more dreams of equestrian camp.”
“No,” she said sadly. “Which was the second-worst thing to lose.”
He was silent again, and she suddenly wished like hell she knew what he was thinking.
“Well, at least you still had your friends,” he said.
“Yeah, at least I had that.” Hardly. It was amazing how quickly people abandoned a person when she hit a rough patch. Of course, Marnie supposed she could argue that if they’d abandoned her when she really needed them, they weren’t friends in the first place.
And really, she didn’t miss them. Not anymore. It had been difficult at first. Terrifying, actually. She and her parents had felt dazed and displaced and wondered if anything would ever feel normal again. But her father had emerged from bankruptcy with a newfound sense of purpose and, with help from friends who invested with him, started a new business from scratch. It was significantly smaller in nature than his previous one had been, but he was enjoying himself more. Her mother had become his assistant in running the small vineyard they’d purchased three years ago. It would be turning a profit for the first time this year, a very modest one, and Marnie hadn’t seen her parents so happy in a long time. In many ways, they seemed happier now than they’d been when they were on society’s A-list.
Marnie, too, had found some small degree of happiness after losing everything. No, she wasn’t following the dream she’d originally mapped out for herself, and there were times when her job drove her crazy. But she’d convinced Hildy at Division to take on a handful of small accounts that weren’t as profitable to the company but were still worthwhile—like her parents’ business—and she enjoyed working with them. The big fish on Division’s client list might be the ones who paid Marnie’s salary, but it was the small fish who brought her satisfaction. Maybe someday she’d have her own PR firm and work with causes she considered worthy. And maybe then, she’d be as happy as her parents were.
“I know public relations might seem like kind of a strange occupation for me,” she said now, “but it’s actually a good fit. I like people, and Division liked the fact that I knew so many, some of them very prominent. I’ve been doing it for more than five years now.” She sat up and lifted her chin a little defiantly as she added, “And I’m good at it, too.”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Daniel said. “I’m sure you could do whatever you put your mind to.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just that you seemed so focused on the camp for kids, that’s all.”
Marnie really didn’t want to talk about this right now. So she said, “It’s good to see you again, Daniel.”
Oh, damn, where had that come from? She really hadn’t meant to say anything like that. She really hadn’t meant to feel anything like that. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she was still attracted to Daniel. The moment she’d turned to see him in the waiting room, her heart had begun to hammer, and heat had pooled low in her belly. And when he’d uttered her name in that low, soft way he used to…When she looked at his hands and remembered what they had felt like skimming over her bare skin…When she looked at his mouth and recalled the way he’d kissed her and tasted her, and all the places he’d kissed and tasted…
She halted the memories from forming, but not before they ratcheted up her body temperature a few degrees. Daniel Whittleson had been an incredible lover, had scorched her with his touch and enflamed her with his words, until she’d been unable to think about anything but him, until she could only feel him surrounding her and burying himself inside her, and…
She closed her eyes, hoping to put an end to both her distant memories and her current desires. There was no way she could allow herself to be attracted to Daniel again. It would mean risking her heart all over again, and then there was the difficult position her job had put her in.
But when she opened her eyes again, her resolve was nearly shattered. Because Daniel was looking at her as if he felt the same pull from the past that she did, as if he were remembering the same things she was remembering, as if he wanted and needed her now as much as he had then.
Very softly, he replied, “It’s good to see you, too, Marnie.”
And something inside her broke open, releasing all the feelings she’d wanted so desperately to keep locked up tight.
Oh, Daniel, she thought. Why did we have to meet again now? Why here?
She searched for something, anything, to say that might dispel the almost palpable awareness that lay between them. But all she could come up with was a very lame, “So. You, uh…you work for the Prestons. That must be interesting. They’ve bred and trained some pretty amazing horses.”
At first, she feared he would only continue to look at her with that same soulful yearning she felt so keenly herself. Finally, though, he nodded and said, “I like it very much, actually. Thomas and Jenna are good people. The whole family is.” He was thoughtful a moment, as if he still wanted to talk about himself and Marnie, then, thankfully, added, “Their son Andrew has taken over as business manager of Quest. Their son Brent is head breeder. Robbie’s turning out to be a top-notch trainer after years of Jenna and Thomas worrying he’d never figure out what he wanted to do with his life. And Melanie just made history as the first female jockey to win the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness. Quest Stables is a wonderful place to work. And Kentucky’s a gorgeous state.”
Marnie forced a smile she hoped looked genuine. “I imagine it’s very different from some of the other places you’ve lived. I mean, a guy who followed his dad to jobs in Australia and England and Canada when he was a teenager, settling in a quiet state like Kentucky? Who would’ve guessed?”
“It’s different from those places in some ways, yeah,” he agreed. “But I like it as well or better than any of them.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Though it always feels good to come back to Australia. I was born here, even if I moved back to Ohio with my mom before I started school, so I guess, technically, it’s home.”
They spent the next hour in companionable conversation, only skimming the surface of whatever they might actually be thinking or feeling, at least on Marnie’s part. But she was grateful for it. For now, at least, they both seemed willing to let whatever lay in the past stay there. She’d worry about the future when it came. And she’d worry about the past some other time. For this evening, she was content to just reacquaint herself with Daniel. Even if it was only superficially. And even if it wouldn’t last.
Gosh, just like old times.
After finishing dinner, they returned to Sam’s hospital room to check on him, but he’d just been given a sedative and the nurse said he was expected to sleep through the night with no change. Daniel double-checked to be sure the hospital had his cell number, then said he’d be at his father’s house if there were any developments.
He turned to Marnie. “Where are you staying?”
“I’m staying here in Pepper Flats, actually,” she said. “At the Wallaroo Inn.”
“How long will you be in town?”
Not an easy question to answer, Marnie thought—honestly or dishon…uh, not straightforwardly. As long as it took to clear Louisa’s name and ensure that the Fairchild Gala went off without a hitch. Hopefully, that wouldn’t take long. But how was Marnie supposed to
