Calhoun Chronicles Bundle (48 page)

“Tell me what’s on your mind, sugar pie,” he said, setting her down. “I’m all ears.” He took his and waggled them, hoping to coax a grin from her. He wished she had dolls and fairy tales on her mind, but Belinda had left those behind two years ago, putting them to rest with the same solemn finality with which he had buried his wife in the family plot.

She didn’t smile. If anything, she grew more somber still. “It’s about Blue.”

His heart took a dive, though he didn’t let it show in his face. “What about Blue?”

“Well, he didn’t come to Bonterre for lessons today. Master Rencher said he’d take a switch to him.”

“Master Rencher will get his skinny neck wrung if he lays a hand on Blue.” Hunter spoke mildly, but he was surprised by his own vehemence. The protective instinct his children roused in him was almost violent. Why couldn’t he just love them? he wondered. Why was it so easy to be fierce, yet so hard to be simply affectionate? “So where did Blue go?”

“He climbed up to Uncle Ryan’s old lookout platform and he won’t come down.”

“He’ll come down when he gets hungry,” he assured Belinda.

“He’s been up there since early this morning,” she said. Her eyes, round and blue as china plates, accused him with their complete lack of guile and calculation.

“What?”

“Up in the fort. He climbed up this morning, and he’s still there.”

Hunter’s blood chilled. The ancient lookout platform, high in a loblolly pine overlooking the dock, had a perfect view of Mockjack Bay…and the landing at Albion.

Good God. Blue had been up there. He’d witnessed the entire scene at the dock. He’d seen Hunter show more interest in the stallion than his own children. Had heard him speak in harsh, hopeless tones.

The boy’s beyond any help.

Damn. He’d really said that. And Blue had heard. The kid was troubled, but he wasn’t deaf. And he wasn’t an idiot.

Awash with guilt, he mounted one of the mares, not bothering with the saddle, and galloped down to the waterfront. As he rode, he imagined Blue huddled high in the pines, hearing his father dismiss him like an untamable horse only fit for the knacker’s yard.

When he arrived at the dock, he saw Eliza on the scow, dragging her sea chest down the ramp. The huge dog waited on the dock, sitting back on his haunches.

A meal, a bath and a nap had done wonders for Eliza. Her curling black hair gleamed with blue highlights, and she moved with sprightly energy, pulling the crate along the dock. When she noticed Hunter, her face lit with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “This is too heavy for me to haul on my own.”

“Noah will get it later,” Hunter said curtly. He strode to the base of the huge tree, shaded his eyes and looked up.

“Blue!” he called. “Son, come down from there.”

Eliza abandoned her efforts with the trunk. “Your boy’s up in the tree?” she asked in amazement.

Hunter didn’t reply. “Blue, come down at once,” he said.

No response. But then, that was no surprise.

“It’s dangerous for you to be up there. The nails have all rusted, and I don’t think the boards will hold.”

Again, no response.

Eliza went to the base of the tree. Caliban barked sharply, having spotted the boy. “Heavens, how long has he been up there?” Eliza asked.

“This is family business,” Hunter snapped, fear for Blue coming out as fury. “You shouldn’t be wandering the place on your own.”

“Then
you
shouldn’t have forced me to come here.”

Ignoring her, Hunter angled his gaze up to the platform again. A pale, skinny leg swung idly off the edge of the rotted wood. Caliban whined, and Eliza shushed him.

“Damn it to hell, Blue. You’ll fall from there, break your neck. Is that what you want?” he demanded, terrified. “Is it?”

Still no response. Blue’s bare leg just kept swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

Hunter bit out an oath. “I’m coming up there, son. I’ll carry you down if I have to.” He grasped one of the rungs of the weathered handholds nailed to the trunk of the tree. The second he put his weight on it, the old wood broke into pieces that rained upon the ground. Clearly, Hunter’s weight was too great to be borne by the ancient rungs. If he tried to climb up, he’d have no way of getting down.

“Goddamn it, Blue,” he said in fear and frustration. “What’ll it take to get you down from there?”

“A little more
savoir faire
than you possess, obviously,” Eliza said, grossly mispronouncing the French. She moved in close with the purposeful precision of a Napoleon in miniature. Small, focused, intractable—those were the impressions she gave. You’d never know she’d been living a hermit’s life on a remote island.

“Hello,” she called pleasantly. “My name is Eliza Flyte. Your father’s told me so much about you. I was wondering if you could help me, Blue. I was just on my way to see how the new stallion is settling in, and I was hoping you could come with me. There’s something very special about this horse.” She paused dramatically. “He talks.”

Still no response. Hunter felt naked, vulnerable, his position as precarious as Blue’s. Contrary to what Eliza had said, he’d told her virtually nothing of the boy.

“Oh, and after that,” she said brightly, “your father promised he would have my special trunk delivered to my room. It’s filled with—” She broke off deliberately.

The bare leg stopped swinging.

“Well, you’ll see what treasures it’s filled with when you help me unpack,” Eliza concluded. “You won’t want to miss them, I promise you that.”

Hunter watched in amazement as the boy dangled both legs over the edge. With unhurried movements, he climbed down the handholds and landed with a gentle thud on the grass.

“Blue!” Hunter grabbed the boy, pulled him into his arms. Blue had pine straw in his hair and he smelled of ocean breezes. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Blue stood stiff and silent, neither pulling away nor leaning into the embrace. Hunter had been raised by a man who had no truck with showing affection. Jared Calhoun maintained that it wasn’t manful to embrace even his own son. So Hunter had never learned to do it properly. Showing affection to his boy always made him feel awkward and strange.

Blue must possess a good measure of his grandfather in him, for he bore the embrace with his characteristic stiff aloofness. Hunter held him at arm’s length. “Are you all right, son?”

Silence. But the boy peered past Hunter’s shoulder at the woman standing behind him.

Hunter rose, frustrated. Control had slipped from him and he saw no way to take it back.

Blue tucked his hands shyly behind his back. He regarded her from the side of his eyes. The stance put Hunter in mind of the stallion that first morning on the island beach, wary and confused. The interest was there, but not the trust.

“Son, say hello to Miss Eliza Flyte,” Hunter said, knowing it was futile.

Blue ducked his head.

Eliza caught his eye and sent him a dazzling smile that would have worked wonders on Hunter himself, had he been the reluctant one. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk,” she said pleasantly. “Your father brought me to live with you.” She pressed a finger to her lower lip.

“She’s come to be your…companion,” Hunter said impulsively, thinking of Eliza’s preoccupation with
Jane Eyre.
“Your governess.”

Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly, reaching around behind Blue and taking his hand. To Hunter’s astonishment, the boy didn’t pull away. Eliza said, “I’ve never been to the mainland before. It’s all completely new to me. I don’t know my way around at all. Perhaps you’d show me where everything is.”

To Hunter’s further astonishment, Blue started walking. Hunter could only stare after them as, hand in hand, they headed toward the barn.

The little boy’s hand fluttered within Eliza’s like a small, timid bird. She knew better than to tighten her grip. That would only harm the fragile creature inside. She listened to Blue the way she listened to a frightened animal. She had to, because he had not spoken to her in words yet.

He kept his eyes downcast and his shoulders hitched up. Defensive, she thought. Self-protective.

But from what?

She dared to glance back over her shoulder. Hunter still stood by the dock. He faced the bay, feet planted wide, hands at his sides. In the midst of all that green—field, marsh, tall pines, the bay—he made a dark shadow that lay long against the surface of the water. Eliza had never seen a more lonely sight in her life.

The situation at Albion baffled her. Hunter’s son, a beautiful, blue-eyed boy, hadn’t smiled at his father, hadn’t greeted him, had not even looked at him after descending from that dangerous perch in the tree.

The boy’s beyond any help, Hunter had said.

Had Blue heard? And if he had, did he understand?

She knew instinctively that he was not simple or daft. One look into his eyes told her that. Behind the solemn, curiously adult facade lay a lively intelligence that lit up as he watched the big dog careen across the yard after a mockingbird.

“Caliban never catches anything,” she said, her voice betraying none of her thoughts. “Silly dog, he wouldn’t know what to do if he did get a bird or a squirrel.”

The boy didn’t respond, but he brightened at the spectacle Caliban made. His back legs almost overtook his front as he raced over the lawn.

“My father used to say that dog was stitched together from mismatched parts—the legs of a pony, the body of a cow, the head of a dog and the wits of a dormouse.” She grinned, remembering the day her father had brought Caliban home from Eastwick. The puppy’s gangly legs had hung out of the crate and his fur had been a mass of gray-brown scruff. She had loved him instantly, dubbing him Caliban after the enchanted beast in
The Tempest.

“The truth is,” she went on, “he’s part English mastiff and part Irish wolfhound. Irish, like the new stallion. And I promised you I’d show you how to talk to Finn, didn’t I?”

Interest flickered in Blue’s face. His steps quickened and he surged ahead of her in his haste to reach the barn. Inside the long, low building, boxes for the horses flanked the central aisle. At one end, there was a small dwelling or office and a tack and grooming room. She took down a lunge rein and looped it over her shoulder.

The stallion stood in the adjacent paddock under the sweeping outspread branch of an oak tree. Caliban caught the horse’s attention, racing around outside the periphery of the enclosure with his jaw flapping low. The horse had grown accustomed to the dog and tolerated him well enough.

“Miss Eliza,” Noah said, coming out of the office. “Hey, Blue. Did you come to see the stallion?”

The little boy nodded.

“He came right along, docile as you please,” Noah said. “Tomorrow we’ll put him with the other horses.”

“I told Blue that Finn is a talking horse,” Eliza said. “Come see, Noah.”

The youth flashed her a look of suspicion, but followed them to the paddock.

“He speaks,” she said matter-of-factly, “if you know how to listen.” She lifted Blue and perched him on the top rail of the fence. It was a round beam, she noted with approval. Its shape prevented horses from cribbing the wood and getting colic. Already she was getting the impression that Hunter understood the needs of the horse farm far better than the needs of his son.

She entered the pen slowly but not hesitantly. “Watch the stallion,” she said to the boys. “He’s talking to me right now. See how he puts one ear back? Just one, not both. So he’s not hostile. He’s wondering what I want.” She walked in a straight path toward him. “He’s used to me now, so he’ll let me put on this lunge rein. Watch his mouth—he keeps smacking his lips, so we know he’s not worried about us being here. A horse won’t act like he’s eating if he’s nervous.”

She fastened the rein and, standing in the middle of the ring, prompted him to walk in a circle. Then she accelerated him into a canter. Both boys sat forward, clearly enthralled with the easy, flowing motion of the horse. Finn performed as she knew he would, responding to each command with smooth compliance. He had a fiery temperament but he also possessed the horse’s ingrained will to please. When she finished the demonstration, the stallion followed her around like a dog, and she walked him straight to the fence where Noah and Blue sat enraptured.

“Glory be,” Noah said, holding out his hand so Finn could inspect it. “A blamed miracle.”

She stepped back and nodded encouragingly at Blue. “You can touch him. He likes to be scratched right under his jaw.” Blue reached out, pressing his palm against the chestnut’s big cheek. The horse leaned in to him, and Blue’s hand rubbed firmly and affectionately under the jaw.

“You reckon I can ride him?” Noah asked.

“Aye. Hunter said you’re the jockey.”

Blue took his hand away. The horse swung his head closer, seeking more petting.

“This horse was a killer.” Noah rubbed his thumb on the blaze of the stallion’s forehead. “How did you heal him?”

“I expect you know a horse can’t be evil, like a true killer. He was afraid. When a horse is afraid, it runs. When it can’t run, it fights. Confined on that ship from Ireland, he was frightened by the storms for days on end. All he could do was fight.”