Michelle Monkou - One to Love

“Once we start, those good reviews will roll in, and we’ll be busier than you could’ve ever imagined.” Tawny flopped into the only chair. She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. “From the Brandywine Gazette , ‘Dear Mrs. Belinda Toussaint—’”

“Good grief. I’m not married. I’m thirty and single. They’re giving me bad news and don’t give a damn to address me correctly.”

“‘We have enjoyed being a part of building the Dreamweaver Riding Program. Your dedication to assisting young people to overcome challenges with equine-assisted therapy solutions is admirable. We treasure this opportunity beyond measure.’”

“Get on with it,” Belinda prompted. Her fingers on one hand restlessly chipped away the ragged polish on her other hand.

“‘Due to budgetary constraints, we are unable to continue to be part of the sponsorship program. We look forward to working with you in the future. Good luck with your endeavors.’”

“You could’ve paraphrased all of that into we’re screwed .” Belinda leaned back in her chair and swiveled around to face the wall that held her vision board for the riding program.

Her ideas, from small thoughts to grand dreams, covered the wall in the form of pinned drawings and pictures. In a separate space, a timeline displayed the renovations for the stable and riding ring and arrival dates of three additional horses, along with the training and rehabilitation equipment. In big, bold letters, the launch date mocked her goal to have a facility to open in three months.

This massive undertaking hadn’t been a smooth one. Many times, she’d had to adjust the timeline. Once she’d suffered a major meltdown and wanted to quit. Her cousins Fiona and Dana had rallied around her until her fears had retreated, somewhat. Their push was enough to get her mind back firmly on the goal.

At the start, this riding-therapy program would cater to children and teens experiencing physical, cognitive and even emotional stresses and disabilities. Success rested with using the right-tempered horses in the program. The animals had been documented to successfully help with patients’ physical and emotional challenges. Moreover, the beasts’ gentle natures coaxed children to emerge from behind their shells of shyness or low self-esteem, to learn to trust in their own abilities and to show them, through caring for the horses, how to develop connections outside of their comfort zones, with others. Eventually, her program would expand its services to include adults, especially war veterans, a need that she’d realized recently after completing research.

Right now, she had a small number of clients who used her horses for their once-a-week or weekend rides. However, regardless of her best intentions, it took money to run the operation. Where insurance or income couldn’t pay the fee, she expected donations would fill the gap. Starting at the beginning of this year, under the Dreamweaver logo, she’d held a small number of fund-raisers, strategic PR advertising and networking events that had netted a handful of donors and their financial pledges. Of course, there was more money in the flashier charities. Donors with the deep pockets preferred the major publicity that came as a result of their newsworthy gifts. All she could offer was a sincere thank-you, a glowing write-up in the local newspaper that no longer would be a donor, and a heavy piece of crystal with their name etched for all posterity to see.

She turned back to her desk, reached for the chewable antacids and waited for them to take effect.

“Don’t worry, Belinda. It will happen. What you’re doing is a really good thing.”

“Yeah, but sometimes good isn’t good enough.” The current operations cost a fortune. Her plans to expand would take her expenses over the edge. Chasing donations wasn’t her shtick. Tawny was a good organizer and cheerleader, but she hadn’t shown any prowess for prying dollars out of prospective donors, either. And that wasn’t why she had been hired. Dana had helped provide part-time volunteers for fund-raising, but it was time to have a full-time person on staff solely dedicated to fund-raising. An added expense to the profit and loss statement. She sighed.

Tawny held up her hand. “More news.”

“We’re still on the bad stuff, right?”

Her assistant nodded. “But not as bad. It’s a tweak and could work out to be better. I think—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, get on with it.” Belinda rubbed her forehead and waited for the next drop of the hammer.

“Ed Santiago, your contractor, called a few minutes ago. Actually, his wife. Ed is on bed rest. Angina.”

“Oh, no. Should he be home? He shouldn’t mess around with heart issues.”

“He’s got to follow up with his doctor. For now, he’s home and they’ve adjusted his pressure meds.”

“I’m glad that it wasn’t worse.” Belinda didn’t want to think of the dire possibilities.

“Not to worry, though. He’s sending his son Jesse to finish managing the renovations.”

Belinda waved off the additional news. “I’m going to send him flowers.”

Tawny nodded. “I pulled up a couple arrangements on my computer. Pick the one you like and I’ll have the order there by tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Belinda hated to hear about the nosedive Ed’s health had taken. The man wasn’t exactly at the youthful end of the age spectrum, but he was active and a conscientious worker. She couldn’t help but feel uneasy with his unexpected absence. Well, she felt more guilt than unease because the clock on the project ticked loudly.

“Jesse will be arriving soon to meet you and go over the remainder of the schedule.”

“I don’t want this...Jesse. I’ve never met him. There’s no way that he can replace Ed’s expertise. There’s no time for someone new to come in and putz around.”

“This isn’t just a regular person. It’s Jesse Santiago.”

Belinda shrugged and shook her head. “And?”

“Football star.”

“I don’t need a quarterback here.”

“No. I mean soccer. He’s a soccer superstar, really.”

“Calm down with the giddy smile. We don’t need a sports jock.” Belinda’s fingers had managed to clear the red nail polish completely off two fingernails.

Tawny rolled her eyes. “That term is so ’80s. Because I’ve heard of Jesse and his mad skills, I did research.” She placed a one-page printout on the desk that had a small photo image in the right corner of the page. With her blue-painted nail, she slid a finger over the information.

“A résumé?” Belinda didn’t bother picking up the paper. She really wasn’t interested in whatever the internet had captured, unless he had a mug shot or arrest record. Tawny’s nail-tapping for her attention finally motivated her to act interested. She picked up the page and scanned the details.

Jesse Santiago was a former professional soccer player for Madrid’s El Sol team. All the teams he’d played for, wins, athletic accolades, modeling contracts and other endorsements took up most of the page. Being independently wealthy at twenty-nine years old, he had accomplished a lot in his short life. But though everything in his current and future life appeared to be looking rosy, he’d walked away from his career. Who does that? That tidbit of mystery was added to the list of why Jesse wouldn’t be a suitable substitute for his father.

“This doesn’t change my mind. Nothing on this page makes me believe he can finish the job.” Irritation tightened Belinda’s shoulders, heightening her tension. “This is too much of a big deal and an important part of the rollout to rely on the unknown, even if it’s Ed’s wish to send his soccer-playing son as a replacement. And did you really read this? Why is he home anyway?” Belinda pushed the paper back to Tawny. “He worked on a few charities. In addition to being a real pro with the soccer ball, he had set a few records with female groupies and celebrities. I’m surprised he had energy to play the game.” A man with the sexual stamina of a bull wasn’t in her list of requirements. Not even if he had the lean, angular pretty-boy face that could melt away her inhibitions. And what was up with the sensual cast of his lips? Was that a pout, or the natural plump and curve of his mouth? Who knew soccer players were so hot? “This is so not the right man for this job. I need a man with real skills, not a professional panty chaser.”