Текст книги "Family Love"

Автор книги: Liz Crowe

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Six

The sun pierced her eyes, making Lindsay groan and roll over. But the pounding in her head seemed to suffuse every corner of her existence. There was no escaping it. She tried dragging a pillow over her head, but the pillow weighed too much. The whole world hurt. Her hair hurt. Even her toenails ached. Her mouth seemed stuffed full of cotton, or maybe hay. A knock at her door was followed by a creak when she didn’t answer.

“Good morning, sunshine!” her brother JR boomed. “Up and at ‘em!” He yanked her covers off and threw open the curtains, flooding her room with light that went straight to her brain in a shaft of agony and yet more nausea.

She jumped up and ran for her bathroom, but after a few minutes figured she’d probably already thrown up enough of her guts to last her a while, so she rinsed out her mouth and tried to brush her teeth, but that hurt too much. So she grabbed a robe and wrapped up in it before returning to find her other brother sitting and sipping coffee while JR stood staring out one of her tall windows.

“What do you two want?” She wiped a shaking hand down her face. “Never mind. I don’t care. Go away. Leave me to die in peace.” She tried to crawl under the covers.

“You have caused quite the ruckus this morning, little miss thing,” Frank said, his voice flat.

“Whatever,” she said.

“No, seriously. Mama is spitting mad and trying to get Daddy to fire those Italians.”

Lindsay sat up, heart pounding. JR dropped into the window seat. Both of her brothers glared at her. “What are you up to with them, Lindsay?”

“Up to? What are you talking about?”

“Well, that younger one, Tony, he carried you into the house after midnight last night, apparently. Mama screamed to wake the dead. At least that’s what we heard. We weren’t home, and neither was Daddy, so we have no idea what condition you were in.”

“I was in a drunk condition, is all,” she said, shrinking into her pillow and biting her lip.

“Huh, well our mother claims that goombah had …” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “… interfered with you while you were passed out in the car.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lindsay said. But her voice was small as she wracked her memory for anything that might resemble “interference” from Anton Love.

“Daddy isn’t gonna fire them, I don’t think. They’re damn good at their jobs.”

She glared at them both. “You just like them ’cause they bring girls over at night so you can … can … interfere with them …” She stopped, furious with herself for not knowing what, exactly, they did.

“Never you mind that,” JR declared, getting up and stretching. “I do like ‘em. But you know how Mama gets, and she is on one blessed tear right now. You need to get up, get dressed, and tell her to calm down.”

“I know you’re sweet on him, Linds,” her younger brother said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “But you need to watch yourself.” He got up and joined JR at the door. “Now get on up and tell Mama you are free from interference. I’m sick of hearing about it, and the more she goes on, Daddy might give in just to shut her up.”

She winced when they gave her door a good slam on their way out. Groaning, she flopped onto the pillows, staring up the pink canopy, tears stinging her eyes. Figures that she’d be passed out drunk when Anton Love finally touched her—picked her up and carried her up the stairs like Rhett Butler carried Scarlett O’Hara. She stroked her hand down her front, shivering and imagining him fired and gone, thanks to her own idiotic behavior.

She got up and took a bath, brushed her teeth, and got dressed before sneaking down to the kitchen for aspirin and coffee. Nellie, their cook and all-around helper, was there, breaking up green beans at the table and humming to herself. She kept a pot of coffee on all day, per long-standing instructions. Lindsay was never more grateful for it. Nellie ignored her while she dropped some cream into her cup and swallowed a few tablets, hoping to halt the incessant throbbing in her head.

“Try some of that tomato juice, Miss Lindsay,” she said. But the thought of it made the nausea surge again. Lindsay shook her head and leaned against the large sink, cup cradled in her hands.

“I was a mess yesterday, Nellie.”

“Yes, I heard somethin’ about that,” Nellie said with a smile.

“I didn’t do anything but drink too much. I just … don’t want to marry him.”

Nellie got up and dumped the bean ends and strings into the trash, then carried the pan to the sink and filled it with water. “We don’t always get to choose our futures, honey.”

Lindsay studied the woman who’d worked in her house for as long as Lindsay could remember. Her dark brown face was lined, her short hair graying, her eyes wise.

Guilt flooded Lindsay’s brain. She had zero business complaining to this woman, whose husband had left her high and dry with two kids and living in some nasty apartment in Lexington. Mama loved to tell that story, of how she’d single-handedly rescued her, and had paid her more than the going rate for house help ever since.

Lindsay knew Nellie held every single secret the Halloran family had ever thought about keeping. She opened her mouth to confide in her when her mother breezed in the side door, fresh from tennis, glowing with a light sheen of sweat. “I declare, it is hotter than Hades out there already. Nellie, is there any tea?”

“Yes ma’am,” the woman said, nudging Lindsay aside with her hip and reaching for a glass. “Go on outside,” she said under her breath. “Don’t let her see you just yet,” she whispered while Lindsay’s mother picked through the stack of mail on the dining room table.

Lindsay nodded and ducked outside, still holding the coffee mug. On reflex, she began walking toward the stable, noting that it was indeed very hot already. It did not help her headache in the slightest to be out here, trying to breathe the heavy, humid air. She could see the boarded horses out in the paddock, tails swishing flies, standing still under the shade trees that lined the fences.

Anton appeared at the second barn door opening, looking toward the animals, his cowboy hat on, a stalk of hay between his teeth.

Lindsay’s skin prickled. She cursed herself once more for putting him in danger of losing his job for no good reason. After a few minutes observing him from afar, noting a brief interaction with his brother, she squared her shoulders and marched down the hill. It was up to her to make this right, she knew. No reason to put it off. But first, she wanted to apologize to him.

As she was making her way down, keeping Anton’s now-slouched form in her line of sight, a car screeched to a halt close by. She stopped, realizing it had come from the front drive.

“Hey, you there!” Will’s voice hit her ears, making her heart beat faster. A door slammed, then another. “You, greaseball … yeah, I’m talkin’ to you.”

Lindsay whirled and saw her fiancé running across the side lawn, followed by his sidekick, Don. His face was flushed red, his hands curled into fists, as he barreled past her and skidded to a stop in front of Anton, who’d straightened slowly and pulled the hay out of his mouth.

“Will, stop it!” she shrieked when he hauled off and punched Anton in the face, then in the stomach.

Don grabbed Anton’s arms and pinned them behind him while Will wound up to hit him again. But Lindsay sped down the hill and jumped in between them, holding both hands out to stop him.

“Get out of my way, Red. This is between me and this goombah,” he growled at her. She didn’t move.

“You are acting like a full-on idiot, Will Scott. He didn’t do anything but get his shoes puked on.”

“You were too drunk to know what he did to you. Now move, or I’ll move you myself.”

Lindsay glared at him. They stood, frozen in their weird tableau for a few moments. A shout from the house made them all look up to see JR and Frank running down the hill. That made Will lower his fist fast, since it looked as if he was planning to punch her in the face.

“Let him go, Don,” JR said. Don did as he was told. JR was a hothead, and had about thirty pounds of pure muscle on both Don and Will. “Beat it.” Don scurried away. Lindsay remained standing between Will and Anton, who’d been utterly silent through the whole thing.

“Back off my sister, William,” Frank said, easing himself between Lindsay and her intended. “If you know what’s good for you, that is.”

Will stepped away, wiping his sweaty face. Lindsay saw how much he was shaking and figured him to be in as bad shape as she, thanks to too much booze the night before. She turned to face Anton with an apology on her lips but he just grabbed his hat from the dirt, shot her an inscrutable look, and disappeared into the barn.

“That, that … farm hand, he … took advantage of your sister and you’re gonna let him sneak off like a rat?” Will spit, and put his fists on his hips. His blond hair flopped down over his forehead, giving him that boyish look she remembered.

“Lindsay said he didn’t,” JR said, standing next to her. “I’m satisfied with that.”

“How could she even know?” Will pointed to her. “She was passed out drunk.”

Fury pounded along with her heartbeat. She took a step towards him. “I reckon I’d remember if he had, Will. Considering.”

He frowned at her then crossed his arms. “Those Eye-talians are a pack of sneaky liars. Your daddy needs to fire ‘em.”

“I reckon he’ll make up his own mind about that soon enough,” Frank said, standing next to his brother. “Go on home, Will. You reek of booze, among other things.”

Lindsay had caught a whiff of something—cheap perfume she finally realized—coming from Will’s flushed skin. He turned and stomped up to his car, hollering for Don, who scurried after him.

“I hate that son-of-a-bitch,” JR said mildly, draping an arm across her shoulders. She slumped against him, relieved that someone was on her side. “But, so help me baby sister, if you do anything with Tony Love, I’ll kill you my own self.” She jumped away from him and looked over at Frank, who was leaning against the fence. He nodded.

“Yeah, Linds. Best avoid him so as not to … tempt anything. Got it?”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I hate you,” she said. “I hate this! All of this!” She realized she was screaming and heard Zelda neigh in response in the main barn, so she ran toward that sound, blinded by tears, miserable and intent on one thing—escape.

Chapter Seven

After an hour’s worth of riding, both horse and rider were out of breath. Lindsay slid to the ground at the edge of the Lucas River and led Zelda closer, encouraging her to splash into the shallow depths to cool off.

Zelda was revved up, she could tell. She kept nodding her huge head, as if she couldn’t come down off the adrenaline high from the too-fast, out-of-control way she’d been allowed to lead, with her young mistress’ hands light on the reins, whispering in her ear.

“That’s it, girl.” Lindsay splashed water up onto the animal’s neck. “You knew what I needed, didn’t you?” She stroked along Zelda’s side, sensing the quivery muscles, the just-under-the-skin urgency to resume the chase to nowhere.

Swiping at her eyes, furious at herself for crying yet again over her stupid life, Lindsay leaned against her horse’s shoulder. Zelda snorted, nickered, then dipped her head down to drink from the slow-flowing water.

After they’d both cooled some, Lindsay’s tears had dried up, leaving her with nothing but a sense of emptiness she wondered if anything would ever fill. She loved her father. But his tendency to spoil her and run roughshod over her brothers had not gone unnoticed once she’d gotten old enough to understand its central unfairness. She adored both Frank and JR, but if pressed, she’d confess that JR was a little standoffish, probably a function of his role as the eldest, the Halloran heir. Heir to what, she had no idea, of course. To Will Scott’s money, now, she supposed. Unless and until she squeezed out a few brats.

She hated her mother. Honest to goodness could not stand the woman. She could barely remember a time when they’d gotten along, or agreed about anything. But Gloria Runyan Halloran worshiped her sons. That much had been obvious from the start. It was as if Lindsay had been an afterthought, even an “oops,” although her Daddy claimed he had not lived until he watched her as a toddler, in her tiny riding suit, grinning ear-to-ear when she rode her first horse.

She sighed and flopped onto the grass, pulling bits up and tossing them into the air. What she wouldn’t give right now to have the sort of mother-daughter thing a few of her friends had. She was pea green with envy over the way Kathy and her mama would giggle together as if they were pals or sisters over silly things Kathy’s father would say. Or how they’d make a day of getting their hair done, complete with pretty colors for their nails.

“Go find your daddy,” Gloria would say when Lindsay had been young, but old enough to recall it, and needed homework help, or advice about her friends … or anything, really. When she’d woken up one morning with her panties all bloody and her stomach cramping up fit to kill, she’d had to ask Nellie what to do.

It made sneaking around, smoking, and drinking—or just avoiding the house by spending all her spare time in the barn with her horses—easy. Sometimes she thought the only one who’d notice she was missing was Frank, since her Daddy had gotten distracted and preoccupied with the slow erosion of his success and his bank accounts.

Unable to sit still, but unwilling to go home and face anyone, Lindsay snagged Zelda’s reins and started walking alongside the river that had been named for another failed horse farmer. The horse was amenable enough for a while, but kept bumping Lindsay’s shoulder with her nose and making exasperated noises.

“Oh, all right, you big old baby.” Lindsay patted her neck, stuck her foot in the stirrup and jumped into the saddle. No matter what or how she felt about her life, the moment she sat astride a horse, the world seemed to shift into place for her. Smiling, she dug her heels into Zelda’s sides with a soft cluck of her tongue. They were off, galloping full out across the large pasture between the river and the stretch of woods bordering her father’s property.

Hair streaming out behind her, Lindsay laughed out loud in pure pleasure, wishing she could ride forever, never stop, never face reality as the future Missus William Scott.

Never have to wonder how it felt to be held in Anton Love’s arms. Because she knew for a fact that her daddy would let him go. Her mama wouldn’t tolerate any less, and when she was in full-throttle obsessed mode, Gloria Halloran was worse than a dog with a bone. She would chip away at it until she got what she wanted … which was usually for her daughter to be truly miserable.

The late afternoon light lay still and shimmery hot across the expanse of grass between the edge of the woods and the Halloran barns. Lindsay stopped a moment, watching the comings and goings of boarded horses and their persnickety owners making irrational demands on the staff. She heard a familiar neigh. Zelda echoed it, head nodding again, eager to get to her stall for a cleanup and real food.

But Lindsay lingered, wanting—hoping—to catch sight of Anton. She bit her lip, keeping a firm grip on the reins so Zelda would quit stomping and fidgeting.

Lindsay’s own thighs were shaking from the last forty-five minutes of hard riding across pastures and through woods, plus she felt a little dizzy, thanks to a lack of food and residual alcohol from the night before.

When she thought she spotted Anton, her heart did a little trip-hammer thing in her chest. But then she realized the man was too tall and must be Lorenzo.

Finally, she clucked to the horse but held her at a slower pace, forcing Zelda into a canter so she could keep an eye on the figures coming and going in the paddock and between the barns. She slid off and walked Zelda the last few feet, head and heart still pounding with the sort of anticipation that made her feel weak and girly. She headed toward the wash area, self-conscious of the scene Will had caused earlier, and suddenly wishing she could assign this duty to one of the stable boys and run inside to cower.

But everyone seemed busy, so she did Zelda’s washdown herself, then put her in a stall that was already filled with fresh hay and supplied with oats. The animal whinnied. Daisy answered her, as if to say “where the hell have you been?”

Lindsay fed Zelda half a carrot, then crossed over to give Daisy the other half. She leaned on the gate, trying to see if Daisy was still favoring her back foot as she’d done during their training earlier in the week. When she couldn’t get a good look at it in the late afternoon gloom, she went inside, patting Daisy down and grabbing her leg so she could examine it closely.

She must have spent more time in there than she realized, hanging out with her animals, talking to them, feeding them bits of carrot. When she emerged, blinking and confused, she realized it must be past suppertime. Cursing under her breath, she ran up the hill to the kitchen entrance, mentally concocting excuses for her tardiness. But the dining room was dark and empty. A delicious-smelling casserole dish covered in tinfoil sat on top of the stove. A pot of coffee, a fresh pitcher of iced tea, and a platter of sliced cucumbers and tomatoes were also at the ready.

After figuring her parents had gone to the club and her brothers were out doing God knows what, she made a plate and sat, eating the comforting combination of chicken and rice smothered in creamy mushroom soup. She coated the cukes and tomatoes with salt and ate some of those too, washing it all down with a huge glass of sweet, minty iced tea.

Patting her full stomach, she sat for a few minutes, pondering the silence in the house. Wondering if anyone had bothered to tell anyone else where they were going or what they were doing, she dumped her dirty plate in the sink, splashed cool water on her face, and realized she still was restless, when by rights she should be exhausted.

The frogs were setting up their usual racket in the pond, and the sound, combined with singing crickets, floated in through the open window over the huge porcelain sink. A breeze lifted her hair, caressing her neck. Lindsay shivered, letting the wind cool her overheated face.

A vision rose in her mind. Anton Love, dark eyes shining, full lips so near hers she could already taste him. His strong arms surrounded her, lifting her up, carrying her … where? To a bed? Then what? She frowned and balled her hands into fists. She hated the tingly, illicit anticipation of the unknown and the somehow desired.

Without a second’s thought, she walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out onto the large screened-in porch. A fire danced in the pit in front of the staff house. She heard laughter, music from a radio, and the rumble of masculine voices.

As if in a trance, she stepped onto the grass … dimly aware of her own sweaty, disheveled state, but she was on a mission. If only to catch sight of him, of Anton, when he wasn’t aware of her watching him.

She tiptoed behind the dormitory, getting closer to the dancing firelight and the voices. Two of them spoke in what she assumed was Italian, switching over to English and laughter at the last minute. Then she heard a distinct, giggly and stupid-sounding female voice, punctuating the conversation. Frowning, she eased along the side of the building, praying no one would glance over and catch her shadow.

“Now that is what I call a shiner,” Lorenzo said.

“Fuck off,” Anton growled, making her have to shut her eyes a split second. “Ow. No, honey, I’m not … hey, cut it out.”

The girl giggled. Sloppy kissing noises reached her, and Lindsay’s face got so hot she was afraid she might explode. The noises stopped. Someone opened a beer. The fire crackled and snapped.

On a whim, Lindsay darted to the corner, hoping everyone was facing away from the front door, the way they usually did. She slipped inside the staff house.

Something in her shifted while she made her way through the kitchen and dining room, then past the large bathroom, and to the four separate sleeping rooms with single beds or a few bunks.

Her lightly dancing anticipation morphed into something real, something living and breathing and needy.

She spotted Anton’s beat-up cowboy hat resting on a chest of drawers in the smallest room. It was set up for one person, as was the room next to it. The other two accommodated the stable boys, three to a sleeping space. Trembling, scared, and strangely damp between her legs, she took off her clothes, all of them, folding them in neat little piles on the floor between the bed and chest, hidden from sight.

For the first time, Lindsay was completely naked outside the safety of her own frilly suite of rooms, and she got her first real taste of fear-tinged freedom. Hands shaking, teeth chattering, she lifted the smooth bed cover—a quilt with an elaborate entwined ring pattern she didn’t recognize—and slid between the cool sheets. Trying to remain still and out of sight, she pressed herself against the wall, listening for anyone making their way down the hall. After a few minutes, she lost her nerve. Cursing herself, she crawled out from under the quilt and tried to grab her clothes.

“Hey, Tony,” a voice echoed. Lindsay jumped, and hit her head on the bedside table edge.

“Whatever it is it can wait ‘til morning. I’m beat.”

“You’re beat-up, you mean.” Laughter floated down the hall. Lindsay stood, dragging the quilt off the bed and high-tailing it for the small closet. She jammed herself behind a row of jeans and Halloran Farm branded work shirts and tried to shut the door, but the quilt was caught on something. Just when Tony’s voice was so loud she figured he must be right outside his bedroom, she yanked the quilt in and shut the door.

As she watched through the slats, he stripped out of his jeans and shirt. Then he slumped onto the bed, head in his hands for a few seconds, before apparently remembering his injured face. “Fuckin’ A,” he muttered, shaking his head and standing up to stretch.

Lindsay blinked fast at the sight of his almost perfect body dressed only in bright white underwear and a sleeveless white T-shirt. She swallowed hard, willing him not to do it, but did not look away when he tugged the shirt off and the shorts down, tossing them both into a laundry basket before grabbing a towel on a nearby rack and wrapping it around his waist.

Lindsay’s legs shook and her pulse raced in her ears, but she had no idea how to get the heck out of this mess. He took off his necklace, kissed the gold cross, and hung it on a photo she couldn’t see clearly from her ill-conceived hidey-hole.

She wiped the sweat trickling down her temples, unable to dispel the brief but clear glimpse of his penis. When he approached the closet door, she tried to press herself into a far corner, praying as hard as she could that he wouldn’t open it and find her gawking at his dangly bits, his broad shoulders and firm, lightly hairy torso. She curled her fingers into fists and pressed them to her eyes, some primitive instinct promising her that maybe if she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her.

The closet doorknob rattled. Lindsay covered her mouth.

“Tony,” somebody hollered. He turned, tucking one corner of the towel in around his waist. Lindsay exhaled when he wandered out to the hall, presumably to take a shower. Once she figured he’d stay gone long enough for her to snag her clothes and sneak out, she opened the closet door and pushed the bedroom door the rest of the way shut.

Moving as fast as her shaking fingers would allow, she stepped into her panties and hooked her bra, listening to the deep, masculine voices coming from the large communal bathroom. By the time she was fully re-dressed and sitting on the bed, gnawing her bottom lip, trying like hell to figure out how to get past everyone and get out, a couple of the young men started wandering down the hall to their rooms.

“Shitshitshitshit,” she muttered under her breath.

Lorenzo and Anton were still in the bathroom, she presumed, based on the sounds of their voices. Once the younger guys were in their rooms, she stepped into the hall, heart pounding in her ears, wishing for a split second of invisibility to get past the open bathroom door to the safety of the outdoors, where she could pretend she had come to see her horses. She’d gotten away with that ploy plenty of times before.

But as she was about to take her first step down the hall, a shadow appeared, thrown from the light in the bathroom. She froze.

“Hey,” Anton said. “Who’s there?”

He flipped on a switch, blinding her. The stable boys appeared in their doorways. Lorenzo materialized behind his brother, similarly kitted out in a towel. Both men wore identical frowns; dark brows knitted together, full lips turned down. Lindsay drew herself up, attempting to regain a bit of the “I own this place and you’re my employees” haughtiness.

The stable boys snickered behind her. Lorenzo touched his brother’s shoulder. Anton shook him off, glaring right at her. “You must be lost? Miss?” He put an emphasis on the last word. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t escort you home. The last time I did that, your fiancé tried to pound me.”

Lorenzo chuckled. Anton shot his brother an evil look. Lindsay stiffened. Anton blinked, and in that split second she thought she might very well be in love with the man, a stranger to her for the most part, but with a face she’d memorized the second she met him, that populated her dreams and drove her fantasies.

“Go on,” he said over his shoulder to his brother. “You, too.” He pointed at the gawking stable boys. “Don’t let the door hit ya in the ass.” They did as they were told, closing their door while Lorenzo sauntered past Lindsay, his taller version of Anton’s perfection blinding her for a split second. She shrank, intimidated and mortified by all the naked man flesh reminding her how utterly out of place she was.

“Move along, brother,” Anton said softly, but with a firmness in his voice that made Lindsay tingly all over again. She shook her head to clear it, and by the time Lorenzo had shut the door of his room, she’d made it to the kitchen and was twisting the doorknob.

“Can you hang on a minute?” Anton called from behind her.

She rested her forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.”

“Sit down. Can you keep still long enough for me get my dang clothes on, at least?”

Keeping her eyes averted, she sat in a kitchen chair. He ducked into his room and re-emerged in jeans and buttoning up a fresh shirt. She couldn’t look up, because if she did, Lindsay was sure the truth of what she’d seen earlier would be written all over her face. He dropped into the chair opposite her. The sound of beer bottles being opened made her glance up. He pushed one across the table. She took it and held it on her lap.

“Stop pretending you’re sorry you’re here,” he said, his voice mild.

“I’m … I …” She stopped, at a loss for the first time that she could recall.

“Drink up. Hair of the dog and all that.”

She took a sip, noting that the bottle had no label. The light, slightly bitter taste of the beer surprised her. She took another drink, then another.

“Where did you get this?” She met his gaze for a second before looking down at the brown bottle.

“Made it,” he said, draping one arm over the chair. “What do you think?”

“Well, it’s good. Where do you make it?”

“Here, in the kitchen.” He waved the bottle. “It’s kind of a hobby.”

She nodded. Awkward silence descended.

“I wondered where my quilt went,” he said softly.

Lindsay winced before meeting his gaze. His expression was one of amusement, not accusation. His dark eyes twinkled when he put the bottle to his lips once more.

She frowned at him and finished hers, plunking the bottle on the table between them. “It’s a nice one.”

He snorted. Heat rose up her neck to her face. “I meant the quilt, you pig.”

“Ah, well, my sainted mother will be glad to you know approve of her handiwork.”

“I’m really sorry, about Will and all … that.” She waved a hand, blushing even harder.

He propped one elbow on the table. “It was worth it,” he said.

She sucked in a breath, and stood quickly. “I should go.”

He remained in his seat, tempting her with the memory of his full, naked body.

“Thank you for, um, well …”

“You’re welcome, Lindsay.” He caressed her name again, drawing out the syllables. They froze, staring at each other. She became hyper-aware of how sweaty she was under her riding clothes.

“But you’d best steer clear of me for a while, I’m guessing. I do want to keep my job.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I only … I … need a friend.”

“Well, last I checked, friends don’t spy on each other while they’re gettin’ naked.”

“You …” She clenched her fists, furious embarrassment making her speechless.

He held up his beer bottle as if in salute to her.

“I hate you,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re no better than the rest of them.”

He shrugged, sipped, and put his bottle on the table before crossing his arms. “You want a friend so bad, why not ask me, instead of sneaking into my room and watching me take off my clothes?”

“Go to hell.” She threw open the door and ran out, past the dying fire toward the barn, the only place she ever really found a true measure of happiness.

She entered Zelda’s stall and buried her face against the sleepy horse’s neck. After a few minutes, she calmed, patted the animal’s nose and apologized for waking her after a long day of exercise.

As she was fastening the stall gate, someone cleared his throat behind her. She yelped and whirled, hand to her chest. “What the hell do you want?”

Anton, fingers stuck in his belt loops, stalk of hay in his mouth, leaned against the barn wall. Without even thinking twice, she marched over to him, grabbed the hay and tossed it to the floor, then threw her arms around him, pressing her lips to his. He responded immediately, holding her close, parting her lips gently with his tongue, and reaching up to tug the band off her hair.