Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,40

she was indicating. “I’m building a stall.” He turned an accusing glare on the horse. “She keeps to her space fine when I’m here, but as soon as I leave, she likes to wander. I’m fashioning a stall to put her in while I’m gone to get water or gather firewood.”

Her throat clogged with a hard rock of emotion as she nodded. She’d seen Jonas briefly a few hours earlier. How could she miss them as much as she did?

“We couldn’t talk much earlier. Did you ride today?” Jonas leaned against the wall, plate of food in hand. It was difficult to eat with gentlemanly manners while standing in a collapsing building, but he was trying.

“Yes, I rode today.” She’d done well enough not to embarrass herself, but was it good enough to win? She was terrified that everything would be over in a week and all this effort would have been in vain.

“Soph.”

She ran a hand through Rhiannon’s mane. “Yes?”

“How did it go?”

“We went fast, and I didn’t fall off.”

“Given those are the objectives, I’d say you did well, then.” He shrugged. “Better than going slow and landing in the mud, anyway.”

Sophia gave the horse one last pat before moving to the other side of the cottage to collect her own plate. Two broken chairs were piled in the corner, but a third sat at the table. She gave it a test before lowering herself onto it.

“Did we do the right thing, Jonas?”

He watched her for a moment before setting his empty plate down and nudging her portion closer to her. Then he picked up the hoof-pick and crossed to one of the wooden support beams. He dug the tip into the wood. “Unless you’ve come up with a way to undo the days, that’s a useless question.” He paused in his efforts and looked at her. “And if you had such a power, I’d like to think you’d have used it to keep Prancer from ever stepping on that loose ground and sliding into the ravine.”

Sophia contemplated throwing her bread at the bothersome man, but she wouldn’t waste food. How could he joke about that? Fresh pain stabbed through her chest at the memory of those horrible moments. The screams the pounding rain could not drown out. Jonas lying in the mud where his horse had thrown him before tumbling down the side of the ravine. The pain on his face as he tried to stand and go to his horse.

She set her bread gently on the plate. It would be several moments before she could swallow anything. “I thought we didn’t discuss how things could have been.”

“Sorry, Soph,” Jonas said with a shrug and a smile that said he was apologetic, but not completely. “You started it.” He turned back to the beam and dug at it once more with the pick.

He had a point. He always had a point. Brothers were infuriating.

She rose and crossed the room to look over his shoulder as the fading evening sunlight streamed through a windowless hole in the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Engraving Rhiannon.” He gave her a quick grin. “She’s by far the most picturesque subject in this place.”

Despite the roughness of the wood and the crudeness of the tool, the lines of the majestic horse could be seen in the beam. Jonas shifted his grip to the end of the pick and made a series of tiny movements to create the mane. “I’ve always been curious about how they make the etchings in the magazines. I’ve been practicing carving away the extra instead of the picture itself.”

“It’s lovely.” Sophia meant it, truly she did, but was he saying he wanted to work as an artist? If Jonas wasn’t working with her, was there any chance of her dreams of training horses and riders coming true? No matter what she’d told Mr. Whitworth about making a name for herself, she knew that no one would actually hire her. On her own, the best she could hope for would be the chance to teach a few ladies here and there. She’d never re-create the glory that had been her father’s riding school. If there was a man they could appear to hire, though, she had a chance.

Jonas looked up at the partial roof of his temporary abode. “Maybe I can indulge in a few art supplies after we take care of attaining a real roof. Until then”—he shrugged—“I’ll practice.”

“At least you’ll leave the place looking better than when you found