Читать книгу Winning Heart - Laura Browning - Страница 11

Chapter 7

By the next afternoon, she was a mess. Her classes passed in a haze. She rushed from campus to the Hunt Horse Complex, where she found Thomas and the Pheasant Run stalls. Nelson and Olivia Rutledge were out front, still seated in the golf cart Nelson drove in order to get around. They turned when she walked toward the stalls.

“We were beginning to worry,” Thomas remarked. When she brushed a strand of hair from her face with a hand that shook, his sharp, blue eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”

Wynter nodded, tensing her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t chatter.

“Well,” he continued as though he cheered on a reluctant hound in the hunt field, “go change. You’ve got an hour to warm up before your class is called. Chances are with your inexperience, they’ll put you in early.”

She nodded again. Trying hard to remember her manners, Wynter turned and smiled at Nelson and Miss Olivia before heading inside the tack room to change. She did okay until she attempted the stock tie. Her fingers shook so much she couldn’t get it adjusted, never mind get a decent knot.

“Damn this thing anyway!” she swore. She mumbled more obscenities concerning the maternal heritage of whoever invented stock ties. The curtain shifted to one side and Nelson limped through the opening. Wynter glared her frustration. “What do you want?”

“To help,” he responded.

His tone took the starch right out of her. She dropped her hands from the tie and stood there. “I’m sorry,” Wynter apologized. “I—I do need help. I can’t get it adjusted correctly.”

Nelson stopped in front of her and leaned the cane against a nearby trunk. Putting most of his weight on the good left leg, he turned his attention back to her tie. “Relax, Wynter. I’ll have it tied in no time.”

His fingers were swift and steady. It was obvious it came from years of practice. While he worked, his unmistakable scent drifted up to her and she inhaled, eyes closed. It should have been calming, and in some ways it was. But at another level, the scent of him left her wanting something, she wasn’t quite sure what.

“You must have done this a lot,” she commented, an edge of nervousness still tightening her voice.

Nelson finished pinning the tie in place and looked at her without any humor. “A year ago, you would have been competing against me.”

She stared at him dumbfounded as without another word, he picked up his cane and limped back out of the tack room, shoulders straight and stiff.

Nelson and the golf cart were gone, as was Miss Olivia. Thomas stood there waiting. The Scotsman beamed when she came out.

“You look grand, Wynter. Are your nerves settling down any?”

“Some.”

“You missed the course walk earlier, but they’re on dinner break right now, and I’ve gotten us permission to take a look at it anyway. Let’s go.”

He led the way to another golf cart and they climbed in. In a couple of minutes, he parked it outside the door near the entrance to the ring. Wynter saw one of the grooms walking Rosie around the indoor warm-up area when they passed. She looked beautiful, sleek and shining, ears and crown covered with a crochet and cloth “hat” to help deaden the noise inside the arena.

Wynter started to put her helmet on, but Thomas stopped her. “Leave it. We still need to finish your hair.”

When they walked the course, she felt some of the nervousness leave. It was not as high or as tight as the courses Thomas made her train over at Pheasant Run. On one level she registered what Thomas said, the strides and the pacing sinking in even while part of her mind wandered—noting how different the complex looked now that she was in the ring instead of on the outside like a spectator. Huge didn’t describe it.

When they walked the triple combination along the wall where most of the spectators were seated, Wynter felt an uneasy prickle along the back of her neck and glanced up. Seated in a box near the edge of the ring were Payton Southard and his wife, along with the Butlers, and both Tory and Payton the Third. She saw a moment of startled recognition on Mr. Southard’s face before he masked the expression.

Her gaze found Nelson seated in a chair at the very top. No way could he negotiate those steps. Olivia Rutledge stood next to him. Her smile reassured Wynter, who nodded, but couldn’t quite manage one in return.

“Wynter!” Thomas barked. “Did you hear a word I said?”

Wynter smiled at the older man. “Don’t let her flatten out going into the triple, but once I’m done and have made the turn to the water jump I should let her run like hell. Would that sum it up?”

Thomas grunted. “Smart-aleck kid.”

When they exited the ring to go out to the warm-up area, Miss Olivia met them at the in gate. She handed Wynter a slender box. “I thought you might enjoy these.”

Wynter’s eyes widened when she opened the box to find a pair of chocolate brown leather gloves. The leather was so fine and supple they felt almost like a second skin going on. She smiled at Miss Olivia and hugged her. “Thank you. What a wonderful gift!”

Her stomach rolled as she started the warm-up on Rosie as she always did with flat work. It calmed her and the mare, and helped Wynter concentrate on what she must do. She felt Rosie’s nervousness ease when she asked her to move under herself and down onto the bit. Wynter smiled when the mare rounded, her hind end pushing off like a piston as she asked for alternate leg yields.

Wynter ignored the other riders in the warm-up area. She had to. She had already glimpsed a couple of faces she recognized from magazine articles. She wouldn’t let it psych her out. They must be schooling younger horses. Although this was an A-rated show, it wasn’t one of the better known ones.

When Wynter saw an opening, she turned Rosie down the center line to the vertical schooling jump in the middle of the arena. Her ears flicked, and Wynter felt a test coming as the mare started to back off from the fence. With strong legs and seat, Wynter pushed forward and felt Rosie relax and go. When they landed, Wynter patted her neck. They would be okay.

Thomas was right. They were among the first to go, but that suited Wynter. She hated waiting because it gave her a chance to get nervous, a chance to think about the people in there watching. She shook her head to clear it as the announcer called her number. She barely heard him continue with the horse and rider’s name as she pushed Rosie into a trot, halting before the start to salute the judge. Then they were off.

Rosie felt liquid and powerful beneath her as they approached the first fence. Over the last few days, Wynter had felt the horse’s confidence soar and her pace even out. It paid off now. When each fence loomed before them, the powerful mare pricked her ears forward, eager to take it on. Instead of pushing, Wynter found herself half-halting the mare to keep her from flattening out.

At last, they took the brick wall and made the turn to the triple line. When they approached the first element, a flash went off, making both Rosie and Wynter hesitate a moment. It knocked her off stride, and Wynter knew as they came in they would have to adjust. The option was take it big or ask the mare to stick in another short stride. It was almost automatic— Wynter pushed the mare forward. The line was set as a two stride to a one stride, so she would gamble on getting her collected back after this vertical. Wynter heard a gasp go up from the crowd when Rosie picked a big spot.

“Come on, girl!” she urged the horse when she powered off the ground. “You can do it!” Wynter did her best to just stay out of Rosie’s way while she flew over the fence, leaving plenty of air between the top rail and her feet. As soon as the pair landed, Wynter sat down and brought Rosie back hard, collecting for the one stride, another vertical to an oxer. She seemed to bounce in place as she shortened her stride and powered over the jumps.

The horse responded instantly to Wynter’s legs and the shift of her weight, executing a tight turn and galloping forward toward the water jump. One, two, three. Wynter asked for the takeoff, and the mare responded with a strong finish over the ten-foot spread. She grinned at Thomas when he met them at the gate.

“Good girls!” he praised them both. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to see from this mare!” He patted her neck and grabbed the reins as Wynter hopped down. “Don’t wander off. You’re clear with no time penalties, so you’ll be in the jump-off.” Wynter nodded while she watched Thomas hand Rosie off to the groom. “You’ve got fifteen minutes!” he called when she headed outside.

It was quiet outside the door, isolated almost, even with the traffic of horses and grooms going back and forth between the warm-up ring and the arena. Wynter took off her helmet and leaned against the wall outside the door. The coolness felt good. She sucked in a deep breath, feeling the tension drain away as she released it.

“Hey, Wyn!” a familiar voice called. “Nice ride! You sit a horse even better than you swear.”

Wynter laughed with sudden relief and turned sideways to lean against the wall. “Rico, that was just what I needed. Thanks!”

“Here,” he said, offering a cigarette. “If you liked that, then a smoke should help.”

She stripped off her gloves and shoved them in the pocket of her jacket before taking the smoke. Rico offered his cigarette to light it from. She handed it back and took a deep draw.

“No kidding,” the teenager continued. “You’re good. An’ I thought you were jus’ a groom! Where you learn to ride like that?”

Wynter shrugged. She hadn’t. She just had more guts than sense and often put the Southards’ field hunters at obstacles their owners would have fainted at, had they seen it. She had jumped rows of round bales and pine trees fallen across trails through the woods. There had even been a car or two and a few farm wagons in there. Wynter stamped the cigarette out under the heel of her boot.

“I taught myself until I rode Rosie then Thomas fixed me,” she explained as she grinned at Rico. “And trust me, I still need a lot of fixing!”

They both laughed.

“I see you’ve landed on your feet.”

Wynter stopped laughing. She knew that voice. Payton Southard, Junior. She felt more than saw Rico vanish into the darkness. Great! Just when she could have used a little moral support, he had disappeared. Squaring her shoulders, she straightened and eyed the older man.

“Yes, I have. Not that it’s any of your concern.” She felt a surge of confidence. This man was no longer the intimidating influence of the past few years. “I’m paying my own way through Duke, Mr. Southard. Dean’s list, both summer sessions. Can you say the same of your son?”

“Why you…” he blustered, taking a threatening step forward when a cold, furious voice interrupted.

“I wouldn’t finish what you’re about to say or do, Southard.”

She turned to find Nelson standing there, a Nelson she had never seen look so cold. His eyes glittered and his jaw was hard with a fury out of proportion to the situation. He turned to her and softened. “Wynter, Thomas needs you inside. They’re resetting the course for the jump-off.”

She nodded and walked by him without a word. For once in her life, she feared saying anything. With that look Nelson had become a stranger. After she shut the door, she still heard the voices from outside as they drifted around the gangway where the horses entered. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but the bitter, angry edge was obvious, as was the fact the two men knew each other.

Wynter found Thomas leaning against the rail, watching while the height on the fences was adjusted. She stood next to him, gaze on the ring and asked, “Thomas, how does Mr. Anderson know Payton Southard, the man I used to work for?”

He tensed, turning with a slight frown. “Why do you ask?”

“They’re outside. Mr. Southard stopped to…speak to me. Mr. Anderson came out to get me, and he seemed angry.”

Thomas glanced at the door behind them. “It’s not my place to tell you. That’s something you’ll have to take up with Nelson.” He seemed anxious when he said, “Stay here, lass, I’ll be right back.”

Thomas hurried out the door, leaving her to stare after him in confusion. What was going on? When she started to go after him, Olivia Rutledge chose that moment to come down the steps. Wynter smiled, happy to see her, but still worried what was happening outside—and why.

“What a wonderful ride. I was so concerned when that girl in the front row took that flash picture as you headed to the triple. I hardly dared breathe, but you and Rosie cleared the fence anyway.”

“Thanks, Miss Olivia.” She glanced over toward where the Southards sat, Payton, Junior joining everyone else. He looked pale, but it could have been a trick of the lighting inside the arena.

The announcer gave a five-minute warning for the jump-off. It would be short. Just four other horses went clear. Wynter drew the first go. She put her gloves back on and found both Thomas and Nelson behind her. An aura of controlled anger still hung around Nelson. He barely acknowledged the greetings of other riders when they came and went.

“Warm back up,” Thomas said. He had his game face on now, so Wynter nodded while she tucked stray hair under the helmet and snapped the harness. “Go for clear first, speed second—but don’t dawdle. Like we practiced. Tight, tight turns. Rosie can jump these fences almost from a standstill if you make her believe.”

The groom brought the mare forward, and Thomas gave Wynter a leg up. She settled into the saddle and turned Rosie on a loose rein while they trotted out to the warm-up ring to loosen things up. Wynter wouldn’t take another fence before the jump-off. The announcer called the class and their names. With a tight smile at everyone gathered near the in gate, she trotted the mare through the opening to the middle of the ring, turned and saluted the judge, then nudged Rosie into a collected canter. Everything else faded as Wynter found the first fence and turned toward it. Seven jumps, laid out in a twisting pattern with two turn backs before a long gallop to the finish. She concentrated on doing just what Thomas had instructed.

Rosie wasn’t as relaxed as before. Taking a chance, Wynter slowed down a notch, asking for collection. The horse’s ears flicked before she responded.

“You can do it, Rosie!” she encouraged as they reached the first fence. “Come on, mare. Show them what you’ve got!”

She did. Collected, ears forward, she powered over the fences then made beautiful tight turns. They approached the last fence, the in gate in sight. It was a high vertical that forced Wynter to resist the temptation to let Rosie flatten out going in, but when they landed, she leaned forward and hissed at the big mare. Rosie leaped forward. They finished with one time fault.

The groom met them at the gate. Wynter vaulted off Rosie, beaming while she patted her neck. “Thank you, lady.”

The first person she saw when she turned to the rail was Nelson. For the first time since she’d met him, she saw him smile with pleasure. It lit his blue eyes, banishing the shadows always lingering there. It relieved the lines in his face and made him seem the thirty-two years she now knew him to be.

“Wynter.”

Impulsively, she stepped over to the rail and wrapped her arms around his neck. She squeezed him and felt strong arms encircle her, the cane still grasped in one hand while he hugged her back.

“Thank you!” Wynter released him and looked straight into his eyes, laughing. She looked around at everyone, Thomas, Miss Olivia, and back at Nelson. “Thanks to all of you for giving me a chance.” The last couple of words came out in a sob. “I’m sorry,” Wynter apologized, laughing and crying, and then moved back in embarrassment when she realized Nelson’s arms still held her. Heat burned her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said again, ducking her head.

Nelson startled her by chuckling.

“You are a treasure, my dear,” Olivia Rutledge said matter-of-factly. “You have no idea how much.”

The next horse finished with four faults after pulling the top rail on the last fence. Wynter glanced over her shoulder and said, “I need some air. I can’t stand here and watch the rest of this.”

She walked down the gangway, crowded with horses and grooms, and stepped around the corner for a breath of cool night air. She glanced up as the door to the spectators’ area opened, and Nelson stepped through. He leaned on his cane. As much exercise as she knew he racked up, tonight was too much and it was beginning to show. She started to say so but thought better of it. He was her boss, and she had no right to say anything to him.

“Did you need me?” she asked.

He leaned against the cement wall behind him. “No. But like you, I didn’t want to stand there and watch the rest of the jump-off. When you have a good round, it’s like waiting to see yourself go up in flames.”

Wynter smiled hesitantly. “That’s what I thought.”

“You did a great job tonight, Wynter, in case I didn’t already tell you.”

She looked over at him and asked, “What did you mean earlier when you said you would have been my competition last year?”

He started to answer when Thomas peered around the corner. “Get in here, girl!” he beamed. “You placed second! Get on your horse and take your victory lap!”

* * * *

Could a night get any better than this one? Wynter thought as she showered in the hotel room Miss Olivia had booked.

The older woman was a firm believer in comfort and spared no expense to make sure she found it. After Wynter’s victory lap, she had whisked the girl into her car and told everyone they would see them in a couple of hours.

Wynter came out of the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel twisted on top of her head. Olivia Rutledge had already donned the proverbial little black dress. There was no telling how old it was. The style was timeless, and the quality was without question.

“Sit here, child, while I work magic on you.” She waved the brush with a flourish.

Wynter laughed and took a seat. She soon realized Miss Olivia wasn’t kidding. In a matter of minutes, the older woman had brushed out Wynter’s long, damp hair, pinned it up in a neat French twist and applied light makeup. Wynter stared at her reflection in amazement. Still wet, her hair gleamed a sleek, dark auburn, and having it pulled back from her face highlighted delicate cheekbones. Whatever Miss Olivia had done with the makeup she’d applied, Wynter thought her eyes sparkled a deep emerald, framed by her thick lashes.

“I look so different,” she said wonderingly. “I’ve never worn makeup before.”

Miss Olivia raised her brows. “Where did your mother hide you?”

Wynter shrugged. “I never did girly things. I worked. I studied.”

“You look beautiful.” Olivia smiled in the mirror. “You just have no idea, do you?” She patted Wynter’s shoulder. “Your dress is hanging in the closet along with a bag of lingerie and some shoes.”

“They aren’t high heels, are they?” Wynter asked while sudden visions of wobbling and falling flat on her face came to mind.

“No, dear,” Miss Olivia answered chuckling. “Not only am I aware of how challenging heels can be to someone not used to them, but you don’t need them to enhance either your legs or your height. God blessed you.”

“I used to run cross country in high school.”

“Instead of dating?”

Wynter laughed when she stood up. “The students at my high school wouldn’t date me. I’m the trailer trash.”

She disappeared around the door of the closet, reappearing a few minutes later in the altered dress. It fit like a second skin now, making her a bit self-conscious.

Olivia Rutledge clapped when Wynter walked back. “You are not trailer trash, Wynter. If you’re ready, we should go.”

It took only a few moments to get back to the hotel suite where the party was already in full swing. Wynter tried to hang back behind Miss Olivia when they entered, but she would have none of it, taking Wynter by the elbow and keeping her by her side. Heads turned. The whole room paused for an instant before the buzz of conversation continued.

Wynter relaxed until she realized the rider who won, the one she’d guessed was schooling a green horse, walked to her side.

“Excellent riding this evening,” he remarked. “Haven’t seen you on the circuit before.” He glanced at Olivia. “Another of your protégées, Miss Olivia?”

The older woman smiled as if enjoying a secret joke. “Actually, she’s Nelson’s discovery, Chris. Meet Wynter O’Reilly. Wyn, this is Chris Stevenson.”

The young man glanced over toward the windows, his eyebrows rising. “If she’s Nelson’s discovery, then I won’t detain you. He’s never been much of a party animal, and he seems a bit put-out tonight.”

When Wynter looked in that direction she saw why. In the corner, not more than ten feet from him were the Southards. Her breath caught, and her newfound confidence plummeted. Years of teasing and taunting had taken their toll, and she felt like the trailer trash they’d always called her.

“Stop it!” Olivia whispered. “You’re slouching. Put your chin up and walk on over to say hello. Nelson looks like he needs cheering up, and whether you realize it yet or not, you are the cheerleading squad.”

Wynter smiled at Chris Stevenson before she walked toward Nelson.

The buzz of the party faded into the background while she studied him. He seemed tired. At that moment, he glanced in her direction, almost as if he had been checking for her arrival. His deep-blue gaze locked on hers. Wynter felt a jolt of heat, as if he had reached out and touched her.

The room was crowded, and it took some time to reach him. Various people stopped and congratulated her. She thanked them politely, but turned back each time to Nelson’s intense regard. The closer she came, the tenser he looked.

When she reached him, his right hand gripped the cane until his knuckles turned white. He rotated his left hand palm up. Without thinking about it, Wynter slid hers into his. Again that jolt of heat rose from the pit of her stomach. His gaze searched her face before devouring the rest of her. Part of Wynter wanted to curl up and hide, but then she remembered what Olivia had said and smiled.

“Do I look okay?” Wynter asked with concern when he continued to look at her without saying a word.

To her surprise, he smiled lopsidedly. “You’re breathtaking.”

This time even her ears got hot. “I don’t feel that way,” she confided in a shaky voice. “In fact, I don’t feel much like me at all.”

“You do to me.” Then Nelson did something that would have seemed out of place had he been anyone else, but it fit him. Lifting her hand, he pressed his lips against the backs of her fingers. “You are the loveliest woman in the room, Wynter O’Reilly. Never forget it.”