Page 135 of Men in Shorts

“Pish.”

“It’s true.” He reached out and touched Colin’s shoulder. “You never stopped beingmon lion.”

Colin gave a skeptical grunt. Then, after a long, silent moment, he added, “Roar.”

* * *

A quarter of an hour later,Andrew and Colin were ensconced in the back of a London cab heading toward their hotel. The adrenaline had finally left Andrew’s body, leaving him feeling like a wrung-out sponge.

“I can’t stop thinking about Elizabeth,” he said, watching the lights of Covent Garden shops and restaurants stream past. “I did this to her.”

“Jeremy did this to her,” Colin said with a growl. “To all of us.”

“But he wouldn’t have felt compelled to contain me if I’d not been such a drama queen.” He twisted the handle of hisFelicity in the Rawswag bag. “Or if I’d never been born.”

Colin said nothing for a long moment. Then he spread the fingers of his left hand and touched the littlest one. “See how this yin’s a wee bit bent?” He held up his right hand for comparison.

Andrew squinted at Colin’s left pinky, which was slightly bowed out relative to the ring finger. “What happened?”

“I hurt it playing football about two years ago. Ran into the goal post trying to score a header. Thought it was just jammed or sprained, but it kept swelling up, so finally I went to the doctor and he said it was fractured.”

“How long did it take to heal?”

“Nearly six weeks,” Colin said. “I needed physiotherapy just to be able to—well, do anything, especially since I’m left-handed. My physio told me that without the pinky, a hand loses fifty percent of its strength.” He took Andrew’s right hand and traced a line down the outside of his wrist and forearm. “See, that finger’s attached to all these muscles that help close the hand and all.”

A lump formed in Andrew’s throat. “Right,” he said with a slight cough.

“Plus the pinky sits out here on the edge with no protection. That makes it the most vulnerable to injury.” Colin linked his bent pinky with Andrew’s straight one. “Pure unfair, when you think about how important it is.”

Andrew pulled in a deep, slow, steady breath, but it came out shaky. “You had a doctor and a physiotherapist. So what you’re saying is, it took a whole team of people to fix it.”

“Aye,” Colin said without looking up. “But now it’s fine. Does everything I need it to do.” He took Andrew’s hand and clasped it tight. “See?”

“Yes.” Andrew laid his head on Colin’s shoulder, and though they were four hundred miles from their cocoon of a flat, he felt entirely at home. “I do see.”

Chapter13

Friday afternoon,Andrew steered his Tesla roadster into the parking area near the Dunleven Castle stables, mindful of the drifts formed by last night’s snowstorm. His sister’s gray Range Rover was already there.

He found Lady Elizabeth inside the warm barn, looking sullen in her long wool coat and riding habit. “Timothy says there’s too much snow for us to ride,” she said. “What do we pay him for if not to do as we ask?”

“We pay him to look after the horses.” Andrew gave her a quick air-kiss to the cheek. “Which includes protecting them from our bad judgment.”

He shared his sister’s disappointment, however. It had been weeks since he’d been on a horse, and he’d leapt at Elizabeth’s suggestion they ride together.

A whinny sounded from the far end of the stable, followed by a slam of iron upon wood.

Elizabeth jolted, then grimaced. “Your mistress awaits. Timothy said she needs time on the lunge. Getting fat, I imagine.”

“She prefers ‘pleasantly plump,’ thank you.” Andrew hurried down the well-lit central corridor until he neared Gretchen’s stall. “Who’s my wee princess?” he sang. She neighed on cue.

“At least she knows one trick.” Elizabeth followed at a distance—a prudent choice, as she and Gretchen had been enemies since the day the Shetland pony had arrived nearly fifteen years ago.

Andrew leaned on the stall door and scratched Gretchen’s rump—which she always displayed to him before her face—taking care to avoid the maze of scaly black scars amidst her milk-white hair. It seemed ages since he’d seen her the day after Fergus and John’s wedding. Could it have been less than a month ago?

When Gretchen finally turned to face him, he offered the obligatory carrot. “Want to go outside?” he asked as she crunched.

With an affirmative snort, the pony showered the stable door with carrot shrapnel.

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