Page 71 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

Not again. Never again.

Matthew stared at the empty space Winnie had left behind, shock still fresh in his system.

She’d cried. Winnie Knox had actually cried. But, why? What on earth had been going through her mind those last few minutes to have made her so overcome with emotion—emotion he didn’t know she was capable of experiencing?

The memory of losing out on going to the Olympics would make anyone upset, as would speaking of a beloved horse dying or choosing to quit riding altogether. But in Matthew’s heart, he knew there was something more to her tears and her quitting. Something deeper and far more traumatic.

He picked up the comb she’d used on Nightshade, the rubber still warm from her grip as he finished brushing down the horse.

They’d been having such a civil and friendly conversation. No talk of business, no arguments, no criticisms. He’d even further tested the tenuous waters between them by pretending to draw close enough to kiss her. He’d done so purely for his own vanity’s sake, to see if she really did consider him attractive—enough to even kiss him.

But that had been a major mistake, as his feigned desire turned into a very real yearning to have her red lips press against his. The biggest problem had come when she hadn’t retreated like he’d stupidly assumed she would have. When had he ever known Winnie Knox to retreat from anything?

Although, tonight she’d been so different. So kind. She’d even taken the time to congratulate his niece on her letters—remembering Ava’s name, on top of it all. That spoke measures about a person. But that was the problem. Winnie was becoming more of a human being than the devil he’d made her out to be, created to make his life miserable.

He wasn’t supposed to think of her as a woman with desires and talents and heartaches of her own. He was supposed to want her gone, out of Foxwood in less than two weeks. That’s why he wasn’t helping her as he ought to be, letting her know that most of her ideas would cause the festival to fail even harder than before.

Because without telling her, she would be gone all the sooner. Then he’d be free from all this headache—free to get back to the heart of his festival.

He tossed the curry comb into the bucket with a shake of his head. It was time to shape up. No more teasing Winnie with flirtatious looks just because he wanted to see her blush. No more thoughts about how he admired her ability to work under pressure. No more conversations about horses and Olympic qualifying events.

And, more than anything, there would be absolutely no more thinking of Winnie Knox as a woman he would like to keep around. Even if that was beginning to change.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Matthew stood on the gravel drive near the front doors of Foxwood, smiling as the car appeared around the corner. They were finally here.

He’d offered to pick up his friends from the airport that Friday evening, but Cedric had insisted on driving up from Wales himself and collecting the others from Manchester Airport before heading to Yorkshire.

Seeing Cedric’s beloved Tesla, Matthew finally understood. The man was obsessed with the car. He would take any chance he could to drive it.

Matthew raised his hand in greeting as the white vehicle approached much faster than he would have expected, but when he saw who has actually driving, a grin spread across his lips.

He should’ve known. Cedric wasn’t driving. Finn was. How in the world had he convinced Cedric to agree to that?

As Finn reached the end of the drive, he turned sharply, skidding to a halt in front of Matthew as the disrupted pea gravel flicked toward the front porch, clacking in protest.

Matthew walked forward with an amused shake of his head as Finn opened the driver’s side door first, his face alight with exhilaration. “Woo, what a rush!”

Matthew laughed. “I was wondering how you all made it here so quickly. Quite the entrance, O’Meara.”

Finn raised his eyebrows in a flex. “You like that? I thought I’d try to give wee Cedric here a heart attack, but it didn’t work.”

Cedric leapt out of the passenger side with a frown. “That’s the last time I give you the keys, Finn.” He faced Matthew with a shake of his head. “Nearly wrecked it fifteen times. He does me head in.”

Graham exited the car last. “Both of you just need to relax,” he said, his Scottish accent thick. “Clearly, Finn had it under control.”

“What, nearly dyin’?” Cedric questioned, gently closing the passenger door. “You blew past so many speed cameras, I’ll be fined hundreds of quid.”

“I’m sure you can afford it,” Finn returned. “Just sell one of your autographs and you’ll be right.”

Matthew grinned, greeting each of his friends with a short embrace and a clap on their backs. To have the four of them back together was exactly what he needed right now.

“Have you driven one o’ these, Matt?” Finn asked, his Northern Irish accent all the more prominent with his excitement.

He jutted a thumb over his shoulder toward the car, still not over their conversation. “It handles better than a tour bus, I tell you that.”

“Of course it does, you plonker,” Cedric said, opening the back of the Tesla as they gathered their belongings.