by Susan Fox
Evan snorted. Oh yeah, that was as businesslike as one of Jess’s old schemes. Had Gianni left his brain back at the Crazy Horse? “As I said, have Ms. Cousins forward me the information.”
Gianni shook his head emphatically. “You have to go there.”
“That’s absurd.” Evan shoved away his unfinished black bass entrée. Delicious though it was, he’d lost his appetite.
Gianni pointed an accusing finger. “You don’t get it. And you won’t get it, not here in Manhattan. I wouldn’t have gotten it myself if Elena hadn’t dragged me to the Crazy Horse. You must talk to TJ in person and see her work with the horses. Her method draws strongly on Monty Roberts’s techniques and—”
“Spare me the details.” It was too much like talking to Jess, back when they were kids with big dreams. He remembered the hundreds of hours they’d spent together while she enthused over her horsy dreams and he expounded on how he was going to become king of the hill in the Big Apple. They had loved and supported each other. She’d been the only good thing about Hicksville. She’d been his first—Damn! Evan put the brakes on that train of thought.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “Ms. Cousins works for the Crazy Horse and she’s soliciting guests to invest in a competing business?”
“No, no.” Gianni shook his head vigorously. “Not competing. The two operations will be complementary, like your firm and A&C. Her concept would appeal to the more serious riders. And no, she’s not soliciting guests, we just happened to get talking one day.”
Yeah, sure. After this Cousins person had Googled Gianni and figured out how rich he was.
“I’ve never asked you for a personal favor,” his client said.
Damn again. Gianni was pulling out all the stops.
“You’re overworked, Evan. You need a holiday. I’ll give you a paid one.”
Now that was complete bull. “Cynthia and I were in Paris last month and Tokyo the month before.”
“Those were work trips. Your estimable girlfriend doesn’t take real holidays. Nor do you.”
Evan shrugged. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but what Gianni said was true. Every trip was business for at least one of them and often both. Her work as a corporate finance lawyer and his as an investment counselor often took them in the same direction. In fact, they’d met at a conference in Geneva.
Yes, they usually did plan their trips with an extra day or two to shop and visit museums and galleries, but they’d never taken a true holiday.
A holiday. For a moment, the idea was tempting. Oh, not to go to some idiotic dude ranch that reminded him of his crappy childhood, but perhaps to lie on a beach in the south of France. No, what was he thinking? He’d be bored out of his mind. He thrived on work. Sure, maybe he did get the occasional stress headache, but a good workout at the fitness club dealt with that. His personal trainer had even given him a set of stretches to do at the office, to ease out the kinks.
Hell, Gianni ought to be the first person to understand that holidays had no place on the fast track to success.
“When’s the last time you had a vacation in the country?” his client asked.
“Never.” When he’d lived in Caribou Crossing, it had been anything but a vacation. “It sounds like sheer hell. Where is this Crazy Horse? Texas?”
“Canada. The interior of British Columbia. They call it the Cariboo. You fly into Williams Lake, then it’s an hour or two drive.”
Evan’s heart jerked to a stop. Caribou Crossing—Hicksville, as he’d called it—was an hour or so from Williams Lake.
Dimly he was aware of Gianni waving at their waiter, and in a moment two martinis arrived. The waiter removed Gianni’s empty glass. Evan didn’t drink alcohol in the middle of the day, but his hand reached out automatically. Caribou Crossing, damn it. Miles and miles of open countryside, horses, Jess Bly. His mother.
His hand jerked back from the martini glass. His mother—and his abusive, runaway dad—were the reason he was so careful with alcohol.
Hell! He didn’t need these memories.
And he sure as hell didn’t need a holiday. He worked hard, yes, but he wasn’t overworked or stressed out. He’d achieved his childhood dream and he relished it, building his business bigger and better—and not just making his clients more money but helping many support worthwhile charities. He and Cynthia led a jet-setting life. They had acquaintances to dine with in Paris and Rome, Hong Kong and Tokyo, London and Sydney. He lived in New York, the best city in the world, the boldest and bravest, the one place that had always drawn him, that still enthralled and impressed him on a daily basis. He was living his dream. No way was he going back to the hellhole where sheer misery had spawned that dream.
“Afraid you’ll fall off a horse?” Gianni asked with pseudo-innocence.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Elena’s strongly in favor of the investment. She says I’m a new man since our holiday. Part of the deal with TJ is that we’d have a free cabin for a month a year, a place to unwind and to ride. To smell the roses, as they say at the Crazy Horse.”
Evan recognized a threat when he heard one. “You’re saying that if I don’t go and meet this wrangler woman and analyze her proposal, you’ll let Elena convince you to throw away several million dollars?”
Gianni grinned hugely and stretched his diamond-ringed hand across the table. “Good, you will go. Thank you, Evan, I knew you would protect my money.”
“Wait a minute.”
Gianni withdrew the hand and scowled.
“Where exactly is this place?” There’d been no Crazy Horse resort ranch anywhere near Caribou Crossing when he’d lived there.
A shrug. “I never looked at a map. What’s the difference?”
Having transformed himself into the consummate New Yorker, Evan wasn’t about to claim the Cariboo as his boyhood home. He shrugged. “Just curious.” He drew in a breath and let it out. TJ Cousins . . . There’d been a bunch of Cousinses in the Caribou Crossing area—he’d gone to school with three of them, including Dave, the basketball star and class president—but there hadn’t been a TJ. Chances were, this Crazy Horse was nowhere near Caribou Crossing. Even if it was, he’d never have to track down Jess. Or visit his mother.
Gianni really was his best client, and the closest thing he had—other than Cynthia—to a friend. He couldn’t let the man throw away millions on some crazy scheme just because his wife, a normally sane woman, had developed a temporary passion for riding horses and smelling roses. “Okay,” he said grudgingly, “you’re on.” This time he stretched his hand across the table. Gianni grasped it and pumped enthusiastically as Evan wondered what he’d gotten himself into.
“Free up your calendar for two weeks,” Gianni ordered.
Evan snorted. “Two days.”
“No, you’ll need the full time to learn all you need to know. I don’t want you going in as my investment counselor and grilling TJ. You’ll go undercover, yes? As a regular guest. Take it slowly, get a feel for her and her methods. You can’t understand the no-frills riding camp idea without understanding the context, the ambiance, the person behind it.”
Evan frowned. Much as he hated to admit it, Gianni had a valid point. The success or failure of a new venture hinged not only on the business plan, but on the person behind it. His own company was a prime example. But a few days, a week max, should be sufficient.
“Have Angelica call me for the details,” Gianni said. “Go as soon as possible, because Elena and I are anxious to get started on this, provided you approve it. The riding package starts on a Sunday, runs two weeks, and you return on a Saturday. The day after, you’ll come to our apartment for Sunday brunch, thank me for the holiday, and tell us what you think of TJ and her plans.”
Evan clenched his jaw. He wasn’t used to surrendering control.
“Oh, by the way.” His client’s dark eyes sparkled.
He studied Gianni suspiciously.
“Take Cynthia if you want.”
Chic Cynthia, at the Crazy Horse ranch. Evan’s jaw unclenched and his laughter joined Gianni’s rich chuckle.
The two of them left the restaurant together, then parted. After a short, brisk walk, Evan arrived at his sleek, modern office. He asked his assistant, Angelica, to phone Gianni and then call the Crazy Horse to see if it was possible to make reservations for a week. With any luck, the damned place would be booked up for the rest of the summer.
Toward the end of the afternoon, Angelica clicked across his marble-tiled floor. “You’re in luck. There was a cancellation for next week at the . . . Crazy Horse.”
Evan’s lips twitched as the efficient Angelica’s own lips— colored a bizarre purple that he assumed must be the height of fashion—hesitated over the name. It was clear his assistant thought “crazy” was a fitting term to apply to him. He couldn’t wait to see Cynthia’s reaction when he told her at dinner tonight. Maybe he’d even pass along Gianni’s suggestion that she join him, just to see her horrified expression.
“I booked you for two weeks.”
“I said one.”
Angelica held up a hand. “The Crazy Horse only books in two-week blocks. You can always find an excuse for leaving early. Like fall off a horse and break a leg?” She said it straight-faced, but he thought he saw a twinkle in her eye.
“You’re a big help,” he grumbled.
“Mr. Vitale told me to bill everything to your card and he’ll reimburse you. He didn’t want anything put in his name, since you’re going undercover, as he termed it.”
She handed over a file folder. “Here’s your e-ticket and your confirmation number at the Crazy Horse. The price there is all-inclusive. At six thousand US dollars for a week, one would certainly hope so. I gather it’s a world-famous, exclusive spot. I got you a few hundred dollars in Canadian money in case you want to do some shopping, though I can’t imagine there’s much to spend money on there.” Her eyes were wide, and it wasn’t with envy.
“Nor can I.”
“The Crazy Horse e-mailed me their brochure and I printed it out for you. You should know . . .” She gave a little cough and he thought she might be stifling a giggle. It was a startling thought, because he’d never heard the all-business Angelica giggle. “Uh, with regard to clothing, you have to have . . .” She choked and this time he knew it was a giggle.
“Spit it out. This can’t get any worse, can it?”
She let the giggle go and it soared buoyantly between them. “It can,” she choked out. “Cowboy . . . boots. You . . . have to have Western . . . riding boots.” She spluttered for a few moments, then managed to say, “I’ve put together a list of stores in Manhattan that sell them.”
“Thanks, I think.” He studied her, so sleek and chic. “Have you ever been on a horse?”
“I had a boyfriend who rode in Central Park and I went along once. I broke a fingernail and came back with my clothes smelling of horse. Disgusting. How about you?”
“Not once in my life.” Yes, he’d lived ten years in horse country, and his best friend was the horse lover to end all horse lovers, but he’d refused to ever mount a horse. Partly, it was knowing that he, such an unathletic boy, would embarrass himself in front of Jess, but he’d also had a gut-level instinct that to ride would be to surrender. To accept that his life—his utterly miserable life in Hicksville—was all he’d ever know.
Riding. Damn it, this time he’d have to do it. But he was a big boy, and he could deal with it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to turn into a country boy, and even if he didn’t prove to be a skilled rider, there’d be no Jess to taunt him. Besides, he was no longer a klutz, and he would do his homework.
He was about to send Angelica to the bookstore when his brain flashed back to Jess teasing the shit out of him for trying to learn how to skate from a book.
“All right,” he said. “I guess I’m really going.” He glanced at his watch. Almost five o’clock. “First priority for tomorrow is to clear the calendar for next Monday and Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. That should give me enough time to learn what I need to about Gianni’s proposed investment.” He rose and pulled on his suit jacket.
“You’re leaving now?” She looked stunned.
No wonder. He rarely left the office before seven, after putting in at least a thirteen-hour day. “Going shopping. Have to find those cowboy boots,” he said wryly.
She gave a hoot and departed in giggles.
Evan shook his head. Would wonders never cease? First, Gianni had persuaded him to do something that, had he been asked this morning, he would have said was inconceivable. Then, the ultrapoised Angelica had been reduced to giggles. And finally, Evan Kincaid, the quintessential New Yorker, was heading out to buy cowboy boots and a how-to book on riding horses.
On the way past Angelica’s desk, he asked, “Did anyone mention the nearest town?”
“Let me think. Something to do with deer. Or maybe moose. No, it was caribou. Caribou Crossing. Quaint, isn’t it?”
“Caribou Crossing.” The name had been on his mind ever since Gianni had started talking about horses, yet now it hit him like a sucker punch.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” he muttered, thinking things couldn’t possibly go any more wrong. Then he squared his shoulders. So the Crazy Horse was near Caribou Crossing. As he’d resolved earlier, there was no reason in the world for him to lay eyes on his mother. Or Jess Bly.
Not unless he wanted to. Which he most certainly did not.
Chapter 2
It was his butt Jess Cousins noticed first.
Monday morning, and the latest group of resort virgins bustled and chattered in her barnyard like a flock of nervous magpies. Amid them this one guy stood still, his back toward her as he studied the row of horses tethered to one of the hitching rails. She took in pleasant impressions of height, ranginess, breadth of shoulder, length of leg, and a truly outstanding butt. Many of the Crazy Horse’s guests were pudgy and a few were scrawny. It was rare to see an admirable physique and even rarer to see a world-class—
Jess snorted under her breath. What the heck was she doing, ogling a guest’s backside? Was it just because she hadn’t had sex in so long she’d almost forgotten what it was like, or was the backside in question really so outstanding? She was dragging her gaze away from the denim-clad object of her admiration just as the man turned around.
“Ev!” His name caught in her throat, emerging as a squeak. He’d changed a lot in ten years, but she recognized him instantly. Despite his pole-axed expression.
He strode toward her as his mouth formed her own name.
Her muscles locked her in place as he approached, and all her brain could do was repeat, Evan, my God, it’s Evan.
She pulled herself together to demand, “What are you doing here?” just as he spoke the identical words.
He grasped her by one shoulder and herded her away from the group. Dimly she was aware of the milling guests, but it was hard to care about anything other than the fact that this man stood in front of her, his hand burning through the cotton of her embroidered Western shirt. Her heart thudded so fast she could barely breathe and her mind was a jumble of thoughts. For the life of her she couldn’t pull a single one free and form a coherent sentence.
He gazed down at his hand as if only just realizing where it rested. Then he yanked it back as quickly as if he’d reached out to stroke a bull in a bucking chute.
Evan was at the Crazy Horse. Had he discovered her long-held secret? Was he here because he’d found out about Robin? The possibility stole what breath she had left. Finally, she managed to draw air and force out a few cautious words. “I work here.”
“Oh.” He seemed to be weighing the concept more carefully than it deserved. “They said the head wrangler would meet us here. TJ Cousins. That’s . . . not you?”
Her breathing settled a little. He really did seem surprised to see her. No, he couldn’t have known about Robin. And she mustn’t say anything to give aw
ay her secret.
She nodded. “I don’t use Jessica for my work. People kept making Man from Snowy River comments and it drove me nuts.”
He shrugged, clearly baffled. “Huh?”
Hadn’t she made him watch the movie, way back then? No, she must’ve had the sense to know Mr. City-bound wouldn’t be interested in a film about horses and cowboys in the Australian Outback. He wouldn’t know that the free-spirited, horse-loving heroine was called Jessica.
Now that she thought about it, they hadn’t watched many movies. When he wasn’t studying and she wasn’t outside with the horses, the two of them spent most of their time talking. Sharing dreams. The dreams they’d always known would take them in opposite directions.
And now he was back on her turf. Looking like a man rather than a boy. A striking man rather than a cute but nerdy kid. A kid she’d believed to be the love of her life, yet known she had to give up.
Robin’s father.
Jess had broken her heart over Evan Kincaid. How dare he come back?
He’d run away, and then—finally—e-mailed a couple of times from Cornell to apologize. E-mailed, didn’t even have the decency to phone! She didn’t remember the exact words she’d typed with such pain and deliberation, but she knew the essence of the message she’d sent: Get lost and stay lost.
“Cousins,” he said on a note of revelation. “Dave? You married Dave?”
She lifted her chin. “Yup.” No need to tell him they’d since divorced.
“You were friends in high school, hanging around with that in crowd ”—he said it as disparagingly now as he had back then—“but I didn’t think the two of you—” He broke off suddenly and she knew what he was thinking. She and Dave had been friends, but not romantically, or sexually, inclined.
Evan was remembering the night at Zephyr Lake—when she’d had sex with him, not Dave. Even after all these years, she could still read his mind.
No, of course she couldn’t, nor did she want to. But the lake was so obvious. A pink elephant in her barnyard. Would they both tiptoe around it, pretending it didn’t exist?