Книга - The Fake Husband

The Fake Husband
Lynnette Kent


Mr. Archer does not existJacquie Archer has a secret. But now she has to come clean–she never had a husband. She made him up as a cover for the biggest mistake of her life–her affair with Rhys Lewellyn. Although that mistake gave her the greatest gift she's ever received–her daughter, Erin–now Jacquie is facing the huge challenge of trying to put things right with her daughter, her family and her friends.Will Erin forgive her, especially after she finds out who her father really is? Jacquie has no choice but to find out….









“I think we need to cut to the chase.”


Folding his arms along the edge of the table, Rhys leaned closer and held Jacquie’s gaze by sheer force of will. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I am sure I’m tired of playing games. Why are we here, Jacquie? What do you have to say to me?”



She drew a deep breath. “You asked me why I left without saying anything.”



“Yes.”



“Well, there is no husband. I invented him because I couldn’t come home as an unwed mother with an illegitimate child.”



Setting down her coffee, Jacquie looked Rhys straight in the eyes. “Your child, Rhys. My daughter, Erin Elizabeth Archer, is your child. The only proof you’ll need is a single glance at her beautiful face.”


Dear Reader,



I taught myself to ride a horse when I was in junior high school…with a scarf looped around the bedpost, me mounted on the footboard and a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica open on the mattress for instruction. Yes, I really was that crazy about horses. But in time I grew up, gained a husband and children and let the horse dreams fade.



Then my younger daughter, aged twelve, began pestering me to go riding with her friends. I’m not quite sure how it happened, but now we own four horses and spend most of our time outside school hours “at the barn.”



The Fake Husband is a story about people who love horses. Jacquie Archer and Rhys Lewellyn are brought together the first time by their competitive equestrian careers. And when all-too-human concerns tear them apart, it's the horses—and one very special child—that bring them together again. I think the nobility of the horse draws out the best in us humans, and I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with people who respond to that call. I hope you'll do the same.



Happy reading!



Lynnette Kent



lynnette@lynnettekent.com

or PMB 304

Westwood Shopping Center

Fayetteville, NC 28314




The Fake Husband

Lynnette Kent





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To the friends I’ve found “at the barn”



Kelly and C.J., Kim, Beth, Karen and Julie and Kelly K. and Laura, Dr. Garrett and Dr. Brian



Your laughter, your tears and your teaching will always be with me.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


RHYS LEWELLYN ARRIVED in the “sunny South” on New Year’s Day, just in time for the worst snowstorm to hit North Carolina in eighty years.

“Damn snow wasn’t supposed to reach this far till tomorrow,” he growled, switching the windshield wipers to maximum speed. “And we should have been here two days ago.”

“Two flat tires and five horses make for slow traveling.” Coming from the back seat, Terry O’Neal’s brogue was as thick as the day he left Ireland thirty years ago.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Rhys shifted his weight from hipbone to hipbone and flicked the switch for the seat heater to high. The escalating ache in his back measured exactly how much effort he’d put into this trip and how much stress he’d undertaken.

“All right, then.” Terry rattled the map. “Your turn’s coming up on the left.”

“Thank God.” A glance toward the passenger side showed his son’s posture unchanged, head turned to look out the window at the white blanket shrouding trees and road alike. No sign of interest, or fatigue, or anything remotely resembling enthusiasm had slipped through Andrew’s guard since leaving New York. He might as well have declared himself a hostage.

Perhaps he was—a hostage to his father’s failure.

For now, though, the struggle was not father against son but man against nature. Rhys eased his foot onto the brake and felt the tires skid.

“There has to be six inches of snow on this road, over a layer of ice. Have these people ever heard of snowplows?” With the weight of the trailer behind him, he needed all the traction he could get—which appeared to be none, as the truck continued to slide despite antilock brakes and four-wheel drive.

Rhys muttered a string of curses. “I can’t stop the damn thing.”

“Just take the corner,” Terry advised, leaning forward between the seats. “Wide as you can.”

Teeth gritted, Rhys didn’t have time for another smart answer. He turned the steering wheel gently to the left, avoiding thoughts of what would happen if the trailer behind him twisted or, worse, capsized. Holding his breath, he glanced at the rearview mirror to see the rig behind him come into line. All he had to do was straighten up a bit and they’d be headed down the lane, none the worse for their little skating adventure.

Then the truck’s front tire jolted into a deep hole on the right side. “Oh, Jesus,” Terry groaned. “What now?”

The rear wheel followed. Before Rhys could brake, the trailer’s double wheel, loaded with two and a half tons of horse, dropped into the pit and stuck fast. Their forward progress skidded to a shuddering, lurching stop.

Swearing, Rhys released his seat belt and jumped down into the snow, wincing as the impact jarred his back. His first glance at the trailer showed him the worst—a forty-foot conveyance tilted to the side of the road at a steep angle, containing five animals known for their tendency to panic at the bite of a fly.

Terry charged past him. “Got to get them out,” he muttered through the fog of his breath, “’fore they go hurting themselves.”

“And how are we going to tie up horses in an empty field in the middle of a snowstorm?” Rhys joined the older man in letting down the back ramp and opening the double doors.

“God knows.”

“And we’re waiting for divine revelation?”

“Better revelation than a broken leg.”

Three horses were loaded side by side at this end, facing forward and trying to keep their balance on the sloping floor. An ominous thumping came from one of the berths at the other end of the trailer.

Rhys put a hand on Terry’s shoulder. “You unload here. I’ll start at the front end.”

“You can’t bring that stallion out by yourself.”

“I’ll get Andrew to help.”

“That’ll be a trick.”

Contrary to Terry’s pessimism, Andrew had sized up the situation and solved one of their problems already. As Rhys headed to the center door of the trailer, he saw that his son had found a pair of trees off to the left and was stringing a line between them to which the horses could be tied.

“Good idea,” Rhys called across the snowy ground. Andrew didn’t hear, or chose not to. Either way, he didn’t react.

But within the trailer, Imperator had heard his master’s voice. His shrill whinny ratcheted the anxiety of the other horses up several notches. Rhys got the ramp down and the door open just in time to see the big Thoroughbred hunch, elevating his hindquarters. With the sound of a cannon shot, both hooves impacted the wall of his stall.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” Beside the trailer, Terry hung on to a lead rope as the bay gelding on the other end, taking exception to Imperator’s display, attempted to rear. By the sound of it, the horses still in the trailer with Imperator were on the verge of outright revolt. “Down, Abner. Down.”

Rhys climbed into the trailer to stand spread legged in front of his stallion. “Okay, big boy, we got the message. You want out. Can you be halfway cool about this?”

Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, Imperator was anything but cool. His winter coat of thick black hair was streaked with sweat. He didn’t travel well at the best of times, and this morning’s tranquilizer had worn off a couple of hours ago—the scheduled time of their arrival before the intervention of the storm.

“Settle down, son.” Rhys stroked a hand along the arch of Imperator’s neck. “Just a little uneven ground, here. You’re the best there is over hills.”

The horse pawed the floor with an impatient hoof, barely missing the toe of Rhys’s boot.

“Get you out, is what you’re saying. Right. Just don’t kill me in the process.” He untied the lead rope from the ring on the wall and stepped back as Imperator lunged against the padded breast bar keeping him in the stall.

“No.” Snapping the rope taut, Rhys put steel into his voice. “Back up. Back up,” he ordered, pressing his fist into the stallion’s chest. “You heard me. Back.” Imperator brought his own stern will to the argument, refusing to retreat. Snow blew into the trailer, along with a cold wind that froze Rhys’s rear end and stiffened the tense muscles in his back.

Giving in, however, would destroy what control he might possess over this powerful animal. He jerked the lead rope once more, pulling the horse’s head down until they met eye to eye. “Imperator. Back. Now.”

After a moment, Imperator conceded and shuffled back a step, then another. Rhys let him stand there for a few moments, submissive, to reinforce the lesson. “Okay. Now we’ll try again.” He released the breast bar. “Slowly. Walk on, Imperator. Walk.”

The horse stepped to the door of the tilted trailer and hesitated at the top of the ramp, staring out at the white world swirling around him. Snowflakes matted his mane and eyelashes immediately. Imperator snorted and shook his head.

“Yes, we were leaving this weather behind, weren’t we? The point of coming south was to get warm, right?” Rhys felt for his footing in the soft snow. “Among other things. Walk on.”

Steadily Imperator moved down the ramp. Once on the ground, a combination of fresh air and the prospect of freedom energized the big horse. Head high, eyes wide, he surveyed his new surroundings, shifting his body to take in a three-hundred-sixty-degree view. Though he obviously would have preferred to gallop across the field to the trees where Abner was already tied up, Rhys held him to a walk on the unknown ground and tied him at the other end of the line from the bay. “You two be gentlemen. We don’t need any other complications this afternoon.”

When he turned back to the trailer, he saw Andrew trudging through the snow leading the two mares, Daisy and Lucretia, followed by Terry with Felix, the black-and-white pinto yearling.

“So,” he said as they came close, “we’ve got five horses to move down this lane in the snow. Any reason we can’t ride three and lead the other two?”

Terry shrugged. “Whatever we’re going to do, let’s be quick about it. I’m freezing my cheeks off out here.”

Rhys nodded. “I’ll take Abner and lead Imperator. Andrew can mount Daisy.” He gave the gelding a pat. Daisy and Abner were brother and sister, though a year apart in age, and shared the same even temperament. Riding either horse was like relaxing in a favorite armchair.

But Terry stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’d advise against riding her after all the upset. You can never tell what will cause a mare to drop her foal too early.”

“Damn.” Daisy was pregnant, and Terry was exactly right. But Felix was far too young to carry a rider. “That leaves us a mount short.”

Andrew looked around, his eyes bright. “I’ll ride Imperator.”

Rhys shook his head. “No.”

“I can. He—”

Keeping a firm grip on his temper, Rhys explained the obvious. “All we need is an Olympic champion running wild with you on his back, through a snowstorm, over unfamiliar, unseen ground. The way things are going today, both of you would end up with broken bones.”

An insolent—even contemptuous—sneer curled Andrew’s mouth. “I’m not the one who fell off him last.”

“That’s enough of that,” Terry said sharply. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy.”

Rhys swallowed against a surge of emotion he didn’t want to classify. “I have more weight to use and twenty years of experience to my advantage. That makes me a safer bet.” Avoiding the sullen outrage on Andrew’s face, he turned toward the truck. “I’ll lock up the rig.”

First he tried to pull the trailer wheels out of the hole again, thinking that without the weight of the horses, he might actually succeed. But the traction just wasn’t there. Even in low gear, the truck’s wheels spun uselessly against the weight behind it.

In the tack room of the trailer, he slung Imperator’s bridle over his shoulder and pulled saddle pads off the racks. He’d seldom ridden this horse bareback—Imperator needed the discipline of a saddle to keep him focused.

Then again, the last time he had been on Imp’s back, a saddle hadn’t kept either of them from disaster. For a moment, Rhys stood with his eyes closed, fighting back the memory of that last fall, his own sense of helplessness as the world literally spun around his head.

But that was the past. Today, he was making a start on his future. Their future, his and his son’s.

When he rejoined Terry and Andrew, they’d fashioned their horses’ halters into bridles without bits. Rhys gave them blankets and turned toward the stallion. Again Terry grabbed his sleeve. “I’ll ride him, if you want,” the Irishman said in a low voice. “You’ve no need to take such a risk, with your back still tender.”

“I’ll be okay,” Rhys assured the trainer, and himself. “Give me a leg up.” As they walked to open ground for mounting, Imp tossed his head and capered, obviously wanting a brisk run.

“Are you sure?” Terry asked once more.

“What do you think?” Rhys brushed the snow from Imp’s back before slinging the saddle pad across.

“That you’re a damn lunatic, just as I have said since you were five years old.”

“Well, at least I’m consistent. Ready?” He closed the reins inside his left fist.

Terry bent his back and held out his clasped hands for Rhys to put his knee into. “If you say so.”

Then, with three bounces on his right foot and a toss up from Terry, Rhys found himself, for the first time in two months, astride the great Imperator.

“All right?” Terry said, as Imp sidled and shied.

What other choice did he have? He could either admit he was all but puking with fear…or else sit here and ride the damn horse.

Rhys drew a deep, shaking breath. “All right.”

The Irishman retained Daisy’s lead rope as he ploughed through the deepening snow—at least eight inches by now—to Lucretia, a gray Thoroughbred named for the wicked glint in her eye. Andrew, again wearing his mask of indifference, had already mounted Abner.

As he had for the past week, Rhys ignored his son’s attitude and his own inability to make a connection with the boy. “Let’s get this parade underway.”

Heading Imperator toward the lane, he kept a firm hand on the reins, restraining the stallion’s desire for speed. The asphalt road surface was solid under the snow, but treacherous nonetheless, thanks to that layer of ice.

“How far do we have to go?” he called back to Terry.

“Five miles, or there abouts.”

“Terrific.”

Five frozen miles to a cold house and barn he’d leased without seeing them, on a horse he had failed the last time they rode together. Imperator didn’t trust him any more than he trusted himself. Not exactly the perfect start to a new life.

“Happy New Year.” Rhys blew out a frustrated breath. “Happy New Year, indeed.”



COVERED WITH SNOW and laughing with no breath left to do so, Jacquie Archer staggered into the warmth of her kitchen and leaned back against the door to prevent her daughter from coming inside.

“Let me in!” Erin pretended to pound on the window. “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”

Jacquie grinned at the recollection of childhood stories. “Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”

“Then I’ll huff—” Erin pushed at the door “—and I’ll puff—” she pushed again “—and I’ll blow your house in.” She gave one more push, just as Jacquie stepped away from the door and allowed it to swing open. With a cry of surprise, Erin stumbled across the threshold and into her mother’s arms.

They collapsed against each other, still laughing. Hurry, their Australian shepherd, came in behind Erin and danced around their feet in exuberant canine fashion, panting and jumping up at them in an effort to join the game.

“Now I remember why we named her Hurricane,” Jacquie said, rubbing the perky ears. “We’d all better get dried off before we end up standing in a puddle of melted snow.”

Minutes later, their ski jackets and bibs hung from the shower curtain rod in the back bathroom. The snow caked on their boots melted into the tub. Erin toweled Hurry’s long, black-and-white coat to a reasonably dry state and gave her a snack of dog food mixed with warm water while Jacquie heated water for tea.

“Orange spice, lemon, or English breakfast?” She turned off the heat under the whistling kettle. “Honey or sugar?”

“Lemon and honey,” her daughter decided. “And gingersnaps. Yum. What movie should we watch?” She set out the tin containing their remaining Christmas cookies.

“You decide. I need to look at my schedule for next week and check the machine before I sit down. After spending the morning outside, I figure I’ll be asleep in seconds.”

“’Kay.” Erin took a plate of ginger cookies and her mug into the living room. Jacquie sipped at her orange spice tea and finished off a couple of cream-cheese cookies before turning to the answering machine. Sure enough, the light was blinking. She gathered her pen and appointment book, then pressed the button.

“Hi, Jacquie, honey.” Her mother’s sweet Southern accent always made her smile. “We enjoyed having y’all over yesterday to watch the games and share our New Year’s Day. Looks like the snow won’t last too long—the weather channel says the temperatures will be in the fifties the first of next week. You be careful driving around, though. We’ll look to see you at church on Sunday. Let me know if you want to come here for lunch.”

Message two was from her friend Phoebe Moss, who lived down the road. “Happy New Year, Jacquie. How about this snow? You should see my horses kicking up their heels out there. Speaking of which, we’re due for a trim. Give me a call and we’ll set up an appointment.”

Jacquie was still writing a note to call Phoebe when message three started. “Ladysmith Farrier Service? This is Rhys Lewellyn. I’m leasing Fairfield Farm…”

She heard nothing else. A black cloud swirled in front of her eyes and the room tilted under her feet. For the second time in her life, Jacquie thought she might actually faint.

Holding her mug in two shaking hands, she went to the kitchen table and sat down with her back to the answering machine. What she couldn’t see wasn’t there, right? Rhys Lewellyn didn’t exist. Keeping her mind deliberately blank, she reached the bottom of her mug and the little pile of sugar that hadn’t dissolved.

Erin padded into the kitchen in her socks. “Hey, you’re eating all the cookies. No fair.” She rummaged through the tin and pulled out another gingersnap. “Last one. I’m watching the last half of the asteroid movie. Are you coming?”

“In a little while.”

“’Kay.” Unaware of looming disaster, her daughter returned to the simplicity of a world threatened merely by destruction from outer space.

Reality presented a much more immediate and complicated menace. Feeling colder than when she’d been playing outside, Jacquie returned to the answering machine and pressed the button to repeat the last message.

“Ladysmith Farrier Service? This is Rhys Lewellyn.” His voice hadn’t changed in fourteen years, the words still crisp and clean, the tone light and yet somehow rich. A voice that horses listened to, obeyed. A voice that a woman might savor like the ripple of silk against her skin.

“I’m leasing Fairfield Farm—we arrived yesterday in the middle of the storm. I’ve got three horses which lost shoes in the snow. If you have time, I need a farrier as soon as possible.” He left his number and hung up. Decisive and direct, just as he had been all those years ago.

“Mom, you’re missing the movie.” Erin leaned around the door frame between kitchen and living room. “They’re already at the space station.” With her black hair cut short and her slight frame, Erin looked like Peter Pan, mischievous, adventurous, untamed. Straight brows slanting over icy blue eyes increased the effect. On horseback, in a helmet that disguised her feminine chin and mouth, she might have been a boy. She rode like one. Or, to be more precise, like a young version of the man she resembled so closely…her father, Rhys Lewellyn.

“Mom?” Erin came to the table, put a hand on Jacquie’s shoulder. “You all right?” Then she glanced down at the appointment pad and gasped. “Rhys Lewellyn? The Olympic rider? He called you?”

Jacquie hadn’t realized she’d written down his name. “I—”

“You’re going to work for Rhys Lewellyn? Awesome.” Erin bounced across the kitchen and back. “Is he gonna be here for a while? Or is he just passing through? He used to winter in Florida. This is kinda out of the way for driving to Florida, though. Isn’t it? Oh, please, say he’s staying here at least till spring.”

“He—he said he’s leasing Fairfield Farm.”

“How cool is that? I could ride across the Allens’ land and the Brentwoods’ and be there for lessons.” She threw herself on her knees at Jacquie’s side. “Mom, you gotta ask him if he’ll give me lessons. I couldn’t stand it if he was this close and I didn’t get to ride with him. He probably charges, like, a hundred dollars, but I’ll earn the money, I promise. Please, please, promise you’ll ask.”

Jacquie pulled herself together. “We don’t know if he’s teaching, Erin. Let’s get the facts first.” Like the fact that you’re his daughter. And he doesn’t know you exist.

“When are you going out there? Can I come? Fairfield has that great stone barn, doesn’t it? And I bet he’s brought Imperator with him. That’s his Olympic ride, you know. They took the gold in eventing at the last games. Oh, man. I gotta go with you.”

“I have to call back to set an appointment, Erin.” And she would make sure to choose a time when her daughter was otherwise occupied. “You’re missing the movie.”

“Who cares, when I can ride with Rhys Lewellyn? So incredibly awesome. I’m gonna go find that magazine with the big article on the Olympics. They spent pages and pages on him and Imperator.”

Erin dashed to her room. Jacquie folded her arms on the table and buried her head in them. She’d never read an article on the man, not so much as a paragraph over all these years. She hadn’t needed pictures to see the resemblance to his daughter, of course. That was as much a reminder of her time with Rhys as Jacquie had been able to bear.

If she failed to return his call, he would find another farrier. She could lie to Erin and tell her that Rhys wasn’t teaching, only training his own horses. Which might be true.

But if Rhys was going to teach, Erin would hear about it from her friends. And he would most likely be riding at the shows and events scheduled in the area, including the prestigious Top Flight HorseTrials coming up in April. Erin planned to compete there. From what she knew of him, Jacquie would be surprised if Rhys did not.

No matter who rode where, chances were good that she and Erin would encounter Rhys Lewellyn somewhere during the next few months. The horse world around the town of New Skye just wasn’t that big. Thinking of running into him, confronting him with a daughter he didn’t know he had in front of her friends, clients, and plain old nosy strangers, churned Jacquie’s stomach worse than any amusement park ride Erin had ever forced her to take.

She made it to the bathroom before she lost her tea and cookies. Washing her face, Jacquie decided she would have to take control of the situation if she expected to salvage her relationship with Erin. Her only concern was that her daughter suffer as little as possible. She didn’t care what happened to Rhys or herself or anyone else involved, as long as Erin came out okay.

“Mom, they’re about to set off the nuclear warhead,” Erin called from the living room. Jacquie sighed as she went in to watch the last ten minutes of the film. She didn’t need to witness an explosion.

As far as she was concerned, Rhys Lewellyn had already blown her world apart.



SHE CALLED THE NUMBER Rhys had left in his message while Erin was out at the barn the next morning.

“Fairfield Farms.” That Irish brogue was immediately familiar. Terry O’Neal had worked with Rhys’s father on their farm in Wales and had moved with the family to New York when Rhys was eight years old. He’d been an integral part of the riding program during the time Jacquie trained there, fourteen years ago.

“This is Ladysmith Farrier Service, returning Mr. Lewellyn’s call.” She wasn’t about to give them her name in advance. And she was pretty sure Terry wouldn’t recognize her voice. After all this time—and, no doubt, a long string of women—Rhys wouldn’t, either.

“Good to hear from you, ma’am.” Terry was brisk, businesslike. No ghosts from the past for him. “We lost another shoe in the muck this morning. When can you be here?”

She had carefully checked Erin’s schedule. “We’ll have someone out there tomorrow morning at nine, if that works for you.” Erin was spending the night at a sleepover party and wouldn’t be home until afternoon.

“Not today?”

“I’m afraid that’s the earliest free slot we have.” Untrue, but she was lying for Erin’s sake.

“I guess it’ll do. We’re not working in this slush, anyway. We’ll look for you at nine on Saturday.” He sounded rushed, now, and in the background she heard voices shouting, apparently at each other. One, she easily recognized as Rhys. She almost grinned—he could be hard on any of the help who didn’t give one-hundred percent to the horses. And he was always hardest on himself.

Fortunately, for her peace of mind, Erin didn’t think to ask about the appointment until lunch. “When are we going to Fairfield Farms?”

Jacquie kept her gaze on her soup. “I’m going tomorrow morning, while you are probably still asleep.”

Erin slapped her hands on the table. “Mom, why didn’t you wait until I could go? Or go today? We don’t have anything to do today and it’s too messy to ride.”

“They were busy today.” Another lie. “Tomorrow was the earliest we could schedule.”

The girl pouted over her grilled-cheese sandwich. “You’ll ask him about lessons, though, right? The snow’ll be gone soon and we can get to work.”

Jacquie managed to change the subject without making a definite commitment. And she managed to keep Erin diverted for the rest of the afternoon, until they arrived at the party. “Have fun,” she said, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Erin grabbed her sleeve as she turned. “Don’t forget to ask him about lessons.”

Erin’s friend Cathy, the hostess for the night, was standing with them on the front porch of her house. “Ask who about what lessons?”

Jacquie groaned silently.

“Rhys Lewellyn,” Erin said. “You know, the Olympic rider?”

Cathy frequently rode with Erin. “You mean the guy who won the gold?”

“Yeah, and he’s moved here, can you believe it? My mom’s going to ask him about lessons. Maybe you can come, too.”

“That would be so cool. I’ve got these pictures of him…” The girls closed the door, chattering away about Rhys and his exploits. His riding exploits.

Instead of going home to an empty house where she would have too much time to think, Jacquie went to a loud, explosive movie at the New Skye Cinema and then shopped for a month’s worth of groceries. She’d learned quickly and well how to divert her thoughts from Rhys. She wouldn’t think about him again until she had to.

Deep in the night, though, she found herself awake and wondering if he would recognize her at all. How dreadful would it be if she met him and he didn’t know her? Her name, though, would remind him…wouldn’t it? Surely Rhys hadn’t been with so many women that he didn’t even remember her name.

Tears threatened at the thought, but she drove them back. She’d stopped caring about Rhys Lewellyn a long, long time ago—the day, in fact, that he went back to his pregnant wife.

Now, protecting Erin was her only concern. She had to figure out when to tell Rhys about their daughter, and how she would expect him to deal with the situation. Nothing else mattered in the least.

In the morning, she dressed in her usual jeans, T-shirt, and sweatshirt, then braided her strawberry-blond hair, so different from her daughter’s. Adding makeup was a reasonable defense, she thought. To stay in control, she needed every weapon she could muster.

Hurry jumped into the truck as she opened the door. Jacquie shook her head at the dog. “You’re coming, are you? Want to watch the fireworks?”

Would there be fireworks? Or just a terrible discomfort as she did her job on his farm for the first and only time? He wouldn’t ask her back, once he knew who she was.

Across country, as Erin had pointed out, Fairfield Farm was a short ride away from her own place, Archer’s Acres. By road, the trip took twenty minutes. Jacquie pulled through Rhys’s stone-arch entryway exactly at nine and parked near the massive barn. A black-haired man walked out of the door as she shut off the engine. She swallowed hard, tense beyond breathing. As he came closer, though, she realized this wasn’t a man, but a boy. A boy with black hair, black, slanting eyebrows, and ice-blue eyes, the same ones she’d looked into every day of the last thirteen years. The eyes in her daughter’s face.

Rhys’s son had inherited his father’s strong shoulders and long, powerful legs, beautifully built for wearing riding breeches. “Can I help you?” he said, politely enough, in his father’s voice.

“I’m the farrier.” She cleared her throat. “Jacquie Archer.”

He tilted his head. “Andrew Lewellyn. You want to park at the door to the barn? We can tie them in the aisle.”

“Great.” A few minutes’ delay would give her a chance to collect herself, settle her nerves.

By the time she’d backed the truck up to the double door of the barn, there were three men and a horse standing in the aisle. Terry O’Neal she identified by his silhouette—stocky, bushy-haired, bowlegged. Andrew was about the same height, and shorter by a head than the third man…the man he favored…his father.

“Stay,” she told Hurry. No sense having the shepherd underfoot. Deploring her own weakness, she glanced in the rearview mirror before getting out. What good would makeup do, anyway?

Then, with her heart in her throat, she opened the truck door and jumped down. She’d forgotten her hat, and wisps of hair had escaped to blow around her face in the cold wind. She tucked them behind her ears as Rhys stepped from the shadows of the barn into the weak January sunlight.

He took one look at her and stopped dead. His hand, already extended to shake hers, dropped to his side. For a moment—an eternity of frozen silence—no one moved.

“Jacquie?” The word was strangely rough. “Jacquie Lennon? What the hell are you doing here?”

After a paralyzed moment, he covered the ground between them with quick strides, then grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, not gently.

“More important…why, in the name of all that’s holy, did you disappear without a trace?”




CHAPTER TWO


JACQUIE’S EYES WIDENED, and Rhys heard his own words with horror. In front of his son and his best friend, he stood on the brink of revealing a secret he’d kept from everyone in his life, except this one woman.

But how the hell was he supposed to remain calm when the missing piece in his existence had just reappeared after a fourteen-year absence?

He took a deep breath, fighting for control. Under his hands, Jacquie moved her shoulders, and he realized how tight his grip was.

“Sorry.” He released her and took a step back. “I’m…surprised…to see you. I had no idea you lived in this area.”

“Yes, I—I came back home. When I left New York.” She avoided his eyes, looking past his shoulder to where Andrew and Terry stood with Imperator. “Is this your champion?” She walked to the horse, stood close enough to let Imp get her scent. “He surely is gorgeous. Which shoe does he need?”

Business, Rhys reminded himself. She’s here on business. She’s the damn farrier.

“Right fore,” Terry supplied. “Good to see you, Jacquie. You were quite the rider when you were with us. Thought you’d go all the way.”

She smiled at him and shook her head. “I decided to pursue a more dependable income. But farrier work doesn’t always give you access to the great horses like this one.” When she extended her hand, Imperator allowed her to stroke his face—not a privilege he offered to many people. “You’re a big beauty, aren’t you?” Jacquie crooned. “I’ll bet it’s like riding the wind, being on your back.”

Rhys watched her commune with the horse, earning Imp’s trust in the way she’d always had with animals. They trusted her and, in turn, performed for her, meeting her demands with as much talent as they could command. He’d been harder on her than any of his other students, simply because she was so damn good.

Or maybe because he’d fallen in love with her the first time he saw her smile.

“Okay,” she said, turning from the horse to the bed of her truck. “Do you want me to trim him, or just replace the shoe?”

“Does he need a trim?” Rhys asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.

Jacquie eyed Imp’s hooves from a distance. Then she approached the horse, talking to him softly, running her hands over his shoulders to his chest and down his forelegs, picking up each in turn. Imp was usually a handful for any kind of examination, but he stood quiet for Jacquie, of course. He gave her a little more trouble about the rear legs, but she talked him through it and managed to look at each hoof closely.

When she came back to the truck, she glanced at Rhys and cocked her head. “As you no doubt know, he’s been trimmed within the last three weeks and doesn’t need it now. Do you have the shoe he pulled off?”

He grinned at her, relieved that she’d passed his test. “No, it’s somewhere on the lane between here and the highway.”

Tying on her farrier’s leather chaps, she didn’t grin back. “What were you doing riding on the road?”

“Long story.”

“Here to the highway is a long ride.”

“That, too.” He held her gaze for a moment, felt the shock as awareness kicked in, bringing with it memories he’d worked for years to bury.

Judging by the way her face froze, so had Jacquie. She jerked her head back and forth, a very definite rejection, and turned her back to him. “I’ve got the shoe he needs.”

Fast and efficient, she shaped the shoe on her anvil and fit it perfectly to Imperator’s hoof, then nailed it with a minimum of fuss and filed the ends off the nails. “I checked the other shoes,” she said, straightening up from her farrier’s crouch as easily as a child. “They look sound. You shoe him on the usual five-to-six-week schedule?

“Unless there’s a problem.”

She nodded. “Then he should be good for another three weeks, at least.”

Rhys glanced at Terry and got his nod of approval. “Glad to hear it. Andrew, bring Abner out here. Imperator can go into the paddock for a run.”

The shoeing process went as easily with the other three horses. At the end of an hour, Terry and Andrew resumed the schedule for the day as Jacquie put away her tools and took off her chaps. “If that’s all, I’ll write up a receipt.”

Leaving the door open, she climbed into the seat of her truck. On the passenger side, a black-and-white Australian shepherd sat up, panting with pleasure at having company once again.

“Nice dog,” Rhys commented, hoping he sounded more relaxed than he felt.

“We…her name is Hurry.” She didn’t look at him, or the dog.

He went around the hood of the truck and opened the passenger door to pet Hurry. “I’ve still got Sydney. Her arthritis is pretty bad, so she stays inside when it’s cold.”

The hand holding the pen faltered. “She was just a puppy.”

“Fourteen, now.” And an Australian shepherd, same as this one, which unnerved and pleased him, at the same time. “Would you like to come in and see her?” Jacquie was tempted, of that he had no doubt. And he would use any weapon he could find to reach her. “I bet she’d remember you.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got another job in a few minutes.” She handed him the receipt. “The total is one hundred dollars. My address is on there, if you’d like to mail me a check.”

“No, I’ll pay you now.” Trusting that she wouldn’t disappear while he went into the house wasn’t easy, but at least he had her address on the receipt. He could find her, this time. No private detectives, bringing back only dead ends.

On the driver’s side again, he handed her the cash. “Sure you won’t come in? We’ve got hot coffee and cold cinnamon rolls.”

“Tempting, but no thanks.” The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to grin. She tightened her fists around the steering wheel. Neither hand bore a ring or any sign she usually wore one. “So…are you here for the winter? Moving back to New York with warmer weather?”

He’d take any interest she displayed and be glad for it. “Probably not. The New England winters aren’t worth the summers anymore.” That was part of the truth, at least.

“And your family is down here with you?” Her flat tone suggested that she didn’t really care and asked only out of courtesy.

He tilted his head and gave her a bitter smile with the truth. “If you mean Terry and Andrew, yes. Olivia and I were divorced—finally, officially and forever—twelve years ago.”

“Oh.” Jacquie looked stunned for a second but recovered quickly. “Will…will you be teaching?”

“Definitely. I’ll get advertising in place soon, and I’m planning a schooling day when the weather gets warmer, just to let people know I’m here. Meanwhile, if you’ve got any clients who’d like lessons, send them my way.”

“Sure. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She said it without looking at him.

“Thanks.” Rhys decided to push her a little. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“What question?”

“Why didn’t you get in touch when you left?”

“I—” For a moment, she looked cornered. “You know why. He’s mucking out stalls while we’re talking.”

The old anger grabbed him. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“What was the point? You were going back to your wife. I needed to clear out fast.” Her deep breath shook. “And now I’m going back to my own life. Thanks for the business. William Innes is a good farrier, next time you need somebody.” She cranked the engine, put the truck in gear and drove away—once again—without saying goodbye.

Rhys held up his receipt. “Oh, no, my dear. I’ve got a farrier already, by the name of Ms. Jacqueline Lennon.” He glanced at the paper, then did a double take. The sheet read “Ladysmith Farrier Service, Jacquie Archer, Farrier.”

“Archer? Archer? Just what the hell,” he demanded aloud, staring at the black truck now leaving his property, “does that mean?”



SINCE HIS FALL during a competition in New Zealand last November, one chore Andrew’s dad didn’t do was cleaning stalls. Most mornings, Andrew got that task all to himself, though occasionally Terry helped. Like today.

“So they knew each other before?” he asked the trainer, when he was sure his dad had gone into the house. “She was a student?”

“Yeah.” Terry dumped a forkful of dirty shavings into the bin. “One of the best he’s had. She was Olympic material if I’ve ever seen it.”

“What happened?”

“Not for me to say.” Terry pitched another load and then glared at Andrew. “And I wouldn’t ask, if I were you, boyo, unless you relish getting your nose snapped off and your ears singed.”

The old man cast a glance at the three stalls he’d cleaned to Andrew’s one. “Guess you’ve got work to do.” Hanging up his fork, he stomped out of the barn toward the house.

Andrew gave him—no, both of them—the finger while they weren’t looking, then turned back to finish Imperator’s stall. When didn’t he get yelled at around here? Whatever went wrong came down on him, like crap flowing downhill.

Privileges, now, those he had to steal. Yesterday, Terry and his dad had ridden Abner and Lucretia back to the highway to fetch the truck and trailer, leaving Andrew to keep an eye on the place. He’d kept an eye out, all right—just long enough to be sure they got out of sight. Then he’d saddled Imperator and gone for a ride.

The lady farrier was right—being on the big stallion was the absolute best. One side of Fairfield Farm bordered a horse preserve with miles of trails and acres of open ground for riding. Andrew intended to take Imp there one day soon, but to begin with he’d stayed in the pastures behind the barn, knowing his dad would literally kill him if he let Imp get even slightly injured. The horse was as crazy for freedom as Andrew, and enjoyed every second of their stolen gallop. By the time the truck and trailer pulled in at the gate, Imperator was cool and calm and back in his paddock with no evidence to suggest he’d ever been anywhere else.

Today they wouldn’t get such a break. All Andrew could do today was his job—finish the stalls, empty, clean and refill all the water buckets, and sweep the cobbled hallway of the stable. Finally certain that nobody could yell at him for something he hadn’t done—unlike yesterday, when his dad had blown up over the dirty buckets—he went to sit on the fence of the paddock where Imperator waited.

The stallion came over to investigate Andrew’s down vest and pants and shoes. “No fun today, Imp.” He combed his fingers through the thick mane. “Maybe I can sneak out tonight, after bedtime.”

But the weather had warmed up and the snow was melting—how insane was that, in January? Wet, soft ground with patches of snow and ice would make riding in the dark too dangerous. He put his forehead against the horse’s neck. “Or maybe not.”

All he wanted—in fact, all he’d asked for as a Christmas present—was to ride this horse in practice every day. He put up with his dad’s impossible demands and Terry’s grouchy moods, was willing to take lessons and submit to training like a beginning rider, though he’d been on horseback practically since the day he was born—the birthday he shared with the fantastic horse. Whatever his dad and Terry required, Andrew would agree to, if he could just make Imperator his horse.

A door slammed at the house. Imp startled and hopped away, leaving Andrew no choice but to fall forward, off the fence. He landed on his feet and was straightening up when his dad arrived at the paddock.

The great Olympic rider stopped and stared for a minute, stone-faced. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Were you thinking about riding him again?”

“N-no.” He couldn’t help asking, “Again? What are you talking about?”

“You rode him yesterday while we were gone.”

Not a question. Shit.

“Don’t bother to lie.” His dad leaned his elbows on the top rail of the fence, his gaze following Imperator as he trotted around the paddock. “I did laundry this morning. You had his hair on the legs of your jeans.”

“I was careful. He didn’t get hurt.”

“Believe it or not, I’m thinking more of your safety than his. He’s too much for you.”

“I had him under control the whole time.”

“That’s what he allowed you to think.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re just not experienced with top-level horses.”

Andrew managed to resist stomping his foot. “You’re the one with the experience. You’re the one who got dumped.”

His dad’s mouth tightened into a straight line, and his eyes glinted like cold steel. “Exactly. If I can be unseated, what chance has a novice rider got against a horse like Imperator? Stay off of him. Or I’ll ship you back to your grandfather.” Turning on his heel, he stalked to his office in the barn and let the door bang shut behind him.

Now that was a threat worth listening to. Compared to his grandfather, his dad looked like Captain Kangaroo.

Andrew climbed through the fence and straightened up to give Imperator one last pat over the rail.

“Nothing around here ever changes,” he told the horse. “Same shit, different day.”



ANY HOPE JACQUIE HARBORED that she would be given a respite before dealing with the problem of Rhys Lewellyn died the very night after she’d visited his farm. Her phone rang at eight-thirty and Erin answered, using the polite manners her grandmother had taught her. “May I say who’s calling?”

With a gasp, those manners vanished. “Wow, Mr. Lewellyn, it’s so cool to talk to you. My name’s Erin Archer and I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I can remember. I’ve got all sorts of pictures of you and Imperator at the Olympics. That has to be just the most awesome feeling, taking him over fences.”

Erin stopped for a moment, and Jacquie came to get the phone, but her daughter waved her off. “Yes, sir, I’ve been riding since I was little. I’m almost fourteen and I compete at third-level dressage with my Thoroughbred gelding, Mirage. We’re working on training level in cross country and show jumping so I can ride in the Top Flight Horse Trials this spring.” Another gasp. “I would love to take lessons—I was talking to my mom about that when she said she was going to shoe your horses. That is just so amazing. When can I start?”

Caught between horror and despair, Jacquie turned her back to her daughter. Her pulse pounded in her fingertips, her throat, her ears and head. Hadn’t she already paid for her mistakes? Why had retribution come twice?

“Mom?” Erin tapped her on the shoulder before she was ready. “Mr. Lewellyn wants to talk to you.”

She reached for the phone over her shoulder. “Thanks.” When Erin didn’t leave the room, Jacquie cleared her throat. “Privacy, please?” Once alone in the kitchen, she shut the door and put a chair against it to prevent unexpected reentry. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jacquie.” His voice in her ear was like a sip of sweet harvest wine, spicy and intoxicating.

Jacquie collapsed into a chair at the table. “What can I do for you, Rhys? Is there a problem with one of the shoes?”

“No, not at all. I just wanted to ask…” He paused, then cleared his throat. “I was confused, that’s all. But I guess I’ve already got the answer.”

“To which question?”

After another hesitation, he gave an uneasy laugh. “There’s no way to say this gracefully. I didn’t expect you to be married, that’s all, so I was confused by the name Archer on your receipt. But obviously, since you have such a delightful daughter, there’s a…dad…in the picture, too.”

Oh, how she wished that were true. How easy this would be if she could trot out a husband and trail him under Rhys Lewellyn’s nose.

Jacquie sighed. “I’m a widow.” Even that was a lie. But at least it was a lie everyone she knew, including Erin, believed.

“Ah.” The confidence returned to Rhys’s voice in that one syllable. “I’m sorry you lost your husband.”

“Thanks. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Well, it sounds like we need to set up some lessons for your daughter. She’s enthusiastic, to say the least. Is she as good as she says she is?”

A mother’s pride would not be denied. “Better. Better than I was at her age, too.”

“Definitely a student I’d enjoy. Why don’t you bring her over tomorrow and we’ll do some schooling?”

“I can’t.” No hesitation about that answer. “We have church and dinner with my family afterward.”

“Then when would be a good time?”

“I—I’ll have to call you back. My schedule’s pretty full next week. And school starts Monday.”

“Yes, I reminded Andrew of that depressing fact today. He’ll be going to New Skye High School—with Erin, I presume.”

“That’s right.” And she would not offer to carpool with them.

So, of course, Rhys did. “I would be glad to drive her to school along with Andrew. As soon as I figure out how to get there, of course.”

His rueful tone tempted her to smile, and Jacquie had the sensation of clinging by her fingernails to the edge of a crumbling cliff. “Thanks, but I like to drive her myself. We get a chance to talk.”

“Which can be a blessing, or a curse.” He was silent for a moment. “Then if you can’t come for a lesson and I can’t drive your daughter to school for you, I’ll have to go the direct route. Will you have dinner with me next week? Say, Friday night?”

He might as well have punched her in the stomach—her reaction was pretty much the same. “Why?”

“For old times’ sake?”

“Our old times aren’t something to celebrate, Rhys.”

“Why not?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“You were married, remember? What we were…what we did…was adultery.”

“Olivia and I were separated, Jacquie. More than halfway to a divorce.”

“Until you went back to her. End of story.” She was breathing as if she’d run a five-minute mile. “I have to go, Rhys. Good night.”

“Wait, Jacquie—”

But she hung up on him. She knew too well the power of his voice, its effect on her will and her good intentions. If ever a girl had been talked into a man’s bed, it was young Jacquie Lennon.

Erin banged the door against the chair. “Mom? What’s going on? What in the world are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Jacquie moved the chair and opened the door herself.

“Did you talk about lessons? When do I start?”

“We didn’t set a time, Erin.”

“Mom! Why not?”

“Because there’s more to my life than your whims and fantasies,” Jacquie snapped, unfairly, she knew. “Like earning a living to keep a roof over our heads and food in the horses’ mouths. Riding lessons with overpriced, big-ego trainers are just not at the top of my list right now, okay? I’m going to bed. Good night.”

She aimed a kiss at Erin’s head and did an about-face, heading for her bedroom. Behind a closed door, she drove her fists into her pillow until her hands were too heavy to lift, her arms too weak to try. But she’d killed the fear. For now, anyway.



THE EXTENT TO WHICH Rhys’s arrival would disrupt her life became obvious when Jacquie arrived at her parents’ house for lunch on Sunday.

“Hey, sweetie.” While putting the lid back on a steaming pot of green beans, her mother tilted her cheek up for a kiss. “Where’s Erin?”

“She saw Daddy outside and went to talk to him.”

“She’s Grandpa’s girl. How was your week?”

“Same as usual.” And if that wasn’t a lie, what would be? “How about you? You got your hair cut? I really like it.”

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Becky Lennon gave a self-conscious pat to her short blond hair, then smoothed her hands over her plump hips. “I bought this dress, too. I had to get out of the house for a little while. Your daddy was underfoot most of the time.”

“I bet you put him to work.”

“What choice did I have? I can’t have him bothering me all day long.” She bent to the oven and pulled out two trays of golden biscuits. “He put up those shelves I’ve been needing in the sewing room and then installed a new shower door in you girls’ bathroom.” Neither Jacquie nor her sister Alicia had lived at home for ten years, but that was still their bathroom. “Jimmy came over on Friday and the two of them moved the furniture out of the living and dining rooms, gave the carpet a good shampooing.”

“Which is a nice way of saying you let him come over to give his wife the day off.” As farmers, neither her brother nor her dad knew what to do with themselves when confined to the house by ice and snow.

Her mother winked. “Sandy did the same for me yesterday—had your dad come over and help Jimmy put together the furniture for the nursery. We look out for each other.”

“She’s due next month, right?”

“February tenth is her due date, but the doctor says he thinks she’ll go early, from the size of the baby. Though in my experience, most first babies are late. Except Erin was early, wasn’t she?”

“Ten days.”

Becky nodded as she poured creamed corn into a serving bowl. “That’s why I didn’t get to be with you for the delivery.”

Jacquie winced at the unspoken reproof. Erin had been born in Oklahoma, far from family, with only her mother and a midwife to welcome her into the world.

In the front of the house, a door slammed. “That’ll be them, coming in from church. Alicia said she’d ride with Jimmy and Sandy. I’d better get this meal on the table.”

“What can I do?”

“You carry the vegetables into the dining room while I get the chicken.” Becky Lennon organized her Sunday dinners with the efficiency of a marine drill sergeant. In moments, the whole of Jacquie’s family was seated around the table.

As soon as her grandpa had given thanks for the food and the melting snow, Erin started talking. “Grandma, guess what? I’m getting riding lessons this week with Rhys Lewellyn. Is that amazing, or what?”

“That’s nice, honey.” In the middle of serving herself a slice of chicken, Jacquie’s mother looked across at Erin. “Lewellyn? Isn’t that…?” Her frowning gaze moved to Jacquie.

“That’s right.” Jacquie spoke over the gallop of her heartbeat. “I trained with him in New York. He’s just moved down here with his horses, and Erin’s dying to get his help with her riding.”

“More than just training,” Alicia said. “As I recall, you had a huge crush on Rhys Lewellyn. Every phone call was about how handsome he was, how he smiled—”

“You’re exaggerating,” Jacquie said, though her impulse was to scream Shut up! “I liked him a lot. He’s a good teacher.”

“And gorgeous?” Alicia prompted.

“Okay, yes. Still is, for that matter.” She hoped her appraisal came across as casual.

Erin’s eyes were round with surprise. “Mom? You and Mr. Lewellyn went out together?”

“No.” They’d never gone on dates because he’d been married. “No, Erin, we didn’t go out together. I was young, he was attractive and older and paid attention to me because I rode well. End of story.” More or less.

“Except that the next thing we knew, you’d moved halfway across the country, married Mark Archer and were having a baby.” Alicia shook her head. “You always were crazy, but that year had to be one of the craziest.”

When Jacquie glanced across the table, her mother’s frown hadn’t eased. So much about that time in her life had gone unexplained, she wouldn’t be surprised if Becky Lennon’s suspicions were easily aroused.

Damn you, Rhys. Damn you for showing up to ruin my life yet again.

Desperate for distraction, she turned to her sister-in-law. “Sandy, I hear you got your nursery set up this week. Have you finished sewing the curtains and quilts? When can I come see?”

Listening to Sandy’s glowing description of ruffles and rainbows, Jacquie recalled the “nursery” she’d arranged for Erin almost fourteen years ago—a thrift-shop crib in the corner of her one-room apartment over the barn, with worn baby sheets borrowed from the family she worked for and a yellow blanket representing her first and only attempt at knitting. Crooked and lumpy, the yellow blanket had been Erin’s “friend” until she went to kindergarten, and rested safe now at the bottom of their family keepsake box.

Alicia took over the conversation at that point. Jacquie tried to relax and enjoy her baked chicken, but her stomach was fisted tight. Thankfully, she got her plate scraped off and into the dishwasher before her mother noticed. And she got Erin out of the house before the subject of Rhys Lewellyn could come up again.

Her daughter had left most of her homework until the last day of vacation, of course, and they struggled through the rest of the day with an English paper and an algebra worksheet. Jacquie could help with the writing assignment, but algebra had never been her strong point.

“Alicia got all the math genes,” she told Erin, when they’d both worked on a problem and failed to get the correct answer. “She’s the brain and Jimmy and I are the brawn of the family.”

“Can we call her and ask her to come over? It’s still early.”

“According to whom? It’s after nine o’clock. Alicia’s ready for bed by now. She gets up at five to walk, remember?”

“She could skip her walk and drive me to school.”

“I’ll drive you to school. I’m having breakfast with Phoebe tomorrow morning.”

“Can I go, too? Maybe Phoebe could do my math.”

Jacquie sighed and shook her head. “You’re going to have to ask your teacher for help, Erin.”

“But, Mom…!”

Between a troubled night’s sleep and the usual early-morning scramble to find school clothes and make lunch, Jacquie felt she’d lived through a whole day by the time she drove into New Skye and dropped Erin off at the school door.

Across the street from the school, however, was Charlie’s Carolina Diner, where she knew she could get good food and a healthy helping of friendship. Kids at New Skye High School had been hanging out at the Carolina Diner after class and on weekends since long before she and her friends took up the tradition. Many of them still came back as adults—to catch up with each other and the latest news in town, or, like Jacquie, for a chance to unwind.

“It’s only eight-thirty,” she said, sliding into the booth where Phoebe Moss waited for her. “And I’m already exhausted.”

“I know the feeling. What’s going on?” Phoebe flipped her long, ash-blond braid behind her shoulder and cupped her hands around her mug of tea.

Jacquie caught a glimpse of a sparkle on her best friend’s ring finger. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, let me see that rock you’re carrying around.”

Grinning, Phoebe stretched her left hand across the table to show off a diamond engagement ring. “We got it in New York while we were there over the holidays.”

“Fabulous. I love the emerald cut. Where did it come from?”

“Tiffany’s.”

“Oh, wow.” Jacquie sat back in awe. “Adam really does things with style, doesn’t he?” Adam DeVries, Phoebe’s fiancé, was a childhood friend of Jacquie’s and a fellow graduate in the class of 1989. Elected mayor in November, he would assume his office in a matter of days.

Phoebe’s grin turned into a dreamy smile. “We had the most wonderful time—skating at Rockefeller Center, a carriage ride in Central Park in the snow, museums and restaurants and shows…” She sighed. “Everything was simply perfect.”

“And now you’re back home, stepping out as the fiancée of the new mayor of New Skye. Are you ready?”

Her friend gave a mock shudder. “Just organizing the swearing-in party has me going crazy. But tell me about you and Erin. What’s going on that’s making you so tired?”

She toyed with her napkin. “The holidays were great. We loved the snow, of course, since we don’t get much. But…”

“But?” Abby Brannon arrived at their table with coffee for Jacquie and fresh tea for Phoebe. As the owner’s daughter, Abby had worked in the diner since she was a little girl. Not much happened in the town of New Skye she didn’t know about. More important, she’d been Jacquie’s close friend all during high school. “Something wrong with the horses? With Erin? Your parents? Your sister-in-law’s not due till February, right?”

“Oh, no. Everybody’s fine.” She shouldn’t have started this, Jacquie realized. How much could she say without revealing the truth she’d never told a soul, not even her best friends? “There’s a new trainer in town, Rhys Lewellyn.”

“The Olympic champion?” Phoebe kept horses, and would know his name.

“That’s the one. Erin’s crazy to take lessons from him.”

“And he doesn’t teach?”

“Yes, he does.”

Both Abby and Phoebe looked puzzled.

“It’s just…I worked with him, back before Erin was born. And we parted on bad terms. So having him as her teacher would be…difficult.”

“You don’t have to socialize, right?” Abby shrugged. “Just take her to the lesson and drive away when it’s done.” A bell rang behind the counter along the back wall. “Your breakfast is up. I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe nodded at Jacquie. “I agree. Write the check and don’t talk to him any more than you have to.”

If only it were so easy. “You know Erin. She thinks everybody should be friends. And she’d take a lesson every day, if I said okay. But I…” Her excuses sounded so weak. And the fear inside her was so strong.

“You…?”

Jacquie tried to tell the truth. “After what happened between us, I can’t bear the thought of seeing him that often.”

Not the whole truth, of course. Not the part about how being within a few feet of Rhys had been enough to set her pulse to pounding, just as it had when she was eighteen years old. How she’d caught herself wanting to trace the lines on his face with her fingertips, to rub the pad of her thumb over his lips. How, after years of banishing every wisp of memory, last night she’d dreamed of the past and all the lovely hours she’d spent in Rhys Lewellyn’s arms.

Phoebe swallowed a sip of tea. “Sounds to me like there’s more to this than you’re telling.”

“Well…yes,” Jacquie admitted, folding the napkin into crisp, even pleats. “I had a crush on him at the time. So it’s hard to meet him again as an old-widow woman with a kid.” How hard, she wasn’t prepared to say.

Her friend nodded. “I can see how that would be awkward. You could just tell Erin ‘no,’ right? She would survive.”

The only way to keep Erin and Rhys from seeing each other would be to forbid her to have anything to do with horses altogether. “I don’t think that would work.”

“Well, then, just concentrate on the bad and try to forget the good stuff.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking. “He’s probably insufferable, anyway. Arrogant and callous.”

That wasn’t fair. “Only when someone doesn’t give him their best effort.”

“And peremptory,” Abby added, setting down their plates. “Always ordering people around.” She leaned against the side of the booth.

“He can be,” Jacquie admitted. “But—”

Across the diner, the bell on the door jangled as another customer came in. Jacquie glanced at the new arrival, then looked again and felt the blood rush to her face.

“What’s wrong?” Phoebe had her back to the door, but she could, no doubt, read the trouble in Jacquie’s flaming blush. “Who is it?”

Abby gave a long, low whistle. “Speak of the devil. My guess is that Mr. Rhys Lewellyn just walked in. And we left out his most obvious character trait.”

Eyes wide, Phoebe looked from Abby to Jacquie. “Which is…?”

“He’s gorgeous,” Abby said. “With a capital G.”

Phoebe turned in her seat to get a quick peek. Flushing, she sat back again, facing Jacquie. “Oh, yes.”

Beside Jacquie, Abby straightened up. “And he’s heading this way.”




CHAPTER THREE


OTHER THAN THE CHANCE to pick up a cup of coffee for the twenty-minute drive back to Fairfield Farm, Rhys hadn’t expected anything out of his visit to the diner across the street from Andrew’s school. Finding Jacquie inside was a stroke of good luck he was sure he didn’t deserve, but one he intended to take full advantage of.

She had friends with her—a plump, chestnut-haired beauty standing by her shoulder and a cool blonde seated in the booth. They reminded him of watchdogs. If he didn’t behave, he had a feeling they were prepared to chase him off the premises.

“Good morning,” he said as he approached the table. “Is this where weary parents come to recover from the struggle of getting teenagers out of bed before noon?”

Jacquie grinned. “There’s a special pot of double-strength coffee set aside for those of us who need it.” Then, as if she’d suddenly remembered she didn’t want to talk to him, the grin faded. “Let me introduce you to some of your new neighbors. This is Abby Brannon.” She nodded to the woman standing beside her. “She and her dad Charlie run the Carolina Diner. Phoebe Moss,” she said, gesturing to the blonde, “lives just down the road from me, and when she’s not taking care of rescue horses, she works as a speech therapist. Abby, Phoebe, this is Rhys Lewellyn.”

“I’m glad to meet you.” Rhys tried out a smile on each of them, without much success. Phoebe’s gray gaze seemed to possess X-ray powers with which she intended to expose his every sin. If Jacquie had shared the details of their personal history with her friend, then there were a hell of a lot of sins to be found.

“Would you like anything else with your coffee?” Abby had a commercial interest to protect, he understood, which forced her to talk to him. “Doughnut, biscuit, piece of pie?”

“Just coffee, thanks.” When he smiled again, she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly, but he wasn’t sure that counted as progress.

“I’ll bring it out right away. Can I get y’all anything else?” She looked at Jacquie and Phoebe, who shook their heads, before hurrying off to the kitchen.

“This seems to be a popular place for breakfast,” Rhys commented, trying to keep the conversation going. No one, he noticed, had asked him to sit down.

“And lunch and dinner.” Jacquie looked around the room instead of meeting his eyes directly. “Most people in New Skye probably eat at the Carolina Diner at least once a week.”

“Some of them eat here every day,” Phoebe said, as the bell on the door jingled yet again. “Like my fiancé. Adam?” She lifted her hand and waved to the dark-haired man coming in the door, who quickly joined them.

Rhys stepped closer to Jacquie as the newcomer bent to give Phoebe a kiss. “Good m-morning, s-sweetheart, I didn’t know you’d be here. I’d have c-come in s-sooner.”

Phoebe’s smile was gentle as she laid her palm along the man’s jawline. “I came for breakfast with Jacquie.”

“S-sorry, Jacquie.” The guy straightened up and grinned. “I didn’t m-mean to ignore you.”

“That’s okay—you have your priorities right.” She winked at him, with a camaraderie Rhys envied. “Let me introduce you to Rhys Lewellyn. Rhys, this is Adam DeVries, Phoebe’s fiancé and, incidentally, the mayor-elect of New Skye. Adam, Rhys moved in during the snowstorm.”

“W-welcome to the area.” DeVries extended a strong hand. “Where are you c-coming f-from?”

“New York.”

The mayor-to-be laughed. “Well, if you were hoping to escape the sn-snow, don’t worry—we don’t usually get this m-much. Every f-few years we’ll have a fr-freak storm, but m-mostly we see an inch or two that melts by m-morning.”

Relieved at the absence of undercurrents, Rhys smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. The horses thought we’d done all that driving for nothing.”

“Horses?” DeVries sat down beside Phoebe, who scooted over to make room. “This is a good part of the country f-for horses. I know Jacquie’s been riding since she could walk—did the two of you know each other before you arrived?”

Rhys looked at Jacquie and found her staring at him, her eyes wide with alarm. He turned back to DeVries. “Jacquie came up to train at my barn, quite a few years ago. But we haven’t been in contact—it’s just my luck that she’s in this area.”

Abby returned just then to hand him a large foam cup with a cover. She saw Adam and gave a genuine smile. “Morning, Mr. Mayor. What’ll you have?”

“’M-morning, yourself, M-Miss Abby. The usual will be great.” DeVries looked up at Rhys. “Can you s-sit down with us?”

“I—” He would have refused—Jacquie obviously didn’t want him here. But, still without looking at him, she moved over into the corner of the booth, which left him no other option. “Sure, I’ll sit down for a few minutes.”

DeVries was a personable man, and a politician, so the conversation flowed easily enough for the next few minutes, until Rhys thought even Jacquie had begun to relax beside him. At least she’d eaten some of her breakfast. His awareness of her was like sitting near a blazing fire on the winter’s coldest night—the burn along that side of his body created a penetrating warmth that reached all the way to his core. Only as the ice began to melt did he realize he’d been frozen for fourteen long years.

“Have you met Erin?” DeVries asked, then smiled at Abby as she set his breakfast plate on the table. “Jacquie’s daughter is every bit as horse crazy as her mother was at that age. And from what Phoebe tells me, she’s really good.”

“I’ve talked to her on the phone. Jacquie and I are supposed to set up some lessons, I believe.” Rhys risked a glance to his left and found Jacquie’s gaze focused on the napkin her fingers were busy folding into a fan. “I’m looking forward to that.”

“Do you have a family, Rhys?” Phoebe Moss had evidently decided to suspend hostilities…or else she planned to come in under his radar.

“I’m divorced. My son Andrew lives with me.”

“How old is Andrew?”

“Going on fifteen.” Beside him, Jacquie stiffened for a moment, then relaxed again.

“Just a little older than Erin. Does he ride?”

“He could hardly help it, given the family business. Our branch of the Lewellyns has trained and sold horses for a couple of centuries, now, in Wales and the U.S. But Andrew does love it, thank God. He’s aiming for the Olympics.”

Phoebe buttered a piece of toast. “Like his father?”

DeVries looked up. “The Olympics?”

“Rhys has been to the Olympics twice,” Jacquie said. “He took a gold medal last time in eventing.”

The other man quirked an eyebrow. “I apologize. I didn’t recognize your name.”

Rhys shook his head. “No reason you should. Equestrian events aren’t as widely publicized as, say, track-and-field.”

“And what is eventing, exactly? I’m still being initiated into the horse world.”

“Eventing—held at what we call horse trials or three-day events—is a competition designed to test the endurance, athleticism, and discipline of horse and rider. The first day’s test is a dressage performance, in which we execute a complicated series of figures on flat ground within a ring of specified length and width.”

The mayor-elect nodded. “Right. I’ve watched dressage.”

“On the second day, horse and rider compete in the speed and endurance section, which includes several elements of fast work. The most impressive is the actual cross-country run, over seven kilometers or so on a course which includes obstacles ranging from simple fences to water hazards, even buildings to ride through. Each ride is timed, and any refusal or fall pretty much eliminates the pair for the entire event.”

“The jumps are massive,” Phoebe added. “Four feet high, or more, and at least that wide. Or in a series, where you make two or three jumps, one right after the other.”

Rhys grinned at her. “Right. And those jumps are fixed in place—they don’t come down if they’re hit.”

“Painful,” Adam DeVries commented.

“Can be.” Rhys cleared his throat, forced his thoughts past that inevitable memory. “On the last day, the horse and rider compete in stadium jumping, another timed event, over painted wooden fences which do come down if knocked hard enough. Cross-country and show-jumping times are combined, and the dressage score figured in to determine the overall winner.”

“And you do this on a regular basis?”

“The season runs spring to late fall. The big four events are Burghley and Badminton, in England, Rolex in Kentucky, and the Adelaide Horse Trials in New Zealand. And the Olympics, every four years.”

“So what brings you and your horses to this part of Carolina?”

“I was looking for a change of pace—and weather.” He grinned and got Adam’s smile in return. “An old friend lives in the area and suggested I try it out for a season. We’re thinking of doing some breeding together, and so I thought I’d take her advice.”

“Horse breeding?” Jacquie asked, with a sidelong glance.

“I don’t breed dogs,” Rhys said, with a wink.

“And are you already looking forward to the next Olympics?”

Rhys chose the polite answer rather than the truthful one. “That’s the ultimate prize. And Imperator is the horse to do it twice, if anyone can. You all should come out to see him one day. He’s quite the show-man.” Realizing that he still held his unopened coffee in his hand, he slid out of the booth. “Just drive out to Fairfield Farm whenever you have the time. I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”

“I’ll do that.” DeVries got to his feet and offered a firm handshake. “It’s good to have you in town, Mr. Lewellyn.”

“Rhys.”

“And I’m Adam. I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon. If there’s anything I can do, feel free to call.”

“Thanks.” Turning to the table, he finally managed to catch Jacquie’s eye. “Call me about those lessons.”

Her serious expression was not encouraging. “I’ll think about it.”

He had to let it go. “Good to meet you, Phoebe. Abby.” Jacquie’s friends unbent enough to nod. As he crossed the diner, he heard the conversation pick up behind him, heard a woman’s laugh and would have sworn it was Jacquie’s. She hadn’t laughed or even smiled since that first grin when he arrived—not a good omen for any future companionship.

After fourteen years, though, whatever had been between them that summer should really remain in the past. They’d been young, and he’d been on the rebound. With hindsight, he could see how doomed the entire relationship was from the beginning. Even if Olivia hadn’t returned and begged him to cancel the divorce, he and Jacquie would surely have burned out their passion and gone their separate ways.

Rhys climbed into his truck, turned on the engine and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. That theory was all well and good. But the fact remained that seeing Jacquie again had jump-started his imagination, his memories…his libido…as nothing else had in fourteen years. She’d brushed him off twice, so far, and would have sent him to hell today if she could have brought herself to be so rude. She hadn’t, though.

And he wouldn’t leave her alone unless she forced him to.



SCHOOL WAS PRETTY MUCH SCHOOL, Andrew thought, wherever you went. These Southern kids he’d been dumped in with weren’t nearly as cool as they thought they were. But by lunchtime, he’d decided they were probably easier to get along with than the nerds and snobs in his last school in New York.

The courses he’d taken at home put him a grade ahead at New Skye High School, and he’d hung around with tenth-graders most of the morning. But all students ate lunch at the same time in the big cafeteria, where there were sections labeled for each class. Andrew figured he’d play it safe and sit at a ninth-grade table. He didn’t want to argue with some territorial freak over being in the wrong place.

So he watched from the empty end of a bench as the usual groups formed—the guy jocks, the cheerleaders, the popular girls who weren’t cheerleaders, the smart kids, the girl jocks, the losers. He found his eye drawn to a girl in the popular group, maybe because, in a bevy of suntanned blondes, her short black hair and pale skin singled her out.

Cute, definitely. Wearing jeans and a sweater under a leather jacket, she was worth a second glance, even a third. He’d think about asking her out, if there was any possibility his old man would let him go on a date.

Since there wasn’t, Andrew went back to his sandwich. Next thing he knew, somebody was standing across the table.

“Hi.”

He looked up to find her standing in front of him and smiling. “Hi, yourself.”

“You’re new to school, right? I’m Erin Archer.”

“Andrew Lewellyn.”

Her pale blue eyes got big. “Lewellyn? As in Rhys Lewellyn?”

“No, as in Andrew. Andrew Lewellyn.”

“But Rhys Lewellyn is…your dad?”

“Yeah.” He watched with resignation as she sat down on the opposite bench.

“How cool is it to have Rhys Lewellyn as your dad? Does he give you riding lessons every day? Do you get to watch him ride Imperator? Were you there at the Olympics when he won the gold?”

“Do you always talk so much?”

She laughed. “I guess I do. Do you want me to leave?”

He’d noticed the glances coming their way from the jock table. “No, that’s okay.”

“Do you work with Imperator every day? Are you planning to ride him at the Top Flight Horse Trials in April? There are a couple of smaller shows coming up before then, too—”

He held up a hand. “Slow down, why don’t you? Nobody rides Imp but my dad, unless I steal him. So he’s not in shape to jump and probably won’t be by April and Top Flight. Which means he won’t compete.”

“What are you talking about? Why not?”

“My dad doesn’t ride much cross country these days.”

“I remember, he fell at the Adelaide Horse Trials, didn’t he? But that was months ago. He must be well by now.”

“His back still bothers him sometimes.” Andrew decided against explaining the rest. “So if he doesn’t ride, Imp won’t run.”

“You’ve got three whole months to get him in shape. I bet he’ll let you.” Her eyes got even bigger. “Or, maybe…I’m gonna get my mom to let me take lessons with your dad. Maybe he’ll let me ride Imperator.”

Andrew snorted in disbelief. “You think he’d let you ride Imp when he won’t let me? That’s a bunch of crap.”

She stiffened up. “It is not. I’m riding in the Top Flight trials. I could handle Imperator, even on my first lesson.”

“In your dreams. My dad doesn’t put lesson riders on Imp.”

Her chin went up. “Maybe he just hasn’t had anybody good enough.”

“Like I’m not?” He got to his feet. “You are so full of—”

“Hey, Erin.” Two of the blondes she’d been sitting with earlier walked up. “You’re going to the algebra-help session, right?” one of them asked her.

“Right.” Erin swung her legs over the bench and stood up with her back to him. “Let’s go.”

“Hi.” The blonde sent a smile in Andrew’s direction. “Are you new? I’m Cathy Parr.”

“Andrew Lewellyn.”

“Rhys Lewellyn’s son?” Cathy’s jaw dropped a little. “Awesome.” She stopped there, which won her major points as far as Andrew was concerned, and glanced at her friend’s frown. “What are you mad about?”

Erin hunched one shoulder, still without turning around. “Nothing. Let’s go, okay?”

Cathy shrugged. “Okay.” As she shifted her books in her arms, she looked at Andrew, then Erin, and back again. “Gee…you two kinda look alike, you know? Must be ’cause you both have black hair.”

“And those same light blue eyes,” the other blonde added. “You could be, like, twins. How cool is that?”

Erin snorted. “Then I’ll be a redhead by tomorrow morning. Come on, we’re gonna be late.” She stalked away and, with an apologetic tilt of her head, Cathy followed.

“Good riddance.” Andrew squashed the leftovers from his lunch into the brown bag, aimed a three-point shot at the trash can…and missed.

Muttering to himself, he walked over to pick up the bag before some teacher yelled. “Give me a break, Miss Erin All-Star. You’re gonna ride Imperator like I’m gonna play for the NBA.”



ERIN BOUNCED into the truck Monday after school. “Did you call Mr. Lewellyn today? When can I have a lesson?”

Jacquie steeled her nerves and shook her head. “No, honey. I haven’t talked to anybody since breakfast. Two urgent calls came in this morning and I’ve been working nonstop since then.”

The momentary silence was deafening. “I can’t believe you just blew me off.” That wide lower lip, so like her father’s, stuck out in a pout.

“I didn’t blow you off, Erin. I have a job to do, that’s all.”

With an exasperated sigh, Erin flopped back in the seat. “Great. Just great.” She sulked for the rest of the afternoon, sullenly doing her homework as she sat in the truck and refusing to get out at the two farms Jacquie had to visit. As they drove home in the dark, though, she sat up a little straighter.

“Can we stop at the drugstore? I need some notebook paper. And pens.”

Thankful that Erin was still speaking to her, Jacquie was glad to cooperate. At the first opportunity, she swung the truck into a shopping center parking lot. “Want me to run in?”

Erin shook her head. “I’ll get it.”

Jacquie handed her a ten dollar bill. “Why don’t you get some chips to go with dinner tonight? And maybe some cookies.”

“Um…” Erin’s brows drew together. “I might need more than this.”

“For chips and cookies and paper? I doubt it.” But she dug into her wallet and came up with another twenty. “That should do it.”

With a nod, Erin walked briskly across the parking lot to the big, brightly lit store. Jacquie had started allowing little solo trips like this as lessons in growing up for both herself and Erin. Still, her breathing stayed fast until she saw her daughter reappear on the sidewalk and start back to the truck.

“Here’s your change.” Erin handed over a surprisingly small jumble of bills and coins as she settled into her seat.

“That much for chips?”

“I realized I needed some other stuff.”

For the sake of peace, Jacquie accepted the explanation, though she suspected the bag Erin carried held more along the lines of makeup, maybe candy, than school supplies. Pushing for details seemed like a bad idea when they were already at odds.

But when, with an early good-night kiss, Erin disappeared into the bathroom as soon as her homework was done, Jacquie felt certain of her hunch. The shower turned on and off, and there was an extended period of blow dryer noise, followed by silence. She only hoped the new look wasn’t too extreme to wear to school.

Early the next morning, when she got her first glimpse of Erin’s makeover, the wooden spoon Jacquie was using to stir oatmeal slipped from her fingers to the floor.

“What…” Her voice squeaked like a rusty gate. “What in the world have you done? Your hair is…is…red!” A deep, dark, unmistakable red.

“I know.” Erin’s pixie grin hadn’t changed. “Isn’t it just totally awesome?”

“I…” Jacquie rubbed her scratchy eyes. “What possessed you to dye your hair?” At her feet, Hurry picked up the fallen spoon and carried it to her private space under the kitchen table for an episode of devoted licking.

Erin went to the mirror beside the door and fluffed the red strands. “I…I just thought it would look cool.”

“And you didn’t think you needed to ask my permission first?”

“It’s my hair.” She avoided Jacquie’s gaze in the mirror.

“You’re my daughter. That entitles me to an opinion about what you do with your appearance.”

“Come on, Mom. The color washes out in a couple of months.”

“A couple of months during which you won’t look like yourself.” Crossing the room to stand behind Erin, Jacquie turned the girl to face her. “I’m not happy about this, Erin. Why would you change the way you look?”

“I just wanted to be different.”

“From what?”

Erin fidgeted with the honey bowl on the counter. “Well, see, there’s this guy…”

“You dyed your hair to make some boy notice you?” Her throat closed on panic. “Who is this person?”

“No, Mom, it’s not like that. I met him yesterday at lunch. Andrew Lewellyn, Mr. Lewellyn’s son. And he was so obnoxious, I couldn’t believe it.”

From upset to panic to horror…Erin had met Rhys’s son on his first day at school. “And…?”

“He said his dad wouldn’t let me ride Imperator even if I did take lessons.”

“That’s probably true.”

“But I’m good enough. I know I am. Anyway, then Cathy said we kinda look alike—we both have black hair and blue eyes. So I said I’d be a redhead by today, so I couldn’t possibly look anything like such a jerk.” She posed her hands on either side of her hair. “And—ta-da!—here I am.”

Oh, dear God. An unobservant teenager had noticed the resemblance between Erin and Andrew. It would only be a matter of time until more perceptive people commented. Jacquie saw her worst fears cascading toward her like an avalanche.

At least Erin’s red hair might give her a little extra time. But only a little. Somehow, she had to deflect this disaster.

And Rhys would have to help her.



SLOUCHED IN A CHAIR Tuesday night, half asleep and half intoxicated, Rhys considered not answering the phone’s insistent ring but, at the last minute, changed his mind. “Fairfield Farms, Lewellyn speaking.”

“Rhys, it’s Jacquie.”

The glass between his fingers slipped to the floor, spilling the dregs of his fourth…or fifth?…brandy. “Damn,” he muttered, awkwardly getting down on his knees to rescue the leased carpet.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was as stiff as his mother’s starched tablecloths.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that for you. I spilled a drink.” He blotted the wet spot with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again. Ever.”

“I know. But…I’ve thought about it, and I think we should meet. Dinner will be okay, if you’re free. Friday night?”

Rhys eased back into his chair. “Why does it sound as if you’re facing the guillotine?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Does seven work for you? At the Starting Gate?”

“I assume that’s a restaurant. You’ll have to give me directions.”

She did so in a hurried, distracted voice that told him she couldn’t wait to get out of the conversation, and Rhys didn’t push her. Whatever was wrong, he had a feeling she would offer the explanation Friday night. If she didn’t offer, then he would push.



HE ARRIVED EARLY at the restaurant just for the pleasure of watching her come toward him across the room, and the experience didn’t disappoint him. She wore her hair loose, glinting like strands of soft, rosy gold draped across her deep blue sweater. In dark pants and boots, her walk wasn’t a feminine sway but the strong, direct stride of a strong woman. Rhys shifted in his chair, thinking he really was too old to be turned on by a woman’s looks.

But then, this wasn’t just any woman.

He stood as she reached the table and went around to pull out her chair. “Hello, again. I’m glad to see you.” She took her seat without answering, or even meeting his gaze.

The waiter appeared at his elbow. “Drinks, sir? Or wine?”

With a tilt of his hand, Rhys deferred the question to Jacquie. She shook her head. “Could I have some coffee? I got chilled on the way here,” she explained, when the waiter had left. “I’d really like to warm up.”

“Your fingers do look frozen.” Rhys reached out to touch her, just a stroke of his fingertips, and was startled when she jerked her hands off the table, into her lap. His patience, which stretched much further for horses than humans, suddenly snapped.

“I think we need to cut to the chase.” Folding his arms along the edge of the table, he leaned closer and held her gaze by sheer force of will. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I am sure I’m tired of playing games. Why are we here, Jacquie? What do you have to say to me?”

The waiter, with impeccable timing, returned at that moment with their coffee. And then wanted to take their orders, which required consulting the menu. But with all those details taken care of, tension still bracketed the table, isolating them from the other diners.

“Well?” He took hold of his coffee mug with both hands. “I’m waiting.”

Jacquie’s eyes widened, as they had on her first day at his barn in New York when she’d arrived at the riding ring two minutes after the scheduled lesson time. For a second, Rhys relived his own immediate attraction to the girl with the sunny green gaze, which made him even more brusque. “Come on, Jacquie. You were never one to avoid a fence.”

“You’re right.” Her voice was steadier now. “Although this one’s been a long time coming.” She drew a deep breath. “You asked me why I left without saying anything.”

“Yes.”

“You came to my room that night, in New York, to tell me your…wife…had returned. She was pregnant, you said, and the man she had been living with didn’t want your baby.”

Hearing her relate the memory brought all the anguish rushing back. “I remember.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Jacquie continued. “I was hurt, of course, that you’d chosen your wife over me. And furious that you’d slept with her so recently before we…” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “But I knew your decision was the right one, and I couldn’t stay to make the situation more difficult.”

“Where did you go?”

“Oklahoma. I got a job as a nanny for a family with horses, so I taught lessons, as well.”

“And you met this Archer and married him?”

She stared at him for a long time, her lips pressed together. “I…no. There is no husband. I invented him because I couldn’t come home as an unwed mother with an illegitimate child.”

Setting down her coffee, Jacquie looked him straight in the eyes. “Your child, Rhys. My daughter, Erin Elizabeth Archer, is also yours. The only proof you’ll need is a single glance at her beautiful face.”

His breath left him, just as it had after his fall from Imperator. He could only manage a whisper. “Say it again.”

“We were going to have a child together. I was pregnant.”

“Dear God.” She was a virgin, their first time together. He didn’t have to wonder if there’d been others.

Their waiter, timely as ever, brought a dinner that neither of them touched. Rhys pushed his plate away first. “You could have written, or called. I would have helped.”

Jacquie stared for a second at the green bean on the end of her fork, then returned it to the plate. “I didn’t want to hear you suggest an abortion.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” He hoped he wouldn’t have done that. But he had been an arrogant young man.

“And I didn’t want to be bought off with your family’s money.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“If your parents had gotten wind of my condition, they would’ve done whatever they thought would protect their precious son. They might have tried to take my baby away altogether.”

Her bitterness ran deep, with justification. His parents had not treated her with respect. “They aren’t bad people.”

“Just people with money who are used to getting their own way.” She didn’t smile, made no effort to take the sting out of the comment.

“So you handled the situation, you supported yourself and your daughter without help.” He took a perverse satisfaction from her wince. “What’s the point of telling me now?”

He’d forgotten—or had he ever known?—that Jacquie possessed a temper, too. “Don’t be stupid.

You’re here, in our backyard. We live and work in the same world—horses. And Erin looks just like you. There’s no way this secret is going to keep. I’m concerned about how to protect my little girl against being hurt.”

Rhys shrugged, pretending not to care. “You could run away again.” But Jacquie’s stare made him ashamed. “Sorry. You’ve had fourteen years to adjust to this whole mess. Give me at least fourteen minutes.”

As the waiter bustled over their uneaten food, a different face flashed in front of Rhys’s eyes. When they were alone again, he looked at Jacquie. “Andrew. Do you think they’ll see the resemblance?”

She nodded. “One of their classmates already has. It’s only a matter of time.”

They declined the waiter’s offer of dessert but accepted a refill on coffee. Rhys gave him a credit card without looking at the bill, just to make the man go away. “So they have to be told, as soon as possible.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Her eyes had hardened, and her fist hit the table. “That’s what I wanted to be sure you understand. No one is to know. Absolutely no one.”

“You just said—”

“She looks like you. And there are thousands of guys all over the world making money because they look like Elvis. If we don’t give people around here a reason to believe there’s a connection, there won’t be one. So you have to promise me you won’t say a single word about this to anybody, ever.

“But—”

“And I want you to stay as far away from me and my daughter as you possibly can.”




CHAPTER FOUR


THEY ARGUED for an hour, over cold coffee, until Rhys finally conceded that he wouldn’t say anything for now. He would wait to see what happened in the first weeks of school.

A month’s reprieve, at best. Jacquie counted herself lucky that he’d agreed to even that much. He could have insisted on his parental rights, and she doubted she could have stopped him. Rhys Lewellyn usually got what he wanted. Sitting across the table from him, watching him smile, studying his face and his hands and remembering…

No. She wouldn’t put herself through the torture. That part of her life—their time together—must stay completely in the past. For sanity’s sake.

One step outside the restaurant’s front door, the vicious whip of a cold wind sent her staggering backward. Rhys stood just behind her, and for a second they were pressed together, back to front, his hands gripping her shoulders, his chin resting on the top of her head. Like a shower of sparks, awareness drenched her from head to toe.

She moved away as fast as possible and turned to face him. “Call me,” she instructed, with as much distance as she could put into her voice, “if something happens. Erin might not say anything.”

“Andrew’s not likely to confide in me, of all people. But we’ll see. You can only take one jump at a time.”

Instead of standing where he was, Rhys moved with her into the parking lot. To her frustration, he appeared prepared to walk her all the way to her own driver’s seat.

“Some of these jumps are water hazards,” Jacquie grumbled, “with a stone wall before and a hill with a drop-off behind.” She stopped at the tailgate of her truck. Cars had parked on either side of her, and she didn’t intend to be confined in such a close space with this man. “I’m too old for that kind of ride.”

His gaze moved beyond her, assessing the situation. He must have agreed with her, because he took a step back. “If you need to get in touch, I’m usually at the farm. Except for tomorrow—the rest of my horses are flying into the Raleigh airport about noon and I’ll be driving them down.”

“Imperator doesn’t fly?”

“Not if given a choice.” He smiled, for the first time that evening, and her stupid heart fluttered in response. “We try to keep his flights to a minimum, because he gets so rattled that it can take weeks to settle him down to work. And we came here to work.”

“So first we have a snowstorm, and now you’re in the middle of a personal disaster. You must be thrilled with this decision.”

Rhys looked at her for a long moment, his face unreadable in the dark. “It’s not all bad,” he said quietly. “Good night.”

He stood by the back of the truck until she got the engine started, then gave her a brief salute and went to the other side of the parking lot for his own vehicle. Jacquie wondered if he always drove a truck, or if he still indulged himself with the wickedly fast sports cars he’d owned fourteen years ago. She couldn’t quite visualize the great Rhys Lewellyn at the wheel of a minivan with a car seat in back.

Or maybe she could, she realized as she headed home. The image of Rhys carrying a toddler in his arms made a very appealing picture.

And that was very bad news, indeed.



JACQUIE FOUND that she couldn’t just sit down over Saturday lunch and chat with Erin as if nothing important had happened. She had become so caught in a web of lies, she feared she might blurt out the truth without thinking about it.

“Let’s go for a ride,” she suggested, instead. “We’ll load up Mirage and Nina, drive over to Rourke Park and spend a few hours on the trails.” The land for the riding preserve ran along one side of Fairfield Farm, but Rhys had said he wouldn’t be home this morning and most of the afternoon. No danger there.

Erin glanced out the window. “Mom, it’s looking kinda gray. We might get caught in the rain.”

“No way. Maybe it’ll snow a little. Riding in the snow is fun, right?”

“Snow means temperatures around thirty-two degrees. That’s cold, Mom.”

“Oh, come on. It’s the weekend. Let’s live a little.”

“Okay. I guess.” After giving her a puzzled look, Erin addressed her tuna sandwich. “I hope I can find my gloves.”

She did find her warm riding gloves, and by the time the horses stood in the trailer and Hurry had been locked in the house, she’d found her enthusiasm, too. They sang with the Christmas carols still loaded in the CD player as they drove, ending with “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

“My favorite carol.” Erin sighed happily when they’d finished. “I remember watching you decorate a really tall tree with bows and hearing you sing that song.”

“You remember that? You were only two when I did the tree with the bows.” Discounted ribbon had been all she could afford that year. “That tree was about four feet high. You must have been on the floor looking up.”

“Seemed really tall to me. And I remember getting a fashion doll with a fancy red dress and shoes.”

“Which you promptly took off.” Not the name-brand doll, of course, but an inexpensive version. “That poor woman never wore clothes again.”

“After a while, her head got lost.”

Jacquie grinned. “You were playing doctor, I think.”

“That’s one way to cure a headache.”

They laughed together, and Jacquie tried to take a mental photograph to save against the time to come.

The wind was brisk and cold, the sky heavy with clouds as they unloaded the horses. Jacquie shivered as she swung into the saddle on Nina’s back. “Cold leather against your rear end. What a great feeling.”





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