Hannah slowed to a stop at the end of the drive and flicked on her turn signal. She eased onto the dirt road and picked up speed. As she passed the lane to the cottage, she turned her head to look, as she always did, just out of curiosity.
She braked when she spotted Angel. He was walking up the stairs to the front door. A million thoughts ran through her mind, chief among them his reputation as an incorrigible flirt. She knew Gerta was not at the cottage—Hannah had just left her at Grace’s house. The front door opened, and she caught a glimpse of Elise’s blond hair. Hannah’s hands tightened on the wheel. She held her breath—then exhaled loudly in stunned disbelief when she saw Angel walk into the cottage and the door close behind him.
Hannah faced the road and slowly began driving away. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel. What she’d seen could be perfectly innocent, she told herself. But her insecurities battled in her brain to be heard. Elise was younger. Pretty. Accomplished. Hannah swallowed hard. Rich. An altogether tempting morsel for a vigorous man like Angel de la Cruz. He loved women. Loved their company. He didn’t sleep with all the women who fawned over him. No man could keep that up, she thought with a bitter laugh. But he managed to handle his fair share.
She was fairly certain he hadn’t strayed with her, yet she had to admit that their relationship had been strained. Angel seemed restless, sniffing the air like a teaser stallion. And to be honest, lately she’d been focused again on her business.
As Hannah eased onto the highway, she’d already decided not to confront Angel about his visit to Elise. Instead she’d wait for him to bring it up. And she’d watch.
* * *
A soft knock sounded on the cottage door. Elise was sitting on the brown leather sofa, elbows on knees and her face in her hands. Her britches were coated with dirt, her helmet tossed on the floor. She looked up at the sound and cursed. She didn’t want to talk to anyone now—but it was probably Moira. She wiped the tears with a quick mop of her face, sniffed, and walked stiffly to the door.
The last person she expected to see was Angel de la Cruz.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was unwelcoming, even hostile.
Angel smiled beatifically. It animated his face and lit up his eyes. And it had the desired effect at softening Elise’s attitude.
“I came to see you, of course. Are you okay?”
“Never been better.”
“We all take a fall. It hurts our pride more than our backside, no?”
Elise flushed and looked down at her mud-streaked boots. She hadn’t removed them before entering, which she usually did. “I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
Elise heard his doubt and looked up sharply, even suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“Can we talk?”
The gossip about what a womanizer Angel was flashed through her mind. She was alone here. Then she mentally scoffed at herself. Of course he wasn’t hitting on her. She stepped aside and ushered him in.
Angel walked past her with an event jumper’s confident stride. They all moved a bit like Mick Jagger, more a swagger than a gait. She watched his gaze sweep the room, the handsome wood floors and ceiling, the chic comfort.
“She likes hunting, no?”
Elise laughed despite herself. “Yeah. Grace is a big hunter.”
“Is nice.”
“My mom likes it here. She’s close to Grace and”—her arm swept the room—“it’s all one floor.”
“Oh yes, her leg,” Angel said. “I only just learned this. She is brave, your mother.”
Elise’s face clouded. She didn’t want to talk about her mother at the moment.
“So, what do you want to talk about?”
Angel circled back to the sofa and sat. She thought he certainly made himself at home as he stretched his arm out over the back pillows and crossed his legs. They were long and lean, his black boots shined up to the knees. Elise sat in the big leather chair opposite. It was so cushy she sank into it, making her feel even smaller than she was. She hoisted herself up out of the donut hole and perched on the edge of the cushion.
“Tell me about Whirlwind,” Angel began.
“What do you want to know?” Her tone bordered on insolence.
“He is a world-class horse, this, of course, we all know. Muscular. Full of intention. Stout. His potential . . .” He lifted his shoulders and spread open his hands. “Exponential. The horse has it all.”
Elise’s face expressed her bored annoyance. “So, what else is new?”
Angel closed his hands, then looked into her eyes. “All but the right rider.”
Elise felt slapped. She sat straighter in her chair. He’d named her greatest fear, and she didn’t know whether to be grateful or insulted.
“I mean this in a kind way,” Angel hurried to add. “You are a fabulous rider. I’ve seen you compete. But on this horse, you are . . .” He searched for the words. “. . . out of sync, you know? When you ride him, it’s like watching a couple that are fighting and don’t want to be in the same room with each other.”
“It’s that obvious.” She wasn’t asking.
“Maybe not to some. But to me—yes.”
Elise rose in a huff and paced across the room. “We’re having difficulties,” she said in a defensive tone. “If you’re going to use the relationship analogy, we’re working it out. It doesn’t mean we have to divorce.”
Angel spoke plainly. “Sometimes you can’t work it out. It’s best just to leave.”
She halted abruptly, crossed her arms, and fired back, “You’re good at that, from what I hear. Leaving.” It was a mean swipe, she knew it. But she wanted to hurt him too.
Angel half-smiled in acknowledgment. “Women, yes. True. My horse . . . no,” he said emphatically.
“What a lie. I happen to know you’re trying to sell Butterhead to Charles. Everyone knows. You’re hardly subtle.”
Angel’s smile fell to a frown, and he looked at his hands. “Yes,” he admitted. “I am sorry for this. Brokenhearted. But . . .” He looked at her, his eyes wide with honesty. “I have no choice. I am, how you say it . . . maxed up. No, that’s not right. Out. I’m maxed out. I need not just any horse, but a remarkable horse, one as good as Butterhead, to prepare for the Olympics, and this is, of course, expensive. I dreamed of going to the Olympics with Rogue’s Fancy. But it is not meant to be. She has given me her very best for a long time. But the sad truth is Butterhead is my only resource. I am not like you. So many horses at your disposal. So I must sell her to buy the new horse. It is not me leaving her. It is more me letting Mr. Charles have her. I know she will have a magnificent life with him, here at this farm.”
“But—” She chewed her lip. “You’ll break her heart too. You have to know that. Anyone can see how devoted she is to you.”
Angel didn’t reply, but his face appeared stricken.
Elise walked across the room and sat on the sofa beside him. “Angel,” she began hesitatingly. “Please tell me. How do you build that bond? How can I make Whirlwind care for me the way Butterhead cares for you?”
This time, Angel’s smile was sad. “You cannot. That bond just happens. It’s like falling in love. You look into the eyes, and you just know. And when you ride the horse, you are in sync. The horse wants to please you. You want to help her to understand what you need. That’s where practice comes in. Learning how to talk to each other, eh? But the will to learn . . .” He lifted his finger. “That cannot be taught. It comes from here,” he added, touching his heart. “And this is what I did not see with you and Whirlwind.” He paused. “I saw it, instead, with Karl.”