Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02 (16 page)

The groom grinned and nodded.

Rafe continued on to where Josie waited.

Releasing Jamie to his feeding chores, she gave the stallion’s neck a pat, then fell into step on Rafe’s other side. “He’s doing so much better since you arrived. That wary look is gone, and his confidence is greatly improved.”

“He’s come a long way.”

“But he still shouldn’t race again.”

He wondered who she was trying to convince. Or if she was using her reluctance to allow the horse to be raced again as her justification to accept Adderly. Rafe cared for Pems, too. But he would sacrifice the stallion for Josie without a qualm.

Leaving the path, they cut across the sheep field toward the brook. A week of rain had beaten down the grass since he’d first walked this way with her. Shedding trees had added a slick layer of leaves on top of it that clung to his boots and made footing slippery. With every step, the ground
squished
and water rose to fill the depressions his boots made in the soggy earth.

How could people live in such constant dampness? He’d need fins if he stayed much longer.

“I’m trying to talk Father out of racing him,” Josie said.

Rafe bit back a sharp retort. He knew what the alternative was, but he didn’t want to spend what time they had arguing about it.

Pembroke started to hang back when they neared the brook. Rafe talked to him and worked his neck until the nervous horse dropped his head, then he urged him closer, repeating the process whenever the horse balked, until finally, the animal was within ten feet of the water. Satisfied, Rafe asked no more of him, and stood quietly beside him until Pems relaxed enough to graze.

“That’s amazing.” She smiled, despite the tears glistening in her eyes. “I never thought to see him this calm around running water.”

“His doing, not mine.” Rafe motioned to the log beside the bank where they had rested before. “Care to sit awhile?”

With a nod, she tucked her coat tightly around her knees and sat.

Rafe settled beside her, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, his left hand resting on his thigh, his right loosely holding Pembroke’s lead.

Unspoken words hung between them, but Rafe didn’t push it. If she had something to say, she’d say it. And what woman didn’t have something to say?

After a while, she surprised him by reaching over and taking his left hand in hers. Neither of them wore gloves, and when she twined her fingers through his, the cool softness of her palm felt satiny smooth against his rough skin. Images burst into his mind of other places her skin would be smooth—that dip at the base of her spine—the pulse point where her neck met her shoulder—the undercurve of her breast. Aware that his body was reacting to his imaginings, he shifted and recrossed his legs.

Josie tipped her head against his shoulder and gave a small sigh—a soft exhalation barely heard, but felt all through his body.

He sat motionless, afraid to scare her off, awash in her flowery scent and the sound of her breathing, weakened by the need building within him. And for that one perfect moment as they sat peacefully beside the brook, everything he wanted and would ever want was in the palm of his hand.

“Adderly has offered marriage,” she said and sent him plummeting.

Dreading what was to come, Rafe watched Pems attack the grass with short, choppy movements, and thought how uncomplicated a horse’s life was. No regrets, no hopes or disappointments, no concerns about the past or the future . . . just this moment, his hungry belly, and the patch of grass at his feet.

“He says he’ll acknowledge Jamie as his son,” she went on. “Even put him second in line for the title.”

He didn’t want to hear this. Every word was another brick in the wall rising between them, another reminder of what he couldn’t give her. Yet walking away would be even worse. “Your father told me.”

She made a derisive sound. “Did he also tell you that if I agree, Adderly will pay off his creditors?”

“I figured.” By what measure did a man set the price for his own daughter?

“I don’t know what I should do, Rafe.”

Anger jangled along his frayed nerves. Did she expect him to make her decision for her? Give her permission to walk away from him? “What do you want to do?” he asked, unable to keep an edge from his voice.

She lifted her head and looked at him, stripping him bare with that blue-brown gaze. “You know what I want.”

He did. And the impossibility of being able to give it to her fed the simmering resentment he had battled all week. “What? You want me to take you away from all this?” Taking his hand from hers, he waved it in a sudden gesture that startled Pembroke. “Your grand house and servants? Save Jamie from a fine education, and you from a life of luxury as a baroness? Christ, Josie. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?”

She shrank away from him, her eyes showing the same startled expression Pems wore. “Why are you so cross with me?”

Cross?
He stared at her, unable to find the words. He wasn’t cross. He was disgusted. Frustrated. So howling mad his jaw ached. He rubbed his forehead, trying to dispel the anger that gripped him so tightly he could hardly draw in air.

“It’s not you, Josie. It’s me. I’m angry with myself. Humiliated, in fact.” Letting his hand drop, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his bent knees.

The stallion returned to grazing. Birds continued to flit overhead, and the sun stayed in the sky. Life went on, despite the fact that he’d been so wrong about his selfish, solitary existence, and everything he thought he knew about himself was turning to dust in his hands. It was a wonder he didn’t crumble with it.

“Until recently,” he said, “I was content with the freedom to go where and when I wanted. No encumbrances. No expectations. It’s easy to drift when you don’t care. Then I met you.”

He made himself look at her, saw the hurt in her eyes, and it hit him like a bullet through his chest. “And now when I have a reason to put down roots,” he went on in a gentler tone, “it’s too late. After years of trying to protect people and fix things, I find I can’t take care of the one woman who needs me.”

“How can you say that? You’ve taken excellent care of me. Don’t you remember how you saved me from a nasty confrontation with Father at dinner that night? And how ready you were to step in against William last week? And aren’t you always there to protect Jamie from those bullies when we go to town? Don’t think I don’t notice that. And appreciate it.”

“Watching over you isn’t the problem, Josie. I can protect you. With my life, if need be. I just can’t provide for you.” Seeing she still didn’t understand, he said it as plainly as he could. “I have no home. Probably no employment once I deliver the horses to Colorado. No future prospects of anything but drifting from one place to another, scraping by until maybe, someday, I have enough to buy a little patch of land somewhere. That’s no kind of life for you and your son.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “Isn’t that for me to decide?”

It sickened him to hurt her. To fail so miserably. To watch all hope of a future with her and Jamie slip through his hands. But if he made no offers, she would have no decisions. He might not be able to save her from Adderly, but he could save her from making a worse mistake with him.

“Maybe. But good choices are based on what’s best, Josie, not on what we want. That’s what I’m trying to do. Much as I want you and Jamie, I’m telling you to go with Adderly.”

“You won’t even fight for us?”

“With what? Good intentions? Someday promises? I have nothing, Josie. And no way to take care of you. You need to understand that.”

Unable to bear that look of disappointment in her eyes, he rose and held out his hand. “We’d better get back. I see Jamie waving at us.”

J
osephine walked silently beside Rafe, her mind reeling.

Would he truly stand aside and let them go to Adderly? Even though he knew she would rather stay with him? Had they no hope at all?

Or was he simply offering excuses for not wanting to take on the burden she and Jamie would impose on his solitary life? Perhaps he didn’t care about them as much as she had hoped.

“Come see,” Jamie shouted excitedly when they approached. Once he was certain they were following, he raced into the stable, calling back as he went. “It’s the most wonderful horse ever. Gordon says I can name him myself. I think I’ll call him Thor.” Stopping outside the stall where Gordon waited, he waved impatiently. “Hurry, Mother. I brushed him all by myself. Do you think Thor is a good name? Perhaps Lightning. He looks very fast. No, wait! Blaze! That’s what I’ll call him.”

Josephine stepped ahead of Rafe and Pems to look into the stall.

A glossy flaxen chestnut gelding stared curiously back. He was on the small side, but sturdily built, and judging by the droop in his bottom lip, well seasoned. But he had kind eyes, and a perky set to his ears, and a blaze that stretched from his forelock to his pink nose.

She smiled in approval. “He’s a handsome fellow for certain.”

Jamie beamed. “He is, isn’t he?”

Rafe reached out to gently push the curious stallion’s head away from the stall door. “So you like him, then?”

Josephine watched his broad, strong hand idly stroke Pembroke’s neck and felt an answering quiver beneath her own skin.

“I do. Ever so much. And I think he likes me, too. Doesn’t he, Stevens?”

“He does, Master Jamie. He took to you right off, he did.”

Rafe smiled. “Would you like to try him out in the round pen?”

“Truly? Could I?”

“If your mother approves.”

Josephine saw the way Rafe smiled at her son, and felt a stab of disappointment. He was so perfect with him. He could enrich Jamie’s life more than all of William’s wealth could. Couldn’t Rafe see that that was more important to her than luxury or position?

“Well, Mother?” Jamie prodded.

“Do you think it’ll be safe?” she asked Rafe.

For the first time since they’d left the brook, he looked directly at her. She expected to see at least a trace of her own turmoil in those guarded eyes—a show of regret on his face, perhaps. Sadness. But other than a slight tightening of his lips, there was nothing. Perhaps he didn’t care as much as she thought.

His gaze flicked away. “The boy’s a good rider. And the horse is well trained. I’ll stay in the pen and keep an eye on him.”

“Please, Mother, can I?”

“
May
I,” she corrected. Masking her hurt behind a practiced smile, she looked at Rafe. “The countess won’t mind?” She didn’t want Lady Kirkwell thinking they had appropriated the horse her husband had purchased for her.

“I don’t know why she would.”

“Then, you may, Jamie. But listen to Mr. Jessup’s instructions. And when he says the ride is over, don’t argue.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

After asking the groom to help Jamie saddle the gelding, Rafe took Pembroke on to his own stall.

Always observant around strange horses, especially with her son underfoot, Josephine watched the proceedings. She was impressed with how calmly the horse stood, even with Jamie darting back and forth under his neck to supervise the saddling. “The countess will be pleased.”

Stevens buckled the cinch, then ran a finger under the leather to test the tightness. “The horse ain’t for the countess, miss. He bought him with someone else in mind.” Catching her eye across the saddle, he tipped his head toward Jamie, who was busy with the buckles on the breast collar.

Josephine was surprised. “Why would Kirkwell purchase a horse for . . . someone else?”

“The earl didn’t buy him. Mr. Rafe did.”

“For . . .” She glanced at Jamie.

“Yes, miss. He thought it was time for something bigger.”

She didn’t know what to say. If Rafe had so little, why was he spending his hard-earned coin on a horse he could never use?

She knew why. Because that was the kind of man he was. The exact kind of man that her son needed. That she needed.

And at that moment, as she stood in that dusty stable, watching her son master the simple task of caring for a horse, everything fell into place. If Rafe offered marriage, she would accept. No matter his circumstance or prospects, no matter what hardships might loom ahead, no matter what fine offers William made or how hard her father pushed . . . she would have Rayford Jessup as her husband.

But how could she convince the stubborn man to ask?

By the time Jamie and Stevens had finished saddling the horse, Rafe returned from Pembroke’s stall. Untying the halter rope, he handed it to Jamie, allowing him to lead the gelding through the stable toward the training pen.

Josephine followed, smiling as she watched them—Jamie stiff with pride to be handling the horse all by himself—Rafe striding silently beside him, head bent to attend her son’s ramblings.

What a magnificent man.

He walked with a rolling gait—almost, but not quite, a swagger. Confident. Controlled. He had taken off his jacket, and she found her gaze drawn to the drape of his work shirt over his broad shoulders and the way it rippled against the long curve of his back with each step. And—
oh, my—
he did have the finest legs. Muscled, yet lean, with a slight bow at the knees. A horseman’s legs. She imagined them gripping his mount’s flanks, and felt the inner muscles of her own thighs contract in response.

“They’re a nice pair.”

Startled from her wayward thoughts, she glanced at Stevens, walking beside her. “Pair?”

“Master Jamie and the horse. Mr. Jessup chose well.”

She brushed a hand over her heated brow and put on a smile. “Yes. It was very kind of him.”

“He cares about the boy.” Stopping outside the pen Rafe and Jamie had entered, the groom rested his arms along the top fence rail. “We all do.”

Her mother’s heart swelled with gratitude. The world beyond might look askance at her son, but within these gates, he was safe and dearly loved.

“I appreciate that, Stevens.”

A blush spread over his cheeks.

In the pen, Rafe gave her son a leg up, waited for him to slip his boots into the metal stirrups, then put the reins in his hands. He spoke quietly for a moment—adjusting Jamie’s grip on the leathers, and reminding him to keep his heels down, his back straight and tilted slightly forward. Then he stepped back. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave a low-voiced command.

Jamie put his heels to the gelding’s sides and the horse began to move at a walk along the rail.

A sense of melancholy moved through Josephine. The bond between the tall, reticent man and her lonely son was already so strong she feared what would happen if Rafe went back to America without them. She knew the pain of abandonment. But Jamie was only a child and had suffered so much already.

After several trips around at the slow pace, Rafe gave another command.

The horse moved into a trot. Jamie began to post, every motion controlled and balanced.

Rafe was correct; the horse was so beautifully trained and had such a gentle disposition, all of her lingering concerns quickly faded. They were a joy to watch—the horse, head tucked, flaxen tail swinging side to side—Jamie, sitting so tall and confident, a huge grin on his lightly freckled face—and Rafe, standing quietly in the center of it all, arms folded, feet spaced, mixing soft-spoken instructions with generous praise.

Her eyes stinging with unabashed pride, she turned to Stevens. “They’re doing well, don’t you think?”

“I do, miss. Our Jamie is a right fine horseman.”

“Do you think we could take him for a short ride beyond the gates this afternoon?”

“I’m sure Jamie would like that. I couldn’t accompany you, but maybe one of the younger grooms might. Or Mr. Rafe.” A worried frown creased his brow. “I’d gladly change places with him, rather than take Pembroke out for the first time.”

“Out where?”

“The brook. Mr. Rafe has held off putting a rider on him outside the pen until we’re sure he can handle puddles better. Your father thinks it’s time, but I have to admit I’m a bit nervous about it.”

“You should be. It’s far too soon.” Angrily, Josephine shoved away from the fence rail. “I’ll talk to him. Does Mr. Jessup know?”

“No, miss. Your father sent word after the two of you left to take Pems to the brook.”

“Don’t saddle him until you hear from me.” Muttering, Josephine started back through the stable.

“Begging your pardon, miss.”

She turned back to the red-faced groom.

“Mr. Cathcart said you might try to talk me out of it, and I shouldn’t listen. I’m sorry, miss.”

With a nod, Josephine whirled and continued out of the stable. What was Father thinking? Did he want to kill Pembroke?

“Father,” she said a few minutes later when she found him in his office, poring over a column of figures. Working numbers had always been a struggle for him, and she could tell by his beetled brow that things weren’t going well. Not wanting to get his ire up right away, she softened her tone. “I need to speak to you, if I may.”

Without looking up, he licked the tip of his pencil and scribbled something on the paper in front of him. “I won’t change my mind.”

“About what?”

“Sending Pembroke’s Pride to the brook today.”

“But why, Father? He’s not ready. What’s the hurry?”

“This is the hurry!” In sudden anger, he slapped a hand on a stack of letters and glared up at her. “Overdue bills. More come in every day. Yet you continue to buy fripperies, and eat fine food, and delay making a decision on the baron’s offer. You leave me no choice in the matter.”

A familiar feeling of dread moved through her. “Choice about what?”

“It’s either Adderly or the horse.”

“I don’t understand. How will Pems shore up our finances?”

Setting the pencil aside, he sat back and studied her, his mouth pursed, his fingertips drumming on the arm of his chair. “There’s a hunt race south of Liverpool next month. A private course. The field won’t be large—maybe a half-dozen entries—but it carries a heavy purse. I intend to enter the stallion in it.”

Shocked, Josephine sank down in the chair at the front of his desk. His plan to enter Pems in the Grand National was foolish enough; at least with that race, they had six months to prepare. But now he wanted to try him in a month? “He’s not ready, Father. He won’t win.”

“Perhaps not. If he doesn’t, we’re only out the entry fee. But if he does, being a long shot, he could win us a fortune.”

She was aghast. “You’re betting on him? You say we’re in dire straits, yet you’re squandering money we don’t have on an injured horse that probably won’t even finish the race?”

“That remains to be seen. If your wrangler is as good as he thinks he is, and he’s done his work well, the stallion could win.”

She repeated the words he had spoken earlier. “Or die trying.”

“Maybe.” Her father’s callous shrug showed his indifference. “But if he can’t run, he’s useless to me, anyway.”

Josephine clenched her jaw to keep from shouting in his face. How could he be so foolish? If circumstances were as bad as he said, why didn’t he sell the house? The rest of the horses? Whatever assets he had left?

Then understanding came, and she almost laughed. He was already attempting to barter his last assets: her and Jamie. Swallowing back her disgust, she struggled to keep her voice even. “Who will be riding him?”

“The groom.”

“Stevens? He’s too big.”

“Not as big as Jessup. Besides, Pems is strong. Stronger than any horse I’ve seen. He can carry the added weight.”

“I’ll ride him,” she offered on impulse. “I know him as well as anyone. He trusts me. And you know I’m a good rider.”

The notion took hold, bringing with it a surge of excitement. She would have to ride astride, which would raise eyebrows, but she was already a pariah, so that was of little concern. If youthful memory served, astride was easier than sidesaddle, and with a month to practice, she was certain she could become proficient. At least with her on his back, Pems had a chance.

“Let
you
ride him?” Father’s mocking laugh slowed her racing thoughts. “And make a laughingstock of me?” With a snort, he waved the suggestion aside. “Rumors already abound. I’ll not add to them by putting you on vulgar display. Besides, if something untoward happened, and he fell or balked, I wouldn’t want you hurt.”

Fine words, but Josephine didn’t flatter herself that his concern was out of care for her. He simply didn’t want to jeopardize his last means of escaping this wretched financial debacle.

She thought hard, but could come up with no way out of this situation, other than to accept William’s proposal or risk her beloved horse. But if Rafe’s hard work paid off, and Pems actually won . . . that would change everything.

“If you’re serious about racing him, Father, at least allow Mr. Jessup to continue his training. He’s better than Stevens.”

“Perhaps. We’ll see how the groom does this afternoon. Now, go. I have work to do.”

As she walked out of Father’s office, she saw Rafe marching toward it with Shipley in his wake. By the thunderous expression on his face, she guessed Stevens had told him about Father’s plans. Stepping forward, she dismissed Shipley with a nod, and put a hand on Rafe’s arm to keep him from barging through the office door.

“It won’t do any good,” she said once the butler had disappeared down the hall. “I’ve already talked to Father. He’ll not budge.”

Rafe muttered something and dragged a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “Pems won’t cross water. Maybe in a few months, but not now. What’s the rush?”

“Debts. Come.” Taking his hand, she led him to the veranda overlooking the rose garden and the slope down to the stable. Once outside and assured of privacy, she told him Father was determined to enter Pems in a race next month. “He’s even betting on him to win. Worse, he wants Stevens to ride him.”