Satin Princess(43)

She finds my eyes and smiles. “You read my mind.”

The branching pathway to the stables is flat and Jessa is wearing a pair of low-heeled boots. Still, I stick close in case she needs help. Every tiny falter has me reaching out towards her. Though maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to run my hands across her skin, bury them in the roots of her hair.

I force myself to shove them in my pockets instead.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“So much better,” she says. “But I think that has more to do with getting out of the hotel.”

“And here I splurged for luxury.”

She chuckles. “I’m not knocking it. I just needed a change of scenery. This will definitely do.”

I think about asking her what she and Yulian discussed on the drive over here, but I decide to leave that alone. If they discussed me, she’s certainly not going to cop to it. And I don’t want her to think I care.

Though the mere fact that I’m even thinking about it proves otherwise.

“How many horses do they have here?” Jessa asks as we step into the stables.

The smell of dirt and manure and fresh hay is thick in the air, but it’s still refreshing in a weird way. Maybe we both needed a change of pace.

“I’m told fourteen at the moment,” I tell her. “But two mares are pregnant, so that number will grow soon.”

“No way.” She looks around and points out a black horse. “That one there? Is she one of the pregnant ones?”

“I think that’s a stallion.”

“How can you tell?” she asks, turning to me with her nose wrinkled.

I snort. “I’m no expert, but the big swinging dick is a bit of a giveaway.”

She turns back to the stallion and finally sees what I’m seeing. Her face goes beet red. I can’t help chuckling at her reaction.

“Come on,” I say, gesturing to her to follow me down.

As we pass, the horses poke their noses out of their stalls and neigh with interest. Jessa rushes to each one and pets them in turn. She strokes their noses and whispers sweet nothings in their ears.

I have no idea what she’s saying, but it doesn’t really matter in the end. I just like watching her with them.

She’s a natural. Each horse seems as riveted with her as she seems to be with them. We get to the end of the stalls and Jessa’s eyes light up.

“This one,” she says with confidence. “She’s one of the pregnant mares.”

I check the name underneath the stall. “Satin Princess.”

“What?”

“Her name,” I say, pointing to the nameplate.

“That’s such a pretty name.” She turns to the horse, placing one hand under her head and the other on her nose. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

This time, I pay attention to what she’s saying to the creature.

“I hear you’re pregnant,” Jessa whispers. “Me, too. Feels a little strange, huh? But it’s nice. Like you’re special all of a sudden.”

That makes me frown. Is she implying that she wasn’t special before?

“Want some hay, pretty girl?” she asks, grabbing a fistful from the bale next to Satin’s stall. She holds it up, underneath the horse’s mouth and the animal plucks it up between its teeth carefully.

“I can bring you back one day,” I tell her. “When you’re up to riding.”

“Seriously?” she asks, turning to me.

“I don’t see why not.”

“That would be amazing!”

She looks like a little kid who’s been told that Christmas has come early.

“But I could maybe try riding one of them today?” she asks cautiously. She knows before the words have even left her lips that I’ll allow that over my cold, dead body.

I narrow my eyes. “No. There’s more for you to see anyway. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the owners.”

She falls into step beside me as we exit the stables. Two figures are meandering across the lawn towards us. We meet them halfway across the expanse of green.

“Jessa, this is Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer,” I say. “Our hosts.”

Margaret’s eyes sweep over Jessa the same way they swept over me when I first arrived here. As if they see everything that’s there to be seen. She’s a sharp one, no doubt about that.

“Hello, dear,” she says, extending her hand out to shake. “Please call me Margaret. And this is my Thomas.”

“Hello,” Jessa says. “Your horses are wonderful.”

“Aren’t they?” Margaret gestures to her husband. “I have to give my husband the credit. He oversees the horses. I’m usually puttering about in my garden.”

“What do you grow?”

“I like to dabble in a bit of everything,” Margaret says proudly. “When possible, anything that’s cooked here at the manor is plucked right from our own gardens.”

“That’s amazing. Is there a greenhouse for the cold season or do you dry and pickle things for the winter?”

“Are you a gardener, too?” Margaret asks.

“Well, I’m a chef,” Jessa explains.

“You don’t say,” Thomas says, looking impressed. “How wonderful.”