Unforgettable: A Loveswept Classic Romance (8 page)

At least Mac was sticking faithfully to their agreement and caring only for the horse’s personal needs. Curtis said he was friendly and helpful, fitting himself into the routine of the stallions. That news relieved her anxieties. It irritated her too. She would have felt a certain pleasure in telling James
his
employee was not working out.

But Mr. Perfect had done the perfect thing again. If only he hadn’t made her into the Witch of Makefield Meadows in the process. It hurt more than she cared to admit. More, perhaps, than it should.

Probably she was holding on to her anger because he was around the farm so damn much these days. She couldn’t turn around without seeing him, and had taken to avoiding the stallion barn.

As she entered the foaling stable, she wondered if she had somehow been getting her hopes up about James. Impossible, she decided. She had learned her lesson years before. All she needed to learn now was how to stay on a professional footing with him. Completely professional. No more wanting to be pulled into his arms, no more urges to be kissed breathless as she had when she’d been seventeen. Certainly no more desire …

“You look about ready to foal yourself, Anne,” Jonas said.

She mentally shook away her disturbing thoughts and smiled at the man in charge of bringing new life into the world. “It’s been a long day. How are my mares?”

“All progressing nicely. No complications so far. Come along and see them.”

She followed Jonas past several unoccupied stalls to the far end of the stables.

“I’m keeping them down this end,” he said. “I have a feeling they’re going to deliver assembly-line style.”

Anne leaned on a stall’s half door. The dark mare inside was lying down, a sure sign of advanced labor. The animal looked placid, though, as if a momentous occurrence was the last thing about to happen. Anne smiled in pleasure, her heart filling at the prospect of another spindly-legged baby romping in her pastures.

Then she remembered the man outside the building. She wouldn’t be surprised if James were waiting for her to come out to resume the “discussion.”

“Mind if I hang around for a while?” she asked Jonas.

He chuckled. “You’re the boss.”

“I like to think so,” she muttered, and turned back to the mare.

James strode toward the house and his car, his teeth clenched with frustration.

He visited Battle Cry every day, and he had tried to apologize every time he saw Anne. And every damn time she managed to prevent him from doing so. She must have taken lessons from her grandmother, he decided. Or else it was in the genes. Whatever, Anne had that regal eye and imperious tone of Lettice’s. Combined with her refusal to back down, she had been a stone wall that he hadn’t been able to chip. It was as if she didn’t want to hear an apology from him. He couldn’t understand her.

One thing he understood, however, was his reaction to her. His own anger had combined with a more primitive urge, and every time he saw her he wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless. He couldn’t keep his mind on anything else lately. A part of him had been empty for so long. He hadn’t realized until he’d seen her at the polo match how he had walled his emotions over.

Anne Kitteridge was driving him insane.

He was passing a group of bushes near the mares’ stables when he saw Philip standing on the bottom rail of a fence, feeding carrots to several mares in the pasture. James thought to pass him with just a wave, then he heard an unhappy sniffling sound. Philip was crying. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the boy.

“Hi,” he said, leaning against the fence.

“Hi.”

Philip ducked his head and surreptitiously swiped at his face. James hid a smile. The mares had moved away for an instant at the sight and smell of a stranger, but the lure of a treat brought them back. Their foals, more cautious with newborn instinct, hovered behind the mothers.

“Can I have a carrot?” James asked.

Philip passed one over, and he broke it into chunks and fed it to two of the mares.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said. “It’s nice to just watch the late afternoon sun turn red with someone, although sometimes, too, a person likes to be alone and think. You look like you have things to think about.”

“I … it’s okay,” Philip said. “You can stay.”

The boy shared the rest of the carrots with him, and the two of them fed the horses and watched the sun set. James didn’t ask any questions, sensing Philip wanted to say something, but wouldn’t if probed. He realized it must be hard for the boy, with his father on the other side of the country.

Finally Philip said, “I hate bullies.”

James considered the comment, then said, “So do I. I used to get picked on a lot when I was a kid.” He grinned. “Now I’m bigger and richer than they are.”

“I didn’t hear the teacher today,” Philip said, unmollified. “Just ’cause I—”

The boy stopped, and James knew instantly what was wrong. Suddenly he was whisked back to his own childhood.

“Because you wear a hearing aid, the kids tease you sometimes,” he said gravely.

“Just one kid,” Philip said, then added the devastating blow. “But even my friends laughed.”

“I see.” James was silent for a moment. “Sometimes people laugh without realizing a person’s feelings are being hurt, or they laugh because everyone else is and they’re embarrassed to be different.”

“Yeah, maybe I should hurt their feelings or make people laugh at them.”

“You might be hurting yourself in the end,” James warned. “It’s not fair, I know. Sometimes things just aren’t fair.”

“That’s really stupid,” Philip said, his voice filled with resentment. “You wouldn’t say that if people laughed and called you dummy because you wore a hearing aid.”

“Yes, I would.” James took a deep breath, amazed that he was about to tell this boy the secret he had kept from so many others for so many years. The secret he had kept from Anne, out of fear. “When I was your age people called me dummy because I couldn’t read. My friends laughed. I was so angry that I hurt them back, and wound up getting more hurt in the end.”

“You …” Philip stared at him. “You couldn’t read?”

“I have a learning disability called dyslexia, Philip.” He patted his pockets for something to prove his point, but the only thing readable was the schedule Anne had given him. He removed it from his pocket and looked it over carefully, just to make sure the schedule was nothing but names and dates. He held it out. “I don’t see letters and numbers the way most people do. Here, read the first line or so of this for me.”

Philip quickly read the first few lines out loud, only stumbling over one of the horses’ names. Constitution’s Preamble would be a tongue twister for most nine-year-olds.

“When I was your age,” James said, retrieving the schedule, “I couldn’t have even read that. The letters would look all mixed up. I’ve learned how to overcome it pretty well. But even now, when I’m tired or angry or distracted, I’ll make mistakes.”

“Would you like me to read the rest for you, Mr. Farraday?” Philip offered.

He smiled and tucked the papers back into his pocket. “Thanks, but I’m okay now. One of the things that helped me with bullies was to laugh at their jokes, too, along with everyone else. It hurt at first, but they didn’t like it that their victim was laughing and joking around with them. After a while they stopped teasing me.”

“I’ll remember that.” The boy looked away. “Don’t tell my mom I was … they were teasing me. It really upsets her, and she gets mad at my friends and the school.”

“I respect your privacy, Philip, so I won’t discuss this conversation with anyone.” James could imagine how Anne would react with a mother’s protectiveness, which was the kiss of death to a nine-year-old boy.

Philip straightened. “I won’t discuss it, Mr. Farraday.”

“James.”

Philip smiled. “James.”

James realized that Philip’s impairment had an advantage over his own. The hearing aid made it visible early on to people. His dyslexia was easy to hide. People wouldn’t know until he chose to tell them, and it had become a lifetime habit to choose not to.

He had been one of the unlucky ones, and hadn’t been diagnosed early. Instead, he’d been labeled disruptive and lazy, and had been sent away to
military school to “shape up.” Finally one of his teachers had realized he needed help, and eventually he’d overcome the dyslexia.

Still, the emotional scars had remained until college. It had been a small college, but just getting in had done much for his low self-esteem. His socially conscious parents, unsupportive as ever, hadn’t wanted him to sully the family name by failing. He’d gone anyway. He’d even gotten engaged in his senior year to a “deb.” And he’d confessed, with a laugh, his dyslexia. Unfortunately, she hadn’t laughed. Instead, she’d broken off the engagement because she didn’t want to have “problem” children.

He had come home that summer so embittered. He’d known he could never open himself again to a woman. And then on impulse he had kissed seventeen-year-old Annie Kitteridge at a dance … and had realized that whatever he’d felt for the deb had been nothing compared to what he’d felt in that instant with Anne. Life, with its wry sense of timing, had really shown him what he could never have. Anne had left shortly afterward for the racing world she loved, and he was never sure if he should have been grateful or angry with her for doing so.

“It’s almost dinnertime,” Philip said. “Would you like to stay for dinner if it’s okay with Grandmother Lettice? She’s cooking tonight. Sometimes the owners stay.”

He thought of his earlier reaction to Anne, of her coolness to him. What was the sense of staying when nothing could be changed? Truthfully, she was treating him like a business associate, and he ought to accept it. That was all he’d wanted when he’d offered her Battle Cry.

“Sure,” he said with a grin. “I’ll stay.”

By the time Anne left the stable after ten o’clock, three new foals had come into the world. Jonas had been right on target, she thought, stretching her arms over her head. All three mares had delivered in classic assembly-line procedure—with no complications. Smiling, she admitted she liked that best of all.

Although she’d missed dinner and was feeling tired, she decided to take the long route to the house by way of the stallion barn and breeding shed. A few steps farther to enjoy a brilliant spring night sky wouldn’t hurt.

She wondered if James would be there tomorrow, and immediately stopped herself. She refused to think about him again. He was the owner of one of her horses, that was all. She’d been living on one lousy kiss too long.

She tried to keep her mind on the business of tomorrow—Battle Cry’s first mating. They’d allowed him these past days to adjust to his new surroundings, and he certainly seemed content. He was eating well, running the pastures, and accepting treats from the various people who would be involved in his new “profession.” Otis felt Lollipop was ready, and Curtis had told her Battle Cry was itching to go. Tomorrow was the big test.

As she passed the darkened stallion barn, Anne grinned. She hoped Battle Cry would prove to be a “happy camper” in his retirement and accept all the mares sent to him.

The breeding shed loomed on her left, and she remembered being in there with James. It had taken every ounce of her willpower to resist the
urges that had run through her that morning. Lord, how she had wanted him. But, she told herself, she didn’t want him now.

Hoping to head off her dangerous thoughts yet again, she decided to check the lock on the breeding shed. An employee was assigned to stay in the animals’ buildings each night, but head grooms were responsible for locking up the various sheds. She trusted them, but whenever she was on the grounds late she liked to double-check for her own peace of mind. To her satisfaction, the lock was secure when she tugged on it.

“Anne.”

Shrieking, she leapt around at the sound of her name. The broad silhouette towering over her turned out to be James.

“What the hell are you trying to do, sneaking up on me like that?” she demanded, her heart racing with residual fear.

“I was looking for you,” he said. “You didn’t come in for dinner.”

“I didn’t …” She forced back a wave of shock. “You stayed for dinner?”

“Philip asked me. With Lettice’s permission. They didn’t seem worried that you were late. But I thought I would check.”

“They know to start without me,” she said. “This isn’t a nine-to-five job.”

“I thought I would just check.”

“I … thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say without sounding like the Witch of Makefield Meadows again. And his concern was surprising … and touching.

Anne swallowed. She didn’t need touching.

“Can we talk, Annie?” he asked, coming impossibly closer with just one step.

She tried to breathe normally, but her lungs weren’t receiving nearly enough air.

“We talked already,” she replied, her voice sounding faint.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he whispered. “Why can’t you accept my apology?”

She backed up until the wall of the shed was solid against her shoulder blades. It put only three steps between them. Three were better than nothing on a starlit spring night, she rationalized.

“I accepted it, James. That’s why there’s nothing more to say about Mac.”

“You were … friendlier before I asked you to take him on.”

“I said I accepted. I didn’t say I had to like it.”

The words hung in the air between them, a challenge to their mutual control. Anne was all too aware of his hard body. The mingled scents of subtle cologne and horses teased her senses. She could hear his breath coming heavily, as if he, too, couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

“You make me crazy, Anne.”

“I don’t want to.”

His hand reached out, his fingers lightly tracing her cheek. She felt as if she were being burned, yet she couldn’t pull away.

“You make me more than crazy,” he whispered, taking those last steps. Darkness seemed to envelop them in a black cocoon.

“Don’t,” she said when his chest just touched her breasts. Her nipples tightened into aching points at the contact.