A Kiss in the Morning Mist Read online

  “Theo, I’d like to see those two run.”

  She turned toward Simon, affectionately called Colonel by those in the group, as he gestured to Castor and Pollux racing each other along the fence line in one of the other paddocks. Echo, in the same enclosure, did not join in their rambunctious race, preferring to munch on the sweet grass instead, though she did lift her head to watch the display.

  The twins were neck and neck as they splashed through the small stream bisecting the large space, sprinted along the back fence, and then circled back to the gate. They nickered and huffed, perhaps daring each other to race again, before doing just that. One could tell they ran simply for the joy of it. “Against each other or separately?”

  The man grinned, revealing white teeth and a dimple. “Separately, I think. Wouldn’t want sibling rivalry to up the ante even though being twins, they intrigue me. I love their spirit and their speed.” He pushed blond hair away from his forehead with his fingertips, his grin widening as if he could already picture the races they’d win and the prize money filling his bank account. A shrewd businessman, she’d met him when Pumpkin first started racing many years ago. He knew a good thing when he saw it . . . and often bet on Pumpkin winning. He never lost.

  “Of course.”

  She took a step or two toward the stable but stopped when she saw Marianne heading toward her, a silver coffee service in her hands. A few moments later, the woman slid the tray onto the table. “Thought you’d all like some fresh coffee.”

  “Thank you, Marianne. You must have read my mind.”

  Marianne wiped her hands on her apron, then stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the table. “I have a pitcher of lemonade, too. I’ll bring that out as well as some kuchen. It’s still warm from the oven.”

  Again, Theo thanked her, grateful Marianne thought of people’s stomachs and not just horses like she did. “On your way back to the house, would you stop in the stable and ask Eamon to come out here with the saddle? He’ll know which one I’m talking about. And if you wouldn’t mind, have Wynn or Lou bring me my starter pistol.”

  Marianne gave a slight nod and rushed toward the stable in her usual quick, no-nonsense gait as Theo picked up the pot and began to pour for those who wanted coffee.

  She didn’t know what made her turn and look at that precise moment. Perhaps it was the subtle change in the air, or Sylvia’s hmmm of appreciation as Eamon stepped out of the stable, the small saddle in his hand. Theo’s heart started to race nearly as fast as Castor and Pollux in the paddock. He passed Circe, Electra, and Galatea, each heavy with the foals they waited to drop, in the corrals closest to the stable, then sauntered up the grassy path in his loose-hipped swagger, cowboy hat pulled low to shield his eyes.

  “Theo.”

  Shoulders back, he wore a red shirt that stretched across his massive chest, straining the buttons holding it closed. She inhaled as she imagined those buttons popping, one by one, and his shirt flapping open to reveal what lay beneath.

  “Theo!”

  She jumped, startled. Peeling her gaze away from Eamon, she glanced at Sylvia, then the cup. Coffee filled the thin china cup nearly to the brim. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

  Sylvia, a woman who fought hard for what she had and was now used to getting what she wanted, raised an eyebrow over one of her dark brown eyes. “Hmmm, and I know exactly what you were gathering wool about.” She showed her risqué side when she licked her lips and added, “He’s absolutely delicious. I wouldn’t mind having a taste of him. Or two. Or three.”

  She liked Sylvia, she really did, but the woman’s actions and comments made Theo want to take the coffee and dump it in her lap. Or dunk her in the swimming hole and let the cold water cool her down.

  “Is he taken?”

  Without a second to think about it, she answered, “Yes. He’s taken.”

  The woman chuckled, then winked. “That’s my girl,” she murmured, then lowered her voice a little more. “You gotta grab what you can out of life, and he’s certainly worth grabbing.”

  A quick retort built in her throat, but then the subject of their short conversation approached the table and smiled that grin that made her feel like she’d run too far too fast, and whatever was on the tip of her tongue simply disappeared.

  Eamon hefted the saddle as if it weighed nothing, but didn’t hand it over to her. “You wanted this?”

  Sweet mercy, how she wanted him!

  “Y-yes, th-thank you.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed that she stammered. “Would you bring Castor and Pollux to the track?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” With a slight nod, he headed for the paddock and gave a few short, concise whistles. Castor and Pollux stopped their rambunctious play and trotted toward the gate while Echo remained in the middle of the field.

  Beside her, Sylvia chuckled again. “Oh, dear girl, you have got it bad.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Theo said, a little irritated by Sylvia’s apparent amusement at her expense.

  “Don’t you?”

  Heat rose to her face as she became aware of all eyes on her—not only Sylvia’s, but the men’s as well. Even Hart had stopped talking and looked from her to Eamon, then back to her, questions dancing in his eyes.

  Theo didn’t say another word. What could she say anyway? Sylvia told the truth. She couldn’t deny it. The evidence colored her face as Eamon saddled Castor and tightened the cinches, then led the three-year-old horse to the track, Pollux trotting along behind his brother.

  To a person, her guests rose from their seats and traversed the short distance, pulling stopwatches from their pockets as they settled themselves against the fence railing to watch. Theo followed a moment later, her knees already weak, not from the thought of riding, but because Eamon turned and granted her that heavenly smile once more. If they were alone, if no one else was about, she would have, at that moment, fallen into his arms and let nature—and her own desires—take their course.

  But they weren’t alone. Her guests were there, watching, waiting. As was he, his head tilted just a bit, his smoky-gray gaze roaming over her face.

  “Are you ready?”

  Theo swallowed the dryness in her throat, but her voice came out much hoarser than she intended. “Yes.”

  He threaded his fingers together to form a step, ignoring the tree stump she had always previously used. Theo grabbed the pommel with one hand and rested her other hand on his broad shoulder to steady herself as she placed her foot in his hands, and he lifted her into the saddle with an ease that caused her to draw in her breath. Her gaze came to rest upon his eyes, which caught and held her attention. Despite his grin, there was a sadness lurking within their gray depths. Theo waited for him to say something—anything—then the sadness was forgotten as his big hands lingered a moment longer than necessary on her leg after he fitted her boot into the stirrup.

  “Here’s the starter pistol.” Breathless from his run from the house to the track, Lou handed the carved box to Eamon. The cowboy of her dreams tipped his hat, then sauntered to the end of the track, and she watched, unable to tear her eyes away from his perfect backside. He turned to face her, then raised the pistol over his head.

  Theo forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Not doing so could endanger the horse, herself, or someone else. She exhaled, then hunkered down, gripped the reins tighter in her hands, and whispered, “Show ’em what you got, Castor.”

  The shot rang out. Birds flew from the surrounding trees, and Castor exploded from the starting line as she had trained him to do. His hooves pounded the track and sent clods of grass and dirt into the air as he extended his stride to eat up the distance between starting line and finish. The ride was nothing less than exhilarating, made more so by the smile on Eamon’s face at the end where he waited.

  They crossed the finish line in record time, or so Theo thought. Truly, it felt like Castor’s fastest time ever. On the sidelines, her guests compared their stopwatches.

/>   Eamon lifted her from the saddle, his hands around her waist, and a rush of heat zinged through her veins—whether from the race or from his touch, it didn’t matter. He released her, and she grabbed for the fence railing to try to regain her balance. She had to settle this, do something about these feelings he stirred within her before she made a complete fool of herself over him.

  She’d better do it soon, too. Just watching him remove the saddle from Castor’s back left her heart thundering as much as racing the horse had. And why were her knees weak and her palms sweaty? She’d never experienced that before. Never. She wasn’t some green girl in the midst of her first love. She was a mature woman who had experienced life, the good and the bad . . . but she remembered what it was like to be loved, to be held and caressed—

  “If I were you, my girl,” Sylvia sidled up beside her and hooked her arm with hers, interrupting her thoughts, but somehow, thinking the same thing, “I’d grab that with both hands . . . and not let go.”

  Theo allowed herself to fall into step with Sylvia as they followed Eamon to the other end of the racetrack, where he saddled Pollux . . . and waited for her.

  She repeated the whole process with Pollux, although how, she couldn’t begin to know. Like his brother, though, the horse needed nothing more than her encouragement in his ear and crossed the finish line in less time than Castor. Once again, Eamon helped her from the saddle, her body almost sliding against his as he lowered her to the ground. If they had been alone, she would have . . .

  What would she have done? Kissed him? Most certainly. Lead him away from the paddocks to a secluded place where sunlight dappled the soft, green grass beneath her feet, then make passionate love to him? Yes, she could do that as well. And she should. Sooner rather than later, because just the thought of feeling his hard body against hers caused a blush to heat not only her face, but her entire body.

  She turned slightly, lest she do something she shouldn’t in front of her guests, and caught Hart watching them intently as Eamon released her. He took a step forward, his mouth open, then backed off when Simon grasped her hand and pumped it, his grip firm with his enthusiasm. “Draw up the papers, Theo. I’ll take them both.”

  Chapter 12

  It was the first quiet moment since the horse breeders descended on Morning Mist. Theo had made arrangements with Giselle at the White Palace Hotel—her guests would have dinner, see a play at the opera house, and then stay the night in town. And the family would have a moment of peace and quiet. Grateful for the reprieve, Theo sank onto a bale of hay with a long sigh and leaned against the railings of the stall where she’d just put Scottish Lass for the night. The horse, brushed and fed—and hopefully, already breeding—stretched her neck over the rail and nuzzled the top of her head as well as her cheek.

  “I’m so glad they’re all gone for the evening,” she said as she took off her soft kid gloves and laid them to the side, then reached up to smooth her fingers along Scottish Lass’s face. She’d already sent Wynn, Lou, and Quincy into the house for the night, all of them exhausted, which left just herself and Eamon in the stable. “I do love this, but there are times when it’s just too much. I’m tired.”

  She stretched the kinks from her tense muscles, then bent one leg, and brought her foot up to rest on the hay. Her chin rested on her knee as her gaze drifted to Eamon. He should have been worn out, but he wasn’t. At least, he didn’t seem to be. He brushed Daphne with the same amount of enthusiasm he always did, the muscles in his back and shoulders bunching and relaxing with his movements, mesmerizing her. His dark hair, visible beneath the brim of his hat, curled at the collar of his shirt.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d just watched him, nor would it likely be the last. She had to admit, watching him had become a pleasurable pastime, though sometimes, it felt like torture to look, but not touch. Even when she was in the company of the others, she found herself looking for him, searching for his familiar cowboy hat among the other men and always, when she spotted the black crown encircled with a band of hammered silver, her heart would flutter in her chest.

  And her plans to seduce him? She could never seem to find the right moment. Or if the moment presented itself, she backed away, afraid and unsure.

  But maybe . . .

  He straightened as if he felt her gaze on him and turned slightly. That smile she looked forward to seeing appeared, stretching the mustache on his upper lip, and butterflies danced in her stomach. She patted the bale of hay. “Come. Sit beside me and rest for a minute.”

  He didn’t move, not until Daphne nudged him forward. Theo suppressed the urge to chuckle. The horse deserved another treat.

  He closed the gate and walked across the aisle slowly, as if suddenly realizing they were alone. All alone. The last time they were alone, he had kissed her. Was he remembering that? Did the touch of her lips against his linger in his mind as it did in hers? Did he want to kiss her again? She wouldn’t mind. Not one bit. And if she were anything less than a coward when it came to him, she wouldn’t wait . . . she’d grab him and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

  She patted the bale of hay beside her again. Eamon sat as far away from her as possible, his back rigid, both feet firmly on the ground. He removed his hat and laid it down between them as if it were a barrier neither one of them could break.

  “Relax, Eamon. I’m not going to bite you.”

  He glanced at her. Such naked emotion showed on his face, Theo sucked in her breath. In that brief moment, his expression said that maybe he wished she would bite him . . . as well as do other things. If there was ever a time to follow through on her desires, now would be it.

  And yet, she couldn’t. Still the coward, she forced her mind to think of something else . . . anything else. He never talked much about himself. Direct questions usually received a nod or a short answer so that wouldn’t do, but she had noticed a change in him over the past few days. He’d become more quiet than usual.

  After a few moments of silence where the only sounds were the shuffling of horses’ hooves against straw and her own breathing, Theo blurted out, “I didn’t have a home that didn’t move until Henry built the house for me.”

  “A home that didn’t move? I don’t understand.”

  “The playhouse the children play in? Where you had your tea party?”

  A flush colored his face and the sheepish grin curving his lips made her heart thump a little wilder, but he made no comment.

  “By the way, thank you for taking the time to play along with the girls. I appreciate that more than you know.”

  If possible, his face turned a bit redder. “I couldn’t resist Gabby’s invitation.”

  Theo laughed, finally feeling a little less conscious of his presence. “She is a force to be reckoned with. Not many people can say no to her.”

  “No, they can’t. Believe me, I tried.”

  If she were a braver woman, she would, at that moment, just grab him and press her lips to his. Instead, she continued talking, forcing her eyes away from his definitely kissable mouth. “I . . . uh . . . I was telling you about the gypsy wagon. It wasn’t always a playhouse for the children. At one time, it had wheels. I had them removed, but I was born in that. My father traveled from horse farm to horse farm, looking for work, and I went with him.”

  “Where was your mother?”

  “She died giving birth to my brother when I was three. My brother passed with her. I don’t remember what she looked like, but I do remember her voice. It was sweet and pure, and she sang me lullabies. Sometimes, if I close my eyes and the world is silent, I can still hear her singing to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She continued as if she hadn’t heard him, the loss too far in her past now. “We never stayed in one place very long. Papa had . . . Papa . . . drank. Oh, he was wonderful with the horses, and I always knew he loved me, but he missed my mother very much.” She looked at him. “Eventually, Papa’s drinking would get in the way, and he’d have
to find a new job.” She pulled a piece of straw from the bale and started breaking it into little pieces. “I was fifteen when Papa got a job at Turning Leaf Farms. That’s where I met Granny. She was gray-haired even then.”

  “Where you met Granny?”

  Theo laughed at the expression on his face. “You thought she and I were related? That she’s my grandmother?”

  “Well, yes. You call her Granny.”

  “We all call her Granny, even you, but no, we’re not related by blood, just by love. Papa and I had pulled around to the back of the house at the farm, but the horses were a little frisky that day and Papa . . . well, Papa wasn’t exactly paying attention. We almost ran right through the vegetable garden, and we would have if I hadn’t grabbed the reins. I brought the wagon under control and looked over to the back door, hoping no one had seen what happened, but things didn’t turn out as I wished. The door flew open, and this tall, thin woman with glorious gray hair twisted into a loose topknot rushed out of the kitchen. She was brandishing a wooden spoon, and I thought for certain she was going to take me to task for nearly riding through her garden.” She laughed, recalling the look on Granny’s face, then sobered. “It was the strangest thing, Eamon. She’d stopped before she reached the wagon and just stared at me . . . for the longest time. I was so embarrassed. I knew what I looked like. Short hair that had been cut willy-nilly by my own hand and stood up in all directions no matter how many times I brushed it. Hand-me-down clothes that were too big and never seemed to get clean. She narrowed her eyes at me—you know that look I’m talking about—and lowered the spoon as she came closer. I was still afraid she’d swat me, but she didn’t. The expression that came over her face . . . it was love, Eamon. And kindness. And acceptance. I felt it . . . like a hand caressing my cheek. For a girl like me, that was like . . . I can’t even tell you.” She brought her attention back to him, then reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry, I’m boring you.”