Fear Of Falling

CHAPTER FIVE

OLIVIA LOADED THE last of her chafing dishes, trays and plates into her van. Her mother had already taken home the first load of glassware, linens and dinnerware that Gina had rented from them.

Olivia had stayed behind to make sure they had cleaned everything thoroughly and that none of the dishes were left in any of the rooms. Partygoers were notorious for dropping silverware on the floor and kicking it under a skirted chair or sofa. Many times, she’d found wineglasses on bookshelves or windowsills. She also checked all the potted plants. It was amazing what could be found in the philodendrons. After more than a decade catering funerals, weddings and countless other functions, Olivia could spot a missing teaspoon from yards away.

Several guests were still lingering in the den playing cards, talking and using every excuse not to be alone with their sorrow. She refilled water and coffee cups for Maddie, Nate, Gabe and Liz. Liz yawned and put her head on Gabe’s shoulder. He slipped his arm around her and looked at Olivia. “I think I’ll put my girl to bed.”

“Are you driving home tonight?”

Liz opened her eyes. “We’re staying in Gabe’s old room for the weekend in case Gina needs us. Nate’s got surgery in the morning, and Maddie has to be at the café for the early customers. Grampa said he’ll drive back, though I worry about him at this time of night.”

“He’ll be okay,” Gabe assured her. “Maybe he should have a cup of that coffee,” he said to Olivia.

“Good idea,” Olivia replied, glancing over at Sam Crenshaw, who appeared very wide-awake and engrossed in a quiet conversation with Gina near the French doors to the terrace.

Olivia excused herself and carried the silver coffeepot and tray with cream and sugar over to them. “Would you like more coffee?” Olivia asked. “This is decaf, but I can get regular, Mr. Crenshaw. Gabe said you had to drive back.”

“I’m not at all tired.” Sam smiled. “The decaf is just fine.” He held out his cup and saucer for Olivia. “How have you been, Olivia?”

“Very well, sir. Especially now that spring is here. I can’t wait to get out to the lake.”

Gina looked from Sam to Olivia. “Why the lake?”

Sam touched Gina’s arm affectionately and allowed his hand to remain there, his thumb gently stroking her sleeve. It was a subtle gesture, but a telling one. What was going on between Sam and Gina? And did she want to know?

Sam followed Olivia’s gaze and he immediately withdrew his hand. He rushed to speak. “Olivia is a wonderful photographer. You should see her work sometime. And she and Liz are on a rowing team together. Isn’t that right, Olivia?”

Olivia’s eyes tracked back to Gina, who was waiting patiently for an answer to her question. “Uh, yes. Exactly. Sarah, Maddie, Liz, Isabelle and I have been sculling for years. We can hardly stand these long winters, waiting for the ice to melt. Although, I have to admit to spending a lot of time out there taking pictures in the past few months. Did either of you see the frozen fog? I’d never experienced that before. I had a one-hour window to capture it before the sun melted those fuzzy stalactites. They formed on everything—bushes, tree branches. My shots were amazing.” Olivia’s voice held more energy and excitement than she’d anticipated. That happened whenever she talked about her photography. Adrenaline surged through her. She would have been perfectly happy to put down the pot and tray, sit and talk to them till dawn about the photos she took—those visions of nature she’d seen while combing the edges of the winter lake. Bass swimming under thick, frosted plates of ice. She’d zoomed in on a squirrel burying nuts from the walnut trees around the Pine Tree Lodges. She had taken over two hundred shots of beavers building a dam, cutting wood with their razor-sharp teeth and flapping their flat tails in the canal that connected Lily Lake and Indian Lake. She had photos that showed geese against the full moon, lavender ribbons of dawn rippling over the chunks of icy lake water and a clouded winter sun struggling to make its presence known through a snowstorm.

But Olivia’s favorite subjects were animals. They were sweet souls that did not betray or bully unless they were hungry and on the prowl for food. That was the circle of life. That was survival. She understood that. Animals were peace and danger, calm and destruction, and they fascinated her. She strove to capture their essence in photographs though she knew it would be a lifelong, elusive effort.

She blinked, realizing Sam and Gina were staring at her strangely. “Um, anyway. I guess Liz won’t be doing much rowing this spring.”

“Don’t count her out. She told me that as soon as the doctor tells her she’s fit after the baby comes, she’ll be out there at the crack of dawn with you girls,” Sam said.

“I’m looking forward to that. You must be so excited about the baby.”

“We are!” Gina and Sam exclaimed in unison. They looked at each other and laughed.

Then just as suddenly, the smile on Gina’s face disappeared.

Olivia thought she knew why. “I’m sure Mr. Barzonni was looking forward to his first grandchild.”

Gina cleared her throat and rose. “I see you need more cream,” she said in flat, commanding tones that told Olivia not to object. “Let me help you.”

Gina took the little tray of sugar and creamer and headed for the kitchen. Sam’s eyes were glued to her. He shook himself then turned to Olivia with a crestfallen expression.

“I’ll be right back,” she told him.

Olivia found Gina with a carton of heavy cream in one hand, holding the refrigerator door open with the other.

“I’ll do it,” Olivia offered.

“Angelo didn’t sanction Gabe’s marriage to Liz, which you probably already know,” Gina began, handing her the carton. “You and your friends are all very close, aren’t you?”

“Like sisters. Closer maybe.” She shrugged. “I’m an only child, so I don’t actually know what it’s like to have siblings. My mom was always my best friend.”

Gina lifted her chin. “That’s how it is with Gabe and me. Best friends. Probably because he’s the oldest. I was thrilled about the baby. But Angelo—he carried his resentments around with him like the wallet in his back pocket. Always at hand. He was an unforgiving man in many ways.”

“But you loved him.”

“Oh, yes. That’s true. But I believe there are many kinds of love. Not all people are lucky enough to find true love. You know? Gabe and Liz. They have that. Maddie and Nate do, too. I can see the difference now that my sons are so happy.”

So that was it. The sparks that danced between Gina and Sam were romantic ones. Yet she was clearly grieving her husband deeply. Olivia had catered enough funerals to last a lifetime. She’d seen bizarre, out-of-character behavior at funerals that rivaled most reality shows. Death skewed human psyches like no other crisis.

She considered the cream. “Didn’t Mr. Crenshaw have a heart attack last fall?”

“He did,” Gina replied quietly. “It was a frightening time for Liz, as you must know.”

Olivia stepped around Gina and eased the refrigerator door wide-open. “Then maybe we should give him the fat-free half-and-half I saw in here earlier.”

Gina tilted her head and studied Olivia. “You’re observant. And thoughtful. Thank you for thinking of him like that.”

Olivia handed the cream to Gina. “He’s always meant the world to Liz. He’s a lovable man.”

“He is,” Gina replied, taking out a second cream pitcher. She glanced up at the digital clock on the microwave. “You’re about done here. Everything is cleaned up. I’ll write your check.”

“It’s okay. You can mail it.”

Gina smiled. “Would you mind doing me one last favor before you go, Olivia?”

“Not at all.” Olivia smiled. “Anything.”

Gina turned to the stove and picked up a foil-covered dinner plate. “I put this aside for Curt, but he didn’t have time to come up for supper.” Gina slipped a dish towel under the bottom of the plate.

“Curt?”

“Our horse trainer. He’s still down at the stables, and I don’t want him to leave without something to eat,” Gina said with a little shake to her head as she held the plate out to Olivia.

Olivia gulped back a lump of fear. Her eyes tracked over to the window, where she could see the lights still shining in the stable.

Olivia took the plate from Gina, hoping her hands wouldn’t shake the roast beef right off. She bit her lip; maybe physical pain would jolt her out of the memory of her father shoving wads of bills at the betting-cage teller.

“Just follow the paved bricks down there. I see that Rafe turned on the walk lights. I’d do it myself, but I—”

Olivia interrupted. “It’s no bother. Honestly, I’m happy to help.” She forced a smile.

“Oh, and when you’re down there, give a pet to my Pegasus for me, will you?” Gina put her hand to her cheek. “Silly of me. You’re not afraid of horses, are you?”

“Horses?” No, she wasn’t afraid of the most gorgeous creatures on earth. In fact, she adored them and had loved them all her life. It was the gambling they represented that she abhorred. “I like horses. They’re some of my favorite photography subjects.”

“Oh, my goodness. Then my Arabians will delight you and that talented eye of yours. My Pegasus is nearly pure white, though technically, she’s a gray. Pink skin. Blue eyes. A vision.”

“She sounds gorgeous. May I take a picture of her? I would be so grateful. I hardly ever get the chance to be around horses, though I went to Sarah Jensen’s dressage classes when we were kids.”

“You ride, then?”

“Oh, no. We couldn’t afford the lessons, but I took my little camera and photographed Sarah. The instructor always let me pet the horses and talk to them.” Olivia felt the rhapsody of those special times chime through her heart. She remembered country drives when she would cajole her mother to stop each time she saw a horse and let her take a picture. Even then, Olivia felt the conflict between loving the animals and despising the task they were forced to do. She wanted them to run free. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I—well, I just haven’t. I have my digital camera in my car...”

“Of course, dear. Just tell Curt that I said you could visit with Pegasus.”

Olivia thanked her, and Gina left the kitchen with the cream pitchers.

Olivia took off her chef’s coat and put on the black zip-up jacket she’d brought. All day she’d had her hair clipped 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.”

CHAPTER SIX

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. Who could forget those eyes?

She raised her arm and gestured toward the stalls. “Your mother told me it was okay for me to meet her horse and maybe take a few pictures. I didn’t see Curt or anyone else out here, so I sort of...introduced myself to all your horses.”

It was cute, the way she stumbled over her apology. She had a pert mouth with a full bottom lip that was naturally pink. No lipstick. In fact, he didn’t see much makeup at all on her. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment or being caught red-handed; he didn’t know which. He’d have to get his mother to corroborate her story later.

“I love horses,” she explained. “I’ve always thought they were God’s most majestic animal.”

“Don’t tell that to any cat lover,” he joked, shifting his weight. “So, you ride, then?”

“Your mother asked me the same thing. I don’t. But I was around horses a lot as a kid with my friend Sarah Jensen—Bosworth now—when we went to her dressage classes.” She lowered her gaze as if deep in thought. “There were other times I was around horses, too.” She paused for a long moment.

Rafe couldn’t imagine what was going on with her, but he noticed that her shoulders slumped and a frown plowed across her forehead. Whatever she was remembering, it wasn’t good.

“I’m not sure I’d be good at riding,” she continued.

“You just need instruction and practice,” he said brightly, hoping to lift her spirits. “You certainly don’t seem to be afraid of horses. For most people, that’s half the battle.”

“Afraid.” She said the word as if considering its meaning. “Not exactly.” She smiled at him, but it was forced. Her eyes were guarded; she was definitely holding something back.

His own curiosity surprised him. He wanted to know what that something was. Olivia was a total stranger to him, yet he was responding to her as if he’d known her for some time. Maybe it was their shared love of horses. Maybe his grief-torn heart just wanted a distraction from the reality of his father’s death. If he was guilty of using her to ease his pain, he didn’t care. At this moment he felt better. He felt as if he was breaking out of prison.

“Is it all right that I took a couple photos in here? I’m a photographer. An amateur. I mean, not professional by any means,” she equivocated.

He took in the expensive-looking Pentax camera suspended from a strap around her neck. “I don’t know anything about cameras. But I’m guessing you didn’t buy that at Walmart.”

Her ivory skin turned blotchy crimson-red. She touched the zoom lens daintily.

He didn’t know what trigger he’d just pulled, but something had hit home. He was fascinated.

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