Winning Heart. Laura Browning
for you, even if I don’t ride this weekend.” She glanced at her watch. “I should go. I have midterms coming up soon. It was nice to meet you, Miss Olivia.”
Olivia Rutledge laughed. “Oh, trust me, the pleasure was mine.”
Wynter sprinted back along the barn, afraid she would be late. It was a tough semester, with both accounting and economics courses. She hadn’t told anyone at Pheasant Run how many hours she took. If everything went according to plan, she would have her undergraduate degree in two, three years at the most.
She ran up the narrow stairs into the loft and turned to the entrance of the small apartment. It was an afterthought to the barn, but she was glad they had added it. Set up as a studio apartment, there was a small kitchenette with a table and two chairs, and a futon served as both couch and bed. No phone, no TV. It wouldn’t suit many people, but it was perfect for Wynter. She could study in the evenings uninterrupted. The faint sound of the horses in the barn below drifted up. The one drawback was the bathroom was the one downstairs off the tack room. She took to showering at night, so she avoided the risk of running into anyone.
After grabbing backpack and sneakers, Wynter ran back again and sprinted for the truck. It had been acting up but started without a hitch.
While she drove to campus, she thought again of Miss Olivia’s offer. Wynter wanted nothing more than to ride Rosie, but it would make a tough weekend. She had planned on asking Thomas to let her stay back at the farm to study. With two midterms Monday morning in Accounting and Political Science, she would have to find a way to get it done, if Nelson gave the okay. And just when had she started to think of him as Nelson?
Wynter fumbled for a cigarette while she drove. She’d seen the way Nelson had looked when he’d caught her smoking, but it wasn’t as if he were her dad—or anything else—a small voice inside her head taunted. She tried to deny it, but Nelson fascinated her like no one else ever had. She recalled his outburst beside the ring. Why would he worry?
* * * *
Nelson stood next to the ring every morning the rest of the week, watching, but saying nothing while Wynter rode Rosie. Thomas delighted in taunting him as he set the fences higher and made the combinations tighter and the turns more technical.
They were tougher courses than she’d ever ridden, but she sensed when she’d made a mistake. If there was no time to correct and jump safely, Wynter pulled Rosie up. She refused to damage the horse’s growing confidence.
It was Thursday morning, the day before they were to leave, and Nelson was once again standing watch at the side of the ring. Although he’d told Wynter it was all right to ride, she had sensed a worry deep inside him he couldn’t let go.
He seldom spoke all week, and this day had started the same. He scowled while he watched them warm-up, and his expression never lightened the entire time she rode. It was distracting, but Wynter tried hard to ignore him.
“That’s enough today,” Thomas called from the center of the ring. “Walk her out before you dismount.”
She nodded and loosened the strap on the helmet. Keeping her long braid tucked up inside it made her head hurt. She hadn’t dared mention to anybody that she owned nothing to wear, and nobody had said anything, so Wynter decided she would stop by a consignment tack store that afternoon. If she was lucky, she might be able to find everything she needed without putting too much of a dent into her computer fund.
When she passed Nelson, he stopped her. “Come get me in the office when you’ve finished. I have something for you.” He turned without another word and limped away.
Wynter stared after him. She missed the Nelson Anderson she’d first met, she realized. The man from that horse show in Raleigh. The man who had rubbed her palm with his thumb and told her not to cover her hair because it was lovely. This Nelson was abrupt and remote. Wynter gulped and turned Rosie away to continue walking around the ring.
It was almost a half hour later before she had finished untacking, grooming and settling Rosie back in her stall. She could have dumped the work off onto one of the grooms, but it didn’t feel right. Wynter wanted to get as close to Rosie as possible in the time remaining before the show, but the real truth was she tried to put off the meeting with Nelson. Her feet dragged when she headed toward the office. She pulled the sweater back on, but the rest of her was getting pretty scruffy. She glanced down at her favorite jeans. There were holes in both knees, and they were so worn on the thighs, she knew she should get rid of them soon. It would have to wait now. She couldn’t buy riding clothes and new jeans.
Wynter knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Thomas’s voice boomed from inside.
As always, Nelson was in the back corner on a computer. She wondered about that for a moment and then dismissed the thought.
“I’ve put Rosie back,” she said before turning her attention to Nelson. “Mr. Anderson, you asked me to come get you.”
He looked up from the computer screen he’d been studying. “Right. Just let me log off, and I’ll be right out.”
His mood seemed lighter than in quite some time. Wynter smiled and was relieved to see his face soften a bit. He never quite smiled, she thought, as she went out the door. During the months she’d worked here, Wynter had seen him smile a handful of times, but she remembered him laughing only one time—when she’d told him he wasn’t old.
She cocked a hip against the porch railing. A few minutes later, the door opened and Nelson came through. Automatically, she moved to help him shut it, but he waved her away.
“I can get it, Wynter,” he barked. “I’m not a complete cripple.”
She retreated, feeling stung. Something of what she felt must have shown. When Nelson turned, he paused as though he wanted to say something then decided against it. Wynter followed while he led the way down the steps to the back where the Rolls was parked. He popped the trunk with a remote key as they approached. When Wynter stopped beside him, she looked inside to see several boxes.
“These are for you, Wynter.” When she hesitated, Nelson urged, “Go on, open them.”
Her fingers shook. She saw the labels on a couple of the boxes. There were boots, breeches, a helmet, jacket, shirt and stock tie with a diamond studded pin nestled inside. She gaped at everything, stunned someone would do this for her. She felt her throat tighten. She would not cry. She would not.
“Well?” Nelson prompted.
Wynter couldn’t answer, couldn’t even look at him. Without thinking, she turned and buried her head against his shoulder. He staggered before she felt his arm circle her and pull her closer. Finally, in a choked whisper Wynter managed, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Nelson’s arm tightened, surprising her when he leaned his head against hers, cheek on her hair.
“You never ask for anything,” he murmured, “do you, Wynter? What were you planning to ride in?”
She rubbed a hand across her eyes but still stayed where she was in the circle of his left arm. “I found a consignment tack shop. I was going to check there after class today.”
Nelson cleared his throat, and Wynter stepped back, feeling uncomfortable.
“I saved enough money in my computer fund,” she rushed on, “so I figured I could spend that. I’ll be happy to pay you back,” she added with determination and trepidation. She’d seen the labels on everything, and they weren’t the economy brands.
Nelson slammed the trunk shut and glared. “It’s a gift, Wynter. Can’t you leave it at that?”
“No, damn it!” she shot back. “You’re all the time pushing money at me! I-I’m not used to it, and it makes me uncomfortable.”
Nelson raised a brow. “Oh? Then you’ll enjoy the next part for sure. I need you at the house at five. My tailor and a friend who specializes in fitting boots will be at the house to make