.

“I saved enough money in my computer fund,” she rushed on, “so I figured I could spend that. I’ll be happy to pay you back,” she added with determination and trepidation. She’d seen the labels on everything, and they weren’t the economy brands.

Nelson slammed the trunk shut and glared. “It’s a gift, Wynter. Can’t you leave it at that?”

“No, damn it!” she shot back. “You’re all the time pushing money at me! I-I’m not used to it, and it makes me uncomfortable.”

Nelson raised a brow. “Oh? Then you’ll enjoy the next part for sure. I need you at the house at five. My tailor and a friend who specializes in fitting boots will be at the house to make sure this fits.”

Wynter laughed. She couldn’t help it, but then her anger flared. “That’s not even funny! You might be my boss, but I don’t have to sit here and let you make fun of me.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to go. I’ve got class.”

When she spun around to head to the truck, Nelson called, “Five o’clock, Wynter. I’m paying these guys good money to get this done.”

* * * *

She thought about it all afternoon. Who was he kidding? Who on earth had a tailor and boot maker in this day and age? Wynter couldn’t let go of it. It made it hard to concentrate on her lectures, which in turn made her even angrier. She had two exams Monday and three more that week, not to mention the paper she was still finishing. Her last class ended at four-thirty, which left just enough time to get back to Pheasant Run. The angry part of her wanted to go back to the barn, but she was curious.

Had he been serious?

In the end, curiosity won, and she drove past the barns and up the driveway to the house. In daylight, it was even more imposing than at night. When she made the turn around the trees, Wynter saw three cars parked in the circular drive beside Nelson’s Rolls Royce. She parked the beat-up truck next to them, deciding she was either the brunt of some kind of joke, or Nelson Anderson had far more money to throw around than she had imagined. That thought made her want to turn tail and run. In her experience, having money was not a good thing.

Wynter knocked on the door. Mrs. Caudle opened it and smiled. They’d met at the barn and taken an instant liking to each other. Even as rich as he was, Nelson didn’t like having a lot of household staff. In fact, as far as Wynter knew, Mrs. Caudle was it.

“Wynter! Come in. Mr. Anderson’s been waiting. I’ve set everyone up in the sitting room off the study.”

Wynter stared.

“Are there really people here to make sure the riding clothes fit?” she asked, feeling a wave of horror wash over her.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Caudle went on, oblivious to Wynter’s evident discomfort. “And a dressmaker Miss Olivia brought over.”

“A what?” Wynter backed out the door when Olivia Rutledge appeared in the hallway.

“Wynter! You’re here. Excellent.” Olivia crossed the hallway and grasping her by the elbow, pulled and pushed her along. “We’ll start with the riding clothes.”

The next hour went by in a haze of both embarrassment and anger. Everyone talked as though she wasn’t there while they prodded, poked and pinned. They turned her around and touched her in places no one but her mama and the doctor had.

Wynter had just stripped out of the riding clothes and handed them out the door of the small guest bath. She was ready to change and get the hell out of there when a silky dress in deep green was thrust through the door.

“Put this on, please,” the dressmaker said in a no-nonsense voice.

She held the dress up. It seemed a bit short, she thought, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad. The dress had long sleeves, with a high, boat neck style neckline. It was then she turned it around to unzip it and gasped. It was cut low enough in back there was no zipper. That was it. Wynter stood a moment in her bra and panties before she thrust the dress back out the door at the dressmaker.

“I will not put that on,” she informed her. “I won’t wear it. There’s no back to it! I’ve had enough poking and prodding.” She slammed the door in the woman’s face.

A hushed conference was going on outside. She heard Nelson’s deeper-timbered voice too, and her humiliation was complete. After a moment, the door cracked open and another dress was thrust through it.

“One more, miss, please,” the dressmaker begged.

Wynter accepted it, but it seemed very similar to the other one until she held it up. Although the front was cut in a wide “V” neckline, the back matched it, making it overall a much more conservative dress. She shimmied into it, eyes widening at the hem. It ended just below mid-thigh! She wouldn’t be able to move without showing more than God ever intended.

“Come on out, dear, so I can see what adjustments need to be made.”

Wynter cracked the door enough to peek out. Miss Olivia and the dressmaker stood nearby. On the other side of the sitting room, Nelson stood looking out the window. Wynter wasn’t sure what he looked at since it was dark outside, and they’d already turned on the lights inside. He straightened, balancing on the cane while he turned toward the room. For a moment, she saw his deep blue eyes darken. She swallowed.

The dressmaker was already pinning. “We’ll take it in some here at the waist and the hips. It seems fine over the bust.”

Wynter blushed when Nelson’s gaze shifted to her breasts before sliding down to rest on her long legs. A gnawing discomfort in the pit of her stomach made her squirm then yelp when the dressmaker pricked the side of her hip.

“Are you done?” Wynter whispered. “I-I need to go. I have studying to do.”

“Almost, dear.”

Wynter touched Olivia Rutledge’s arm. “Miss Olivia, why do I need a dress? I’m just riding Rosie, right?”

“Of course, dear,” Miss Olivia said. “But there’s also the exhibitors’ party Friday night.”

“I can’t go to that,” Wynter gasped. “I’ve never been to a party. I-I wouldn’t know what to do—or say.”

“Of course you can,” Miss Olivia assured. “Nelson will bring you.”

Wynter glanced at Nelson. He once again had his back to them while he stared out the window. It was then she realized he stared at her reflection. Her outraged expression must have shown. She saw the sudden quirk of his mouth reflected in the window. Damn him. It was useless to object now. She would find some way to get out of it.

“There. Done.” The dressmaker patted Wynter’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll have the dress ready and waiting for you.”

“Can I go now?” she asked in a somewhat shaky voice. “I have to study.”

The dressmaker and Miss Olivia nodded, but it was Nelson who was her undoing, making her heart beat with a heavy thud when he turned from the window and smiled. “You look lovely, Wynter.”