Читать книгу Winning Heart - Laura Browning - Страница 7

Chapter 3

Nelson leaned against the wall in the small elevator. It hummed while it glided up to the second floor. From there it was just a few feet to the bed. He’d lied when he said Thomas was keeping an eye on her. The truth was he was the one watching. Thomas would have turned her away when she couldn’t give him a reference, but as far as Nelson was concerned, being fired by the Southards was perhaps the best reference she possessed.

He’d clamped his jaw shut to keep from laughing out loud when she slipped into the story about the kid’s car. After he stripped off his clothes and sat on the edge of the bed to get the painkillers, he thought of her again. Wynter was like a rough-cut stone, edges and hidden facets waiting to be drawn out. A few flashes of her potential were already obvious in that gorgeous auburn hair and creamy complexion. Given the right advantages, she’d be a knockout.

There was more to her, though, than just looks. He saw how hard she worked. She was the first one there in the morning and from what he had observed, the last one to leave at night. Character. It was rough, but it was there, and it was what kept his thoughts coming back to her again and again. Nelson learned enough concerning Wynter O’Reilly to know she needed to stay. The most important thing he’d discovered was as much as Payton Southard the Third might consider her trailer trash, he desired her.

Nelson rubbed the aching muscles in his scarred right leg, thinking and considering the possibilities. Perhaps there was more he could do than ruin Southard. If he turned their duckling into a swan, it might be an even sweeter revenge. Just how much would it irk snobs like the Southards to see the stable girl they’d fired taken under the wing of Nelson Anderson? Very closely under his wing.

* * * *

It took Wynter a few minutes to realize where she was when she woke up. When it dawned on her, she sat bolt upright and looked around. Panic hit her like a punch in the gut. She was late. The rising sun was already lightening the sky outside Nelson Anderson’s study window.

She jumped off the couch and snatched her jeans back up before throwing on the rest of her clothes. After jamming on sneakers, she plaited her thick hair in one long braid down her back. When she glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel, another wave of panic shot through her. Almost six. An hour late. Shit.

Her first instinct was to dash out of the house, but then she saw the crumpled blankets and pillow from where she’d slept. Some things her mother had ingrained all too well. Her hands shook while she folded the blankets and laid them on the couch. After setting the pillow on top, she darted down the hallway. The house was still quiet when she slipped out the front door, eased it shut and ran down the drive.

The barns stood almost a half-mile away. Wynter was in full-fledged panic now. She rounded the bend that would bring her in sight of the barns when the nose of Anderson’s Rolls glided around the corner at the same time from the opposite direction.

She couldn’t stop. The car swerved as she tried to leap sideways, and her hip slammed into the fender before she stumbled backward to the trees. A cedar branch grazed one cheek, but otherwise, the dense foliage cushioned the worst of the fall. Even so, the impact knocked the breath out of her. She heard the car door fly open and the incessant beep from the ignition alarm.

“Wynter!”

She rolled over and struggled to a sitting position when she heard his feet hit the pavement. “Stop!” She gasped and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m fine! Don’t get out.”

He cursed so vividly even Wynter was taken aback. “Come here, damn it, so I can see you’re okay.”

Wynter pushed out from the cover of the dense cedar trees and limped over to Anderson’s side.

“See?” Her irritation turned to concern when she saw how pale his face was. “Are you all right?”

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled.

“It’s just a scratch.” She swiped it with the back of a hand. “What were you doing? I thought you were still asleep.” She glanced toward the barn. “I gotta go. I’m late.”

The color returned to his face, but he still seemed distracted when he said, “I went down to explain to Thomas. You’re fine. No one else is there yet.” His voice once again assumed its usual commanding tone. “Get in. I’ll take you back down there.”

“You don’t…”

“Wynter,” he snapped.

“Fine.” She did her best to stomp around the car, but each footfall shot pain through her bruised hip. She winced when she bent to get in.

“You are hurt,” Anderson accused.

“Just a bruise. I’ll be fine,” Wynter replied and stared out the window.

This wasn’t how she had planned the morning. She wanted to be cool and polite, able to thank him for how kind he’d been. She sighed in frustration. Instead, she had come off looking like a total idiot. Again. “Just take me to the barn, please. I have work to do.”

They didn’t speak anymore on the way. Wynter got out with a mumbled thanks and heard him backing the car to head to the house. When she walked through the barn door, Thomas was there measuring feed. He glanced up and set the feed scoop back in the barrel. Wynter jammed her hands in her jeans pockets and scuffed the toe of one sneaker.

“Sorry I’m late,” she muttered, half expecting the taciturn Scotsman would give her the sharp side of his tongue. She’d heard him berate one of the grooms the other day. Thomas Sinclair possessed a very creative grasp of the English language and could dress someone down without a foul word ever uttered.

“I’ve already given the horses their hay. You can do the grain and the water, lass.” The surprise must have shown because for a moment, the older man softened and said, “Mr. Anderson explained your situation.”

Wynter nodded in embarrassment, face averted.

“You’re a hard worker, Wynter O’Reilly. I’ll give you that. So let’s give it another week, this time with food and shelter, and see how you do.”

She turned with a quick, grateful smile and nodded. “Thank you. You won’t be disappointed. I promise.”

Sinclair grinned. “I know I won’t. You’ll be living in the apartment over the barn. Mr. Anderson’s orders.”

Wynter shook her head. She had seen how much people charged for such apartments, even if they were small, and she needed every extra penny to help cover school costs loans and grants wouldn’t cover. “I can’t afford it.”

“Rent’s free. Mr. Anderson says that’s in return for the additional security you’ll provide being around the barn all the time.”

She started to protest and then closed her mouth. The two of them had figured everything out so she could have no reasonable objection. Truth was, it sounded almost too good to be true. A real apartment. And free meant more school money.

“Thank you,” she said at last, pushing aside pride for practicality.

Thomas smiled again as he headed for the door. “I gassed up your truck too.” He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Look, lass, if you run into trouble, Mr. Anderson’s a good man. He’ll help.”

She nodded. After he left, she stood in the feed room and blinked away hot tears. Never had she met people like this, except maybe Wythe. Based on her experience, rich people were like the Southards and the Butlers. They wanted to look down their noses at families like hers because she couldn’t buy everything she wanted, and she wore thrift store clothes. Kindness wasn’t something she was used to.

She measured the rest of the feed from the list on the wall and concentrated on her work. Once the horses were fed and watered, she checked the schedule posted in the tack room to see which horses would stay in to be ridden later and which were to be turned out to pasture.

Exercise riders showed up around seven, along with a couple of grooms who knocked dust and dirt off horses with their brushes. Wynter collected the blankets where they threw them on the floor. Dirty ones went into the washer. Those soiled with shavings, she took outside to brush.

* * * *

Nelson’s first surprise came when he made a few phone calls to people he knew at Duke. As a member of the board of trustees, he figured he would open some doors for Wynter.

“She doesn’t need any doors opened, Nelson,” his friend told him over the phone. “The girl’s test scores are sitting right in front of me. She’s got an all-but-perfect SAT. Oh, excuse me, it appears she’s ten points off perfect in English.”

Nelson chuckled. “Anything else I should know?”

“The finances are shaky. It appears she won a full scholarship from something called the Southard Foundation, but it was yanked a couple of months ago. We’re working with her on some loans now.”

Nelson’s eyes narrowed. So in addition to firing her, the bastard pulled the college money out from under her. Was there no end to how low the Southards would stoop?

“Tell her she’s got a four year full ride,” Nelson declared. “I’ll pay.”

“What do you want me to call this sudden scholarship?” Jason Hairston asked in some amusement.

Nelson’s mouth twisted. “Call it the Allison Memorial Scholarship fund. Start it in the fall so she won’t be too suspicious. I’ll continue it for one incoming freshman student each year after this. Full ride, based on academic excellence and demonstrated financial need.”

Nelson hung up the phone with a small feeling of satisfaction. Strike one, he thought. It might be a small hit, but it was still a hit.

His major plan of action was progressing nicely. Already he’d put out information and set up what appeared to be solid investments. Then he had tipped Southard’s broker. Only Nelson knew the companies were ready to go belly up.

* * * *

Once the horses were turned out, she picked out stalls at a fast pace because she had an appointment at Duke to finish filling out paperwork. Wynter had put it off because she’d had no address to give them until now, and even better, she could also give them a tuition deposit. It wouldn’t leave much for gas and food for the coming week, but she could get by since she’d be living right above the barn.

She whistled while she worked. It was one of the happiest days in a very long time. She finished the last stall just before eleven. Now the rest of the day was free until five in the afternoon when she brought horses in for the night. Wynter hurried to empty the last wheelbarrow full of manure on the pile in the back. After putting the tools back in the shed, she crossed over to the office. Thomas came out with the checks.

“Here you go, Wynter.” He grinned. “Your first check.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze dropped to the amount printed on the paper and she swallowed. There must be a mistake. She’d never made this much at the Southards. As much as she needed the money, she didn’t want to risk losing the job if this was an error.

“Thomas,” Wynter whispered before he passed her on the way to the barn. “This can’t be right.” When he frowned she hurried on, “It’s—it’s too much money.”

Thomas relaxed. “There’s no mistake, girl. Mr. Anderson believes in paying the help. In return he expects hard work, make no mistake.”

She looked at the amount on the check and grinned. “Damn. I mean thanks. Thanks a lot!”

She turned toward the truck, still smiling.

“Where are you going?” Thomas inquired.

She laughed. “School, Thomas. I’m going to school. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for afternoon feeding.”

Wynter felt lighter than she had in a long time. She stopped at the convenience store across from Pheasant Run to cash the check. When the man saw it was from Nelson Anderson, he handed her the money, no questions asked. She bought an apple and a big bottle of water and aimed the rattletrap truck toward Durham.

After parking outside the financial aid office, she glanced around and couldn’t keep down the sense of anticipation she felt. She was going to Duke! Spring semester classes had finished the previous week, so the campus was almost deserted, but she still felt an air of challenge. Before heading inside, Wynter washed her face and hands with the water left over in the bottle and changed her soiled t-shirt for a fresh one. The papers were in her hand, and the money was in her pocket.

It was almost an hour later before she left. She was registered. They would let her start on a part-time basis over their summer session. Plus, the financial aid people said they had discovered another scholarship for which they felt sure she qualified. It would cover tuition, come fall. Now she just had to buy books. The other things she needed she didn’t even want to think of at the moment. She had managed advanced math classes and her other high school courses without either a computer or a calculator. She would make do with using the library until she saved enough money for a computer.

She knew she should head back, but she still had time, so she took a few minutes to walk around campus. Over the past year, she’d looked at so many brochures and pictures she felt she knew her way around already. It was quiet now, but next week it would reawaken with students and faculty. The fall would be even more exciting. Wynter grinned when she headed back to her truck.

She should tell her mother where she was, what was going on. The thought struck her as she turned the key in the ignition. No. Not yet. Not until she was truly settled. The sting of what happened at home was still too fresh. Wynter found that out last night when she had jerked away from Nelson Anderson and almost sent him sprawling. She wasn’t ready yet to talk to her mom—or Wythe. She thought about the letter she’d left her mother.

Ma—I’m sorry. I got in trouble today. It was just supposed to be a prank to get even with Pay, but it got out of hand. Anyway, Mr. Southard fired me—and he’s taking away my scholarship.

I can’t take it around here anymore. I’m leaving to see if I can find a way to get into college somewhere, even if it’s not Duke. I promise I’ll take care of myself and get in touch with you once I’m back on my feet. Please don’t worry.

But she knew Irene O’Reilly would worry. Wynter tamped down her guilt with the knowledge Wythe Bradshear would be there to comfort her. Wythe was always there. And maybe with her gone, he’d do something about the way he’d always watched Mama.

Just a little longer. When I’ve got summer school under my belt, I’ll let her know then.

She headed out along the tree-lined road bordering campus and back to the highway. Pheasant Run. What a great name. So much classier than Southard Farms.

And Nelson Anderson was different than anyone she’d ever encountered. He seemed much older than what he was. Wynter wondered what had aged him. Then there was the whole thing with the leg. Whatever happened had been bad enough to make permanent changes around his home. The hand controls on the car. The ramp to the front door of the house. Plus, she’d heard what sounded like the hum of an elevator after he’d said good night. Those weren’t things a man with a temporary injury needed or even wanted. In fact, he acted like a man waiting for things to get even worse.