Fear of Falling (7 page)

As she continued to gaze up at him, he found himself swimming in her brown eyes. He had no idea what was the matter with him, but he couldn't talk. He could only stare.

“Thanks again, Rafe,” she said and walked out the door.

“Bye, Olivia.”

As she turned, her camera flashed in the moonlight.

“Olivia,” he called.

“Yes?”

He walked toward her. “Those photos you took. They're just for you, right?”

“Yeah. Just for me.”

“Good.” He smiled at her. “Enjoy them.” He gave her a little two-fingered salute.

“I will. Thanks.”

Impulsively, Rafe bent and kissed her cheek. Her skin was smooth and cool like fine marble, but soft as down. He closed his eyes. If he lingered, he could get addicted to this bliss.

“Bye,” she whispered and walked into the shadows.

As she disappeared from his sight, Rafe felt lost again.

What was he doing? He should go after her. Walk her to her car. Maybe he could hold the door for her. Hold her. Maybe kiss her again. Really kiss her.

Rowan sauntered up and nudged him, pushing Rafe against the door. The handle slipped out of his hand and the door slammed shut.

Rafe turned around, hand on his hip. “So that's the way it is, huh? You like her, too?”

Rowan's head shot up and he whinnied.

Rafe burst out laughing. He patted Rowan's neck and led him back to his stall. “Come on, boy. I need to close up this stable.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

O
LIVIA
PULLED
HER
van into her spot in the old carriage-house-turned-garage. All the lights in the main house were off, which meant Mrs. Osborn, her landlady, had gone to bed.

Olivia let herself into her apartment, dumped her purse on the little round table in her kitchen and turned on the light. Her camera still hung around her neck. Olivia often had to remind herself to remove the camera when she was at work or going into a store. It was like an extra limb, an appendage that brought her artistry into being.

Carefully, she slipped the strap off and set the camera next to her purse.

Next, she filled a glass of water from the antique faucet and watered the potted herb garden she'd been growing all winter in the large kitchen window. On Sunday she'd take her seedlings out to the raised garden she'd had Luke Bosworth build for her last summer and plant the herbs she and her mother would use in their special dishes all summer long. Picking up the rosemary bush and smelling its pungent leaves made her smile. Olivia loved rosemary, sage and mint, and often boiled them to fill her rooms with natural fragrance.

Olivia rubbed a few leaves between her fingers and then washed her hands with lavender soap to remove the horse smell.

She lifted her palms to her nose. There was still a trace of Rowan. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was Rafe. She pictured his arctic-blue eyes, flashing with a fire so fierce and compelling that it took her breath away.

When she'd seen him in Gina's kitchen, she'd thought he was good-looking. But between chatting with him at dinner and their moment in the stable, something had changed. She felt drawn to him like a magnet to steel. And she couldn't get him out of her mind.

She slumped down on the wrought-iron antique ice cream chair beside the table and dropped her head into her hands. “Just how big a fool did I make of myself?”

When he'd found her in his stable and she was making friends with his horse...how had that looked, really? Like she was trespassing?

Even now, embarrassment flamed her cheeks. She'd been trying to get just the right light on Rowan as he “posed” for her in the back of his stall. She must have looked ridiculous.

He probably saw my butt hanging over the gate, hair swirling all over my face... I was acting like a complete idiot.

“That must have been attractive,” she moaned sarcastically. Not that it mattered. She'd never date a gambler, anyway. She probably wouldn't even see him again. He'd said he rarely came to town, rarely did anything for fun....

Her breath clung to her ribs.

The baby shower. She'd see Rafe again at Gabe and Liz's baby shower.

She was filled with anticipation. And dread. She wanted to see him in the worst way, but she also hoped they would never cross paths. Somehow, meeting Rafe had unearthed the most painful parts of her past. Suddenly, she was sharing her every move with the shadow of the terrified child she'd once been. She remembered hearing her mother's sobs late at night, when there wasn't enough money for food or their rent was late. She despised the mean kids at school who had mocked her because her clothes came from the Goodwill and she'd outgrown her shoes. She didn't go to ballet or camp. She didn't join the Girl Scouts because the uniforms were too expensive. All because of her father's addiction to gambling.

Gambling had destroyed Olivia's young life. It had damaged her mother so greatly that Julia had never wanted to remarry. Julia didn't trust anyone, and she'd taught Olivia to operate in the same manner. They depended on each other. No others were allowed into their little circle.

There were thin scabs over Olivia's childhood wounds, and Rafe's presence was opening them up. He was more dangerous than any man Olivia could have conjured.

Rafe had been so quiet coming into the stable and she'd been so immersed in the friendship she was building with Rowan that a siren could have gone off and she wouldn't have noticed. It had always been that way with her and animals. Olivia couldn't go for a walk down Maple Boulevard without everyone's dog rushing up to her and begging for a pet as if they were long-lost friends. Her mother said it was because she was an only child and she didn't have enough human family or friends; according to Julia, animals were drawn to Olivia's lonely heart. Olivia wondered if Rafe had seen that her heart was lonely. Was his? Or was he content with his life with his horses, his family and the farm?

Underlying all her speculations was the sense that he was dangerous. Not to others, but to her. And he always would be.

Olivia rose and walked down the hall to her bedroom, switching on the two bedside lamps she'd bought at a garage sale. She'd remade the lamp shades using a red-and-white French toile and then rimmed the bottom edges with dangling red and crystal beads she'd found at a fabric store in Indianapolis. It had taken her two years to talk her landlady into letting her paint the walls deep raspberry-red, but she needed a dramatic backdrop for her photographs. Her best work from the past two years hung in black lacquered frames, but already she knew she'd improved from when she'd printed them.

Olivia had also sewn the red-and-white toile bedspread, Roman shades, pillow shams and dust ruffle on her double bed several years ago. She loved the pastoral depictions of country maids and gentlemen riding horses.

As she looked at the toile, her eyes zeroed in on a horse-riding scene. Rafe's face floated into her mind.

What was it with this guy?

There was some kind of connection between them. Olivia knew he'd felt it, too. The kiss he'd placed on her cheek had said it all.

Olivia flopped back on her bed and stared at the ceiling fan. “Rafe. Raphael. That's an angel's name,” she mused. She hoped the angels were helping him now with his grief; no matter how silly she'd looked to him or what they'd shared tonight, Rafe was going to have a lot to deal with in the days and weeks to come.

Olivia had never been through a family death. Her mother's parents were still alive and her paternal grandparents had died before she was born. Her aunts, uncles and cousins were all alive and well.

But her father had left her.

Death was final, but abandonment offered the double-edged promise that things could change. The person could come back.

Olivia knew death was inevitable; she'd have to deal with it one day. But she would never let anyone abandon her again.

That was why she couldn't even
think
about getting closer to Rafe. His love of horse racing made him far too much like her father. Although, if she was honest with herself, it wasn't just that superficial similarity that scared her. She hadn't seen any signs that he was a gambling addict. But Rafe was the kind of man who could mesmerize her and charm her and eventually, she was the one who would slide into addiction. She was her father's daughter, after all. Hadn't it been proven that the predisposition for addiction was genetic? If she was smart, she'd keep her distance. Play it safe. She imagined a band of caution tape marking the line she dared not cross.

She touched her cheek. She could still feel the zing that had gone through her when his lips had caressed her there.

Something had happened in that stable tonight. Something...magical. Life-changing. But what exactly was it?

She threw her forearm over her eyes to help her concentrate, but she couldn't figure it out. Her emotions had pinged all over the place from her initial reactions to Rowan to her last impression of Rafe.

“Hmm. Rowan,” she mumbled, pushing herself up onto her elbows. She looked over at her computer, which sat on an old cherrywood table she'd bought from Hazel Martin after her husband died. She wanted to upload her photos right away so she could revisit that enchanting moment in the stable.

Scooting off the bed, she went to the kitchen and retrieved her camera. Back in her room, she sat on a small walnut chair—also from Hazel's collection—and connected her camera to her laptop.

She clicked through shots of Rocky's imperious gaze, of Misty and Merlot. When her first shot of Rowan came up, she sat back with a gasp.

Rowan's eyes reached out to her from the screen as if he were in the room with her.

Goose bumps scampered across her arms, down her back and straight to her toes. This was no ordinary horse.

Her mother always told her not to ignore reactions like this. There were times when destiny came to call, Julia often said. Her mother was a strong believer in fate.

Olivia indulged her mother, but had never really taken her seriously on this topic. Yet something about this moment—this whole night—brought her mother's words to mind.

Olivia glanced around the room, and her chills intensified. Hanging on her walls were at least ten black-and-white shots of horses. There were horses in her drapes and bedspread. And now there was Rowan staring back at her from the computer screen.

She opened up her email and typed in Sarah's address. It was only right that she share this auspicious moment with her best friend.

Sarah,

I want to thank you for including me all those years ago when you went to dressage class. I know now that my love of horses came from those days. Tonight I met Rafe Barzonni's horse, Rowan, who is the most special animal I've had the honor to encounter. I just wanted to thank you. I'm including the shot I took of him so you can see how magnificent he is. See you soon.

Love, Olivia.

She attached the photo and pressed Send.

Olivia finished uploading the rest of her photos, then she yawned and stretched. She turned off the computer, went to the bathroom and took a hot shower.

Wearing blue plaid flannel pajamas—the old house was notoriously chilly until well into May—she climbed into bed.

Her last thoughts before sleep were not of Rowan, but of Rafe.

CHAPTER EIGHT

R
AFE
WIPED
HIS
sweaty face with the blue bandanna he had tied to the tractor's steering column. He'd been plowing fields since dawn and had only taken a half hour break for lunch. He was a bit surprised that his arms and shoulders ached as much as they did, but considering he hadn't been all that physically active this past winter, he should have guessed that spring plowing and planting would take a toll.

He took a long slug of water and then squirted some on his face. The sun had stayed out all day and warmed the spring air to nearly seventy degrees. Rafe was dealing with the upper slopes where they would plant soybeans this year while Mica plowed the flat fields for tomatoes.

Rafe finished the last row and then turned the tractor around and headed toward the barn. He was driving the old orange Allis Chalmers tractor his father had bought in 1979 before any of the boys were born. Rafe had oiled it, cleaned the engine and checked the tires himself. When he'd announced his intention to use it this season, Mica had laughed at him. Rafe had ignored his brother as he changed the spark plugs and put in a new battery. It had taken him twice as long as it should have because his hands were shaking.

Then Mica had touched his shoulder. “Sorry, man. I understand. You do whatever you want.” Mica had slapped his shoulder again, walked over to the new John Deere tractor he preferred and started the engine. “I'll see you back here for lunch.”

Rafe had waved then continued working on his father's old tractor. Once the spark plugs were connected, he'd climbed up into the seat, turned the key and smiled as the engine roared to life. Rafe had heaved a deep breath. His old man's tractor was going to plow a field or two once again.

Rafe had pressed his lips together to keep from releasing the sob that was perpetually stuck in his throat. Then he'd pushed the stick shift into gear, and the tractor leaped forward out the open barn door.

Now, at the end of the day, Rafe's heart was lighter. Hard work helped to ease his grief. As he drove back to the barn, he couldn't help but think how out of character it was for him to be so sentimental. Until his father's death, his life had been about the present and his plans for the future. For him to spend an entire day plowing on his dad's rusty old tractor would have been unheard-of a few months ago.

For the first time ever, Rafe didn't want to think about tomorrow or next week. He wished he could go back. Not far back, but just far enough so he could tell Angelo one more time that he loved him; maybe push a little bit harder on his chest and revive him, like he'd done with the tractor. New spark plugs. Maybe that was all Angelo had needed.

“Stop kidding yourself, Rafe.” He drove the tractor into the barn and turned off the engine. He banged his fist against the steering wheel. “He's gone. Gone!” he yelled. “And he's not coming back,” he whispered, lowering his head onto the steering wheel.

A rumbling engine approached, and Mica pulled the John Deere into the space next to Rafe.

“Hey, buddy. You okay?” Mica asked, jumping down from his upholstered seat.

Rafe lifted his head and stared at his brother. “Sure. Yeah. Fine.”

“No, you're not. I understand, Rafe. But we're all in this together. You're not the only one hurting. I miss him, too.”

Rafe climbed down from the tractor and hugged his brother. “You're right.” He released him. “How are you handling it?”

“About the same as you. I cry when I think nobody's watching.” Mica tried to smile but failed. His eyes, the same clear blue as Rafe's, swept across the barn. “Nothing will be the same. I just hope we can keep the farm going. It won't be easy....”

“What are you thinking?”

“That we hire some help. I talked to Joe Ames over at the Grange meeting last night. His farm is west of ours. Well, he sold out last fall—you remember that, right? He and his son moved north of the Crenshaw vineyard, but now that it's spring, they're looking for work.”

“It makes a lot of sense, Mica. They know the land around here, so they'd be familiar with the quirks of our fields. The rainfall, the soil makeup, the high winds we can get.”

“They know it all. Their farm was quite successful until Joe's wife got sick. He told me it was worth every penny because she's fine now.”

“Thank God for that,” Rafe said.

Mica put his arm around Rafe's shoulder. “We have to keep the farm going top speed, Rafe.”

“I never said we shouldn't.”

“I know, but I can tell how much you'd like to spend all your time with Rowan and Curt.” He glanced toward the stable as they left the barn. “Dad sure would be proud if you put a trophy up on the mantel.”

“He would,” Rafe replied, his voice weighted with sadness. “I think about it all the time. How happy he was about Rowan making that turn and beating his time. He was so excited it brought on his heart attack.”

“Rafe. You and Rowan had nothing to do with Dad's death. It was his time. Frankly, I was shocked he made it through Christmas.”

“What?”

“Dad tried to hide how bad off he was, but I saw it. He couldn't make it up the stairs to bed most nights. He had to stop halfway to catch his breath. He pushed himself constantly. He was so stubborn. He wouldn't see the doctor, and he sure as heck wouldn't do anything Nate told him to do. It was that Barzonni defiance, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. No matter what it was, he always wanted to do it his way and no other.”

“Thank God I'm not like that,” Mica said, taking out his cell phone.

“Who says?” Rafe teased. He pointed at the phone. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Mom to see how long till supper and if she needs help with it. You should go visit your horse.” Mica paused as Gina answered. “Hey, Mom. How's supper coming? Can I help? Sure... No, we're not in any hurry. Rafe's gonna ride Rowan for a bit. I'll be up in a minute.” He tapped the screen to end the call.

“Give Rowan my regards,” Mica said, grinning. His phone buzzed with a text and Rafe took the moment to saunter away toward the stable.

His heart lifted. He couldn't believe he actually had time for a ride.

He had almost reached the stable when his brother raced up to him, calling his name. Rafe turned around.

“I think you should see this,” Mica said, waving his phone.

“What is it?”

“Scott Abbott sent me this link to his Facebook page. Seems some photograph of Rowan just went viral.”

* * *

R
AFE
BURNED
WITH
anger as he wheeled his truck into the empty parking space in front of the Indian Lake Deli. The umbrellas were closed and the outside chairs had been put away for the night. He noticed the tables were chained to the two trees out front.

He frowned. Despite his anger, he didn't like the idea that any Indian Lake businessperson had to chain their equipment up, but it made sense. Criminals were everywhere.

He should know. He'd come here to confront a thief.

The sign on the front door read Closed, but the deli was unlocked. Rafe let himself in. Most of the lights in the dining section had been turned off, but the kitchen and grill area were brightly lit.

He saw Olivia behind the counter, sweeping the floor. She was whistling along to the music on the CD player as she bent down with the dustpan.

Rafe leaned over the front counter, watching her use a hand brush to get every grain of dirt and stray parsley leaf. He placed his palms on the butcher block, wondering when she'd notice him.

When she straightened up, her eyes went wide and she nearly screamed.

“I locked that door!”

“Apparently not,” he said.

“I didn't hear you come in. Quiet as always,” she said. “And since you've never stepped foot in our deli before, you must want something.” She folded her arms across her chest and met him glare for glare. “Not a Reuben sandwich, I'm guessing.”

He was restless and jittery as he held up his cell phone to show her the Facebook post of Rowan. “You want to explain to me what you think you're doing? I specifically asked you not to share your photographs of my horse with anyone. You lied to me. You told me no one would see them. They were for your personal enjoyment. Remember?”

“I don't understand,” she said, reaching for the phone.

He snatched it back. “No, you don't.”

“What is that?”

“My brother tells me Rowan has gone viral. He's being Tweeted all over the country. Facebook. Instagram. Pinterest. I don't use any of those sites, Olivia. So, you tell me how this happened.”

She shook her head. “I didn't do this...” she started to say and then slapped her palm over her open mouth. “Oh, no. It was Sarah.”

“Oh, so Sarah's in on this, too?”

“I mean, I sent the photo to Sarah when I got home from your place. I was just thanking her for introducing me to horses all those years ago. I was so excited about meeting Rowan that I guess I got carried away. I'm so sorry, Rafe.”

“You should be! Do you have any idea the problem you've caused?”

“This is all my fault, I know.”

“You're right about that!” He shouted so loudly that Olivia jumped.

“I said I'm sorry, Rafe. But this is a simple misunderstanding. I don't understand how my photograph could hurt you.”

He swiped his palm over his face, making his frustration clear to her. “Rowan is very special to my father and me. We both knew the moment we saw him that with the right training, we might have a winner. Rowan was my father's dream. I intend to give my dad that win—no matter what.” He exhaled so heavily, the stack of napkins next to the register fluttered. “The damage has been done.”

“Rowan is special, Rafe. I saw that, too. But what damage are you talking about? I'm sorry I disrespected your wishes, but how is this a bad thing? I want to know so I can help make it up to you.”

“My dad and I were hoping to enter him in trial races for the Kentucky Derby. I didn't want any kind of publicity or news about him coming out until I was ready. He still needs training and experience. He's not as lean as he could be. Not as muscular as he will be after Curt and I get through with him. On the day he makes his debut, I want to set the judges and reporters on their ear. I want him to be the best he can possibly be.”

* * *

O
LIVIA
FELT
WRETCHED
.
She'd promised Rafe she wouldn't share her shots of Rowan, but in her excitement she hadn't thought about the consequences. Then again, she'd never have expected Sarah to post her photo. On the other hand, Sarah, Maddie and Liz were some of her most dedicated and enthusiastic supporters when it came to her photography. Over the years, they'd done everything from featuring her collection at charity auctions to hosting a gallery show in downtown Indian Lake to putting her in touch with the editor of the
Chicago Tribune
. None of it had helped Olivia's career. The
Tribune
wasn't hiring photographers. The gallery showing only sold two photographs, and the charity auction didn't reach the kind of people who could advance her quest. Still, she appreciated her friends' dedication.

And as bad as she felt, Olivia had to admit that Sarah's mistake could be the biggest boost her photography career had ever had.
Her
photo had gone viral? What were people seeing in it that was any different than the hundreds of thousands of shots of horses out there? She herself had identified
something ethereal and exceptional about Rowan. Racing potential aside, maybe it was that magical quality that Rafe wanted to keep for himself.

Olivia knew she deserved every bit of his anger. If someone had posted one of her private photographs, she would have been livid. But she wasn't sure she bought his argument about publicity.

“Rafe, most of the people who saw these posts aren't horse people or race lovers. They're just people. Moms. Dads. Friends. I think you're getting worked up about something that may not impact you at all.”

He looked as if he wanted to chop her head off. “I don't like it, Olivia! This horse was important to my dad.”

There
, she thought. So this was about his grief. If she was ever going to be his friend, it should start today. “Rafe,” she said gently. “Rowan is magnificent already. A photo won't take that away.”

“He can be better,” Rafe retorted sharply. “Look, I can't expect a—a caterer—to understand what I've spent a lifetime learning. Rowan isn't just a horse. He's a champion. He has incredible genes.”

“I believe that,” she said, choosing to ignore his condescension.

“Good. Great. Then you'll control your urge to try to make yourself seem special to your girlfriends by using my horse.”

Okay, that was it. Olivia put her hands on her hips and marched around the bakery case and right up to Rafe. “Look, you bonehead, I did nothing of the kind.” She tilted her head back to glare at him. “Coming here to insult me doesn't get that post off social media. It doesn't help your horse win a race. What it does is tell me you chose me to be angry at today. Bingo! I'm the winner. I'm truly sorry that your dad died, but that doesn't give you the right to come into my restaurant and bawl me out for something unintentional. It was stupid—I'll give you that. And I can promise you it won't happen again. Ever.”

Olivia stepped back. She had a crick in her neck from how close she'd been standing. It was the first time she realized how tall he was. “Now, please leave.”

“Fine.” He stomped away. Just as he reached the door, he swiveled around. “You're right. I am angry about my dad. And I did take it out on you. That wasn't fair. I'm sorry for that. Goodbye, Olivia.”