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She didn’t want to prove him wrong. Stefano’s regard had become important to her, as had the hope he’d given her for a different kind of life, a life of fearless passion and joy.
But by the time they took a lunch break, Annabelle’s whole body was shaking with exhaustion. The white-hot sun beat down upon them as Stefano took the rope from her. “I’ll take the colt back to the paddock.”
Annabelle exhaled, nearly crying with relief.
“We’re done?”
But Stefano barked a laugh. “The day has barely started, querida. But the color in your face suits you.” He smiled down at her. “I think you’re starting to understand what it means to feel alive.”
Agony flooded through her. “I don’t …” she whispered, then swallowed. “I can’t …”
He looked down at her. “You can.”
They sat down at a table beneath a shady tree to eat the sandwiches from Mrs.
Gutierrez, but lunch was over all too quickly. It was all Annabelle could do to hold back her tears when they went back to work. As the afternoon wore on, her body ached and her head throbbed from dehydration and heat exhaustion. She could see why he’d wanted her to wear jeans. Her designer pantsuit was dirty and ripped, her black glossy heels impossibly muddy and scuffed.
Surely they’d be done soon, she told herself desperately. Surely they couldn’t do this much longer. Could they?
The sun beat down on them, growing hotter by the minute. And the more exhausted Annabelle felt, the less the foals seemed inclined to obey her. Her hair was a mess, her clothes covered with sweat and grime and her pale skin was turning pink in the sun.
Worst of all: she knew with sickening certainty that the makeup covering her scar was starting to melt.
When Stefano brought out yet another new yearling to train, she wanted to scream.
“See this mare?” he said softly. “You wouldn’t know it, but she was beaten by her first owner. I have trained her for months, to help her learn not to be afraid.” He thrust the mare’s rope into her hands. “Hold tightly to the rope.”
Looking up at Stefano, Annabelle imagined she saw pity in his eyes. A hard lump rose in her throat as she choked out, “I’m meant to be like the horse, right?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Come on. The poor old horse who was once beaten and afraid. She’s me. You’re winning my trust, taming me as you did her. That bit about making me fearless—it’s a trick!
It’s all a trick!”
“I’m trying to help you!”
“I don’t believe you!” she cried. Part of her knew she was being unfair but as she felt tears rise behind her eyes, she was beyond being reasonable. “Are you torturing me for your own amusement? To finally get me into bed?”
His eyebrows lowered. “You’re tortured?”
“I don’t need your pity!” She felt vulnerable and raw. “I’m not going to fall for you.
I’m not. You can just … forget it!”
With a choked sob, she dropped the horse’s rope as she covered her face with her hands.
“Don’t drop the rope!” he said tersely, but it was too late. As soon as the mare was free, the animal immediately took off at a run, the rope flying behind her in the wind.
Stefano chased the horse down, caught the rope, soothed her with his touch and soft words, then led her out of the pen. When he finally came back to Annabelle, she could see the grim line of his body, the way he clenched his hands at his sides.
“I’ve saddled your horse. Go back to the house.”
He was sending her away? “Fine,” she said over the lump in her throat.
He came closer, his jaw set, his voice hard. “I was trying to help you, you know,” he said. “I was trying to be unselfish for once in my damned life. But have it your way. Go back to your solitary, lonely world. Enjoy being alone and closed off from the world.”
She flinched. She’d gotten what she wanted—she’d driven him away. He’d given up on her. Just what she expected. She drove everyone away sooner or later.
