Carolyn McSparren - Taking the Reins

Vittorio, who seldom spoke even when he was happy, merely rolled his eyes at her, sighed deeply and began to unload the trolley.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “We’ll work something out so you don’t have to stay late to clean up this mess.”

“Good,” he said. “Go.” Sarah started to strip off her apron. Vittorio pointed a stubby index finger at her. “Not you. You eat, you clean.”

“Mom...”

“Hey, it’s his kitchen. Thanks, Vittorio. Leave the sweet rolls out. I’ll heat them up tomorrow morning for the students.”

“Huh.” He turned away with an empty platter in his hands. “These people—they eat. Even that skinny girl with the scars.” Eating his food was the biggest compliment anyone could give Vittorio.

“Wait until I start teaching them. Then they’ll eat us out of house and home.”

She walked back to the stable, knocked on Mickey’s door and found him tucked up in bed with a graphic novel. “You manage okay?” she asked, then immediately regretted her words. “I mean...”

“I managed,” he said with a grin. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t break my neck.”

“What’s with you and Hank?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. She had started to turn away, when he said, “The colonel says he’s jealous. I may be messed up, but at least I’m physically whole.”

“So he undercuts you and tries to make you fail?” Charlie said.

“Hey, Charlie, it’s his problem. Don’t sweat it, okay? I can take care of myself.”

After she said good-night to Mickey, she stopped by Mary Anne’s door, heard her moving around, but didn’t disturb her.

She figured Sean would check on Jake. She really didn’t want to tackle Hank at the moment. But she would soon. He needed an attitude adjustment bad.

She walked back to the house. Man, she was tired. She really hadn’t worked that hard physically today. Starting tomorrow, when she had to teach her students, she’d be totally exhausted by lunch.

So why did she feel as if she’d been dragged backward through a knothole?

Because emotional labor was harder than physical labor. Because she already cared about these people as people, not just students. Especially Jake. Now where had that come from?

She was too keyed up to sleep, no matter how badly she wanted to. She needed some quiet time without anybody asking her for decisions or direction. She wanted to think about her students.

One of them, at any rate.

She walked out onto the dark patio behind the den and sank onto the glider. She stretched her legs in front of her and rested her head on the back. If she weren’t careful, she’d fall asleep out here and wake up unable to straighten her spine.

F. Scott Fitzgerald was right—nights like this couldn’t be called anything except tender. A cool zephyr toyed with the hair at the nape of her neck and played across the skin of her throat and arms as gently as a lover’s caress.

She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of the evening. In mid-August such breezes were an unusual blessing. Normally, the temperature wouldn’t drop more than five degrees after the sun went down. The nights were steamy, the air a mosquito-laden miasma that wouldn’t relent until late September.

But on a clear night like tonight, so many stars shimmered in the Milky Way that they tumbled like celestial milk poured from a pitcher. Charlie sighed deeply, and let the beauty seep into her bones.

* * *

UNABLE TO DECIDE whether to slip silently back into the common room or speak to her, Jake stood in the small stand of oaks and maples behind the patio and watched Charlie. He’d come out to see if he could recapture that peace he’d felt gazing at the stars at home when he was a kid. Instead, he was troubled by the same memories of those that hadn’t survived.

He hadn’t expected to see anyone else.

He could either melt back into the trees or say something to Charlie. If he didn’t choose one or the other, he might stand here until morning when Sean found him.

The colonel kept reminding him that he couldn’t avoid choice, and that he should make small ones that didn’t matter. He wasn’t crazy enough to believe that if he killed a butterfly in Mexico, he could trigger a tsunami in Samoa, but something warned him that where Charlie was concerned, his smallest decision might cause a personal earthquake for both of them. His decisions hurt people and left him alone. She had enough on her plate without adding him to the mix.

She straightened and looked into the dark. “Is somebody there?”

She’d made his decision for him. “Just Jake,” he said. He came out and walked up to the patio. When she motioned to the glider, he sat down beside her. The roses around the patio smelled sweet, but the scent of pure woman was headier by far.

Where his thigh lay along hers he felt his skin tingle. How long had it been since he’d reacted to the nearness of an attractive woman? After the attack, his body had shut down along with his mind. The doctors told him it was his way to heal faster by pulling whatever energy he had into his core. He didn’t believe them.

He was used to being numb, but if he allowed himself to feel, could he control the intensity of his emotions? Or would they wake hungry for sensation like a newly wakened grizzly starved for blackberries?

Charlie had caught her breath when he sat beside her, and her shoulders tensed. Even though she’d invited him to sit with her, she might be afraid of him. That would be funny if it weren’t so disturbing.

Her hand lay on her thigh. He could reach over and take it. If he chose. She wouldn’t make that decision for him.

She’d probably slap his hand away and bolt for the house. He wouldn’t be able to stay here if that happened, and he admitted he wanted to stay. A small choice but a choice all the same. This woman, this place, were already beginning to smooth out his soul.

When she realized he didn’t intend to touch her, she relaxed and asked, “Where did you learn to drive draft horses?”

“In Missouri. On my father’s farm.” Simple question, simple answer. “Where did you?”

“Here. On my grandfather’s farm.” She waved a hand. “I spent every moment I could here—vacations, school holidays. I spent a whole year on the farm while my parents were stationed in Belgium. I wanted to graduate here, but the colonel said I had to join them after they came home.”

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“Try furious. Granddad fought to keep me, but nobody fights the colonel and wins. Oh, he thought he was doing the best thing for all of us. He always does.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that.” She touched his hand. “The colonel really is an excellent psychologist. I mustn’t undermine him in your eyes.”

She removed her hand, but he could feel the lingering warmth of her fingers. “Not so expert with his own family?” He’d assumed the colonel was a genius with everyone, not just his patients. Thanks to him, Jake could at least acknowledge that most of his problem with decisions arose from his survivor guilt.

Actually, to discover the colonel had feet of good Tennessee clay was somehow reassuring. “Haven’t you heard that old cliché that psychologists and psychiatrists raise bratty kids?” Charlie said. “You’ve plowed with horses, so you know the difference between telling a horse to ‘gee’ or ‘haw,’ don’t you?”

He nodded although she couldn’t see him. “Go right or left.”

“When I was twelve, I hung out at the post stables in Maryland after school nearly every day. I didn’t own my own horse, but there was a big half Percheron that I rode whenever I could. Daddy hated that I didn’t go in for golf or tennis or some team sport that would—and I quote—serve me in later life. When we moved, I wanted to buy Doyle and bring him down to Granddad’s, but Daddy wouldn’t let me. Mom, as usual, backed him up. He said I already had horses to ride during my vacations, and we certainly couldn’t ship a horse to the District of Columbia and pay expensive board. He just didn’t get it. Leaving Doyle for the next kid to ride nearly killed me.”