Jumped (18 page)

He was unprepared for his grandmother's words.

“Have you come to your senses? Are you going to marry that darling girl and make up for the mistake you made by letting her get away?”

Finn swallowed hard. “I'm not sure about that.”

“A blind person—and I should know—could see you were happiest when you were married to her. I strongly suggest you get your head out of your behind and propose. I say this because I love you, Finny, and I'm at the age where I can't afford to mince words.”

“You've never minced a word in your life! And you're ninety!”

“Don't talk back to your elders. And come see me before I go to the other side. It could happen any day now.”

“You're healthy as a horse.” Finn told her he loved her, said good-bye, and ended the call. He wished he was alone, if only to process Grandma Emma's command.

Bethany stood, a faraway look in her eyes. “She's a pistol, as she would say.” She looked at him. Changed the set of her shoulders. “Thanks. It was nice to talk to her again.”

“She's something.”
Understatement-a-palooza.
“She was thrilled to talk to you. I bet you were her favorite birthday gift,” he said.

“I wouldn't say that.”

“I would.”

“And for the record—your singing isn't half bad.”

“You're very charitable. And you just heard my entire repertoire.

“I'm sorry, but I gotta put my leg up. Have you already ridden today?” He
thunk
ed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What am I saying, I know you have.”

“Why?”

“I'd like to meet Brooke. I'd like to watch you ride her. I was thinking I could sit at one of those tables alongside the ring and put my leg up. Maybe tomorrow? Would . . . would that be okay?”

Bethany tilted her head and gave him a lopsided smile. “Really? I'd like that.”

“And . . . would you wear one of your shirts? I'd like that. I'd like to see them in action.”

Her lopsided smile broadened into something that beamed. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

Finn tightened his lips and nodded. He had finally said something to her that was completely, unequivocally right.

11

O
nce they were settled
on the back deck with bottles of water, Finn's cast atop a pillow on his chaise longue, he said, “Tell me more about this horse rescue idea of yours.”

She stared at him. “How'd you know? You were eavesdropping on me and Jack!”

“Sound carries in this thin air. And you mentioned it once in a blue moon when we were married.”

“Then you should know all about it!” She sat up.

“I didn't hear as much as I would've liked,” he said, sounding petulant.

She was annoyed, flattered, amused, and surprised. “I would think my business would bore you.”

“You thought wrong.” He took a glug of water.

“Your interest wouldn't have anything to do with one Jack Cormier, would it?”

“Let's leave him out of this.”

She grinned. A sinuous curl of warmth spiraled through her. Finn was jealous of the great-looking ex-pitcher-cum-ad-exec with the devastating New Orleans accent. This day was getting better and better. She smirked at him full on.

“You know his arm gave out. That's why he had to stop playing. Back to the refuge, please.”

“I thought we were leaving him out of this,” she said, still smirking.

“I want you to have all the facts.”

“That is so considerate, Finn. But if I want to know about him, you're the last person I'd ask.”

“I'm just saying. He broke down. Dried up. Done.
Finito!
Got drummed out of Major League Baseball.” He waved dismissively, as if Jack Cormier were a gnat.

“Oh my God, will you stop?”

“I'm done.”

“All right. As you may recall, I've often had to look for bargain horses for students whose parents weren't Rockefellers, and if I do say so, I'm good at finding diamonds in the rough. These kids, riding their cheap horses, would go to shows and clean up against the expensive, imported warmbloods. I found several of these horses through rescues, and as you just pointed out, I've always fantasized about having my own.”

“You're also a great trainer. Don't forget that. Not everyone can turn those rough diamonds into stars.”

He looked so darn cute and sincere.

“My goal would be to get younger rescues, maybe some mustangs. Retrain them, give them vet care, rehab them if necessary, and sell them. I'd love it if I could sell them to kids, but that would be gravy. Then put the money back into the rescue. There'd be some that couldn't be sold, and they'd be permanent residents. Maybe some could be therapy horses. But the main point is, they'd never go to the killers.” Her voice dropped when it landed on that last word. Too many horses sold cheaply at auction, only for the buyers to turn around and sell them to slaughterhouses. Beth hated them and hated owners who couldn't be bothered to find good homes when their fickle, spoiled child had outgrown or, worse, grown tired of a once-beloved horse. That was another reason she'd gotten out of the horse-show game.

Finn seemed to be absorbing every word. Those spellbinding eyes of his were locked on hers, as though he were hearing the most compelling string of words ever.

She sighed. “That's it in a nutshell. I never thought it was possible, and it might not be, but I have to try. Jack seems to think I can make some real money if I can get some funding, and he's looking into that. Also, he thinks I could be a designer for an established, high-end manufacturer. Maybe I could keep my name, then go out on my own once I have a loyal following. He's looking into that, too. Having Amanda as my model and a walking billboard at every major horse show doesn't hurt—she wears my shirts, and orders have started to pick up because of it. Not only is she a top rider, and students and trainers want to wear what she wears—she's got the celebrity thing going, and because of this Jack thinks my shirts can be mainstream. You know, not just for riders.”

“Would your dad back you? Do you keep talking about Cormier to make me crazy? Because it's working.”

Beth laughed. “I don't think jealousy is going to help that leg heal any faster, McNabb. As for my dad, I'm not going to ask him. I need to do this on my own. I've let him ‘rescue' ”—she air quoted—“
me
too many times in my life, and believe me, nothing is free, no matter what he says. If I can't make this work, then I can't. But I have to give it a go, and I have to do it on my terms. Not his. It's time I grew up. I've been playing with horses all my life, and I loved it, but not the way I love this. The rescue idea, I mean.” She hesitated and looked around the room. She scraped her lower lip with her front teeth, and then looked at him again. “It's different, Finn. It feels like this is what I'm supposed to do.”

“I can tell. Your face lights up when you talk about it. You never looked like this when you'd talk about horse shows, and you don't look like this when you talk about your shirts. You're going to do this.”

She laughed nervously, a symptom of the leaden kernel of fear in her stomach. She had to succeed at something. She had to get this clothing thing off the ground, especially now that she had admitted the goal that spoke to her soul. She needed it all to work out. “I sure hope so,” she whispered.

“You are. Trust me. And I'll help you however I can.”

“Finn . . .”

“Yeah, I know what you're gonna say. That's nice of me, but we don't know what the future holds, blah, blah, blah. And you're right. If I can help you within whatever parameters you set, I'll help you. I promise I will not overstep my bounds. And if you don't want my help, that's your call. It's all your call. Also, you're allowed to change your mind. But I might be able to help you more than you realize.”

Finn leaned across the space between their chaises, covered her knee with his hand and squeezed. “You can do this, honey. I know you can.”

His gesture was nothing, and it was everything. Beth realized anew how much she wanted this as she articulated it to him. His touch nearly undid her, so she clamped her teeth together to keep her emotional keel even.

Beth and Finn
fell asleep in the shade on their respective chaises. Beth knew Finn was more tired from recuperating than he let on. She assumed the talk with her father had been what sapped her reserves. Telling Finn about the horse rescue also took its toll. In retrospect, it was no wonder she needed some shut-eye, and the warm afternoon at peaceful Aspen Creek lulled her to dreamland.

Beth woke two hours later, but Finn was still out. She took him in, the beautiful man with the unfortunate cast. “Oh, Finn,” she whispered. “What am I going to do with you?”

She went inside, and left a voice mail for Jack Cormier to set up an appointment, even though it was Saturday, which, truthfully, she had forgotten.
He'll call me back on Monday
. She took Mingo with her to the barn to check on Brooke, then retrieved her sketchbook from the house and returned to the cottage.

The beauty of her surroundings and the chic Aspen boutiques had inspired her, and she wanted to keep her momentum. Her pencil and pastels flew over the textured paper. By the time she was done, Finn had woken up and come inside.

“Do you want to go to the house for cocktails?” she asked.

He yawned, raised his eyebrows, and cocked his head. “Sure. Why not?”

He came to her on his crutches and looked over her shoulder at her sketchbook. “You mind?”

“No,” she said, leaning to the side.

“What's that?”

“An idea for a fabric pattern. I'm just fooling around.”

“No. You're working. You're creating. It's terrific. One more step toward the horse rescue.”

“It's not done; it's just an idea.”

“It's not so different from working on a building scheme. I may understand this more than you think. From little acorns . . .” He paused, then said, “I'd pull you up, but I'd fall down.”

She laughed and stood directly in front of him. He balanced on one leg and took her in his arms. She let him, and allowed pure emotion to again simmer in her head. She put her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. His T-shirt was downy and sun-warm against her cheek. He still smelled freshly showered, the scent of shampoo coming off his hair, which was at her favorite length; it curled over his shirt collar and beckoned her fingers. She stood motionless, her body cautiously connected to his. They were, in this moment, close to what they had been before. When they had believed in each other and taken on the world together.

What a long time ago that was.

Yet she felt his support for her dream. She could imagine a dim spark of hope.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Finn didn't seem inclined to release her anytime in the next month, so Beth gently pressed her palm against his granite pecs, which must've been getting a hell of a workout from the crutches. She loved touching him, that was for sure. If she had any doubts about still being physically attracted to him, they'd been soundly trounced over the past few days. She stepped back and looked up at him. He was just opening his eyes, his expression dreamy and soft. He really hadn't stopped loving her. He couldn't look at her this way if he had.

“Hey,” she said. “We should go. Harris gets cranky if you're late.”

Bethany and Finn
were the first to arrive for the traditional Brunswick cocktail hour. It was a casual affair, held outdoors if the weather smiled. It was how Harris and Amanda had become such good friends the summer before. This summer Grady was a regular. Sometimes Wave and Solstice attended, and Harris served them lemonade in pretty glasses. Ben the dog mooched appetizers. Often Harris invented his own libations and used the on-premise barflies as guinea pigs.

Harris had made up a concoction that featured St. Germain and rose petals, which he called the I Beg Your Pardon. Grady, Amanda, Solstice, and Wave joined Finn and Bethany at the big table on the patio. Wave sat next to Finn, drawing on a pad of paper. Mingo lay between Solstice's and Bethany's feet and Ben patrolled the perimeter, poised to hoover up any items that succumbed to gravity.

“I've been wondering,” Harris said. “How did you two meet?” Bethany and Finn exchanged a look.

“Wellll,” Bethany began, “The summer after I graduated from college I spent three weeks at my family's summer house in Ptarmigan.”

“Ptarmigan?” Harris asked.

Grady said, “It's a tiny town north of here. Pretty, lots of lakes.”

“Right,” Beth said. “My dad loved the mountains and fishing, so he bought a vacation house there. There weren't many mountains in Ohio, where I grew up. Finn was working construction in Steamboat Springs, the nearest town.”

“Did you have a tool belt?” Harris asked, raising his blond eyebrows.

“I did,” Finn said.

“Wish I coulda seen that.”

“A friend saw him working on a house in the middle of town and told me he was cute,” Beth continued. “My friend and I would walk by while he was working, and we'd talk. I invited him out for a beer after work one day, and the rest, as they say, was history.”