Not “Mr. Towers” anymore, Chance noticed grimly.
“You’re not really dressed for stable duty,” he told her, and Mike nodded.
“Chance is right, my dear. Perhaps another day—”
“I just want to look, not muck stalls,” she protested, a frown touching her lips. Then she shrugged again. “But of course, if it’s not possible—”
“Hellfire, girl, I didn’t say it wasn’t possible!” Mike waved a hand at Chance. “Look, get Chance here to show you the horses. I can’t leave my guests, but you go ahead.”
AJ smiled at Mike, then cast a glance at Chance. “I’m not sure Mr. Landin wants me to go,” she murmured. Mike laughed.
“Mr. Landin wants to do anything he’s told to,” he assured her, then winked at Chance. “Right?”
Chance lifted a shoulder. “You’re the boss,” he said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.” He gestured toward the door. “This way, AJ.”
• • •
Walking beside Chance Landin—or a few steps behind, since her heels made keeping up with his long strides difficult on the uneven flagstone walk—AJ could feel his unspoken resentment at being forced to show her around the Towers stable. She glanced speculatively at the broad expanse of his back as he hurried. No matter what Chance thought of her, and she had noticed his gaze sweep over her scantily clad body more than once, he was the head of security for Mike Towers. By definition, then, he was the enemy. She should never have noticed the tiny sparks of flame in his dark brown eyes when they’d been introduced, or the way his light brown hair glinted in the lights from the chandelier. Her lips quirked slightly. Well, so she’d noticed him noticing her. He should have known better, when she’d clearly been coming on to his boss.
She couldn’t quite suppress a shudder of revulsion. The brief dress, the artful makeup, and the provocative behavior were not really Alejandra Joanna Owens. She normally had nothing but scorn for these so-called feminine wiles. You didn’t need those on a racetrack. Strength and intelligence were all you needed there. But experience was a hard teacher, and she knew exactly what men like Mike Towers wanted. So she showed a little bare skin and turned perfectly innocent words into soft little sounds of sexual interest. And the man responded just as she knew he would. The bastard, she thought bitterly. The lying, cheating bastard. But she had known how easy it would be to get him. To get her sister’s widower.
Another, stronger shudder shook her.
“Cold?” Chance glanced over his shoulder at just the wrong time. With the security lights glaring harshly down, he obviously hadn’t missed the shiver. She didn’t miss his sarcasm. Even at this late hour, the temperature was above ninety, so she understood his thinly veiled taunt.
She forced a smile and shook her head. Her hair flopped heavily against her neck and she wished she’d put it up. Her whole body burned, more from Landin’s scornful glance than from the June heat. “I’m just excited,” she retorted sweetly and saw the muscles in his jaw clench. Unlike Mike Towers, Chance Landin seemed more or less immune to provocation. He might have looked, but his attitude said clearly that he wasn’t buying.
And that was fine. Staying out of Mike Towers’s bed while getting what she wanted would be tricky enough. She knew enough about the man to know that he promised and cajoled, then took what he wanted if he couldn’t get it any other way. He’d destroyed her sister Gina’s life, so he couldn’t hurt AJ more than he already had. But other men could, if she let them. Chance clearly thought she’d stepped off a street corner into his boss’s glitzy world. His disgust with her was evident and handy. Looking to the future, she would have to deal with him on a professional level, finding ways to slip under and through whatever security arrangements he oversaw. But she wouldn’t have to worry about him wanting her.
They reached the door and Chance paused, this time facing her as he talked.
“If you know Thoroughbreds, you know they tend to be hot-blooded and easily riled,” he warned. “Disturbing them this late isn’t a good idea, so I hope this visit down memory lane will be quick. And quiet.”
She nodded briskly. “Sure. Like I told Mike, I’m not going to muck stalls.” She slipped past him into the wide, air-conditioned corridor of the barn. The smell of horses and hay surrounded her, more familiar and comfortable than the expensive perfumes that had eddied around her in sweet, nauseating waves up at the house. Quietly she walked down the row of stalls, pausing to peer into the shadows.
Brass nameplates outside each stall identified the pedigreed royalty inside. Most of the horses were dozing, one or two lying in the straw, the others standing in the backs of their stalls.
The name she was looking for didn’t hang from any of the stalls. She hadn’t expected to find it, but she had hoped.
“Rose Slew,” she murmured, running a finger over the cool brass. “Is she really a Slew mare?”
He shrugged. “I’m head of security, not the trainer.”
Fighting her disappointment, AJ nodded. “Sorry. Silly question.”
He leaned on the half open door and peered into the stall. The mare nickered and came over, blowing softly on his arm, and he smiled and reached out to scratch the base of her ear.
“Friends?” AJ asked pointedly and he grinned wryly.
“So maybe I have a passing interest in these guys,” he admitted, relenting. “Yeah, Mike’s really high on her. She goes back to Slew.”
AJ didn’t say anything, lost for a moment in memories. Way, way back, the famous Thoroughbred Seattle Slew had won the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes. The Triple Crown. As adolescents, helping their mother with the tiny racing stable she had taken over when her husband died, Gina and she had dreamed of having horses like the immortal Slew. Incredibly, they had come close. So close.
Ruthlessly shoving away the pain, she, too, patted the bay mare, then turned and looked around the corridor. “Nice mares. But does he send them all out for servicing? I thought he probably had stallions, too.” Her heart picked up its pace as he considered her question. Pushing him didn’t seem wise, but she needed him to show her the stallions. Keeping her face expressionless was an effort, when she wanted to plead. Or demand. After a long sigh and a deliberate glance at his watch, he again waved her toward a door.
Outside the door, more flagstone wound its way across a vast expanse of yard to a duplicate of the first barn, pristine and white under the bright lights. Paddocks, neatly railed in white, took the place of the barbed-wire fences more commonly found on south Texas ranches. Elaborate and expensive, the facilities here were like the best of those in Kentucky or near Ocala, Florida. High upkeep, but she doubted that Mike Towers knew or cared about the time spent keeping those fences up. It didn’t matter. Excitement simmered through her as Chance pushed the door open enough to usher her through. She was going to see the stallions.
The stallion barn was designed to give its residents space. There were only four stalls, and each one was separated from the neighboring stall by a short corridor, wide enough to keep restless and territorial stallions away from each other.
The first stall held a magnificent buckskin quarter horse, unbothered by the nighttime intrusion into the stable. Calm and disinterested in their presence, he stayed where he was, even when AJ coaxed him to come closer.
The occupant of the next box raised a ruckus. Hooves clattered on wood even before they approached and AJ stayed well back when a dark, almost black head thrust out, warning them away with gusty bursts of air.
“They tell me this one’s bad news,” Chance offered, although AJ had already figured that much out. “But some of his colts have done really well, so he’s in great demand.”
AJ nodded. She’d heard the name. Incendido, Spanish for “on fire.” One of his colts had won the Kentucky Derby a year ago, driving his value as a sire up. He hadn’t been much of a racehorse himself, retiring after never winning a race as a two-year-old. It happened. Besides, she didn’t care about him.
&
nbsp; The next stall was empty. Bold Attempt. She looked at the plate and moved on to the last stall, glancing at the name on the door.
Rebelde Dorado. Golden Rebel. Her heart pounded, and as she stepped up to the door, breathing hurt. The stall was empty. For several long seconds, she couldn’t force herself to turn around. When she did, looking at Chance Landin was hard.
I knew this, she reminded herself, angry that she felt overwhelmed by disappointment and loss. I knew.
“Just the two stallions?” She made the question light, trying to sound interested as a horsewoman. Or a gold digger. Not as Rebel’s legitimate owner.
Landin shrugged. “I haven’t worked for Mike long. I think I heard that Bold Attempt had to be put down. He wasn’t here when I came.”
“That’s terrible,” AJ said softly, and meant it. “So I guess you don’t know about the other horse?” She peered again at the engraved plate, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. “What’s the name? Rebelde Dorado?”
Chance lifted an eyebrow. “Pretty good Spanish, for a Philadelphia girl.”
“Not Philadelphia. I’m a Laredoan, remember? My mom’s maiden name was Rivera—Spanish was her first language. We’ve been away forever, that’s all.” She didn’t mention how long she’d been away, though, or that she’d studied Spanish in college to regain her fluency. She had to force herself to ask her next question. “So do you know what happened to this one?”
Just for a moment, she thought he didn’t know. Or wouldn’t answer. Was that suspicion flickering in his shadowed eyes? Then he glanced at the stall and turned to walk back toward the door they’d come in. She followed him.
“You’re awfully interested in Rebel,” he said.
“I saw him run.” That answer was honest and innocent enough at the same time. Rebel had owned the racing world, if only briefly. “I didn’t know who his owner was. But then, I don’t follow racing that closely anymore.” She smiled at Chance, a real smile, instead of the deliberately coquettish one she’d offered Towers. “He looked beautiful on television.”
Chance nodded. “Magnificent animal. I’ve only seen him a couple of times, though. Mike has him standing at his ranch in Nuevo Laredo this season.” He turned back toward the door, waving her ahead of him.
Almost halfway back to the house, a long, plaintive wail sliced through the night air. Unending, a cry of unbearable pain and grief that raised the hair on AJ’s arms. She shivered again, hard this time. Beside her, Chance tensed, looking around intently, and from somewhere nearby, large dogs barked threateningly.
“Probably a coyote,” Chance murmured, and in spite of his dislike for her, he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Warm and heavy, his hand evoked another shudder of an entirely different kind. Whether he realized the difference, she didn’t know, but he slowly removed his hand.
“I’ve heard coyotes,” AJ retorted, her head cocked, listening for any other faint sounds in the night around them. “Not recently, of course, but I don’t remember them sounding like that. Mountain lion, maybe—but not here. Not in Laredo.”
Chance shrugged. “Then?”
AJ looked up at him. “La Llorona?” she suggested, teasingly, although the wail could well have come from some poor, deranged soul. From a woman who’d bet everything on love and lost. Like Gina.
She expected him to laugh. Or scoff. Instead, he stared down at her, his face hard, dark, and emotionless.
“Maybe,” he said laconically. “There’s a world of hurt in the world.” For a long moment, he held her riveted there by the intensity of his gaze, his presence. Then he gave another shrug, and turned away from her. “Let’s get you back. The dogs are out and you’re not safe alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she said, although she had to hurry to keep up with him. “I’ve got you,” she added breathlessly, partly to annoy and partly because he walked too fast in his hurry to ditch her.
The glance he cast her menaced. Said clearly that he wasn’t amused. Or attracted. But he didn’t speak. Neither of them spoke until he pulled the side door open to let her back into the crowded ballroom.
“Good night, AJ,” he said politely, but his eyes were filled with distaste as, from across the room, Mike Towers waved at them. “I hope you enjoyed your tour.”
His dislike and lack of respect hurt, she realized. Silly, since she wanted him to dislike her. To stay away from her. She managed a final, flirty smile. “More than you can imagine,” she purred seductively. “I’ll tell your boss how good you were to me.”
Anger tightened his face and thinned his lips, but he said nothing, just turned and disappeared around the corner of the house. Mike Towers was coming toward her, all smile and swagger. Undoubtedly, he thought she’d be grateful to him for the midnight tour. She couldn’t let him know how repulsive she found him. Not yet.
She drew in a deep breath and tilted her chin up in determination. Towers had stolen her horse and her dreams. That was nothing. Gina had taken her life because of him. AJ had no proof, but she knew. And nothing would protect him from her plans for revenge. Not his money, not his power. And certainly not a man like Chance Landin, no matter how diligent he was as head of security.
Far off, so faint she might be imagining it, a high, keening wail echoed in her ears.
“A world of hurt,” Chance had said.
She had taken the words at face value then. But a sudden, strong awareness told her his words weren’t meant to comfort. He was warning her. No. More than that. Threatening her.
Chapter Two
Nuevo Laredo, Mexico
Butterflies were everywhere. Frail, tiny bodies drifted in waves and swirls around the car as it crept down the drive between narrow banks of bougainvillea, blazing in the early afternoon sunlight. The carefully planted bushes soared to impressive heights, a solid bank of fuchsia, hiding the manicured lawns behind them. At least, AJ supposed the lawns were as well kept as the bougainvillea, although on her right side, she knew that the vegetation must eventually dissolve into the tangle of bush and reed that banked the Rio Grande.
Rio Bravo. She corrected herself with a tiny, grim smile. Here on the Mexican side, the name changed from “big river” to “angry river.” Given her emotions and intentions, she suspected Rio Bravo was much more appropriate. She braked as a small, drab roadrunner scooted across the drive in front of her. The bird’s name in Spanish, paisano, meant country man, someone who shared the culture and heritage of the land. Unlike Mike Towers, though he had certainly taken advantage of his first wife’s money and real estate holdings.
The interminable road curved more sharply, and at last the bougainvillea walls gave way to great, green expanses, dotted with clumps of pampas grass and occasional plantings of roses. Glancing around, AJ couldn’t find any sign of the Dobermans Mike had warned her about.
She supposed that they were in kennels for the moment, since the businessman expected a large contingent of guests to arrive before the poolside dinner scheduled at nine. The drive turned again and the Towers mansion loomed ahead on the left, flaunting the man’s wealth and arrogance. Two stories of gleaming white soared into the blue summer sky. Grecian columns supported a broad balcony, and climbing roses spilled onto the porch and scaled elaborate trellises on each end of the wide veranda. A fountain spouted water into the air, creating a million dancing rainbows in the bright sunlight. Paradise. AJ exhaled. Had that been her sister’s first thought?
Reluctantly she eased the car over to the parking area, and looked around once more for the dogs. They were still not in evidence, and she unbuckled the seat belt and opened the door.
The Dobermans materialized out of thin air, or perhaps just from behind the rose bushes, a pack of huge, silent killers baring shiny white teeth at her, but mercifully, not attacking. She hesitated, unsure whether pulling her leg back into the car would provoke them into lunging at her.
“Capitan! Flaco! Back, boys! Back!”
AJ recognized the voice without turning from the dogs. Cha
nce Landin appeared out of nowhere and called off his attack dogs. The Dobermans obeyed immediately, falling away from the car and disappearing around the corner of the house like shadows driven by a rising wind. With a small sigh of relief, AJ slid out of the car.
“Talk about being glad to see someone.” She smiled, ignoring the irritation that pulled his brows low and tightened his bronzed face. Even angry, he was a compelling man. Authoritative. And she couldn’t complain about that. A pack of killer guard dogs probably wouldn’t have much respect for some wuss.
Chance nodded curtly. “Hello, AJ. Mike mentioned you were coming. But I assumed you’d be here later. With the rest of the …” He fished for a word. “Crowd.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound happy about your boss inviting a few friends over for some fun.”
He shrugged. “His place. But if he’s seriously worried about his safety, he shouldn’t invite strangers over.”
“Surely you’re not worried that someone like little ol’ me could hurt big ol’ Mike Towers?” she cooed, determined to manipulate his contempt and dislike to her advantage. The less he wanted to be around her, the easier her job would be.
He didn’t answer immediately, just closed the short distance between them. His body was taut, his obvious physical strength and height were intimidating. “Drop the act,” he said tersely.
She blinked at his unexpected response. “Act?”
“Yes, act. You don’t like Towers.” The smell of his spicy aftershave teased her, mingling with the too-sweet smell of some nearby gardenias. His eyes were dark brown daggers, spearing her, refusing to let her turn away. “All that come-on stuff, all that panting—”
“Panting?” AJ stared at him in outrage.
Chance smiled, and dimples teased his cheeks. “That’s better. I bet that high, squeaky voice is a lot more normal than the one you use on Mike Towers. And on me.”
The devil. If he read her that easily, she was in trouble. AJ turned to close the open car door, calculating how to deal with Towers’s head of security. Head of security, she reminded herself. The man who could bring it all down—if Towers didn’t. Turning back, she offered a half-shrug and a smile.
A Love Beyond Page 2