Winning Heart. Laura Browning

as they rounded a bend in the driveway. Anderson pulled the car around a circular drive.

      After he shifted the car into park, he said very matter-of-factly, “I need your help, Wynter.”

      She scrambled out of the car and hurried around to the driver’s side. He leaned on her while he pulled himself up. She kept hold of his elbow while he negotiated the short ramp added to the front of the house. Tension radiated from him. Getting help must bother him a lot.

      Her eyes widened when they entered the front hallway. Its vaulted ceiling opened to the second floor with a winding staircase curving up along the right side. As she stared, she felt like Little Orphan Annie with Daddy Warbucks. The steps were wide enough for three or four people to walk abreast. In the dim light from a lamp resting on a sideboard, she saw the black and white marble tiles that covered the floor. Family portraits hung around the hallway and lined the stairs. Wynter had never seen anything this ornate. Even the Southards’ and the Butlers’ homes were nothing compared to this house.

      “Damn! It—it’s so big!” Wynter exclaimed before halting with an awkward grimace. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

      Her boss smiled for the very first time, and it transformed his face, making him look years younger and much, much kinder. She stared at him. “You’re not old! You’re young!” she accused then gasped.

      This time, he didn’t smile, he laughed. It was a rusty sound, as though he hadn’t done so in a long, long time.

      “Oh! I’m so sorry. Ma’s forever telling me to keep my mouth shut.”

      “Don’t worry about it, Wynter. We’re both tired. If you’ll go straight through the hallway you see in front of you, the kitchen’s at the back of the house. Help yourself. Mrs. Caudle always leaves plenty of sandwiches in the fridge. I’ll find a pillow. There’s a big couch in my study. It will be the door at the end of the hallway on your left when you leave the kitchen.”

      “Thanks, Mr. Anderson.” She hurried past him, almost running down the hallway. She heard his slower, stilted gait and the tap of the cane while he followed as far as the hallway leading to the study.

      She stepped through the doorway and into the kitchen. It was almost as big as the whole trailer she and her mom lived in. Because the overhead light cast only a slight glow over everything, Wynter thought it must work off a dimmer switch. Nowhere in the house was anything left dark. Was that because of Anderson’s limp?

      She looked around. What her mama wouldn’t give for a kitchen like this. Stainless steel appliances gleamed in the work area, including one of the biggest refrigerators she’d ever laid eyes on. When she approached it, she ran tapered fingers over ice-smooth black marble countertops, and her gaze roamed warm, light oak cabinets. Her growling stomach reminded her of the true reason for the visit to the kitchen.

      Wynter opened the refrigerator. Just as he had promised, a tray of wrapped sandwiches sat on the middle shelf. She grabbed one then made herself slow down. Ma would kill her if she saw her do such a thing. A pitcher of milk sat on the top shelf. She took it out and set it on the counter while she found a glass. She was already on a second glass and a second sandwich when Anderson stepped into the kitchen.

      Her cheeks tingled with heat when his glance moved from the half pitcher of milk to the two sandwich wrappers lying next to a plate.

      “Feel better now?”

      She nodded, mouth full. At least she had remembered not to speak with food in her mouth. That was another thing Ma was always getting on her about.

      “I’ll leave you. There’s a bathroom off the mudroom by the back door. Good night.”

      Wynter gulped the bite of sandwich. “Thank you, sir,” she mumbled. “For everything.”

      He nodded and limped away. What an odd man. He’d be a real hunk if he smiled more.

       Chapter 3

      Nelson leaned against the wall in the small elevator. It hummed while it glided up to the second floor. From there it was just a few feet to the bed. He’d lied when he said Thomas was keeping an eye on her. The truth was he was the one watching. Thomas would have turned her away when she couldn’t give him a reference, but as far as Nelson was concerned, being fired by the Southards was perhaps the best reference she possessed.

      He’d clamped his jaw shut to keep from laughing out loud when she slipped into the story about the kid’s car. After he stripped off his clothes and sat on the edge of the bed to get the painkillers, he thought of her again. Wynter was like a rough-cut stone, edges and hidden facets waiting to be drawn out. A few flashes of her potential were already obvious in that gorgeous auburn hair and creamy complexion. Given the right advantages, she’d be a knockout.

      There was more to her, though, than just looks. He saw how hard she worked. She was the first one there in the morning and from what he had observed, the last one to leave at night. Character. It was rough, but it was there, and it was what kept his thoughts coming back to her again and again. Nelson learned enough concerning Wynter O’Reilly to know she needed to stay. The most important thing he’d discovered was as much as Payton Southard the Third might consider her trailer trash, he desired her.

      Nelson rubbed the aching muscles in his scarred right leg, thinking and considering the possibilities. Perhaps there was more he could do than ruin Southard. If he turned their duckling into a swan, it might be an even sweeter revenge. Just how much would it irk snobs like the Southards to see the stable girl they’d fired taken under the wing of Nelson Anderson? Very closely under his wing.

      * * * *

      It took Wynter a few minutes to realize where she was when she woke up. When it dawned on her, she sat bolt upright and looked around. Panic hit her like a punch in the gut. She was late. The rising sun was already lightening the sky outside Nelson Anderson’s study window.

      She jumped off the couch and snatched her jeans back up before throwing on the rest of her clothes. After jamming on sneakers, she plaited her thick hair in one long braid down her back. When she glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel, another wave of panic shot through her. Almost six. An hour late. Shit.

      Her first instinct was to dash out of the house, but then she saw the crumpled blankets and pillow from where she’d slept. Some things her mother had ingrained all too well. Her hands shook while she folded the blankets and laid them on the couch. After setting the pillow on top, she darted down the hallway. The house was still quiet when she slipped out the front door, eased it shut and ran down the drive.

      The barns stood almost a half-mile away. Wynter was in full-fledged panic now. She rounded the bend that would bring her in sight of the barns when the nose of Anderson’s Rolls glided around the corner at the same time from the opposite direction.

      She couldn’t stop. The car swerved as she tried to leap sideways, and her hip slammed into the fender before she stumbled backward to the trees. A cedar branch grazed one cheek, but otherwise, the dense foliage cushioned the worst of the fall. Even so, the impact knocked the breath out of her. She heard the car door fly open and the incessant beep from the ignition alarm.

      “Wynter!”

      She rolled over and struggled to a sitting position when she heard his feet hit the pavement. “Stop!” She gasped and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m fine! Don’t get out.”

      He cursed so vividly even Wynter was taken aback. “Come here, damn it, so I can see you’re okay.”

      Wynter pushed out from the cover of the dense cedar trees and limped over to Anderson’s side.

      “See?” Her irritation turned to concern when she saw how pale his face was. “Are you all right?”

      “You’re bleeding,” he mumbled.

      “It’s just a scratch.” She swiped it with the back of a hand. “What were you doing? I thought you were still asleep.” She glanced toward the barn. “I gotta go. I’m