A Season of Miracles (16 page)

He had no difficulty finding Crystal, since all the stalls had engraved nameplates for their occupants. He spent a few minutes studying each of the horses—all healthy and handsome animals. Igloo had been named for his slightly mottled white coloring, Robert was certain, just as Cream had been named for hers. Tangerine was a palomino. Blossom was nearly the size of a Clydesdale. Crystal was almost silver, his size had come from his quarter-horse half, for he was well over sixteen hands high. He had a handsome face and bay coloring, and the facial dip and body structure of an Arab. “Well, fellow, want to explore?” Robert enquired.

There was no need for him to bother anyone for assistance—Jimmy could enjoy his soaps uninterrupted. The Llewellyn tack room was like everything else Douglas Llewellyn owned and controlled—perfectly organized. Bridles hung on the wall, and saddles and saddle blankets rode sawhorses, each item neatly labeled to indicate which horse it belonged to.

Crystal seemed eager for an outing, standing tolerantly still while Robert slipped on his bridle and tightened the girth. He led the animal out of the stables and mounted up.

Soon he had crossed the road and come to open territory. Crystal did have smooth gaits, and he was ready to run. For ten minutes they raced, plowing up snow, tearing up the earth underneath. The wind was a wild rush. It felt great.

Still, he slowed the horse after a while, turning back at a smooth lope, trotting, walking. Crystal was a fine animal.

He loved to ride. Living in the city, he had given up on the idea of buying a horse, something he had wanted to do since he was a kid. He'd always loved horses, and riding had been natural for him from the time he'd been very young.

Unlike the Llewellyns, though, he had not grown up in the lap of luxury. He had a great family, had gotten lots of wonderful encouragement, but he lacked anything like the Llewellyn money. His father had told him that the first American Marston had come to the United States with a Scottish regiment in the British Army, fighting against the colonists. When the British had lost the war, they had deserted many of their Scottish companies, and that Marston had become a passionate American. Marstons were proud, and certain of their own lineage—but they hadn't left the old country with anything but the clothes they wore and the weapons they carried.

Robert had paid for college by going into the Service. From both, he'd learned a lot.

But not a lot about the foolishness of riding in unknown territory when it was nearly dark, he told himself ruefully. He had taken the route Daniel had suggested, but the countryside didn't come with streetlights.

Heading back, he crested a hill and paused. He could see the lights of the Llewellyn property, the house lights and those illuminating the grounds. Dead Horse Hill was clearly visible against the coming dusk. He could still see the group sledding. By squinting, he could pick out who was who. Eileen was still at it, challenging someone to a race.

Jillian.

She was bundled up, but her reddish-gold hair was still discernible beneath her hat. She was laughing at Eileen, responding to the challenge. Connie and the others were encouraging the contestants. Their camaraderie made him smile where he sat, watching. They were a close group—a closed group, in their way. He was the outsider.

But he'd been hired to watch….

Something disturbed him about the scene. He wasn't sure what, but as he watched, his smile of amusement faded. His eyes wandered down, and he saw suddenly that there was a huge gap in the fencing at the foot of the hill, right where Jillian would be heading.

She would stop before then, surely. Except that she was racing, building up speed and momentum and…

There was a car coming. No, a truck. He heard the vehicle sweep onto the curving road that fronted the estate and lay between him and them.

Surely Jillian would stop in plenty of time.

But…
Douglas had had the fence built because people had been killed by sledding onto a road.

“Stop!” He roared out the warning, but too late. Both women had leapt onto their sleds and started down the hill.

He didn't think; he simply kneed Crystal and went flying across the field, the wind whipping by him.

He felt something strange along with the wind. It was as if he had been riding a long time, as if he had been afraid for a long time….

Crystal neared the road.

The truck was coming fast. Far too fast for a night when snow lay thick on the ground, when ice could too easily lie beneath it.

Crystal and he soared over the road. Over the broken fence.

Jillian, on her sled, was sliding toward him at what seemed to be the speed of light. She opened her mouth in warning and confusion.

He raced on, straight toward her. When he was almost on top of the sled, he veered Crystal and made a leap from the horse's back, catching Jillian, tumbling violently with her from the sled and into the snow.

They rolled. Snow packed around him. Ice-cold flakes stuck to his nose, his lips, his forehead. Gasping, shaken, Jillian tried to push him away while dusting snow from her face, blowing it from her mouth.

“You idiot! What in God's name—”

They heard the crash. The awful sound as her sled hit the road and the truck hit the sled.

The driver either didn't see the splintered wood or didn't care. He kept up his reckless speed, roaring on around the curve in the road.

The sled lay in pieces on the ground.

“Oh.” Jillian barely breathed the word.

Shaking, he stood and reached down to her. She took his hand and rose, looking into his eyes.

“Thanks,” she murmured huskily. “That's why we have the fence…. I guess someone ran into it or something. I—I didn't even realize it was down.”

“Neither did I. Earlier,” he added.

“Jillian!” Griff was rushing up to her, grabbing her, turning her around, checking her from head to toe. Daniel came behind him, followed by Connie, then Eileen, who had crashed into the fence laughing, apparently unaware of what had happened. Theo came down the hill, sliding, falling, rising to run again.

“My God, Jillian!” he cried. “You could have been killed!”

“Killed?” Eileen exclaimed. “But what—”

“The fence,” Gary said, reaching them more slowly. “Eileen, the fence is down.”

“Why didn't we see it?” Connie fretted. “We've all come down dozens of times.”

“We were over to the side, Mrs. Murphy,” Gracie said, reaching them. “We never came down so close to here until the two Ms. Llewellyns decided to race.”

“Oh God, Jilly.” Daniel took Jillian from Griff, hugging her to him like the best of older brothers. He looked terrified.

He still held Jillian as his eyes shot to Robert's. “Marston,” he said huskily, “I can tell you, I had my doubts, but you're one hell of a company asset.”

“I was just in a good position.”

“A good position?” Connie exclaimed. “It was like Saint George slaying the dragon.”

“The truck was nowhere close when he crossed the road, Connie,” Griff told her. “You're getting too dramatic.”

“I don't know about that,” Jillian said, drawing away from Daniel. “I'm awfully grateful. But everyone, please. Not a word to Grandfather about this, all right? ‘All's well that ends well,' right? Please. Don't say anything to him. Some idiot teenager with a new license probably ran down the fence.”

“Might just have been a woman driver,” Gary teased.

“Or a drunk,” Griff said.

“Anyway, we'll get it fixed. Please, let's not worry Douglas needlessly.” She spun around, staring at him again with her huge beautiful eyes. “I'm truly grateful—you saved my life—but I don't want him upset. Please.”

“I don't need a pat on the back from Douglas,” he said. “If you don't want him to know, I won't say anything.”

“We're all agreed, right?” Jillian insisted, turning again to look at all of them.

“We're all agreed,” Daniel said firmly. “It was an accident.”

“And thanks to Robert,” Theo agreed, “it's over.”

They all nodded.

Robert turned, realizing he was missing the horse. Crystal was gone.

“Don't worry,” Jillian said, touching his arm. “Crystal just headed back to the stables.” She smiled. “He likes it here. Comfy place for a horse. Jimmy will find him and take care of him.”

He shook his head. “I took him out. I'll see that he's back in his stall.”

He walked away from the group, wondering how something could be so wrong in a family that appeared to be so close.

 

That night Jillian managed several times to almost forget her harrowing experience. Dinner was delicious. Moods were light. They'd worked hard, then they'd played hard. The snow had been cold, but the house was warm as toast. Agatha and Henry had prepared dinner between them, and even shy Jimmy came in from his room off the stables to join them. The roast was cooked to perfection, deliciously seasoned. They were all starving. There was corn on the cob, mashed potatoes flavored with garlic, peas, green beans, asparagus, broccoli, salad and Yorkshire pudding. Dessert was strawberry shortcake.

They talked about the shoot and argued which charities were the most deserving, especially at Christmas. She saw that Robert was sitting by Jimmy. The two seemed to have a lot to talk about. She felt both a chill and a warmth, watching him, wondering why she could possibly feel such fear, such determination to take a step back, when she saw him. Tonight he was in a plaid flannel shirt. The red pattern enhanced the darkness of his hair. He was very good-looking, and the flash of his smile seemed sincere. He was down-to-earth, despite his appearance.

He had probably saved her life tonight, she reminded herself. And yet…

After dinner, they all gathered to put up more Christmas decorations. Aggie prepared mountains of popcorn to be strung, then made hot chocolate for them all. She gave directions for stringing various garlands, for winding the lights around pillars and banisters, for placing each Christmas novelty and knickknack.

Eileen came upon a box of ornaments. “We can't possibly use these yet.”

“We can decorate the pillars,” Jillian said, smoothing back her hair. “And we could do popcorn chains if Griff weren't eating it all.”

“Hey! There's a fire going, an old flick on the television, and I'm drinking hot chocolate. Of course I'm eating the popcorn. What good will a string of popcorn do? By Christmas, it will be moldy,” Griff protested.

“We're not going to eat the strings we make now,” she told him.

He shrugged, smiling, throwing up a piece and catching it deftly in his mouth.

“You're hopeless,” she told him.

“I can teach you how to catch every last bite,” he told her.

She shook her head, turning back to the ornament box and catching Robert's eye. He was watching her gravely from a stance by the mantel. His eyes were far too somber. He was thinking that she was in danger again, she thought.

From her own family.

She turned quickly away, hoping he would keep his word and not say anything to Douglas.

He was quite a rider. Tomorrow, she thought, she would ask him to go for a ride with her. And when they were alone, she would point out how it had surely been an accident. No one could have planned a truck going by at such a precise time. And the fence…

Obviously an accident.

A little while later, when she was reaching up to hang an angel ornament on one of the garlands, she found that he was beside her, ready to help her. She felt dizzy. It would be great to lay her head against his chest. Breathe him in. His aftershave was great. Everything about him was great….

“You liked Crystal?” she queried, annoyed that her voice was so breathless.

“He's a great horse. He's Daniel's, right?”

She shook her head, smiling. “No. Mine.”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize—”

“We're not up here enough to lay personal claim to any of the horses anymore,” she told him. “And you took my horse to save my life. A pretty good trade, I think. Crystal has the nicest manners. Except for Blossom, who just moves like molasses. She's Eileen's.”

“
Eileen
has a slow horse?” he asked skeptically.

“She hates to ride. But the day we went and bought the horses, she followed Eileen around like a puppy dog. She's very sweet. We don't ride her anymore. But she'll still follow you around. She loves to be stroked, given a lot of attention.”

“Ah,” he murmured.

“And what does that mean?” she enquired.

“I like to be stroked, too. Given a lot of attention,” he told her, grinning.

Warmth. Enwrapping her, encapsulating her. How could she doubt him?