“Dear heart!” His fingers lightly but firmly turned my face so I had to look at him, but he was himself again. “Forget Marchmount. He was here before we came. He’s probably still with the Hammonds in Sunbury. He couldn’t possibly know I was going to marry you and bring you home with me. He needn’t know you’re here now, even if he should reappear. Although that seems unlikely, if she’s back alone.” He sounded very positive about that.
The realization that Marchmount had been here-where I’d thought I’d be safe, where Rafe had told me I’d be safe-was unnerving.
“Nialla, knock it off.” And his voice was sharp. “We’ve got other things to worry about. Worth worrying about, like Orfeo.” He pushed back his chair, tipped it until he could lift the one-piece phone from its wall hook. “Damn thing fascinates me.” And he screwed his face up a la mad scientist as he punched buttons deftly. “Hello, Glen? Haven’t you paid your answering service this month? Yes. Yes, I did. Got a gelding I want you to check over.
Burned sole and frog. Yes, I’ve been soaking it, you bastard. Got it in a barn fire. No, not here, thank God. But I want him jumping in two weeks. Yeah, I know, but you’re the local miracle worker, and I believe in giving my trade in the neighborhood. Yes, like what else is new? Around ten? Fine. No, nothing sensational in the ring, but just wait till you see what I brought home.”
He hung up, beaming impishly at me. “Gives me a hard time, and always ends up doing what I want. You’ll see. C’mon, time’s a-wasting.”
He knocked his chair back, catching it expertly before it reached the point of overbalancing. I rose hastily and reached for the coffee cups.
“And that’s the biggest no-no, Nialla. No dishes for you.” And he led me to the side door. “Although you may wish you were back with just dishes when I’ve finished with you.” His voice was so dark and direful that I glanced back at him, and he was smirking like an old-time villain. “I’ve been trying to find a rider good enough to ride with me in a jump Pairs Class, and you might just qualify.”
He was so outrageous that I laughed.
“Wait’ll you see ‘em, Nialla.” And his teasing turned into enthusiasm. “A pair of matched grays, half-sisters, not a bit of difference in height and conformation, might as well be twins. Broke and trained ‘em myself, though Starrett in Lexington bred ‘em. But I haven’t been able to use ‘em in competition.” He put his arm around my waist and absently matched step with me. “You can do it. Knew it the moment I watched you riding Phi Bete at Sunbury.”
He went on, though I listened with half an ear, telling me about the nervy five-gaited bay mare who only needed a really sure rider to show her properly, about his plans for the bay colt. I was seeing much more that I ought to have realized before-the prosperity of the well-kept lawn, the gardens, a housekeeper, two men in the stable, all of which added up to money. And suddenly I realized why I had unconsciously compared his manner to Agnes du Maurier’s-it was the same self-confidence of several generations of wealth and position; the knowledge of family and background, of enough money to satisfy need and afford luxuries. It explained his English and his classical references; his handling of people and… What was he doing marrying a trainer’s daughter? Certainly not for her -horses, I could set my mind at ease on that score. We had reached the stables, and I saw Jerry grooming a long-legged bay mare who was cross-haltered and dancing nervously as he brushed her. She must be the five-gaited that Rafe meant. Beyond her, a rawboned youngster in very tight jeans and a tie-dyed jersey was carefully wiping Orfeo down under the close inspection of Dice. Someone else was forking manure out of a stall, and I saw Albert coming out of the tack room, a bridle on each shoulder and balancing two jumping saddles precariously.
I managed to answer Jerry’s cheerful greeting, his assurances that Phi Bete had already been attended, and he was making sure Denny did a good job on the gelding.
I acknowledged that, realizing Jerry meant that no one had told this Dennis of Orfeo’s reputation. He was whistling as he ran the cloth over the black’s pockmarked hide.
“He sure is big and black,” Denny said, glancing from me to Rafe for approval.
“MacNeil’ll be over to check this hoof,” Rafe said, lifting it. Orfeo glanced around with mild curiosity. “He’s taking notice today,” I said, chirping to him. “Over the worst of the affair then. Albert? Saddling the grays?”
“You told me to.” Albert’s reply was more an accusation than an affirmative, but evidently that was his way, for Rafe only grinned after the figure stumping to the far side of the stable quadrangle.
Then, instead of showing me the other horses, Rafe took me by the hand and led me through the low passageway to the pastures, out of sight and hearing of the stable yards.
“Now what’s the matter, Nialla?” he asked in a level, impersonal voice.
I stared at him, unable to answer, because it wasn’t one matter, it was a psychedelic composite of impressions and pressures, of a nebulous fear not even his presence and flip assurances could disperse.
“The house, the horses, Mrs. Garrison, Jerry and Albert and… and… all this. I’m… it’s too much for me. I don’t belong here.”
“That, dear heart, is for me to say!” Rafe put his hands on my waist to draw me to him. I tried to lean away, but his hands flattened on my buttocks, pressing our hips together. I could feel him against me. He didn’t fight fair. “I think you’ll find you do belong here, Nialla. There’s no question in my mind that your life is horses.” His eyes compelled me to give some sign, and I nodded. “And you’re certainly a horsewoman. The way you ride that black!” There was no escape from those searching blue eyes, from that strong will. (Was this how he trained his horses-sheer strength of will?) “You evidently want to make a go of it in the show business. So why not do it with me instead of eking out a peanut-butter-and-jelly existence on the fringe?” Still no leavening by the tolerant amusement that had forced me to concede folly before. “I admit I took an ungentlemanly advantage of your situation at Sunbury to forge a legal tie between us, but that, too, can be altered as circumstances warrant.”
Only because we were touching so intimately was I aware of the sudden tenseness of the warm body against me and the fleeting shadow in those steady blue eyes. It wasn’t regret; it was… I couldn’t put a tag on it, but again I caught a glimpse of a crack in this man’s apparently invulnerable self-assurance. I didn’t want him ever to be vulnerable. My hands tightened unconsciously on his arms, and with my response, his eyes began to lose their impersonality.
“It’s just that I didn’t realize you were so… rich,” I blurted out.
His eyebrows shot up, and his eyes began to gleam with an amusement that faded into a sardonic glance across the meadows.
“Rich? Well, I’ve money enough to run the place the way I like to, but the acres are, in effect, mortgaged, my dear, and the interest is high, very high.” He kept one arm around my waist and turned me toward those mortgaged fields. His expression was bleak and unsettling. I hated that look and felt guilty. I should have suppressed my dismay and coped. After all, I had been raised in such an environment; I knew pretty much what would be expected of the. wife of a horse breeder and trainer, and I could learn to- manage the graces required. Anything to keep that horrible emptiness out of his eyes, his face.
Suddenly a horse squealed, high and piercing. It snapped him out of the mood, and his head came around to the stables, his body taut with another kind of tension.
“That goddamned mare!” He looked to me, all trace of the Strangeness gone. “She needs to be worked. She needs a good rider on her back.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” I demanded. “She’s a rough one, Nialla. Are you up to a real tussle today?” He glanced at my legs, and I remembered the burns.