John watched Gemma’s dark form move from the stall, a torchlight at her feet, Silver following with her head under Gemma’s arm.
Comfort. It must be her superpower. Because whenever she was around, people, animals, maybe even the trees and grass entered into peace.
Rising up, he leaned against the stall opening, listening as she sang and talked to Silver. Another thunderclap and Silver snorted and stomped. Then he heard music. After a few moments, Gemma came down the aisle.
“I put on her favorite album.”
“Which is?”
“Classical. Music says things to the heart and soul words can’t touch.”
“Our groom played music for Briley when he was in so much pain.”
“Who’s Briley?” Gemma walked past him toward the south opening. Should he join her or let her alone?
She stood in the middle of the opening as a shadow, arms folded, head back, hair cascading down her back. She seemed so comfortable in the dark. Like Whinny.
“He was Holland’s horse,” John said, making his way to where Gemma stood, haloed in light-filled raindrops. “She was riding him when she came off and hit her head on the rocks. He broke his leg. It’s been a tough road of healing.”
“If there’s an easy road to healing, please direct me to it.”
“I’ll join you there.”
Her laugh was sweet, low, and in an instant, he didn’t want to stand six feet from her but hold her, touch her, kiss her.Kiss her?His blood ran warm and he retreated to the puppy nursery. He’d not do it. Betray Holland. He’d promised to always love her and no other.
Until death parts us.
But death came all too soon.
“I love the rain,” she said.
John paused just inside the stall. The heat from the day, along with the heat lamps, clamped down any fresh air. The space felt suffocating. But the center aisle was a thoroughfare for the sweet, cool, dewy summer rain. A path back to Gemma.
“You looked so peaceful I thought you’d prefer to be alone.”
“I’m always alone.”
He made his way toward her. “I wish you’d tell me what bothers you.”
Gemma stretched, palm upright, to catch the drops from the edge of the roof. “When I was a kid, Daddy and I would take walks in the summer rain. Did you ever do that? Play in the rain, walk in the rain?”
“As a boy. Sometimes with Mum and Dad. We had a governess who loved the out of doors. We’d go on picnics and hikes.”
“Were your parents not hands-on?”
“They were. As much as time allowed. We certainly weren’t raised like our grandparents, surrounded by nannies and governesses, shipped off to boarding school at six.”
“What will you do when you go home?”
“Work, I suppose. As crown prince I’m part of the legal system and I also sit in on parliamentary proceedings. I have no vote, but I’m there to represent the people through the crown. I have my causes. The charities I patron. More than anything, I must find a path forward.”
“And to raise a puppy.”
He laughed. “Indeed. When should I expect delivery of little Chandler?”
“Mid to late August, I suppose. But I’m not sure how you’ll get him.”
“You won’t bring him over?” Like Gemma, John offered his palm to the rain. The little chap Chandler would keep him connected to this curious woman, and the idea made him happy.
