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“Home. I’m taking you home.”
A confused stare marks me as I text the guys:
Freddie: Heading South.
Chapter 17
GEORGINA
We’re on the motorway, heading south to Cornwall. Last time I visited our family’s residence was over a year ago for my grandfather’s eightieth birthday. Being back there does nothing for me anymore. I used to love it, but after my nan died, the place is nothing but a reminder that my one true ally is gone.
She’s gone. Jordan’s gone. Freddie, though, he’s here, and his presence is the buoy keeping me afloat right now. As if he can hear my thoughts, his hand squeezes my thigh lightly before his thumb goes back to stroking the inside. Still, the fading sunlight, along with the change from the open road to the smaller country lanes, has me on edge.
“I’ve got the full beams on, so we’re visible even around the corners,” Freddie tells me, slowing down a fraction more when we hit the narrow single-car lanes.
Every bump makes me shudder. My heart is beating so hard that I can’t catch my breath, and fear is swelling in my throat. At this point I can’t imagine ever getting behind the wheel again.
“We’re almost there,” he coos at me as though I’m a child in need of reassurance which makes me feel worse. Pathetic and weak.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“For being like this.” Looking down at my lap, I try to ignore the shame that tangles with my guilt and fear. Freddie may think I have fight left in me, and if I do, I don’t know what to do with it.
The car comes to a crawl outside wrought iron gates that seem to reach the sky as they open slowly for us. Even the ornate scrolling at the top is jagged with spikes that are sure to stop you from getting inside even if you make it that high up.
“Is your body still sore?” he asks as we cruise up the long drive, and rather than going straight to the Sinclairs’ home, he veers left down a wide, crunchy gravel path. “From the accident,” he clarifies even though he doesn’t need to because the only way he’s touched me in the last two days is as if I’m going to disintegrate if he does anything more than hug me or kiss me.
“It’s better.”
“Good.”
“Why?” The question breaks as we come to a stop outside a large stable, surrounded by paddocks that stretch farther than my eyes can see.
“I told you, I’m taking you home.” Without another word, he gets out of the car and rounds to my side to help me out. “Come on, Swan…”
Threading his fingers with mine, he takes me through the open doors. It’s like being hit square in the face with his undiluted scent. Hay and leather. The smell is woven through with that of the horses in their stalls.
“That’s Betsy. She has a thing for girls, so watch out,” he chuckles, pulling me closer until we’re standing right outside the mare’s door.
Freddie pulls his knife from the back pocket of his suit trousers, and my eyes go to his now empty front one where he slipped my crucifix. He takes a small apple from a bag hanging on the wall beside the stall and cuts it in half.
“Here.” He grins softly before telling me, “Second to pretty girls, she loves an apple. Cox only, ironically.”
A laugh bursts out of me at his lewd remark, and the soft smile on his face beams broader, making me wish that I could do it again for him. It’s impossible to miss how at home he is here. There’s a deep-seated joie de vivre about him when he’s surrounded by nature. Something that got me when we were up in Windermere and we walked the snowy grounds together, more so when we went riding. He seems so free in the wild. It suits him.
With the apple half in my palm, I hold it out to Betsy. “Is she an American Cream?”
“Yep. Grandad gave her to Cassie on her eighteenth. She’d begged for one of these beauties for years, but it’s not easy getting them here from the States, so…” Freddie swallows down whatever he was going to say.
Instead, he cuts a slice of the apple and eats it before offering me a smaller slice that I eat if not for any other reason than to keep him as happy and open as he is right now. He’s exactly what I need. The solace that I’ve always yearned for and wanted, away from everything and everyone that nags at me. Away from all the world. Just me and him and his mesmerising smile that really is killer while he stands watching me fuss over Betsy. She’s a dream with her light champagne mane combed to one side and her light pink snout that snorts at my empty hand for more.
“Too much of a good thing is bad for you,” he whispers at the horse, scratching up and down her nose. “I’ll take you for a good run tomorrow, I promise.”
The affection he shows the creature makes my chest squeeze. It’s the first time that I don’t picture what our children might look like, but I can clearly envision him as a dad. He’ll make a great father, because in spite of his rough edges, at the core, he is as hot as the sun. Like the centre of the earth, he radiates the kind of warmth that breeds safety and happiness. It doesn’t matter that right now I’m sad and devastated because with him I know that it will get better.
The thrum of my heart picks up when he flattens his palm to my back and guides me forward. A few stalls along, a dark giant of a stallion pokes his head out and snorts at us, making me jump.
