Winning Heart. Laura Browning

tone. “Get in. I’ll take you back down there.”

      “You don’t…”

      “Wynter,” he snapped.

      “Fine.” She did her best to stomp around the car, but each footfall shot pain through her bruised hip. She winced when she bent to get in.

      “You are hurt,” Anderson accused.

      “Just a bruise. I’ll be fine,” Wynter replied and stared out the window.

      This wasn’t how she had planned the morning. She wanted to be cool and polite, able to thank him for how kind he’d been. She sighed in frustration. Instead, she had come off looking like a total idiot. Again. “Just take me to the barn, please. I have work to do.”

      They didn’t speak anymore on the way. Wynter got out with a mumbled thanks and heard him backing the car to head to the house. When she walked through the barn door, Thomas was there measuring feed. He glanced up and set the feed scoop back in the barrel. Wynter jammed her hands in her jeans pockets and scuffed the toe of one sneaker.

      “Sorry I’m late,” she muttered, half expecting the taciturn Scotsman would give her the sharp side of his tongue. She’d heard him berate one of the grooms the other day. Thomas Sinclair possessed a very creative grasp of the English language and could dress someone down without a foul word ever uttered.

      “I’ve already given the horses their hay. You can do the grain and the water, lass.” The surprise must have shown because for a moment, the older man softened and said, “Mr. Anderson explained your situation.”

      Wynter nodded in embarrassment, face averted.

      “You’re a hard worker, Wynter O’Reilly. I’ll give you that. So let’s give it another week, this time with food and shelter, and see how you do.”

      She turned with a quick, grateful smile and nodded. “Thank you. You won’t be disappointed. I promise.”

      Sinclair grinned. “I know I won’t. You’ll be living in the apartment over the barn. Mr. Anderson’s orders.”

      Wynter shook her head. She had seen how much people charged for such apartments, even if they were small, and she needed every extra penny to help cover school costs loans and grants wouldn’t cover. “I can’t afford it.”

      “Rent’s free. Mr. Anderson says that’s in return for the additional security you’ll provide being around the barn all the time.”

      She started to protest and then closed her mouth. The two of them had figured everything out so she could have no reasonable objection. Truth was, it sounded almost too good to be true. A real apartment. And free meant more school money.

      “Thank you,” she said at last, pushing aside pride for practicality.

      Thomas smiled again as he headed for the door. “I gassed up your truck too.” He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Look, lass, if you run into trouble, Mr. Anderson’s a good man. He’ll help.”

      She nodded. After he left, she stood in the feed room and blinked away hot tears. Never had she met people like this, except maybe Wythe. Based on her experience, rich people were like the Southards and the Butlers. They wanted to look down their noses at families like hers because she couldn’t buy everything she wanted, and she wore thrift store clothes. Kindness wasn’t something she was used to.

      She measured the rest of the feed from the list on the wall and concentrated on her work. Once the horses were fed and watered, she checked the schedule posted in the tack room to see which horses would stay in to be ridden later and which were to be turned out to pasture.

      Exercise riders showed up around seven, along with a couple of grooms who knocked dust and dirt off horses with their brushes. Wynter collected the blankets where they threw them on the floor. Dirty ones went into the washer. Those soiled with shavings, she took outside to brush.

      * * * *

      Nelson’s first surprise came when he made a few phone calls to people he knew at Duke. As a member of the board of trustees, he figured he would open some doors for Wynter.

      “She doesn’t need any doors opened, Nelson,” his friend told him over the phone. “The girl’s test scores are sitting right in front of me. She’s got an all-but-perfect SAT. Oh, excuse me, it appears she’s ten points off perfect in English.”

      Nelson chuckled. “Anything else I should know?”

      “The finances are shaky. It appears she won a full scholarship from something called the Southard Foundation, but it was yanked a couple of months ago. We’re working with her on some loans now.”

      Nelson’s eyes narrowed. So in addition to firing her, the bastard pulled the college money out from under her. Was there no end to how low the Southards would stoop?

      “Tell her she’s got a four year full ride,” Nelson declared. “I’ll pay.”

      “What do you want me to call this sudden scholarship?” Jason Hairston asked in some amusement.

      Nelson’s mouth twisted. “Call it the Allison Memorial Scholarship fund. Start it in the fall so she won’t be too suspicious. I’ll continue it for one incoming freshman student each year after this. Full ride, based on academic excellence and demonstrated financial need.”

      Nelson hung up the phone with a small feeling of satisfaction. Strike one, he thought. It might be a small hit, but it was still a hit.

      His major plan of action was progressing nicely. Already he’d put out information and set up what appeared to be solid investments. Then he had tipped Southard’s broker. Only Nelson knew the companies were ready to go belly up.

      * * * *

      Once the horses were turned out, she picked out stalls at a fast pace because she had an appointment at Duke to finish filling out paperwork. Wynter had put it off because she’d had no address to give them until now, and even better, she could also give them a tuition deposit. It wouldn’t leave much for gas and food for the coming week, but she could get by since she’d be living right above the barn.

      She whistled while she worked. It was one of the happiest days in a very long time. She finished the last stall just before eleven. Now the rest of the day was free until five in the afternoon when she brought horses in for the night. Wynter hurried to empty the last wheelbarrow full of manure on the pile in the back. After putting the tools back in the shed, she crossed over to the office. Thomas came out with the checks.

      “Here you go, Wynter.” He grinned. “Your first check.”

      “Thank you.” Her gaze dropped to the amount printed on the paper and she swallowed. There must be a mistake. She’d never made this much at the Southards. As much as she needed the money, she didn’t want to risk losing the job if this was an error.

      “Thomas,” Wynter whispered before he passed her on the way to the barn. “This can’t be right.” When he frowned she hurried on, “It’s—it’s too much money.”

      Thomas relaxed. “There’s no mistake, girl. Mr. Anderson believes in paying the help. In return he expects hard work, make no mistake.”

      She looked at the amount on the check and grinned. “Damn. I mean thanks. Thanks a lot!”

      She turned toward the truck, still smiling.

      “Where are you going?” Thomas inquired.

      She laughed. “School, Thomas. I’m going to school. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for afternoon feeding.”

      Wynter felt lighter than she had in a long time. She stopped at the convenience store across from Pheasant Run to cash the check. When the man saw it was from Nelson Anderson, he handed her the money, no questions asked. She bought an apple and a big bottle of water and aimed the rattletrap truck toward Durham.

      After parking outside the financial aid