by Cajio, Linda
The interruption was for the best, she decided. She didn’t know which was worse. James needing to talk to her … or him calling her by her childhood nickname.
James’s horse, startled by the sudden influx of strange humans, whinnied his dismay and pulled free of his master’s loose grip. A scared horse was a potentially dangerous one, Anne knew. Sure enough, before anyone could grab his reins, the horse wreaked his own brand of havoc.
He walked over to Anne, butted his nose against her chest, and blew gustily down the front of her dress in a horsey sign of affection.
Anne pushed the horse’s head away in one deft movement, then gazed at her now ruined dress. She sighed in resignation.
James got the women. She got the horse. Dudley Do-right would have been proud of her.
“The last animal who did this to me, bub,” she said to the horse, “got curried with a brush that had five-inch steel bristles.”
The horse butted her chest again.
“Masochist,” she muttered, giving in and scratching the animal on its long black muzzle.
Under her hand, the animal’s hide was soaked in sweat. She set her jaw in anger as she felt the rest of the horse’s head and neck. While James was drinking champagne and flirting with his “flowers,” his horse had been left to sweat in exhaustion. A good horseman took care of his animal before himself. At least the horse wasn’t lathered, but it still needed to be cooled down and taken to the stables. She was ashamed that she had been so preoccupied with James, she hadn’t noticed the animal’s plight before this.
“I’m sorry, Anne,” James said, breaking away from his groupies. He patted the horse on the neck. “Monroe does that when he likes someone.”
“So I discovered.”
James grinned. “He has excellent taste. But your dress.… Get a new one and send me the bill.”
“That’s very nice of you,” she said while privately deciding she’d be damned before she did. She handed over the reins. “He needs attention, James.”
“I know.” He looked around the field. “The groom should have come for him by now. But I figured this might happen. That’s why I can spare only a minute. You’ll be at the dance tonight, right?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, ruthlessly forcing away a flush of embarrassment. She knew she shouldn’t feel embarrassed that she’d pointed out his horse needed attention.
“Yes, she is going,” Lettice corrected her.
Anne glared at her grandmother. She had forgotten about the damn dance tonight. She couldn’t go now. “I know I agreed to come to the match, Grandmother, but I shouldn’t be away from the farm at this time of year—”
“Nonsense.” Lettice glared right back. “You have very competent people working for you. They know you are only a phone call away. Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you? Or James.”
Anne gritted her teeth, knowing she was caught in a social trap. “Of course not.”
“Good,” James said. “I’ll see you there. It’s important.” He stared at her for a moment longer, then gulped back the last of his champagne and shoved the glass into her hands. He turned to Lettice. “I’ll take Monroe to the stables, then come back for the trophy presentation. They’ll want you at that too, Lettice. After all, you arranged this match.”
“I’ll go with you to the stables,” one of the other women volunteered.
“Thanks, Buffy,” James said, “but it’s hectic back there. And very dirty. I wouldn’t want you to ruin that beautiful dress.”
Buffy looked both shocked and grateful, and Anne hid a smile. She had made a sure bet with her trust fund. Buffy did look … enchanting. Anne forced away the urge to shred the Gibson Girl hat the woman was wearing. It was a silly thought. Anyway, Lettice would kill her if she did.
It was then she realized all of the women were scowling at her as if she had deliberately forced the horse to ruin her dress and draw James’s attention from them. She arched her eyebrows and gazed at them in cool defiance.
James took the horse to the stables, Buffy and crew electing to forgo that pleasure.
“So much for your ideas about James, Grandmother,” Anne said in a low voice as the other women departed.
“Nonsense. A little competition is good for the soul,” Lettice said. “James is an attractive boy. You certainty wouldn’t want someone who scratches himself every ten seconds, now, would you?”
Anne eyed the other women sourly as they teetered away, their ridiculously high heels sinking into the ground. She also admitted her grandmother might have a point.
“No comment,” she finally said.
“Naturally, you wouldn’t,” Lettice said. “I better get over to the presentation. Then we’ll go home and change for the dance.”
As her grandmother headed for the knot of officials on the playing field, Anne shook her head and began to pack up the remains of their picnic.
“There is no way I will be at that damn dance tonight,” she muttered to herself. After her gaping schoolgirl reaction to James, she’d be stupid to expose herself again to his charm.
Incredibly stupid.
Two
Okay, so she was incredibly stupid.
Anne grimaced as she watched the elegantly dressed men and women swirl around the dance floor. She stood almost directly behind a potted palm in the archway, as good a spot as any while she waited for her grandmother to finish “fussing” in the ladies’ room.
She had tried to get out of the dance yet again, but arguing with her grandmother was like trying to stop a race horse from running. A useless gesture but one that sometimes had to be made. Lettice had promised, however, that she would never ask her to one of these things again—if she came tonight. Although Anne had her misgivings about this particular evening, it was a bargain she couldn’t pass up.
Pulling at her gown’s bodice, she cursed herself yet again for not looking in her closet earlier. The gown she was wearing was a leftover from her California days. All her evening wear was. It had seemed so tame then. But it could be worse, she thought. She could have worn the red.
She spotted her cousin, Ellen Kitteridge-Carlini, on the dance floor with her new husband, Joe. Ellen had suffered through a bad marriage and the loss of a child. It was good to see her so radiant and happy now. Anne frowned. It was funny, but she’d always thought James and Ellen would have been perfect together. Yet seeing Ellen with Joe only proved how wrong her original perception was.
She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She hadn’t seen James—yet. Maybe he wasn’t here tonight. Her reaction to him that afternoon had haunted her for the rest of the day. She had finally concluded that it had been seeing him with horses. What else could explain her gaping at him like a dizzy kid? She’d done that once before. Once was enough.
Tonight she would be cool and calm. She’d put on a cloak of sophistication. She only hoped she had one somewhere.
“Annie.”
At the sound of a deep, all too familiar voice, Anne jumped … right into the palm tree. She grabbed for it as it started to tip over, the sharp fronds whipping around her in a frenzied attack. The palm came completely away from its heavy pot, the dirt surrounding the roots as dry as a desert. Hugging the tree to her, she focused her gaze on James.
“Hello,” she said brightly as she set the palm back into the pot as casualty as possible. First his horse picked her dress to snort all over, and now this, she thought. She’d be lucky if she didn’t fall into the champagne fountain tonight.
She turned around and matters were made worse by the sight of him in evening wear. His tuxedo fit like the proverbial glove, and she tried desperately not to stare. She was all too aware that she was virtually alone with James … and the palm tree. She couldn’t think of a better place to be—except prison, maybe.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m glad I found you—”
It took James several seconds to realize his greeting had stopped abruptly when she turned around. It
took him several more to realize he was staring at her. Her ankle-length gown in shimmering turquoise crepe clung to her every curve. The sleeves and torso glittered with blue and silver bangles, and the skirt glimmered with woven silver threads. Any jewelry, other than earrings, would have been gaudy. But it was the keyhole opening from throat to below her breasts that captured his attention. Her cleavage was completely exposed. The bodice was incredibly daring, and he wondered at the engineering feat that kept it in place. One slip and more than cleavage would see the light of day. He tried to shift his gaze from the sight of her creamy flesh, but it was impossible. The temptation to find out if her skin was as silken as it looked was nearly overwhelming.
“I think I forgive you for throwing up on me when I was four,” he finally said, grinning at her.
“Very funny.” Her cheeks looked flushed. “It’s nice to see you too, James.”
“Not as nice as it is to … see you.” His grin widened. “That’s a beautiful dress. But don’t you feel a little chilly?”
“Trust me, this is tame next to something Cher would wear,” she replied, fixing him with a fair imitation of her grandmother’s stare. “Anyway, I’ve seen more daring ones here tonight.”
That might be, he conceded, but none affected him as hers did. She was not like those women who had fluttered around him after the polo match that afternoon. Not at all. He didn’t like the thought that other men had seen her in that gown. But he had no rights to her. He’d given up that privilege on a long-ago summer night.…
He reminded himself that he hadn’t had a chance to speak to her earlier about his business proposition, and that was the only right he could have to her. After the phone call he’d received this morning, he knew he had an offer she couldn’t refuse—and one he couldn’t imagine sharing with anyone but her. Only she would understand and appreciate the momentous thing he had done.
Forcing himself to ignore the distractions she presented, he asked, “Can I ask why you’re hiding behind the palm?”
“Waiting for Grandmother,” she said.
“I see. Then I’ll wait with you. We have to talk, Annie. Privately—”
“Anne,” she corrected him firmly. “It’s just Anne now.”
He smiled. “You have never been ‘just Anne.’ ”
Before she could protest, he joined her at the wall, leaning his shoulder against the flocked paper and effectively trapping her between him and the palm. He was immediately aware of the small space separating them. His body and mind urged him closer, to take her in his arms and inhale the scent of light perfume and woman, feel her curves under his hands.
He set his jaw to keep himself in control. He had a business arrangement for her, that was all. He looked around the ballroom and knew they could be interrupted at any moment. He would have to get her alone. He ignored the leap of his senses at the thought, and said, “I do have to talk to you privately, but this isn’t nearly private enough. There are some rooms along the back hallway—”
“I really hate to disappoint you, James, but I promised Grandmother I would wait for her. She’d be upset if I weren’t here.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Are we talking about the same Lettice Kitteridge?”
“Yes. And when she expects you to be somewhere, you’d better be there.”
He acknowledged she did know her Lettice. “Fine, then we’ll wait.”
A few minutes later she looked a little too relieved when Lettice finally emerged from the ladies’ room. She hurried toward her grandmother.
“Anne, hold it!” he exclaimed, following her.
“Thank you for waiting with me,” she said over her shoulder, “but I have to go now—”
“Anne!”
“I see you found James,” Lettice said when they both reached her.
“I didn’t know I was lost,” he said.
Lettice chuckled.
“The family’s waiting, Grandmother,” Anne said. “Besides, James probably brought someone with him tonight.”
He frowned. “I did bring my mother … oh, you mean a date. No, actually, I didn’t.”
“Then you can join us for a while,” Lettice said. “Some of my brood are here, but you know them all.”
“Thank you, Lettice,” he said, noting Anne’s blank expression. He wondered at it, then added, “May I borrow Anne? I need to talk with her privately. We won’t be long, I promise.”
“Ahh …” Anne began.
“Of course you can,” Lettice said, smiling in clear pleasure. Most people found her dictatorial, but he cared for her as if she were a second grandmother.
“Thanks. You’re terrific.”
“But … but …” Anne stuttered as he took her arm and led her away.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Lettice called after them.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with him.”
“Someplace very private.”
Anne instantly dug in her heels and stopped. James spun around.
“Dammit, Anne. What are you doing?”
“The question is, what are you doing?” she demanded. “What is all this about?”
He glanced around the corridor. “Not here.”
“Yes—”
She never got any farther. James marched her over to the nearest door, opened it, and thrust her into a small sitting room. He joined her, closing the door behind them.
No one else was in the room. The blood surged in his veins at the notion.
“James, what are—”
“Ever hear of a horse named Battle Cry?” he interrupted. He’d waited all day to tell her. He wasn’t waiting a moment longer.
“Who hasn’t?” she said in an angry voice. “Descendant of Man o’War and last year’s Triple Crown winner. He’s the hottest and most talked about horse since his ancestor. But what does that have to do with anything?”
James grinned in excitement. He couldn’t wait to see her face. “It has everything to do with anything, Annie my girl. I bought him this morning.”
Anne gasped in astonishment. Her ears had to be deceiving her.
“It took me months to arrange this,” he went on. “The sale finally went through this morning. All I have to do is sign the papers.”
“But … but …”
“I’m retiring him from racing as of today and putting him out to stud.” He reached out and tightly gripped her arms. “What do you think of having him at your farm?”
The room spun wildly. Hot shivers ran down her back, and her lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air. She wasn’t sure that it was the idea of Battle Cry procreating future winners at her farm … or James’s touch.
She stepped away from him and back against the wall in an attempt to regain her composure. She also needed to put some distance between them. Shock and an odd disappointment ran through her. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting when James had insisted on speaking privately to her, but this certainly wasn’t it.
Battle Cry, she thought. Some said he was a reincarnation of Man o’War, the most famous racing horse ever. Man o’War had lost only one race in his career, Battle Cry only two. And James wanted to entrust the horse to her. She had worked hard to bring top quality stallions and mares to her farm, and she’d just started having some success. James must have heard about her efforts. But Battle Cry was already the horse of the decade. If his progeny carried on the tradition, he’d be the horse of the century. It was too good to be true.
“Annie. You look as if you’re going to faint.”
His voice was filled with amusement. She opened her eyes.
“I do feel as if I might faint,” she said. She took a deep breath and straightened from the wall.
“Will you do it?”
He was so handsome, she thought. A sensual magnetism radiated from him, continually pulling at its female counterpart in her. Her reaction to him was growing, and it scared her. She knew she would have to have contact with him as the owner of Battle Cry. The not
ion was daunting. She could handle it, she sternly told herself. It wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. The most conscientious owners checked on their horses only every few months, and called in between. None came every week, or even every month. Thank goodness. She’d be idiotic not to take Battle Cry just because she was attracted to his owner.
James was grinning like a kid with a new Nintendo. She grinned in return. It was infectious.
“I was just thinking that I’d be crazy not to take the horse.” She hesitated, then steeled herself to ask a basic question. “Have you had him tested yet for … potency?”
“He’s got what it takes.” She blushed, then he dropped another devastating bomb. “I know I should have approached you before this, but I wanted to keep the negotiations quiet. If it got out that he was being sold instead of racing this year as he was supposed to, I would have had way too many competitors for him. There were a couple of shrewd investors I had to outbid as it was. The news would have leaked out if I had talked with one of the big stud farms in Kentucky or California about placing him. Anyway, I thought of you instantly.”
She struggled against a wave of anger and humiliation. He wanted to place the horse with her to momentarily hide the sale. After the papers were signed, sealed, and delivered, she had a pretty good idea what would happen. He would move Battle Cry to a more prestigious farm. In her own excitement she had forgotten that it was March, halfway through this year’s breeding season. All the top mares would already be committed for the year. If she had been thinking straight, she might have remembered … and wondered.
She was about to open her mouth and tell him exactly where he could take his million-dollar-horse factory, when she remembered her own mare, Lollipop’s Rainbow, hadn’t “taken” in her last mating. She would come into season again in a few weeks—just about the time Battle Cry would arrive. Provided she agreed to take him.
She shouldn’t, she thought. It wasn’t … right.
“Don’t worry, James. My lips are sealed,” she said, deciding she was entitled to a little something for allowing her farm to be a horse hideout. And Battle Cry had to hide out somewhere.