The Fake Husband

She made it to the bathroom before she lost her tea and cookies. Washing her face, Jacquie decided she would have to take control of the situation if she expected to salvage her relationship with Erin. Her only concern was that her daughter suffer as little as possible. She didn’t care what happened to Rhys or herself or anyone else involved, as long as Erin came out okay.

“Mom, they’re about to set off the nuclear warhead,” Erin called from the living room. Jacquie sighed as she went in to watch the last ten minutes of the film. She didn’t need to witness an explosion.

As far as she was concerned, Rhys Lewellyn had already blown her world apart.

SHE CALLED THE NUMBER Rhys had left in his message while Erin was out at the barn the next morning.

“Fairfield Farms.” That Irish brogue was immediately familiar. Terry O’Neal had worked with Rhys’s father on their farm in Wales and had moved with the family to New York when Rhys was eight years old. He’d been an integral part of the riding program during the time Jacquie trained there, fourteen years ago.

“This is Ladysmith Farrier Service, returning Mr. Lewellyn’s call.” She wasn’t about to give them her name in advance. And she was pretty sure Terry wouldn’t recognize her voice. After all this time—and, no doubt, a long string of women—Rhys wouldn’t, either.

“Good to hear from you, ma’am.” Terry was brisk, businesslike. No ghosts from the past for him. “We lost another shoe in the muck this morning. When can you be here?”

She had carefully checked Erin’s schedule. “We’ll have someone out there tomorrow morning at nine, if that works for you.” Erin was spending the night at a sleepover party and wouldn’t be home until afternoon.

“Not today?”

“I’m afraid that’s the earliest free slot we have.” Untrue, but she was lying for Erin’s sake.

“I guess it’ll do. We’re not working in this slush, anyway. We’ll look for you at nine on Saturday.” He sounded rushed, now, and in the background she heard voices shouting, apparently at each other. One, she easily recognized as Rhys. She almost grinned—he could be hard on any of the help who didn’t give one-hundred percent to the horses. And he was always hardest on himself.

Fortunately, for her peace of mind, Erin didn’t think to ask about the appointment until lunch. “When are we going to Fairfield Farms?”

Jacquie kept her gaze on her soup. “I’m going tomorrow morning, while you are probably still asleep.”

Erin slapped her hands on the table. “Mom, why didn’t you wait until I could go? Or go today? We don’t have anything to do today and it’s too messy to ride.”

“They were busy today.” Another lie. “Tomorrow was the earliest we could schedule.”

The girl pouted over her grilled-cheese sandwich. “You’ll ask him about lessons, though, right? The snow’ll be gone soon and we can get to work.”

Jacquie managed to change the subject without making a definite commitment. And she managed to keep Erin diverted for the rest of the afternoon, until they arrived at the party. “Have fun,” she said, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Erin grabbed her sleeve as she turned. “Don’t forget to ask him about lessons.”

Erin’s friend Cathy, the hostess for the night, was standing with them on the front porch of her house. “Ask who about what lessons?”

Jacquie groaned silently.

“Rhys Lewellyn,” Erin said. “You know, the Olympic rider?”

Cathy frequently rode with Erin. “You mean the guy who won the gold?”

“Yeah, and he’s moved here, can you believe it? My mom’s going to ask him about lessons. Maybe you can come, too.”

“That would be so cool. I’ve got these pictures of him…” The girls closed the door, chattering away about Rhys and his exploits. His riding exploits.

Instead of going home to an empty house where she would have too much time to think, Jacquie went to a loud, explosive movie at the New Skye Cinema and then shopped for a month’s worth of groceries. She’d learned quickly and well how to divert her thoughts from Rhys. She wouldn’t think about him again until she had to.

Deep in the night, though, she found herself awake and wondering if he would recognize her at all. How dreadful would it be if she met him and he didn’t know her? Her name, though, would remind him…wouldn’t it? Surely Rhys hadn’t been with so many women that he didn’t even remember her name.

Tears threatened at the thought, but she drove them back. She’d stopped caring about Rhys Lewellyn a long, long time ago—the day, in fact, that he went back to his pregnant wife.

Now, protecting Erin was her only concern. She had to figure out when to tell Rhys about their daughter, and how she would expect him to deal with the situation. Nothing else mattered in the least.

In the morning, she dressed in her usual jeans, T-shirt, and sweatshirt, then braided her strawberry-blond hair, so different from her daughter’s. Adding makeup was a reasonable defense, she thought. To stay in control, she needed every weapon she could muster.

Hurry jumped into the truck as she opened the door. Jacquie shook her head at the dog. “You’re coming, are you? Want to watch the fireworks?”

Would there be fireworks? Or just a terrible discomfort as she did her job on his farm for the first and only time? He wouldn’t ask her back, once he knew who she was.

Across country, as Erin had pointed out, Fairfield Farm was a short ride away from her own place, Archer’s Acres. By road, the trip took twenty minutes. Jacquie pulled through Rhys’s stone-arch entryway exactly at nine and parked near the massive barn. A black-haired man walked out of the door as she shut off the engine. She swallowed hard, tense beyond breathing. As he came closer, though, she realized this wasn’t a man, but a boy. A boy with black hair, black, slanting eyebrows, and ice-blue eyes, the same ones she’d looked into every day of the last thirteen years. The eyes in her daughter’s face.

Rhys’s son had inherited his father’s strong shoulders and long, powerful legs, beautifully built for wearing riding breeches. “Can I help you?” he said, politely enough, in his father’s voice.

“I’m the farrier.” She cleared her throat. “Jacquie Archer.”

He tilted his head. “Andrew Lewellyn. You want to park at the door to the barn? We can tie them in the aisle.”

“Great.” A few minutes’ delay would give her a chance to collect herself, settle her nerves.

By the time she’d backed the truck up to the double door of the barn, there were three men and a horse standing in the aisle. Terry O’Neal she identified by his silhouette—stocky, bushy-haired, bowlegged. Andrew was about the same height, and shorter by a head than the third man…the man he favored…his father.

“Stay,” she told Hurry. No sense having the shepherd underfoot. Deploring her own weakness, she glanced in the rearview mirror before getting out. What good would makeup do, anyway?

Then, with her heart in her throat, she opened the truck door and jumped down. She’d forgotten her hat, and wisps of hair had escaped to blow around her face in the cold wind. She tucked them behind her ears as Rhys stepped from the shadows of the barn into the weak January sunlight.

He took one look at her and stopped dead. His hand, already extended to shake hers, dropped to his side. For a moment—an eternity of frozen silence—no one moved.

“Jacquie?” The word was strangely rough. “Jacquie Lennon? What the hell are you doing here?”

After a paralyzed moment, he covered the ground between them with quick strides, then grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, not gently.

“More important…why, in the name of all that’s holy, did you disappear without a trace?”

CHAPTER TWO

JACQUIE’S EYES WIDENED, and Rhys heard his own words with horror. In front of his son and his best friend, he stood on the brink of revealing a secret he’d kept from everyone in his life, except this one woman.

But how the hell was he supposed to remain calm when the missing piece in his existence had just reappeared after a fourteen-year absence?

He took a deep breath, fighting for control. Under his hands, Jacquie moved her shoulders, and he realized how tight his grip was.

“Sorry.” He released her and took a step back. “I’m…surprised…to see you. I had no idea you lived in this area.”

“Yes, I—I came back home. When I left New York.” She avoided his eyes, looking past his shoulder to where Andrew and Terry stood with Imperator. “Is this your champion?” She walked to the horse, stood close enough to let Imp get her scent. “He surely is gorgeous. Which shoe does he need?”

Business, Rhys reminded himself. She’s here on business. She’s the damn farrier.

“Right fore,” Terry supplied. “Good to see you, Jacquie. You were quite the rider when you were with us. Thought you’d go all the way.”

She smiled at him and shook her head. “I decided to pursue a more dependable income. But farrier work doesn’t always give you access to the great horses like this one.” When she extended her hand, Imperator allowed her to stroke his face—not a privilege he offered to many people. “You’re a big beauty, aren’t you?” Jacquie crooned. “I’ll bet it’s like riding the wind, being on your back.”

Rhys watched her commune with the horse, earning Imp’s trust in the way she’d always had with animals. They trusted her and, in turn, performed for her, meeting her demands with as much talent as they could command. He’d been harder on her than any of his other students, simply because she was so damn good.

Or maybe because he’d fallen in love with her the first time he saw her smile.

“Okay,” she said, turning from the horse to the bed of her truck. “Do you want me to trim him, or just replace the shoe?”

“Does he need a trim?” Rhys asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.

Jacquie eyed Imp’s hooves from a distance. Then she approached the horse, talking to him softly, running her hands over his shoulders to his chest and down his forelegs, picking up each in turn. Imp was usually a handful for any kind of examination, but he stood quiet for Jacquie, of course. He gave her a little more trouble about the rear legs, but she talked him through it and managed to look at each hoof closely.

When she came back to the truck, she glanced at Rhys and cocked her head. “As you no doubt know, he’s been trimmed within the last three weeks and doesn’t need it now. Do you have the shoe he pulled off?”

He grinned at her, relieved that she’d passed his test. “No, it’s somewhere on the lane between here and the highway.”

Tying on her farrier’s leather chaps, she didn’t grin back. “What were you doing riding on the road?”

“Long story.”

“Here to the highway is a long ride.”

“That, too.” He held her gaze for a moment, felt the shock as awareness kicked in, bringing with it memories he’d worked for years to bury.

Judging by the way her face froze, so had Jacquie. She jerked her head back and forth, a very definite rejection, and turned her back to him. “I’ve got the shoe he needs.”

Fast and efficient, she shaped the shoe on her anvil and fit it perfectly to Imperator’s hoof, then nailed it with a minimum of fuss and filed the ends off the nails. “I checked the other shoes,” she said, straightening up from her farrier’s crouch as easily as a child. “They look sound. You shoe him on the usual five-to-six-week schedule?

“Unless there’s a problem.”

She nodded. “Then he should be good for another three weeks, at least.”

Rhys glanced at Terry and got his nod of approval. “Glad to hear it. Andrew, bring Abner out here. Imperator can go into the paddock for a run.”

The shoeing process went as easily with the other three horses. At the end of an hour, Terry and Andrew resumed the schedule for the day as Jacquie put away her tools and took off her chaps. “If that’s all, I’ll write up a receipt.”

Leaving the door open, she climbed into the seat of her truck. On the passenger side, a black-and-white Australian shepherd sat up, panting with pleasure at having company once again.

“Nice dog,” Rhys commented, hoping he sounded more relaxed than he felt.

“We…her name is Hurry.” She didn’t look at him, or the dog.

He went around the hood of the truck and opened the passenger door to pet Hurry. “I’ve still got Sydney. Her arthritis is pretty bad, so she stays inside when it’s cold.”

The hand holding the pen faltered. “She was just a puppy.”

“Fourteen, now.” And an Australian shepherd, same as this one, which unnerved and pleased him, at the same time. “Would you like to come in and see her?” Jacquie was tempted, of that he had no doubt. And he would use any weapon he could find to reach her. “I bet she’d remember you.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got another job in a few minutes.” She handed him the receipt. “The total is one hundred dollars. My address is on there, if you’d like to mail me a check.”

“No, I’ll pay you now.” Trusting that she wouldn’t disappear while he went into the house wasn’t easy, but at least he had her address on the receipt. He could find her, this time. No private detectives, bringing back only dead ends.

On the driver’s side again, he handed her the cash. “Sure you won’t come in? We’ve got hot coffee and cold cinnamon rolls.”

“Tempting, but no thanks.” The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to grin. She tightened her fists around the steering wheel. Neither hand bore a ring or any sign she usually wore one. “So…are you here for the winter? Moving back to New York with warmer weather?”

He’d take any interest she displayed and be glad for it. “Probably not. The New England winters aren’t worth the summers anymore.” That was part of the truth, at least.

“And your family is down here with you?” Her flat tone suggested that she didn’t really care and asked only out of courtesy.

He tilted his head and gave her a bitter smile with the truth. “If you mean Terry and Andrew, yes. Olivia and I were divorced—finally, officially and forever—twelve years ago.”

“Oh.” Jacquie looked stunned for a second but recovered quickly. “Will…will you be teaching?”

“Definitely. I’ll get advertising in place soon, and I’m planning a schooling day when the weather gets warmer, just to let people know I’m here. Meanwhile, if you’ve got any clients who’d like lessons, send them my way.”

“Sure. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She said it without looking at him.

“Thanks.” Rhys decided to push her a little. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“What question?”

“Why didn’t you get in touch when you left?”

“I—” For a moment, she looked cornered. “You know why. He’s mucking out stalls while we’re talking.”

The old anger grabbed him. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“What was the point? You were going back to your wife. I needed to clear out fast.” Her deep breath shook. “And now I’m going back to my own life. Thanks for the business. William Innes is a good farrier, next time you need somebody.” She cranked the engine, put the truck in gear and drove away—once again—without saying goodbye.

Rhys held up his receipt. “Oh, no, my dear. I’ve got a farrier already, by the name of Ms. Jacqueline Lennon.” He glanced at the paper, then did a double take. The sheet read “Ladysmith Farrier Service, Jacquie Archer, Farrier.”

“Archer? Archer? Just what the hell,” he demanded aloud, staring at the black truck now leaving his property, “does that mean?”

SINCE HIS FALL during a competition in New Zealand last November, one chore Andrew’s dad didn’t do was cleaning stalls. Most mornings, Andrew got that task all to himself, though occasionally Terry helped. Like today.

“So they knew each other before?” he asked the trainer, when he was sure his dad had gone into the house. “She was a student?”

“Yeah.” Terry dumped a forkful of dirty shavings into the bin. “One of the best he’s had. She was Olympic material if I’ve ever seen it.”

“What happened?”

“Not for me to say.” Terry pitched another load and then glared at Andrew. “And I wouldn’t ask, if I were you, boyo, unless you relish getting your nose snapped off and your ears singed.”

The old man cast a glance at the three stalls he’d cleaned to Andrew’s one. “Guess you’ve got work to do.” Hanging up his fork, he stomped out of the barn toward the house.

Andrew gave him—no, both of them—the finger while they weren’t looking, then turned back to finish Imperator’s stall. When didn’t he get yelled at around here? Whatever went wrong came down on him, like crap flowing downhill.

Privileges, now, those he had to steal. Yesterday, Terry and his dad had ridden Abner and Lucretia back to the highway to fetch the truck and trailer, leaving Andrew to keep an eye on the place. He’d kept an eye out, all right—just long enough to be sure they got out of sight. Then he’d saddled Imperator and gone for a ride.

The lady farrier was right—being on the big stallion was the absolute best. One side of Fairfield Farm bordered a horse preserve with miles of trails and acres of open ground for riding. Andrew intended to take Imp there one day soon, but to begin with he’d stayed in the pastures behind the barn, knowing his dad would literally kill him if he let Imp get even slightly injured. The horse was as crazy for freedom as Andrew, and enjoyed every second of their stolen gallop. By the time the truck and trailer pulled in at the gate, Imperator was cool and calm and back in his paddock with no evidence to suggest he’d ever been anywhere else.

Today they wouldn’t get such a break. All Andrew could do today was his job—finish the stalls, empty, clean and refill all the water buckets, and sweep the cobbled hallway of the stable. Finally certain that nobody could yell at him for something he hadn’t done—unlike yesterday, when his dad had blown up over the dirty buckets—he went to sit on the fence of the paddock where Imperator waited.

The stallion came over to investigate Andrew’s down vest and pants and shoes. “No fun today, Imp.” He combed his fingers through the thick mane. “Maybe I can sneak out tonight, after bedtime.”

But the weather had warmed up and the snow was melting—how insane was that, in January? Wet, soft ground with patches of snow and ice would make riding in the dark too dangerous. He put his forehead against the horse’s neck. “Or maybe not.”

All he wanted—in fact, all he’d asked for as a Christmas present—was to ride this horse in practice every day. He put up with his dad’s impossible demands and Terry’s grouchy moods, was willing to take lessons and submit to training like a beginning rider, though he’d been on horseback practically since the day he was born—the birthday he shared with the fantastic horse. Whatever his dad and Terry required, Andrew would agree to, if he could just make Imperator his horse.

A door slammed at the house. Imp startled and hopped away, leaving Andrew no choice but to fall forward, off the fence. He landed on his feet and was straightening up when his dad arrived at the paddock.

The great Olympic rider stopped and stared for a minute, stone-faced. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Were you thinking about riding him again?”

“N-no.” He couldn’t help asking, “Again? What are you talking about?”

“You rode him yesterday while we were gone.”

Not a question. Shit.

“Don’t bother to lie.” His dad leaned his elbows on the top rail of the fence, his gaze following Imperator as he trotted around the paddock. “I did laundry this morning. You had his hair on the legs of your jeans.”

“I was careful. He didn’t get hurt.”

“Believe it or not, I’m thinking more of your safety than his. He’s too much for you.”

“I had him under control the whole time.”

“That’s what he allowed you to think.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re just not experienced with top-level horses.”

Andrew managed to resist stomping his foot. “You’re the one with the experience. You’re the one who got dumped.”

His dad’s mouth tightened into a straight line, and his eyes glinted like cold steel. “Exactly. If I can be unseated, what chance has a novice rider got against a horse like Imperator? Stay off of him. Or I’ll ship you back to your grandfather.” Turning on his heel, he stalked to his office in the barn and let the door bang shut behind him.

Now that was a threat worth listening to. Compared to his grandfather, his dad looked like Captain Kangaroo.

Andrew climbed through the fence and straightened up to give Imperator one last pat over the rail.

“Nothing around here ever changes,” he told the horse. “Same shit, different day.”

ANY HOPE JACQUIE HARBORED that she would be given a respite before dealing with the problem of Rhys Lewellyn died the very night after she’d visited his farm. Her phone rang at eight-thirty and Erin answered, using the polite manners her grandmother had taught her. “May I say who’s calling?”

With a gasp, those manners vanished. “Wow, Mr. Lewellyn, it’s so cool to talk to you. My name’s Erin Archer and I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I can remember. I’ve got all sorts of pictures of you and Imperator at the Olympics. That has to be just the most awesome feeling, taking him over fences.”

Erin stopped for a moment, and Jacquie came to get the phone, but her daughter waved her off. “Yes, sir, I’ve been riding since I was little. I’m almost fourteen and I compete at third-level dressage with my Thoroughbred gelding, Mirage. We’re working on training level in cross country and show jumping so I can ride in the Top Flight Horse Trials this spring.” Another gasp. “I would love to take lessons—I was talking to my mom about that when she said she was going to shoe your horses. That is just so amazing. When can I start?”

Caught between horror and despair, Jacquie turned her back to her daughter. Her pulse pounded in her fingertips, her throat, her ears and head. Hadn’t she already paid for her mistakes? Why had retribution come twice?

“Mom?” Erin tapped her on the shoulder before she was ready. “Mr. Lewellyn wants to talk to you.”

She reached for the phone over her shoulder. “Thanks.” When Erin didn’t leave the room, Jacquie cleared her throat. “Privacy, please?” Once alone in the kitchen, she shut the door and put a chair against it to prevent unexpected reentry. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jacquie.” His voice in her ear was like a sip of sweet harvest wine, spicy and intoxicating.

Jacquie collapsed into a chair at the table. “What can I do for you, Rhys? Is there a problem with one of the shoes?”

“No, not at all. I just wanted to ask…” He paused, then cleared his throat. “I was confused, that’s all. But I guess I’ve already got the answer.”

“To which question?”

After another hesitation, he gave an uneasy laugh. “There’s no way to say this gracefully. I didn’t expect you to be married, that’s all, so I was confused by the name Archer on your receipt. But obviously, since you have such a delightful daughter, there’s a…dad…in the picture, too.”

Oh, how she wished that were true. How easy this would be if she could trot out a husband and trail him under Rhys Lewellyn’s nose.

Jacquie sighed. “I’m a widow.” Even that was a lie. But at least it was a lie everyone she knew, including Erin, believed.

“Ah.” The confidence returned to Rhys’s voice in that one syllable. “I’m sorry you lost your husband.”

“Thanks. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Well, it sounds like we need to set up some lessons for your daughter. She’s enthusiastic, to say the least. Is she as good as she says she is?”

A mother’s pride would not be denied. “Better. Better than I was at her age, too.”

“Definitely a student I’d enjoy. Why don’t you bring her over tomorrow and we’ll do some schooling?”

“I can’t.” No hesitation about that answer. “We have church and dinner with my family afterward.”