The Stable Affair Read online

  “Uh.” He cleared his throat and tried again. He really should use this time away from Ellie to find himself a woman before this obsession with Sarah Taylor’s body distracted him from his true purpose. Maybe he should take that blonde up on her offer after all. “Yeah. Sure. Tilda said to tell you that Larth was fine, not colicking at all. He was just being fussy about his food because one of the grooms forgot to hide his medication in a treat and put it in his dinner instead.”

  Relief washed over her. The big chestnut gelding was a favorite of hers, and horses often died of intestinal torsions caused by colic. “That’s great news! Thanks for knocking after all.”

  Sarah always believed that bad news required that the messenger be shot, but the reverse was also true. The bearer of good news was automatically entitled to her benevolence. “Have you eaten yet? I’m on my way to The Firehouse, you could join me if you wanted.”

  “Uh. Huh?”

  Sarah repeated herself slowly and clearly, already regretting her invitation. Dante was acting as if he had lost forty or so IQ points since she had last spoken to him. Maybe he’d been kicked in the head at the show and this was a delayed reaction. If so, she was sorry she had missed the excitement.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes, I’d like to join you for dinner.” He dropped back into polite mode since his nap-fogged brain didn’t seem up to much else. This was exactly the opening he had been looking for, and he wasn’t about to let the moment pass. “Shall we go?”

  She looked pointedly down at her bare feet. “Well, even though you seem to like this robe well enough, I think it’d be drafty in a restaurant. Give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you in the lobby.” With that she shut the door in his face.

  He stood there for several moments thinking of all the pithy little things he could have said to her. As usual these comments descended upon him after the conversation was over. “You are quite the silver-tongued devil around this woman, aren’t you? What keeps happening to that famous Devers’ charm?” He shook his head as he made his way to the lobby to wait for the promised ten minutes. He figured she’d take at least twenty, which was a bonus. He could use the time to wake up, rebuild his defenses, and plan his strategy.

  Sarah was ready in five minutes, her hair blown dry into an artfully disarrayed coppery tumble. She had slipped into a pair of tan slacks, and topped them with a white shirt and navy blazer. She thought the riot of her hair saved her from looking too preppy and gave herself a critical once-over in the mirror before she left the small hotel room.

  “Well, this is about as good as it gets,” she muttered, and wished briefly that she’d packed something more feminine to wear.

  Dante stood as she approached, an ingrained habit that she found endearing in an age when some considered standing in a lady’s presence or holding her chair to be condescending.

  “We’d best be going. With the horse show crowd in town, the restaurants will fill up quickly. Oh, thanks!” she said as he held the lobby door for her.

  It felt so natural to be walking beside her that Dante had to restrain himself from placing a protective hand at the small of her back where it seemed to fit. Her head barely reached his shoulder and he marveled again that such a slip of a girl could control eleven hundred or so pounds of mad horseflesh.

  Enemy, he reminded himself sternly. She is your enemy. This is not a date; it is the next move in a life-sized chess match. Remember Susan. Remember Susan.

  The arrival of many trainers and riders was still a day away, so Sarah and Dante were seated immediately at The Firehouse. Dante ordered an imported bottled beer and Sarah ordered the locally brewed pale ale without glancing at the menu or wine list. Her days of pretending pleasure at a select vintage were behind her.

  “Do you have the menu memorized, too?”

  She laughed out loud, a husky sound that shot blood straight to his loins and left him cursing. “You’re observant. In each horse show town we have a few favorite hangouts where we order the same few meals that we know we’ll like. There’s nothing worse than a disappointing meal when you’re soggy, tired, bug-bit, and smelly.”

  Dante relaxed in his chair and fished around for some small talk to get her loosened up. “Brings back a few memories of eating lukewarm beans out of tin cans in a rainforest or two. At the time, I would’ve given my left kidney for even a ‘disappointing’ restaurant as long as it was climate controlled.”

  Those were the days.

  Sarah rested her chin on one narrow hand and looked interested. “What were you doing there? Peace Corps?”

  Dante shook his head. “No, nothing as altruistic as that.”

  “Running drugs?”

  He laughed aloud at that. “Nope, nothing as lucrative as that. I work for a photography group called WildThings. We get hired out by naturalists, documentary makers, media producers, or whoever needs some original photos or film of a given animal in its natural habitat.”

  “Cool! Would I have seen any of your work?” She winced comically. “I’m sorry, was that a rude way of asking?”

  Dante laughed. “No, that was fine. Um. Do you know that ad campaign for fizzy water with a bunch of meer cats standing on their hind legs looking back and forth like commuters at a bus station watching the traffic pass? That was ours.” He remembered the hours he’d spent lying on his stomach near the burrow, parched ground abrading his chest as his team struggled to create just the right shots. That was one of the last big commercial jobs he’d done before Susan died and he became an instant father to her little girl.

  “Sure I remember that one. Those were meer cats? How funny. Do they stand up like that normally?”

  They chatted for a moment about the different animals he’d photographed until Sarah circled around to the question Dante had been expecting. “So why’d you take the assignment with Horseman’s’? That doesn’t seem like quite your speed if you’re used to exotic locations. I mean, Massachusetts is nice and all, but it’s not very exciting.”

  Dante couldn’t argue with that. “My younger sister died a few months ago.” Sarah made a wordless sound of sympathy but he continued, carefully choosing words that would arouse her pity but not her suspicions. “Ellie’s father has never really been in the picture and my mother isn’t in a position to raise another generation, so that left me. This assignment gives me the ability to have a home base and keep Ellie in a school she likes.”

  “She seems like a great kid. She’s certainly good with the animals; the dogs, cats and horses at the farm all love her. I even caught that nasty goose following her the other day, begging for breadcrumbs. You didn’t bring her with you to the show? I would’ve thought she’d want to come with you.”

  Dante cringed at the memory of the tantrum Ellie had thrown. Maybe Mrs. Phillips had a point about his discipline or lack thereof. After this show he was going to have to make some rules and stick to them, no matter how hard her chin quivered. “Please don’t remind me. She’s at home with Mrs. Phillips, a wonderful woman I hired to take care of us, but I didn’t leave Ellie-belly behind without a fight. She’s still in kindergarten for another month or so, but I’ll plan on bringing her with me during the summer shows.”

  “If she keeps riding as well as she did the other day and you’re going to be at the shows anyway, you might think of leasing a pony for her to compete.”

  “At her level?” Dante squirmed inwardly, hating the thought of Ellie and Sarah forming a bond, even that of trainer and student. But he couldn’t honestly think of a way to avoid it. Ellie had her heart set on riding Marshmallow, the fuzzy pony Sarah had introduced her to the other day, and Sarah was assuming that Ellie would continue her training at Pruitt Farm. He couldn’t very well quash the whole thing without disappointing Ellie and making Sarah suspicious.

  “Sure, there are several classes suitable for beginners at the shows you’ll be covering. Once she learns how to post, she can ride in the leadline classes where Tilda or I can hold her pony while she’s judged at the walk and
the trot. It’s a good introduction to competition and a good way to teach kids a real sense of responsibility at an early age.”

  Other horse people had begun to trickle in, distinguished by their olive drab leather patched pants, black boots, and gleaming silver spurs. Several stopped to greet Sarah, welcoming her back like the prodigal daughter returned from the dead.

  “You’ve been away? I assumed you’d been doing this for years.” She had relaxed after her beer, and Dante thought it a fine time to start probing at her past. He tried to ignore the fact that she had learned more about him in the past hour than he had about her.

  “Sort of,” Sarah replied slightly evasively. “I grew up on the circuit and rode against many of the top professionals when we were still kids. We wintered in Florida, kept up with our schoolwork by tutoring, and flew back up here when the Northeast circuit geared up again each spring. After I finished my junior Medal career, I rode a few years professionally before I went to college and got a real job.”

  “A real job?”

  She took a pull of her second beer and he waited for her to continue. “Yeah, I worked at a lab. I showed Noble a bit even while I was working and even qualified him for some of the big finals a couple of years ago.” She paused in quick pain. “A few months ago, I left the lab under awkward circumstances and spent some time alone in my condo trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Tilda offered me a position at the farm about that time, and here I am. So yes, I’ve been away but now I’m back.”

  Awkward circumstances? That was an interesting way of putting it, and Dante seethed inwardly at her cavalier attitude. He eased back in his chair with feigned casualness and continued to draw her out, probing with careful questions then soothing her with stories from his own colorful past.

  Sarah enjoyed talking with the photographer, appreciating the way he could extend an anecdote until the last possible second before closing in with a devastating punch line.

  It had been a long time since she’d been out with a man, or a woman for that matter, who didn’t know about her recent troubles and didn’t watch her as though they expected her to break into tears at a moment’s notice. She caught the occasional furtive glances from other diners and was well aware that many nearby conversations included Susan’s name, but she should be used to that by now. She tensed her mismatched shoulders to shield her and Dante from the swirling eddies of innuendo and reached for the soda that had replaced her beers.

  “So there we were with nothing but six bags of marshmallows, a bottle of wine and one three man tent for all seven of us. And do you know what? That mentally defective primatologist refused to turn back, said we could go on without him. We nearly had to hogtie him with vines and carry him back to base camp.” Dante chuckled and leaned back in his chair, his soft shirt straining at the buttons that held it shut across his chest.

  Sarah laughed too, although she hadn’t paid close attention to the story. She’d been too absorbed in watching the play of candlelight across the angular planes of his face and wallowing in the rich rise and fall of his voice. When she felt his eyes on her, her face warmed with the knowledge that she’d stared at him overlong and she looked away, making what she hoped was a casual scan of the other diners.

  She saw the man standing in the shadows near the payphone, staring straight at her. His thick neck bulged obscenely over a tight crewneck sweater, and his small ears nestled close to his shiny pink scalp. Sarah gasped and shot to her feet and the sudden movement jolted the table and sent her soda flying. The thug grinned at her and closed one eye in an obscene wink.

  “Sarah! What’s wrong?” Dante touched her arm and Sarah flinched as the bald man melted back into the darkness. She bolted forward to follow, but her left foot was tangled in the strap of her purse and she almost pitched headlong into the lobster bisque of a startled-looking jumper rider from Connecticut.

  “Sarah! Jesus, calm down!” Dante slithered across the table to keep her from falling and managed to knock both of their meals to the floor in the process, but Sarah paid no heed as she jerked away and half ran, half stumbled to the rear of the restaurant.

  A buzz of excitement arose from the other patrons and their necks craned as they watched her catapult past the payphone and through the back door.

  Sarah found herself in a short alley that led to a small parking area and she froze, sudden doubts assailing her. What was she doing? Did she actually think she could catch him? Did she want to? She was alone in a back alley with a scary-dangerous man. Was she terminally stupid?

  The lot was dark and quiet and she couldn’t see the man if he was even still there. She perversely hoped he was long gone as she strained her eyes to see through the darkness and stretched her ears to hear him breathe.

  She heard only the howl of a stray cat in heat and the sound of life from the restaurant behind her. Then that noise rose to a crescendo as Dante slammed through the swinging door at a full run and plowed straight into Sarah, knocking them both to the ground. Somehow he managed to twist in midair so that he ended up on the bottom, but Sarah still landed with a startled, “Ooof!” as the breath was knocked out of her.

  They heard running footsteps, the slam of a car door, and the squeal of tires as the bald man escaped. Sarah struggled a moment to free herself from Dante’s grip with some thought of following, but subsided when she realized the he was well and truly gone. She rolled off the groaning photographer and sat up, feeling the cold of the pavement seep through her slacks. She dropped her head into her hands and tried to deny what she’d just seen.

  “Are you okay?” Dante coughed a few times and rubbed at his ribs when she nodded. “What the hell was that?”

  Other diners and a few of the Firehouse staff had followed and were peering cautiously through the greasy window of the swinging door. Sarah didn’t feel like entertaining them any further. “Nothing.” She stood and held out a shaking hand, cursing the twinge in her shoulder. “Do you want to go in and finish dinner?” Her stomach was roiling in reaction and she was starting to feel dizzy as shock set in.

  Dante shook his head and declined her hand as he flipped neatly to his feet. “Dinner’s on the floor now, and I think the mood is a bit past, don’t you? What was that all about? Who did you see?” He slapped at his clothing, which was dusty with sand and unidentifiable grit. When Sarah didn’t reply, he shot her an irritated glance. “Stay here, I’ll go settle up our bill,” and he was gone back through the door.

  Sarah sank back to the pavement, sliding down against the rough brick of the Firehouse wall while her spine was poked with little bits of mortar. The shaking intensified and she dug her ragged fingernails into the flesh of her palm to try and stem the rising tide of panic.

  What had he been doing here? It was the same bald man, wasn’t it? There couldn’t be more than one person on the Atlantic Seaboard with that fat, naked head and tiny ears, could there?

  She’d seen him before, standing across the street from her condo in Boston, watching her. Or was it the same man? Maybe she was just crazy, like Gordon had said; just having paranoid delusions brought on by trauma and guilt and self-loathing. When her former boss had spoken in that calm, rational voice of his, she could almost believe it.

  But there was no mistaking that stubby silhouette, those tiny ears or missing tooth. She’d swear it was the same man. But what the hell was he doing in Newcastle? Following her, obviously. But why? When he’d watched her condo for a few days then disappeared, Sarah had assumed he was a reporter hoping for a quote from her on the outcome of Susan’s civil case. But even the most tenacious reporter wouldn’t bother to look her up months later just for a follow up and then not even talk to her. Would he?

  Maybe she was just crazy.

  Strong hands gripped her wrists to pull her hands from her face and Sarah jolted in alarm, smacking her head back against the bricks. She struggled against the hands, blinded by stinging pain and hot tears.

  “Jesus, Sarah. Chill out! Easy
there, it’s okay. You’re all right.” Dante’s soothing words finally registered and Sarah stilled, fine tremors ripping through her.

  Dante felt as lost as he had the day Ellie had casually wondered how the baby got in her kindergarten teacher’s tummy. He’d fobbed that one off with a bribe, but he was pretty sure that offering Sarah Taylor a pet rabbit wasn’t going to fix whatever had just gone wrong with their evening.

  He crouched down in front of the sobbing woman, totally unsure of his next move. He stroked her hair with a gentle hand, more for his sake than hers, and continued to speak softly until her sobs had subsided to the occasional drunken hiccup. As she settled, Dante could see Sarah’s embarrassment increasing, evidenced by the hot blush on her face.

  “Better now?” He continued to stroke her hair and imagined that she leaned into the caress once before pulling away.

  “Yeah. I’m fine now, thanks.” He strongly disagreed with that as he looked at the pale green tint under her blush, but was too much the gentleman to comment. “Can we go?”

  “Sure.” He handed her limp form into the Jeep and buckled her in before sliding behind the wheel. Sarah sat quietly, staring out the window as he drove them back to the St. Peter’s. Seeing that she wasn’t going to volunteer the information he asked, “What happened back there?”

  For a moment he thought she might not answer, but then she stirred and brushed a curl away from her clammy face. “Nothing you need to worry about, really Dante. I appreciate how you handled everything back there, but I don’t want you to feel obligated just because I told you a few stories about the horse world.”

  Obligated? That was a funny choice of words. He had a feeling that his obligations had only just begun. “I don’t know that I feel obligated, but I did think that we were becoming friends. Aren’t we?”

  “Friends?” Sarah seemed to consider the word as if it was a foreign concept. “I suppose.” Her voice sounded far away. “But if we’re to be friends that’s an even better reason for you to keep out of this. It was probably nothing anyway.”