Chapter Twelve
Nail in the Coffin
Flora was lying in bed on her side, staring at the climbing ivy taking over the fence across the lane. She needed to get out of this estate, out of this town, out of California.
“After these past two weeks, I can’t believe he went official with Holly! That was a hard launch too!” Allison said on the phone last night. “I mean one day he’s obsessed with you and the next he’s posting a photo of them from the Fourth? It’s like his brain got taken over.”
Flora grunted in response.
“And to think the past month he’s been all over you!” Allison added, obviously in her classroom preparing for the start of school. “Can’t keep his eyes or hands off you. He’s a two-timing, good for nothing—”
“Allison…”
“What?! I’m just saying that his behavior is that of a total loser.
How could he be taking you to dinner, buying you thousands of dollars’ worth of bespoke jewelry, staying up late with you watching movies, telling you all his secrets, only to hard launch Holly ‘Devil’ Carlisle as his girlfriend.
Have you seen the headlines? Every tabloid in the universe is reporting on it.
‘Finn Woodhouse, CEO of Woodhouse Corporation, dating Holly Carlisle, British socialite and law student.’ What is a socialite anyway? ”
“He had to do it, Allison.”
“Quit making excuses for him!”
“I’m not making excuses. I knew this was going to happen. I’m a little shocked he didn’t warn me, but he didn’t have to. Our friendship was peculiar and undefined to begin with. We never kissed or anything. We never confessed feelings.”
“Oh, pish posh!” Allison exclaimed. “Semantics. Didn’t kiss but cuddled and watched movies. Never confessed feelings but told deepest darkest secrets. You still deserved to know he was going to do this.”
Silence filled the line now.
“Either way,” Flora said quietly, staring at the flower healer ring on her finger, “it’s over now.”
“I’m so sorry, Flora,” Allison replied, settling a little. “I really am… maybe it’s time to head out. Never go back again, like Stevie Nicks tells us to.”
“Agreed. Been hanging around here long enough.”
“Don’t go too far, though. I’d miss you too much.”
The afternoon light was casting dancing shadows across her loft.
She stared at herself in the mirror—what had she been expecting?
Or, rather, hoping. That Finn Woodhouse would fall in love with her?
That she’d become a Mrs. Woodhouse? Have little Finn-Flora remixes running around the estate eventually?
Live here forever? Jet off to the Italian Riviera every summer?
Be Finn Woodhouse’s wife? Get a ring for her ring finger?
Is that even what she wanted?
She still wanted Finn—no question there—but the rest of it, she wasn’t sure. Part of her wanted the whole pretty picture, but part of her knew she had something much bigger ahead of her and Finn was in the way.
Didn’t change the fact that she was hurt.
And now had to do damage control.
Didn’t change the fact that she loved him.
She left the loft and went down to the stables. She was just happy her dad was driving Mrs. Woodhouse to the airport and wouldn’t be back for a while. She didn’t want him to pick up on her bad vibes and ask what was wrong. He’d warned her about this weeks ago and she had stupidly ignored him.
She pedaled her bike toward the stables, the wind carrying away a tear or two as she went. She was such a gullible idiot. Nothing had changed since she left for Paris. She was still Flora Fairchild—the un-choosable, nature-freak, driver’s daughter with frizzy hair and bad eyesight and knobby knees.
She skidded to a halt outside and abandoned her bike on the lawn right near the sign that said:
Woodhouse International Equestrian Center and Stables
“This entire place is ridiculous,” she muttered.
The Woodhouses collected rare horses. They had some regular breeds—Thoroughbreds, Arabians, Friesians, Dutch Warmbloods, a few Black Stallions, Mustangs, and Clydesdales—but their rare horse collection was becoming a menagerie worthy of a Rare Horse Rehab and Rescue designation. Typical Finn. He loved animals.
Despite the fact that some of the breeds had less than two hundred left in the entire world, the Woodhouses had managed to get their hands on them. Breeds like Sorraia, Marwari, Knabstrupper, Eriskays, Dales Pony, Caspian Horse, and a few elusive and gorgeous Andalusians lived on the property.
The horses were all perfectly trained, beautifully kept, and awarded in both show and race circuits. Jockeys and showmen from all over the world came to see the state-of-the-art ring, the horses, and the grounds.
But one of the top attractions was Desolation Wilderness—Finn’s Akhal-Teke.
She’d come straight from Turkmenistan with a gorgeous metallic coat sheen in chestnut gold.
And she was faster than the speed of light.
To his credit, Finn took great care of her.
He’d had some experts here last year to select a mate for her and make sure the breed carried on.
Right now, she was penned up in her stall, waiting to be given the attention she deserved.
She fit Finn like a glove. She gave a loud neigh as Flora walked by.
“Yes, hello, Deso,” she groaned. “Just rub it in!”
She didn’t stop to say hello. She wasn’t here for Deso.
She was here for an old friend.
There was a crunch of gravel, and she looked behind her to see one of the stable managers, Oliver Cornwall, whom she seldom saw since he only worked three days a week.
“Flora!” he said, looking surprised. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you here in ages.”
Flora was always amazed at how one estate could still separate people for long periods of time because of its size.
“Oliver, how good to see you,” she said, shaking his hand. “I just came to see Dead Sea. Not going to take up my old post here every afternoon, don’t worry.”
“Dead Sea hasn’t changed a bit,” he remarked, wiping his hands off.
“Bucked off a rider just the other day and then made a break for the fence. Bucked someone else off just a few weeks before that.” Oliver lowered his voice.
“To tell you the truth, he bucked off Finn’s girlfriend, that girl with her nose in the air?
Hailey? She got the wind knocked out of her so hard I thought we were going to have to call a medic. ”
“Oh, Holly…” Flora sighed. Just who she wanted to talk about. “I thought she was a good rider.”
“Holly! That’s it!” he said, snapping his fingers. “She’s passable, but not what she claims to be. Insisted on riding the Galice?o because he’s so rare. Came around here talking nonsense about her equestrian days back at Oxford. I say, if you have to talk about it, you’re making up for something.”
Flora smirked. “I agree.”
“Finn protested because Dead is so dangerous and picky, but he let her because she wouldn’t let up.”
“Sounds like her.”
“And then he bucked her to high heaven.”
Dead Sea’s name had originally been Caspian Sea but it was changed because whoever rode him seemed to be taking their life into their hands.
He was eyeing Flora now. Dead was a Galice?o, a Spanish colonial horse.
There were only an estimated two hundred left in the entire world.
This fact didn’t seem to bother Dead, who was always on a death wish.
Plus, apparently, he wouldn’t mate with any lady Galice?o that had been brought to Woodhouse Stables. Very picky.
“Are ya just paying a visit?” Oliver asked. “Or are ya riding?”
Flora hesitated for half a second.
“Riding,” someone called.
They both turned.
Finn stood there.
Flora felt her jaw tighten and she rolled her eyes.
Finn had this way about him—commanding, in charge, under control, always appearing at the right moment. He was annoyingly hard to say no to. Even though she knew a lot of his dirty laundry now. Even though she had cuddled with him in her mismatched sheets just weeks before.
It all felt like ages ago.
Dead Sea kicked the stall door.
“Same,” Flora whispered.
“Ah, Finn!” Oliver said, smiling. “Riding Deso?”
“I was planning on it,” he said, looking only at Flora.
She returned with her iciest stare—if she even had one. She wasn’t quite sure.
“Oliver, would you mind giving Flora and I a minute?” he asked.
Oliver looked intrigued but nodded. “Sure. Let me know if you guys need anything. And be careful, Flora. He’s been in a bad mood for the last year.”
“Finn or the horse?” Flora asked flatly.
Oliver snorted and then stopped. “I’ll let you decide.”
He disappeared, leaving the two of them alone.
Flora leaned up against the stall and eyed Finn, arms crossed. Dead also seemed expectant.
“Flora…” Finn said, sounding like he was talking to a rebellious teenage girl.
“Don’t—” she shook her head— “don’t treat me like a child.”
“I’m not.” Finn sighed. “Let’s go on a ride. Away from prying eyes and ears. There are many, believe me.”
Flora raised one eyebrow and nodded slowly, as if she didn’t buy it. “Oh, you’ve entered your paranoid era, I see.”
“Flora, please.”
“You’d better give me more than ‘Flora, please’ in that CEO voice you use. I am long past being impressed by that and I am not a business meeting.”
“Flora, please.”
His tone changed to near begging.
“Fine.”
“And maybe don’t ride Dead. We’ll all be dead. He’s been vicious lately.”
Dead nudged Flora’s arm as if on cue, whining and nuzzling her.
“Oh yes, a real killer.”
Flora was saddled up on Dead before long. He wasn’t bucking, kicking, or throwing his head around like he usually did. Flora patted his neck.
“A good boy,” she whispered. “One of the only good boys.”
With Finn on Deso, they headed for one of the many mountain paths, crossing a meadow that led up to Bennett Hill where the trail began.
They were silent until they were through the meadow.
“How did you get him to behave?” Finn asked.