âI think we need to cut to the chase.â
Folding his arms along the edge of the table, Rhys leaned closer and held Jacquieâs gaze by sheer force of will. âIâm not sure whatâs going on, but I am sure Iâm tired of playing games. Why are we here, Jacquie? What do you have to say to me?â
She drew a deep breath. âYou asked me why I left without saying anything.â
âYes.â
âWell, there is no husband. I invented him because I couldnât come home as an unwed mother with an illegitimate child.â
Setting down her coffee, Jacquie looked Rhys straight in the eyes. âYour child, Rhys. My daughter, Erin Elizabeth Archer, is your child. The only proof youâll need is a single glance at her beautiful face.â
Dear Reader,
I taught myself to ride a horse when I was in junior high schoolâ¦with a scarf looped around the bedpost, me mounted on the footboard and a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica open on the mattress for instruction. Yes, I really was that crazy about horses. But in time I grew up, gained a husband and children and let the horse dreams fade.
Then my younger daughter, aged twelve, began pestering me to go riding with her friends. Iâm not quite sure how it happened, but now we own four horses and spend most of our time outside school hours âat the barn.â
The Fake Husband is a story about people who love horses. Jacquie Archer and Rhys Lewellyn are brought together the first time by their competitive equestrian careers. And when all-too-human concerns tear them apart, it's the horsesâand one very special childâthat bring them together again. I think the nobility of the horse draws out the best in us humans, and I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with people who respond to that call. I hope you'll do the same.
Happy reading!
Lynnette Kent
[email protected]
or PMB 304 Westwood Shopping Center Fayetteville, NC 28314
To the friends Iâve found âat the barnâ
Kelly and C.J., Kim, Beth, Karen and Julie and Kelly K. and Laura, Dr. Garrett and Dr. Brian
Your laughter, your tears and your teaching will always be with me.
RHYS LEWELLYN ARRIVED in the âsunny Southâ on New Yearâs Day, just in time for the worst snowstorm to hit North Carolina in eighty years.
âDamn snow wasnât supposed to reach this far till tomorrow,â he growled, switching the windshield wipers to maximum speed. âAnd we should have been here two days ago.â
âTwo flat tires and five horses make for slow traveling.â Coming from the back seat, Terry OâNealâs brogue was as thick as the day he left Ireland thirty years ago.
âTell me something I donât know.â Rhys shifted his weight from hipbone to hipbone and flicked the switch for the seat heater to high. The escalating ache in his back measured exactly how much effort heâd put into this trip and how much stress heâd undertaken.
âAll right, then.â Terry rattled the map. âYour turnâs coming up on the left.â
âThank God.â A glance toward the passenger side showed his sonâs posture unchanged, head turned to look out the window at the white blanket shrouding trees and road alike. No sign of interest, or fatigue, or anything remotely resembling enthusiasm had slipped through Andrewâs guard since leaving New York. He might as well have declared himself a hostage.
Perhaps he wasâa hostage to his fatherâs failure.
For now, though, the struggle was not father against son but man against nature. Rhys eased his foot onto the brake and felt the tires skid.
âThere has to be six inches of snow on this road, over a layer of ice. Have these people ever heard of snowplows?â With the weight of the trailer behind him, he needed all the traction he could getâwhich appeared to be none, as the truck continued to slide despite antilock brakes and four-wheel drive.
Rhys muttered a string of curses. âI canât stop the damn thing.â
âJust take the corner,â Terry advised, leaning forward between the seats. âWide as you can.â
Teeth gritted, Rhys didnât have time for another smart answer. He turned the steering wheel gently to the left, avoiding thoughts of what would happen if the trailer behind him twisted or, worse, capsized. Holding his breath, he glanced at the rearview mirror to see the rig behind him come into line. All he had to do was straighten up a bit and theyâd be headed down the lane, none the worse for their little skating adventure.
Then the truckâs front tire jolted into a deep hole on the right side. âOh, Jesus,â Terry groaned. âWhat now?â
The rear wheel followed. Before Rhys could brake, the trailerâs double wheel, loaded with two and a half tons of horse, dropped into the pit and stuck fast. Their forward progress skidded to a shuddering, lurching stop.