Fear of Falling (13 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

S
INCE
THE
SECOND
Rowan crossed the finish line, Olivia had gone back and forth between what her eyes told her and what her camera had captured so many times that her head was pounding. She hadn't had time to inspect every single photograph but she'd uploaded the most important ones to her computer and reviewed the slow-motion footage before coming to the barbecue. And she'd seen the proof.

To make the situation even graver, in two days she would have to present copies of all her photographs of the race to the officials. They had hired her. The photographs would be examined by both amateur and eventually professional race judges. They could even be published, Howard had told her. Mr. Blue's owners had the right to demand a retraction if they found evidence that supported his win. At that time, it would officially go on the books that Rowan had lost.

Olivia couldn't imagine how devastated Rafe would be. The last thing she wanted was for him to find out from an investigative board or a published article that his victory was being rescinded.

She raised her eyes to his crestfallen face.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

Olivia's mouth had gone dry, but the tears that had welled in her eyes burned like acid. “I saw it from the judge's tower.” The rest of her explanation died on her lips. She swallowed hard and tried to wet her lips. Looking into Rafe's confused eyes, she saw a new pain there: betrayal.

Olivia knew now she'd made the wrong decision. She shouldn't have come here, and she should have never brought the truth to Rafe's attention.

She strove daily to prove she was not her father's child. She would never keep the truth from anyone she loved. Though she didn't believe she was in love with Rafe, she cared about him. Maybe it was infatuation. Maybe it was friendship. But if she wanted any kind of a relationship with Rafe in the future—which she did, with all her heart—then they had to start with honesty. At least, that was what she'd convinced herself until the words
Rowan didn't win the race
crossed her lips.

In the end, I'm just like my father. Destroying lives. Killing dreams.

“It doesn't matter what you think you saw. The judge declared him a winner. Besides, I thought you were supplying the camera that took the pictures to prove it.”

“I...I did. Two of them. My digital camera showed he won. That's the one that Howard checked.”

“Then it's settled. It was the official call.”

She nailed him with a penetrating gaze. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. I brought two cameras. The second one was a slow-motion digital that I could amp up to nearly ten thousand frames per second. He never saw those shots because— Well, he just didn't. After I left the fairgrounds, I went over it all at home. It's only by half a nose, but Mr. Blue was the winner.”

Rafe stared at her. She could tell he was processing the information. He was as still as stone. She wished he'd say something, but instead, the sparkle she usually saw in his eyes dulled, reminding her of misty, gray, late-winter mornings when the earth wasn't quite awake with spring, yet wasn't deep in winter slumber, either.

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“Do?”

“Are you going to show your pictures to the judge?”

He'd caught her off guard. She hadn't figured that out yet. “I don't know. I wanted to tell you—”

“Oh, so am I supposed to go rat out my own horse to the officials, then? You want me to do the dirty work?” His voice rose with each word. His back stiffened. He looked a foot taller. He lifted his chin imperiously.

“I have to give them to the judges,” Olivia said. “They expect them in a few days. I wanted you to know first.” She felt her own power rising slowly within her. “You do what you think is right.”

“Right?” he bellowed. “You think it's right that I take this win away from my father's horse? You think it's
right
to tell my mother that her husband's horse failed? Did you see her face today? Did you see my brothers? All they talked about was how happy they knew our dad would be watching Rowan win. You think it's right to ruin that memory, Olivia?”

She didn't realize she'd balled her fists until she flexed her nearly numb fingers. How could she answer him? No, she didn't think it was right to rob the Barzonnis of Angelo's legacy. She didn't think it was right to impugn Rowan's reputation. But she didn't think it was right to keep the information to herself, either...not that she really had a choice. She supposed she could keep the slow-motion footage and give the judges the half-truth. Only she and Rafe would ever know that Rowan hadn't won.

On the other hand, if she handed in everything and the judges saw how accurate her work had been, that it could affect the outcome of the race, she would be applauded. It would be a huge step toward the photojournalism career she'd always wanted. But her dream would come at a price. A big one.

“No, it's not right,” she said finally. When all was said and done, she couldn't hurt Rafe like that.

He peered at her. “You must think I'm stupid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You're ambitious, Olivia, and that's a good thing, but somehow me and my horse have gotten caught in your net. You're using Rowan for your own gain. It's selfish, really. If those pictures show Mr. Blue won, you'll be famous.”

“Famous? That's ridiculous.”

“Is it? The whole world loves racing. It's thrilling. It's sport and competition. And the animals are gorgeous. A hometown story like this hits the internet, and believe me, reporters will be at your door—and mine.” He folded his arms across his chest.

She had to admit that the idea of her photos garnering attention, making a difference, was enticing. She'd just been considering that option herself. She couldn't think of a response.

“The problem here, Olivia, is that you don't understand the first thing about Rowan or me or what any of this means to my family.”

She nodded, not taking her eyes off his. “Well, I know I have a special connection with Rowan, too. I love him already.” She cut off her next thought. Had she really said that out loud? Did she mean the horse or the man? How deep had she burrowed in here? Rafe was right. She didn't know him or his family very well, but she wanted to. She wanted to know everything. She wanted to know how far his dreams of racing went, even though it terrified her. Did he like working the farm? Or did he want to escape like Nate and Gabe? What kept him here? Was it loyalty to his father? Love, respect or responsibility to his mother? Or all three?

At this moment Olivia despised her need to always tell the truth. Sometimes, it could be a serious flaw. Her mother had told her once that she had to be careful with the truth. Julia had explained that truth-telling could lead to losing friends. Olivia countered that if her friends didn't want the truth, then they weren't her friends. Julia had pointed out the difference between simply stating facts and building a relationship.

No relationship could be built on lies, but often, strategic timing when it came to delivering the truth was the glue that kept the relationship together.

Olivia realized she was absolutely guilty of bad timing.

“You do have a connection with him,” Rafe agreed. “But you're not part of his life.”

“I'd like to be.”

Rafe's eyebrow hitched up, and he fixed her with a steely blue gaze. “But something is holding you back. I've seen it, Olivia. There's a wall around you that even Rowan couldn't get through. I know I can't. You've got your shields up.”

“So do you.”

“I should,” he countered. “You want to hurt me. And my family.”

“I don't
want
to hurt anybody. I was just telling you the truth.”

“Fine. So, are you going to tell me the whole truth?”

“I don't know what—”

He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on her shoulders, leaning in close. “I see your fear when I talk about racing. It's not there when we're just talking about Rowan or the other horses. It's not the animals that frighten you. It's the racing. Isn't it?”

The air in Olivia's lungs burned like an inferno. She felt as if she'd burst into flames on the spot. If only she could. Then she wouldn't have to tell him the whole truth. If he was so angry, why didn't he just send her away? He could dismiss her and that would be the end of it. She'd figure out a way to get over these feelings. Surely there was some kind of anti-emotional wrecking ball she could use to tear them all down. She wondered how many years it would take to forget his kisses. To forget him.

She'd told Rafe one truth and it had crushed him. She was amazed he was still talking to her. Why did he want to know her deepest fears? Why did he care? What difference would it make to him?

She had hurt him. Devastated him. The whole truth would drive him away for good. Instead, she wanted to mend the rift she'd already caused. She wanted to see those flashes in his eyes that he seemed to reserve for her alone. She didn't know how he appeared to shut out the entire world except for her when they were together. She couldn't do that. In fact, when she was with him she was hypersensitive to everything going on around them. Right now, for example: the cool evening breeze that ruffled his dark hair and the spring grass that had yet to be cut; the setting sun's golden rays; the buds of the weeping cherry tree beside the kitchen door and the half-moon rising in the east. She heard the sound of Rafe's breathing, and she saw the shadow in his eyes as he waited for her to answer him.

She had always considered herself a keen observer of nature and her surroundings, but the truth was she saw more, felt more, when she was with Rafe.

She must be falling in love with him. And that made it even harder to tell the truth about her father.

“Racing is dangerous. Not just for Rowan, but for you, too, Rafe.”

“How so?”

“I saw you out there. You were acting as the starter assistant. What if Rowan bolted or kicked? What if you got really hurt?”

Rafe flung his head back and dropped his hands to his sides in exasperation. He took a deep breath. “This is what I am, Olivia. And Rowan was bred to run. He's a Thoroughbred and though most of them bite and nip and can be really cantankerous, he's not. You've seen that.”

“It was his first time in that tiny little pen at the starting gate. Howard told me that Thoroughbreds can go crazy—”

“But he didn't,” Rafe countered. “I won't deny that I was nervous, but that's why I wanted to be out there with him. I knew if he saw me, he had a better chance of staying calm. He was always calm around my dad, but—”

Rafe opened his palms and then closed them. He stared at the ground.

“He's not here,” she finished for him. “I'm so sorry he wasn't.”

“Me, too. And that's what I need to explain to you. Racing was the thing that gave my dad joy. The farm and its success drove him. He was an ambitious man. There are still people around Indian Lake who say he was a tyrant, even a thief, when it came to how he acquired his land. But I only know his side of the story.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That he spent his youth on the streets in Sicily and was hungry nearly all his life. He swore he would find a way to get to America, and he did. He went to New York first and found it just as gang-infested and brutal as Italy. But he got a job and saved his money. He heard about the farms here in Indian Lake from a tourist in the restaurant where he worked. He heard the land was cheap. He came out here and bought this first parcel. He said he knew how to grow tomatoes and started with that. When he learned of other farms going up for sale, he offered to buy them, rather than allow corporate farms to come in. At the time, his neighbors were willing to sell to him. He never stole anything from anybody. At least not in this country. He was proud to be an American. Proud that he learned the English language and proud to work the land.”

“And the horses came later?”

“Not really. He had a workhorse from the beginning. My mother liked to ride, so he bought a horse for her for twenty dollars. By the time I showed interest in horses, he'd already been looking at Thoroughbreds. He knew they could also make a lot of money if they won.”

Olivia struggled with her vow to listen and not judge. Not react. Beating back her fear, she tried to open her mind to what Rafe was sharing with her. “Did he like to gamble?”

Rafe chuckled. “You're so funny.”

“Funny? How?”

“My father's entire life was a gamble. Living on the streets means you have no roof over your head. You live in cardboard boxes, under bridges—whatever you can find. Waking up every day was a gamble, Olivia. Working a cargo boat to get to the United States was a gamble. Then trying to work a farm when he wasn't a farmer—that was a gamble. If anything, I'd say my dad was driven by fear of the
known
all his life. He'd known too much poverty to ever go back. He had no family. My mother said that was why he wanted so many children. He would have been happy if there had been twelve sons.” He laughed.

She touched his hand. “You really loved him,” she whispered, her heart swelling.

“More than I could ever tell him.”

“But you're telling him now. With this win.”

“I am.”

“I think I understand now.” Her eyes plumbed his. “Thank you for telling me all this, Rafe. I didn't know.”

“So you see, Olivia, this little hometown race was a very big deal for this family. It was like—well, my father coming back to us. Even if just for two minutes. He was there today with all of us. Cheering us on. Sharing in the winner's circle.”

She gasped and her hand flew to her heart. “Rafe. I saw it. That moment. I caught it on my camera. You really did feel his presence, didn't you?”