Saratoga Sunrise (15 page)

"He'll be fine after a while. He's pretty strong, but I want to get him back to the stable and start cold water treatments."

"Will he be able to race in the Travers?" Sara held her breath for his answer. The race was only a week away.

"He'll be fine for the Travers."

Sara relaxed knowing that with her and Jack caring for him, Seawind would be fine. She had confidence in Jack's skill and knowledge, and she breathed a tentative sigh of relief.

"Will you be able to walk back, Sara? I don't want to put any weight on him right now."

"I'll be fine. Just please take care of my horse, Jack. Please?" She'd beg him if she had to.

"Of course I will. It's my job," he replied.

She had hoped he would do it for Seawind, and for her, because he cared, not because it was his job. A sadness gripped her heart, but then she decided that whatever motivated Jack, it would result in Seawind's recovery.

"Sara, stay put. I'll run back and get the rest of our clothes and–"

She looked at her feet at the same time as he did, they were bare and cut. The puckered gap where her little toe should have been was bleeding. The gash on her leg was shiny in the late morning sun and pinker than the rest of her skin. There was a large scratch across it, and tiny beads of blood were visible.

"Dammit, Sara, you're hurt!"

"I'll be fine. Don't look at it."

But he didn't looking away. He was staring at her feet with a shocked expression.

"Don't look at me!" she cried. "I told you before that-"

He began tearing at the leg of his long underwear, ripping it.

"Stop it, Jack. Stop!"

But he continued to furiously shred the material. His arm and shoulder muscles straining in the attempt. Finally, when she could tolerate no more, he pressed the still damp cloth against her scratches, her deformity.

Tears of fury and humiliation swam in her eyes. Her face was warm and she could hear her pulse beating in her ears. She couldn't bear to watch him tend to her, but she couldn't look away either.

"Don't be embarrassed, Sara."

"I am."

He pressed the cloth near the gash, and he winced.

She saw the expression that crossed his face. It was the same shocked expression he had at the spring.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, moving away. "I'm not very good at tending people. I’d rather tend animals."

Then he stunned her to her very core. He cupped her calf, bent his head, and tenderly kissed her scars as if his kiss could take away years of pain.

"Don't, Jack. No. I can't bear you doing that." She didn't want him to pity her-to make it seem as though her ugliness didn't matter.

When she knew it did.

He abruptly stood, leaving the cloth on her leg. All Sara could think of was that it looked so very red against the whiteness of her skin and that her face had to be the same color as the cloth.

He was so gentle, so sweet. What had possessed him to kiss her there?

She wanted to ask him why? Was it, she dared hope, that he cared for her? Maybe even loved her?

Jack started back toward the spring. "I'll get your boots and the rest of our clothes. I'll be right back."

Still perplexed, she could do nothing but nod and watch him walk away. He had a masculine walk. His stride was purposeful and his back was as powerfully muscled as his chest.

Sara cleaned her cuts as best as she could with the red cloth as Seawind grazed nearby, and thought of how Jack shredded his underdrawers for her. Her heart wept at his concern.

She clamped her hands together in an effort to keep them from shaking. She was so muddled.

If she was going to call off her engagement with Montague Fordice, she'd darn well better do it soon. She couldn't marry him. Not when she loved another. Not when she loved Jack.

She'd tell her father tonight.

Her father!

He would be furious about Seawind, if he ever found out. She'd have to tell him what happened-that she’d been riding Seawind. He'd be even more furious!

She looked down at her attire: wet silk knickers, a damp chemise, Jack's shirt, bare limbs and feet. She ran her fingers through her damp hair. It was knotted and must certainly be a sight.

Oh heavens, she couldn't be seen like this. She would have to make herself presentable when she returned to the stables. No one could know she had been riding Seawind or that she’d been with Jack.

She watched her colt grazing. His long strong neck bent to munch the thick summer grass. She noticed that he was favoring his right leg. It was swelling even more-just where Jack had pointed.

But really, being discovered was the least of her problems now. She had to take care of her horse.

Jack returned with their clothes, and she dressed as fast as she could while still sitting. He helped her to her feet and she swayed, a little unsteady.

"I'll carry you. Climb on my back."

"No. You're very kind, but it's much too far. You just take care of Seawind. Don't worry about me. Go. Start those cold compresses immediately." Sara looked at him as he gathered up Seawind's reins. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to give you orders."

He chuckled. "But I work for you."

"You work for my father."

"But Seawind's your horse."

"Someday, I'll have my own horses, but Seawind and Comet and Amberglow, all of them, they are really my father's horses, even though I call them mine."

They began walking and the pain in her leg was excruciating. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath and thought of Seawind instead, and of Jack, and forgot about her pain. What would she have done without Jack's help?

"Please go on. I'll be along as soon as I can. I'll sneak in and change out of these clothes. Please, leave me and take care of my horse."

"I'm not leaving you alone out here."

"I'll be fine. I know the way. I got here by myself, didn't I?"

"That you sure did." Jack studied her hard, and she managed to smile through her pain.

"Please go."

"As you wish, but just take your time."

"I'll try," she joked. "Although I'd love to run."

Jack began to reach for her hand, then stopped and shoved his hand into his pocket. He seemed about to say something, then changed his mind. Nodding in Sara's direction, he walked away.

Sara watched Jack and Seawind disappear over the hill. Ignoring the pain, she kept walking. The quicker she got back to the stable, the quicker she could help Jack put cold compresses on Seawind's legs.

She thought of how he ripped his red underwear and put the compress on her leg.

She thought of their waltz together and how he came to her rescue when Montague Fordice was hurting her.

She shivered in the summer sun as she remembered Jack's kisses at the spring and how she bold she'd been. She should have been embarrassed, but she wasn't. She only felt embarrassed when Jack saw the hideous scars on her leg, and her missing toe.

But he had kissed her scars, and he wasn’t repulsed.

Did he care for her as she cared for him? Did her scars truly not bother him?

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she felt as if she were walking on air. All too soon, she remembered hearing Clara and Jack fighting in the courtyard of the hotel, and a cloud covered her thoughts. She'd have to remember to ask Clara about it. But Clara had lied to her. She needed to know the truth. She had to ask Jack.

And even though his kisses were passionate and melted her bones, wasn't Jack just taking what Sara wantonly offered to him in the spring?

 But even if Jack was attracted to her, it didn't matter, did it?

Her father has forbidden him to associate with her. Aside from the fact that he was a horse handler, Bond Peterson had Montague Fordice picked out for her-someone from her own class, he said. Someone with wealth, he’d said.

She’d never marry Fordice.

She stopped to catch her breath and rest for a while, then she hurried as fast as she could to take care of her horse.

# # #

"You'll be as good as new, Seawind." Jack washed the horse's legs, smoothed liniment on the scratches, then dipped a wet strip of cotton cloth into the bucket of well water and wrapped it around Seawind's front, right metacarpal. He noticed a little swelling on the left, so he decided to wrap them all.

He fed and watered the horse, then walked to the back of the stables with the hope of seeing Sara.

He didn't see her yet, and wondered if she was all right.

Heavens! He shouldn't have left her to fend for herself.

She was such a brave woman. And she tried so hard to keep up, but Jack knew that every step she took was painful to her, especially when her leg was tired. If he could absorb her pain, he would in a heartbeat.

He remembered how embarrassed she became when he kissed her leg, her scars. To him, they were a symbol of her strength, her ability to overcome her misfortune.

But did she actually overcome her misfortune, it or was she still coming to terms with it?

The answer was probably the latter, Jack decided.

Where on earth was she?

Then he saw her, slowly walking toward the stable area. She had to be exhausted.

Walking was a good exercise for her, but he couldn't help but wonder again if riding a bicycle would use other muscles that would strengthen her leg further. And maybe he could build up her shoe somehow, the way he was taught at Cornell to correct problems with a horse's gait. Maybe he could help Sara walk on a more level basis so she wouldn't limp as much. Whatever he could do to help her, he would.

But why?

Because he admired her, and maybe he was even starting to fall in love with her.

But he couldn't love her. He had business to take care of, and she might end up getting hurt. He didn't want that to happen.

 But he was beginning to feel that Sara cared for him, too.

And Sara wasn't the reckless type, and she certainly wasn't wanton. She was an innocent and couldn't have known where their impropriety would lead. However, he did, and he should have known better.

He hung up a horse blanket on the front of the stable and one on the side to make it easier for Sara to sneak in. Then he went to sponge more cold water onto Seawind’s legs.

Jack readied himself for a long night tending to Seawind and trying to keep his distance from Sara Peterson.

After all, hadn’t Bond Peterson ordered him to stay away from her?

# # #

Montague Fordice rubbed his bleary eyes with his palms. "Richard, you have to give me a chance to win back some of my money."

"I have, Monty, but you've been getting further in debt. I think it's best that from now on that you play with cash, or find another place to play."

Monty looked around the dark paneled office of Richard Canfield, the owner of Canfield's Casino. A heavy metal safe took up much of the space of one wall. He walked over to the window and looked out at the gardens.

The elm-shaded lawn was perfectly manicured. Colorful

flowerbeds were arranged at periodic intervals and every now and then a marble statue stood guard over them. He supposed it was nice enough, if one cared about that sort of thing. If he owned the Casino, he would simply expand and add hundreds of more gaming tables and dining tables and to hell with the flowers and the other useless frivolity.

He tried not to let the desperation he felt show in his voice. "I'll pay you back when Bravo Joe wins the Travers."

"I'm counting on it, but until then, no more credit," said Canfield. He handed him an ornate glass of a bright red liquid. "Cheers."

Monty drained the glass in one gulp and let it fall from his hand high in the air onto a marble table-top. It shattered into thousands of pieces.

Richard Canfield didn't flinch. "Get out of my casino Fordice. After the Travers, I'll expect you'll return with the money you owe me, as a gentleman would."

Montague took his time leaving the office, only once looking back at Canfield to tip his hat in a mocking fashion.

On the street, he lit his last cigar. He was glad that no one was in sight at this hour of the morning for he didn't want to muster politeness. It took too much energy to maintain a cheerful facade.

If Bravo Joe won the Travers, that would mean about a two thousand dollar purse. He could double or triple that with his bets.

If the horse lost, he would be ruined and would have no choice but to marry Sara Peterson. He would have to take the job that Bond offered him, too. How absolutely hideous! Everyone knows that Montague Fordice did not work. He was a gentleman of leisure.

He turned down the narrow, shabby street where Lulu resided. Keeping her as his mistress depended on Bravo Joe, too, for the money left to him by his father was just about gone. The family mansion in Albany was also heavily mortgaged.

It was a pity that his whole life depended on a horse-a horse that he’d won in a poker game-the last good pot he won. How ironic!

Seawind was favored to win the Travers, Irish John Cavanaugh told him that. The top bookies, Boy Plunger and Fashion Plate included, agreed. Bravo Joe and Henry of Navarre were favored to place or show, depending on whom was doing the talking.

It was imperative that Bravo Joe win the Travers, and Monty intended to do whatever possible to insure that he did.

# # #

"I came to visit Sara, Aunt Trixie."

"Well, Clara, isn't that interesting, as Sara is suppose to be visiting you right now."

Clara’s eyes grew wide. "Oh. I-I-"

Aunt Trixie fussed with the lace at her neck. It seemed like it was choking her, or was it the nervous worry about Sara?

"Sara's lying is becoming quite tiresome. I'm afraid that I'm going to have to search for her again."

"I'll go with you."

"That would be nice. Would you notify Johnson to ready the carriage, Clara?"

Clara nodded and hurried off.

"What did I hear you say, Bea? Sara's missing? And she's been lying? What on earth is going on?"

Bond held a Turkish towel in his hand, and he was bare from the waist up. Bea's heart did a leap in her chest when she saw him. She tried to divert her gaze, but with little success. He was delightful to look at.