Gingham Bride - By Jillian Hart Page 0,73
wanted and she would feel the wind whipping through her hair.
“You are as bad as the gelding.” Ian’s hands closed over hers. “You will have to slow him down or we will never make the turn.”
“You’re afraid I am going to crash your sled.” She rather liked that his arms were around her, and she leaned into the curve of his chest. Never had she felt so safe and comforted. Nothing in her life had ever been like this. She was utterly secure and gently cherished.
This cannot be love, she told herself firmly. Sure, it was a great deal more than friendship, but she wasn’t the kind of girl who lost her heart.
“I’m afraid you are going to tumble us into the ditch.” He was laughing. “While you probably think that is nothing less than I deserve, that’s how I broke my leg in the first place.”
“In a sleigh accident?”
“No, going too fast. In a race.” He tensed, every muscle, every tendon. Tightness snapped in his jaw. “You haven’t been so wrong about me. I was once a desperate man.”
It was hard to believe he would do something wrong. “What happened?”
“After selling off parcels of our land, I couldn’t stand to do the same with our last quarter-section. Raising and training horses is an expensive endeavor, especially when a false rumor made my last customers panic. Owners pulled their thoroughbreds from my training stable, and I was left with bills I couldn’t pay. That had been my hope to restore the family name—training winners for other men so I could bankroll the training of our champions.”
“It was a gamble.” She saw the cost. The wince of pain, and the weight of his failure. “You lost because of someone’s cruel words about you?”
“Worse than that, afterward I took a bet. I know the Lord frowns on such things, but I didn’t want to have to explain to my grandmother she would have to leave her home. The house Grandfather had built for her was filled with all the memories of their life together. So I bet the rest of my land, and all but a dozen horses, that I could win a cross-country race. Not a legal race, mind you, on the track. But a private one through the low country, dangerous to man and beast. It was funded by wealthy men. The chance to win so much money was something I could not turn down.”
“You would have lost your family home anyway.”
“That was my reasoning. My justification to do what I knew was wrong. But the lure of winning a fine amount of money was enough to make me saddle my best stallion and ride.”
“And you fell?”
“The horse landed wrong on a jump over a fallen tree. He broke two legs and had to be put down. The cost of my foolishness.” He pulled away, withdrawing his arm from her shoulders. Maybe it was because the sled had come to a stop. He studied the horizon, where the first blaze of sunset stained the encroaching clouds. “I splinted my leg, carved a pair of crutches and pressured men I knew for a job. I cleaned stalls day and night.”
“On an injured leg?”
“I could not lie abed. Nana was ill, there were enough doctor bills without my adding to them. So I did what I had to do. I kept a roof over my grandmother’s head and her needs met.” He cleared his throat, battling something she could not see.
Flannigan nickered, tossing his head for attention, reminding her she held the reins still. They had reached the barn, she realized, but she could not move. Ian felt distant, as if he were miles away instead of beside her. She wanted to reach out to him, but she stayed motionless on the seat. “A lot of men would not have stayed in the first place. They would have fled their responsibilities.”
He said nothing more, although his throat worked, as if he had more to say. He swept off his hat, knocking snow from the brim, but he could not hide his trembling. From cold, from the failure dogging him, perhaps from something more she could not see.
“Come on.” He climbed out of the sled. “Flannigan isn’t happy standing. It’s too cold, and he’s worked up a lather.”
Fiona wasn’t fooled. Whatever Ian’s faults and the mistakes he had made, he had done them for the greatest reason of all—love. Respect filled her, slow and sweet and endlessly deep.
He lifted the blanket away from