Warm sudsy water ran over Chelsea’s developing tan, across her shoulders and down the cleavage above her breasts as she showered later that afternoon. She lathered the oatmeal soap she favored and followed the dark lines across her chest and down to where the brown skin started again below the midpoint of her thigh.
For now, she could get away with some bronzing powder to cover her tan lines around her neck as long as her dress covered her white back and thighs. She’d have to make lying out at the motel pool a priority on her next day off to even out the markings made by her sleeveless shirts and jeans. She also needed to shave, she thought, running a hand over her legs, but time was of the essence. The pink handled razor raced across her bare skin until it snagged and she cursed. Red oozed down her leg and into the water below. Just great!
Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a thick beige towel, one of her splurges after her first paycheck, around her firm middle and surveyed the damage to her leg. The nick was small, and a few wipes with a tissue and some Vaseline stopped the bleeding altogether. With a towel wrapped around her hair and a toothbrush hanging slack in her mouth, she surveyed her clothing choices lying across the double bed.
She had planned to wear her black shift dress and lace cardigan, a practical pick considering the uncertainty of the date, but the nick, still red and visible, proved to be a challenge to cover. Her other choice, a spaghetti-strap hombre style maxi-dress in shades of sunset and teal, might give away her anticipation of the meeting and allude to her growing fascination for the trainer. If the date proved to be nothing more than a private meeting to hash out their differences, then she’d feel completely and utterly ridiculous for the choice.
The minutes until seven ticked away, but with every reason she considered to wear one dress, she found a reason not to. She suddenly felt homesick for the closet of designer dresses and suits she’d left behind.
Settling on the multi-colored maxi-dress from a box store’s spring collection, she finished getting ready; blowing her hair out straight and adding a scented lotion over her arms and legs. Putting on her make-up―sheer powder, pale pink lip gloss, a touch of copper eye shadow, and brown mascara, she pondered Steven’s ever changing personality. Up until just a day ago he had been like an ice prince, guarding himself with thick frozen walls and allowing only glimpses of the man inside.
What, in the span of that day, had changed?
Maybe Eric had said something to him, but that thought brought a hiccup to her stomach. She never wanted anyone, especially her boss, to have to stick up for her. She could handle the situation on her own.
She then thought about the hold Mrs Potts had on Steven. Would the older woman have pointed out his harsh behavior and scolded him for acting like a bully in a schoolyard?
Could his change be as simple as a change of heart?
Whatever his reason, she would have asked Steven directly, but their paths hadn’t crossed again after the lesson with the twins, except for a short time at lunch. Steven had invited his company to lunch at the main house―a short, tubby man, all of seventy with stark white hair and perfect pearls for teeth, a much younger wife, and a daughter who looked more like a grandchild than the fruit of his own loins.
While Chelsea ate with Mrs Potts in the kitchen, Eric and Steven wined and dined the family into the purchase of a four-year-old gelding by the name of Sultan’s Star, currently training at Briarwood stables, two counties away.
“That brings your running total to seventy thousand dollars,” she’d heard Eric whisper over Steven’s shoulder as they passed the opening of the kitchen.
Steven retorted with a greedy smile then caught her eyes on him. She looked away but her efforts came too late and he excused himself from the group and joined her in the kitchen.
“Beatrice.” Steven spoke to the woman now making haste to clean the dishes. “Lunch was amazing as always. My guests send their compliments.”
“I do my best.” Mrs Potts looked up from her work. “Glad they approved.”
He nodded, and she made quick work of the dishes then set off to the dining room.
“You should have joined us for lunch.” Steven moved until he was standing at Chelsea’s chair. His hand fell an inch from hers on the table, and his tight fitted Brigadoon polo collided with the slack fabric of her tank top. “Actually, I would have preferred it.”
“I wasn’t invited.” The smell of his rich aftershave made her all too aware how close he stood. His expertly groomed chin hovered above her head, and the heat of his breath blew across the back of her bare neck.
“You’re always invited when the occasion involves a new client.” He moved to her right and picked up a strawberry-covered tart from a platter on the table. “In fact,” he added taking a small bite and releasing a gratified moan. “It’s part of your training.”
For a minute she’d thought he was talking about more than just business. She’d reveled in the satisfaction of knowing he wanted her company for lunch. Finding the note written in impossibly neat handwriting in her day planner, she’d thought there’d been a breakthrough and he would no longer treat her as a protégée, but an equal. No more games, no needless demands on her time. She’d guessed wrong.
Before taking another strawberry tart from the platter and making his exit, he asked if she’d seen his note, and offered only a “good” when she said yes. Once he seemed satisfied she’d be waiting for him at seven, he left to rejoin the new clients in the barns.
Chelsea sat at the kitchen table for some time after, nibbling one of the lighter-than-air tarts and contemplating the date. Steven’s attitude seemed to turn a one-eighty at the drop of a hat the past few days.
There had been times, like that morning, when he seemed concerned and caring. Understanding looked good on him, and she found herself eager to know him better. Then there were the times when he’d pulled rank, demanding she fulfill fruitless obligations or rechecking the work she’d completed. He even made excuses to show up in the arena while she taught and gave unsolicited feedback on her lesson style.
So, she wondered finishing the last bite of her second tart, what made Steven Bradshaw tick?
Her father’s voice resonated in her head. “Keep your friends close, Chelsea,” he warned, “and your enemies closer.”
It was hard to tell which of the two categories Steven fell in. For now, she’d just have to let things play out.
* * * *
The detail shop had done a fine job cleaning the Dually, and in record time, Steven thought, pressing the gas pedal of the immaculate truck for more speed and watching the rear-view for cops. In the span of an hour, he’d showered, shaved, found the dress slacks and a blue collared shirt Beatrice had laundered, and had the Dually detailed from rims to windshield. The neon vacancy sign flashed beyond the next traffic light on the deserted back road. His fingers stretched tight across the steering wheel and pulsated with his heartbeat. Had any other woman made him feel this nervous?
He found her room from memory and rapped at the door with the back of his hand. Pleasure filled him at the sight of her, framed in the opened door. Her dress ran from small straps across her shoulders to just above the tops of her sandal clad feet. The material, something flowing and thin, danced around the curve of her hips and thighs then fanned, leaving everything to the imagination underneath.
She wore no jewelry save the familiar silver cross, and her blond hair was tied away from her face with a white satin ribbon. He saw no bra strap, and felt heat rise inside at the thought of her, bare and natural, underneath the colorful fabric.
“I hope this looks all right,” she said, holding the door open. “I wasn’t sure what you had in mind for tonight.”
He had quite a lot on his mind at the minute and had to check back his gut reaction to take her in his arms right there in the doorway and kiss her.
That’s not what you’re here for, he told himself, taking a ragged breath and forcing the feeling down to that deep and forgotten place inside him.
“You look just fine,” he said.
“Good.” She allowed him to take hold of the weighty door as she walked back into the small room.
He took the door and let it close behind him as she darted off to the bathroom to finish getting ready.
“So, what did you have in mind?” she questioned from behind the bathroom door, cracked open enough to see light, and the shadows she made when she moved. “I have to admit I was surprised to get your note.”
He started to speak as the bathroom door opened, releasing an intoxicating scent of flowered shampoo and a delicate smell of perfume. His thoughts raced back in time to the handful of women he’d been acquainted with. Most had smelled of cheap cologne and lust. The fragrance now filling the small, sparse room reminded him, Chelsea was different.
“I thought...” He paused, watching her comb the blond strands tied loosely at the back of her neck in the dresser mirror. The spice smell drifted over, making him think of touching her delicately, but needing her with a voracious hunger. “You said you wanted to say something today, before the twins interrupted.”
Chelsea turned from the mirror, setting her hazel green eyes directly on his. “I did?”
Her puzzled look made him laugh. “You did,” he went on.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened and a touch of peach rose on her smooth cheek. Her voice sounded somber, and worry formed in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t like her to look anxious. Even when he’d found Aden curled up in the back of the Dually and screaming his little head off, she’d seemed more angered than apprehensive.
“Well,” he took a step closer. “I thought this way you’d have my full attention.”
Her lips curled into a half smile, but her eyes still wavered with trepidation.
“I’ve never known you to be shy,” he went on, hoping the prod would bring some fire to her eyes.
“Maybe it would be better if we talked before dinner. You might not want to take me out after I say what I need to say.”
Her words perplexed and intrigued at the same time. His imagination wondered over the scenarios that could keep him from wanting her, even more with the vulnerable way she carried herself now.
“Really?” He grinned. “I don’t think you could shock me.”
Her look scolded, but her eyes smiled back, giving him full rein to try again. “Unless you tell me something like you’re here to spy on Brigadoon for Camelot.”
The rest of her face fell in line with the beam across her lips and a laugh escaped. “Nothing quite like that,” she assured.
“Then what?” He took a seat on the edge of the double bed and patted the silk fabric beside him.
“You can trust me.”
She hesitated at the invitation, choosing instead to pace the length of the room and turn her silver cross in her hand. “I talked to Eric last night,” she started, looking at his face, then pacing the floor again. “About your deal.”
“Deal?” He tried to think, then settled on the formality he and Eric had discussed as a wager of sorts for the manager’s position.
“Eric told me you had a deal to bring in training horses. If you’re successful, then you get the manager’s position outright.”
The deal had gone something like that, he remembered. It was more of a joke than an iron-clad agreement, but the look on her face told another story. He nodded, trying not to smirk at her serious complexion.
“Last night, I told Eric I wanted the same deal.”
“To be manager?” She was gutsier than he’d given credit for.
“No, to secure my job as trainer.”
“Why would you need to do that? Eric told you as long as you’re ready, he’d offer it to you.”
“But you never did.” She stopped pacing and cut her green eyes in his direction. “I have a family to protect, a son to provide for and a father worried sick I’ll fail. I need more than Eric’s word.” Her words came with panic and haste.
His heart went cold at the picture of himself she’d just painted. He’d been hard on her as he would have been with anyone slated to train under his guidance. Coddling her would not be doing her a favor.
Then again, he’d also judged her that day when he found Aden in the back of the Dually, and dropped them off at the seedy motel. As much as he tried to cover up his dislike for the living arrangements forced on the child, she must have read him like a book.
“Chelsea, a man—a good man—lives by his word. You, not trusting that―” What did your ex- husband do to you? He checked back the building anger in his voice. She already felt threatened and if his temper spilled over, he might never win her back to his side. “Chelsea.”
Her eyes began to fill, and he desperately wanted to wipe the impending tear before it ran down the apple of her blushed cheek.
“You can trust my word. If you’re ready to be a trainer, and you will be, the job will be yours.”
“How can I trust you?”
“Why would you not?”
“You haven’t been the most jovial of people to be around. That first day―”
“That first day,” he interrupted, feeling his temper rise again, this time at his own stupidity, and fighting to keep it in control. “That first day I was embarrassed. You came into my barn and showed me up in front of my boss and my co-worker. I’ll admit I got a little carried away. I’m sorry.” You were so damn striking, and I looked like a bumbling fool in front of you. Any red-blooded American man would have been pissed at that.
“And the day you found out about Aden?” She crossed bare arms over a well-defined chest and tapped a silver sandal on the floor. “Was that embarrassment too?”
“That,” he spoke warmly and reached out a hand to pull her down beside him, “was misplaced anger. I never should have judged you.”
“Judged?” She frowned. “You’d known me all of two weeks, and Aden for five minutes. What in that time gave you the impression I couldn’t take care of my son?”
“It wasn’t you I judged.” He took his hand off hers, so no part of him touched her when he thought about his mother.
“Then who?”
“That’s a story better left to another night.” The last thing he wanted to think about in the company of the woman he found growing on him was his past.
“You can’t just cut the conversation off there because it turns back to you.”
“I can, and I did.”
She bit her lip and his heart sank another inch in his chest at the hurt in her eyes. If she knew the truth about him, about his past―and she’d been so forthcoming with the deal she’d thought would anger him. Her resilience made her all the more attractive and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to see her smile again.
“I have a change of plans, if you’re up for a little adventure.” He forced a smile and found her eager to do the same. “You’re going to have to trust me.”
“Trust is a learned behavior, is it not?” Her face grew serious.
“I hate that I ever gave you a reason not to trust me, Chels.” He reached for her hand again and led her to the door.
He had promised her dinner, and, being a man of his word, he still had to deliver. He found the number to Gus’s programmed on his cell, and called in a large pizza.
“We can eat it here,” Chelsea offered when they pulled into the parking lot.
“I’ve got a better idea.” Steven left the keys in the truck and disappeared behind the red paneled doors of the pizzeria, then reappeared with a large, flat square of white cardboard smelling of tomatoes and cheese.
The last of the daylight receded over the horizon by the time the Dually turned back onto the main road. A slow country tune, something familiar about loving until the day one dies, played over the radio and the smell of farm land and tobacco wafted in through the open windows.
“Are we going to the farm?” Chelsea lifted her head from where it had rested in the crook of her arm on the window frame and turned to him.
“You’ll have to trust me,” was all he said.
He slowed the truck to a crawl, and made the sharp turn from the main road to the gravel driveway with care. Not sure why, he felt the need to be extra gentle with his cargo. The loose rocks spit and kicked up, bouncing off the bottom of the truck until he drove past the parking area for the house and straight on to the second training barn.
A dim light came from within the barn and he feared his plan might be ruined by Mario, checking on the mare and foal. He breathed a sigh of relief when he circled the barn and found no one. He drove the truck right through the large sliding door and into the center of the barn.
“Is this your idea of adventure?” Her mouth pursed, but her eyes danced in the defused light of the overhead fixture. “Coming to work on your night off?”
He turned the key, silencing the truck, then handed her the square box from behind the cab.
“Your doubt is disheartening. Bring the pizza.”
* * * *
Chelsea did as he asked, if only to satisfy her growing curiosity. She’d thought he might try to take her to the main house, and how then would they explain being together, and dressed up, to Eric and Mrs Potts? Sadie would be another problem, with her growing fancy for Steven. He hadn’t stopped at the house, or parked in the lot off the main barns. Instead, he’d pulled right into the breezeway of the lower barn. Now, with only the glow of the headlights to lead them, he’d disappeared out the side door and around the corner.
She tried to follow, but the steady beam of yellow light from the headlights blinded her. She closed her eyes and opened them again only to find white orbs dancing in her line of vision. The box became heavy in her arms, and she tripped over the toe of her sandal, letting out an “oof” in the dark barn.
“I’ve got you.” His voice found her, and a steady hand reached under her elbow while another took the off-balance box from her arms. “I’ve got a flashlight in the truck. Just wait right here.”
The truck door opened and closed and he was by her side again, shining a beam of light across the packed dirt floor and to the side door. “Trust me,” he urged when she hesitated.
“It’s not you I don’t trust.” She picked her feet up higher than normal, trying to avoid tripping on her toes again. “It’s the occupants of this place at night that scare me.”
He guided her around the corner and to the back. Light framed a door from within, and the smell of fresh paint filled her nose.
The key slid in the lock and Steven twisted the knob until they were both bathed in the fresh light and cool air of the renovated apartment.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking at the fresh painted rose colored walls, the couch and dining table, and the patchwork rug lying in front of a stone fireplace and flat screen television. She’d seen the place only a month before, and thought it not fit for rodents. Now, with crisp white lace-trimmed curtains around the narrow kitchen window and a vase of fresh daisies on the counter, she’d have to reconsider.
“Go ahead.” Steven put the box on the round oak table by the door. “Take a look around, tell me what you think.”
She had only seen the kitchen and living area when Eric first showed her the apartment, but she could guess the rest of the place had the same dilapidated style. The bathroom was small, but neat with a sink and vanity to one side and a full bath and cream colored shower curtain to the other. The toilet looked new and set in the middle of the back wall. Someone had hung light blue towels on a rack by the door.
“I didn’t realize anyone had plans to move in here.” Making an effort to keep her anger at bay, she remembered the deal Eric had made about the small apartment. All of the plans she’d made, giving Aden a real home again on her own means, and setting her father at ease. All crushed. And she’d had Eric’s word.
“The place looks great,” she managed to choke out.
Steven put the pizza box on the table and folded his arms over his chest as if offended by her lack of enthusiasm. “Somehow, I don’t get the feeling you like it. Tell me what you really think.”
The small amount of control she had snapped and a flood of anger and resentment ensued.
“What I really think.” She shifted her weight to one side and hooked a hand on her hip. “Eric promised me this place when I became trainer. I know I haven’t gotten the job yet, but I assumed the place would be mine once I did.”
Steven said nothing, and his silence fueled the building fire within her.
“You couldn’t let me have this one thing,” she said.
His face turned bright red and he scowled at her. She didn’t care. He could look hurt all he wanted, but the fact still remained the place had been promised to her. “See what I mean about people’s words,” she added.
“You think I did this for me?” His shoulder raised and his eyes demanded an answer.
“Why else?” she asked plainly.
He hesitated, standing his ground, then threw his hands in the air. “I give up, Chelsea.”
Steven walked towards the door, but stopped when his hand reached the knob. “You know,” he turned his face to hers again. “I did this for you, so you and Aden could have a safe place to live.” His eyes grew distant and his mouth turned down. “You thought I was trying to take this away from you. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
If he wanted an answer, he didn’t wait for one.
Chelsea wished the floor would open up around her and swallow her whole. “Steven!” She cupped her hands over her mouth in embarrassment. “I…I had no idea. I just assumed…I don’t know what else to say.”
She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had left her there alone with no way home. To her amazement, the anger etched across his face faded as quickly as it had appeared and he reached out for her shoulder.
“Just say you like it.” He smiled, pulling her closer until his lips hovered above hers.