A Love Like Ours (11 page)

That small, subdued curve turned her emotions into a river of honey. Much too strong a response to such a mild stimulus. It’s just that . . . She’d done it. She’d solved Silver’s mystery, and she couldn’t have been prouder or gladder.
For you, Jake,
she wanted to say with a grand “Ta-da!” motion of her arms.
I hereby present to you a racehorse.

Jake took hold of Silver’s bridle. He looked at the horse as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just witnessed, shaking his head slowly.

Jake was perhaps a man too unaccustomed to miracles.

Silver Leaf held his neck at a kingly angle and stood with still and patient hauteur. It was if he were saying to Jake,
Why so surprised? Of course I’m fast, plebeian
.

Jake turned his attention to Lyndie. “Silver Leaf is a lady’s man.”

“Yes.” She beamed. It took effort to restrain herself from dismounting and wrapping him in a celebratory hug. “Not only can he run, but he had more in the tank when I pulled him up. Did you see how he was increasing his speed there at the end?”

“I saw.”

“You did a good job training him and preparing him, Jake.”

“None of my training made any difference before you came.”

Lyndie gave a small shrug. “I wanted to help. If I did, I’m happy.” In fact, she’d desperately wanted to help. Maybe even more desperately since Jake had encouraged her to look for work elsewhere. It meant a lot to her to know that she’d proven both his horse’s merit and her own.

“Good work, Lyndie.”

“Good work, Jake.”

A hundred unspoken words charged the air. She got lost in his hazel gaze. She swallowed with effort, feeling her pulse stitching faster and faster.

“Mr. Porter?” Another of Jake’s riders neared.

Jake stepped away from Silver. Lyndie’s contact with him was severed, and his face returned to stone once more.

For the remainder of the day, Jake replayed the memory of Lyndie and Silver Leaf together, racing toward him down the stretch. He’d been standing in his usual position, suffering through the same gut-twisting worry he experienced whenever he put Lyndie on a horse. And then he’d seen them do . . .
that
.

Silver Leaf had moved with the sort of smooth and terrific stride that Jake’s dreams were made of. And Lyndie had looked like she’d become a part of the horse. She was small, but she was made of fine muscle, excellent instincts, and innate timing.

He set aside the foil container that held what remained of his take-out dinner. Basketball filled the big-screen TV in his living room. He hadn’t been paying attention to the picture or registering the noise, however. He couldn’t see or hear anything except Silver Leaf’s run.

Leaning back on his leather sofa, he stuck his hands behind his head and peered at his loft’s white ceiling, marked regularly with recessed lights.

He had worked Silver Leaf in the round pen as a yearling. He’d developed him over countless dark and cold early morning practice sessions. He’d raced him at the track repeatedly. Never had he seen the horse run like that. Or anything even close to that.

It had almost seemed supernatural to him, what he’d seen today. He’d clocked Silver Leaf at a time so fast that it opened up a world of possibilities and more than fulfilled the hope for Silver Leaf that Lyndie had stirred within him.

He’d trained strong horses before, but Silver Leaf just might be the one that he and Bo and Meg had been waiting for. A champion. If so, Silver Leaf would put Whispering Creek Horses on the center of the map.

And he knew who was responsible.

When they were kids he’d seen Lyndie gallop every single one
of the horses they’d had on their property. He could remember what she’d looked like, and it was very much what she’d looked like this morning. There was a freedom about her when she ran a horse, as if she’d been made to ride headlong into the wind.

The sight of her on Silver Leaf today had struck him deep, like a whip uncovering skin and muscle. The beauty of her—

He brought his hands around to cover his face. His fingertips dug into his scalp.

He knew that it wasn’t Zoe or Blackberry who’d transformed Silver Leaf. It was Lyndie. Something about her made a person want to offer her their best. That’s what Jake had seen Silver Leaf do today.

The horse had run.

The horse had run
for her
.

A
mber turned out to be both the best and the worst singles function escort. Best because she was outgoing, friendly, and knew almost everyone. Worst because she was so popular that other people kept sweeping her away.

Amber had just been drawn deep into conversation with a pair of brunettes, so Lyndie moved to the dessert table. She went to work straightening the platters of cookies and brownies as if the world depended on her ability to organize baked goods.

Will McGrath, the fireman Amber was interested in, wasn’t present tonight at Fellowship Church’s meet-up event. Nor was Jake, of course. In this environment, Jake would have been as out of place as a hardened fighter jet surrounded by tricycles.

Because of the mild weather, the organizers had decided to host the event in the large central courtyard of the church. The festivities had begun with a welcome desk and stick-on name tags followed by a catered buffet dinner washed down with iced tea or watery lemonade. The red-and-white gingham tablecloths gave the atmosphere a bright and cheerful air, as did the strings of white lights swagging the perimeter of the space. Overhead, dark ribbons of clouds decorated a sky of dusky purple.

What a sky! Lyndie nibbled a peanut butter cookie and tried
to commit the palette of colors to memory. She’d love to draw a dragon against just such a sky— “Lyndie!”

Lyndie looked toward the voice, relieved to see Silver Leaf’s groom, Zoe, crossing toward her. The long-limbed redhead had her hair down tonight and her outfit—a multicolored top with jeans and yellow flats—couldn’t have been cuter.

“You look darling.” Lyndie gave her a quick hug.

“So do you! I’m not used to seeing you in anything except riding gear. Is that a shirtdress?”

“Yep.” Lyndie smoothed the front of the garment. Amber had pronounced her first attempt at an outfit too casual and had then talked her into wearing this belted shirtdress over brown leggings and high-heeled boots. Amber had also made her wear her hair down and badgered her into pink lip gloss. “Have you been here the whole time?” she asked Zoe.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes, but I haven’t been looking around much for the last few minutes. I didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with anyone.”

Zoe laughed and selected a brownie. “You’re afraid to make eye contact with people?”

“We all have our kryptonite. Singles functions are mine.”

Amber’s friends, both male and female, had surrounded Lyndie with conversation during the dinner portion of the evening. Every one of them had been above and beyond kind and welcoming to her. The meet-up had impressed Lyndie with its fastidious organization and light tone, and she supposed that this type of venue suited the vast majority of the women here.

Just not her.

Her issue with tonight’s meet-up was completely attributable to her own internal flaw: She struggled with singles events because of the way they made her feel. This evening’s outing ought to have made her feel festive. Instead, dressing up and smiling her way through it had made her feel like a one-pound package of ground
beef that had started to brown because all the shoppers had left it sitting on the shelf.

See? Her internal flaw. She was not ground beef, and if she felt that way it was because she’d made herself feel that way. No one else had.

“Who did you come with?” Zoe asked.

“My neighbor Amber. I promised her I’d go on three dates in the next three months. What about you?”

“I’m here in search of men over the height of six feet two. Have you seen any of those?”

“A few.”

“Thank goodness. I think I . . .” Zoe’s sentence hung as she set about choosing another brownie.

How might Zoe have completed her thought? I think I . . . only like brownies shaped like trapezoids? I think I . . . might consider setting up a roadside watermelon stand?

Lyndie’s vision snagged on the activity in the center of the courtyard. “Why are they taking away the tables?”

Zoe’s lips quirked. “You don’t know? Prepare yourself for more kryptonite.”

A blonde stepped onto a raised dais and tapped a microphone a few times. “Good evening, everyone! Thank you for coming. I hope you’re having a nice time. I thought I’d offer a word of prayer, and then we’ll get started.”

Started? Lyndie had thought they were ending.

“Lord,” the blonde prayed, “thank you for the fellowship we’ve enjoyed tonight. Thank you for the food we just ate and for the hands that prepared it. And bless the square dancing. Amen!”

Square dancing?

Lyndie aimed a questioning glare toward Amber.

It’ll be fun
, Amber mouthed to her, looking unrepentant.

“I bribed her.” Zoe motioned toward the blonde with the microphone. “We’re going to do two rounds of square dancing. I’ve no idea how she’s going to pair us up for the first round. But for the second round I gave her a box of Godiva to make sure that she pairs us by height.”

This was sounding worse and worse.

“I’m so tired of you short girls stealing all the tall guys. God
obviously
sent the tall men to earth specifically for the tall women.” Zoe tilted back her head to tip the last of the brownie crumbs into her mouth.

“I haven’t stolen any tall guys from you.”

Zoe’s eyes sparkled. “Not yet.”

“To mix us up—” The sound system gave an electronic shriek. “I’m going to ask you to find a dancing partner for the first set whose first name starts with the same initial as your first name. You’ve got five minutes. Go!”

Lyndie wasn’t afraid to race a Thoroughbred, but the notion of trick-or-treating for a square dancing partner whose name started with
L
cowed her.

Zoe groaned. “What chance do I have of finding a tall man in this group whose name starts with
Z
?”

“There are more women here than men. I’ll hang back with you and then maybe we can dance together.”

Amber came over, laughing. She linked elbows with Lyndie on one side, Zoe on the other, and tugged them both into the fray.

“Actually, Amber,” Lyndie interjected, “I think Zoe and I might dance with each other—”

Amber was quickly scooped up by a cute guy named Andy.

“Zoe, hurry, let’s go hide in the bathroom—”

“Hey.” A twenty-something man with chin-length blond hair parted down the middle stepped in front of them and checked Lyndie’s name tag. “I’m Luke.”

She was busted! Her plan for a bathroom escape deflated. “I’m Lyndie.”

“Looks like we both have
L
names. Would you like to square dance with me?” Despite the Sir Lancelot haircut, Luke was actually kind of appealing, in clothes that looked like they’d come from Banana Republic and a pair of beige Vans.

“You two dance together,” Zoe insisted. “I see my friend Vera. There’s no way she’ll find anyone with a name that starts with
V,
so I’ll dance with her.” Zoe gave Lyndie’s forearm a squeeze and took off.

“Are you new in town?” Luke asked.

She told him that she was and, when he asked, explained her dual professions of exercise rider and author/illustrator.

While she was speaking, Luke startled her by jerking his head back and making a honking noise, the sort of honking noise that people with sinus congestion make when trying to pull the snot back up their noses. Now that Lyndie was getting a better look at him, she noted that his eyes were red and watery, his face somewhat gaunt and pale.

“What do you do?” Lyndie asked.

Another honk. “I work for an allergy doctor.”

Not a very effective one, apparently.

“It looks like they’re about ready to start,” he said.

An Orville Redenbacher look-alike took over the dais and microphone. He introduced himself as their square dance caller. His assistant moved through the crowd, grouping everyone into squares of four couples.

“They’re putting us in groups of eight.” Luke released a trio of sneezes.

Lyndie hunched away from him slightly.

“They don’t have a real band,” Luke commented. “Just a CD and a sound system.”

Lyndie began to suspect that the bulk of Luke’s conversation centered around pointing out the obvious.

The caller taught them a few square dancing basics: the promenade, the star, the do-si-do. Luke obligingly took hold of Lyndie’s hands and squired her through the moves. The others in their square—an
M
couple, a
C
couple, and a
J
couple—likewise lurched into action.

“I’m a good bit taller than you are,” Luke offered.

“Yes.”

“You’re wearing a dress.”

“I am.”

They paused. A twangy country tune began to play.

“Music’s on,” Luke observed, then honked again.

Lyndie experienced an actual, physical ache of longing for the solitude of her apartment, her animals, her art, and her hair in a topknot.

Everyone in their square did their best to sashay around according to the caller’s instructions. Some of them were bad at dancing and the rest were hideous. Once, they messed up so royally that they could do nothing but stop and laugh.

“We messed up,” Luke informed them all.

Lyndie burst into fresh laughter.

Luke sneezed.

When the set finally finished, Lyndie and Luke stepped apart.

“That was cool.” He scratched the back of his head.

One thing she knew: Luke was not the man for her. She didn’t relish the idea of going through life with a commentator.
There’s a dog, Lyndie. You’re driving thirty-five, Lyndie. You’
re awake, Lyndie.

“Would you like to go out sometime?”

His interest in her was all the fault of Amber’s pink lip gloss, of that she was certain.

“Just for fun,” he added. “With a group of friends.”

“Sure, maybe.”

He handed her his phone. “Here’s my phone,” he pointed out.

Luke was a nice person. Lyndie had no desire to hurt his feelings so she entered her details.

The blond event organizer resumed control of the mic. “Before we begin the second set, I’d like all the men to line up on one side of the courtyard, and I’d like the ladies to line up on the other. Tallest on this side, please, going right on down.” She did a stairstep motion with her hand.

Lyndie contemplated renewing her earlier strategy and hiding in the bathroom.

Amber rushed over. “Isn’t this fun?”

“Uh . . .”

“I love to dance.”

“I’m never wearing this lip gloss again.”

Amber eyed her knowingly, amusement edging her mouth. “The men like it, don’t they? I’m not surprised.” She tugged Lyndie down the row of women. “Look, Lyndie, I think you belong right here.” She inserted Lyndie between two women, comparing their relative heights. “Yep! I’ll see you after the set.”

Once they’d all found their places, the men’s line and the women’s line moved toward one another. Lyndie’s counterpart stood at approximately five feet seven. He had the face and body of an accountant but the soul of a punk-rocker, because beneath his black T-shirt and black jeans, his arms and neck were covered in tattoos. Holes as big as nickels marked his earlobes. Small, scholarly glasses perched on a round head crowned by tidily cut mouse brown hair.

“I’m Teddy.” He spoke in a quiet, thoughtful voice.

“I’m Lyndie.”

“I’ve taken a purity pledge,” he said. “I thought you should know.”

“Oh.” Lyndie was all for purity. But so far she and Teddy had done nothing but exchange names. No one’s purity seemed to be in jeopardy.

“I’ve vowed to keep myself morally clean so that when I make a covenant of marriage one day, I can do so with a clear conscience.”

“That’s great.”

He nodded, utterly serious. “I’d like to hold hands with my wife for the very first time on our wedding night.”

“I see.”

“I’m not sure I should be dancing.”

“It sounds like you shouldn’t be, honestly, since you and I will have to hold hands in order to square dance.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, we probably shouldn’t—”

“It’s fine. If you and I get married, we can look back on this night and laugh.”

Or cry.

“For this set,” their caller informed them, “we have a surprise for ya’ll. We’re going to be dancing to pop tunes! The kind of music you young people like.” “Who Let the Dogs Out” burst from the speakers. “I bet you didn’t think we could square dance to this type of music, did you? Well, we most certainly can. We’ll dance the steps we’ve already learned. Except, this time, be sure to pause whenever the barking comes on, cup your hands around your mouth like so, and shout out, ‘Ruff, ruff, ruff-ruff-ruff!’”

Lyndie no longer felt like a browning package of ground beef. No, her beef had, at this point, turned quite black.

A distance away, she caught sight of Zoe looking completely self-satisfied with the very tall businessman she’d landed. At the other end of the courtyard, Zoe’s friend Vera wore a woebegone expression. Vera had a unique first initial and was also the shortest female, which meant she hadn’t scored a male partner for either set. Had Lyndie been able to donate Teddy to Vera’s cause, similar to the way you could donate Girl Scout cookies to the troops, she would have done so.

Teddy took her hands in his soft palms, and they started in on “Who Let the Dogs Out.” After which, they square danced to “U Can’t Touch This” and the Macarena.

When the dancing came to an end, Teddy peered at her. “Can I have your number? I’d like to call you sometime.”

Blasted lip gloss!

“So?” Amber asked, when they’d shut themselves in Lyndie’s Jeep and were on their way back to the Candy Shoppe. “How did your evening go?”

“I met a lot of wonderful people, and I gave my phone number to two men who I really hope never call me.”

“These men are single, Lyndie.”

“Yes.”

“And Christian.”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe something could develop over time—”

“I don’t think so, Amber.”

“Well, God is full of surprises.” Amber grinned, clearly high on the excitement of an evening that hadn’t included Hot Wheels or superhero figurines. “That’s one date down.”