Her General in Gray by Linda Nightingale

Author:Linda Nightingale [Nightingale, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, fantasy, short story, Civil War, ghosts
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc
Published: 2017-04-06T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Monday morning dawned a threatening gray in total contrast to yesterday’s sunshine and warmth. Disregarding the weather, Autumn descended the stairs two-at-a-time, dressed for riding in snug black jeans and a red horse-print sweater. From the foot of the staircase, he admired his new tenant. Red was definitely her color.

She scarcely gave him time to say good morning before ushering him to the black vehicle. “Let’s have a verbal riding lesson on the way.” As she aimed the car toward Fairfield, she shot him a glance. “I’ll be glad when I can bring Goldie home, and you can actually coach me. That may be sooner than I’d thought. I received a large project from the agency.”

“Excellent. I look forward to coaching you.”

This time, John Fairfield didn’t stay to supervise Autumn riding Goldie. He helped her mount, then returned to the comfort of his parlor. Once, her heel struck the horse’s side, and he cantered, to her obvious delight. Sib was happy watching her have fun, but coaching her would be more interesting for him than remaining invisible and silent. Despite the gathering clouds, she rode longer than yesterday. Without assistance except his whispered advice, she untacked and rubbed down Goldie herself. Yes, she had a natural feel for horses, and he was beginning, as a ghost, to have unnatural feelings for her.

On the drive home, she chatted endlessly. He simply nodded and listened to her glowing accounts of Goldie. To Autumn, the palomino Quarter horse gelding was the finest horse in the world. If only she could have known the Black, but the stallion was too spirited a mount for a beginning rider.

In the anteroom off the kitchen, she removed her boots, revealing horse print socks that matched the sweater. She was an equine-perfumed vision. Kicking her boots under the wooden bench, she circled his waist with her arms.

“Captain Allen, I want to say something to you, but I dare not.”

“Why?” An odd feeling possessed him. Was she going to try to exorcise him?

“Because it is foolish.” She dropped her gaze.

A knock at the door broke the embrace. Anger ripped through Sib. Dudley had returned—without an invitation, under what excuse?

Autumn held his gaze a second, then called, “Coming. Damn, who’d be knocking on my door at lunchtime? And I smell of horses.”

“He’ll like what you’re wearing. Those pants are…appealing.” Sib grabbed a scrubber sponge from behind the faucet. “I’ll begin washing this pan from last night.”

“Who is he?” She frowned. “I know almost no one in town. Beau? At this hour? Shouldn’t he be working at the hardware store?”

Wanting to stand between her and the door, he nodded. “He was notorious for not following orders.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“Ask yourself.” Angered, but delighted with his physicality, he rubbed the sponge hard against the pan. Even the roughness of the scrubber was a thrill after all these years of being no more than a cold breath upon someone’s nape.

“Don’t snap at me.” She spun, dashing to answer a second knock.

Damn the Beauregard.

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