A Love Like Ours (18 page)

Why couldn’t one thing have gone his way? Silver Leaf should have run for Elizabeth this past morning. Everything he knew about horses, all his experience, told him he’d prepared Silver Leaf for his upcoming race. He and Lyndie had brought him to just the right condition at just the right time. The horse had been cleaning up his feed, passing his veterinary tests, impressing Jake on the track. He should have run today.

“You’ve paired
him with a female, but that’s only part of the equation,”
Lyndie had said.
“He has to know
and trust his rider before he’ll race for her.”
No part of him wanted to believe that, then or now. Racehorses didn’t discriminate. They’d run for any good rider. Calvin Borel had ridden Mine That Bird, a horse he’d never raced before, to victory in the 2009 Derby. Ten other examples sprang to Jake’s mind of horses who’d won big in similar circumstances.

An experienced jockey accounted for maybe ten percent of a horse’s success at the track. Only ten. So why hadn’t his horse performed for Elizabeth today the way he’d seen him perform for Lyndie?

Curse him, he knew why.

Lyndie was Silver Leaf’s motivation. He’d seen their poetry with his own eyes. He hadn’t thought there were any wonders left in this world, but Lyndie and Silver Leaf together? They were one.

The fact that Lyndie had been unhurt the other morning after a horse had galloped over her? That was another. Unexplainable. Illogical.

Is it?
a voice within asked.

He shoved the thought aside. All day, frustration and confusion had been dogging him over the issue of who would jockey Silver Leaf. He’d never once considered putting Lyndie on him in a race. She’d retired from racing long ago. She was only an exercise rider. She was—

He didn’t want to understand all the things she was to him.

He liked Elizabeth Alvarez fine. He could put her on his racehorse and sleep at night. But the idea of putting Lyndie on Silver
Leaf in a contested race made his heart turn to rock. All those horses jostling for position, the great speed. Her spill at practice had been bad enough. Much worse could happen to her in a race.

How could he risk Lyndie? She painted pictures of fairies, for goodness’ sake.

He couldn’t—he just couldn’t lose anyone else he was responsible for. He’d lost people already, and it had nearly killed him.

He groaned and pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. How could he
not
risk Lyndie when she was the only one who could give Silver Leaf a chance of success?

He and Bo had been the ones to decide on the pairing between Silver Leaf’s dam and sire. When Silver Leaf had been a half-grown colt, Jake had carried carrots for him in his pockets and fed them to him by hand. He’d trained him himself in the round pen as a yearling. His sister-in-law, Meg, loved Silver Leaf.

How could he justify not giving Lyndie a chance to ride him?

He couldn’t.

How could he stand to let her ride him?

He couldn’t.

D
anny!” Amber approached Cream or Sugar’s counter, pleased to see that Celia’s Uncle Danny occupied his usual barstool.

“Amber!”

She’d hurried through her lunch at work so that she’d have time to seek more of Danny’s dating advice. As much as she’d been hoping that Will would ask her out, he still hadn’t. And Lyndie certainly wasn’t making any progress in the dating department. So it fell to Amber to rustle up more outings for the both of them.

“What’s up, girl?” Danny asked. “Everything cool?”

She settled onto a stool. “Everything’s going fine with work and with Jayden, but things haven’t really improved on the dating front.”

He nodded with understanding. Holley’s very own California surfer dude had made an orange Hurley shirt into a tank top by cutting off the neck and arms. A tan at least five decades deep covered his upper body and face. “It takes time.”

Ty Porter approached on the other side of the counter wearing jeans and a T-shirt, both fabulously worn-in. “Hi, Amber.”

Feminine fascination short-circuited her brain. She had to grope
around inside her head to remember what to reply. Turns out, he’d said “Hi, Amber,” so she only needed to say, “Hey, Ty.”

“What can I get you?”

“Coffee with cream and . . . since it’s Friday, did Celia do her TGIF cupcake?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“One, please. And an Easter Egg sugar cookie to take home to Jayden.”

“You got it.” He moved off.

“How did the singles event at Fellowship Church turn out?” Danny asked.

“I had a great time. I met several new people.”

“What about Lyndie?”

“To be honest with you, I’m a little worried about Lyndie’s dating skills. As beautiful as she is, I mean”—she shrugged—“I’d classify her as
really
beautiful—she’s not very outgoing around men. I’m not sure if she’s just out of practice or what.”

“I’ve heard she’s an artist.”

“She is.”

“Cool. Wow, very cool. Maybe you’re just picking up on Lyndie’s creative mojo, you know? Artists can groove on another plane.”

Huh?

Ty placed a teacup filled with steaming coffee before her as well as a tiny cream pitcher. He retrieved her cupcake, flicking a dish towel over his shoulder as he brought it to her. There could be no more welcome sight in the life of a single woman than that of a hunk with a dish towel over his shoulder bringing you a cupcake.

“Celia and Hudson aren’t here today?” Amber centered her gaze on Ty’s forehead, since she had a hard time looking into the handsomeness of his face.

“They’re at a playdate with a few other moms and babies. Here’s the Easter cookie for Jayden.” He set a small white sack within her reach.

“Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Ty went to wait on an elderly man with a cane.

“You know . . .” Danny’s attention took a vacation before returning to her. “I’m remembering a mixer that one of the local groups has coming up. It’s for thirty-fives and under. It’s modeled after a
gokon
.”

“A what?”

“The Japanese, you know. Very zen people. They’re doing some sweet things with group blind dating. At a gokon everyone brings a friend or two with them.”

“Sounds interesting.” Amber gently peeled the wrapper off her TGIF cupcake. Celia spiked the vanilla cake batter with dark chocolate chips. Top that with peanut butter frosting decorated with chocolate shavings, toffee, and a drizzle of butterscotch and there you had it—a true celebration of Friday.

“They’re having the gokon at a Japanese restaurant in Allen.” Danny took a bite of his chocolate chip cookie, then dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Do you want me to email you the link?”

“I’d like that. Thank you.” Incredible, how good this cupcake was.

“I’m guessing nothing’s happened yet between you and the fireman?”

“He gave me a bid for a new deck.”

“It’s a start.”

“If so, a very slow start. I really like the fireman.” She smiled sadly. “But I don’t think the feeling is mutual.”

“He may yet come around.”

“A girl can hope, Danny. Until then?”

“Yes?”

“I have this cupcake.”

Most people could not be found at their workplaces on beautiful Saturday afternoons. But even before she’d spotted his truck in the lot, Lyndie had known where she’d find Jake.

She hopped down from her Jeep and made her way around the yearling barn at Whispering Creek.

Jake still hadn’t said anything to her about jockeying Silver Leaf. More than two days had passed since Silver’s failed breeze with Elizabeth, and less than a week remained before Silver’s race. Fortunately, the stallion had run as fast as ever for Lyndie the past two mornings. Which meant his outing with Elizabeth hadn’t set him back the way she’d feared it might. And which ought to mean that Lyndie had an advantage in scoring the role of Silver’s jockey.

Yesterday morning, when she’d stood beside Jake after she’d finished riding, there had been plenty of breaks in the conversation, many quiet moments when he could have informed her that he’d decided to let her jockey Silver Leaf in his upcoming race. But no. He’d remained silent on the topic, so she’d chosen to remain patient.

The past two nights she’d lain in bed and stared out the half circle of glass atop her bedroom window. White clouds had crept past an ebony sky while her mind concocted worrying scenarios about Silver Leaf and Elizabeth and a man who would not bend.

This morning she’d been determined that the time had come to discuss Silver. But when she’d finished her duties and walked out to meet Jake, he’d been gone. His foreman had been there in his stead and had informed her that Jake had been called away to meetings.

All day since, Lyndie had been trying to convince herself that it would be fine to wait until Monday to talk with him. She’d done a Pilates class, showered, run to the grocery store, hung with Mollie, then returned home to work on art. Contrary to the sketch she’d intended to draw, a dark and gloomy prince in a black tri-fold hat (a black Stetson would have been entirely too literal) and long cape had overtaken her paper. The blond fairy, the redheaded fairy, and the gray unicorn all stood in a line before the prince, timid and frowning, waiting to see what he would command.

Lyndie had pulled back from the sketch to examine it. Then and there, she’d hit her limit. She couldn’t wait, timid and frowning, until Monday to see what Jake would decree. There was no such thing as the perfect time to broach a subject with him, something she’d already learned to her detriment. She’d decided to ask Jake
in a civilized fashion whether he’d let her jockey Silver Leaf. The question might prove to be another land mine to their personal friendship, but it was within the bounds of their professional relationship, she felt quite sure. Right?

Right. It was.

Her riding boots had become such an extension of her when near horses that it felt novel to walk on Whispering Creek’s soil in flip-flops. She hadn’t wanted to look too sloppy or too dressy so had chosen jeans, a tangerine scoop-neck tee, and one of her brightly patterned infinity scarves.

Behind the barn, several horses grazed in the paddocks and pasture. She spotted one male figure, but even at a distance she could tell he wasn’t Jake.

Lyndie let herself into the barn, her eyes adjusting as she made her way down the row, looking into each of the stalls. She exchanged hellos with two workers. Still no sight of Jake.

She reached the warm room and opened its door—

Jake’s hazel stare clashed instantly with hers. He had a clipboard in his hand and was leaning on the room’s central table, his weight supported by it. No black Stetson this afternoon.

She let herself into the room. Whispering Creek employees used the space for meetings, as a lunch spot, and as a storage area for equipment and horse medicines. It offered one big window, a sink, a mini-fridge. All kept exactly as neat and organized as the rest of Jake’s barns. “Hey.”

He regarded her with both alert intensity and wary warning. “Hey.”

She extended the small peace offering she’d brought. A wrapped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

Gravely, he took it from her. After a brief hesitation, he set both it and the clipboard aside. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Is there something you need?”

“I drove out here to find you.”

“Because?”

Here goes nothing. She’d learned it was best with him not to dance around the issue. “I was hoping to talk to you about Silver Leaf. I’d planned to ask you about him this morning, but when I went out to see you, you were gone.”

“I had meetings.”

“I heard.” She pushed her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. “Have you decided who’ll be riding Silver Leaf in his race?”

“No. I haven’t decided yet.”

Just say I can do it already, Tall, Dark, and Brooding!
“I’d really like the chance to ride him.”

“I know you would.”

He wore his gray knit shirt, the top three buttons open to reveal a downy white T-shirt beneath. His eyes looked bloodshot today and even more bleak than usual. He hadn’t shaved. Strain etched across his forehead and into the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. His hair showed tracks from where he’d shoved his fingers through it, probably in frustration.

Lyndie had come here concerned about herself. But as she catalogued the details of his face, her concern shifted. “You’re struggling.” She spoke quietly, but with confidence. “You’re not sleeping, are you?”

He scowled.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” PTSD? Anxiety? What?

“Nighttime hours are not my favorite hours. Look, if we’re done here—”

“We’re not done here.”

“Go and enjoy your Saturday, Lyndie.”

“Now that I’m getting a good look at you, I won’t be able to go and enjoy my Saturday. I’ll be too worried about you. What can I do to help?”

He turned instantly defensive. “Nothing.”

Jake’s poor face. His poor, ravaged face, both undeniably handsome and unbearably exhausted. As big and strong as he was physically, he was also wounded. He needed someone to care about him.

Following pure instinct, she stepped forward and reached up to place her hands on either side of his face.

“No,” he rasped, trying to pull back.

“Shh,” she replied, firm. She’d purposely placed her hands in the same position on both sides of his face, favoring neither the perfect side nor the scarred. His old injury felt the way it looked, thin and slightly stretched.

“Lyndie,” he said brokenly. “Don’t.”

She didn’t lose her courage. Her hands remained, holding his profile tilted down to hers so that she could read his face, so that there was no place for either of them to hide. “I want to help you if you’ll let me,” she said. “You’re the best friend I ever had.”

“I’m no longer that kid.”

“No. You were a boy then and now you’re a man. But you’re still Jake Porter. I’d know this face anywhere.”

“My face is unrecognizable.”

“Not to me. Your face would be beautiful to me even if all the skin had melted away.”

His hands came up, banding around her wrists. He stopped short, though, of yanking down her arms. She could feel tremors going through him for the length of one breath, two.

Exquisite lightning twined back and forth between them. She’d been motivated to put her hands on him out of compassion and determination. But now that they were bound together in this intimate position, the wild strength of their attraction leapt to life. Her heart began to drum. “I want to help you,” she said again.

He wrenched away and prowled to the window, anchoring a hand against its frame. His chest pumped in and out unevenly.

She could tell he was desperate for space, so she followed him only halfway to the window, giving him time to gather himself.

Jake needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to him and hug him and cry with him and pray for him.
Talk to me!
she wanted to shout. But—
still!
—he held his silence, hunkering down behind the walls he’d built to keep others out.

The faint sound of a clock ticking and of footsteps passing
by the door melded with the throb of Lyndie’s pulse. “I’m sorry that my family moved away all those years ago.” She chose her words carefully, trying to find a pathway that would reach him. “And I’m very sorry that I didn’t contact you after you came home from the war. I regret that I wasn’t there for you when you needed a friend.”

No response.

“But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Will you tell me why you aren’t sleeping?”

A long pause, then he turned from the window to face her, crossing his arms. “Responsibilities,” he said, his voice level. “Worries.”

It was a beginning. “Are these worries centered on things in the past or present?”

“Both.”

“Do you want to talk about them with me?”

“No.”

A verse rose in her mind.
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
What must it be like for him? To struggle against this dark world and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder without God’s help?