“Nope,” he said, tugging a small packet from his pocket and holding it up for her to see. She read “Sheik,” and “reservoir end,” and “prophylactic,” on a small package. Curious, she snatched and opened it, unrolling the thing and noting its slimy texture. Once it was fully unraveled she held it up in front of her face.
“Wow. So you put this on … on your …”
“Yep. No kids. No dripping diseases.”
She blushed and gave it to him. He wadded it up. “Good thing JR got us a multi-pack.”
“You boys are awful,” she said, pulling her knees up again and staring out at the party that had gotten quieter since the girl and Lorenzo disappeared.
“Whoops, better hurry. Don’t wanna miss my turn.” He winked at her and headed for her door, leaving Lindsay to her fevered imaginings, still staring down at Tony, who’d not moved from his position, staring into the dwindling fire.
Lindsay tugged the curtain closed again once Frank joined the party. She brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face, her skin never once losing that tingling, anticipatory, creeping sensation.
Deciding she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a book, she turned out the light and fell to sleep almost immediately. Later she woke up sweating, with the sheets twisted around and between her legs, panting with the fully recalled dream of Tony’s lips, hands, arms, legs, and body—his deep olive skin alongside her paler limbs, all tangled up together.
Chapter Four
Her engagement party wasn’t until five, so Lindsay took advantage of waking up early to fit in a ride—and an excuse to hang around the barns, hoping to find Tony there. She carried a slice of toast and mug of coffee across the still dew-covered grass, mind shutting out the remainder of the day’s festivities.
Her dress hung in the closet, freshly ironed. Clean stockings were tucked in her drawer. She even had a pretty new pair of red patent leather pumps for the occasion. But she honestly felt that if she ignored it or pretended it was not going to happen long enough, the event would somehow not manifest itself.
Dumb, she knew. There was no way to ignore the fact that in a few days she’d be Mrs. William Scott, available to him whenever and however he wanted her. She shivered, recalling her intensely strange dream a few hours earlier, starring the assistant stable manager. They’d been in a field. There was a horse somewhere nearby, off in the dreamy distance. They were sitting, facing each other, glaring, not speaking. He held a beer bottle. She had a burning cigarette between her fingers. Then she’d blinked, and opened her eyes to the familiar contours of her bedroom.
With a sigh, she dropped onto a hay bale, mind and gut churning, thinking maybe she’d saddle Zelda and take off, never to return.
She sipped the coffee, getting more aggravated with herself every second. Why couldn’t she say no to this whole stupid farce? She didn’t love Will Scott. He only wanted to do … whatever it was … to her. The thing she thought she understood well enough to be afraid and intrigued and disgusted all at the same time.
They’d be miserable, guaranteed. Arguing in front of the kids, drinking too much, complaining to their friends all the time. The only real difference between her parents’ current and her future marriage? There’d be plenty of money. She sighed and glanced idly at the stalls, the bales of hay, the rafters, the tack room … soaking in all the familiar sights and smells and sounds of her favorite place, and wondered how in the world her father’s business had fallen off so badly that she ended up in the position of being sold off to the highest bidder.
She tossed the remains of the coffee, which was already turning to acid in her stomach. Deciding to sit quietly and listen to the horses a bit longer, she wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her cheek on them. Slow tears burned their way down her face.
She must have drifted to sleep, because she woke with a jolt when someone, or something, touched her face.
“Oh, shoot,” she muttered, wiping drool off her chin. Peering into the still-dim early morning light, she sensed him nearby.
“Back for another peep show?” she demanded, hating herself for being so mean.
“No, miss. Just wanted you to wake up before you fell off the hay bale.”
“Hmph …” She stood and made a show of smoothing down her riding habit and adjusting her boots. Her face felt hot enough to set the whole place on fire.
“Don’t stare at me. It’s rude.” Her eyes adjusted enough so she could see him, dressed in his usual work shirt and jeans, one scuffed boot heel propped on the barn wall while he sipped his cup of coffee and eyeballed her.
He lifted a dark eyebrow, then trained his gaze out into the barn, per her instructions.
Lindsay ground her teeth.
“Will you be needing the practice track set up?”
“What? Oh, um, yes. Please.” She chewed her bottom lip and flopped onto the bale.
“I noticed she’s been working against the bit the last few times, even chewing it.”
Lindsay sighed. “I’m aware of her flaws, Tony.”
“Yes, miss.”
Silence descended between them. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just … oh, never mind. Would you saddle Daisy for me? I’m going to run her for a bit first.”
“Yes, miss.” He set his cup on a shelf and stretched, giving her a distressing view of a line of skin between shirt and jeans waistband. She looked away, heartbeat thumping in her ears.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Calling you what?” He’d gone into Daisy’s stall. Lindsay could hear her soft nicker of greeting. She was a much calmer horse, easier to train, a real sweetheart. While Zelda matched her own temperament a lot better, Lindsay won more blue ribbons with Daisy.
“‘Miss,’” she said, following him and hoping to catch him doing exactly what he was doing—caressing the horse’s neck and shoulders, easing the animal from sleep into work mode. The sight of him crooning to her horse, calming her, touching her, made Lindsay’s skin hot.
Stop it, Lindsay Alice Halloran. That is … sick.
“All right then,” he said, still facing Daisy, his thick, Kentucky-style Southern drawl more than a little incongruous, considering he looked like he could have stepped off the boat from Italy five minutes ago. “What should I call you?” He turned, gripping her horse’s bridle, his dark brown eyes alight in a way that made her stumble and almost fall over.
Anger kept her upright. She crossed her arms. He didn’t move or shift his gaze. She felt pinned down by it in way she didn’t understand.
“Well, Lindsay, of course.” Her voice broke, betraying her. His shy smile and flushed face helped ease her anxiety.
“Lindsay,” he said, caressing the syllables. She blinked, not pleased with how this encounter was spiraling out of her control.
“Tony,” she said, walking over to the other side of Daisy’s head. The horse nickered at her proximity, snorting and nodding in pleased anticipation of a workout. Running her palm down Daisy’s other side and ignoring how her nerve endings zinged now she was so close to him, Lindsay peeked under the animal’s neck and caught him with an expression that resembled a herd of deer about to get mowed down by a motorcycle gang.
“Miss? Uh, I mean … what? Lindsay.”
“You don’t look like a greaseball goombah.” She averted her eyes, focusing instead on Daisy’s mane, her coat. Anything but meet the man’s eyes again.
“Um, no, I’m not. I mean, my family’s definitely Italian. My mama is second generation. My grandparents, when they were still alive, spoke nothing but Italian at home.” He mirrored her movements, patting Daisy’s neck then sliding his palm across her right flank.
“I thought Italians only lived in big cities on the east coast.” Lindsay’s knees were knocking, but she kept talking, eager to establish a connection between them, but at the same time wishing she could maintain the upper hand.