Page 74 of Close Match
Linnie sits back on her heels for a moment in thought, “Hmm. I have no idea what you want.”
I do. The thought floats through my mind and drifts into hers because Linnie’s lips part. “How about you sing for me? And Lorrie,” I tack on, catching the little girl’s glare.
“Deal.” Linnie turns and barely lifts the brush to the ends of Lorrie’s hair when we’re both startled by a howling screech from the child.
“Good heavens, Lorrie.” Linnie’s startled. “Is your head that sensitive, sweetheart?”
Mischievously, the little girl throws me a wink. I’m taken aback. “Nah. I didn’t feel a thing. I just want to hear you sing.”
Linnie bursts out into laughter. “Next time, how about asking versus taking a year off my life?” Lifting the brush back to the ends of the girl’s hair before she unravels the band, Linnie begins to hum before singing a beautiful song about loving yourself as you are.
Uncaring of what has to be done around the farm, I drop in front of the two girls dappled in the sunlight as Linnie’s fingers quickly separate, tug, and twist. As the first braid finishes, her voice climbs higher, but she calmly scoots behind an unmoving Lorrie. She repeats the process over again with Lorrie held captive by the power of her voice. Even as she ties off the last band, she spends the time brushing out the ends until she finishes the song. “Now, how’s that?”
I’m entirely unprepared for Lorrie to toss herself into Linnie’s arms. “Maybe now the riding hat will fit better so I can ride. Thank you, Miss Linnie. Thank you!”
“My pleasure, sweetie. Next week, I’ll start teaching you how to braid your hair so you can do it on your own. Now, why don’t you let Mr. Monty take you to the tack room for a helmet?”
Linnie’s words jerk me out of my stupor. That’s why this little girl didn’t want to get on a horse? Because her head didn’t fit into a helmet?
“We need to talk,” I murmur as I pass by Linnie, who’s already putting her brush away.
“You have precious cargo to take care of. I’ll be in my studio.”
“Come on, sprout. Let’s go try on a helmet. Then let’s get you up and walking today.” I hold out an arm to gesture to the tack room. Lorrie’s shining black eyes are beaming up at me. Then she dashes to the tack room.
I’m not far behind her.
* * *
Hours later,I walk into Linnie’s studio where she’s clad in a pair of tight shorts that barely skim the curve of her ass. As I close the door behind me, she goes up in ballerina pointe shoes and performs a series of spins that frankly leave me as off-kilter as the scene in the barn earlier. Her arms are almost as fast as her legs. Open. Spin. Close. Spin. I’m dizzy.
And her hair’s flying behind her in a perfect braid.
I wait until she’s finished in a pose where her arm’s thrust above her head before I ask, “How did you know?”
“There’s something to be said for saying hello,” She doesn’t turn around. I walk around until I’m in her direct line of vision.
“How, Linnie? Ev, Mom, we’ve all tried to break through to that little girl for months.” My voice is accusatory, but damn if I’m not a little frustrated.
She reaches behind her and pulls her mane of dark brown hair forward. “Maybe because I was in the same boat?”
Understanding flashes through me. “I didn’t…”
Pushing up on the toes of her shoes, she saunters over to me. I don’t know how she manages to balance on just her toes. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have assumed you would have. Maybe Lorrie would have trusted you eventually, but she saw me struggle with my helmet the first day. I put it down in the dirt to braid my hair lower. She took a chance to form a bond—something I thoughtwewere doing. I don’t get it. I’d thought you’d be happy; why are you upset?”
I don’t have a good answer, so I do what I think is the wise thing and keep silent.
“You don’t get to come in here and take out your frustration on me.” Still, on her toes, she goes to spin away, but I catch her around her waist. “This isn’t a pas de deux, Montague,” she grits out.
“No, it’s an apology.” She’s rigid beneath my hands for several heartbeats before she lowers herself down to her heels and steps back. My hands drop.
“Fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few hours of work left before I can call it a day.” She lifts her leg in a perfect P while rising on the other foot unaided.
“Hours?” It seems incomprehensible the delicately boned woman in front of me punishes her body like this day after day.
She shrugs before beginning the same exercises on the other foot. “I’m going easy on myself.”
Suddenly her cell phone rings with an incoming FaceTime. “Excuse me.” Her feet angled outward, she dashes over and picks up the phone. Her face illuminates when she answers. “Marco!”
