by Miranda Lee
'Mmm. Before I go, what about insurance? I don't want to make the same mistake Mum did.'
'I insured everything after your mother died,' William confessed. 'I didn't want to bother you at the time for permission. I hope you don't mind.'
Courtney smiled as she rose to her feet, extending her hand across the desk. 'Not at all. Thanks, Bill. I don't know what I'd do without you.'
He flinched at the steely strength in her handshake. No wonder the horses she rode did as they were told.
"There's no trouble with our general running expenses, is there?' she asked.
'No. Cash input is matching output at the moment. Of course, the place could do with some money spent on it. It's beginning to look run down. So if you and Lois are going to sting some city fool for three million, you might as well try for four, and be done with it.'
She grinned at him. 'Bill! You shock me.'
'I doubt that very much,' he remarked drily. 'By the way, if Lois can't come up with anyone suitable, I suggest you approach a financial consultancy which specialises in handling country-based investments. But that's a last resort. Middlemen always want their cut. A personal contact deal would be much better all round.'
'I agree. If I have to have a partner, then I'd like to have some control over who it is. Now, I'd better get moving. Friday will be here before I know it.'
'Good luck, Courtney.'
'See you, Bill.'
She spun on the heels of her elastic-sided boots and had taken three strides towards the door when she stopped and threw a puzzled glance back over her shoulder at him. 'What was the other one?' she asked.
'What other one?'
"The other solution to my money problems.'
'Oh, that. It was a stupid idea. Not worth mentioning.'
She turned right round again with that stubborn set to her face he knew so well. 'I'd still like to know.'
William let out a resigned sigh. 'I was thinking of what impoverished aristocratic women used to do in the old days when their castles were crumbling around them.'
'What's that?'
'They married for money.'
Courtney crowed with laughter. 'You're right, Bill. That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard of. I think the world has moved on since the days when young ladies went round sacrificing themselves in marriage to aging pot-bellied counts, simply to save the family jewels.'
Actually, William wasn't too sure of that.
'If and when I marry,' Courtney announced as she planted the dusty Akubra hat firmly on her head, 'it won't be for money.'
'Ah-h-h.' William smiled his approval. 'For love, eh, girl?'
'Don't be ridiculous, Bill. Love won't have anything to do with it. It'll be strictly for the sex.' And, smiling a truly wicked smile, she whirled and strode from the room.
'EVERYONE'S very dressed up,' Courtney said, glancing around at the crowd of racegoers.
All the men were in suits and ties, and most of the women were wearing hats. Lois herself was in a rather flamboyant floral suit and matching hat which might have looked over-the-top on anyone less slender and vivacious. But she carried the outfit off with great panache, looking a lot younger than the forty she admitted to.
'I did warn you, darling,' Lois replied. 'Randwick is a far cry from a country racetrack.'
'You can say that again. Thanks heaps for lending me these clothes, Lois. Sorry I was stubborn about it.'
Lois rolled her eyes. She'd had the devil of a time persuading the girl out of the jeans and checked shirt she'd been wearing this morning, and into the stylish black pants and matching cropped jacket she now had on. This minor miracle had only been achieved by her firmly telling Courtney that the members' section at Randwick had a dress code that definitely didn't allow jeans.
As for that revolting checked shirt... Lois shuddered at the memory.
Lois had learnt many years ago that, in the city, appearance was everything. Just because you were a horse trainer it didn't mean you had to look like one. Lois spent an absolute fortune on her vibrant but stylish clothes, and the expenditure was worth every penny. The press photographers snapped her all the time, and the media were always seeking her opinion on the chances of her horses, possibly because she looked better on TV than most of the male trainers. She talked better, too. And smiled a lot. Lois believed that acting bright and always sounding positive brought her more coverage and more clients than the actual success of her horses.
'You look fantastic in black,' she complimented Courtney. 'Much better than I ever did.' Actually, black hadn't been her colour since she'd had her hair blonded last year. It looked great on Hilary's daughter, however, with her olive skin, black hair and almost black eyes. If the girl had agreed to some red lipstick and to leaving that gorgeous hair of hers down, she'd have been simply stunning. But, when Lois had suggested both this morning, Courtney had bluntly stated that she looked like a clown in make-up and simply couldn't stand her hair around her face.
Lois had argued her case but the girl was adamant. Clearly, she was as opinionated and strong-willed as her mother. Lois had put her foot down, however, when Courtney had gone to scoop her gorgeous black curls back up into that awful rubber band, and had insisted that if her hair had to be off her face, it should be anchored more attractively at the nape of her neck with a gold clip.
Courtney had finally shrugged and given in, as though it didn't really matter either way. Lois could only conclude that Hilary's daughter had no idea of the uniquely exotic beauty she possessed, and which would have more than one wealthy man slavering at her feet if only she knew what to do with it
Still, what could one expect? Teaching her daughter to make the most of her striking looks would not have been high on Hilary's agenda. Such a stupid, warped old woman. Why hate men when they ran the world?
Tonight, over dinner, she would try to explain to Courtney that when a woman did business in a man's world, she did it as much with her body as her brain. If Courtney wanted to save Crosswinds, then she would hopefully listen to reason.
If not, then it would be up to herself to rescue the darned place single-handed, Lois decided pragmatically. No way was she going to sit back and let that wonderful old property pass into other hands. Crosswinds had the best staying brood mares in Australia. All they needed was the right sire, and a whole crop of champion colts and fillies would be in the making. And she would be right there, willing and eager to train every single one of the little darlings!
Courtney wasn't enjoying her trip to the races as much as she'd thought she would. Her mind was still on Crosswinds and her money problems.
'Do you think we might meet someone here today, Lois?' she asked tautly.
'Someone to bail Crosswinds out, you mean?'
'Yes.'
'Possibly. Though this isn't all that major a race meeting. Not too many of the seriously rich here today. Look, darling, take my advice and don't go worrying about Crosswinds this afternoon. Just relax and enjoy yourself. Tonight, after dinner, I'll sit down and make a list of likely candidates, then tomorrow I'll ring around and issue some invitations.'
'What kind of invitations?'
'Dinner. Drinks. Whatever suits each man in question.'
'You don't know any suitably rich women?' Rich women liked racehorses too, Courtney had been thinking. And there would be less chance of a woman partner wanting to interfere with the management of Crosswinds. She just didn't trust a man not to try to poke his bib in.
Lois looked just a tad exasperated. 'Lord, darling, no woman is going to want to be your partner. You're far too goodlooking. No, no, no, some filthy rich old bloke is our best bet. Trust me. By the end of the week, we'll come up with just the right person. I have every confid— Oh, good God, it's Jack Falconer. And he said he definitely wasn't going to be here today!'
Courtney followed the direction of Lois's disgruntled gaze and encountered a man standing at the railing of the saddling enclosure, alternately studying the race book in his hands, then t
he horses being led around the parade ring. A pair of expensive-looking binoculars were hooked around his neck. He was tall, with a strongly masculine profile and close-cropped dark hair.
Courtney's eyebrows lifted. She'd always fancied macho-looking men, and this one was certainly that, despite his sleek, city-smooth clothes. He was somewhere in his early thirties, she guessed. Though she couldn't be certain from this distance. He could have been older.
His being older wouldn't have made him any less attractive to Courtney. She liked older men.
'Who's Jack Falconer?' she asked, intrigued by Lois's reaction to seeing him.
'What? Oh...one of my owners.'
'Rich?'
'Used to be. Not so rich any more.'
'What happened?'
'He chose the wrong business partner. The mongrel embezzled a good chunk of their clients' money and did a flit to Paraguay or Bolivia, or wherever. Jack nobly made restitution himself, though legally he didn't have to, and it almost sent him to the wall. He lost just about everything, including his live-in lady. The rotten cow dumped him and married a politician old enough.to be her father. Rolling in dough, of course. Jack pretended he wasn't shattered but he clearly was. He was besotted with his darling Katrina. He only bought a share in a racehorse in the first place because she loved coming to the races and mingling with the rich and famous.'
'She sounds awful. Whatever did he see in her?'
Lois laughed. 'When you see her, you'll know the answer to that. And you'll see her today. Her new hubby is presenting the trophy in the main race of the day. That's why I was so taken aback to see Jack here. Because his... Oh, darn, he's spotted me. I'll fill you in later.'
Lois plastered a high-voltage beam on her face and stepped off the veranda of the members' stand into the warm winter sunshine. Courtney followed, more intrigued than ever by the man walking towards Lois. Full frontal and up closer, he was even more attractive, with the sort of deep-set blue eyes that Courtney adored.
No grey in his dark brown hair that she could see, so her guess of early thirties remained. As did her initial impression that he was really built. With his suit jacket flapping open and his tie blown back over his right shoulder, there was no hiding the way his ibroad chest was stretching the material of ihis pale blue shirt.
Yet there was no question of fat, or flab. That telling area around his waistline against which his binoculars kept bouncing as he walked showed no hint of a soft underbelly, or of being held in. His stomach looked flat and rock-hard, just the way Courtney liked them.
He was even taller than she'd first thought on seeing him standing alone in the distance. Six four at least. A big man all round.
Courtney adored big men.
The three of them met on the grass, with Courtney hanging back slightly. All the better to observe him from...
'Jack, darling...' Lois presented her cheek to him for a kiss. 'How lovely to see you.'
'Hello, Lois.' He smiled with a slightly crooked smile as he bent to give her a peck. 'You're looking lovely today. There again, you always look lovely.'
'You're such a flatterer,' she said coyly, and Courtney tried not to laugh. But the woman was a riot. As rough as guts around the stables, but here, at the races, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
'Now, what are you doing here, Jack?' Lois went on sweetly. 'When I contacted you this week, you said you definitely wouldn't be. What changed your mind? The glorious weather?'
He seemed drily amused by her none too subtle probing. 'No, after we talked I remembered you always said that the first time you put Big Brutus over a bit of distance, he'd win.'
'He will too,' Lois replied. Tm very confident.'
Recognition of the horse's name dragged Courtney's attention away from ogling Jack Falconer. Big Brutus was one of Four-Leaf Clover's first crop and the ugliest colt her mother had ever bred. Hence his name. He'd been one of the yearlings she'd refused to sell for peanuts, subsequently leasing him to Lois. He'd been a total dud at two years old, not much better at three, and had turned four this very day, still with only a few minor placings.
But he was bred to stay all day.
Courtney scrambled through her race book to find the race Big Brutus was entered in. There it was. A handicap over twenty-four-hundred metres, with prize money of...
'Wow!' she exclaimed. 'First, place pays a hundred thousand smackeroos. My cut would be what, Lois?'
Those piercing blue eyes swung her way. 'I beg your pardon? God, don't tell me you're Big Brurus's jockey. Tell me she's not the jockey, Lois.'
'She's not the jockey,' Lois said with a wry smile on her face. 'But if she was, you'd have one of the best riders in the country on your horse.'
"That may be, but I've never, had much luck betting on female jockeys.'
Courtney bristled in defence of her sex. And irritation at herself for once again being attracted to a male chauvinist. Would she never find a man who looked as she liked them to look, yet believed God created man and woman equal?
'When a race is lost,' she said frostily, 'it's mostly the horse's fault. Or the trainer's. Or the owner's. Not the jockey, be she female or otherwise.'
'I don't see how it can be the owner's fault,' he argued back.
'Some owners insist on seeing their horses run in races far above their talents. And other owners Insist their horses not run up to their ability at all!'
'Courtney,' Lois whispered under her breath.
'No, no, let her finish,' Jack insisted. 'Do go on, Ms...er...?'
'Cross,' she announced.
'Yes, I can see that,' he said, smiling.
Courtney would have liked to wipe that smirk off his face with more than her tongue. But she hadn't physically brawled with a member of the opposite sex since she was thirteen, and didn't think the lawns at Royal Randwick Racecourse was the place to begin again.
'Aside from the horse having a lousy trainer or a crooked owner,' she continued tartly, 'the main reason female jockeys don't ride all that many winners is that they are rarely offered the best rides in races, and when they are their male counterparts make sure none of the breaks go their way. It's a sad fact of life that the male sex do not appreciate women taking them on in fields they've always considered their own private turf.'
'Possibly. But you must concede that pound for pound male jockeys are stronger. Take you, for instance. If you were a jockey, quite a few pounds of your riding weight would be wasted on your very nice but less than useful breasts. Strength-wise, that is,' he added ruefully.
'Actually, no, that's not the case,' she countered without batting an eye. It wasn't the first time Courtney had heard that old argument. It had whiskers on it. 'If I were riding professionally, I'd have to strip off at least twenty pounds and my boobs would shrink from their present cup C to a flat-chested double A. Add five hundred pushups a day, and I'd be every bit as strong as any male jockey. Being female is not the point here. It's a matter of 'talent and opportunity. A woman jockey can have all the talent in the world, but rarely gets the opportunities.'
He smiled. 'I give up. You win.'
'Thank you,' she said crisply, but didn't smile back. She was still smarting inside for finding him so attractive, and wasn't about to be won over by one smarmy little smile.
Getting the message that he was on the outer, he turned to Lois. 'So explain the mystery to me, Lois? Why is Ms Cross, here, entitled to a share of Big Brutus's prize money?'
'Courtney's mother bred Big Brutus. I leased him as a yearling, then syndicated him out to you and your partner.'
'Oh, I see. Sorry,' he directed at Courtney with another winning smile. 'And sorry about the jockey bit. I was only stirring. I don't know about your riding talents, but your debating skills are excellent. You wouldn't be a budding lady-lawyer by any chance?'
His charm was undeniable, and Courtney struggled to stay angry with him.
'Courtney is a horse breeder, too,' Lois answered for her. "The Crosses have been breeding thorou
ghbreds for generations.'
'You don't look like a horse breeder,' he said, and those sexy blue eyes raked over her from top to toe.
Courtney's heart lurched upwards, then did a swallow dive down into her stomach.
Wow, she thought a bit dazedly. This guy is dynamite.
'Since Lois isn't going to introduce me properly,' he said, 'then I will. Jack Falconer...' And he held out his hand.
It was a big hand, naturally. He was a big man.
Reaching out, she slid her own relatively small hand against his huge palm, curling her thumb around half of his and squeezing firmly.
'Courtney Cross,' she replied, steadfastly ignoring her madly galloping heart.
'Delighted.' And he squeezed even more firmly back.
She felt it all the way down to her toes. Courtney simply could not understand how any woman with an active libido could prefer some aging politician to this gorgeous hunk of male flesh.
The only possible answer was money.
Okay, so he'd fallen on hard times. But not through any fault of his own, according to Lois.
Courtney wondered how he could afford Big Brutus's training fees. Lois didn't come cheap.
'And what is it you do for a crust, Jack?' she asked, not subscribing to the theory that you never asked personal questions on first acquaintance. How else were you going to find out what you wanted to know?
'I used to be a financial consultant,' he said happily enough. 'Or an investment broker, if you prefer that label. At the moment, I'm a gentleman of leisure.'
'You mean you're unemployed.'
'Courtney!' Lois broke in. 'For heaven's sake.'
'It's perfectly all right, Lois,' Jack said. 'I don't mind. If by unemployed you mean I don't work for wages, then you're absolutely right. I am unemployed in that sense. But I'm not broke. And I'm not on the dole. Currently, I am a man of independent means.'
Which meant he was looking for work and living on his savings.