Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Miles looked around Carrington Ranch with wide-eyed wonder as he got Henry out of the car.
I knew it was the right choice as soon as we turned into the entrance and drove far enough in to see some of the cabins that were available to rent in the summer.
Miles had pulled over to the side of the road and jotted down several notes, not saying a word, but his furious scribbles said it all.
I wondered if that mean Isabella was speaking to him again.
“Your friend Emma grew up here?” Miles set Henry down and took his hand.
“She still lives here.” I pointed down the gravel road. “She and Sawyer are staying in her late mother’s cabin while their new cabin is being finished.”
“Her mum’s cabin? What about her father?”
I met him around the car. “There’s a story there.
Her biological father and mother lived there, but he died when Emma was a baby.
Mr. Carrington, who was best friends with Anders, the biological father, stepped in to help take care of Emma and Mrs. Carrington,” I choked.
Did I ever miss that woman. She was like a second mother to me, to all of Emma’s friends.
“From there, their love blossomed, and they married.”
“When did she pass away?” Miles asked concerned.
“Just over two years ago.”
“You were fond of her.”
“Yes, and of this place. There are a lot of good memories here. Emma, Jenna, Brad, and I used to run all over the ranch and up the mountain trails, especially in the summer. There’s a lake and a stable full of horses.”
“Is that so?” Miles’s eyes darted around looking for the stables.
I figured he might be interested in that. I had seen pictures of him online playing polo or at polo tournaments.
“Horsey!” Henry was excited too.
Mr. Carrington walked out of his grand log cabin with Mrs. Carrington’s mark still on it. Her big pink wreath adorned the door no matter the time of year now. Mrs. Carrington loved pink everything.
“Did I hear someone say horsey?” He set his sights on Henry.
Mr. Carrington was a well-known horseman and a sucker for cute kids.
Chloe had been known for getting the distinguished cowboy to take her on many “horsey” rides and to even be the horsey on occasion.
He was going to make an excellent grandpa.
“Hi, Mr. Carrington, thank you for letting us tour the place today.”
Mr. Carrington was to me in no time, wrapping his big, strong arms around me. “Anytime, honey, it’s good to see you. How’s your girl?”
“She’s great.” I gave him one more big squeeze before letting go. “I’d like you to meet Miles Wickham, my boss, and his adorable nephew, Henry.”
Miles cringed when I referred to him as my boss. I’m not sure why.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carrington.” Miles extended his hand to shake Mr. Carrington’s.
Mr. Carrington took his hand. “Nice to meet you as well. Please, call me Dane.” He gave me a pointed look. “That goes for you too, young lady. All you kids still calling me Mr. Carrington makes me feel old.”
I wasn’t sure I could call him Dane. “I’ll try,” I promised him.
Satisfied with my answer, Mr. Carrington—Dane—knelt so he was almost eye level with Henry who had suddenly become shy and hid behind Miles. That didn’t deter Dane. “How would you like to see my horses?”
Henry’s dark eyes widened, along with his cute grin.
Dane held out his calloused hand. He may have owned half the town and was the wealthiest person I knew, but his hands told how hard he worked for the Ranch.
This was his wife’s dream, after all, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“How about you come with me and we’ll give some of those horses a treat. ”
Henry liked the sound of that. His little hand made its way into Dane’s.
Dane stood and took the lead with Henry, who was dressed like a little gentleman.
Thankfully, the sunshine was abundant even though it was still cool and crisp.
Henry’s wool socks and sweater seemed to keep him warm enough for now.
I pulled my long cardigan sweater, the one Shelby had convinced me to buy—more like practically gave to me for free—tight around me as we made our way to the stables.
“Would you like my jacket?” Miles asked me.
I looked over at him. He was dressed smartly, like Henry, in a midnight blue wool blazer.
I wished he wasn’t so handsome. And that cologne of his, mixed with the earthy scent playing in the light breeze, was ridiculously intoxicating.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I faced forward, enjoying seeing Henry warm up to Dane and get excited about a couple of squirrels playing in the golden-leaved trees.
Miles apparently had no regard for my senses. He sidled up to me and in a low voice said, “I wish you wouldn’t call me your boss.”
I scrunched my face. “Why?”
“I thought we agreed we were friends.”
“Actually, we didn’t. I think we agreed it wasn’t by chance we met.”
“Your memory doesn’t serve me well.”
Our hands accidentally brushed. Lots of zings coursed through my body. It startled me so much I took a step away from him.
He clasped his hands together as if he felt it too.
Why did I feel like we were flirting with danger? I decided to change the subject. “What do you think of this place?”
“It’s lovely.” He sounded grateful for the change of subject. “It has the creative juices flowing.”
“I’m glad. I need that book.” I almost nudged him but stopped before I made that fatal mistake. No more touching, accidental or otherwise.
“If I haven’t said it before, I am deeply honored that you love my work.”
“Well . . . not all of it . . .”
He pounded his fist against his heart. “Please don’t tell me you read Murder River.”
“I’m sorry to say I did,” I sing-songed.
“But at least now I know that a group of crows is called a murder. However, I will be forever creeped out by that knowledge every time I see one.” I got the shivers thinking about the gruesome details of the book and the chopped off crows’ heads left in the protagonist’s bed.
“I’ve learned a lot since that first book.”
“Agreed, but a lot of people did love that book, and your publisher must have, so I wouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I do. I worry that if I can write such drivel and get it published, what if the same thing happens with this book?”
“It won’t.”
He stopped and peered at me. “How do you know?”
“Because . . .” I stammered, “because . . . I won’t let that happen.
And neither will Isabella.” I walked off, not giving him a chance to respond.
I caught up with Henry and Dane. I took Henry’s other hand to calm my racing heart.
I wasn’t sure I liked being open. Or maybe I just wasn’t used to it.
I’m not sure I ever would be. Or was it that I would never allow myself to be? It’s not what I wanted. Truly.
Dane grinned between me and Miles, who had quickly caught up to me. Dane’s grin said he wondered if there was something between us. There was—a contract. A contract that protected both of us.
“What breeds do you have?” Miles asked.
“Quarter Horse, Palomino, Paint, and Thoroughbred.”
“I own a Thoroughbred myself,” Miles responded.
“You’re from London, correct?” Dane asked. “Do you own a stable there?”
“I’m a city dweller by nature. I board my pony at the polo club where I’m a member.”
“You’re a polo man. Sorry to say we don’t have any clubs around here. My horses are used mostly for trail rides and working. But if you ever want to take a ride, I do have some English and dressage saddles available.”
“Very kind of you,” Miles replied. I could hear the longing in his voice. He missed his home.
I couldn’t blame him, seeing as I was obsessed with the UK.
I knew it wasn’t all garden parties and handsome men with delicious accents and large fortunes.
One of the reasons I enjoyed watching the BBC was the realness of it.
American television was so stylized, and everyone was glamourous.
In the UK, it was gritty. In their crime shows you didn’t get DNA back immediately and the men and women stars were for the most part average-looking people.
It was refreshing. Miles was an exception. There was nothing average about him.
I loved Carrington Ranch’s stable. The gray stone and wood structure had a storybook feel to the outside, and inside it was like a deluxe hotel for horses.
Several of the horses were out in the nearby pasture, but Henry was enthralled with the few that were in their stalls.
Dane picked him up and showed him how and where to stroke the horses.
Henry was particularly delighted with the foal born just this past summer and her mother.
The duo was named Dolly and Madison. Dolly, the Palomino mare, was a favorite of Shelby’s.
She was a beautiful, gentle creature. Henry thought so too, by the way he loved on her head.
Her foal, Madison, made Henry giggle when Henry fed her a carrot and she tickled his fingers with her mouth.
Miles stood back and took pictures with his phone of everything from the high-beamed ceilings to the tack room and, of course, Henry.
His eyes swirling with all the possibilities.
Personally, I could picture Isabella here talking to the horses, trying to sort out the mess in her life.
More than anything, probably trying to come to terms with her feelings for Dexter.
Miles was going to have to write that relationship carefully.
Isabella would put up a fight; I knew her battle well.
I fought on the front lines with her. Once she fell for Dexter, I would miss my sister in arms in this war I started for myself, but now it felt like I was fighting more and more against myself.
How did I ever forgive myself and call a truce?
I wanted Miles to be right. If I looked at it through Isabella’s perspective, maybe I could figure it out.