Mama disregarded him with a turn of her shoulder and hugged Minnie against her. “I have been half ill with worry. Where have you been?”
And today had started out so well, she thought. “We had a bit of trouble with the mud.”
“Did I not warn you? Don’t think I didn’t notice the mud caked all the way up to the dash, young lady. I knew it was a mistake to let you drive.” Mama grabbed Minnie protectively and pointed her toward the steps and the front door with a motherly push. “I suppose I owe these people some sort of thanks for seeing you home.”
How embarrassing. Meredith’s face burned. It was not respectful to correct her mother, but the argument sat on her tongue. A muscle ticked in Shane’s jaw, and she felt his muscles bunch in his arm. Tension. Maybe a sign of hurt.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly but he seemed so far away. Maybe it was the snow’s veil putting distance between them, but probably not. Mama’s opinion of him had altered everything. The closeness and the taffy-sweetness within her had died. Was there any way to repair it? “I am grateful for your assistance, Mr. Connelly.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was gallant. And muddy.”
“In truth, I did not mind the mud.” Any hint of a smile was gone. His striking blue eyes had shielded, his handsome face as set as stone.
Of course he would be unhappy with the way Mama treated him. Who wouldn’t be? Anyone would be offended. Meredith ached to set things right, but how could she? She would have to speak to her mother later for all the good it would do, and that wouldn’t mend things at this moment. She longed to say something to Shane, but he stepped quickly, deliberately away. His unflinching gaze hardened.
This was why she wanted to be her own woman and not her mother’s daughter. She wanted to stand tall for what she believed in without apology. She loved her family, but she was embarrassed by them, too.
“I can have Cook reheat some stew,” Mama announced in her superior way, thinking she had been so kind to the rough-looking men. “You may circle around to the back door. Take off your wraps and boots first. Be mindful of your manners. I’ll expect you to keep your hands to yourself, no pilfering the silver, and you must leave as soon as you are finished eating.”
Meredith watched another muscle jump along Shane’s clenched jaw. If only she could melt into the snow and disappear. She couldn’t believe Mama had said such a thing. Whether these men were down on their luck or simply passing through, they did not deserve to be spoken down to. “Mama, you must mean to say how happy you are that these fine men offered to help Minnie and me. It probably inconvenienced them and since it’s nearly dark, perhaps they would like to join us for dinner—”
“That is not what I meant!” Mama gripped her shoulder and firmly guided her up the steps. “What has come over you, Meredith? In the house, now, and start your homework. I’ll deal with you later.”
“But, Mama—”
“And change that dress. I want this understood. You will never ask to drive that buggy again.” Her mother drew herself up full height, not in an understanding mood. “Now, inside before you catch your death of cold. I must have a few words with these people.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all Meredith could offer Shane.
She watched a hint of understanding soften his iron gaze before she stumbled over the threshold and into the warmth of the house. The door slammed shut behind her and she felt Minnie’s hand curl into hers.
“It’s too bad we’ll never see them again.” She sighed. “But wasn’t it something to see his Appaloosa?”
Chapter Three
Shane swiped snow from his face, ignoring the icy pinpricks against his skin and the letdown within. He might have known. Just Meredith, as she’d claimed, was a far sight more. This was the Worthington estate and although he couldn’t see more than a hint of a roofline, the long stretch of lamplight windows gleaming through the storm suggested not a simple house but a dignified manor. Meredith was no country miss.
“I’m Mr. Shaw,” Braden attempted to explain to the dismissive Mrs. Worthington. “I’m the horse trainer.”
“The man my husband hired?” The woman drew her chin up and looked down her nose at the rough and ready pair. “And the one who gave my daughter special attention? Is that your assistant?”
If looks could maim, he would be in need of a pair of crutches. Shane stepped forward. He was no longer Aaron Connelly’s grandson, not in these parts. He was a horseman and proud of it. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Shane Connelly.”
“You were being awfully forward with my daughter.” Mrs. Worthington barreled fearlessly farther into the snowfall to meet him, her apple-cheeks pinched severely and her gaze hard with accusation. “Tell me I am wrong.”
“I was helping her out of the buggy and through the storm. That was all.”
“And that’s the way it will stay if you wish to work here. Do we have an understanding?”
He held his ground, fighting down the urge to argue and correct her misimpression. He may have been enjoying the pretty miss’s company, but that was all. If he felt anything more, then he refused to admit it. It stung to be reprimanded when he’d done nothing wrong, and he couldn’t explain the tightness within his chest. Nor could he remember being offended by a woman so quickly. He wanted the job here and he did not wish to disrespect a lady. He was not raised that way, so he did not argue with her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Fine. Mr. Shaw? If you two will take the mare and buggy to the stables, you’ll find Eli waiting. He’ll show you around, get you acquainted with our expectations before he leaves us for good at the end of the day. I’ll tell Cook to keep the stew warm for when you’re ready. Use the back door only.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Although Shane couldn’t see Braden’s expression, he could sense a wariness. The hardest part of their job wasn’t the horses but the people who owned them. He swiped snow from the old mare’s forelock, taking care to keep the cold wet from falling into her eyes. She was a sweet thing, watching him patiently with a liquid brown gaze and a quiet plea.
“You did a fine job today,” he assured her as he took hold of her bridle. It was the mare that had fooled him into believing Meredith’s pretense. This was no fine pedigreed animal, but an elderly mare with a slightly swayed back. Strange that she was the driving horse of choice for the Worthington girls and not some fancy pony.
His nape prickled as if Meredith Worthington was watching him from one of those dozen windows. He studied what he could of each glowing pane but caught no sight of blond curls or her big gray-blue eyes. Probably just his imagination or the wish that people—especially women—could be what they seemed at first sight. That was why he wanted to spend his life training horses. A horse didn’t put on airs, put you down or figure they were better than you because of the quality of their possessions.
“I plan to tell Worthington I want a trial period.” Braden fell alongside, leading both horses by the reins. “I’m not sure about that woman.”
“She was protecting her daughters.” Akin to the way a mother
