Where Love Runs Free (Tales from the Upcountry) (9 page)

Ben tried to still his mind as he drove the buggy toward Middleton
Farm. The wheels maneuvered the ruts in the dirt road, jostling Isabella’s head
against his shoulder while she slept. He was glad she had finally closed her
eyes and drifted off so that their conversation could be kept to a minimum. All
he could think of was Angelina. Her jealousy hurt him deeply, even though he
didn’t want to admit it. It pierced his soul like a dagger, making him sick to
his stomach. She had no right to be angry with him—it was
he
who had
every right to be angry at the way she publicly denied their relationship. But
if his feelings were justified, why was he so wracked with guilt?

When I win the Carolina Challenge
, he thought,
allowing himself to dream. Maybe once he made a name for himself and got his
land back, she would be able to see past his lack of wealth and native
heritage. Maybe then she’d see how building a new life together, away from
Fairington, was what was best.
One day, Lord
.

The buggy hit another rut, waking Isabella with a yelp. She
grabbed Ben’s arm and buried her face in his sleeve, moaning in pain.
“Isabella?” he asked, alarmed at her distress.

She shook her head, like she was trying to shake something
from her brain. “It’s a dream,” she whispered.

“You’re safe now.” Ben’s hand instinctively fell to his
thigh where his old flint blade hung from his belt. He didn’t plan on getting
caught without it again.

“I keep seeing them.”

“Seeing what?”

“Those eyes,” she whispered. She gripped his sleeve and
sobbed.

“It’s all right.” Compassion struck him, and he pulled her
close as she continued to weep. “You’re safe here with me.” Her shoulders
seemed small and fragile compared to Angelina’s, which were a wonderful
combination of softness and strength. He couldn’t help but think about what she
was doing right now. Probably saddling up Eagle’s Wing for an afternoon run.
She wouldn’t be caught dead crying like this over a scare with a mountain
lion—although she did know how to cry when provoked. He closed his eyes for a
minute, remembering the smell of her hair as they lay together under their oak
tree on Palmetto Ridge. He pictured the long, shiny, blonde strands blowing in
the breeze, flowing through his fingers like silk.

The buggy hit another bump in the road, jerking Ben back to
the present. He peered into the distance, beyond a canopy of oaks, and saw a
large, white farmhouse that resembled an old cotton plantation rather than a
horse farm. A high metal gate anchored by two enormous trees bore a sign that
read
Middleton Farm
in large, black letters. “Look,” he said, pointing,
“I see the house. See there?” The property was beautiful, consisting of white
fences, large stables, and rolling green pastures. Ben smiled at seeing the
horses dotting the horizon, galloping about and grazing the land. It was grand
and spacious—a farm to be envied if he were the envying sort. But it wasn’t
Fairington. And it wasn’t home.

Isabella tightened her grip on his sleeve and sobbed again.
“What is it?” he asked, confused at over her reaction. “You don’t wanna go
home?” He thought for sure she would be delighted at the first sight of
Middleton.

“No. No, I do,” she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes with
the backs of her gloves. “I don’t want you to go, that’s all.”

A flush of heat rushed over him at what she was insinuating.
“Miss Richardson—”

“Isabella,” she said, sniffing again. “You said you’d call
me Isabella, remember?”

He looked straight ahead, feeling her eyes on him. “You know
Angelina. She’s gonna want me back at Fairington. I’ve got work to do, training
and all, and you need to nurse that ankle.”

“Won’t you at least stay for an early supper?” Her tone
reminded him of an eager schoolgirl begging the schoolmaster for permission to
disobey the rules. “You never got any of Ella’s stew, and I’m sure Clara has
cooked something wonderful that you’ll like. Everyone knows she’s one of the
best cooks in the county.”

He hesitated a moment, pondering the idea of having a meal
at Middleton. He had always wanted to see what was behind those white columns
and large windows. “We’ll see.”

“So that’s a
yes
?” Ben took mental note that her sobs
disappeared as quickly as they had come.

“We’ll have to see what your daddy says first.”

“Oh, that’s a yes, then. Daddy thinks the world of you since
you were able to ride Midnight Storm so easily. He says that’s what made
Angelina agree to buy, right then and there.”

Ben smiled to himself, thinking back on the day he and
Midnight Storm jumped the fence railing and showed off in front of Angelina and
all the other trainers. By the time he and the stallion returned home, Isaac
Richardson had sealed the deal and Midnight Storm belonged to Fairington. Even
though he hadn’t received a personal thank you, Ben knew Isabella’s daddy was
grateful to him for helping Angelina come to a quick decision. But that was
business. Ben didn’t want to cause any discord between father and daughter,
particularly after Isabella’s comments about her family’s reluctance to
acknowledge their Cherokee roots.

“You sure about that?” Ben asked, remembering Isaac being
cordial to him at the engagement party but not going out of his way to be
friendly. And then there was talk among the men in the bunkhouse about a beau
from Charleston, wasn’t there? A Mark Kennedy, Edward’s friend. “What about
your Charleston friends? What’re they gonna think about you inviting me for
supper?”

“Oh, well,” she said with a sigh, adjusting her arm through
his. “I suppose you’re talking about Mark.” He didn’t answer, giving her the
opportunity to explain. “Guess I oughta tell you since you brought it up. I
haven’t mentioned it to a soul yet, except Daddy and Clara. Miranda doesn’t
even know. But—there isn’t going to be a Mr. Kennedy after all.”

A wave of panic washed over Ben for some unexplained reason.
Suddenly, her head resting on his shoulder and small hand gripping his sleeve
seemed inappropriate. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not. Turns out he likes his freedom in Charleston a
little too much for my tastes. Bars and gambling halls. I told him at the
engagement party. He’s probably back in Charleston by now.” Her voice sounded
distant and sad, turning Ben’s panic into another dose of compassion. “Daddy
never really liked Mark anyway. His favorite people are those who love
horses—people like you. That’s all he ever talks about. Sometimes I think he
loves his animals more than he does his own family—which leaves only me now
that Mama’s gone. That’s why I thought I’d learn to ride after all these
years.”

“That’s a good decision. Your daddy’s a wise man. There’s
nothing like feeling the strength and power of a horse underneath you. About
like flying up in the air.” Ben thought of Mighty Wind and the love they
shared. He was the only one who could ride the stallion, with or without a
saddle, and was the only one who could brush it down without risking a swift
kick in the process. “Horses are dependable, predictable. No surprises,” he
mused. “They don’t say one thing and do another, like a lot of people I know.
Sometimes they may have a mean streak in them, but usually you can work that
out through tender words and plenty of sugar cubes.” He laughed, and she
giggled along with him.

“You sound like Daddy. I can see why he likes you. Even if
he thinks you oughta cut your hair. Of course all the other men do too, but
they’re just jealous. I told him it would be a sin.” Her fingers lightly
touched the end of his ponytail. “It is lovely.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, feeling the heat in his
cheeks. “But you’re right. It would be a sin. For me at least.”

“Miss Isabella! Miss Isabella!” a voice called to them as
they approached the house. The kitchen door stood open and a round-shaped Negro
woman came running outside, waving a white handkerchief. “Child, where you
been?” The buttons on her brown calico dress pulled across her bosom as she ran
alongside the buggy, shielding her face from the swirling dust. “I been worried
sick, and your daddy, he be out all mornin’ lookin’ for you and that ole horse.”

“Clara, this is Mr. Ben Eagle-Smith from Fairington,”
Isabella said, ignoring her theatrics. “He rescued me from a horrible brush
with death.”

“A what?”

“And so he’s gonna stay for supper. I know Daddy’ll want to
hear all about it.”

“Brush with death? Oh, mercy!” Clara waved her handkerchief
in the air and dabbed her forehead a moment. “I told you not to be ridin’, you
bein’ a nice Charleston girl, gone to school and all that. You not like those
other heathen girls, ridin’ ’round like savages.” She gazed at Ben, but didn’t
offer an apology for the offense.

“Miss Clara.” Ben helped Isabella down from the buggy and
lifted her into his arms, smiling at the woman’s shocked expression. He decided
he would be nice to her, despite her view on “savages”. “Miss Isabella has a
sprained ankle and needs to have it seen to.”

“Oh, Lord’ve mercy! Come on in the house and let me get my
fixin’s for that. Oh, Mr. Isaac’s gonna have a fit, just a fit!”

Isabella giggled and nuzzled her nose into Ben’s neck as he
followed Clara up the grand steps and into the elegance of Middleton. For a
moment, a flash of hope zipped through him—someday, he would have a place like
this on his own land—a big house like his daddy always dreamed of, with
servants, and a passel of horses roaming green pastures. He caught Isabella’s
stare, noticing how she batted her eyelashes at him with a delicate blink.
And
a beautiful woman in my arms
, he thought to himself.
One who will share
it with me
.

Angelina couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard she tried. It
seemed like every time she closed her eyes, Edward was there, looming over her
like a wild animal ready to devour her in one bite. She tossed from one side of
the bed to another while Ella’s pork chops and mashed potatoes sloshed around in
her tummy, along with a greasy swirl of biscuits, butter, brussel sprouts, and a
dash of apple cobbler mixed in. She tried counting sheep, reading Bible
passages, such as Proverbs 3:24.
When thou
liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy
sleep
shall be sweet.
But sleep wouldn’t
come, and Angelina was convinced that if it did, it certainly wouldn’t be
sweet.

She wondered if Isabella
Richardson was able to rest her silly head. Angelina always disliked that girl,
and now she knew why.
Mountain lion, my foot!
she thought. Ben was
indulging that little weakling. There was no mountain lion, and he knew it. He
was just trying to force Angelina’s hand before she was ready. He had said he
would wait, that he would let her handle things on her own, and she had done
that—she had broken things off with Edward. Now she just needed to figure out
how to help Ben get his land back, and then maybe, one day, they could be
together.

Angelina closed her eyes,
imagining all of Laurel Grove surrounding Ben, congratulating him as she
appeared before him, wearing her mama’s wedding dress with the blue ribbons.
Suddenly, her daddy’s face flashed before her eyes and then her mama, riding in
the distant field with Tom.

Shaking the bedcovers off of
her legs, Angelina heaved a sigh of exasperation and got up.
Maybe Jessie’s awake.
She tiptoed down the dark hallway to her sister’s room, tapped on the door
softly, and entered. The room was dark like the hallway, except for the light
of the moon peeking through a break in the heavy, velvet drapes. Angelina loved
the Queen Anne mahogany furniture, including a four-poster bed with a white crocheted
canopy made by her mother years ago. Sunny, yellow paint covered the walls and
the entire room was decorated with nothing but horse ribbons and framed
paintings and prints of thoroughbred horses. On the wall surrounding the bed
was a collection of Stetson hats that hung on pegs, and the bedcovers were made
from a lovely red, yellow, and green floral print. A green striped easy chair
was in the corner by the fireplace with a floral needlepoint pillow and a
matching needlepoint footstool. There were no dolls or frills, but it was a
delightful, feminine room that always made Angelina feel happy.

She crept across the brightly
colored rag rug, Jessie’s choice over a classic Oriental carpet that covered
the remainder of the house. Sneaking under the covers, Angelina snuggled up to
her sister and whispered, “Jessie, you awake?” Jessie shifted and let out a
little snort. Angelina waited a minute before tapping her gently on the
shoulder. “Jessie?”

“Huh,” she murmured. “What is
it?”

“Nothing. I can’t sleep’s
all,” Angelina whispered.

“Why you gotta wake me?” She
pulled the blankets over her head and groaned, “I’m tired, and mornin’ll be
here before we know it.”

Angelina hesitated a moment,
gathering the courage to confess her thoughts. “You see how Ben carried
Isabella and put her in the buggy?”

“’Cause she sprained her ankle,”
Jessie mumbled with her mouth to the pillow.

“Jessie, you know I love him,
don’t you?” Angelina whispered softly. “I always have.”

There was a long hesitation before
Jessie rolled over onto her back. “Whatch you gonna do about it?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking—”

“Think all you want, but if
he loses the Challenge, he’s promised to go away from here. He’s a man of his
word, you know that.”

“That’s why we’ve gotta make
sure he wins.” Angelina propped up on her elbow and spoke in a normal voice.
“Which means I can’t have him spending time with that Isabella Richardson, teaching
her how to ride. He needs to be here, training Mighty Wind every chance he’s
got. Tom’s working with him, but we’ve gotta make sure his attentions are on
the Challenge and nothing else.”