The Privileged and the Damned. Kimberly LangЧитать онлайн книгу.
knew the moment Ethan entered the stable. The energy felt different. It sounded just as silly today as it had yesterday, but she would swear it was true.
Maybe it was just because she happened to be mucking the stall next to Tinker’s when the horse perked up and started whinnying.
In twenty-four hours she’d managed to develop quite a crush on Ethan Marshall. It was silly, to be honest, but true nonetheless. After all, what wasn’t crush-worthy about the man? As long as she accepted it for exactly what it was, then there was no harm in it. She was a realist; she knew how the world worked and her place on the food chain. It was no different, really, than a crush on some movie star equally unobtainable.
Still, though, it felt rather nice; just another emotion she hadn’t let herself experience in a long time.
She heard Ethan greet his horse, and the way he talked to Tinker made her smile. These horses were family pets—not for competition or show—and as far as she knew there wasn’t a Marshall in the bloodline who wasn’t completely horse-crazy.
Screwing the lid back on the bottle of motor oil, she stepped out of Duke’s stall, drawing Ethan’s attention and a lazy smile of greeting that made her stomach flutter a little. Then the bottle caught his attention. “Duke’s cribbing again?”
“Yeah. I swear that horse needs therapy. Or antidepressants. Nothing we’re doing seems to help, so I’m trying to at least make his stall taste bad before he chews it to bits.”
“Finn says he’s coming out next weekend. Maybe that will help settle Duke down.”
Finn, she knew, was Ethan’s younger brother. The wild one who lived out in Los Angeles and produced movies—whatever that entailed. “Couldn’t hurt. Maybe Duke just misses him.” Tinker was butting against the stall door, wanting out. She patted his nose. “You are next for new shoes, so stay put.” Realizing that Ethan probably wanted to ride, she added, “Sorry. We’re a bit behind. Things are a little crazy around here today.”
“When are they not?”
“Very true.” She put the oil bottle on the ground and picked up the stall pick. Going back into Duke’s stall got Ethan out of her line of sight and let her stomach settle. She started spreading the clean bedding over the floor. “If you want, I can call up to the house when Tinker’s ready,” she said over her shoulder.
“It’s not a problem.”
Ethan spoke from right behind her, causing her to jump. She turned, surprised he’d followed her in, only to get confused when she saw the pitchfork in his hand. “Urn …” Surprise and confusion turned to complete jaw-dropping amazement when he started banking the bedding into the corners like a pro. “Um, what are you doing?”
Ethan looked at her like she was a little slow.
“I mean, I know what you’re doing. What I want know is why you’re doing it.” In here.
“You said things are crazy today, and I thought I’d help.”
Ethan Marshall. Mucking a stall. Two things that did not go nicely together in her head. “What if you get caught doing my job—”
“Honey, I’ve mucked these stalls thousands of times.”
“Really?” She was too distracted by the movement of his powerful shoulders as they forked another load of bedding to say much more.
“Yes, really.” He shot her a grin. “In fact, I’m probably better at it than you are.”
Like that was something Ethan would put on his résumé. “I’ll take your word for it, honestly.” Confusion reigned, and Lily struggled to make sense of the scene before her. “Look, if you’re waiting for Tinker—”
“It’ll do me some good. I spend too much time behind a desk these days. I’m getting soft.”
“Soft” was definitely not one of the many adjectives she’d choose to describe Ethan. Biceps strained against the fabric of his T-shirt as he worked, thigh muscles contracted and flexed under faded denim that hugged a really nice, tight … Lily moved to stand in front of the fan and closed her eyes as the air rushed over her face.
“You okay?” She looked over to see Ethan had stopped working and was now watching her, eyebrows pulled together in concern.
“I’m fine.” She poked at the bedding with her pick, moving it around aimlessly, unable to really focus.
“The summer I was fifteen, the stable manager’s niece came to work here. She might have been older than me, but she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.” He leaned on the pitchfork. “She knew it, too, and told me how impressed she was by my mucking technique. I mucked more stalls that summer …”
“To impress her?” Because good looks, charm and money weren’t enough? The girl had to be crazy. She couldn’t imagine a teenage Ethan would be lacking in any of those attributes any more than he was now.
He laughed ruefully. “She just wanted someone else to do the work, but, yeah, I thought I was impressing the hell out of her every day.”
Could she get fired for letting Ethan do her job? That was something she really couldn’t afford to risk. “If I tell you I’m impressed, will you stop?”
“You don’t want help?”
“Really not. I’d prefer to do it myself.”
Ethan looked at her strangely, but set the fork aside. “Then be my guest.”
Lily breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.” Maybe her crush on Ethan wasn’t as good an idea as she’d convinced herself. She was making an utter ass of herself.
Instead of leaving, however, he leaned against the wall, like he had all the time in the world and no place better to go. She tried to pretend he wasn’t there and just finish up, but Ethan was simply impossible to ignore. Tinker stuck his head over the wall and nuzzled against his shoulder, and he lifted his hand to pat the horse absently. “So, where are you from?”
Damn. It was a perfectly innocent question, but she still hated it. It was a gateway to more questions. “Mississippi.”
“That explains your accent. What part?”
She tried to sound nonchalant, shrugging and falling back on practiced answers. “We moved around a lot, so nowhere particular.”
“What brought you to Virginia?”
It was as far as I could get before the money ran out. Swallowing against the curl of nausea, she struggled this time to keep her voice light. “A desire to see a different part of the country.”
“It must be tough to be so far from your family, though.”
She bit back the snort. He might see it that way. “Can’t be helped, so I’m dealing with it.”
“Gloria says you took the apartment over the office.”
Focus on what you’re doing. Maybe he’ll get the hint. “Uh-huh.”
“And do you like living here at Hill Chase?”
She could hear the teasing impatience in his voice at her distracted, vague answers, but she was getting impatient to end this conversation. “Not to be rude, but can I ask why you’re asking all these questions?”
His eyebrows went up in surprise, and she regretted the sharpness of the question. “Being friendly?”
There’s friendly and then there’s freaking me out. “Why?”
“Maybe I’m just a friendly guy. Is that a problem?”
Yeah. “I realize we got off to a weird start, but please don’t feel like you have to be nice to me or anything. I just work here.”