The Year of Chasing Dreams (16 page)

At Bellmeade the colors of spring crept across the land—new growth to cover winter’s pale. For Ciana, it meant planting time was close. She had enough seed and fertilizer for extra fields, and while it was less land than she’d hoped to plant this season, it was a step up from the previous year.

The vandals had stepped up their malice also. Jon mended fences almost daily, and once had discovered corrosive lye scattered across a field, a guarantee to destroy any new planting. The continued destruction had brought the sheriff into the mix, but although he had patrol cars regularly drive the road that fronted her property, no one was ever caught. Bellmeade property stretched too far from the road, and had too few people to constantly watch over it.

Enzo drove from Nashville to visit her, and when he showed up, Jon quietly slipped away. So Enzo’s visits meant a break from the pressures of everyday life for Ciana. They rode together and shared good memories, and on sunny days sat on her veranda and sipped fine wine. He was older, urbane,
and sophisticated, but the age difference between them had never mattered. She thought him handsome and charismatic, and for reasons she didn’t understand, he liked her enough to want to be with her, both in Italy and now in Tennessee. She decided to ignore Jon’s attitude toward Enzo altogether.

On their first ride together, she brought out Sonata for him.

“Bellissima,”
he said, giving the horse’s forehead a rub. “She has intelligent eyes. A good sign.”

“She’s the grand dame of the stable, part Arabian and part Tennessee walking horse. Her gait is smooth as butter.”

Enzo swung onto Sonata and Ciana mounted Firecracker, who snorted, eager to be given her head. “Show me your world,
bella
Ciana,” Enzo said, looking as if he’d been born on the back of a horse.

Just then Jon came out of the barn. The two men sized each other up, Enzo from the back of Sonata, Jon from the doorway of the barn. To Ciana both men were physically perfect—the one lean, elegant, dark-eyed and aristocratic, the other man cowboy-rugged, green-eyed, and broad-shouldered. And she felt indebted to each of them.

Jon crossed his arms, leaned in the doorframe. “Have a good ride,” he called, his gaze never leaving Enzo’s. Enzo tilted his head ever so slightly at Jon, turned Sonata, and nosed in beside Ciana.

“This way,” she said, feeling nervous but exhilarated. She was eager to show her property to Enzo, just as he’d once shown his to her. Their lands were different and worlds apart, yet she knew how devoted he was to his property and to its heritage, which dated to Old World Roman times. Bellmeade grew no vineyards and olive trees, but it was fertile and rich and full of promise.

They cantered toward the back of the land that
encompassed the house, through a line of trees and into a back field, where she pointed to a corral and an oval track. “We can run a bit there. No potholes.”

Together, over the winter, she and Jon had put in the ten-foot-wide half-mile track, a corral, and a covered lean-to. Jon had also dug a well for watering and bathing horses. The entire place had been Jon’s idea. “This will make your stables more valuable to boarders. Safer riding too.” Naturally, he was right, and she’d wondered why she’d never thought of it herself. They’d done the hard work together, with Ciana creating the track aboard her tractor, first towing a plow to break up the partially frozen ground and bring up rocks that she and Jon removed by hand. Then she’d pulled a disc harrow to further loosen and soften the sod; and lastly, once they had filled in low spots with wheelbarrows of fresh dirt, a tractor rake. She raked the dirt often to keep it smooth for riding. The large corral contained small hurdles where horses could be trained to jump, along with a stack of orange cones to practice for barrel-racing events. She was pleased with the site, happy to show it off.

Enzo complimented the work and then turned Sonata toward the track’s entry. “This horse rides
bene
. May I stretch her?”

“Give her a shake. She knows what to do.”

Enzo clicked his tongue, pushed the heels of his boots into the horse’s sides. Sonata took off into the smooth rolling gait of a seasoned walking horse. She had been Olivia’s prized mount, a blue-ribbon winner in almost every contest entered.

Firecracker moved restlessly. “We’ll go,” Ciana said, patting the horse’s neck. “Let’s give them a chance to enjoy it alone.” The horse snorted and sidestepped, showing her displeasure at having to wait.

After Enzo completed the track twice, Ciana gave Firecracker her head and the horse took off in a full gallop. Ciana leaned low over the horse’s neck, felt the cold wind in her face, the sting of the flying mane against her skin, heard the sound of the hooves pounding the ground. The bay was quick, and Ciana let her horse run, reveling in an adrenaline high. When she pulled up, Firecracker was breathing hard and her neck was sweat-lathered. Ciana took a lap at a canter, then joined Enzo outside the track. He had dismounted and was watching her breakneck run, a beguiling smile on his face. Laughing, Ciana swung her right leg over the saddle horn and slid to the ground. “I love a good run!”

He came close and touched her cheek. His thumb slid down and across her bottom lip. “You are beautiful. Like the wind.”

Her pulse quickened, remembering the familiarity of his hands on her body and of his mouth on hers. For a moment, their eyes held. She thought he might kiss her, but instead he took a deep breath and stepped aside. “I should like to take you someplace
speciale
,” he said. “A ball in Nashville for horse people. Do you know of it? Will you come with me, Ciana?”

The Horseman’s Ball, the annual premier social event for Tennessee’s storied and elite horse owners. Of course Ciana knew of it. Olivia and Charles had attended every year until Charles’s death, but Ciana had never gone. Never been invited. His request caught her off balance. “Pretty fancy dance.”

He shrugged. “The man who wants to buy the seed of my stallions has insisted that I join in this event. I cannot ignore or refuse his offer. You understand, yes? Such things are not so much to my pleasure, but I should like it better if you were by my side.”

Naturally, a man like Enzo was used to such social events in Europe, so she realized he wouldn’t be impressed by the all-but-impossible-to-come-by invitation. Eden had once shown her Web photos of Enzo decked out in formal wear and with different glamorous women on his arm. She was nothing like those women.

“Do not say to me, ‘Enzo, I have nothing to wear.’ Such an excuse comes from all women, and yet I have never seen one arrive anywhere without clothes.”

His voice was light and teasing. And irresistible. She burst out laughing. “It’s the heels,” she said. “I hate wearing heels.” In truth her mind was spinning a mile a minute, attempting to think of what she had that was suitable to wear at such an event.

He bowed slightly. “You may go barefoot. This does not matter to me.”

Suddenly she remembered the dress she’d worn to Abbie’s wedding. It was pretty, body hugging, the pale color of champagne, and hanging in the back of her closet. It would do nicely. “Why would I say no? Mama says I clean up good. For a farm girl.”

He laughed heartily. “It will be my pleasure to take you, plain or fancy. No matter, you will shine.”

She squirmed under his appreciative look. “Want to see the rest of Bellmeade?” she asked, swiftly retreating from talk of clothing and moneyed balls.

“Sì,”
he answered, remounting Sonata. “Show me your estate.”

She mounted Firecracker with a dismissive chuckle, knowing she was holding on to her “estate” by her fingernails.

“You look lovely.”

Alice Faye’s voice startled Ciana, who was staring into her dresser mirror, searching her reflection and seeing what she considered to be all her flaws: too-full lips, a slightly crooked nose, freckles no amount of makeup seemed to cover. “I feel like a kid playing dress-up,” she said, turning away from her image.

Smiling, her mother shook her head. “When you were little you used to dress up in princess clothes all the time and tell me you needed a horse to take you to the prince’s castle. I don’t think you trusted any fairy godmother to get you there.”

Ciana returned her smile. “A girl’s got to fend for herself.”

“Is that wrap going to be enough? Still cold outside these nights.”

“I wore it for the wedding and it was at New Year’s.” Putting on the dress had brought back all her memories of that night that made her heart ache. She remembered Arie sitting at the wedding party’s special table while the party flowed around her. At that point Arie had been going downhill rapidly, so signing on as Abbie’s maid of honor had been a brave and heroic feat for her.

And Ciana also remembered Jon that night—dancing with him, his eyes pouring into hers, her heart all but breaking for want of him. An “Auld Lang Syne” she’d never forget. She felt ambivalence now. Jon and Enzo. Two amazing and different men. Enzo was easy to be with, comfortable in any environment. Jon made her blood run hot.

“—your hands?”

Ciana snapped into the present, threaded her way to what she must have been asked. She held out her hands, glowing with nail polish and scented with cream. “I gave myself a manicure, but these hands will never be soft.”

Just then the doorbell rang. “Sounds like your coach is here,” Alice Faye said.

Ciana quickly slipped on low heels, chafing with the unfamiliar feel of any shoe except boots. “Wish me well with all the socialites.”

Alice Faye said, “Forget about them. Have fun. Just remember, you are, after all, a Beauchamp.”

Ciana flashed her mother a wry grin and hurried to open the front door.

The Horseman’s Ball was held at the Hermitage Hotel in downtown Nashville, in the grand ballroom, the same place it had been held for decades. The five-star hotel was over a hundred years old, gilded and ornate, aglow with polished marble and crystal chandeliers, but also swimming in twenty-first-century luxuries and amenities. As a child, Ciana had come to the hotel for occasional luncheons with her mother and Olivia when such things had mattered to her grandmother. As a girl, Ciana had been awed, but now, after the hotels of Rome, she could see how the Hermitage architects had taken their cues from old Europe, so its grandeur did not impress as it once had.

The ballroom was filled with women in silk, satin, and glittering jewels. Tables were covered with long white cloths and set with ornate silver, fine china, and crystal. Every chair back was tied up with an elaborate lime-green bow clipped in the center with a spray of white roses. A small
orchestra played music beside a dance floor roped off with velvet cording.

Enzo introduced Ciana to the man who had brought him to Tennessee, Roland Shepherd III, who gave her a questioning look. She realized she wasn’t the person the man had expected to see with Enzo, but he covered his surprise quickly with a smile. “Beauchamp. You own Bellmeade. I heard that you might sell it.”

Her back went up. “Rumors only. I’m not selling. I’m farming it.”

Roland arched an eyebrow. “Big job.” He didn’t say, “For such a young girl,” but Ciana saw the words in his expression.

Enzo intervened. “Are your lovely daughters here?”

“Only Mallory.” Roland gestured to the masses of people. “Somewhere out there. I know she was looking forward to seeing you tonight.”

“And I her,” Enzo said graciously, then took Ciana’s elbow. “Shall we dance?” He led her to the dance floor and took her in his arms.

“I don’t think Roland is happy with your exit. Or with your choice of date to the ball,
signore
.”

He smiled. “
Sì
, but I am.”

“So tell me about Mallory.”

“A pretty woman, but how would you say …? A woman who looks only inside herself, not at others.”

“Spoiled? Self-centered?”

“
Corretto
. Not becoming in a woman.” Enzo nuzzled Ciana’s neck. “Yet this man wishes me to want this daughter of his. I do not.”

Ciana understood. A man like Enzo was prime meat on the market of the rich and famous. “Forgive him. Southern daddies are very protective of their daughters. And when said
daughter desires something, or someone, a daddy just tries to help fulfill his little girl’s wish.”