Page 41 of Cruelest Contract
Shutting the barn door behind me, I see that Cecilia and Tye have moved. They’re over by the corral, watching Miguel and the cowboys trot away from the stables.
I’m still walking over to join them when Fort appears. He’s riding our father’s Arabian stallion, Omerta. My dad rarely heaves himself into the saddle anymore but his rule is that only family members can ride Omerta. Fort looks over his shoulder and shouts something to Getty, who is walking his horse at an obnoxiously slow pace until he turns his head and notices that Cecilia is watching.
I’m not excited about the sudden grin that lights up his face. While I have faith he’d never physically harm a woman, I wouldn’t put it past him to scare the hell out of her.
With a chaotic whoop, Getty digs his heels in and takes off at full speed like a train robber amid a thunder of hooves. He doesn’t get within ten yards of Cecilia but she still cringes and hastily backs up.
To his credit, Tye instinctively moves over to stand in front of her. By the time I catch up, Cecilia’s arms are tightly crossed in a defensive posture and an uneasy shadow has stolen her smile.
“Pay him no mind,” Tye announces as Getty gallops past the rest of the cowboys. “One of these days he’ll tire of being a menace to society.”
“Don’t count on it,” I say and briefly touch my hand to Cecilia’s back. “Are you okay?”
She nods and lowers her arms. “Of course. He startled me. That’s all.”
“You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Tye says to her.
“Trust me, I’m not,” Cecilia replies.
“We can’t have our guest of honor passing out.” He comes toward her with his arms outstretched. “I’ll just have to carry you.”
“No need.” Cecilia raises her chin and walks straight into the grass. After a short distance she stops, facing the opposite direction. A soft breeze ruffles her hair and she carefully sits down, folding her legs underneath her and rearranging the loose fabric of her skirt.
Tye wags his eyebrows at me before chasing Cecilia. He drops to his knees beside her and promptly lies down. After watching them for a moment and realizing Cecilia doesn’t plan to move anytime soon, I go with the flow and take a seat on her other side just as Tye asks her who she hates more, horses or Getty.
“I’ve always loved horses.” She frowns and picks a blade of grass from her skirt. “I still do. After begging my parents, I started riding when I was eight. I could have happily lived at the stable. My dad always promised I could have my own horse for my thirteenth birthday but then…”
Her words cut off and she rubs her palm over her left knee. I feel a strangely powerful urge to wrap my arms around her and cradle her to my chest.
She takes a deep breath. “I had recently learned how to jump. There was a competition I wanted to enter and I didn’t listen when my riding instructor warned I was setting the bar too high. The horse balked at the next jump and I lost my balance. Fell right off. At the same time, someone’s pet Chihuahua got loose in the ring and the horse freaked when the dog got underfoot.She accidentally stomped my leg and it was a bad injury. I needed three surgeries and tons of physical therapy. Sometimes my leg aches in the damp weather and I stick to low impact therapeutic workouts, mostly swimming. But aside from a scar and a cautionary tale, I’m actually pretty lucky.”
Tye had propped himself up on his elbow while she was talking and now he gazes at her leg with frank interest. “That’s why you’re always so overdressed, huh?”
She throws him a look. “I’m appropriately dressed. But I’ve always been a little uneasy about the scars.”
He grins. “Let’s see. Pull your skirt up.”
“Tiberius,” I warn.
He stretches out on his back and continues to grin at Cecilia. “Come on. Show us. It’ll be like therapy.”
“Forget it,” she snaps.
“Okay. Why don’t you move a little closer so I can put my head in your lap? It’ll make us both feel better.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is he always like this?” she asks me.
“Only when he’s awake,” I say.
“Nothing dirty about it,” Tye insists. “I’m just looking for a pillow.”
Cecilia unties the pale pink sweater that was knotted around her waist and tosses it to him. “Use this for your pillow.”
He balls it up and stuffs it beneath his head. “Thanks, sweetheart. I kind of like how you stick with a theme.”
“I have a theme?”
Tye yawns and shuts his eyes. “Everything you own is pink. I’m not complaining. It’s cute that you’re so prissy.”
