Summer Nights (Fool's Gold #8)(89)

Then it didn’t matter because Annabelle was walking toward him and she was all he could see. She wore jeans and boots, and a T-shirt that teased “Research This!” She was all curves and sex appeal. A thinking man’s perfect 10.

Except the smile he adored was missing and her eyes were sad. She looked as if she’d lost a part of herself, as if something precious had been stolen. Pain twisted in his belly when he realized he was the thief in question.

“I want to run through the steps one more time,” she told him. “Charlie will be with me, so you don’t have to stay.”

A dismissal, which he deserved, he told himself. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Are you feeling well enough to ride?”

She shrugged. “I’m still sore, but it’s not bad. I saw my doctor yesterday and she cleared me to practice and ride in the parade. We do everything at a walk, so that’s safe. I’ll hang on with both hands for the big finish. It’s fine. Khatar would never hurt me.”

The last words were spoken with a defiant lift of her chin.

“I know he wouldn’t,” he told her, then glanced past her to where Charlie stood guard. “Can I talk to you later?”

“Sure. Maybe after the parade.”

He wanted to tell her he was sorry he’d hurt her, but knew the words were feeble and insulting. Not meaning to hurt her didn’t make the pain any better.

Khatar came trotting around the barn. Shane wasn’t even surprised.

“I’ll get him saddled,” he said.

“That’s okay. Charlie can do it. Khatar likes her, too.”

Then Annabelle deliberately turned her back on him and walked to the horse. Shane watched her go and knew that he’d just lost something important. Something he could never replace.

Not knowing what else to do, he started for the house. As he walked up the stairs to the back porch, Clay stepped out of the house.

“Is Annabelle here?” his brother asked. “She called and wanted to know if I could practice with her. For the ceremony on Saturday.”

Clay kept talking, but Shane was too busy charging him to listen. He bent at the waist and slammed his shoulder hard into his brother’s midsection. Momentum drove them back.

Shane straightened, already swinging. Clay dodged both fists, slapping Shane’s arm away when he got too close. Shane knew his brother was holding back and it pissed him off.

“Fight back,” he demanded.

“Not happening. You do remember I’ve been studying martial arts for ten years, right? If I hit you, I’m going to break something.”

“Cheap talk,” Shane growled.

Without warning, Clay’s booted left foot shoved against Shane’s middle. The power of the push had Shane falling to the porch and sliding a few feet backward. Before he could figure out what was happening, Clay was on top of him, one fist lightly pressing against his chest, the other threatening to cut off air at his throat.

“Want to see the black belt?” Clay asked coolly.

Shane was still busy trying to get air into his lungs from the kick. Clay drew back, grabbed a hand and pulled Shane into a sitting position. Then he dropped down to the porch and stared at his brother.

“You’re not mad at me,” Clay said. “You’re mad at yourself. Because you’re a jackass.”

Shane concentrated on breathing. It was easier than facing the truth.

“She cares about you,” Clay continued. “We can all see it. What’s stopping you? Rachel? How long are you going to let her keep winning?”

His brother’s words sank in. Shane knew he was right about everything. It was easier to worry that Annabelle was like his ex-wife than to face the truth.

That he’d fallen in love with her and that scared the hell out of him.

“I’ve screwed up everything.” Shane stared at his brother. “What if I’ve lost her?”

“You haven’t lost her.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. She obviously cares about you, although for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. That’s not going to change overnight. But you’re going to have to figure out a way to convince her you’re worth a second chance. I haven’t got a clue on that one.”

Shane thought about Annabelle, how she made him laugh and how he looked forward to being with her. He thought of all he knew about her and what was most important to her. It wasn’t a matter of convincing, he realized. Love wasn’t about words, it was about actions.

“I know how,” he said. “But I’m going to need your help.”

* * *

THE MORNING OF THE FESTIVAL dawned warm and clear. Perfect weather, guaranteeing big crowds. Good news, Annabelle told herself as she secured the circle of flowers in her hair. Plenty of money would be raised today. Hopefully enough to cover the purchase price of the bookmobile along with the cost of all the books and supplies. Anything left over would go toward the little things like gas, insurance and, hey, paying a driver.

Problems for another day, she told herself. She shook her head a couple of times to make sure the flowers would stay in place as Khatar rose on his rear legs, then pulled on the white Máa-zib-inspired dress she would wear.

The full skirt would keep her covered as she rode astride. She was supposed to be barefoot, which was easy enough. She was also supposed to look fierce, or at the very least happy. Neither of which seemed very likely.