A Love Like Ours Page 6

  “When he was young, Bo and I believed he was full of promise.”

  “I can see why.” Silver Leaf ambled over to them and lowered his regal neck just enough so that Lyndie could rest her palm on his forehead. She stayed that way for long moments, joined to the horse through touch.

  “By now, I would have retired any other horse who’d run as poorly as he has,” Jake stated.

  “Why didn’t you retire him?”

  “I wasn’t willing to give up on him after his three-year-old season. There was something about him that appealed to me.”

  “What about after his four-year-old season?”

  “I’d have retired him if it hadn’t been for Meg.”

  Lyndie waited for him to elaborate.

  “Meg shares everything she has with Bo,” he said. “But, technically, she owns this whole place. The ranch, the barns, all the horses.”

  “I’m guessing she’s a great owner to work for.”

  “She is. In all the years I’ve worked for her, she’s only come to me with one request about a horse. She asked me not to give up on Silver Leaf.”

  The stallion stepped back a few paces and peered at them as if he knew they were discussing him. “Meg loves Silver Leaf,” Lyndie guessed.

  “Yes. Silver Leaf was a yearling when her father died. He was her father’s favorite.”

  “I see. So Silver Leaf links Meg to her father.”

  Jake nodded.

  “But he won’t run.”

  “No. Meg stills hopes, or still wants to hope, that he has potential. But it’s my job to be practical.”

  Lyndie found herself wanting to hope in Silver Leaf’s potential, too.

  “I told Meg,” Jake continued, “that I’d put him back into training and give him two more races. This is his last chance.”

  Lyndie’s life with Mollie had cultivated in her a tender heart. She’d always been sensitive to those who were weighed down with difficulty, like Jake. Or who were considered a disappointment, like Silver Leaf. “Oh,” she whispered.

  “Oh what?”

  “Nothing.” But her oh moment had not been nothing. She could see, suddenly, that the trainer and his horse were tied together. If she could improve the outlook for one, she just might be able to improve the outlook for the other. “I’ll do everything I can,” she promised, “for Silver Leaf.”

  The horse’s dark eyes measured her.

  Jake and Bo were excellent horsemen who’d carved out successful careers for themselves in the world of Thoroughbred racing. If the secret to Silver Leaf’s refusal to run were easy to diagnose, the brothers would have done so. “Once I’ve finished riding for the day, is it okay with you if I hang around and spend some time with Silver Leaf?”

  A frown line appeared between his brows. People found her odd at times. She was an artist, after all. “If you want to.”

  “I want to.” In order to unlock Silver Leaf’s mystery, she’d need to take a crash course on the statuesque gray stallion. She’d start the best way she knew, with observation.

  Silver Leaf behaved as if he had more royal blood coursing through his veins than Prince William himself. The big and beautiful Thoroughbred treated Lyndie the way a king would treat a guest who’d come to call. That is, formally and politely.

  When she mounted up in the mornings, he stood completely still, his neck arched in an elegant line. He never danced nervously beneath her or showed signs of skittishness. In fact, when other horses on the track or in the shed row exhibited that sort of behavior, Silver looked down upon them with disdain. He allowed Lyndie to lead him through his exercise regimen with indulgent good humor, as if, could he have spoken, he’d have said, Certainly, Ms. James. I acquiesce to gallop.

  His behavior would tempt anyone to believe that he possessed the right sort of disposition to handle the excitement of the racetrack. Which only made the oddity of his failure as a racehorse more perplexing.

  On Saturday, the final day of her first work week, Lyndie cooled Silver by jogging him around the training track. As usual, Jake stood just inside the rail, arms crossed. A handful of other riders worked their mounts around the oval while she rode. It shouldn’t be, then, that Jake’s gaze never seemed to leave her. Yet, as far as she could tell, it didn’t leave her. Ever. Every single time Lyndie cut a glance at him while she was riding, for six mornings in a row, his attention had been focused on her. Day after day, horse after horse. She could only guess that he watched her constantly because she was new and he didn’t want her making a mistake with one of his horses.

  She peeked at him as she passed by. And yes. There it was again, his attention locked on her. His gaze met hers with the force of a laser.

  In response, something hot pinged in her stomach. He slid from view. This type of reaction to Jake had been sneaking up on Lyndie over the past couple of days. The pings and pangs were part physical magnetism, part awareness. Rare and delicious sensations for Lyndie. Also bemusing. It seemed that the girl who was not easily attracted to men had developed a small, uninvited attraction to one particular man.

  Tall, Dark, and Brooding? Great choice, Lyndie. He’s your boss. He’s so solemnly in control of himself that he has no softness left. He doesn’t allow himself vulnerabilities. And nor, lest you forget, does he seem to like you in any way.

  She didn’t know whether to blame the pings and pangs on the fragile connection that remained between the two of them or on the fact that Jake was . . . well . . . gorgeous.

  He was. It really couldn’t be disputed. He was gorgeous in a ruthless, commanding, scarred pirate type of way. If you liked that sort of thing.

  Her lips curled into a rueful smile. She hadn’t liked that sort of thing in the past. But surprisingly, she wasn’t immune.

  How long had it been since she’d experienced a stirring of desire for anyone? Ages. A couple of years at least. It was fun and harmless to . . . tingle . . . over someone again. It wasn’t as if Jake was in danger of returning her feelings. Or as if this altered her intentions toward him.

  She was determined to help him and his horse. The kind of help she had in mind for Jake had nothing to do with Valentine’s Day emotions and everything to do with God’s power to redeem.

  Once she’d finished Silver’s cooldown, she brought the horse to a stop near the track’s rail. Jake held himself with the sort of stillness that might have been identified as contentment in another man. In him, it reverberated with edgy tension. His face looked drawn with tiredness today, his scar stark. He angled a look at her from beneath his Stetson.

  “He’s running well.” Lyndie smiled and tucked back a wayward wisp of hair.

  “Yes.”

  You’re a real chatterbox, aren’t you, Jake? “What a beautiful morning. I’m loving the sunshine. It’s like California weather.” Crisp and bright.

  “That’ll do for today.”

  “Okay.” Conversational skills were not Jake’s strong point. She walked Silver in the direction of the barn.

  Every chance she got, she’d been trying to engage Jake in simple conversation. He’d not yet been receptive. Apparently, he did not much enjoy communicating with his fellow human beings. Horses, yes. Humans, no.

  Silver’s groom, Zoe, waited for them beside the path. Zoe had clothed her lanky six-foot frame in her usual work wardrobe of skinny jeans and a fraternity event T-shirt. Her lime green Hunter rain boots sported floral fleece liners that folded over the tops. With her super long and thin legs and arms, the twenty-two-year-old would never pass for a textbook sort of pretty. As it happened, Zoe possessed something far more winning: immediate likability.

  Zoe gave Lyndie her customary salute, took gentle hold of the reins, and guided Silver into the barn. As usual, Zoe had pulled her blazing red hair into a braid that ended mid-back. “Were you trying to talk to Mr. Porter again?”

  “Yep.”

  Zoe’s eyes danced against her porcelain skin. “I’m impressed.”

  “Why don’t you talk to
him more? You like to chat with people.”

  “Sure, I do. But Mr. Porter doesn’t. I answer when he asks me questions and approach him when I have an issue to discuss. That’s about it. I mean, I’m filled with respect for him and all. But he’s intimidating!”

  “Well, I’m going to keep talking to him. It’s good practice for . . . life. Don’t you think?”

  “I do think. If I ever work my way up to assistant trainer around here, Mr. Porter will have to put up with a lot more of my talking.” She grinned. “I’m not sure he’d like that. He’ll probably never promote me.”

  “He could always send you to his Florida barn. He wouldn’t be able to hear your talking from there.”

  Zoe laughed, a young and lighthearted sound.

  They’d reached the tack room. Lyndie hopped off and went to work unfastening the saddle while Zoe switched Silver’s reins out for a halter and lead shank. “Mr. Porter wants me to walk him for twenty minutes. Are you going to join me for his bath today?”

  “See you there.” Since Monday, Lyndie had spent an extra few hours each day with Silver.

  Lyndie finished cleaning the morning’s tack, grabbed a granola bar from the warm room, then met Zoe. The horses’ bathing station had been set up outside a far corner of the barn. A water spigot connected to a wall-mounted hose that looked like a showerhead on a three-foot-long pole. Two buckets held brushes and supplies. The third waited empty, for use during baths.

  Lyndie took hold of Silver’s halter and worked on her granola bar. Zoe rubbed the soft oval curry brush into Silver’s back, concentrating on the sweaty area where the saddle had rested.

  Zoe was a girl after Lyndie’s own heart. Over the past days, Lyndie had learned that they’d both been horse-crazy youngsters. Both had started volunteering for Thoroughbred trainers as teens. Both had ended up working for Jake.

  At the moment, Whispering Creek Horses employed both Zoe and her brother, Zach. The siblings worked in the early mornings and lived at home so that they could afford to take college courses in the afternoons and evenings.

  “Did you know that I used to want your job when I was younger?” Zoe asked.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. But since I’m not one hundred and fourteen pounds and five four, that didn’t really pan out for me.”

  “Exercise riding only panned out for me because my father’s medium-sized and my mom’s tiny.”

  “I wish I had a medium-sized dad and tiny mom. Instead, thanks to my parents, I was six feet tall by the seventh grade.”

  Lyndie winced. “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes.” Zoe switched to a dandy brush that resembled the end of a long broom. Expertly, she moved it in short, fast strokes across Silver’s body. “I was taller than my middle school teachers, even. I was probably the tallest person in the whole building. I started walking around like this”—she curved her back into a C shape and hunched her shoulders—“hoping nobody would notice. It wasn’t that great for my self-esteem. Horses saved me.”

  Lyndie understood. Animals had helped her through numerous rough patches. “Did you have any horses of your own?”

  “Our family only had one old mare. Her name was Sweetie, and she was in her twenties. I’d talk to her and take care of her and ride her every day. A few times a week at least, I’d have a little sobbing fit on her neck, and she’d make me feel better. I’m guessing you know what I’m talking about.” Zoe raised one copper-colored eyebrow hopefully.

  “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “You see? This is why I like you. I can tell you stuff and you get me.”

  Lyndie tossed the granola bar wrapper in the trash. “I love your height.”

  “I don’t. You know how hard it is to find tall guys to date?”

  “You’d make a great character in one of my picture books, Zoe.”

  “Seriously? That’d be awesome.”

  An image took shape in her mind. A willowy fairy who had a way with unicorns. She’d draw Zoe with pale skin, green boots, and long, fiery hair. She’d put her in a backdrop similar to the one that stretched away from them now. Land broken only by wooden fences. Baby wildflowers sprouting in patches. Shades of color ranging from olive to emerald.

  This past week, her enthusiasm for her fairy story had been growing each day as she sketched and brainstormed ideas. At last! Whispering Creek had been feeding her imagination the way kids with handfuls of bread feed ducks. When she reached her apartment later today, she’d test out a drawing of a Zoe-inspired fairy.

  Zoe turned on the water, waited for it to warm, then aimed the spray at Silver’s hooves.

  The horse submitted to the ritual of the bath like a monarch accustomed to being cleaned by his servants. So far he’d tossed his head a few times and stepped from foot to foot. Otherwise, he’d barely moved except to prick his ears and listen to Zoe talk. “Aren’t you a beautiful boy?” Zoe murmured to the stallion. “Such a dream horse.”

  “Okay,” Lyndie said. “So we’ve talked all week long about Silver’s history.” Zoe had been Silver’s groom ever since he’d arrived at the training barn.

  “Yep.”

  “And we’ve covered all there is to cover about his personality.”

  “Pretty much.” Zoe tugged on a bath mitt and started shampooing Silver’s coat.

  “Why do you think he hasn’t had success on the track? What’s your best guess?”

  Zoe’s motion paused as she looked across at Lyndie. “I don’t know.” She shrugged a thin shoulder. “He’s had the same opportunities that Mr. Porter’s best runners have had. I’m sorry, Lyndie. I wish I could help you more.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I know we’re here to prepare racehorses. But he seems pretty perfect to me just the way he is. Are you a perfect boy?” she asked the horse. “You are, aren’t you?” She turned her face up, and Silver answered by placing his head next to hers and exhaling a sigh against the place where her neck met her shoulder. Zoe gave his damp neck a few delighted pats. “It could be that he’s meant to spend his life over at the barn where Zach works, giving trail rides and making everyone who lives at Whispering Creek’s big house happy. If he goes, though, I’ll cry buckets. I’d have to . . .”

  She didn’t finish her thought. In fact, Zoe often left ideas hanging. And Lyndie never could resist supplying endings. Would Zoe have to . . . go to the beach? Fly to Vermont to make maple syrup? Drive to an auction to buy herself a new gray stallion?

  Once Zoe completed Silver’s bath, the two women escorted him to his stall. As they approached, Blackberry, Silver’s next-door neighbor, stuck her head into the row and whinnied in welcome. Silver returned the greeting.

  Zoe offered Silver water and fed him exactly what Jake had specified. When Zoe moved on to care for another of the horses under her charge, Lyndie stayed. As she’d been doing all week, she let herself inside the enclosure with Silver and sat on the straw, leaning her back against the wall.

  Was Silver meant for a life as a trail horse, as Zoe had just mentioned and Jake had come to believe? Or could it be that racing greatness lived within him still, and someone simply needed to find the key that would unlock it?

  If so, there were no horse psychotherapists or mind readers on staff. The “someone” that needed to find the key to unlock Silver Leaf’s greatness . . . was her.

  She’d spent a good deal of time already observing this horse. But unfortunately for her—and maybe for the horse and definitely for Jake—she’d drawn no closer to unraveling his mystery.

  Chapter Five

  Amber had the will to go on a date—but not the way. She needed reinforcements.

  Thus, on Monday Amber let herself into Cream or Sugar, her most favorite bakery on all of God’s green earth. She’d come in search of dating advice. It didn’t hurt that the bakery also offered addictive desserts.

  Dr. Dean’s office was located in a corporate building that sat three plots away from Holley’s town square. To
save money, Amber typically brought her lunch from home and ate in the small kitchenette at the rear of the office. A few times a week, though, she gobbled down her boring food just so that she’d have time to walk to Cream or Sugar and treat herself to something fattening before the end of her lunch break.

  Like all the storefronts on the square, the bakery faced inward toward the central courthouse. The words Cream or Sugar scrolled across its picture window in cursive.

  “Hi, Amber.” Celia Porter, the bakery’s owner, greeted her with a smile. Celia had a petite build, curly brown hair, delicate features, and wicked baking skills.

  “Hi, Celia. How’s it going?”

  “It’s going well.” Celia bent down to the Pack’n Play behind the counter and pulled a fussing baby into her arms. “It would be better, however, if I could convince Hudson here that he likes to sit and play with his toys.”

  “Aww!” Amber went into her usual crooning fit over the baby. “He looks so cute today, Celia.”

  “Thank you.”

  Six-month-old Hudson had blond peach fuzz for hair, a face worthy of a Gerber jar, and shining blue eyes. Celia had dressed him in a soft and miniature pair of jeans and a T-shirt that read, Keep Calm and Give Me to Mom.

  Since Hudson’s birth, Celia had cut back on her hours at the bakery. Amber still saw her often, though, because Celia tended to work during the hours when Amber stopped by—the middle stretch of each weekday.

  Now that his mother had picked him up, Hudson looked as self-satisfied as could be. The twinkle in his eye assured Amber that Ty Porter’s son had come out of the womb every bit as confident and mischievous as his father.

  Amber peered into the display case. “What’re my choices today?”

  “All the usual plus iced sugar cookies in the shape of shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day, a flourless chocolate cake, and oatmeal and apricot cookies.”