He hated himself for what he had to tell her. But he didn’t believe in secrets, not between them, not when she was his sun.
Holly finished her column and glanced up, face lighting up with happiness at the sight of him.
How did he deserve that?
“Hi, baby,” she greeted, and motioned for him to come in. “I was just wondering if you’d show up for lunch. I have leftover caprese salad and rotisserie chicken if you’re hungry.”
“Is that the stuff with tomatoes and cheese?”
“And basil, yep.” She shifted paperwork over. “Come sit down.”
He did, taking the chair across from hers.
When she stood and moved toward the fridge, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her carefully down so she sat in his lap, both legs hooked over the arm of the chair.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, grinning. “If you want that kind of lunch, you’re going to have to lock the door. And not wake Lucy. I can be quiet if you can.”
“You can’t be quiet,” he said, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips. He wished this was his errand, to reach down into the low V of her shirt and open her legs over his lap, lose himself in the softness of her body for a little while.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, and she stiffened against him, growing serious.
“Okay.”
He took a deep breath and her fingertips pressed into the back of his neck, an encouragement and reassurance. “I can’t tell you all the details, but I think things are about to blow up for the club.”
“I’m guessing you don’t mean in a booming business sense,” she said softly.
“No.” He stroked the denim-covered smoothness of her thigh. “There’s someone who has every reason to hurt us – and I think they’re going to.”
Her eyes moved over his face, huge and green, and lovely. “What do you need me to do?”
“Stay safe.” He closed his hand over her knee, squeezed, met her gaze with a pleading one of his own. “Please, Hol, just stay safe.”
She kissed him, her lips soft and gentle. “You too.”
~*~
“Tally,” Becca explained, turning to him as he approached the fence. Em’s working student had a booted foot propped on the lowest board, arms folded over the top rail, eager audience for what was happening in the arena.
His pulse leapt as he remembered the leggy Thoroughbred who’d jumped the property fence and first introduced him to his old lady. “Is he safe for her to be on?”
Becca smirked. “Obviously you don’t watch her ride all that much.”
Agreeing silently, Walsh joined her, folding his arms over the rail.
It was true: he’d only watched Emmie ride a time or two. It wasn’t novel to him, being on horseback, given his background. And so he’d let business take up most of his day, enjoying his time with his wife while they were both on foot – or in bed.
It was a shame, though, because she was graceful as a ballerina in the saddle. Mounted on a long-limbed horse, his five-foot-nothing old lady seemed head and shoulders taller, the way she became an extension of the animal she controlled. She had Tally at a big, swinging trot, his forehand collected without strain, his balance rocked back on his hind legs as she sat, deft and unmoving, seeming not to cue the animal at all.
When they reached the top of the arena, Tally grabbed at the bit and plunged his nose downward, trying to shake her loose, to gain control. A frown crossed Emmie’s face, and Walsh watched her tighten all over, using every muscle in her body to correct her mount, regather him, and send him on with a sharp kick.
“She’s lovely,” he murmured, and Becca made a pleased sound beside him.
Emmie brought the gelding down the long side of the arena, then executed a neat downward transition, loosening the reins and patting his neck. “He’s improving,” she called to Becca. “Slowly.”
“He’s a dumb-dumb,” Becca called back, “that’s probably the only way he can improve.”
Emmie grinned and then winced as she reached to rub at her shoulder. “He tugged on me good.”
