Christopher's Medal (34 page)

“He’s knackered. When I got up for evening stables he was still flat out. I didn’t have the heart to wake him. He’ll be too stiff and sore to think about anything else. I’ll run him a hot bath when I get home.”

“That’s my girl.” He squeezed her arm. “As long as you’re happy.”

“I am.” She thought longingly of Christopher waiting for her, waiting for evening stables to be over. He’d fallen into the habit of making the dinner and she had fallen into the habit of returning to a cottage smelling of good food, of music on the radio and her husband working his way through her neglected collection of cookbooks. She wondered if he was awake.

“Go on, then. You get yourself home. I can see from the look on your face that you want to go. I’ll finish off here.” Her father kissed her cheek. “After all, you’re still newlyweds, a couple of weeks is no time.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She kissed him goodnight and hurried across the yard. The top half of the door was open and the aroma of something garlicky drifted across the drive. She could hear Christopher humming while he worked in the kitchen. He smiled when she swept through the door.

“You’re early,” he said when she kissed his cheek. He smelled of soap and garlic.

“Dad let me off early for good behavior.” She took off her shoes and set them in the laundry room. “I think he felt sorry for me because of the shock.”

“Shock?” He handed her a glass of wine. “What’s happened?”

Grace leaned against the counter and watched him while he deftly chopped onions. “He’s only going to run Allonby in the Breeders’ Cup, provided he does all right in the Sprint Cup in a couple of weeks.”

“What’s the Breeders’ Cup?”

She loved the way his eyebrows drew together on those rare occasions when he was puzzled. “It’s a huge international race meeting. It’s held in America. The prize money is huge, the prestige is massive and if Allonby won, he could retire to stud the next day and the General would make a tidy sum from the stud fees.”

“Really? Allonby’s that good?”

“Yes, he’s that good.” She sipped her wine. “Plus, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have met. So, yes, he’s a special horse.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” He set the knife down and threw the onions into a saucepan. “I guess we owe him.”

“Yes, we do. Not only that, but we’re getting his half-sister in November.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It could be, if she’s as good as he is. She’s out of the same mare, just a different sire.”

“Will you have to go to America?”

“No, Dad’s going. He’s the one that’s done all the hard work. I don’t think I can bear any more television interviews. It’s not my thing.”

“I thought you did beautifully at Ascot.”

Grace winced at the memory. “Oh, yes, terrified that Allonby would finish the race lame. I don’t think so.”

“I’m glad you don’t have to go.” His hand trailed along her arm.

“So am I.” She caught at his hand and squeezed it. “I wouldn’t want to leave you, Chris, not even for a day.”

He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Gracey Beaumont.”

The name still caught her by surprise, even after two weeks. It was one more thing that bound her to him. “I love you too.” She touched his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired and stiff and sore. I woke up and ran a bath, as hot as I could stand. It’s helped a little. You’re a hard taskmaster, darling.”

“It’ll get easier.” Grace kissed him. “I promise.”

“I hope so.” He leaned against her. “You’re right, it’s just what I needed to do.”

“I usually am about these things.” She touched his face.

“Why do they have to be so bloody big?”

“What?”

“The horses, they’re huge, big, brown, smelly things.”

Grace laughed and tweaked Christopher’s ear. “You daft bugger. You’ll learn. I’m going for a shower.”

Chapter Twenty

Grace felt Allonby’s leg once more. It was a chilly day. The leg should’ve felt cool to the touch, not warm beneath puffy flesh.

Shit.

“Grace? Are you in there?” Her father’s voice echoed along the yard.

“Yeah.” She swallowed and climbed to her feet.

“What’s wrong?”

Am I that bloody easy to read?

“His leg’s a bit warm, Dad.” Grace unfastened the rope and led Allonby to the door. “I’m going to hose it and see if I can get the swelling down.” She tugged absently at the colt’s ear. “Perhaps the Sprint Cup wasn’t such a great idea.”

“It wasn’t up first thing this morning.”

“It is now.” Grace headed toward the wash room. “Even if he did win.”

“I’m phoning Brian.”

“That would be a good idea. I’ll hose it and bandage it.”

Not to mention pray. What the fuck do we do now?

She turned on the hose. Allonby sighed and watched the water splash on the concrete floor. He lipped the hose and snorted while Grace trained the cold water on the back of his leg. “We really don’t need this.” She wound her fingers through his forelock. “You need to get better soon.”

Grace leaned against Allonby’s shoulder and held onto the hose, listening to the tinny sound of the radio from the tack room next door.

“A penny for them.” Christopher stood in the open door way.

“No, they’re too dark.” Grace managed a smile. “Allonby’s leg is bad again. Dad’s gone to call the vet.”

“Bad?” He sidled along the wall.

Grace giggled. “He’s not going to bite, you daft beggar. You should know that by now.”

“He’s a big, brown, smelly thing, Gracey. He has big teeth. He’s…well…big.”

“Wuss.” She closed her eyes when he kissed her forehead.

“Wuss and proud of it.” He patted Allonby’s shoulder. “Is it really bad?”

“I don’t know. It depends what the vet says. God, Chris, we’ve been so bloody careful with him and now we’ve only got two months to get him right.” She rested her forehead against his. “We really don’t need this.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Christopher’s hand was warm on her cheek. “You’ll get him right. I have faith in you.”

“Your faith is touching.” Grace kissed him, relieved he didn’t recoil.

“You’ve made me better, Gracey. You can make Allonby better.”

“I hope you’re right.”

* * * *

“How are you getting on?” Grace peered over the stable door and watched Christopher fork clean straw up against the wall. He was learning.

“Not bad. What do you reckon, Boss?” His grin was brilliant in the early morning gloom of the stable.

Grace opened the door and slipped in. “Very nice. You’re learning, Beaumont.” She wanted to hold him, feel his warmth in the frosty chill. “But when you’ve finished here, we’ve got to get cleaned up a bit. Dad just told me we’ve some potential owners coming to have a look around, so we get one of Mum’s breakfasts.”

“You want me there?”

She hated the sudden unease in his expression. “Yes. You’re family, remember? You’re not just a shit-flicker, you’re
my
shit-flicker.”

Jesus, Chris, please just smile, touch me, kiss me.

“Since you put it like that, how can I refuse?” He took her hand and gave her fingers a light squeeze.

That seemed to be about as much as he was prepared to give her at the moment. Grace told herself it was just one of those times when he wanted to disappear. She wasn’t going to let that happen again.

“You can’t.” She smiled and curled her fingers through his and wished, for once, he’d reach for her for reasons other than comfort.

Grace led Doctor Saeed and his wife across the gravel to the yard. “I’ll show you around while we wait for my father.” The yard buzzed with an impressive level of activity. Dave prowled between the stables telling everyone to get a move on. Harry swept the pavement with a rare industriousness and Christopher was in the tack room, humming while he cleaned bridles. Grace allowed herself a small, relieved breath. It was better he was absorbed by work than brooding alone in the house. She paused at Allonby’s stable.

“This is our star.” She rubbed the colt’s nose and offered him a mint.

“Ah, yes. Allonby.” The doctor patted Allonby’s neck. “He looks very well.”

Grace hoped he wouldn’t see the bandage on the colt’s leg. The stable star was keeping fit by swimming every day, which would save wear and tear on the temperamental tendon.

A swift movement from the direction of the tack room caught Grace’s eye. She turned just in time to see Christopher hurry across the yard and disappear behind the stables, nearly knocking Harry over in his wake.

Shit. Now what?

“Yes, he is well.” Grace tugged at Allonby’s ear and was relieved when her father walked toward the yard, whistling. “Will you excuse me for a minute?” She ran after Christopher, shaking and scared.

“He went that way, Boss.” Harry pointed to the rear boxes, the ones that overlooked the paddock.

Grace rushed past him and through the shadowed walkway between the stable blocks. A stable door slammed shut at the far end.

What the hell?

“Chris?” She peered into the stable. It was an empty box, swept clean of straw. A mouse scuttled across a rafter. “Chris?”

“Leave me alone, please.” Christopher was a dark, huddled shadow in the far corner.

“You know I can’t do that.” Grace crept into the stable and knelt on the floor beside him. “What’s wrong?” She put her arm around his shoulders, terrified by how rigid his muscles were.

“It sounds stupid.” His voice was muffled by his hands.

“Try me.” Grace fought to keep her voice steady. She rubbed his back absently and kissed his hair.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “That man…in the yard.”

“Doctor Saeed?”

“Where’s he from?”

“Jordan, I think. Why?” Grace held him close.

“That voice…it just brought back memories… I didn’t like it.”

“Oh, Chris.” She wanted to weep.

He trembled against her, his arms stole around her. “I’m sorry, Grace. I just can’t face him. I’m not ready.”

“It’s all right,” she soothed. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I should. I know I’ve got to grow a pair and get on with it, but just not today.”

“All right.” Grace sighed into his hair. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid when you go back to the house, please?” Mark crept into her memories. She wished she could push those fears aside once and for all. Christopher would never take that road.

“I won’t. I promise.”

She stood up and helped Christopher to his feet. “I wish I could come home with you. I hate leaving you when you’re like this.”

“I’ll be all right.” His lips brushed her forehead. “I love you, Gracey Beaumont.”

“I love you too.” Grace closed her eyes and leaned against him.

He felt like a fool, falling to pieces because a brown-skinned man with an accent walked into the yard. But, like some neurotic Pavlov’s dog, as soon as Christopher heard the accent he knew he had to get out of there. It didn’t matter that he was safe and home, he just needed to be away from the man with the accent.

Christopher was relieved when Grace found him and even more relieved when she held him and pulled him out of the fog. Sometimes, the ferocity of his need for her comfort scared him. When she leaned against him he pushed her hair from her face and tried to smile. The longing in her eyes twisted in him, made his hurt worse. He would’ve given anything to be able to love her the way she wanted, the way she deserved, but there were still things inside him that wouldn’t let go. All he could give her were words and even that was hard.

Back at the house, he stood in the shower until the bathroom was clouded with steam and tiny silver rivulets of condensation streamed down the mirror. By the time he’d dried himself off and dressed in clean clothes, he almost felt right again.

Since he was missing out on breakfast at the big house, Christopher made himself a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea. The morning paper was full of news. He skirted the Afghanistan stories and found a long piece about a journalist who’d been freed after being held hostage by fundamentalists in Pakistan. With a jolt he realized it was Harrison, the journalist who’d been embedded with his platoon, who’d witnessed the explosion. He’d liked the man and welcomed the diversion his company provided. Christopher looked at the photograph taken at a press conference. The face was certainly familiar—the same nightmares were in the journalist’s eyes, in spite of the obvious euphoria of homecoming and freedom. For the first time since he came home, Christopher felt a twinge of pity for someone other than Grace, other than himself.

He set the paper down and finished his sandwich. Something nagged at him. Something Grace had told him. A phone call a few months back, when things were really bad, when he hadn’t been able to reach her, when she hadn’t been able to reach him. Harrison had phoned, wanting to know how he was. Grace brushed him off, but she’d left a note for him, buried in the shoebox with his bills and letters and junk mail. Perhaps it was time to venture out of his shell a little further. Christopher opened Grace’s laptop and searched for the newspaper’s website.