call you ‘Angie?’”
“Because he doesn’t know me,” Angela answered, meeting Devlin’s eyes.
He nodded slowly, and that was the end of the conversation.
* * * *
The trip to Connecticut took longer than it should have because Angela got lost twice. As they were wandering aimlessly along the back roads of rural Fairfield County, Devlin turned to her and said, “How long has it been since you were up here?”
“I was here six months ago with my uncle when he bought Sand Dancer, but I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to the route. Before that it was years since I’d seen the stables.”
“Maybe we should have checked the directions?” Devlin suggested gently.
“I guess so. I’m sorry.”
Devlin shot her a sidelong glance. “Don’t be sorry. I’m enjoying the scenery. I just hope we don’t become a permanent part of it.”
Angela smiled back at him, thinking how nice he was. His patience was an integral part of his characteristic stillness. Philip would have been screaming at her by now.
Devlin stopped at a gas station and the attendant was familiar with the area. He directed them to the proper road, and they arrived about fifteen minutes later.
Frank Patria’s horse farm occupied ten acres of grassland, featuring a large stable capable of housing several horses at a time, a paddock and jumping course, and woodland trails carved out of the surrounding landscape. The groom’s house faced the main gate, and Devlin parked the car in the front yard as Angela walked up and knocked on the door.
Mrs. Colebrook answered. “May I help you?” she asked.
“Mrs. Colebrook, do you remember me? I was here in the spring with my uncle when he bought Sand Dancer. I’m Angela Patria.”
The woman’s brow cleared. “Of course. I thought I knew your face. How have you been?”
“Just fine. I was wondering if your husband could let us into the stables. I have a friend with me. I wanted to show him Dancer, and take a lesson on one of the other horses, if that would be all right.”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll get Harry, he’s out back.”
Angela turned around and signaled Devlin that he should get out of the car. He did so, slowly.
Harry Colebrook came around the side of the house, followed by his wife. He was all smiles.
“Miss Patria, why didn’t you call and tell us you were coming? We could have gotten ready, the missus would have made dinner.”
“That’s why I didn’t call,” Angela replied, laughing. “All we want is a couple of hours with the horses. Can you take us over?”
“Sure thing.” He glanced inquiringly at Devlin as the other man approached.
“Harry, this is Brett Devlin, a friend of mine. Brett, Harry Colebrook.”
Harry beamed and shook hands with Devlin, who was looking strangely subdued and uncomfortable. When Harry went inside to get the keys Angela said, “Is something wrong?”
Devlin didn’t answer, saying instead, “I take it that they don’t know about the reason for my presence.”
“They don’t know.”
Devlin looked down, kicking at a pebble in the packed dirt yard. When was this going to end? He was making a career out of misrepresenting himself to innocent people who treated him with a friendship he didn’t deserve.
Harry reappeared and led the way to a big barnlike structure, the interior of which was divided into stalls. Angela moved to the last one on the left, which was set apart from the others. Inside it was a magnificent Arabian stallion, black except for white feet and a white star on his forehead. He whinnied when he saw them and tossed his head.
“Sand Dancer,” she announced to Brett. “What do you think?”
Devlin reached over the half barrier and stroked Dancer’s nose. The horse responded to this attention by lashing out with one of his forefeet and kicking the side of the stall.
Devlin took Angela’s hand and led her gently backward, away from the horse. “I think neither one of us is going to be riding him
“Because he doesn’t know me,” Angela answered, meeting Devlin’s eyes.
He nodded slowly, and that was the end of the conversation.
* * * *
The trip to Connecticut took longer than it should have because Angela got lost twice. As they were wandering aimlessly along the back roads of rural Fairfield County, Devlin turned to her and said, “How long has it been since you were up here?”
“I was here six months ago with my uncle when he bought Sand Dancer, but I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to the route. Before that it was years since I’d seen the stables.”
“Maybe we should have checked the directions?” Devlin suggested gently.
“I guess so. I’m sorry.”
Devlin shot her a sidelong glance. “Don’t be sorry. I’m enjoying the scenery. I just hope we don’t become a permanent part of it.”
Angela smiled back at him, thinking how nice he was. His patience was an integral part of his characteristic stillness. Philip would have been screaming at her by now.
Devlin stopped at a gas station and the attendant was familiar with the area. He directed them to the proper road, and they arrived about fifteen minutes later.
Frank Patria’s horse farm occupied ten acres of grassland, featuring a large stable capable of housing several horses at a time, a paddock and jumping course, and woodland trails carved out of the surrounding landscape. The groom’s house faced the main gate, and Devlin parked the car in the front yard as Angela walked up and knocked on the door.
Mrs. Colebrook answered. “May I help you?” she asked.
“Mrs. Colebrook, do you remember me? I was here in the spring with my uncle when he bought Sand Dancer. I’m Angela Patria.”
The woman’s brow cleared. “Of course. I thought I knew your face. How have you been?”
“Just fine. I was wondering if your husband could let us into the stables. I have a friend with me. I wanted to show him Dancer, and take a lesson on one of the other horses, if that would be all right.”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll get Harry, he’s out back.”
Angela turned around and signaled Devlin that he should get out of the car. He did so, slowly.
Harry Colebrook came around the side of the house, followed by his wife. He was all smiles.
“Miss Patria, why didn’t you call and tell us you were coming? We could have gotten ready, the missus would have made dinner.”
“That’s why I didn’t call,” Angela replied, laughing. “All we want is a couple of hours with the horses. Can you take us over?”
“Sure thing.” He glanced inquiringly at Devlin as the other man approached.
“Harry, this is Brett Devlin, a friend of mine. Brett, Harry Colebrook.”
Harry beamed and shook hands with Devlin, who was looking strangely subdued and uncomfortable. When Harry went inside to get the keys Angela said, “Is something wrong?”
Devlin didn’t answer, saying instead, “I take it that they don’t know about the reason for my presence.”
“They don’t know.”
Devlin looked down, kicking at a pebble in the packed dirt yard. When was this going to end? He was making a career out of misrepresenting himself to innocent people who treated him with a friendship he didn’t deserve.
Harry reappeared and led the way to a big barnlike structure, the interior of which was divided into stalls. Angela moved to the last one on the left, which was set apart from the others. Inside it was a magnificent Arabian stallion, black except for white feet and a white star on his forehead. He whinnied when he saw them and tossed his head.
“Sand Dancer,” she announced to Brett. “What do you think?”
Devlin reached over the half barrier and stroked Dancer’s nose. The horse responded to this attention by lashing out with one of his forefeet and kicking the side of the stall.
Devlin took Angela’s hand and led her gently backward, away from the horse. “I think neither one of us is going to be riding him
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