One to Love Read online

  Belinda beckoned Tawny to come closer. She relieved her assistant of the offering. “Thanks.” She took a careful sip, letting it wash over her tongue, before closing her eyes with a grateful sigh. “Okay, what now? Lay down the yucky stuff. This Wednesday is starting on the wrong side of my emotions.”

  “Mail already arrived.” Tawny raised the cluster of envelopes clutched in her other hand. Today, the fingernails were painted bright periwinkle blue. Her burgundy-dyed hair was styled in spiral curls. Bright eyes blinked out at her behind black-framed glasses.

  What Belinda noted more, however, was that Tawny didn’t hand over any of the mail. “Are those bills?”

  Tawny shook her head. “It’s worse.” She scrunched her nose.

  “Worse than having to pay out money?” As far as Belinda was concerned, things couldn’t get much worse than starting a new business, specifically a nonprofit.

  Mentally, she ticked off what she could tout as a new owner. One employee—Tawny. No real clients to speak of...yet. In this one-room converted barn-turned-office, they shared the work space and had carved out a storage area. Belinda framed her office with thin drywall and equipped it with a salvaged door that was more for aesthetics than for privacy. Other than her desk and two chairs, a single column of file drawers that hopefully soon would contain a large number of clients’ information filled a corner in her office. A small clay pot with a thriving ivy plant draped the top.

  “Got a response about my complaint.” Tawny’s mouth pursed. “The secondhand store where we bought these so-called antiques won’t give us back our money. Stuff wasn’t even fit for a yard sale.”

  “At least we were able to decorate the welcome room. And part of the donation went to a good cause.” Belinda wasn’t surprised. The hodgepodge furniture selection was from one of the large thrift stores in the city.

  “Please. You need to check to see if the soup kitchen did get any of that money. Those people saw an easygoing, prone-to-guilt woman. And they got paid. Next time, don’t buy anything based on online pictures.”

  Belinda waved off Tawny’s constant dig that, when it came to her business, she should stop giving her heart and soul. That she needed to toughen up. It was funny how the advice sounded similar to what she’d said to Dana, her youngest cousin, who now ran the family media empire.

  Tawny cleared her throat. “Not done.”

  “Okay, bring on the bad news. In an hour, we have a prospective client coming in to see the facility and get more information. I want to make sure that she’s blown away with the work in progress. More important that she’s willing to sign up.”

  “Once we start, those good reviews will roll in, and we’ll be busier than you could’ve ever imagined.” Tawny flopped into the only chair. She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. “From the Brandywine Gazette, ‘Dear Mrs. Belinda Toussaint—’”

  “Good grief. I’m not married. I’m thirty and single. They’re giving me bad news and don’t give a damn to address me correctly.”

  “‘We have enjoyed being a part of building the Dreamweaver Riding Program. Your dedication to assisting young people to overcome challenges with equine-assisted therapy solutions is admirable. We treasure this opportunity beyond measure.’”

  “Get on with it,” Belinda prompted. Her fingers on one hand restlessly chipped away the ragged polish on her other hand.

  “‘Due to budgetary constraints, we are unable to continue to be part of the sponsorship program. We look forward to working with you in the future. Good luck with your endeavors.’”

  “You could’ve paraphrased all of that into we’re screwed.” Belinda leaned back in her chair and swiveled around to face the wall that held her vision board for the riding program.

  Her ideas, from small thoughts to grand dreams, covered the wall in the form of pinned drawings and pictures. In a separate space, a timeline displayed the renovations for the stable and riding ring and arrival dates of three additional horses, along with the training and rehabilitation equipment. In big, bold letters, the launch date mocked her goal to have a facility to open in three months.

  This massive undertaking hadn’t been a smooth one. Many times, she’d had to adjust the timeline. Once she’d suffered a major meltdown and wanted to quit. Her cousins Fiona and Dana had rallied around her until her fears had retreated, somewhat. Their push was enough to get her mind back firmly on the goal.

  At the start, this riding-therapy program would cater to children and teens experiencing physical, cognitive and even emotional stresses and disabilities. Success rested with using the right-tempered horses in the program. The animals had been documented to successfully help with patients’ physical and emotional challenges. Moreover, the beasts’ gentle natures coaxed children to emerge from behind their shells of shyness or low self-esteem, to learn to trust in their own abilities and to show them, through caring for the horses, how to develop connections outside of their comfort zones, with others. Eventually, her program would expand its services to include adults, especially war veterans, a need that she’d realized recently after completing research.

  Right now, she had a small number of clients who used her horses for their once-a-week or weekend rides. However, regardless of her best intentions, it took money to run the operation. Where insurance or income couldn’t pay the fee, she expected donations would fill the gap. Starting at the beginning of this year, under the Dreamweaver logo, she’d held a small number of fund-raisers, strategic PR advertising and networking events that had netted a handful of donors and their financial pledges. Of course, there was more money in the flashier charities. Donors with the deep pockets preferred the major publicity that came as a result of their newsworthy gifts. All she could offer was a sincere thank-you, a glowing write-up in the local newspaper that no longer would be a donor, and a heavy piece of crystal with their name etched for all posterity to see.

  She turned back to her desk, reached for the chewable antacids and waited for them to take effect.

  “Don’t worry, Belinda. It will happen. What you’re doing is a really good thing.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes good isn’t good enough.” The current operations cost a fortune. Her plans to expand would take her expenses over the edge. Chasing donations wasn’t her shtick. Tawny was a good organizer and cheerleader, but she hadn’t shown any prowess for prying dollars out of prospective donors, either. And that wasn’t why she had been hired. Dana had helped provide part-time volunteers for fund-raising, but it was time to have a full-time person on staff solely dedicated to fund-raising. An added expense to the profit and loss statement. She sighed.

  Tawny held up her hand. “More news.”

  “We’re still on the bad stuff, right?”

  Her assistant nodded. “But not as bad. It’s a tweak and could work out to be better. I think—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, get on with it.” Belinda rubbed her forehead and waited for the next drop of the hammer.

  “Ed Santiago, your contractor, called a few minutes ago. Actually, his wife. Ed is on bed rest. Angina.”

  “Oh, no. Should he be home? He shouldn’t mess around with heart issues.”

  “He’s got to follow up with his doctor. For now, he’s home and they’ve adjusted his pressure meds.”

  “I’m glad that it wasn’t worse.” Belinda didn’t want to think of the dire possibilities.

  “Not to worry, though. He’s sending his son Jesse to finish managing the renovations.”

  Belinda waved off the additional news. “I’m going to send him flowers.”

  Tawny nodded. “I pulled up a couple arrangements on my computer. Pick the one you like and I’ll have the order there by tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” Belinda hated to hear about the nosedive Ed’s health had taken. The man wasn’t exactly at the youthful end of the age spectrum, but h
e was active and a conscientious worker. She couldn’t help but feel uneasy with his unexpected absence. Well, she felt more guilt than unease because the clock on the project ticked loudly.

  “Jesse will be arriving soon to meet you and go over the remainder of the schedule.”

  “I don’t want this...Jesse. I’ve never met him. There’s no way that he can replace Ed’s expertise. There’s no time for someone new to come in and putz around.”

  “This isn’t just a regular person. It’s Jesse Santiago.”

  Belinda shrugged and shook her head. “And?”

  “Football star.”

  “I don’t need a quarterback here.”

  “No. I mean soccer. He’s a soccer superstar, really.”

  “Calm down with the giddy smile. We don’t need a sports jock.” Belinda’s fingers had managed to clear the red nail polish completely off two fingernails.

  Tawny rolled her eyes. “That term is so ’80s. Because I’ve heard of Jesse and his mad skills, I did research.” She placed a one-page printout on the desk that had a small photo image in the right corner of the page. With her blue-painted nail, she slid a finger over the information.

  “A résumé?” Belinda didn’t bother picking up the paper. She really wasn’t interested in whatever the internet had captured, unless he had a mug shot or arrest record. Tawny’s nail-tapping for her attention finally motivated her to act interested. She picked up the page and scanned the details.

  Jesse Santiago was a former professional soccer player for Madrid’s El Sol team. All the teams he’d played for, wins, athletic accolades, modeling contracts and other endorsements took up most of the page. Being independently wealthy at twenty-nine years old, he had accomplished a lot in his short life. But though everything in his current and future life appeared to be looking rosy, he’d walked away from his career. Who does that? That tidbit of mystery was added to the list of why Jesse wouldn’t be a suitable substitute for his father.

  “This doesn’t change my mind. Nothing on this page makes me believe he can finish the job.” Irritation tightened Belinda’s shoulders, heightening her tension. “This is too much of a big deal and an important part of the rollout to rely on the unknown, even if it’s Ed’s wish to send his soccer-playing son as a replacement. And did you really read this? Why is he home anyway?” Belinda pushed the paper back to Tawny. “He worked on a few charities. In addition to being a real pro with the soccer ball, he had set a few records with female groupies and celebrities. I’m surprised he had energy to play the game.” A man with the sexual stamina of a bull wasn’t in her list of requirements. Not even if he had the lean, angular pretty-boy face that could melt away her inhibitions. And what was up with the sensual cast of his lips? Was that a pout, or the natural plump and curve of his mouth? Who knew soccer players were so hot? “This is so not the right man for this job. I need a man with real skills, not a professional panty chaser.”

  “You are harsh.” Tawny laughed hard. Even Belinda’s dark, scolding gaze didn’t subdue her assistant’s amusement. “Based on that photo, he might have just cause to earn that label, though.” Tawny pretended to kiss the photo. “Should’ve seen the pics of him without his shirt. In one magazine spread, he only held a towel in place between his legs. Hello!”

  “I didn’t pay attention to the picture.” Liar. “And I don’t plan to waste time drooling at a computer screen.” Maybe later. It still wouldn’t change her mind about what she thought of his skills. “He could have one eye in the middle of his forehead, for all I care. I need someone to make that happen on time.” She pointed at the wall, where various parts of the project still had to be completed. “I need a project manager on-site, someone who can get his team moving and roll up his sleeves, when and if necessary. This is all I care about.”

  “Ed won’t have led you wrong. I’m not the only one who believes in you and what you’re doing. You will have a place that is special and a haven for a lot of kids and teenagers. I’m crazy confident that you will.”

  Belinda heard Tawny’s loyalty in her voice. As the project passed each milestone, that enthusiasm and co-ownership of the dream were more than welcomed. She needed to stop calling it a dream. The goal was on the verge of reality. The final stage. She felt through every cell of her body duty-bound to protect her project. As the bad news tumbled out, one item after the other, not even Jesse Santiago’s unplanned substitution could put an exclamation point on the sucky morning. By September, Labor Day, the facility would be, should be, opening its full-service programs.

  Belinda continued voicing her reservations. “You do realize this write-up of Mr. Sexpot doesn’t explain why he’s here in upstate New York and why he’s now working on his daddy’s business.”

  Tawny shrugged. “He suffered a brutal injury while playing. Now it’s too late to do any further digging on the matter. He’ll be here soon.”

  “Okay, Grim Reaper. You said good news. It better be darn good.”

  “Now I’m feeling pressure to appease your grumpiness,” Tawny groused, before a wide grin spread across her face.

  “Spill. I’m going to need a mimosa instead of this coffee in a hot second.” Reluctantly Belinda felt drawn to Tawny’s suddenly upbeat attitude.

  “Miss Grace is coming over.”

  “When?” Her smile fumbled and disappeared. Her grandmother didn’t do visits.

  “This morning.”

  “And you’re only telling me now.” Belinda fixed her clothes, leveling a glare at Tawny.

  Tawny waved away her protests. “She needs to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have time for my grandmother.”

  “You never do. If you don’t call her by nine o’clock...” Tawny looked at her watch. “Yikes. It’s nine thirty. Anyway, if you don’t call, then you don’t get to find out what she wants before she visits.”

  “Not today. Not in the mood for my grandmother and her commands. And you can stop acting as if you’re the president of her fan club.”

  Tawny remained silent. Wisely.

  “Any other news?” Belinda hated to ask.

  “I bought a box of donuts.”

  “That you didn’t bring with the coffee.” Belinda patted her belly. “Anyway, after that double helping of Chinese food last night, I’m on a diet, at least for the day. Let me get to work since my office will have folks in and out all morning. Only one of them, hopefully my new client, is someone I really want to talk to.”

  As Tawny left her office and disappeared from view, Belinda yelled, “I’ll take one instead of two donuts, please.”

  “More coffee, too?” Tawny shouted back.

  “Yeah. Bring it on.” Belinda shifted her mind to pressing matters. She turned on her computer and waited for it to power up. After a series of keystrokes, she pulled up the list of remaining donors. One donor leaving did hurt. Two would cause her to make harsh cuts before the operation manager could start. Contracts with the therapists would be terminated. Training of the horses would be curtailed. And the loss of three donors would cripple her in a matter of months. Who was she kidding? The downfall would happen within weeks. The Dreamweaver Riding Program, her heart and soul, could not be an epic fail. It was the only way she knew how to say sorry.

  Chapter 2

  “Boss, I just saw Miss Grace park her car.” Tawny set down the coffee and donut in front of Belinda and made a quick backtrack to the entrance door.

  Belinda slid the plate with the donut off to the side. The cup of coffee could remain. She might need something to keep her hands busy through her grandmother’s visit.

  She desperately tried to smooth back the loose hair that hung wildly around her face. After her morning ride on her horse in the June humidity, Belinda knew her ponytail holder couldn’t maintain control over her hair. Normally, her disheveled appearance didn’t bot
her her. She wasn’t one to fuss over wardrobe and makeup. After all, this wasn’t an office job. But the next few minutes of her life with her stiff and starched grandmother would cause enough anxiety that she’d wished she dragged out a skirt suit from the deep recess of her closet, dug through the underwear drawer for a pair of panty hose and found a tube of lipstick to quickly sweep over her mouth.

  Instead, she groaned after quickly surveying her clothing. It was her standard uniform of black T-shirt and black jeans, kind of a night and day contrast to whatever Grace usually wore. The old lady had to have been off her game at one time in her life. At almost eighty years old and still getting front-page coverage on how fabulous she looked, her grandmother was a fashion icon. Deservedly so, but still.

  Belinda wiggled her toes. As a rule, when she came to the office, she stepped out of her boots and left them at the entrance door. The treks back and forth, from the office-barn to the stables, the torn-up dirt around the renovated areas near the riding ring, and general outdoor work pushed the necessity for the rule. Not only did it save the brand-new Berber carpet, it cut down on the strong odors of horse urine, manure, and tack that combined with the hay that would be tracked into the office. Usually, her old pair of sneakers was in the office for her to slip on. Of course, today would be the day that she couldn’t find them.

  Meanwhile, Tawny, who didn’t have many dealings with the stable, could balance herself while walking around the office in her skinny, skyscraper-high heels and flaunting the latest fashion trends. She belonged in New York City, not in the small city of Midway in upstate New York, working in a barn with horses as their closest neighbors.

  “Belinda, are you here? It’s Grace.” Her grandmother’s distinctive elocution shot her musings to pieces.

  “Good morning, grandma...er...Grace.” Belinda rose and headed around the desk, but her grandmother had already marched across the room. That was a good thing. She could keep her shoeless feet a secret for a little while longer.