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“You’re gonna get horse shite on you!” The little girl stalked out of the stable.
“The little angels,” Billet murmured with a grin.
Oh dear. “George, you’re the older brother,” Emmie said, walking over beside him as he tossed a last apple into Willow’s stall. “You’re to protect Rose, not tease her.”
“I do protect Rose. Every dam—every day. But she said I didn’t like horses, and now she’s got snot all over her. It’s funny.”
“Not to her.”
Leaving the stable, Emmie went out into the yard to find Rose standing at the water trough and running wet hands down her front. “It’s ruined,” she sobbed. “My pink and yellow dress.”
“It’s not ruined,” Emmie said stoutly. “Let’s get you inside and changed. All your dress needs is a good scrubbing and some time to dry.”
Rose wiped her hand across her face. “Do you think so?”
“You’re not the first lady to have a horse snort on her, my dear.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Sniffing, Rose came at Emmie, her small arms outstretched.
Stifling a gasp, Emmeline sidestepped the slick embrace. “Let’s get inside,” she said quickly, and started off toward the house. No sense damaging two gowns.
“Don’t leave me in there with Billet,” George said, trotting up behind them. “He says he and his grooms sleep under horse sh—manure to keep warm at night.”
“I’m certain he was only teasing.”
“Well, I dropped his coat in a bucket of shite, so we’ll see if he notices.”
“George!”
“When do I get my drawing lessons?” the boy asked, clearly attempting a subject change.
“Will is making up a schedule now. Along with the agreement for all of us to sign.”
“If you was bamming me about teaching me to read, then nothing else about the agreement matters. And I reckon you need us more than we need you.”
That was true. And a bit unnerving to realize the children knew it, too. “We were not bamming you, George. And we will keep to the agreement, just as I know you will. But we can’t do everything at once. A schedule is vital.”
“You can’t learn to read now, George. I need to clean my dress.”
“You need to take a bath,” her brother returned. “You’re half dirt and half snot.”
“I am not! At least I wasn’t scared! He’s scared of horses!”
“No, I ain’t! You take that back!”
“George! Rose! That is enough!” Now Emmeline wanted to flee. But the Fletchers were the best—and only—way she had of keeping ownership of Winnover Hall. A damp hand gripped hers, and she glanced down, startled. Rose looked up at her, an expression on her oval face that even the most hardened of hearts could only describe as endearing.
“We’re very sorry we yelled at each other,” the girl said solemnly. “Please don’t send us back to the stone jug.”
That was the key. They all had something to gain here. They all needed each other. Emmie tightened her fingers around Rose’s. “I think you and I may be glued together with horse snort now,” she observed, lifting their joined hands. “Oh dear.”
Rose laughed. “Oh no! We are stuck!”
“I got horse slobber on my hand,” George announced. “From Willow. That could be sticky, too.”
“Well, let’s find out, shall we?” Hardly daring to breathe, Emmie held out her free hand.
George slapped his into it, gripping her fingers. “Oh no! We’re stuck!”