The Fake Husband

“Can be.” Rhys cleared his throat, forced his thoughts past that inevitable memory. “On the last day, the horse and rider compete in stadium jumping, another timed event, over painted wooden fences which do come down if knocked hard enough. Cross-country and show-jumping times are combined, and the dressage score figured in to determine the overall winner.”

“And you do this on a regular basis?”

“The season runs spring to late fall. The big four events are Burghley and Badminton, in England, Rolex in Kentucky, and the Adelaide Horse Trials in New Zealand. And the Olympics, every four years.”

“So what brings you and your horses to this part of Carolina?”

“I was looking for a change of pace—and weather.” He grinned and got Adam’s smile in return. “An old friend lives in the area and suggested I try it out for a season. We’re thinking of doing some breeding together, and so I thought I’d take her advice.”

“Horse breeding?” Jacquie asked, with a sidelong glance.

“I don’t breed dogs,” Rhys said, with a wink.

“And are you already looking forward to the next Olympics?”

Rhys chose the polite answer rather than the truthful one. “That’s the ultimate prize. And Imperator is the horse to do it twice, if anyone can. You all should come out to see him one day. He’s quite the show-man.” Realizing that he still held his unopened coffee in his hand, he slid out of the booth. “Just drive out to Fairfield Farm whenever you have the time. I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”

“I’ll do that.” DeVries got to his feet and offered a firm handshake. “It’s good to have you in town, Mr. Lewellyn.”

“Rhys.”

“And I’m Adam. I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon. If there’s anything I can do, feel free to call.”

“Thanks.” Turning to the table, he finally managed to catch Jacquie’s eye. “Call me about those lessons.”

Her serious expression was not encouraging. “I’ll think about it.”

He had to let it go. “Good to meet you, Phoebe. Abby.” Jacquie’s friends unbent enough to nod. As he crossed the diner, he heard the conversation pick up behind him, heard a woman’s laugh and would have sworn it was Jacquie’s. She hadn’t laughed or even smiled since that first grin when he arrived—not a good omen for any future companionship.

After fourteen years, though, whatever had been between them that summer should really remain in the past. They’d been young, and he’d been on the rebound. With hindsight, he could see how doomed the entire relationship was from the beginning. Even if Olivia hadn’t returned and begged him to cancel the divorce, he and Jacquie would surely have burned out their passion and gone their separate ways.

Rhys climbed into his truck, turned on the engine and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. That theory was all well and good. But the fact remained that seeing Jacquie again had jump-started his imagination, his memories…his libido…as nothing else had in fourteen years. She’d brushed him off twice, so far, and would have sent him to hell today if she could have brought herself to be so rude. She hadn’t, though.

And he wouldn’t leave her alone unless she forced him to.

SCHOOL WAS PRETTY MUCH SCHOOL, Andrew thought, wherever you went. These Southern kids he’d been dumped in with weren’t nearly as cool as they thought they were. But by lunchtime, he’d decided they were probably easier to get along with than the nerds and snobs in his last school in New York.

The courses he’d taken at home put him a grade ahead at New Skye High School, and he’d hung around with tenth-graders most of the morning. But all students ate lunch at the same time in the big cafeteria, where there were sections labeled for each class. Andrew figured he’d play it safe and sit at a ninth-grade table. He didn’t want to argue with some territorial freak over being in the wrong place.

So he watched from the empty end of a bench as the usual groups formed—the guy jocks, the cheerleaders, the popular girls who weren’t cheerleaders, the smart kids, the girl jocks, the losers. He found his eye drawn to a girl in the popular group, maybe because, in a bevy of suntanned blondes, her short black hair and pale skin singled her out.

Cute, definitely. Wearing jeans and a sweater under a leather jacket, she was worth a second glance, even a third. He’d think about asking her out, if there was any possibility his old man would let him go on a date.

Since there wasn’t, Andrew went back to his sandwich. Next thing he knew, somebody was standing across the table.

“Hi.”

He looked up to find her standing in front of him and smiling. “Hi, yourself.”

“You’re new to school, right? I’m Erin Archer.”

“Andrew Lewellyn.”

Her pale blue eyes got big. “Lewellyn? As in Rhys Lewellyn?”

“No, as in Andrew. Andrew Lewellyn.”

“But Rhys Lewellyn is…your dad?”

“Yeah.” He watched with resignation as she sat down on the opposite bench.

“How cool is it to have Rhys Lewellyn as your dad? Does he give you riding lessons every day? Do you get to watch him ride Imperator? Were you there at the Olympics when he won the gold?”

“Do you always talk so much?”

She laughed. “I guess I do. Do you want me to leave?”

He’d noticed the glances coming their way from the jock table. “No, that’s okay.”

“Do you work with Imperator every day? Are you planning to ride him at the Top Flight Horse Trials in April? There are a couple of smaller shows coming up before then, too—”

He held up a hand. “Slow down, why don’t you? Nobody rides Imp but my dad, unless I steal him. So he’s not in shape to jump and probably won’t be by April and Top Flight. Which means he won’t compete.”

“What are you talking about? Why not?”

“My dad doesn’t ride much cross country these days.”

“I remember, he fell at the Adelaide Horse Trials, didn’t he? But that was months ago. He must be well by now.”

“His back still bothers him sometimes.” Andrew decided against explaining the rest. “So if he doesn’t ride, Imp won’t run.”

“You’ve got three whole months to get him in shape. I bet he’ll let you.” Her eyes got even bigger. “Or, maybe…I’m gonna get my mom to let me take lessons with your dad. Maybe he’ll let me ride Imperator.”

Andrew snorted in disbelief. “You think he’d let you ride Imp when he won’t let me? That’s a bunch of crap.”

She stiffened up. “It is not. I’m riding in the Top Flight trials. I could handle Imperator, even on my first lesson.”

“In your dreams. My dad doesn’t put lesson riders on Imp.”

Her chin went up. “Maybe he just hasn’t had anybody good enough.”

“Like I’m not?” He got to his feet. “You are so full of—”

“Hey, Erin.” Two of the blondes she’d been sitting with earlier walked up. “You’re going to the algebra-help session, right?” one of them asked her.

“Right.” Erin swung her legs over the bench and stood up with her back to him. “Let’s go.”

“Hi.” The blonde sent a smile in Andrew’s direction. “Are you new? I’m Cathy Parr.”