hat and handed Finn the reins. “You should have checked the shoes when you tacked him up.”
“Sorry, Miss.” The groom picked up a heavy towel and began drying the horse’s flank. “It was careless of me, sure enough. It won’t happen again.”
Celia nodded. “All right then. Please see that he is ready to ride again at ten on Thursday.”
“I will.” Finn plucked another towel off a stack. “Looks like you could use this.”
She squeezed water from her hair and blotted her face, keeping an eye on the groom as he removed Zeus’s tack and filled the water trough. Finn fished a key from his pocket. “This opens the grandstand office. You might want to go in there and dry off, wait out the storm.”
Sutton appeared, beads of water dripping from his hair. She handed him the towel and the key.
“We look like a pair of drowned rats,” he said. “Do you suppose Finn left any coffee in the office?”
They hurried along the grandstand to the office, a small, plain room fitted with a desk and chair, a bookshelf, and a filing cabinet. A single window afforded a watery view of the track. Sutton started to close the door.
“Please leave it open,” Celia said quickly.
“Oh yes, I remember. Of course.” Leaving the door ajar, Sutton pulled out the chair for her, and then perched on the corner of the desk while she related the story of the thrown bottle, shivering more from the memory of the danger to her horse than from the dampness.
“If I hadn’t turned Zeus when I did, he might have fallen and snapped a leg. Why would anyone want to hurt him?”
“It was probably some thoughtless child making mischief. It’s what children do—make decisions before they’re old enough to understand the consequences.”
She looked up, surprised by the edge in his voice. “You’re talking about that night at the Screven’s Ferry Landing.”
He nodded. “A couple of men rowed over yesterday to ask about working for me. They mentioned they’d been hunting over that direction—and I was reminded of that night yet again. Even after all these years, I still feel guilty for what I did.”
Celia frowned. “That was a long time ago. We were just children, Sutton. There was no way you could know about—”
“No, but my father taught me to be better than that.” He shrugged. “The only good thing that came out of that night was meeting you.”
She smiled at the memory. “I wonder if our tree is still there.”
“One of these days we should go look for it.” He released a gusty sigh and peered out the window. Rain pattered on the roof. “Celia, what would you say if I told you that I’ve come to a decision? That I’ve changed my mind?”
She felt the blood drain from her face, felt her body folding in upon itself.
“Miss Celia?” Joseph loomed in the doorway holding a huge umbrella. “Your daddy’s worried ’bout you being out in this storm. I’ve come to take you home.”
Celia looked up at Sutton, her heart hammering. “You’ve changed your mind?”
“We can’t talk now.” He clasped both her hands. “May I call on you tomorrow?”
“Of course. But—”
“I’ll be there at ten sharp.”
There was nothing to do but to follow Joseph to the waiting carriage.
Overnight the weather turned chilly. Celia rose to the sound of a fire crackling merrily in the grate and the smell of Mrs. Maguire’s soda bread wafting up the stairs. She dressed carefully in a salmon-colored silk dress, pinned up her hair, and went down to breakfast. Her father had already left; his empty coffee cup still sat at his place at the table along with a copy of the Daily Morning News .
Ivy looked up from her plate of eggs. “Good morning, Cousin. Did you sleep well?”
Celia sighed and slipped into her chair just as Mrs. Maguire appeared with another plate and the coffee pot.
“Here you go, my girl.” Mrs. Maguire studied Celia over her spectacles. “You’re looking pale as rain this morn. I hope you’re not
“Sorry, Miss.” The groom picked up a heavy towel and began drying the horse’s flank. “It was careless of me, sure enough. It won’t happen again.”
Celia nodded. “All right then. Please see that he is ready to ride again at ten on Thursday.”
“I will.” Finn plucked another towel off a stack. “Looks like you could use this.”
She squeezed water from her hair and blotted her face, keeping an eye on the groom as he removed Zeus’s tack and filled the water trough. Finn fished a key from his pocket. “This opens the grandstand office. You might want to go in there and dry off, wait out the storm.”
Sutton appeared, beads of water dripping from his hair. She handed him the towel and the key.
“We look like a pair of drowned rats,” he said. “Do you suppose Finn left any coffee in the office?”
They hurried along the grandstand to the office, a small, plain room fitted with a desk and chair, a bookshelf, and a filing cabinet. A single window afforded a watery view of the track. Sutton started to close the door.
“Please leave it open,” Celia said quickly.
“Oh yes, I remember. Of course.” Leaving the door ajar, Sutton pulled out the chair for her, and then perched on the corner of the desk while she related the story of the thrown bottle, shivering more from the memory of the danger to her horse than from the dampness.
“If I hadn’t turned Zeus when I did, he might have fallen and snapped a leg. Why would anyone want to hurt him?”
“It was probably some thoughtless child making mischief. It’s what children do—make decisions before they’re old enough to understand the consequences.”
She looked up, surprised by the edge in his voice. “You’re talking about that night at the Screven’s Ferry Landing.”
He nodded. “A couple of men rowed over yesterday to ask about working for me. They mentioned they’d been hunting over that direction—and I was reminded of that night yet again. Even after all these years, I still feel guilty for what I did.”
Celia frowned. “That was a long time ago. We were just children, Sutton. There was no way you could know about—”
“No, but my father taught me to be better than that.” He shrugged. “The only good thing that came out of that night was meeting you.”
She smiled at the memory. “I wonder if our tree is still there.”
“One of these days we should go look for it.” He released a gusty sigh and peered out the window. Rain pattered on the roof. “Celia, what would you say if I told you that I’ve come to a decision? That I’ve changed my mind?”
She felt the blood drain from her face, felt her body folding in upon itself.
“Miss Celia?” Joseph loomed in the doorway holding a huge umbrella. “Your daddy’s worried ’bout you being out in this storm. I’ve come to take you home.”
Celia looked up at Sutton, her heart hammering. “You’ve changed your mind?”
“We can’t talk now.” He clasped both her hands. “May I call on you tomorrow?”
“Of course. But—”
“I’ll be there at ten sharp.”
There was nothing to do but to follow Joseph to the waiting carriage.
Overnight the weather turned chilly. Celia rose to the sound of a fire crackling merrily in the grate and the smell of Mrs. Maguire’s soda bread wafting up the stairs. She dressed carefully in a salmon-colored silk dress, pinned up her hair, and went down to breakfast. Her father had already left; his empty coffee cup still sat at his place at the table along with a copy of the Daily Morning News .
Ivy looked up from her plate of eggs. “Good morning, Cousin. Did you sleep well?”
Celia sighed and slipped into her chair just as Mrs. Maguire appeared with another plate and the coffee pot.
“Here you go, my girl.” Mrs. Maguire studied Celia over her spectacles. “You’re looking pale as rain this morn. I hope you’re not
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