you got rid of it.”
“The breeches are forgiving, but anything you get on a Red Serge shows.” Hoping to deflect her attention, he changed the subject. “How is Fleur? Have you ridden her?” he asked. Jenny smiled with delight.
“Every single day. That mare is a miracle. She will do literally anything I want her to. I think I’ll start training her in dressage. She’s almost there already.”
“I’m glad she meets with your approval. I had some misgivings.”
“Why ever?”
“Richard told me about your background and the blood horses your family owns.”
“Appaloosa is a recognized breed.”
“I’ve seen some downright ugly Appaloosas.”
“She certainly isn’t one of them.”
He looked down. “No. She isn’t. Then if you’re warmed up enough, may I have that dance?”
“I’m quite comfortable now. I’d be pleased.” At the water’s edge she rested her hand on his forearm while she slipped off her blade guards, then allowed him to balance against her shoulder while he did the same.
This time they did not dance but merely skated side by side, hands joined right to right and left to left. He was grateful for her understanding; his shoulder was aching, he was tired, and the only reason he had not already started for home—indeed, the reason he had come in the first place—was the sable-wrapped, chin-high enigma skating next to him. He knew he would do it again, given the chance.
And to his surprise, he was already planning to see her again.
Chapter Seven
The cold front ran into a raging blizzard that isolated Richard’s farmhouse for an entire week. Finally it blew itself into exhaustion, and Elk Gap dug out. Jenny had busied herself with sewing and learning to cook, and had even been pressed into a final proofreading of Milestones. It gratified her to no end that she discovered three typesetting errors.
The morning routine of the Weston household varied little. After she heard Richard stirring in his room, Mavis started the fire and made tea, and she and Jenny often enjoyed a chat before he showed his face downstairs. As a result, ten o’clock came before dishes were done and the day’s chores began. Since Toby cared for the animals, even to gathering eggs and milking the cows, and the laundress came weekly, wintertime brought a tangible paucity of work. Jenny helped Mavis out of a desire to keep busy rather than any necessity, and, on the morning that would prove to be the biggest turning point in her entire life, she had just returned the last of the tea mugs to the shelf when Mavis parted the curtains above the sink.
“It appears we have a visitor who’s in quite a rush,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Look. It’s Shane, riding at a dead gallop.” Jenny stood on tiptoe to peer over Mavis’s shoulder. Through the winter-bare orchard she glimpsed the big, white-stockinged gelding flying down the lane. Shane was riding like an Indian, up and forward in the saddle with his legs plastered against Midnight’s sides and the hood of his wolf parka blown back. He did not check his speed until he was up to the porch, where he bounced down before the horse stopped. The cold had reddened his face, and his hair lay every which way in wind-ruffled confusion. He flipped the reins around the porch rail and took one long-legged step over all three stairs. Jenny pulled the door open before he had a chance to knock and closed it behind him.
“I need to…use the telephone,” he gasped. “I have to…to call Angus MacBride. There’s been an accident at North Village.” He caught his breath forcibly.
“What happened?” Jenny’s calm question caught him off balance.
“A thirteen-year-old boy stepped in a leg-hold trap. It almost took his foot off, and when he realized he couldn’t get out and he’d lie there until he froze to death, he took out his hunting knife and finished the job, then tied his belt around his leg and crawled home. I’ve controlled the bleeding, but without
“The breeches are forgiving, but anything you get on a Red Serge shows.” Hoping to deflect her attention, he changed the subject. “How is Fleur? Have you ridden her?” he asked. Jenny smiled with delight.
“Every single day. That mare is a miracle. She will do literally anything I want her to. I think I’ll start training her in dressage. She’s almost there already.”
“I’m glad she meets with your approval. I had some misgivings.”
“Why ever?”
“Richard told me about your background and the blood horses your family owns.”
“Appaloosa is a recognized breed.”
“I’ve seen some downright ugly Appaloosas.”
“She certainly isn’t one of them.”
He looked down. “No. She isn’t. Then if you’re warmed up enough, may I have that dance?”
“I’m quite comfortable now. I’d be pleased.” At the water’s edge she rested her hand on his forearm while she slipped off her blade guards, then allowed him to balance against her shoulder while he did the same.
This time they did not dance but merely skated side by side, hands joined right to right and left to left. He was grateful for her understanding; his shoulder was aching, he was tired, and the only reason he had not already started for home—indeed, the reason he had come in the first place—was the sable-wrapped, chin-high enigma skating next to him. He knew he would do it again, given the chance.
And to his surprise, he was already planning to see her again.
Chapter Seven
The cold front ran into a raging blizzard that isolated Richard’s farmhouse for an entire week. Finally it blew itself into exhaustion, and Elk Gap dug out. Jenny had busied herself with sewing and learning to cook, and had even been pressed into a final proofreading of Milestones. It gratified her to no end that she discovered three typesetting errors.
The morning routine of the Weston household varied little. After she heard Richard stirring in his room, Mavis started the fire and made tea, and she and Jenny often enjoyed a chat before he showed his face downstairs. As a result, ten o’clock came before dishes were done and the day’s chores began. Since Toby cared for the animals, even to gathering eggs and milking the cows, and the laundress came weekly, wintertime brought a tangible paucity of work. Jenny helped Mavis out of a desire to keep busy rather than any necessity, and, on the morning that would prove to be the biggest turning point in her entire life, she had just returned the last of the tea mugs to the shelf when Mavis parted the curtains above the sink.
“It appears we have a visitor who’s in quite a rush,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Look. It’s Shane, riding at a dead gallop.” Jenny stood on tiptoe to peer over Mavis’s shoulder. Through the winter-bare orchard she glimpsed the big, white-stockinged gelding flying down the lane. Shane was riding like an Indian, up and forward in the saddle with his legs plastered against Midnight’s sides and the hood of his wolf parka blown back. He did not check his speed until he was up to the porch, where he bounced down before the horse stopped. The cold had reddened his face, and his hair lay every which way in wind-ruffled confusion. He flipped the reins around the porch rail and took one long-legged step over all three stairs. Jenny pulled the door open before he had a chance to knock and closed it behind him.
“I need to…use the telephone,” he gasped. “I have to…to call Angus MacBride. There’s been an accident at North Village.” He caught his breath forcibly.
“What happened?” Jenny’s calm question caught him off balance.
“A thirteen-year-old boy stepped in a leg-hold trap. It almost took his foot off, and when he realized he couldn’t get out and he’d lie there until he froze to death, he took out his hunting knife and finished the job, then tied his belt around his leg and crawled home. I’ve controlled the bleeding, but without
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