Country Roads (20 page)

“I wonder if she really has a contract,” Julia muttered, detouring into the treat room for some carrots. Tucking them in her pocket, she jogged out to the paddock, camera in hand.

To her surprise, a couple of the stable hands greeted her by name. A third one shook his head as he led a big bay past her. “You’re that plumb crazy artist. Maybe you can get Darth Horse back in the barn.”

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch.
Could she really lead Darkside back to his stall?
It was a crazy idea. She couldn’t ride even the most placid teaching horse. Why on earth did she think she could handle a high-strung, temperamental stallion that even experienced horse people couldn’t deal with?

Maybe that was why Darkside was her whisper horse: no one would ever expect her to ride him.

“Let’s just see what kind of mood he’s in,” she murmured as she approached the gate. Peering between its rails, she saw the big black horse standing at the opposite side of the paddock, head and tail lifted as he gazed in the direction of the outdoor riding ring. With her eyes she traced the beautiful arch of his neck down to where it met the strong line of his back and along to
his muscular hindquarters. His black coat glistened with tints of blue and red in the sun and the breeze swept his tail into a ripple of satin.

For an insane moment, she thought about opening the gate and slipping into the field. Then she thought of how Paul would react, and she climbed up to sit on top of the fence instead. She wanted to photograph Darkside up close, so she had to get his attention.

“Hey, buddy, I’ve got carrots,” she called, keeping her voice low and calm.

He swung his head around and blew out a challenge. Catching sight of her, he laid his ears back and charged across the grass, skidding to a stop just in front of her perch.

She forced herself not to flinch and held out a carrot on her palm. “Want a snack, big guy?”

He stretched his nose toward her, nostrils flaring. Then he jerked back and squealed out a high whinny.

“Tempting, isn’t it? But you have to come closer to get it.”

Horse and woman stared at each other. Darkside took a step forward and lipped the carrot off her hand.

“Want another one?” She reached into her back pocket. The stallion took another step toward her and snuffled at her knees. She offered the carrot to him. This time he didn’t hesitate to take it, his big teeth crunching on the crisp vegetable.

She let out her breath and ran her hand down his glossy neck. He snorted but didn’t shy away. Keeping her eye on the telltale angle of his ears, she smoothed his mane and stroked his downy nose.

After bribing him with another carrot, she eased her point-and-shoot camera out of her back pocket, letting him sniff it before she took a shot. He twitched at the electronic noise but didn’t bolt. She took several close-ups and put the camera away, deciding she’d better get off the fence before Paul finished with Sharon’s contract.

Darkside was standing so calmly she couldn’t resist laying her cheek against his for a few seconds as she murmured what a good horse he was. When she drew back, he whickered, and she could almost believe he regretted the absence of her touch.

“Good-bye, handsome,” she said, swinging one leg around and down, slotting her foot onto the rail below the top one so one leg was on each side of the fence.

Darkside threw his head up and knocked against her knees. She teetered, pinwheeling her arms to regain her balance, but her position was too precarious, and she felt herself pitching over backward. She willed herself to go limp; Papi had once told her that was the best thing to do when falling off a horse. If you tensed up, you were more likely to get hurt.

She heard a shout, and then she hit something that wasn’t the ground. A loud “oof” of expelled air told her she’d landed on a person. When she lifted her head, she found a very angry-looking Paul lying under her, his chest heaving as he sucked in deep breaths.

“Are you all right?” She rolled off of him to make it easier for him to breathe. “I didn’t mean to fall on you.”

“Are you…totally…insane?” he gasped.

Several shadows fell across them, and Julia looked up to see a ring of concerned faces staring down. She felt a little surge of joy that it wasn’t because she’d had a seizure.

“What’s going on here?” Sharon asked, striding up to the group. She knelt down. “What happened?”

“I fell off the fence and landed on Paul,” Julia said. “I’m okay, but I knocked the wind out of him.”

“I’m…fine.” He shoved himself into a sitting position. “You…are…certifiable.”

“Shhh,” Julia said. “Wait until you catch your breath before you yell at me.” His usually silvery eyes had gone dark with fury.

“Doesn’t look like any bones are broken,” Sharon said.

“You deliberately put yourself in harm’s way,” Paul said, his voice tight, “going near an animal you know is dangerous. What were you thinking?”

“Sharon thinks Darkside is my whisper horse,” Julia began.

Paul swung his gaze around to the other woman. “You encouraged her to go near Darkside? She can’t even ride.”

Sharon didn’t blink. “She’s got him eating out of her hand. Darnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Paul was practically vibrating with anger, and Julia decided she had to intervene. She laid her hand on his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding. “Darkside didn’t mean to knock me off the fence. He was just saying good-bye.”

“For God’s sake, horses don’t say good-bye,” Paul said.

“I gotta say, I’ve never seen a man move as fast as you did,” Sharon said. “One minute you were standing beside me at the barn door, and the next you were playing landing mat.”

“He has good reflexes from foosball,” Julia said.

Sharon directed a knowing look at Paul’s arm curving around her. “I think he has good motivation.”

Paul vaulted to his feet, holding out his hand to Julia with a clear air of command. When she put hers in his grasp, he yanked her off the ground and into his arms. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said into her hair. “Don’t ever do that again.”

She knew what he meant; he wanted her to stay away from Darkside, and she wasn’t going to promise that. So she just said, “Mmmph,” against the warmth of his chest and hugged him back.

He held her until his heartbeat slowed to its normal pace. As he released her, he stepped back, running both hands through his hair.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked. “I fell right on top of you.”

He shook his head, the tension in his face relaxing. “You’re just a wood sprite. You barely weigh a thing.”

“At least let me make sure your clothing is undamaged.” She walked around behind him and winced at the dirt and grass clinging to his shirt and slacks. Without thinking, she began to brush at it, her hands traveling over his back and shoulders before moving down to stroke his tight butt and the hard muscles of his thighs.

“Thanks, but it would be safer if you didn’t keep that up,” he said, twisting around to catch her hands.

As his fingers closed around her wrists, she shivered with the knowledge that she was poking at a tiger. It was thrilling and a little frightening, but she was determined to enjoy this experience fully. She’d never been involved with anyone like Paul Taggart before; he was protective of her, yes, but he treated her as an adult woman, unlike her family. In fact, he thought she was fascinating.

“Now after dinner tonight is a whole different scenario,” he said, his eyes glinting.

“I don’t remember being invited,” Julia said, enjoying the fact he still held on to her.

“Sweetheart, you are most definitely on the guest list. And it numbers exactly one.”

J
ULIA FIDGETED WITH
the fringe on her sage-green shawl as Paul drove her to the 1827 House, the nicest restaurant in downtown Sanctuary. After he told her where they were eating dinner, she’d made another flying visit to Annie B’s to buy a slim-fitting pleated taffeta sheath in shades of lavender and celadon. It looked like an Impressionist painting, especially when she added a necklace and earrings of glass leaves in varied hues of green. Paul had whistled when he saw her, so she figured it worked for him.

She had wanted to whistle at him too when he walked in her door dressed in a silver-gray suit and pale-mauve shirt. The suit draped over his tall, rangy frame like an elegant glove, and the shirt made his olive skin glow. Unfortunately, she’d never been good at whistling, so she’d settled for a slow scan up and down after which she gave him a long, appreciative kiss. That seemed to work for him too.

“You’ve gotten very quiet,” he said. “What’s bothering you?”

“Claire called after you dropped me at the inn. She’s set up a phone interview for me with some influential art blogger. It will be good for my show and the auction, but I’m nervous.” She hadn’t wanted to confess her inexperience to Claire, but nervous was an understatement about how she felt at the prospect of talking to Paxton Hayes. “My uncle has always handled all my publicity. I don’t even know what he tells the press.”

“We can do some research online,” Paul said. “Read the fellow’s blog. When is the interview?”

“Two o’clock tomorrow. He has to have time to write the article and post it, so people get interested in the show.”

“That doesn’t give us much time, but we’ll do some role-playing. Although I’m not current on what art bloggers want to know.” His smile flashed.

She laid her hand on his forearm, feeling like a drowning person who’d been thrown a lifeline. “Would you really do that with me?”

“As a lawyer, I’m responsible for coaching witnesses on their testimony, so this is just part of the job. Especially since you’ve retained me.”

“Oh right. I keep forgetting I sleep with my legal advisor. Does that reduce the fee?”

“You want me to take it out in trade?” His eyebrows rose as he cast a sideways glance at her. “That could be arranged.”

He parked the ’Vette with a flourish and came around the car to help her out. Her high-heeled strappy purple sandals made her teeter on the gravel, and his arm instantly went around her. His hand splayed over the side of her hip, its warmth and strength easily penetrating the thin taffeta.

They strolled along a stone path that wound through beds of fragrant antique roses, showy peonies, and splashy poppies before they reached a stone house with multipaned windows glowing from within and a steady hum of voices wafting through its open front door.

“Paul, my friend, we have a table for you upstairs,” the maître d’ said as they entered. He collected two menus and led them through the dining room.

From every other table they passed, someone called out a greeting to her escort. As he had at the Black Bear, Paul smiled and nodded and kept propelling her forward with his hand. Only
one diner, an older man, actively tried to waylay them, and Paul dodged him with a quip and a brief squeeze of the man’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Joe,” Paul said, taking the menus as the maître d’ held Julia’s chair. “It’s exactly what I asked for.”

“What did you ask for?” Julia asked after Joe left.

“A table in the quietest, darkest corner he had available.”

“Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

His smile was rueful. “People forget I’m not the mayor anymore. They want to talk.”

“I could tell by our procession through the main dining room.”

“Maybe I should have gone with my first instinct, which was dinner at my house.” His smile went a little awry. “But I have the right to take a beautiful woman out to a nice restaurant.”

She reached across the table and wrapped her fingers around his. “If anyone other than our waiter comes up to the table, I’ll be very rude. It doesn’t matter if people here don’t like me, since I’ll be leaving soon.”

A strange expression crossed his face. His smile and eyes softened, but there was an almost sad wistfulness about him.

“Joe promised to seat only out-of-towners up here tonight,” he said, handing her a menu.

“Good evening, Mr. Taggart. Joe asked me to take care of you tonight.” A slim brunette in her thirties, dressed in the wait-staff’s uniform of blue shirt, black tie, and black slacks, appeared at their table.