“You must be Grace Phillips!” Angel exclaimed as he took her hand. He put his other hand over hers. “Hannah told me about you. But not how beautiful you are.” She demurred as he looked around the property appraisingly. “Your home is beautiful too. It is, how you say, quaint?”
Grace’s smile slipped.
“I don’t think you mean quaint,” Hannah quickly interjected. Quaint implied small, like a cottage, and this house was anything but a cottage. “Maybe impressive is the word you’re looking for?” She gave him a stern look.
Angel shook his head. “No, that’s not it.”
Hannah groaned inwardly. Angel wasn’t even aware he was being insulting. “His English,” she said to Grace by way of explanation.
“I’m impressed he speaks two languages.”
“Three, actually. Spanish, English, and German. And Portuguese. So I guess that’s four.”
“Well, then—” The sound of furious yapping some distance away drew Grace’s attention. “Bunny! Come!” she called after her dog.
The little terrier, which Hannah now knew was called Bunny, ignored its mistress and continued barking at the massive schnauzer.
“You train Bunny yourself?” Hannah teased.
“Hopeless,” said Grace. “Too bad we love him so much.”
Suddenly Angel’s eyes lit up and he exclaimed, “Charming! This is the word I am trying to find. Your house, it is very charming.”
This was met with relieved laughter. Behind him, however, she heard a disgruntled snort from Charles. She couldn’t tell if Angel heard, but he moved to Charles, his hand out and his smile engaging.
“And you are Mr. Charles, no? I’m so glad to meet you,” he said, pumping Charles’s hand. “It is an honor. Truly. I met you at a competition when I was just starting out. You were very good.” He corrected himself. “Are very good. . . .”
Charles raised his brows, seeming flattered by the recognition. “You remember me? That was years ago. It was a good competition,” he said. Rubbing his chin, he added, “You won that one, if I recall. You were just a boy. What? Seventeen?”
Angel’s smile broadened. “Fifteen.”
Charles smirked. “Ouch, that stings.”
Hannah added, “Angel was also the youngest rider to win the World Cup. Were you even eighteen?”
“Just eighteen,” he conceded as a matter of fact, his smile not the least conceited. “That was in Sweden. A good year for me. But the best years were on Butterhead. She was my partner.”
Hannah could see that Angel was about to launch into Butterhead’s achievements. Trying to ward him off, she went to link arms with Angel and said, “Don’t be modest. You’ve had many good years.”
He shrugged. “Not so many recently.”
“Well, you know what they say,” Charles blustered, well-meaning. “Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but the game goes on.”
“Oh, yes! I am going on,” Angel said, and his eyes flashed. “I do not quit.”
“He didn’t mean you should quit, Javi,” said Hannah, startled by the degree of Angel’s emotion.
“No, not at all,” said Charles placatingly.
“Good. Because I never quit. Nunca!”
After an awkward pause, Grace said smoothly, “Why don’t we go inside? I’m sure you’re parched after that long, god-awful trip. How about a glass of ice water?” She paused. “Perhaps with something a little stronger added.”
Hannah tossed her a grateful glance and nudged Angel toward the front door.
Angel stopped and turned toward the two dogs far out in the grass. They were getting along better now, sniffing and making each other’s acquaintance. He whistled sharply. Immediately the giant schnauzer came running, followed closely by the Norfolk terrier. Angel reached out to vigorously pat Max when he arrived at his side.
Grace let out a short, surprised laugh. “Well. That’s certainly a big dog.”
Angel heard the tone and looked her way. “Is okay to have a dog? We had to bring him. But I will go if it is not okay. No problem.”
Hannah paled. In all the rush of evacuation, shuttering the condo, and moving Butterhead, she’d utterly forgotten to ask Grace if it was all right for her to bring a dog. Especially one as large as Max. It was an unforgivable faux pas.
Grace’s gaze swept the black dog appraisingly. “He is housebroken?”
“Of course,” Angel replied. “In fact, he is an old dog. Eleven. Very old and very quiet. He no likes to do much but sleep.”
Grace was not one to be led down the garden path. Hannah recognized the tolerant smile that slid across her face and released a sigh.
“I suppose it’s all right. As long as he doesn’t tear my house up.” Grace looked at Max again and shook her head. “Are you sure you don’t want to put him in the barn with the other horses?”
FOUR
August 20, 7:00 p.m.
Freehold Farm, North Carolina
Hurricane surge and storm warnings issued for Florida and the Keys
The mood was relaxed once the gin did its work. Charles enjoyed playing the role of host, seeing to his guests’ comfort. He’d made the gin and tonics stiff, with thick chunks of sliced lime, pleased with the grateful response. At first the hurricane dominated the conversation. They’d turned on the Weather Channel to watch the updates in a nervous silence.
The commentators were discussing the increasing frequency and intensity of hurricanes. Though they came every year and mainly threatened the southern coast, what everyone had to remember was that the hurricanes then moved north. Sometimes the storms pushed out to sea. Some went farther up the coast toward Maine. When the hurricanes moved inland, they brought horrific flooding and damage. With extreme weather escalating, the one-hundred-year storms were happening with shocking regularity.
Charles glanced at the group clustered around the television. They stood in a semicircle in tense silence, arms crossed, hands clutching their drinks. Living in the mountains, he often watched hurricane notices with vague interest. But in recent years the devastation of monster hurricanes had demanded attention. His friends in Panama City, Florida, wept for a city that would never be the same.
Now this Hurricane Noelle was on a march for the United States coastline. It had skirted the tip of Puerto Rico and was hitting the Bahamas hard. A bone-numbing fear seeped through them as it advanced, slow and unpredictable. The news reported on people still boarding up their houses in Florida. Still deciding whether to evacuate.
Charles shook his head. “They’re like a herd of horses. The decision whether to fight or flee is racing in their minds.”
Hannah moved to slip her arms around Angel’s waist.
Angel groaned, muttering in Spanish, as he pointed at the television. The first photographs of the devastation of the Caribbean islands were being shown. Trees were misshapen stubs, houses leveled, cars and boats tossed into the streets like toys.
“It is terrible,” he said with feeling. “The people, they have nothing. Nowhere to go.”
Charles felt the couple’s fear radiate as they stared, mesmerized by the screen. “It hit as a Cat Four. That makes it one of the strongest Atlantic hurricanes in recorded history, if not the strongest. And it’s still going to pass through warm water before it hits us. They say the ocean’s like a bathtub. That’ll feed it.”