like a groom. For one, he was huge—more like a football player than a horseman.
And it just seemed wrong, giving Camillo’s job to a stranger.
Camillo. Where are you?
Again, this nagging idea that he was in trouble and needed her help overwhelmed her. Only something terribly important would have made him leave without talking to her first. Or something just plain terrible… Why did she have the feeling it was the latter?
Taking a deep breath, she expelled the anxious thoughts and filled her mind with fences and rhythm. She gave Chelsea a quick tap with her heel. Over the course, she executed the big rein releases Mr. Winslow had suggested. They felt awkward. And little by little, doubtful thoughts clouded her focus again. Over the final two jumps, old habits took over. She tightened her stance and Chelsea knocked rails on both fences. Emilie grimaced as the wooden bars thudded to the earth.
Ready to face her criticism and dismissal, she slowed Chelsea and turned toward the covered stand. Mr. Winslow, however, appeared engrossed in conversation with the new hire. Had the trainer not even been watching?
At that moment, Emilie realized she didn’t care. Until she heard from Camillo and knew he was safe, she might as well face the fact that she wouldn’t be able to concentrate or compete.
As she approached the stands, Mr. Randall jumped to his feet. He took the reins over Chelsea’s head with one hand and with the other helped her down from the saddle. Before she could protest, her feet hit the ground and he’d tossed his jacket over the saddle, protecting it from the rain.
“Nice to see you, Peter,” Derrick called over his shoulder as he jogged Chelsea back to the barn.
Emilie stepped under the covering. “You were right. Bigger releases. Thank you for coming.” Expecting Mr. Winslow to leave, she held out her hand.
“Humph.” The trainer waved her arm away. “I’m not quite decided. I want to observe you again and see how you respond to more adjustments. How about I return on Tuesday? Have the Warmblood and the stallion ready.” He stood and placed a crumpled hat on his shock of white hair. “Good day, Miss Gill.”
Emilie stood openmouthed as the old man left the stands and tromped the short distance to his Range Rover. What was that? Was he still considering her? Her heart pounded against her chest and she struggled to conceal the smile that wanted to win over her mouth. Forgetting the rain, she moved out from the covered stand and headed toward the barn.
“And Randall is a fine choice,” Mr. Winslow shouted from the open window of his SUV.
Emilie landed her foot in a puddle.
“You’ll have a hard time finding anyone else with his experience,” he added. “I certainly hope you will keep him on.”
Emilie searched the old man’s face. Wasn’t that her decision? Cold water seeped through to her toes before she nodded in agreement.
“Until Tuesday.” He rolled up his window then sped down the gravel drive.
Emilie shivered, hugging her shoulders as she ran the last few yards to the stable.
“Mr. Randall?” His name echoed through the barn, creating unnatural reverberations that chilled her head to toe. Goose bumps prickled her skin as she removed her helmet and wrung out her wet braid. The brief joy from Mr. Winslow’s approval had already gone, replaced with the same dread that had haunted her since finding Camillo’s note.
She grabbed a thick wool blanket from the top of a tack trunk, draped it over her shoulders then crossed the spacious foyer to check the thermostat.
“Wow, you are one tiny rider.” A deep baritone sounded from behind.
Emilie muffled a squeal, dropping one end of the blanket.
“Did I startle you?” Derrick’s accent, maybe Tennessee, seemed heavier than it had over the phone. “Sorry about that.”
Emilie shook her head but remained facing the wall as she adjusted the temperature a few degrees. Heat crept up her spine as she could feel Derrick’s eyes on her back. She turned. “I’m just a little jumpy today….”
The rest of the sentence escaped her. Her eyes grew large. The man stood in the center of the main aisle holding the most skittish horse in the barn by nothing but a handful of mane.
He stroked the horse’s lean neck and smiled wide. “Poor guy was just walkin’ up and down the aisle. Seemed lost.”
Emilie’s mouth fell half-open. Not only did Derrick hold Redman with so little effort, but the man had also shed his rain gear. His large T-shirt and loose-fit jeans stretched across walls of hard muscle. She sucked in a quick breath and forced her eyes up. His wide-set steely eyes, golden skin and thick waves of dark hair sticking out recklessly in every direction weren’t any less appealing.
Emilie blinked and shifted her gaze to the gelding beside him. “That’s Redman. He’s a rescue and he’s usually a bit…flighty.” The one time she’d ventured to touch him, the scared animal had tried to bite her.
“Well, who can blame him? Look at this place. It’s like a country club in here.” He pointed to the dark stained cedar that crowned the open foyer with its cathedral ceiling and faux antler chandelier. Then he gave the chestnut a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Yep, Redman, I know how you feel.”
Emilie put the blanket down and pulled at the neck of her damp sweater. “That horse belongs in Stall K and apparently he needs a snap clip on his door. Put him away, Mr. Randall. We need to—”
“I’d really like it if you could call me something besides Mr. Randall,” he interrupted. “Makes me think my dad is here.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“So, just call me Derrick. Okay?” His smile grew wider.
“Okay. Derrick,” she said with some reluctance.
A dimple formed on his left cheek. He turned Redman toward the north stalls and strutted away. “Be right back,” he called over his shoulder. Great.
He and the horse moved off as silently as they’d come. Emilie reminded herself to breath again. Could she really work with this guy? Did he ever stop smiling? Ugh. It wouldn’t be anything like working with Camillo. But she did need help. The fact that Redman was roaming the aisles was proof of that. And Mr. Winslow liked him.
When Derrick returned, Emilie looked quickly away toward the back of the stable. “It’s time to turn the horses out,” she said. “But I’ll show you the old barn first. If you take the job, it’s where your office and tack space will be. There’s a restroom, telephone and refrigerator there for your private use.”
She led the way to the far end of the facility. Derrick followed close behind. She wondered if he could sense her nervousness and the strange unease that hung in the air of the stable. She scratched her neck then clasped her hands behind her back to keep them still. Or was it he that made her nervous? She glanced over her shoulder. What if he didn’t even want the job? She stopped and faced him.
“Mr. Ran—Derrick…I don’t really know you, but Mr. Winslow and, of course, my sister seem to think you’d be good here and I trust their judgment.
