Playing the Polo Player

“So, you’re a fancy rich polo player?” Sierra questions as she leans against the back of a recliner across from me.

“Fancy rich CEO who plays polo as a hobby,” I correct with a chuckle. I wonder if she’s as bold and unfiltered as Luce. I have the feeling she is, or at least in the same realm.

“I see,” she nods. “And what are your intentions with my sweet Luce?”

I’m glad Luce has a friend like this. Humorous and welcoming, but protective. “I want to spend time with her

. I want to show her that I can be the man she needs and I want to prove that not all rich men are assholes.”

Sierra studies me for a moment, then narrows her eyes. “Not all but what about you?”

“Enough,” Luce asserts as she comes back into the room, even as I’m trying to stifle a laugh at Sierra’s concerned-father routine. “Can you go get a pot of water boiling? The big silver one.”

“Sure.” Sierra pivots and heads out of the room.

“Sorry about her,” Luce mutters.

“It’s alright. She’s got a charm to her,” I chuckle.

Luce kneels in front of me and helps with my boot. I wince but don’t make a sound. She examines it and nods to herself. “Not too bad. I recommend just resting for as long as you can. Swelling should go in a couple days.”

“Thank you, Doctor Normandy.”

She snorts and starts to wrap my ankle with an ace bandage. Sierra comes back in the room with an icepack, and Luce places it against the swollen side before using more ace bandage to secure it in place. “There. Now, you stay here until I finish dinner. Capiche?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I smile. Luce hands me a remote to the television before walking off. I cut on the TV, but my eyes study the room more. It’s so… her. I can’t believe that she would ever prefer a place like mine to this. At least of what I’ve seen so far, the house oozes warmth, personality, and home. Though, I suppose that’s the thing about being wealthy. You get to like this sort of place out of preference, rather than necessity.

Eventually, Luce comes for me and helps me to the dining room. Just as before, the furniture is older and antique looking, but the art tells a different story. Only, it isn’t paintings on canvas. The walls are painted sky blue with fluffy white clouds detailed on them. Every so often, there’s a creature on a cloud. A dog, a cat, and some that are imaginary.

But when my eyes fall to my plate, they quickly find Luce. “How do you manage to whip up so much food, in such a short amount of time?”

“Practice,” she smiles weakly.

Lemon crusted chicken, pan-seared gnocchi with a cheese sauce, fresh peas, and sauteed mushroom caps. We feast all together, conversation flowing easily. Sierra is funny, snarky, and clever herself. My heart is getting as full as my stomach over the course of dinner.

Once the plates are empty, Sierra starts collecting them to wash. “Can I see the horses?” I ask Luce.

She eyes me skeptically. “Did I speak another language when I said for you to rest?”

“Maybe,” I grin. She isn’t charmed and folds her arms. “Come on. We don’t know when the next time I’ll be out here is.”

“Fine. But we’re taking the truck,” she sighs. “I’m not having you worsening that ankle on our business property.”

“Fair deal,” I agree.

We move from the dining room and out to the truck again. She drives us down a dirt path off the back of the house until we reach a stable. It wouldn’t have been but a few minutes on foot to get here. The horses are out in the pasture, grazing happily.

We climb out of the truck and move over to the fence to watch them.

“They are gorgeous,” I compliment. “Where did you get your first horses from?”

“Sierra’s parents own a ranch. They gifted us some,” Luce explains.

“Well, that’s nice of them.”

“It was. Though, it worked best for everyone. They weren’t really into horse breeding. Their ranch is mostly for cattle. We basically took the best of the horses to start this business. And left them just enough to have a fleet of workhorses, essentially.”

“Seems like a win-win for everyone. Secures their daughter’s future, helps you too, and takes a responsibility off their hands.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything. There’s something going on, I can tell from the tension hanging around her. I’m not sure if it’s my place to pry, but I want to make sure she’s okay. “Everything alright?” I ask softly.

“Yes,” she mutters and then groans and shakes her head. “Well, no. But it will be… Eventually.”

I debate on my options before landing on, “I’m here if you need to talk about it. But I won’t pry.”