Today's Reading
"I can't begin to thank you enough." My fingers itched to squeeze Tuck's hand like I'd done numerous times. But I needed to get my heart rate back to normal and push those affectionate feelings aside before I could touch him platonically.
"No thanks necessary, Pipsqueak." Well, there went those loving feelings.
Since Tuck and I had started working together, our friendship had taken a strange path. We'd gone from sharing everything with each other to Tuck putting up an invisible brick wall between us. He treated me more formally, like he'd once treated my dad, his old boss. Yet every now and again, the wall lowered, and he'd choose to call me by my childhood nickname. I couldn't remember how often he called me Pipsqueak prior to training my Thoroughbred, but now I heard the unflattering nickname way too often.
More than once I'd considered confessing my feelings to Tuck, but the longer I remained mute, the longer it seemed taboo to me. Tuck would most likely reject me with all the love and kindness that existed in him, but that goodness wouldn't lessen the blow. No matter how he cushioned his words, telling me I would simply remain his best friend would shatter my heart.
Unfortunately, I wasn't sure his returning my affections would be the best thing either. We'd never been anything but Tucker and Piper, the two kids seen running across my folks' estate, playing hide-and-seek or, once we got older, racing our horses. We were always together, and people naturally assumed that meant we were like brother and sister.
Only there wasn't a single ounce of sisterly affection for Tucker Hale in me. I stuck my hand out the window and let the warmth from the sun soothe me. It had been a lot colder in Kentucky when we'd left my farm.
I'd bought the property last July, throwing my folks for a loop. I could still remember the shocked look on my mother's face when I enlightened her regarding my plans.
"Piper, honey, we didn't even get to look at the place. What if they upped the price because you're a McKinney? How could you make this step without our guidance?"
Dad had winked at me. "Now, Jackie, we raised Piper to be smart. I'm sure she handled it beautifully." I sighed as the memory faded.
"You're thinking awfully loud over there. Thinking 'bout your folks?"
"Yeah," I murmured.
Tuck sighed. "They show their love the only way they know how."
Which begged the question, How did I need to be loved? Was it ungrateful for me to want them to let me stumble a bit? As soon as they'd learned of my plans, they'd tried to step in and help. They'd offered to find a jockey to race Dream and even tried to pay for my farm. I'd had to beg them to let me be independent and trust I could handle the responsibility.
"I might be smothered by the end of the season."
Tuck laughed. "Jackie McKinney is a fashion icon in the Derby world. Surely her picking out outfits isn't all that bad."
I just stared at him while he tried to dial down his laughter.
"Okay, the last outfit made you look like a Stepford wife."
"It's not me." I shuddered thinking of the pale pink tweed skirt suit Mama suggested I wear at our last race.
"Keep gently reminding her of that, and she'll eventually get it."
I rolled my eyes. Maybe I needed to have a conversation with Dad. He was great at playing mediator when I thought Mama's guidance a little overbearing. I tried so hard not to show her how upset her suggestions made me.
"Don't slouch. People will wonder why you can't walk with confidence."
"Don't wear those colors. They're not good with your complexion."
"Always use the manners we raised you with. We don't want others to complain."
She was so focused on what other people thought. And I got it. I was, too, but I saved myself a little breathing room. Of course, I couldn't be mad at her, because she adopted me. Wasn't it ungrateful to be mad at a parent who'd done more for you than your biological parents had?
My bio parents had dropped me off at an orphanage in Oloro Ilé—an island country in the Gulf of Guinea—and left me without a backward glance. Believe me, I know. I had that one childhood memory of their departure to torture me. Their retreating backs and my wails were all I could recall of them. On the other hand, my adoptive parents had continuously poured their love and monetary blessings on me. I'd never wanted for anything...except a little more autonomy.
This excerpt ends on page 22 of the paperback edition.
Monday we begin the book Unforgiven by Shelley Shepard Gray.
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