Chelsea watched the clock on the wall of her small updated kitchen as the minute hand rounded the six. Analeigh would arrive in less than half an hour and the rest of the party guests soon after. She slumped down in the hard woven-seat dinette chair by the oval side table and checked her cell phone again. If Aden had convinced Judd to budge on his decision to come, they would have called by now.
She tried not to be disappointed. Her father had always been a staunch man, and he’d made his feelings about her new job well known. Still, just once, she wanted him to understand. Judd Bradley was a hard man. Hard to understand, and hard to love, but she did. She’d almost finished blow-drying her hair when she heard a knock at the door. Steven would have just walked in, so it could only be Analeigh. She turned off the blower and brushed her long, straightened locks while heading for the living room.
“It’s me,” the soft southern voice called from the other side of the door. Analeigh’s accent was as petite and shy as the woman Chelsea had grown to adore. How Analeigh would ever fit in one of her long dresses was beyond Chelsea, but they’d make it work.
Analeigh had become a good friend. She was country, growing up in the backwoods of North Carolina without much parental support to guide her. Chelsea found the small spit-fire of a woman had more moral strength than most of the well-bred women she’d been forced to befriend while married to Chase.
She undid the latch and pulled the solid wood door open, letting the midafternoon sun envelop the room with light and warmth.
“I found these two on my way in and thought they might belong to you.” Analeigh pointed a crimson red finger nail to two figures standing across the gravel road from the apartment. Judd turned from his view of the farm and Aden broke into a gallop across the gravel road.
“Mama, I told you I could get him to come.”
“You did,” she said, taking the boy in her arms, and sniffling back a sob.
“Don’t cry, Mama, we’re here.” Aden’s inquisitive eyes searched her face. Analeigh put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Sometimes mamas cry because they’re happy.”
Chelsea nodded her head and smiled. She couldn’t have said it any better.
“I’ve got half a closet of dresses in the back of the truck if anyone wants to help bring them in.”
Judd crossed the gravel road and now stood within arm’s reach. She let go of Aden just enough to wrap an arm around her father’s neck and kiss his leathery cheek.
“I love you, Daddy,” she sobbed.
“Well.” He gave a slight hug back then pulled away, allowing her to take hold of Aden again. Chelsea noted the glint of moisture in her father’s eyes. “If I had known it meant that much, I’d have been here sooner.”
He had known, Chelsea thought, but was too stubborn to admit it. Since her mother’s death, her father hid his emotions deep within, under years of anger and hurt. Just showing up meant he cared, and she was thankful enough for that small sign of his approval. The four of them made quick work of unloading the truck, and Chelsea was thankful to see her father brought her wooden jewelry box as well. She hadn’t even thought about the prospect of wearing her favorite dark blue cocktail dress with a strand of her mother’s pearls and the earrings her father gave her to match when she graduated college.
Analeigh picked a rich pink shift dress that accented her naturally pale skin and small frame. Both women pinned their hair up, exposing their necks and Aden helped with the hairspray as her father surfed the nine channel selection on the television in the living room. By the time they emerged from the apartment, guests had begun to arrive and filter out over the farm grounds. The smell of roasting pig filled her nose and her stomach growled. Then she caught sight of Mrs Potts fidgeting over pitchers of sweet tea on the tables by the main house.
“Oh, Daddy.” Chelsea tugged on her father’s arm, pulling him closer to the main house. “I want you to meet someone.”
Her father seemed to resist, then gave in as Mrs Potts turned from her work at the food table. Still dressed in her light blue flowered housedress and apron, she looked panicked and mad at the same time.
“These caterers, do they not know the flies will get in the food if they don’t keep fans blowing across these tables?” the housekeeper grumbled.
“Mrs Potts.” Chelsea held her father’s arm like a badge of honor. “I’d like you to meet my father, Judd Bradley.”
Her father let go of her hand and extended it to the housekeeper. “The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”
If he’d had a hat, he would have tipped it to her, Chelsea thought, watching her father’s face light from smile to receding hairline.
Mrs Potts stumbled over a few kind words while she patted the fabric of her apron as if realizing for the first time she wasn’t dressed for company yet. “Chelsea, you never told me your father was so…handsome.”
A blush rose on the housekeeper’s cheeks, and Aden giggled. “Papa, handsome?”
Chelsea quickly covered the boy’s mouth and excused herself from the group with Analeigh by her side.
“Boy, they hit things off fast,” Analeigh said, looking over her shoulder in the direction of the couple. “Did you plan that?”
“Not really,” Chelsea answered, taking a look back herself. Her father was holding a stand fan while Mrs Potts directed him where to put it. “But they do make a nice couple.”
“Is that…?” Analeigh’s soft voice lowered to the roar of a kitten and she tapped Chelsea on the shoulder.
“Looks like it.” Chelsea laughed, watching Steven take long strides over the outdoor ring to catch up to them.
His slack jeans hugged at his waist and hips then hung loose down his legs, ending over brown snakeskin boots with worn silver tips. Instead of the usual Brigadoon polo, he wore a deep green button-down shirt under a sage colored sports jacket. He should have been in an aftershave commercial with his clean-shaven face and slicked back midnight hair under a broad, pale Stetson.
“Ladies,” he said, taking Analeigh’s hand in his and giving it a light kiss. Analeigh swooned, giggling like a school girl and looking at Chelsea for approval.
“All right, cowboy,” Chelsea laughed, thinking his attempt to be suave was more corny than debonair. “Don’t give her any ideas.”
He looked back to Analeigh and unleashed his killer smile. “Sorry, ma’am.” He let her hand go and tipped his hat.
“That’s more like it.” Chelsea let him wrap an arm around her waist for a peck on the cheek. She had wanted more, but knew he wouldn’t with Aden, who seemed to be lost in the chocolate cake on a table next to them, so close.
Steven bent down until he was at eye level with the boy. “You like surprises?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Aden answered with a mouth full of chocolate frosting. Steven looked up smiling then focused his gaze back on Aden. “Follow me.”
Aden followed, hopping along to match Steven’s long legged stride, past the outdoor ring and into the training barn.
Analeigh excused herself to say hello to a woman she thought she knew from the diner, leaving Chelsea standing alone in the middle of the party.
Judy Holloway waved from across the open expanse of the ring and called Chelsea’s name. The woman dripped in diamonds and white gold, and smelled of expensive cologne. “Chelsea.” Her cheerful voice and wide stretched smile were a sharp contrast to her usual condescending manner. Finally, Judy let down her guard and let Chelsea into her life. “I’d like you to meet my husband, Mark.”
The man standing only an inch taller than his wife with gray streaks in his hair and dressed in a charcoal colored designer suit, seemed bored past his wits. “Hello,” he managed through thin, taut lips. His handshake reminded her of an overcooked spaghetti noodle.
“Nice to meet you,” she offered, sure he had already blocked her from his sights.
“Yes,” he answered coldly. “Judy, our friends are waiting. Are you done here?” He took her by the elbow and led her forcefully away without letting her answer.
“Mark.” Chelsea heard Judy protest as the couple walked past.
Judy Holloway was a stuck-up old maid, Chelsea thought to herself as she rounded the corner of the barn, a bird trying to make the best of being trapped in a gilded cage. If she had stayed married to Chase, that’s exactly what she would have become.
* * * *
Aden had guessed his surprise was a pony by the time they reached the barn. Steven could only marvel at the kid’s intelligence and watch as the seven-year-old morphed into a bundle of jumping beans at the sight of the animal.
He tried to remember back to a time in his own childhood when he’d been that happy. He came up empty.
His gaze moved from Aden, who was trying to fit the red halter around the horse’s neck, to Chelsea, who stood just outside the barn door talking to a party guest. He’d been wrong about her from the beginning.
She was strong-minded and opinionated, like he’d guessed the first time he’d met her, but her heart was always in the right place. She’d done a fine job raising Aden. He hated ever doubting her for that.
“Do I get to ride him today?” Aden asked, pulling the pony from the stall with his halter on upside down.
Steven laughed before bending down to fix the mess of red nylon. “Maybe not today, champ, but soon. I’ll work on your mom for tomorrow.”
The boy studied Steven’s hand as he maneuvered the halter around the pony’s ears and nose.
“What’s his name?”
“Whatever you want it to be.” Steven handed Aden the lead rope and patted him on the head.
“Lucky,” Aden said, petting the dark mahogany mane. “We should call him Lucky.”
“Lucky indeed,” Steven answered, watching Chelsea as the light breeze of a fan made her dress dance around her fit frame.
They were all a bunch of misfits, he with the bad-boy image, and her with a jilted past, but somehow it was all working out. When Chelsea turned from the guest to look at him inside the barn door, he decided he was the lucky one.
* * * *
By the time the sun began its descent across the pastures, the party roared into full swing. Steven had danced with Chelsea a few times, and once with Sadie, and Judd offered a twirl to Beatrice, who now had a reason to stop fussing with the caterers and enjoy the party. The stiff August air gave way to cool breezes from the large fans set up at either end of the party grounds. Beatrice had not made every entrée, but she had supervised every recipe. The night couldn’t get any better.
The thought was short lived. Mario, dressed in his finest jeans and a new white tee, motioned for Steven from across the field. “Mr McNeil’s here with that horse Ms Bradley bought,” he said when Steven joined him half way across the pasture.
Steven put a hand on the short groom’s shoulder and leaned close to his ear to be heard over the blaring country and western band by the main house. “I’d like to take care of this, alone.” He winked.
“Think you can keep Chelsea occupied while I take care of our friend?”
The two men looked at each other and Mario nodded with a slow, slack smile then walked off in the direction of the party.
* * * *
Reggie McNeil hadn’t planned to stay for the party. Thanks to a hot tip on an easy girl, he had a date with benefits waiting back at Camelot.
His first priority was to make sure Steven didn’t plan to dredge up the past. Steven had been in his early twenties and naive when he’d taken advantage of him, but now, a man of thirty-two, it wouldn’t be so easy to convince him to let secrets lie.
Steven greeted him at the truck and helped unload Monty without a word spoken. He led them swiftly through the back of the barn, away from the party and the prying eyes of Chelsea Bradley, Reggie guessed.
“How is my girl?” Reggie prodded, trying to determine just how deep Steven’s feelings ran for her.
“You leave her out of this!” Steven’s voice was sharper than Reggie had guessed possible. Years of living with a tarnished reputation had made his protégée strong. Reggie led the gelding into the open stall and pulled off his leather halter before turning to face Steven. “That’s exactly what I plan to do. I’m just making sure we’re on the same page.”
Steven laughed so coarsely the air in the barn became stale. “We were never on the same page.”
He pulled the stall door shut, catching Reggie’s sleeve in the process. “Besides, what are you worried about? I’ve already been prosecuted.”
“Chelsea’s delicate,” Reggie went on, rubbing the dirt from his salvaged sleeve, never letting his face show less than a smile. “She’s already been betrayed by one man. I don’t think she’d take it well if she found out you’d been less than forthcoming with her.”
A short, thick man entered the side door of the barn and made his way to Steven. “Need help, sir?” The groom never took his inquisitive eyes off Reggie, making him wonder if this could be the notorious Mario he’d heard so much about.
Steven had done well for himself after the incident. He’d fallen into a good crowd of people, and with their help would be a success again. People had forgotten about his carelessness, and that thought cemented the fact that Steven would never tell Chelsea about the night at the Classic Show. Satisfied, Reggie let the two men finish with the gelding and left through the same side door he had entered. He had a girl waiting.
* * * *
Steven finished with the horse, putting a fresh bucket of water in the stall along with a generous pile of alfalfa.
Reggie’s words plagued him more than he wanted to allow. He’d already told Chelsea everything, and she’d accepted it. So why was Reggie so worried she’d find out?
Steven forced a smile when he returned to the party.
“There you are.” Chelsea smiled, holding both hands out in his direction when he found her talking to a man he didn’t recognize near the band. “I wanted to introduce you to my father.”
Great, from the frying pan to the fire. Fathers had never been his strong suit, but Judd Bradley looked like his kind of man, wearing buffed cowhide boots and a John Deere baseball cap.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, son.” Judd extended his hand and shook with an iron grip until Steven was sure his hand would break.
Steven made his introduction then turned Chelsea away from her father. “Chelsea,” he started, pushing the lump in his throat further down.
“Steven, you’re white as a sheet. Are you coming down with something?” Chelsea’s eyes filled with concern, a look he couldn’t stand to see from her.
“Everything’s fine. Reggie just dropped Monty off and…”
Her hand grabbed his, pulling him towards the barns. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Is he still here, I want to give him a piece of my mind.”
She went on, but Steven didn’t hear her. He pulled her arm off his, stopping her in her tracks.
“He’s gone.”
Her eyes shot back to him and filled with questions again. “Steven, what’s wrong?”
“I need to tell you something.”
Her attention turned to him as if he were the only person on the farm. He had wanted to pull her aside, away from the hundreds of ears that would make his secret tomorrow’s gossip, but it was now or never. “It’s about Reggie,” he began, only to be cut off by the band leader announcing a toast.
Aden now stood at her feet, and Sadie had followed him from somewhere in the fields. Their audience had grown, and he lost the nerve to ask her.
* * * *
Chelsea couldn’t remember the last time she’d been up past midnight, and happy. Aden had conked out hours before and was sleeping in the guest bedroom of the main house. Her father left hours ago, after thanking Eric for the invitation, and making plans to pick Aden up on Sunday. The guests were dwindling but the drinks still flowed, and for the first time all night, Chelsea had a cold beer in her hand and was settling down into one of the folding chairs with a view of the open fields.
Analeigh had taken a chair next to hers and struck up a conversation with Edgardo. Their topic of choice was anyone’s guess. Edgardo’s broken English had improved, but Analeigh spoke no Spanish, and only nodded her head and pointed a lot.
“Where’s the little man?” Steven questioned, walking up behind her. He’d been quiet after his meeting with Reggie, and distant.
“He’s sacked out in the house,” Mrs Potts answered, yawning as she picked up empty beer bottles and flung them in a trash bag.
“Beatrice,” Steven scolded. “That’s why we hired caterers. You should be enjoying yourself, not cleaning.”
“I can’t help it,” she half whined.
Chelsea pulled a chair closer to the group, and Mrs Potts took it, sighing deeply when she sat and kicked her shoes off to the side.
Soon Sadie, followed by Nicky, then Eric, joined the group, all sipping on the last of their drinks and looking tired.
The conversation ranged from the success of the party to the preparations for the Classic show. Steven wrapped a heavy arm around Chelsea’s shoulder. The comfort of his warmth summoned a yawn. With less than a week until the show, she’d need all the sleep she could get. Steven yawned himself, and Mrs Potts took the bait. “Oh, don’t worry about Aden, Chelsea. Let him sleep in the house. He can help me with breakfast in the morning while you train, and I want to pump him for information about his Papa.”
Subtlety was lost on the older woman, and Chelsea wondered if she’d ever reach a point in her life when she’d be so honest with her feelings.
“Thanks, Beatrice,” Steven answered, taking his arm off Chelsea and stretching to the starlit sky above.
Subtlety was lost on him too, if that was his way of getting invited back to her place. Still, she took the bait, following him back to her apartment and allowing him to take the key and open the door.
As had become the custom over the past few days, Steven took charge, leading her to the bedroom, and undressing her while he kissed every inch of her bare, glowing skin. Her hands searched over his warm flesh, looking for a place to take hold, and finding nothing but muscle and bone.
He took small steps towards the bed, pulling her along, never neglecting his kisses on her throat, then chest. Her knees buckled, and bent over the curve of the mattress as he lowered her to the cream colored coverlet.
He’d been more easily aroused tonight, and after a short but gratifying time, fell back into the covers after she let out a satisfied moan of pleasure. His breathing eased after a few minutes, and he rolled to his side, tracing her backbone with his finger.
She lay still, taking in the excitement of the night, followed by their private party, and the nerves of the coming show. As much as she wanted to move slowly, both with her job, and her relationship, things seemed to be spinning out of control.
“What are you thinking about?” Steven asked, tracing her outline with his finger. “You’re so quiet.”
“Just how everything has come together,” she answered, taking a deep cleansing breath. “Three months ago I was a lonely single mother with a desk job, living with her father.”
Steven laughed lightly, running his finger in circles around her bottom. “And now you’re…?”
She turned to face him, taking his hand in hers and giving it a light kiss. “Now, I’m happy, where I belong, on a Saddlebred farm again and…” In love. The words almost slipped from her mouth. There was a time when she would have offered them freely, but years and experience had taught her better.
“And what?” His eyes pierced her soul and she feared he could feel her hesitation.
“And hoping it never ends.”
“You know.” His eyes drifted away from hers to the circles he traced. “When you first came here, I had my doubts you’d work out.”
“You did? Why?”
“Eric told me you left your last training job with no notice in the middle of show season.”
She frowned. “I had my reasons.”
“I know you did. After I heard it had been with Reggie…”
She pushed his hand from her backside and sat up in bed. “My decision had nothing to do with Reggie.”
He sat up too, pulling covers over his lap and giving a definitive stare. “Then why, Chelsea? I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why you would have packed up and left, if this is what you want to do with your life. I know you didn’t leave just to marry some man.”
Chelsea grabbed the sheet lying between them and wrapped it tightly around her body. Why was he doing this now? After all the time they’d spent together did he still not trust her? “Why is something I did eight years ago so important to you?”
“Because…” His voice trembled with the word, and her heart sank. “I need to know you’re not going to do it again. I need to know you’re not going to leave Brigadoon—you’re not going to leave me.”
It wasn’t a trust issue for him, she thought, but fear. She touched his face, brushing the stubble of his cheek with her fingers. “I left because of what happened at that last show. Not because I didn’t win, but because of what came after.”
He took her hand in his and set wide brown eyes on her.
“I lost to a horse named Majesty―one of the most beautiful horses I’d ever seen. He was seventeen hands high, and silver skinned with a solid white tail and a spoon across his face. My dream horse.”
Steven’s grip loosened, and her hand fell to the covers below. His eyes searched her face and his breath labored.
“Reggie told me a few weeks after the horse had died from complications with some medication taken at the show. I know he was sugar-coating the truth. The owners stood to gain quite a big compensation from the insurance company, and with the win the horse’s value would have doubled.”
She reached to touch Steven’s hand again and felt alarm run through her body. “Steven, what is it? You’re shaking. Are you sick?”
He had gone pale as a sheet and cold to the touch. Every possible explanation ricocheted in her head from food poisoning to heat stroke. His eyes stayed transfixed on hers and he didn’t move.
“Steven,” she tried again, this time to bring him back to reality.
“Majesty,” he whispered. “Won the Classic Show for Blackberry Farms the year Reggie McNeil took over for Camelot.”
“That’s right.” Surprise mixed with confusion and her thoughts spun wildly in her head. “How would you know that?”
His hand slipped from hers and he leaned away. Under the hood of their heavy lids, his deep brown eyes dulled to the color of thick mud.
“Steven?” she called again, trying to reach for him, but was pushed away. In a matter of minutes the connection they’d worked so hard to make vanished and their relationship went back to strained and distant.
“I have to go,” he finally answered, leaving the bed and fishing for his pants and shirt.
“Tomorrow is a busy day for us both, and I have a horse to look at in South Carolina.”
Chelsea pulled the sheet over her body and struggled to untangle herself from the bed covers. By the time she reached him, he was fully dressed and headed for the door.
“Steven,” she pleaded, putting a trembling hand on his shoulder.
He turned, knocking her hand to her side. His eyes glowed like fire on a cool autumn day, and his breath came quick and deliberate. “Chelsea,” he called her name, staring her down and making her back up a step. “I wish you’d believed me about Reggie before.”
“What’s Reggie got to do with this, Steven? You’re spinning me in circles. Please tell me what I did wrong.”
For the first time since their heated conversation started, his eyes turned solemn. He raised his hand again, as if to touch her face, but only lowered it back to his side with great force.
“Reggie has everything to do with it, and so do I. That horse wasn’t drugged for insurance money, at least not intentionally. Reggie gave me the drugs, and I administered them. The horse was hurt. I told you I didn’t check with the owners. They knew nothing about it.”
“You?” The breath in her body ceased, forcing the word out in no more than a whisper. Everything came back to her at once. The same deep brown eyes and god-like physique, only younger and less stressed by years of hiding and rebuilding a life.
He was the same cocky man who had stolen her dream of a championship, and with it a life in the horse world she loved. The same man she had grown to hate after years of trying to place the blame for her shambled life on someone other than herself.
“I’m the one,” he said sternly, still staring harshly into her shocked face. If he had any remorse, she didn’t see it. “I’m the one who cost you your championship. I didn’t know that until tonight, until just now. You have to believe that, Chelsea.”
Still feeling overwhelmed with shock, she reached out to him. “Please don’t go. Not like this.”
His gaze fell to the floor. He turned for the door, taking the knob in his hand before turning to face her again. “I didn’t know, Chelsea. I’m sorry…I don’t know what to say, but I can’t stay here. Not knowing I’m the reason you suffered.”