My Secret Fantasies
Page 40
“Actually, I have a lot of followers because of my wine blog.” Her shoulders slumped as she flipped to another screen. “This message has already been re-tweeted like...seventy-five times.”
I tried to process that. “Seventy-five people saw it?”
“No.” She pointed to a box that said “Followers.” “Ten thousand people follow me. My blog has really grown over the past year.”
I felt faint.
“And although I didn’t mention Fraser Farm in the tweet about you, there are references to this place in my other posts about our hunt for a racehorse and the visit to a local winery.” She kept scrolling for another moment and then set the phone aside. “I’m really sorry, Miranda. It never occurred to me you wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re here. Not many people go into reality TV to be anonymous.”
“It’s okay.” I said it automatically, my hand going to my dark hair. The dye job had been a waste.
My future here had ended after a few short days. The knowledge rattled around inside me.
Damien.
“I hope it won’t create any trouble for you?” Violet sounded genuinely concerned, and she probably was. But apparently, the damage had already been done.
An oil painting of an old Derby winner hanging on Damien’s wall went out of focus as I began to feel a little faint. If Rick Barrow was looking for me, he was a Google search away from finding me. As were any psycho fans, star-watchers or TMZ reporters.
The only person who was going to be more disappointed than me? The gorgeous, sexy star of my book and my fantasies. The one man I hadn’t wanted to let down.
Damien.
* * *
“YOU’RE SURE YOU KNOW how to ride?” Damien asked me the question for at least the third time later that afternoon.
For now, I stroked the older mare’s nose while I held the bridle beneath her muzzle. I’d borrowed boots from the tack room that were too big for me, so it was just as well I had a more low-key mount even if I’d always been steady in a saddle. Just because I could ride farm horses at seventeen didn’t mean I’d be able to handle a Thoroughbred six years later. But Windchime didn’t seem as if she was going to give me any trouble, and I was glad to be away from Violet Whiteman, nice as she might be. She’d promised to look into damage control, and wished me luck in ducking the paparazzi who might make the trek to this part of the state.
I still hadn’t told Damien the secret was out about me being here. Call me a coward. I just didn’t want to ruin what was left of our time together. I knew as soon as the world came looking for me, I’d need to leave Fraser Farm. He didn’t deserve the brand of crazy I’d be bringing to his door. I’d tell him during the ride, though. Definitely.
My stomach cramped. Why had I thought I might find happiness here? I felt I’d been running for six years and finally found a place where I’d be safe.
“I’m positive. I love to ride and I’ve missed it.” I enjoyed his protectiveness. His thoughtfulness.
I watched him check the cinch on his horse, Eclipse, a younger gelding that he’d brought into the Thoroughbred rescue program. Damien really lived the idea of “second chances.” He’d sure given me one.
But I couldn’t think about that and how much leaving was going to hurt. It was cooler out today and I was glad for the oversize canvas coat I’d snagged from a hook in the barn, even if I looked like a street orphan.
“Ready?” He turned to me, his flannel shirt layered over a blue thermal one, the sleeves rolled up so I could see the muscles flex in his forearms as he rechecked my horse for me.
“Very.” Mostly, I was ready to be close to him again. Even though we’d been out of bed for only five hours, I missed the feel of his hands on me. Being with him had been...spectacular. That really wasn’t too strong of a word for the way he’d made me feel. So unfair that all those good feelings were already tinged with the bittersweet knowledge that they wouldn’t last.