Fear Of Falling. Catherine Lanigan
up on top of her head. It kept her long, thick locks out of the way, but the tight twist always gave her a slight headache by the end of the day. When she pulled out the clip, the release was instantaneous. She shook her hair out and let it fall down her back as she massaged her scalp.
“That’s better. Freedom,” Olivia said to herself as she slipped out the back door and headed for her van. Her camera was in its case on the floor of the passenger side. The rest of the van was stuffed with catering utensils and serving pieces. There was only room for her to drive.
She checked her lens and looped the wide black strap around her neck, pulling her hair out from under it.
The single door to the stable was unlocked, so Olivia turned the knob and stepped inside. “Hello? Curt?” she said as she shut the door behind her. It was considerably warmer in here than it was outside. She was surprised at how roomy the structure was. To her left were a tack room and a meeting room of some kind, with dark, wood-paneled walls, green carpet, several red plaid wing chairs with matching footstools, a brown leather sofa and a large plasma screen television. There was also a roll-top desk and shelves filled with books and framed photographs.
“Hello?” Olivia continued walking down the corridor between the horse stalls. “Gina sent you some dinner.”
At the sound of her voice, four horses came to the edge of their stalls and stuck their heads out over the closed half doors. Olivia put the plate down on a small table and moved toward them, smiling.
To her right was a midnight-black Arabian with a braided mane. He had a thick neck and wider chest than the chestnut horse in the stall next to him. Olivia placed her hand on the Arabian’s neck and said, “Aren’t you a handsome thing?” Then she noticed the nameplate on his stall. Rocky.
Olivia smiled. “I’ll bet you’re a real fighter, Rocky. The Italian stallion, huh?”
The horse neighed as if answering her question. He snorted and then backed away from her and went about eating his dinner.
Olivia clicked off several shots of Rocky, then she moved down to the chestnut horse, Merlot. Next was the bay, Misty.
She took photographs of all three before spinning around to see the strikingly beautiful, all-white Pegasus. “You do look like you thundered down from the heavens, don’t you, girl?”
Olivia clicked a dozen pictures of Pegasus before she moved back up the line to Rowan’s stall. Unlike the others, he had not displayed curiosity over hearing a stranger’s voice when she entered the stable. He’d hung back and was standing in the shadows of his stall.
She leaned over the gate and peered at him. “Whose horse are you?”
Rowan stood very still, his brown eyes assessing her, weighing her intentions with each word she spoke.
“You’re quite the cautious one. I like that. You want to be sure before you make your move. I don’t blame you. I’ve always thought it was wise to take my time. Size up the situation. And the opponent.” She lifted her camera to her face. “Except that I’m not the enemy.”
The second she peered through the viewfinder, framed him in what was to become her photograph, her breath caught in her lungs. Chills swept across her skin. She lowered the camera with stiff arms, too stunned to talk. He was magnificent.
Rowan lifted his snout a few inches and cocked it at an angle, giving her an imperious gaze. Haughty and self-assured, he sauntered toward her.
He was sleek and muscular, with eyes that were wise, intelligent and held no quarter for fools. Rowan had waited for her to move toward him first. He didn’t seek her out just because she was human. He’d waited for her like a king awaits an audience with his subjects.
His eyes never wavered from her face as he slowly approached her. This was different from those moments in the wild when animals would pause to stare at her. She wasn’t a curiosity to him. She wasn’t just being observed. It was as if they were connecting on some deeper level.
Friends.
The single word skittered across Olivia’s brain.
“I’ll be your friend,” she said aloud.
He hitched up his head.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered. Then she picked up her camera.
Olivia’s finger clicked off a dozen shots so fast she knew she’d caught his every breath. He swished his tail and pressed his snout against her camera as if daring her to put it away.
She lowered the camera and without another thought, she put her arms around his neck and hugged him. Feeling her cheek against his throat, she was amazed at the emotions racing through her. “I meant what I said. I want to be your friend.”
RAFE WAS STILL HOLDING the Indian Lake horse race brochure when he left the barn. He’d promised Curt he would close down the stable and lock up so the trainer could go straight to bed.
Rafe had just opened the stable door when he heard someone speaking.
He couldn’t make out what was said, but it was definitely a woman’s voice that lilted through his ears. It was a sweet sound, and it floated toward him like a lullaby. Then he heard the woman say Rowan’s name with esteem and playfulness. He didn’t understand. His mother, Liz and Maddie were all up at the house, and no other women knew his horse. And this voice was totally unfamiliar to him.
He inched forward, curious about the intruder.
Then he saw her. Her head was turned away from him, a waterfall of lush brown hair falling down her back, glistening with gold-and-red highlights. She was standing on her tiptoes, leaning far enough over the gate to Rowan’s stall that he wondered if she knew she was in danger of falling right in.
He rushed up, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back.
“Careful there!” he exclaimed as she tried to kick free of his grasp.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought you were going to fall,” he said. She straightened up and yanked the waistband of her jacket into place, but not before he saw a band of creamy skin.
“I can take care of myself! And I certainly wasn’t about to fall into a horse stall. I’m not stupid,” she snapped.
Where was that musical voice he’d heard a minute ago? Was there someone else in his stable he didn’t know about?
He fought a smile. He didn’t know who she was, but her brown eyes blazed at him as if he was the one off base here. He lifted his palms apologetically. “Hey, I just wanted to help.”
She snorted.
“I’m Rafe, by the way.” He kept staring at her. She was familiar, but that gloomy fog in his brain refused to dissipate.
The woman gave him a strange look. “Your mom wanted me to bring supper down here for Curt,” she said slowly, pointing behind him to the table. He glanced back, and sure enough, there was a plate of food covered in foil.
Then it hit him. “The cookie girl!”
“Pardon me?”
“Macarons. Or whatever they’re called. You’re the woman my mother hired.”
“Olivia,” she said. He could swear her tone held disappointment.
He grabbed her hand and shook it. “I knew I recognized you.”
“Um...you did?” She was staring at him as if he was nuts. Which he probably was at the moment. He hadn’t carried on a coherent conversation with anyone since his father died. “What I meant was that I didn’t know who you were when I first walked in here, but yes, I remember you now.”
Those eyes.