Winning Heart. Laura Browning

at her watch. “I have to go. I’ve got class.”

      When she spun around to head to the truck, Nelson called, “Five o’clock, Wynter. I’m paying these guys good money to get this done.”

      * * * *

      She thought about it all afternoon. Who was he kidding? Who on earth had a tailor and boot maker in this day and age? Wynter couldn’t let go of it. It made it hard to concentrate on her lectures, which in turn made her even angrier. She had two exams Monday and three more that week, not to mention the paper she was still finishing. Her last class ended at four-thirty, which left just enough time to get back to Pheasant Run. The angry part of her wanted to go back to the barn, but she was curious.

      Had he been serious?

      In the end, curiosity won, and she drove past the barns and up the driveway to the house. In daylight, it was even more imposing than at night. When she made the turn around the trees, Wynter saw three cars parked in the circular drive beside Nelson’s Rolls Royce. She parked the beat-up truck next to them, deciding she was either the brunt of some kind of joke, or Nelson Anderson had far more money to throw around than she had imagined. That thought made her want to turn tail and run. In her experience, having money was not a good thing.

      Wynter knocked on the door. Mrs. Caudle opened it and smiled. They’d met at the barn and taken an instant liking to each other. Even as rich as he was, Nelson didn’t like having a lot of household staff. In fact, as far as Wynter knew, Mrs. Caudle was it.

      “Wynter! Come in. Mr. Anderson’s been waiting. I’ve set everyone up in the sitting room off the study.”

      Wynter stared.

      “Are there really people here to make sure the riding clothes fit?” she asked, feeling a wave of horror wash over her.

      “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Caudle went on, oblivious to Wynter’s evident discomfort. “And a dressmaker Miss Olivia brought over.”

      “A what?” Wynter backed out the door when Olivia Rutledge appeared in the hallway.

      “Wynter! You’re here. Excellent.” Olivia crossed the hallway and grasping her by the elbow, pulled and pushed her along. “We’ll start with the riding clothes.”

      The next hour went by in a haze of both embarrassment and anger. Everyone talked as though she wasn’t there while they prodded, poked and pinned. They turned her around and touched her in places no one but her mama and the doctor had.

      Wynter had just stripped out of the riding clothes and handed them out the door of the small guest bath. She was ready to change and get the hell out of there when a silky dress in deep green was thrust through the door.

      “Put this on, please,” the dressmaker said in a no-nonsense voice.

      She held the dress up. It seemed a bit short, she thought, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad. The dress had long sleeves, with a high, boat neck style neckline. It was then she turned it around to unzip it and gasped. It was cut low enough in back there was no zipper. That was it. Wynter stood a moment in her bra and panties before she thrust the dress back out the door at the dressmaker.

      “I will not put that on,” she informed her. “I won’t wear it. There’s no back to it! I’ve had enough poking and prodding.” She slammed the door in the woman’s face.

      A hushed conference was going on outside. She heard Nelson’s deeper-timbered voice too, and her humiliation was complete. After a moment, the door cracked open and another dress was thrust through it.

      “One more, miss, please,” the dressmaker begged.

      Wynter accepted it, but it seemed very similar to the other one until she held it up. Although the front was cut in a wide “V” neckline, the back matched it, making it overall a much more conservative dress. She shimmied into it, eyes widening at the hem. It ended just below mid-thigh! She wouldn’t be able to move without showing more than God ever intended.

      “Come on out, dear, so I can see what adjustments need to be made.”

      Wynter cracked the door enough to peek out. Miss Olivia and the dressmaker stood nearby. On the other side of the sitting room, Nelson stood looking out the window. Wynter wasn’t sure what he looked at since it was dark outside, and they’d already turned on the lights inside. He straightened, balancing on the cane while he turned toward the room. For a moment, she saw his deep blue eyes darken. She swallowed.

      The dressmaker was already pinning. “We’ll take it in some here at the waist and the hips. It seems fine over the bust.”

      Wynter blushed when Nelson’s gaze shifted to her breasts before sliding down to rest on her long legs. A gnawing discomfort in the pit of her stomach made her squirm then yelp when the dressmaker pricked the side of her hip.

      “Are you done?” Wynter whispered. “I-I need to go. I have studying to do.”

      “Almost, dear.”

      Wynter touched Olivia Rutledge’s arm. “Miss Olivia, why do I need a dress? I’m just riding Rosie, right?”

      “Of course, dear,” Miss Olivia said. “But there’s also the exhibitors’ party Friday night.”

      “I can’t go to that,” Wynter gasped. “I’ve never been to a party. I-I wouldn’t know what to do—or say.”

      “Of course you can,” Miss Olivia assured. “Nelson will bring you.”

      Wynter glanced at Nelson. He once again had his back to them while he stared out the window. It was then she realized he stared at her reflection. Her outraged expression must have shown. She saw the sudden quirk of his mouth reflected in the window. Damn him. It was useless to object now. She would find some way to get out of it.

      “There. Done.” The dressmaker patted Wynter’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll have the dress ready and waiting for you.”

      “Can I go now?” she asked in a somewhat shaky voice. “I have to study.”

      The dressmaker and Miss Olivia nodded, but it was Nelson who was her undoing, making her heart beat with a heavy thud when he turned from the window and smiled. “You look lovely, Wynter.”

       Chapter 7

      By the next afternoon, she was a mess. Her classes passed in a haze. She rushed from campus to the Hunt Horse Complex, where she found Thomas and the Pheasant Run stalls. Nelson and Olivia Rutledge were out front, still seated in the golf cart Nelson drove in order to get around. They turned when she walked toward the stalls.

      “We were beginning to worry,” Thomas remarked. When she brushed a strand of hair from her face with a hand that shook, his sharp, blue eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”

      Wynter nodded, tensing her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t chatter.

      “Well,” he continued as though he cheered on a reluctant hound in the hunt field, “go change. You’ve got an hour to warm up before your class is called. Chances are with your inexperience, they’ll put you in early.”

      She nodded again. Trying hard to remember her manners, Wynter turned and smiled at Nelson and Miss Olivia before heading inside the tack room to change. She did okay until she attempted the stock tie. Her fingers shook so much she couldn’t get it adjusted, never mind get a decent knot.

      “Damn this thing anyway!” she swore. She mumbled more obscenities concerning the maternal heritage of whoever invented stock ties. The curtain shifted to one side and Nelson limped through the opening. Wynter glared her frustration. “What do you want?”

      “To help,” he responded.

      His tone took the starch right out of her. She dropped her hands from the tie and stood there. “I’m sorry,” Wynter apologized. “I—I do need help. I can’t get it adjusted correctly.”

      Nelson stopped in front of her and leaned the