Chapter Twenty-Nine
The day of the impromptu festival dawned bright and cheerful, with white wisps of cloud floating lazily across the sky.
Aidan made his way down the drive and opened the gate to the ranch, propping it open with a chunk of wood.
He smiled and waved as the townspeople began to filter in, and he hoped that his smile didn’t look too much like a grimace.
It was hard not to feel like the ranch was being invaded.
And there was the other thing. He’d opened his gate. Anybody at all could come up that drive today, and Aidan would be obliged to shake his hand and offer him a cup of lemonade.
He looked east down the road toward town for rather longer than there was any call to. Then he made himself stop.
I wonder how much of them coming to call is morbid curiosity, he thought grimly. Come and see the ranch that’s breeding more debt than horses, bring the whole family. Brendan’s untimely disappearance was surely only adding to the air of scandal that attracted people like bees to honey.
He turned back toward the house, where Alexandra was overseeing the placement of improvised tables, which were really just planks of wood laid across sawhorses.
She was in her element, giving directions, seemingly everywhere at once.
This table needed flowers, that one was for drinks only, no, that one was meant to go over there.
Aidan paused, considering her. Her hair was pinned up on the crown of her head in a wreath of braids and flowers.
She wore a polonaise that he’d not seen before, a sage green with swags of fabric at the bustle and flowers embroidered in gold at the shoulders and waist. She looked like a nature goddess come to life.
Bella came running up to her, her hair neatly plaited and a crown of flowers on her own head. Alexandra smiled down at her, her face warm. She patted Bella on the head, then sent her off again on some errand or other.
Aidan could only stare. The world had narrowed, his vision hazy at the edges like one of those portraits in a photographer’s studio.
He’d never seen Alexandra like this, so cool and competent, with a friendly word for everyone she saw.
Aidan wanted to withdraw, hemmed in from every side.
Alexandra, on the other hand, moved with ease through the crowd.
She hadn’t said one word to him about the corridor.
Not that night, not the following morning, not once in the whole week since.
She had simply gone on with the lists, and the baking and the borrowed saw horses as though a man leaving his own house at a dead run were an ordinary feature of a Tuesday.
Aidan was grateful for it, and ashamed of being grateful for it, and had not yet worked out which of the two was worse.
Maybe I should bring her into the business more, Aidan thought, watching as she easily redirected a man with a nose already red from the bowl of punch. She has a knack with people.
He had more pressing concerns at the moment.
He wove his way through the tables and booths, some of them nearly groaning from the weight of the cakes and other victuals.
He had no idea where Alexandra had found the time to do all that baking.
Other tables had little things to buy: lace-edged handkerchiefs, painted fans, and assorted bits and bobs.
Aidan spotted Mrs. Bruin at one of the booths. She offered him a jolly wave, which Aidan returned half-heartedly. He felt dazed by it all, scarcely recognizing the ranch under all the fluttering ribbons and guests.
Mr. Johannes, the building contractor, caught sight of Aidan and clapped him on the shoulder so hard that he nearly stumbled.
“I understand that there is to be a race,” he said in his carefully enunciated manner. “I hear that you believe no one can beat your new stallion.”
“That’s right,” Aidan replied, glad to be on familiar footing. “I reckon Cyprus is as fast as any horse in the whole county.”
“Ah, good,” Mr. Johannes said, his normally stoic face breaking into a grin. “It has been too long since Raider and I had any real competition.”
“You intend to enter the race?” Aidan asked, skeptical.
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Johannes said, bobbing his head enthusiastically. “He is quite the specimen of horse. It shall be my very great pleasure to win the purse.”
“It seems a pity to send you home disappointed on such a pretty day,” Aidan retorted. “But that purse is mine. Cyprus will walk away with it.”
“Oh ho!” Mr. Johannes crowed, slapping Aidan on the back again, making him grimace. “I like that very much, I do. Very good sport, yes. I will see you at the starting line.”
“Race begins at noon,” Aidan said. He tipped his hat and withdrew. He made a great show of sauntering away, but once he was safely out of sight, he darted through the crowd to find Antony.
“Antony,” he hissed, pulling him away from the booth where he was supervising a knot of children with little cane poles attempting to hook prizes. “What do you know about Mr. Johannes’s horse?”
“Raider?” Antony rubbed at his chin. “Well, he’s a leggy thing, I can tell you that for certain. No ranch horse, that one.”
“Does he have a real shot at winning the race?” Aidan demanded.
Antony’s mustache twitched from side to side as his mouth worked, considering. “Maybe,” he admitted at last. “He’s won a few backcountry races as it is.”
Aidan closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing a groan. “Why did you allow him to enter? The goal is to show off Cyprus!”
“Think of it like this,” Antony said, placing a consoling hand on Aidan’s shoulder.
“What would be the benefit of showing that Cyprus could outrun a bunch of nobodies? Congratulations, he outran some pit ponies,” he said.
“‘Course, pretty sure a goat could run circles around them. No, you need to beat someone with a named winner.”
Aidan rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope you’re right about this,” he said at last. Though he suspected that Antony had guessed at the ranch’s circumstances, he’d declined to share the specifics. He kicked himself for that now.
“Stop your fretting, would you, you old woman?” Antony said. He gently pushed Aidan away. “Go find that pretty wife of yours and ask her to share a cup of lemonade with you.”
“You go have some lemonade,” Aidan muttered, surly. “You know so much about it; go and use your charms on Miss Hampshire.”
“Already have,” Antony retorted, on his way back to the “fishing” booth. “I’ve asked her to come and watch me at the sharpshooting contest.”
Aidan laughed. “Oh, you salty old fox,” he said, shaking his head. He knew good and well that Antony had been a sharpshooter during the war; his father had called Antony the neatest shot in the three states. The contest was little more than an excuse for him to show off.
Antony turned back around and, closing one eye, he mimed shooting a gun with his finger and thumb. Aidan shook his head again.
Maybe I am worrying too much, he thought. He hadn’t dared even to think that things might turn out well, more than half-convinced that if he allowed himself even that much, it would all turn to ashes.
He put his hands on his hips, watching the crowd.
Children ran back and forth, sweets in their hands.
The adults were strolling between tables and booths, and admiring the few mares that Aidan had kept in hopes of establishing breeding stock again.
Everywhere, there was noise and color. It was odd, seeing the ranch like this—he wasn’t sure if his father would have approved, but Aidan suspected that Brendan would have.
Aidan closed his eyes against the customary pain that cropped up whenever he thought of his brother. Everyone said that time would ease it, but it hadn’t thus far; he’d just gotten better at predicting when it would manifest.
“Isn’t this something?”
Aidan opened his eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. Alexandra was standing near him, practically bouncing on her toes as she watched the crowd.
Alexandra looked up at him, her green eyes brighter with excitement. Her face was shining as she sought his approval. He could have snapped at her. It would have been the easiest thing in the world. He tore his gaze away from her.
All of this was for you, his heart reminded him.
So he took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, a little of the old pain went with it. He looked out over the milling people again. “Yes,” he agreed. “You did well.”
Alexandra clapped a hand to her chest and fluttered her lashes at him. “My goodness,” she breathed, “I believe you just paid me a compliment. Are you quite well?”
“Oh, go on,” Aidan muttered, trying to shoo her off, all the while ducking his head so that she wouldn’t see his mouth pulling into a smile.
“I’m serious here,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to press a hand against Aidan’s forehead. “You look flushed—I think the shock of approving of me has made you unwell.” She gave him a sly smile. “Dr. Bruin’s about. Maybe we should consult with him.”
“Impossible woman,” Aidan growled, which only made Alexandra grin.
“All right,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “What if instead, we go over to the back pasture? The boys are about to start the stock horse race.” She paused. “I believe Danny has entered.”
“What? Danny’s entered a race?” Aidan demanded. Her face went uncertain. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Let’s go!”
And before he knew what he was doing, he had grasped Alexandra by the hand and was pulling her along. They pushed through to the fence, where the boys were arrayed at an impromptu starting line.
Aidan couldn’t remember taking Alexandra by the hand, but he was glad of the contact. With his free hand, he reached up and clutched the top fence rail. Dr. Bruin, ever fond of children, had taken charge of the race, which was why Aidan hadn’t known who was riding.
He knew logically that Danny was old enough to be riding like this. Still, it was far more difficult than Aidan had ever imagined to let him go. Fear, cold and slinky, slid into his stomach and twisted. He’d promised to keep Danny safe, and this would be the very opposite of that.
Aidan was at the point of jumping the fence and leading Danny’s horse away when Alexandra pulled him back, still holding tightly to his hand.
“Please don’t,” she said, her voice low. “This is good for him.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what’s good for him,” Aidan snapped, his anxiety making a bear trap of his mouth. “That’s my brother’s boy—his oldest son!” He started to pull away again, but Alexandra dug in her heels and wrapped her other hand around his wrist.
“Would you just look at him?” Alexandra said. Something had gone tight around her mouth. “Really look.”
Aidan glowered at her for a moment, then turned back to the boys.
The other horses were lining up, cow ponies and little shaggy range horses, none of them taller than fourteen hands.
They were a restless lot, circling one another and kicking up dust, snorting and whinnying in high-pitched voices.
Danny was holding firmly to his mount, a diminutive gray spotted horse with a reddish mane and tail.
To Aidan’s surprise, he held the reins well, firm but not sawing the horse’s mouth. His face was the most serious and focused that Aidan had ever seen it, his eyes fixed on the path in front of them. The other riders might as well not have existed.
While the boy was only ten—quickly approaching eleven—Aidan could almost see the edges of the face that Danny would wear as a man.
Dr. Bruin raised the starting flag, which was really just a piece of calico tied to a stick. Aidan’s heart leaped into his throat. He pulled his hat off, waving it to get Danny’s attention.
“Danny!” he called, his voice rising above the others.
Danny, startled, peered over the crowd until he saw Aidan. His face shifted, preparing for disappointment.
“Hold her until the final turn!” Aidan called. “Then let her loose—she’s got the stamina to stay the distance!”
Danny stared at Aidan for a moment. Then he lit up and nodded seriously. He gathered up the reins, placing them high on his horse’s neck and twining his fingers in her short mane just as Aidan had shown him when galloping.
“That was well done,” Alexandra said.
“We’ll see if we still feel that way in a few minutes,” Aidan grumbled. For all of his goodwill, his stomach was still in knots.
Alexandra squeezed his fingers. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like an anchor, tethering him to the now instead of the terrible possibilities.
He hesitated, nervous for an entirely different reason now.
Taking a chance, he shifted his hand so that their fingers were laced together.
Small as it was, it might as well have been a flying leap off a cliff for how daring it felt.
She didn’t withdraw. She stiffened for a moment in surprise, but then her fingers were nestling happily with his.
For the first time in a week, Aidan wasn’t watching the road at all.
Dr. Bruin let the flag drop. With a yell, the racers were off.