Page 3 of Saddles & Suits

Why should I be nervous?

Scoffing at myself, I go downstairs and into the kitchen. Dave, who’s a commercial cookery student and a part-time stablehand, is putting together a salad to go with the dinner he prepared. When Warwick was alive, Dave earned extra money preparing dinner for him, but I’m fine with grabbing a sandwich while I go over the books, so I regretfully told Dave he’d only be needed when Jack comes down to stay. Needless to say, Dave was plenty surprised when I called him two days ago and said he’d be needed for the weekend.

“You still freaking out?”

I scowl and slump into a chair at the kitchen table. “I am not freaking out.”

Dave snorts. “Keep telling yourself that.” He covers the salad and puts it in the fridge, then gets himself a glass of water and comes to sit with me. “I don’t know why you’re so worried. He hasn’t said a single negative word since Warwick died. Why would he suddenly have a problem with you now?”

“He wouldn’t,” I say. Then I groan and bury my face in my hands. “But what if he does?”

Dave’s laughter is like salt in a wound. I’m trying to think of a suitably cutting set-down when the phone on the wall buzzes. Dave gets up and goes to hit the intercom button.

“Car just turned into the drive,” Chris, the head instructor, announces.

“Thanks,” Dave tells him cheerfully, then turns to me. “Off you go, then.” He grins evilly.

I flip him the bird, then drag myself out of my chair and head for the front door. Laughter follows.

Out on the front verandah, I pause and watch the late-model Audi pull up. The angle of the setting sun stops me from seeing the driver. I wonder if Jack’s changed much.

ChapterThree

Jack

I turnoff the engine and just sit for a minute, dealing with the overwhelming feeling of being at the Vale but knowing that Uncle Warwick won’t be here. I didn’t expect this visit to be emotional, but maybe I should have. Grief still hits me sometimes, when I do or see something I associate with Uncle Warwick.

Sighing, I lean over to grab my overnight bag from the passenger seat and get out of the car. There’s a guy about my age on the verandah—one of the cleaning or maintenance staff, maybe? I know Sebastian has people come out weekly to handle the cleaning and gardening, although most of the house is closed up. After all, Sebastian’s the only one who’s been living in it lately, and what does a single man need with twelve bedrooms?

As I approach the verandah, the man comes down the steps and I get a better look at him. Sandy-brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, slim build… he’s completely ordinary-looking, but he’s got this air of authority that ticks all my boxes. Maybe this weekend will be more interesting than just getting to know Sebastian. I’ll probably need a distraction from all the memories of Uncle Warwick, anyway.

Stopping in front of the guy, I drop my bag and offer a hand. “Hi. Jack Tarrant.”

The guy looks at me a little strangely but shakes my hand. “Seb Walker.”

“Nice to mee— Did you say SebWalker?” Is this a relative of Sebastian’s? One who’s named after him… a son or nephew? He didn’t mention anyone coming to visit when I texted him, though.

“Yeah.” The guy’s—Seb’s—look goes from strange to wary, which worries me. What’s he wary about?

“Ah, okay. Sorry. The drive was a nightmare, and my brain’s mush. Nice to meet you, Seb. Is, uh, is Sebastian inside?”

Seb’s face turns blank, and he takes a step back. “What do you mean?”

What does he think I mean? It’s a straightforward question, right?

“Is Sebastian in the house?” How else can I say it?

“I…” Seb shakes his head. “I’m sorry, we must be getting our wires crossed. I’m Sebastian. Seb.”

“Right, but—” Realization slams into me like a freight train. “You’re Sebastian Walker?”

Seb nods.

“The Sebastian Walker my uncle hired?”

Seb nods again.

Heat rises in my face until I feel like I could fry eggs on my cheeks.

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