Heart of the Valley Read online

  ‘Look, Andrew, I —’

  The announcer cut over Brooke’s words as he declared the course open for competitors.

  Andrew handed her Jake’s reins, his uncertainty disappearing, replaced once more with his confident swagger. He fixed the buttons of his jacket and tightened his tie. ‘Go on. Live a little.’ And with that he sauntered into the ring.

  Brooke couldn’t stop watching him as he walked the course. She and Andrew had been friends for years and other than an experimental kiss when they were twelve, not once had he made a pass at her – not one that she took seriously. He was an irrepressible flirt and made endless cracks about them getting together, but she’d always thought them jokes. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  She stroked the thin white streak at the tip of Oddy’s nose. She’d never been attracted to Andrew, despite his many qualities. He simply wasn’t her type. She liked tall, hardy men with wide shoulders and strong, solid arms that closed around you and kept you safe from the world. Men with sun-kissed hair, stubbly jaws, dirt under their nails and crow’s feet around their eyes, who made her insides jangle and her heart gallop with just one look. Not metrosexuals who’d make her feel like she was kissing a relative.

  He returned, shaking his head. ‘Terrible course. Jake’ll be fine, but Oddy …’ He sucked in air between his teeth. ‘Going to be tough for him.’

  Brooke threw him the horses’ reins. ‘We’ll see about that. Oh, and that bet? You’re on. But if you lose, you have to streak the length of the stables. Twice.’

  As she knew he would, Andrew didn’t even blink. The man had no shame. ‘I always knew you wanted to see me naked.’

  ‘You’re forgetting I’ve already seen your dangly bits. At Pony Club camp, remember? You lost a bet with Darren Spalding and had to jump the grade five showjumping course in the buff.’

  He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Must have impressed if you can still recall that.’

  Feigning disgust, she tossed up her arms in an ‘I give up’ gesture and headed off to walk the course, laughing when he called after her, ‘I’ve grown a whole lot bigger since then.’

  Andrew hadn’t been joking about the course. It was tight, and although a lower grade with smaller jumps, it was much twistier than the morning’s track and would take careful riding. No room for any slips in concentration or she and Oddy would have a rail down, and in this event, with so many other experienced riders competing, a single rail would see them out of the jump-off.

  Brooke took her time warming up Oddy, keeping him settled and well collected, cantering small figure eights and flying changes of his leading leg in the dusty warm-up arena. Satisfied with his responsiveness, she cantered him over the practice jumps, patting his neck and praising him when he cleared them without a rattle.

  In a fluke of timing, she’d drawn the slot before Andrew, which meant no opportunity to see how Jake performed. Oddy and Jake were of a comparable type, both quivery thoroughbreds with similar-length strides. If Jake struggled around any of the turns, or experienced difficulty with the fence spacings, Oddy was likely to fare the same. This time, however, with Oddy going first, Andrew had the advantage.

  As Brooke headed for the ring, butterflies launched in her stomach. She didn’t normally suffer from nerves, not in these lower classes, but Andrew’s bet put her on edge. Stupid, really, when she had every faith she and Oddy could win.

  The steward called her number and she cantered through the gate, one hand stroking Oddy’s neck. She bent forward to whisper to him, the horse’s ears twitching back to listen. ‘Come on, Odd-job, let’s show them what you’re made of.’

  With a salute to the judges, she cantered another tight circle and directed Oddy through the start.

  Seventy seconds later she cantered through the finish flags with her head lowered. The horse had motored round the course as smoothly as a Lamborghini, clearing each fence as though it were a thirty-centimetre-high cavaletti. All except for the last. Eager for the line, Oddy took off too early and dragged the top rail. Not his fault. He was an inexperienced horse and she should have kept him reined in. Although inside she cringed at the error, she made a show of slapping his neck and telling him how well he’d done.

  ‘Get ready to pucker up,’ teased Andrew as he rode past.

  Brooke trotted back to the edge of the ring, butterflies still rampant in her stomach. She’d never reneged on one of Andrew’s bets and she wasn’t about to start, but the thought of kissing him made her feel flushed and strange. Not excited strange. More weird, fearful strange, as if this one bet could change everything between them.

  He went clear, expression exultant when he halted Jake alongside her. ‘So, I’ll see you at the gooseneck about seven then?’

  She pointed a finger at him. ‘Don’t forget you’re buying dinner. And wine.’

  He leaned over to nudge her. ‘Sexy bloke like me, you shouldn’t need any Dutch courage.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Despite what you might think, Chiang-man, you’re not God’s gift to women.’

  ‘You’ll think differently later.’

  Making a grossed-out noise, Brooke whirled Oddy around and rode off.

  Brooke leaned against the sink, winding and unwinding a long strand of her freshly washed hair around her finger, gnawing her lip as she stared at the gooseneck’s door. Instead of tying her hair back in a ponytail as she usually did, she’d left it out, its natural soft waves curling locks around her face and shoulders, a curtain she could hide behind should the need arise. Steam from the trailer’s tiny shower thickened the air, kinking her hair further and making the cramped kitchenette seem more claustrophobic than ever. She glanced at her watch again. She still had ten minutes to kill before Andrew’s arrival, and if they were anything like the last sixty, they’d be long ones.

  Forcing herself to relax, she sat at the corner banquette and, with her chin resting on one hand, picked up one of the knives she’d laid out earlier and dangled the blade like a pendulum from her fingertips. The thick stainless-steel hilt flickered in the light, reflecting the pale faux-timber panelling of the gooseneck’s living area.

  Many of the best times of Brooke’s life had been spent in this small space. Fun nights with Andrew and Chloe gathered around the table after long days competing, drinking wine, playing poker or Monopoly, laughing at stupid jokes and making even stupider bets with one another. Even in the days when she’d been driven everywhere by her grandparents the gooseneck rattled with laughter. This was also the space where at sixteen she’d first fallen in love, when Thomas Edwards ignored Chloe’s dazzling looks and impressive cleavage, leaned against the shower door, thrust his hands deep into his pockets and smiled crookedly at her with eyes so summer-sky azure they’d made her float right out of her seat.

  And now she was going to kiss Andrew here.

  She dropped the knife and stared at the table top, tracing a finger over one of the many scratches on its dark-blue surface, resurrecting the memory of that other time they’d kissed. She could still recall the sweet innocence of it, the strange feeling of reaching some momentous point in her young life. How the touch of their mouths signalled the end of childhood and the onset of adolescence.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the look on Andrew’s face, the delight it held, and the way, when they’d parted, he’d entwined his fingers in hers and asked if that meant they were now boyfriend and girlfriend. Unsure if he was being serious, and rattled by the feelings his kiss had evoked, she’d blushed and said no. Andrew had pulled away, his expression full of hurt, and for a few days she’d thought that one kiss had killed all that was special between them. Then he’d bounced back as though it had never happened, and their friendship had carried on as it always had, filled with jokes, bets, rivalry and laughter. Until now.

  She glanced at her watch again. The hands had barely moved. Even the second hand strained to make its way past the numbers. She wiped her fingers across her forehead, cursing the moisture there, then sl
umped back with her arms crossed and her mouth pursed. Two seconds later her knee began to jig.

  Unable to stand the wait any longer, she slid from the banquette, yanked open the door and clomped down the step to seek the comfort of her boys, each rugged up and bedded down in his portable yard for the night. She fussed over them, straightening rugs, checking water buckets, examining legs for signs of soreness. Tired after his day, Sod let her play with his ears and velvety muzzle without trying to nip. Not to be left out, Oddy leaned over the rail and nudged her arm and she scratched him affectionately between his ears, smiling when the horse lowered his head and revelled in the attention.

  She smelled Andrew before she saw him, delicious curry aromas sweeping into her nostrils and making her stomach rumble despite her tension. Giving each of the horses a kiss and a pat, she ducked under the rail to meet him.

  ‘Is that the delivery boy I detect?’

  He held up two bags. ‘Curry puffs and spring rolls followed by Massaman and jungle curries with steamed rice, and all washed down with a bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Happy?’

  She held the gooseneck’s door open and waved him inside. ‘Sounds good.’

  They settled either side of the banquette and began piling food onto plates. Andrew cracked the seal on the wine and poured her an oversized glass, pushing it towards her with a glint in his eye that only made her anxiety swell.

  She leant back with her arms crossed. ‘Will you stop looking at me like that? You’re putting me off my dinner.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘That “you just wait” look.’

  He leaned forward, laughter in his expression. ‘You mean like this.’ He tilted his head and gave her a sultry pout, moistening his lips as he did so. He dropped his voice to sex-dripping huskiness and followed it with an even more exaggerated pout. ‘Come on, baby. You know you want me.’

  The sight was so comical Brooke couldn’t help but laugh. Smiling, Andrew picked up his fork and pointed it at her. ‘The trouble with you, Brooke, is you take things far too seriously.’

  She opened her mouth to argue and quickly shut it again, conceding that, in this instance, the accusation was probably well founded. She’d taken one of his jokes and contrived it into something fateful, yet she couldn’t wipe the impression that he’d been serious when he made the bet. No matter how she tried to dismiss it, she hadn’t imagined that look, or the disquiet it instilled.

  He waved at the food. ‘Come on, tuck in before it gets cold.’

  It took a full glass of wine, half a curry and a great deal of horse talk and competitor gossip before she relaxed. Andrew ordered her to sit and let him sort out the dishes. Content to relinquish responsibility, she watched him idly as he dumped the leftovers in the bin and collected plates for washing.

  He was wearing clean jeans and a dark-red, fine wool jumper that hung loose on his lean frame. An image appeared in her mind, of Andrew gambolling naked around the showjumping ring, arms held curled in front, tossing his head and snorting as he pranced and hurdled the low fences. They were both only seventeen, young, over-hormoned and still growing into their skins, yet she felt no desire then, and she felt none now. No spark existed. It never would.

  He startled her out of her reverie. ‘What are you thinking about?’

  She blinked and shifted uncomfortably, alarmed she’d somehow made her thoughts obvious. ‘Just Oddy. I shouldn’t have let him have his head like that.’

  He rinsed another plate and left it on the drainer. ‘Is that really what you were thinking about?’

  She swallowed, not knowing how to answer, and fingered the stem of her plastic wine glass. ‘No.’

  He wiped his hands on a tea towel and turned to her, leaning his hip against the bench. ‘Care to share?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘You were thinking about kissing me, weren’t you?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ She raised the glass and took a long slug, her nerves ringing.

  He tossed the tea towel aside and held out his hand. ‘Come here.’

  ‘Andrew, I don’t think this is a good idea.’

  His expression narrowed, congealing the already thick atmosphere. ‘A bet’s a bet, Brooke.’

  ‘I know but —’

  He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. ‘No buts.’

  His grip held firm, as if he feared her escape. Heat pulsed from his palm, as intense as the yearning in his eyes. The wine evaporated from Brooke’s bloodstream, leaving her coldly sober and desperately unsure.

  ‘Andrew …’

  He scraped the hair away from her face and cupped her jaw. ‘Shh. Don’t spoil it.’

  She closed her eyes. How could this be happening? This was Andrew, her friend. They weren’t meant to be doing this.

  His breath grazed her lips, delicately spiced. ‘I can’t wait any more. I’ve waited too long already.’

  He traced a finger down her cheek and her eyes fluttered open. Andrew’s gaze hung on hers. His mouth parted in expectation, and she realised he wore the same blissful expression he’d had when they were children, kissing for the first time.

  Carefully, he lowered his head.

  His mouth caressed hers sweetly, with care and tenderness, exploring the soft flesh of her lips. As he deepened the kiss, his hands drifted to her neck and shoulders, dragging her closer, squeezing her against him until his erection pressed into her groin. Alarm clanged through her brain, urging her to pull away, but Andrew clutched her tight, a moan rumbling in his throat.

  Panicked, she braced her arms against his chest and pushed hard.

  He stumbled backwards into the bench, wincing as he connected with its rigid edge.

  She shook her head, trembling. ‘This isn’t right.’

  Expression pleading, he held out a hand, a gesture out of character for the overconfident Andrew she knew. When she didn’t respond he let it drop. Blinking, he stared at the cupboard above her head.

  The curry-tainted air condensed further. Brooke wanted to throw open the door and race into the night, but the look on Andrew’s face shod her feet in lead.

  ‘Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that for?’ he asked eventually.

  Her heart spasmed. How could she not have seen this? How could she not have realised his jokes hid truths? Her throat was so choked she could barely whisper. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He let out a harsh breath. ‘Yeah. Me too.’

  She hung her head, overwhelmed with guilt that she’d hurt him. ‘I don’t —’

  He cut off her words with a hand over her mouth. Eyes huge, he shook his head. ‘Don’t say it, Brooke.’ Their gazes met, his full of hurt, hers overflowing with sympathy. He dropped his palm and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  As soon as he departed she slipped out into the night to cry into Poddy’s mane, mourning a friendship she knew would never be the same again.

  With three mounts, Brooke had a full schedule the following day, and though their paths crossed frequently, she never seemed to find time to stop and talk to Andrew. She felt his scrutiny, but whenever she looked his way he turned aside as if the very sight of her hurt him.

  Sensing something was up, the other competitors cast meaningful glances at one another and murmured behind their hands. Brooke ignored them, concentrating instead on the horses, but her mind refused to settle. Poddy and Oddy behaved impeccably, neither putting a foot wrong in their classes, but Sod, ever alert for inattention, put on a bucking display in the warm-up area so vigorous and inventive it would have made a bronco blush. Brooke ended up on her backside with a mouthful of dust, her white breeches streaked with dirt and humiliation flushing her face, while Sod careered gleefully around the ground kicking up his heels like a naughty teenager, refusing to be caught.

  By the time she’d packed the gooseneck for home her movements were sluggish with exhaustion and despondency. In all the years she’d compet
ed, this was the worst show she’d experienced. All she wanted was Kingston Downs, a hot bath to ease her aches and red wine to help her forget.

  Wearily, she led the horses into the gooseneck and secured their gates, before lifting the tailgate and locking it in place.

  ‘Brooke?’

  She let out a breath, preparing herself, before turning and leaning against the cold door with her hands held tight behind lest she be tempted to touch him. ‘Hey.’

  As though suffering the same fear, Andrew kept his fists thrust into his jeans pockets. His gold complexion seemed paler than normal, its sheen dull. Tiredness shadowed the skin under his eyes. ‘I saw your fall. You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Just a lovely purple bum cheek to match the bite marks on my arms.’

  He smiled a little. ‘You need to watch him. He knows when you’re upset.’

  ‘I’m not upset, I’m just …’ She waved a useless hand. She didn’t know what she was.

  ‘Upset. Yeah, I know.’ He sucked in a breath, vulnerability etched on his face. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  Her heart squeezed. Tears began to form and sting. This was all so wrong. ‘You’re my friend. I don’t want things to change.’

  ‘But I do. Surely you knew that?’ When she didn’t answer he shook his head. ‘Don’t you get it? I love you. I didn’t mean for it to happen but it did.’

  She closed her eyes and sagged against the float. He loved her. He’d come out and said it and made it even worse.

  ‘Brooke, honey. Don’t.’ In a stride he had her wrapped in his arms, her face pressed against his chest as his heartbeat raced in her ear. He stroked her hair, soothing. ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll work it out. I promise.’