Jumped (29 page)

Buffed, waxed, mani-pedi-ed,
massaged, made-up, and fed, Amanda and Beth giggled as Amanda drove them back to Aspen Creek. The women splurged at the Remède Spa in the St. Regis Aspen Resort. Neither had ever been so extravagantly pampered. From the waterfall baths to the steam caves to the oxygen lounge, everything was sublime, hushed, and elegant. Beth felt like a six- or seven-figure show horse being prepped for the World Equestrian Games. Or one of those Japanese cows that become Kobe beef. She was so relaxed, she could barely pour herself into Amanda's Subaru.

While they had a late lunch of locally sourced ingredients, Amanda said, “I hope this doesn't undo all that aromatherapy and deep-tissue massage, but how are you feeling about Finn?”

Beth looked at her friend. The question didn't add stress; it made her feel even meltier. “Good. I'm feeling good about Finn. I haven't talked to him in more than a week, and I regret doing the drive-by. I'm getting over him.”

“Oh.” Amanda sounded surprised. Beth wasn't sure she liked that. “So . . . what about the stained-glass window in the cottage?”

“Oh, that,” Beth said, trying to sound as though she'd forgotten. As though she hadn't held it every day and contemplated the razed house, the land, and the man who linked them. As though she could hide her feelings from Amanda, who was looking through her. “The window I can't stop thinking about? I'm thinking of keeping it.”

“Are you going to see him before you leave this weekend?”

Sometimes Beth hated how her friend shot from the hip. She chewed a sliver of locally raised cantaloupe. “I hadn't planned on it. Maybe. I don't know. I've been thinking about that, too. It might be easier to just leave. But I miss him. And I think about us, getting back together. I think about it a lot and what it would take.”

“And . . . ?”

“And sometimes I'm all over it, and other times I'm not. I wish he would've contacted me. But not even a text.”

“You told him not to call you.”

“If he really loved me, wouldn't he call?”

“He respects your wishes,” Amanda said. “And since when have you played games and said no when you meant yes?”

“Yeah,” Beth said, flaking her salmon—which wasn't local unless the Pacific counted as nearby—with her fork. “I know. The land was over-the-top generous, and when he told me about it and I thought it was simply a gift, I would've done anything to be with him. Not because he gave me something so expensive, but because it was for the horse rescue. But then the wrecked house kind of wrecked the gift for me. It's like . . . blood money, or guilt money. You know what I mean?”

“I think so,” Amanda said, looking cool as she sipped her purified, cucumber-enhanced water.

“It's hard for me to separate the two. And it's hard for me to figure out what I want.”

“People make mistakes.”

“Is it a mistake to go back with him?”

“Last year at this time, you know how I was. I loved Grady but wasn't ready to admit it. I was afraid I'd be wrong, and I had to get my career back. I finally figured out I wanted a life with him and the girls, and everything else sorted itself out. Your life is changing rapidly right now. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the Kingfisher deal and the land mean you can focus on the rescue. No more horse shows ever unless you want to compete now and then—or you come to watch me.” She gave Beth a cockeyed smirk. “Your life is opening up. This is a huge opportunity.”

“I should be ecstatic,” Beth said, sounding several thousand miles from ecstatic.

“That tells you something.”

“Blerg! I'm such a cliché! I have all this good fortune, but it doesn't mean anything unless I have someone to share it with.”

“Cliché away, Beth. They're clichés because they're based in truth. Which is another cliché. Can you forgive him? Do you want to be with him, knowing what you know? Have you grown?”

“How do I know?”

“How do you know if a horse is ready to move up a level? You train higher and make an educated guess.”

“Then . . . overall, yes. Mostly. I think.” Beth sipped the complimentary champagne.

“You know what to do. Move up.”

“And if I crash because the fences were too big and the horse was over faced?”

“Then you'll know you were wrong.”

Amanda finished her complimentary champagne and changed the subject. “When you live here, if you decide to live in Ptarmigan, let's do this every summer.”

“Discuss the sad state of my love life?”

“Come to Remède. Have I become girly? I believe I could spend the rest of my life here. Grady could visit now and then.”

“You'd miss the Olympics.”

“Oh. Right. Never mind.”

Beth thought about Amanda's words and how she'd much prefer showing a horse over higher jumps and risking a crash than taking a chance with Finn. But her life
was
opening up. These goddamn new horizons were scary.

I have to remember—I'm that girl who jumped at the chance to ride the exuberant horse—and jump clean. The trainer who gave her students confidence to jump a big fence for the first time.
I can do this, too. It may work
; it may not. It's life.

And life is messy.

18

L
et's dress for dinner,”
Amanda said to Beth once they were back in the house. “We look so good, it's a shame to waste it.”

Grady came out of his office to see who was home. He whistled. “Honey, you look great in jeans. You look great in anything. You look impossibly great right now.” He gave Amanda a smoldering once-over. “Really great. Beth, we have to go,” he said as he took Amanda's hand and started to pull her toward their bedroom.

Amanda laughed. “Hold up there, cowboy.”

“Sorry,” Grady said. “But I'm helpless. I mean,
look
at her.”

“I know!” Beth said. “We're stunning.”

“All right, Vogel. I'll dress for my last Friday dinner at chez Brunswick.”

“Dressing for dinner?” Harris said, gliding to the foyer from the kitchen. “Splendid! Are we going black tie, or—” He stopped, gasped loudly, and put his hands over his heart. “You
didn't
! You . . .
spa harlots
! You went to Remède, and not only didn't take me, you didn't even tell me!”

“We needed girl time alone,” Amanda said. “You can come next time, I promise.”

Harris closed his eyes and thrust his palm at them. “You two are dead to me. Dress for dinner all you like, you may not get any.” He opened his eyes and looked them over as though they were filets he might buy. “Hmm . . . you do look good. Amanda, your skin hasn't looked that dewy since your wedding day. Next time I get to go. And, yes, let's dress for dinner.” He glared at Grady, who wore an ancient T-shirt. “Class this joint up.”

“Absolutely,” Amanda said, grinning.

Finn hadn't been this
nervous since . . . his wedding day. While Amanda took Bethany off to be pummeled, he had been at the barn for hours. With Ellis and Harris's help, he got everything ready.

Ellis bathed Brooke and Mingo and braided long white satin ribbons into Brooke's black forelock and mane. Finn dragged the ring, making the footing even and grooved. It was tricky, driving the tractor with his brace, but he managed the same way he managed to drive his car, which he'd parked behind the barn so Bethany wouldn't see it. Harris helped him carry the rectangular cardboard box, which was about the size of an ottoman, into the ring, setting it near the roll top jump.

Finn showered and brushed his teeth in the bathroom in the tack room and put on jeans, a white shirt, and black jacket, He filled a plastic grain bucket with ice and water, plunged a bottle of champagne into it, and hid it and two champagne flutes behind the roll top. Then he sat on a tack trunk in the tack room and fidgeted with his lapels.

Do or die, McNabb.

He thought of Mitch and made a note to send him a picture if all this went as planned. If it didn't—then he'd think of Mitch as he drank scotch alone later that night.

The barn phone rang. Ellis answered. This was part of the plan, since cell reception wasn't great in the barn.

Ellis ran into the tack room. “They'll be here in five minutes!”

Finn said, “Thanks.” He limped into the bathroom so Beth wouldn't see him even if she looked in the tack room as she walked by.

The ruse was, Amanda had told Bethany that another package had come for Finn, presumably something he'd purchased online while high on pain meds—and suffering from the accompanying amnesia. The imaginary delivery guy had left the large box at the barn. Amanda predicted the box would be entertaining to open, and Bethany agreed.

Apparently everything had gone as planned. Finn heard the women's voices getting closer, then heard Amanda say, “Maybe it's a pony. We'll check the box for air holes.” He heard Bethany laugh, then caught a glimpse of her as he peeked out. Bethany wore that killer blue dress she'd had on at Melissa and Nick's wedding. He waited until he was sure they were in the jump ring, then joined Ellis in the doorway to the tack room, where he could hear Amanda and Bethany. He held a pair of scissors. His mouth was as dry as the sand in the ring.

“I forgot scissors,” Amanda said. “I'll get some from the tack room.”

“Hurry up,” Bethany said. “I hate wearing heels in this footing. My pedicured toes are getting all sandy and gritty.”

“It'll be over soon!” Amanda called. She jogged in her heels down the barn aisle to Finn. “She's all yours,” she whispered, grinning and squeezing his arm. “Good luck.”

He couldn't even reply. He met her eyes, nodded, and cleared his throat. Taking a deep breath, he tugged on his lapels and limped as purposefully as he could to the ring.

Bethany was looking at the box as Finn silently crossed toward her. “Amanda?” She lifted her head, saw him, and her eyes went round. Her mouth opened and she gasped, just a little. “There's a strange man in the ring. He has a limp.”

Finn grinned. She was in a good mood.

“Finn,” she said, all suspicion. “What is this? And before you answer, please remember trust has been an issue between us.”

“I'm hoping to fix that. Here,” he said, handing her the scissors.

He saw her smile form against her will. “A weapon! Thank you. What is this?” She nodded at the box.

“Open it.” Her snarkitude put him at ease. She looked at him, her hair glistening in a shaft of light from the setting sun. Her eyes were clear and he found it impossible not to stare.

He cleared his throat.
Get it together, McNabb.
“But first, I want you to know that I'm building Uncle Mitch's house.”

She smiled, and he could tell she was genuinely pleased for him. “Congratulations!”

He nodded. “It took some doing, but he gave me the project. And . . . he told me to get off my ass where you're concerned.”

He took another breath and smoothed his lapels. “I gotta sit down for this.” He limped to the nearby roll top jump and sat on the curved surface covered with green artificial grass. He looked at the ground at his feet for a second, then back at her. “I realized—” He looked at her in alarm. “Ah, geez, I'm sorry, do you want to sit?” He pushed himself to his feet.

“I'm okay here.” Her voice and her expression were both soft in the honey glow of the sun.

“You're sure? What about your”—he waved his hand at her pretty feet in the sandals she'd worn at the wedding— “gritty toes?”

“I'm okay, thanks. You were saying?”

He sat again. “I realized I've spent a lot of my life fighting. It's been useful, as recently as the Uncle Mitch presentation. It's my gut response, mostly because I always feel like I have to prove myself. But it's also destructive. When I had that bad night in the house, I fought, and destroyed it because I hated my life. With our marriage, I didn't fight enough. I should have fought for us. Instead, I ran when things weren't how I wanted them.

“I've thought about this for five years, Bethany. I've gone over and over it and seen where I was wrong. Our divorce was a mistake, and I'd like to make up for it.”

She hadn't stabbed him. So far, so good. Her eyes were locked on his.

He went on. “I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am about tearing down your house. I live with that every day. But I want to get past it because I can't have that guilt hanging over me and live with you for the rest of my life. And that's what I want, Bethany—to live with you for the rest of my life. Let me rebuild what I destroyed, only better and for us. Like our marriage—I'd like the chance to rebuild that, too, only better. We know what it takes, we know what we want, and we know we're stronger and wiser than we were before. I'm asking you to forgive me. Or start to forgive me. Tell me it's possible. I know it might take some time.”

He swallowed. “Um. So that's what this”—he gestured to the box— “is about. Open it.”

She didn't say a word, but turned to the box and went to work slicing the tape. The sides fell away, laying flat on the sandy surface of the ring to reveal an architectural model of a house and surrounding landscape. It resembled a beautiful, detailed dollhouse. She gasped. “Wow. You ordered this?”

Finn joined Bethany and said, “No. That was a ploy to get you down here; I hope you don't count that as another trust issue,” he said, grinning. “I, uh, made this. I'm not as good as a professional model maker, but—”

“Finn! Shut up! This is amazing. What is it?”

“Our house. I've been working on it . . . if you must know, for years.”

She gasped again. “
Our
house? Really?”

He liked that.

“The roof opens like a lid.” He lifted it so she could see the interior, the room names neatly printed on the little floors. He pointed out the different rooms, the kitchen, the dining area, her office. He pointed to one of the bedrooms, and said, “This would be a good nursery someday, if you want.” He glanced at her.

“Oh,” she said. “Uh-huh.”

“And this is the room I wanted to show you the most.” The name was covered with a tiny piece of white tape. He peeled it off.

FINN'S OFFICE.

Bethany looked at him, her brows drawn together. “I don't get it.”

“I'd work from home. I'd be here, with you. I wouldn't be away eighty hours a week, avoiding our life and our problems. I'd be here.”

Her lips parted. “Oh . . .”

“I won't get in your hair. I'll have to be on job sites part of the time. You'll get sick of me, I'm sure, but isn't that better than never seeing me?”

“I'll let you know.”

He laughed. “Oh, and we can build this wherever you want, but I took a guess at what you might like for your horse rescue. See? Here's a barn, and a building for your staff. Some paddocks. There are even a few residents.” He pointed to the toy horses he'd glued in the pastures.

“Look at that!” Bethany giggled. “I'd want it with the horse rescue. I'd want to be there,” she said.
As though she's already decided to give me a second chance.

“Honey, I gotta tell ya, I'll probably always worry about money, because of how I grew up. But this job with Uncle Mitch is golden, and the Branson house has already gotten me several recommendations. I'm making a lot of money, sweetheart, and I promise I'll work hard to make more—but not at the expense of spending time with you. Not like before. I understand all that now, okay?”

Bethany nodded slowly. “Finn, this is beautiful.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“One more thing. I don't drink like I used to. After I tore down the house, I had a come-to-Jesus with myself and I . . . I got scared. I'm not a teetotaler, but I haven't gotten drunk or had more than a handful of drinks alone since that night. I . . . want you to know how much that awful night changed me. I want you to know you can trust me.”

“So you won't tear this house down?” She nodded toward the model.

“I promise.”

They stood in silence, broken only by a few early-bird crickets. He slid his hands into his pockets. She was looking at the house. Finally, he said, “That's all I got.”

“It's a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“I've been thinking about all this since you left Aspen Creek. Everything's so monumental all of a sudden. Man, McNabb, nothing you do is small.”

“Go big or go home?”

She sighed. “You gave me the land, but you razed my house. And that's on top of all the refuse from our marriage. And your broken leg that threw us together. I've been all over the map. I love you, then I'm not sure. I see me running the rescue on my own, with my clothing line going gangbusters with Kingfisher. They're going to buy it, I just found out last night. Which means I'll have seed money for the rescue. Which means I'm not after you for your money.” She smiled, and so did he.

She continued, “But more often—a million times more often—I picture my future with you. Don't think I'll forget about everything you've done. I mean, come on, Finn, tearing down my
house
? That was cold.”