Chapter 21

“Back off, Amber,” Miles says before I can even think to open my mouth in defense of myself. “She’s obviously injured.”

“She should be on her own horse,” Amber says to him, even as her sneering gaze stays on me.

“Hers is that spooked horse than ran all the way up the path. Maybe you’d like to go get it for her?” Miles says smartly, his words cut and sarcastic.

Amber finally looks at him. “Must you tend to every stray that wanders to you?”

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” I say, striving for peace. My body aches and my ankle is throbbing, but the last thing I need is more people hating me for reasons I can’t control. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves.”

“Esther,” Miles says, taking control. “This is Amber. She’s a childhood friend of mine. As she’s spectacularly good at sticking her nose into places it doesn’t belong, it shouldn’t startle you at all to learn she’s a reporter.”

“I prefer journalist,” Amber says, lifting her chin. “Now tell me who this is…”

“Esther Graham,” I say.

Her face scrunches. “Graham. As in Garnar Graham?”

“My husband. You know of him?” I ask.

“Nothing good, I assure you.” Amber narrows her eyes at me, looking at me as one would a specimen in a petri dish.

“Do not mistake Esther for her husband,” Miles says firmly. “Esther is also the daughter of Preston Owens.”

“Adopted,” I add on reflex, then lower my head. Miles was trying to build me up to Amber, and here I am undercutting it by separating myself from my father.

“Same difference,” Mile says.

I startle, glancing back at him. His face is calm and steady. He means it.

Suddenly, an overwhelming desire to kiss him surges through me. I’m able to stamp it down, remembering present company.

“Esther needs medical attention, Amber,” Miles says, his voice hardening again. “So you can get out of the way or I will find a way around you.”

Amber looks from Miles to me and back again. Then she sighs. “Very well.” She moves her horse out of our way enough to let us pass, but then stays in our shadow for the rest of the trip back toward the main concourse.

Miles holds me closely but doesn’t say a word. Whatever magic that was growing between us earlier seems fully tapped out now.

Miles rides me all the way back toward the main building where a medical tent has been set up on the field.

“I want a full report,” Miles says as we draw nearer the tent. “No sneaking off before they’ve had time to look at you.”

I am not a child in need of scolding, but I allow him these commands. After the bravery he exhibited in rescuing me, he deserves at least some modicum of leeway.

At the tent, he jumps off the horse first and then reaches up to slowly lower me down.

I blush, noticing many of the guests, now at the clubhouse, looking down at us. Yet when I try to step back from Miles, creating distance, Miles grabs me tighter and pulls me closer.

“If you fall again, I won’t forgive you,” he says.

I stay put this time. With his arm around my waist, and mine around his shoulder, together we hobble toward the tent. The medical staff has been waiting for me. They direct Miles to help me sit on a nearby examination table.

“We have an ambulance at the entrance, if necessary,” one of the staff says, which seems fully like overkill to me. I’m not in any kind of shape that I would need to run to a hospital. But Miles just nods critically.

“Esther!” Mr. Carver says loudly as he enters the tent. Cynthia is with him. They both hurry to me, crowding. In the shift, Miles steps back.

“What a disaster!” Mr. Carver says. “Cynthia says it was an animal?”

“A boar,” I tell him.

As the medical staff begin examining me, I recount the story in great detail with Mr. Carver and Cynthia. Cynthia, even though she saw the animal, still seemed surprised to learn it was a boar and not some great beast.

Like a boar isn’t scary enough.

“It was a pig?” she asks.

“With tusks,” I say. “Big enough to gore someone.”

“We’re lucky Miles is such a fine marksman,” Mr. Carver says. “I will be indebted to him forever that no one was harmed.” He stumbles over himself for a moment. “That is, except you, Ester. I don’t mean to--”

“It’s fine, Mr. Carver,” I say. He’s too worked up to see clearly, I understand. “I’m simply relieved it didn’t happen to one of the guests.”

“Fuck that,” Cynthia grumbles. “Can’t we be happy you aren’t dead?”

Mr. Carver twists his hands together nervously. “That’s what I meant.”

“I’m happy about that too,” I say.

Mr. Carver and Cynthia then step back to allow the medical staff to continue their examination. Eventually, they put ointment on my cuts and scrapes and bandage my ankle.

“It will swell some,” the medical assistant says. “You should stay off of it for a couple of days.”

I nod, but I’m not sure I’m going to take that advice to heart. I can’t just laze about all day without doing anything, even if Mr. Carter were to give me time off, which I doubt. My job here, though not as important as leading the free world, is still important to me.

Not to mention that when I visited the girls yesterday, I noticed that no one had been cleaning the house in my absence. I don’t care what Garnar does, but my daughters deserve to live in a clean house.

If that means I need to go over and clean it myself, then so be it.

As time goes on, and the medical staff give me water and aspirin for the pain, I do wonder somewhat about Garnar. You’d think, to preserve his reputation if nothing else, he would at least pretend to care that his wife, the mother of his children, almost died.

Yet, through the opening of the tent, I can see him sipping cocktails and laughing, Thea on his arm.

Neither of them seem to care about me.

Garnar’s lack of care hurts. We’d been married so long.

But Thea’s hurts even worse. Above everything else, she is still my sister.

How could they both have grown to hate me so much that they don’t care if I live or die?

At least Cynthia cares, I reason, as I see her pacing the tent. Mr. Carver cares too, even if only about the liability of it all, worrying his hands together nearby.

Looking beyond them both, I don’t want to admit that I’m searching for Miles, yet my eyes seek him out just the same.

He saved me today. Even if he didn’t, I would still be looking for him.

His face often creeps into my thoughts. The chance to see it again, even from a distance, draws my eye despite my better judgement.

I see him standing not far off. He’s holding the reigns of his horse and talking to Amber who, standing near him, is doing the same.

The conversation seems well enough. They are old friends, Miles said.

Yet then, Amber lifts her hand and places it on Miles’s arm, so very near his elbow.

Miles doesn’t shake her off.