Tempestuous/Restless Heart (6 page)

Alex stared at him, her heart pounding. She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare. Christian was watching her with his steady blue gaze. He was far too close. She could feel the magnetic power of him, luring her, tempting her to close the distance between them. Her mouth tingled at the memory of his kiss. Unconsciously she ran her tongue across her full lower lip. Finally his words penetrated.
I want to know all about you.

“No,” she whispered, pulling away from him. “No, you don’t.”

Confused and upset, she rose unsteadily to her feet and went to catch the gray gelding. The horse came to her willingly, trustingly, obediently, and she spared a singularly nasty thought for the bag of dog chow that had left her stranded. Faithlessness was just another of Terminator’s long list of unattractive traits.

Christian managed to mount with some difficulty. After he’d settled himself in the saddle, he sat for a long minute with his eyes squeezed shut, fighting off the screaming pain in his ankle. When it subsided, he managed a tepid version of his rogue’s smile for Alex and patted the limited space in front of him on the jumping saddle.

“You can ride with me,” he invited, knowing she would refuse him.

Just the idea of being that close to him gave Alex a hot flash. She could too vividly imagine the feel of his strong arms around her, of her breast flattening against the solid wall of his chest, and her hip pressing intimately against his groin as she sat sideways in front of him. Angry with herself and her traitorous hormones, she merely shot him a scowl and set off on foot down the path toward her farm.

Christian watched her stride off with his boot in her arms, and he couldn’t help but think she was running away. But from what? He meant to find out. Sooner or later, one way or another, he would find out.

“Lord, Alex, you had me scared out of my wits!” Pearl Washington exclaimed as Alex trudged into the yard.

Pearl’s dark round face was lined with worry over the natural creases of sixty-eight years of living. Balancing Isabella on one plump hip, she pressed her free hand to her ample bosom and heaved a sigh of relief. “That devil came galloping back here all by himself. I could only think the worst. This poor child left motherless. Lord have mercy.” She shook her head for emphasis.

“You’ve got cause to worry when she goes out on that one, Pearl,” Christian said, sliding carefully off his horse. Alex scowled at him and hit him in the stomach with his boot as she handed it to him. His breath left him with an “oof.”

“It was just a minor crash. Christian twisted his ankle, but I’m fine,” Alex said. Terminator stood some distance away, near the barn. She glared at him, then turned with a smile to take her daughter.

“Mama,” Isabella said, grinning, attaching herself to her mother’s side like a limpet. Her attention was immediately snared by the swinging strap of Alex’s helmet. She wrapped a chubby hand around it and stuck the end in her mouth. Alex fondly tousled her daughter’s black curls and kissed her cheek.

When she had moved to Virginia, she had feared she would have to put Isabella in day care. Both the idea of the cost and the thought of separation had upset her. But it seemed fate had been smiling down on her for a change. She had found Pearl Washington. Or more accurately, they had found each other.

Pearl, a recent widow, had been looking for a renter and some new meaning in her life. She had retired from her job as an elementary-school secretary, planning to spend her time with her husband. Then Rube had died suddenly, leaving her bereft. Alex had needed a stable and care for her ten-month-old daughter. Pearl had gladly rented her the place and had simply stayed on in the house, filling her days with caring for Isabella. It was the ideal arrangement for both of them.

“Do I get an introduction to this charming young lady?” Christian asked, leaning close so the baby could get a good look at his face.

“This is my daughter, Isabella.”

“What a lovely name. Isabella.” The baby dropped the chin strap and stared at him. He smiled beguilingly, figuring a female was a female. “Hello, Isabella,” he murmured. “What a pretty little girl you are.”

“Don’t feel bad if she starts to cry,” Alex said. “She doesn’t like—”

Her daughter didn’t give her a chance to finish the sentence. With a little squeal she let go of her mother and launched herself at Christian, who caught her up against his chest.

“—men,” Alex said lamely, her dark brows drawing together in confusion.

Isabella seldom went to strangers and
never
to a strange man, perhaps picking up on her mother’s sense of caution. But she certainly looked happy in Christian’s arms, smiling her cherubic little smile as he whispered in her ear, amusing herself with the zipper of his leather jacket. Alex could only stare in stunned disbelief, as baffled by Christian’s ease as she was with her daughter’s. He didn’t strike her as the daddy type at all. He didn’t even strike her as the marrying type. She would have bet the only thing he knew about babies was how to make them.

“Don’t look so surprised, darling,” Christian said, looking at her from under his lashes. “Women, with the notable exception of yourself, always like me.”

Alex pressed her lips into a thin line and reached for the gray’s reins. “I’ll see to the horses.”

Christian watched her walk away, chuckling a little under his breath.

Pearl snorted. “Laugh now, Mr. Atherton. You’ve got your work cut out with that one. She’s not one of your flighty little fillies for chasing around with.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving the older lady his best contrite-little-boy look. He watched her stern glower melt into a laugh that lit up her round face.

“And she’s got her work cut out for her, I can see that! Lordy!” She reached for the baby. “Get yourself inside the house, boy. I’ll see to that ankle and give you a piece of cherry pie if you’re good.”

“I’m
always
good,” Christian said with just enough suggestiveness to make the woman cluck at him and shake her head with reproach that didn’t reach her twinkling eyes.

“Poor Miss Alex,” she muttered, heading up the cracked walk to the simple old farmhouse.

Christian glanced around the yard as he hobbled toward the house, taking in the general state of the place. The house itself didn’t look too decrepit. Daffodils and tulips were pushing themselves up through the ground along the front porch, lending cheer. The rest of the buildings had not fared as well over time. The stable leaned decidedly to one side. What little paint was left on it had long ago turned from white to dingy gray. The board fences around the small paddocks looked no better. More than one board was held to its post by baling twine. Many of the posts tilted drunkenly.

The place was quiet. Nothing marred the stillness but the occasional bang or nicker coming from the stable and the paddocks adjacent to it. Judging by the size of the barn and the number of animals in the pens, he would have guessed Alex was caring for fifteen to twenty horses. By herself. There was no sign of hired help around.

There were no signs of prosperity either. The dull yellow horse van parked near the barn had to be nearly twenty years old. It looked as though someone had taken a chain to it. Even at that, it appeared to be more roadworthy than the blue ’77 Impala that was parked nearer the house, next to Pearl’s little red Escort. The tires were almost bald. One back window was missing, the opening covered over with clear plastic and duct tape. All in all, it looked as unsafe as Terminator. He shuddered at the thought of Alex driving it on the area’s winding roads.

It was clear to him she needed money. She claimed money was the reason she had taken on Tully Haskell and Terminator. But there were simpler, safer answers to her dilemma. She was a top-notch rider. She would have had no trouble getting hired on at any good stable, including Quaid Farm. She had chosen instead to start her own place and run it on the proverbial shoestring. And a worn, frayed shoestring it was. He couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Get along in here now,” Pearl scolded from the porch. “I can’t be keeping this baby out in the breeze. She’ll be up all night with an earache, and where will you be? Long gone, that’s where.”

He watched the woman disappear into the house, and he hobbled after her, thinking that if anyone around Briarwood knew about Alexandra Gianni and her mysterious past, it would have to be Pearl.

An hour later Christian was sitting in the cab of the horse van with a numbing bag of ice on his ankle, heading up the winding road toward Quaid Farm, none the wiser about the petite woman wrestling with the oversize steering wheel of the truck. Pearl had proved to be as reticent as a clam when it came to doling out information about the young woman with whom she was sharing her home. If she knew any of Alex’s secrets, she hadn’t been willing to pass them along to him. It seemed he was going to have to go to the source.

“Where did you say you came from?” he asked conversationally. “I can’t seem to place you by your accent.”

“I haven’t got an accent,” Alex said evasively. “You have an accent.”

“Not according to anyone in Wessex.”

Ball to Gianni’s court. Alex would have shot him a look if she hadn’t needed all her concentration on the twisting road that was growing slick with mist.

“What brought you to the States?” she asked, turning the tables on him. “Show jumping is so big in Britain. I’m sure you could have done well there with your own stable.”

“Hmmm,” Christian said noncommittally. He could have done well, but he had been interested by neither the responsibility nor the idea of working under the jaundiced eye of those in his family who thought riding was a proper hobby for a gentleman but not at all suitable as a profession.

“It’s a long story,” he said at length, surprised at the thought that he might just like to share that story with Alex. He ordinarily had no desire to discuss such complex emotions with a woman, preferring to keep things light and fun. But he had a feeling Alex would be sympathetic. He gave her a beguiling, crooked smile. “I might be persuaded to tell it over a nice plate of scampi with red sauce.”

Alex couldn’t help but laugh. He was charmingly persistent. She actually felt tempted for the first time in a long time. Hunger stirred inside her at the thought of a cozy restaurant, an excellent meal… and Christian sitting across the table from her. Warm, sweet yearnings fluttered through her like ribbons in a slow breeze, stirring, tempting… dangerous to her. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as common sense reminded her of her need for caution, her need for independence.

“I don’t think I like the way your chin is lifting up,” Christian said wryly, tilting his head back against the cracked vinyl seat of the van. “Bodes ill for my dinner plans, I’d say.”

Glancing across at him Alex smiled at the comical expression of disappointment he wore. She doubted he lacked for dinner companions or companions of any sort. She was just a challenge to him. “I’m not going to go out with you, Christian.”

“I’m not going to stop asking,” he said pleasantly, but his sophistication suddenly seemed like a highly polished veneer over a core of raw masculine determination. “Never surrender and all that,” he added lightly.

Alex clucked her tongue and shook her head as she turned her attention back to the road. “Just think of all the lovely ladies you could be going out with while you waste your time on me.”

“You’re the only lady I’m interested in, Alex,” he murmured, suddenly serious.

The cab of the horse van seemed to shrink. Alex was acutely aware of the man sitting beside her, of his compelling personality, of the scent of his leather jacket, and the feel of his steady gaze.

“I mean to woo you, Alexandra,” he said, managing to call back some of his usual lightheartedness. He crossed his arms over his chest casually and flashed her a roguish grin. “And if I do say so myself, I’m damned good at it.”

“I don’t doubt that you’re the world champion,” Alex said sardonically. “But you’re going to knock yourself out this time.”

“We’ll see.”

Mercifully the road changed the topic for her. “Is this the turn?”

“Yes.”

Alex hit the blinker, slowed the van, and shifted down, grinding the gears horribly as they turned and started up the gravel drive. They drove up and around a thickly wooded hill, finally emerging at the top where pastures rolled before them like an emerald quilt, each square delineated by dark, four-plank oak fencing. The large white sign at the end of the first field read Quaid Farm in simple, elegant royal blue letters.

The pang of envy was automatic. This was what she had always dreamed of—the long, tree-lined drive, the pastures dotted with top-quality stock, the immaculate white buildings. It was what she had left behind. Now it would be a long time before she would be able to drive up a lane like this one and feel as if she were something other than a delivery person.

“Pull up at the first barn,” Christian said.

Alex did as instructed, taking in as much of the place as she could while she parked and shut down the van, ignoring the way the engine ran on, knocking and clanking. There were two long stables with the big end doors rolled back, revealing rows of brightly lit box stalls. The first barn was attached to a large indoor arena. Farther away stood a smaller barn with brood mares waiting patiently in the paddocks, and another low white building that was probably the breeding shed. Off to the right, beyond a small yard strewn with toddler’s toys, stood the house, a larger, better-maintained version of the one she was renting. It was a typical old-fashioned Virginia farmhouse with a welcoming porch and a shiny tin roof, and windows full of warm light and lace curtains.

The stable yard was bustling with activity as afternoon chores began. Stable hands moved energetically from one building to the next, each of them followed by at least one dog. The dogs were of all sizes and breeds, and they trotted purposefully along, as if they felt their presence was necessary for the men to do a proper job.

Rylan Quaid sauntered to the doorway of the first barn as Alex climbed down out of the cab of her truck. She recognized him from photographs in the horse magazines. His was one of the most ambitious breeding programs in the country as far as jumping horses went. His younger sister Katie had once been one of the top young riders on the circuit, destined for a spot on the Olympic team, when a fall ended her career and nearly ended her life.