Maybe Baby Lite (2 page)

My parents divorced when I
was a baby; I'd never known him. I knew he'd financially supported
me over the years and I was using the trust he’d established to pay
for college. It'd had become active when I turned 18. Mom was a
part-time secretary at the law firm that handled my trust. She
often came to me for help especially after the child support
payments stopped. She couldn't afford the lease payments any longer
on her new Mustang; I'd given her my old Jeep. She'd bitched about
how the Jeep wasn't sexy like her 'Stang had been.

I'd attended a local
college my freshman year, but living at home wasn’t working out
well. I figured my being at home put a cramp in her style. At 41
years old, she still had the looks to land plenty of guys. I felt
uncomfortable living with her after high school with the constant
parade of men in her life. So, I transferred to Virginia Intermont
my sophomore year and lived near campus in Bristol.

A loud snort and whinny
brought my attention back to the present. Derringer, the most
beautiful black Lipizzaner I'd ever seen, was pawing the ground in
the stall across from me. He was skittish and spirited and he
intimidated most of the other help here. His temperament suggested
he was missing something or someone.

“
Easy, boy,” I said
quietly, unlatching the gate to his stall. I entered slowly; pulled
a carrot from the back pocket of my jeans, holding my open palm out
to him to take it. He snorted loudly, backing up two steps, eyeing
me. Then he slowly lowered his large, beautiful head, and nuzzled
my palm with his nose. Soon he was chomping happily as I rubbed his
sleek, shiny neck.

“
You want me to brush you,
Derringer? Huh, pretty boy?” I reached up and grabbed his halter
and lead rope from the hook outside his stall. Slipping the halter
over his ears, I led him out of the stall into the aisle and
clipped his halter to the cross-ties. He pawed the ground and
snorted as I secured him.

“
Ahh, I get it. You want
to walk don't you boy? I don't know," I said, rubbing his mane. It
didn't go so well last time, did it? You promise you'll behave
today if I take you out? You embarrassed the hell out of me the
other day over at the Belle."

He whinnied, moving his
hindquarters almost in a dancing motion. I had to giggle; he was a
show-off if nothing else. Perhaps he'd been trained in dressage.
That would definitely explain his frustration for never being
exercised with the other horses. I mean what the hell was that
about anyway? But my instructions were not to ride him; just take
care of him. "Okay," I clicked my tongue as I led him out of the
stables, "But remember your promise. No showing off for the pretty
little fillies over at the Belle this time!"

I led him out to the
pasture and then over to the gate that opened to the trail leading
over to the Sinclair's plantation on the other side of the woods.
The estate was called “Le Vie Belle,” which meant “The Life
Beautiful.” We all called it the Belle for short. In addition to
their estate and stable, the Sinclair's owned and operated a horse
farm, a summer horse track, a winery, and a tourist attraction,
which was an immaculately restored antebellum mansion. The Belle
had originally bred thoroughbreds, whose lineage to this day could
be traced to several modern Triple Crown winners. There was a turf
racetrack where horseracing events were held on weekends during the
summer months, attracting hundreds of tourists. The mansion and
winery hosted tours all year round.

Leading Derringer through
the woods offered some relief from the sun and presented a more
pleasant, slightly cooler atmosphere than the stable had for sure.
"Yep, great idea you had there, Derringer," I said to the horse, as
if he understood anything I ever said. Yeah, I talked to him a lot;
it helped to kill time and frankly he never seemed bored by what I
had to say.

"Hey wanna go by the
mansion and make fun of Jenna in her hoop skirt and prissy little
bonnet?" I laughed.

Jenna lived a few cabins
down from mine; she worked at the Belle. I snickered to myself
thinking about her job. She and Rodney were tour guides in the
mansion wearing period costumes of the Civil War era. Jenna as a
southern belle absolutely hated the hoop skirts, frilly
undergarments, and button-up leather boots required. When she was
in character, she wore her bleached blond hair in a tight bun, and
no make-up. This killed her. Jenna was almost 24.

Rodney came from
Mississippi; he was 22. Along with helping Jenna he also provided
horse and buggy rides for the tourists. Rodney was a serious guy
with a fun-loving side.

"Hey Derringer, maybe
Rodney has your BFF "Sugarfoot" hitched to that buggy today, want
to go see?" Derringer gave a snort so I took that as a
'yes.'

I led him up the brick
half circle drive in front of the colonial mansion. Yep, there was
Jenna in her floor-length hooped skirt with the layers of crinoline
underneath to pouf it out nicely. Holy shit, she had a frilly
parasol opened and positioned over her head, tilted at an angle to
shade her face from the sun while she was talking to some worker I
presumed.

He was leaning up against
one of the massive columns on the front veranda, muscular arms
crossed in front of him as Jenna was peering up at him smiling and
talking; occasionally pointing over towards the brick smokehouse
off to the side, fanning her face vigorously as if telling him of
some problem. Ah, I bet she was bitching about the fumes whenever
they roasted a pig over at the smokehouse. I'd heard her yapping
about it the other day to Clint, complaining how it made her
nauseous day after day having to breath in the stench of roasting
pork.

"Wonder how long she'd
last shoveling horseshit, huh Derringer?" I said, leading him
closer to where the couple stood talking. Jenna had caught a
glimpse of me and Derringer as we'd started up the stone driveway.
It seemed that she was working all that much harder trying to keep
the guy's attention. I could now see why.

"Hottie tomattie," I
whispered. He looked a bit older than the usual college workers
employed during the summers. Probably a townie who worked full-time
year round I guessed. Good God he's built. He was around 6'3",
muscularly built, dark brown hair that was thick and tousled at the
moment; firm flat belly, broad shoulders and damn what his gluts
did to those low slung jeans he was wearing ought to be against the
law. He had a white tee-shirt on that hugged his ripped abs in all
the right places. It was my turn to fan myself and Jenna caught it.
I heard her flirtatious giggle float down the drive as we closed
in.

"Well well," she called
out, "I see you're out with the beast again, Tylar! Ever going to
get enough nerve to put a saddle on him and ride over?"

I see Scarlett's trying to
impress ole Rhett here with her Southern charm - Bitch!

The townie turned his
attention to me and Derringer; immediately a look crossed over his
face that was not good. I was close enough now to see the color of
his eyes and they were blue. No, that's an understatement; they
were more than blue, they were piercing sapphire blue and at this
very moment, they were an extremely pissed-off blue!

He immediately excused
himself from Jenna and jumped down from the porch, taking long,
angry strides towards me and the horse.

What the hell?

As he reached us, he
immediately looked me over top to bottom, then bottom to top, his
hands now resting on his hips, standing in a half-slouch that was
really, really hot. Damn, he's got a flippin' chin dimple. My first
instinct was to flinch because beneath my faux street-smart
demeanor, I'm actually quite passive and avoid confrontation
whenever possible. Given the fact that Jenna was standing on the
porch observing us and probably expecting me to high-tail it out of
there was just enough to spark a bit of courage in me so as to hang
on to the faux cocky attitude I was trying to pull off.

"Why do you have Derringer
over here?" he asked abruptly.

What's it to you
hottie?

"I'm just taking him out
for some exercise is all."

"What's wrong with letting
him out in the fenced pasture?" he pressed.

"Well, there's nothing
wrong with it I guess," I faltered, "I mean sometimes he just likes
it when I lead him you know to different places; you know a change
of scenery for him."

"I see," he said,
regarding me beneath his thick lashes, his anger appearing to have
dissipated somewhat.

"I mean if you're worried
I'm going to let him loose around the pigs or your smokehouse, you
don't have to worry about that, I keep his reins firmly in my
grasp. I don't allow him to wander without me."

"That's good to know," he
replied tersely, his eyes flickering over the horse as if I'd allow
some harm to come to him.

What's his deal? He gives
new meaning to the word uptight.

"So, if you'll excuse me,
I'm going to take him over to the horse barns so he can visit with
some of his buds," I said, clicking my tongue to get him moving.
Derringer didn't budge.

"Come on, boy" I urged,
tugging a bit harder on his lead rein, clicking my tongue again.
Nothing. I saw a smile flicker over the townie's face, a cheek
dimple now appearing.

Oh my!

"Yes I see the control you
have over the beast," he said. "I can't imagine that spirited
animal would give you any problems at all."

Okay. Now he's making fun
of me which is so not cool.

This was no time for
Derringer to morph into a stubborn mule yet he had. The townie had
his arms crossed in front of him, thoroughly enjoying my
displeasure and embarrassment. From the porch, I heard Jenna's
delighted cackle as she observed the horse's refusal to comply with
my commands.

"Don't you have a pig to
roast, Rhett?" I lashed out at him, tugging harder on Derringer's
lead forcing the horse to take a step.

"Derringer halt," his
smooth and silky voice called, as he took the reins from my hands,
and dropped them to the ground.

What the??

Derringer didn't budge;
dropping his head to graze on the grassy patch beside the drive. My
eyes immediately flew back to look at the townie who was now
smiling at me wickedly.

"The name's Trey," he
said, "And yours?"

"Tylar Preston," I
replied, "I take it you don't work over at the
smokehouse?"

"No, I don't. At the
moment I'm overseeing the entire operation here while my parents
are in Europe."

"Ah, so then your last
name must be Sinclair." I mumbled.

"We can't keep a thing
from you can we?" he teased.

"And that means Derringer
is uh . . .
your
horse?"

“
He is. How's it that you
were able to get Derringer out like this?” he asked.

"Frankly, no one else
wants to mess with him. I guess I liked the challenge of getting
him to trust me. We’re friends now. I bribe him with carrots, groom
him, and talk to him. I really want to build a rapport with him.
Eventually I plan on exercising him over in the arena at the Belle.
He's had some dressage training right?"

Trey's face darkened in
anger. Oh what now?

"You misunderstood the
question Ms. Preston. I'm curious as to why you'd disregard the
orders I've given with respect to the horse and bring him out of
the pasture."

Okay now his arrogance was
prickling me and I have a tendency to get defensive in situations
such as this which I know is immature given his status
here.

"I'm not sure that I've
disregarded any orders, Mr. Sinclair. I'm being paid to take care
of the horses and that's what I'm doing. There's no reason
Derringer should be treated differently than the others. He needs
to be ponyed right along with the quarters and jumpers daily.
That's my plan once I've gained enough of his trust to mount
him."

"My instructions were
specific to Ray regarding this horse! No one mounts Derringer
except me! He's an expensive piece of horseflesh and I won't have
some novice equestrian wannabe taking risks with him, is that
understood?" His eyes were ablaze as he looked down at me. I'm sure
the color had drained from my face giving him the satisfaction of
knowing he'd scared the piss out of me.

"Is that understood?" His
voice had a steely edge.

I nodded, taking a step
back from him. "Yes," I squeaked. "Perfectly."

"Good," he said, bending
down to grab Derringer's reins from the ground. He looped them
around his hand and with one swift, lithe movement Trey swung
himself up and onto the horse's bare back, turning to peer down at
me, as Derringer did a side-step. "Because, Ms. Preston, if this
happens again, your ass will be fired."

He pressed his calves into
the horse's sides taking off, presumably for the stables leaving me
standing there feeling humiliated, chastised and idiotic if front
of Jenna.

Pompous ass!

I seethed in anger the
whole way back through the woods to the stables. I hoped like hell
he was gone by the time I got there. I'd no desire to be at the
receiving end of his wrath again.