out of the barn and into the arena. He had a brief exchange with the stable boy, who seemed somewhat agitated. But then, the boy was easily excitable when it came to the horse. In many ways, Matías appreciated that. The boy was passionate about the horses, it could not be denied, and while he found it somewhat unorthodox to have one who must be quite inexperienced handling such things, he could not deny that the horses responded to him.
Fernando took the lead rope out of the boy’s hand, and Matías gripped the sides of his chair, sitting upright and leaning forward. “I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Matías said.
“The boy or the jockey?” Liliana asked.
Matías glanced over at the boy, who was looking downright angry now. “Either one.”
The boy crossed his arms and watched as Fernando approached Fuego, and abruptly swung himself up onto the horse’s back.
Before Matías could react, the boy was crossing the arena, flinging himself into the path of the horse, who was beginning to panic.
“Dios mio,” Matías said, moving as quickly as he could.
The horse threw Fernando, and then his hoof clipped the boy in the side of the head. It opened up a gash on his forehead, and he went down to the dirt.
Liliana was standing, a look of horror etched across her lovely features, her pink lips gone waxen.
“Stay back!” he shouted back to his fiancée. The last thing he needed was for her to get in the path of that animal. It was certainly not good for a boy to be anywhere near that animal when it was in a rage. He was not going to allow a woman in there, as well.
Fernando was already standing, backing away from the angry horse. Matías was going to fire the man, and make sure everyone knew he was irresponsible. But first, he had to make sure his youngest employee was alive.
He bent down, holding his hand in front of the boy’s nose. He was breathing. So there was that. But he was bleeding, and he was unconscious. Matías tore his shirtsleeve and pressed the cloth up against the boy’s forehead, lifting his slight form into his arms and carrying him toward the truck.
“Medico!” he shouted, putting the boy inside the truck.
Liliana had mobilized, and he knew that she was ensuring that a doctor was called.
Then he began to drive back to the house, hoping that his initial prediction of the horse killing the boy did not prove to be true.
CAMILLA FELT WOOZY, and when she came back to herself, she felt first a shot of anger, followed by one of pain. She groaned, putting her hand to her forehead. “What?”
“You were kicked,” he said. “Not fully.”
She opened her eyes and the light hurt. But she saw that she was in a truck, and Matías was driving. “Well, yes. I imagine my head would hurt even worse if the horse had gotten me directly.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, his tone infused with urgency.
She could hardly process the question. He had never asked her that before, and somehow it made her feel...warm. But then she realized he wasn’t asking her.
At least, not her, Camilla Alvarez. He was asking his stable boy. And still, it felt significant. Even though he was only asking to make sure she didn’t have a traumatic brain injury.
“Cam,” she said, giving the name that she had given to everyone else here.
“Well, do your very best to stay awake, Cam. It won’t do to have you falling asleep and not waking up, right?”
She tried to shake her head, but it hurt. “Yes,” she said.
She tried to hold her eyes open for the rest of the drive across the property, and then he put the truck in Park, getting out quickly and rounding to her side of the vehicle, opening the door and grabbing hold of her, pulling her into his strong arms. Holding her against his broad chest.
She suddenly felt weaker, but it wasn’t because of the lack of blood, or from the hoof to the head. No, this weakness was squarely related to the fact that Matías Navarro was holding her close, like she mattered. Like she was special.
No, fool, he’s holding you close like you’re an injured child. Because that’s what he thinks you are.
“I sent for a local doctor,” he said, laying her down on the couch in the sitting room.
She took a moment to take in all of the details, as best she could. It was one way to try to keep her eyes open. One way to distract herself from the heat and strange tremors that were rolling over her.
Shock.
It had to be shock.
“Calling for emergency services would have taken too long. If we need to send you to a hospital, we can do that. But I would feel better if we brought someone directly to look at you now.”
Just like that, she felt suddenly much more awake. Because being examined by a doctor would be problematic, all things considered. And going to a hospital, even more so.
But she couldn’t say that. Anyway, she was in no fit condition to spring up off the couch and do anything. Much less run away and deny that she needed any medical attention.
She lay back, looking around the room. At the ornate scrollwork on the crown molding, at the way that it was mirrored in the wood carvings on the plush, pale blue upholstered chairs.
“Not my design choice,” he said. “My flat in London and my penthouse in Barcelona look different.”
“I...Nothing seems strange about it.”
“Of course not,” he said, his expression opaque. “Tell me, how long were you homeless?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t. I mean, I was certainly in danger of becoming homeless once Cesar died.” Her heart clutched with grief. Because, after all, even though she was playing the part of a stable boy from her father’s rancho, she was not. It was her father, and she still couldn’t speak of him without feeling pain.
“And before you came to work for Cesar Alvarez?” he asked.
She bit her tongue. Because she was simply going to have to fabricate from here. They had a boy that had worked at the rancho for a while before her father had paid for him to go away to school. His parents had died, and he had fallen through the cracks of child welfare. It felt wrong to steal his story, but it was also the easiest thing to do under the circumstances.
“I never knew my father,” she said, the line tasting like acid, particularly as she had just been thinking about the loss of her father. “My mother died when I was only nine. I was on my own for a while, but then I wandered onto Cesar Alvarez’s ranch. He gave me work. He gave me purpose. Education. But horses are what I love. They’re what I know. I followed the horses.”
Matías
