Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel

by Laura Moore

  “Is Owen gonna come to our house today? I wanna show him how I can climb a tree.”

  A worrisome side effect of Jade’s hostility was that the children had become even more attached to Owen. Though Owen was growing increasingly at ease in their presence, that hardly meant he wanted to be their go-to source for entertainment.

  “No, sweetie, Daddy’s coming to pick you up soon, so you won’t see Owen.” She’d made sure to tell him she’d be busy with the kids until four-thirty, when Richard was coming.

  “But if Owen came over, then Daddy could meet him. And then I could show them both how high I can climb,” Max said excitedly.

  What an awful idea. Not the tree climbing, but the prospect of Richard and Owen meeting. The thought made her head pound. “As I said, Max, Daddy will be here very soon, so I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

  “You can call Owen and tell him to come.”

  She smiled. “Why don’t we first make sure we have all your things downstairs and ready for Daddy?”

  Jordan had steeled herself for what was coming, the rending of her heart while she stood and watched her children clamber into her ex-husband’s car and drive off down the allée, gone from her until five o’clock on Sunday.

  She was proud that she kept her tears firmly in check as she hugged and kissed the children good-bye and was able to address Richard with a calm, “Hi, how was the traffic?”

  “Typical Friday chaos. So, you guys ready to have fun this weekend?” he asked, bending down to kiss the children.

  “Is that Susannah? I’ll just go say hi,” she said moving toward the car.

  Richard’s reply brought her up short. “That’s Cynthia. Susannah had something going on this afternoon.”

  She turned around. Her face felt stiff. “Thanks for the warning, Richard.”

  He didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to open the rear door for the kids to climb into their booster seats and then hoisting Olivia into hers. She heard Cynthia greet the children with gushing enthusiasm. Jordan couldn’t help but wonder whether this was the way she always behaved around them or a special show put on exclusively for her benefit.

  Finished strapping Olivia into the car seat, Richard shut the door, turned, and gave an aggrieved sigh at her expression. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of this, Jordan. Cynthia and I are married. She needs to bond with the kids. In the car and out of it.”

  She looked at him levelly. “Nevertheless, it would have been nice if I could have known that she was coming.”

  “That’s right, you like things to be nice and proper.” There was an angry edge to his voice. “Though according to several sources, you seem to have abandoned any sense of propriety by flaunting your lovers publicly. Have you considered that it might be less embarrassing for all concerned if you’d try to be a little discreet?”

  For a second she was shocked speechless, not by the distance Nonie’s gossip had traveled but rather by the transparency of Richard’s hypocrisy. “Discreet? That’s rich, coming from you. But you don’t have to make a big deal out of this, Richard. You and I are divorced.”

  “Very funny,” he snapped. “There are children involved. I don’t want them exposed—”

  “Don’t even think of going there.” Her tone stopped him cold. “No conduct of mine could ever compare to your behavior as a married man with three small children. Just in case you’ve forgotten, my lawyer still has the tape revealing your and Cynthia’s total lack of discretion.”

  It was his turn to look shocked. He stared at her for several moments. “You’ve changed, Jordan,” he said finally.

  “Yes, I have. I’m no longer the doormat I used to be.”

  The silence stretched between them. Then he gave a short nod. “I’ll have the kids call when we get home.”

  “Please dial my cell. I may be out,” she said, and if she hadn’t been in so much pain at the prospect of seeing her children drive off, she would have taken sweet pleasure in having stood her ground.

  She went down to the main barn, knowing it would be bustling with the preshow bathing and braiding of the horses heading down to Charlottesville. She saw Andy first. Standing on a low stool, he was braiding Indigo’s mane. The mare was freshly bathed, the dark rosettes of her dapple gray coat glossy black with white highlights.

  “Hi, I’ve come to lend a hand.”

  “Could use one. Jade’s supposed to be here helping braid.”

  “She hasn’t shown up yet?” School had ended more than an hour ago.

  “Nope. Margot’s a wee bit ticked off because not only is she MIA, she’s turned off her phone.” Finished working the black yarn into the lower half of the braid, he looped it around the end of the mane and knotted it so that the braid hung in a thin line next to the others.

  “Oh, boy,” Jordan said, shaking her head. “It isn’t even the fourth of July.”

  “Yeah, we’ll be having fireworks early if Jade keeps sparking everyone’s temper.” Grabbing the spray bottle that hung from the back pocket of his jeans, he spritzed Indigo’s mane so it would braid more easily, then pulled out a metal mane comb to divide a one-inch section of the damp hair. His fingers crisscrossed the dark gray strands over each other as he spoke. “What ticks me off is the way she’s been treating Miriam. They’ve grown pretty tight but now Jade’s just freezing her out. Because of that, Miriam doesn’t know if she should come and watch us at Charlottesville, even though Jade’s the one who asked her.”

  It seemed the effects of Jordan’s carelessness in letting Jade stumble upon the diary kept spreading in an ever-widening circle, like a rock cast into a lake. She hated her role in all the bad feelings brewing at Rosewood.

  “Miriam should go to the show. She’d get a kick out of it, and Jade’s not the only one she wants to see ride. You’ve been doing so well on Mistral. Call her tonight and tell her to come to Charlottesville.”

  He looked pleased. “Okay.” He nodded.

  “So who needs doing what?” she asked as Andy picked up a single piece of black yarn that was draped over Indigo’s neck and worked it into the braid. The trick to a beautifully braided mane was to count the crossovers and add the yarn at the same spot for each braid. That way, when the braids were folded under and the yarn pulled through the top of the mane and then knotted around the loop, they would be uniform, each lying flat along the arched crest of a horse’s neck, like a line of little Tootsie Rolls.

  Andy finished knotting the braid and moved on to the next. “I’ve got Gypsy Queen to braid next. Tito’s still washing Saxon. Travis said not to touch Aspen, though I figure both he and Margot will have Aspen looking ready for a beauty pageant by six o’clock even if Jade’s a no-show. So, would you mind doing Sweet William?”

  Technically Jade should be in charge of braiding Sweet William, too, since she’d be riding him in the hunter classes. But Andy, however aggravated he was, was trying to cut Jade as much slack as possible.

  Like everyone else at Rosewood.

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “Thanks. I already cut the yarn for him. It’s lying in the tack room.”

  After grabbing her braiding tools from her tack box and filling up a spray bottle of water mixed with a dollop of styling gel, Jordan got to work on Sweet William. She was halfway through the second stage of braiding, using a latch hook on each tied-off strand of dark brown yarn and pulling the yarn through the top of the braid to wrap it about the looped length and tie the braid tight, when Jade’s voice reached her.

  “So what, you think I’m such a loser I can’t braid the horse I’m showing?”

  Jordan glanced over her shoulder and had to grab a hold of Sweet William’s mane or fall off her stool. Gone was Jade’s shaggy mop of pink hair, replaced by a nearly white platinum blond crop. The hair had been cut to an inch and a half at most.

  With her piercing green eyes, slashing cheekbones, and nearly white hair, she looked frighteningly beautiful. The pink shade had been outrag
eous and in-your-face, this was edgy and dangerous. It filled Jordan with apprehension.

  “Your—You changed your hair,” she said, still staring. Jade had achieved an almost impossible combination of arctic chill and red-hot sensuality. Looking like that, there was no telling what kind of trouble she would attract.

  “Real observant of you.”

  “Has Margot seen you?”

  Jade ignored her question. “I’ll finish braiding Will.” And she crossed her arms, making a show of waiting for Jordan to step off the stool.

  She remained where she was. “You still have Aspen to bathe and braid, so why don’t I—”

  “I don’t need help. And if I did, I wouldn’t ask for yours.”

  Jordan tried to hide how much that hurt. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jade, because you’re incredibly important to me.” Without another word, she stepped off the stool, gathered up her tools, and walked away from the sister who couldn’t forgive her.

  * * *

  She sped up the drive to Hawk Hill, keeping her foot on the accelerator even as gravel stones flew, hitting the minivan’s undercarriage. Owen’s Audi was there, and Jesse and Doug’s pickups weren’t.

  Thank God, since she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to maintain any kind of professional decorum right now. Her encounter with Jade had left her with an all-consuming need for Owen.

  She jumped out of the van and ran into the house. “Owen?”

  “Jordan?”

  Dashing upstairs she reached the landing just as Owen came out of one of the bedrooms, scraper in hand. “Hey.” He smiled. “I was just finishing removing this section of wallpaper before—Jordan?”

  She’d already grabbed hold of his shirt, her fingers flying down the row of buttons. Pulling the ends of the shirt apart, she rained openmouthed kisses on his chest, letting her tongue drag over its salty, hairy warmth and her teeth score his suddenly quivering pectorals. Impatiently she tugged the shirt off his shoulders. It fell, landing on the scraper that Owen had dropped seconds after she began her assault.

  She couldn’t get enough of him, her desire urgent and all-consuming. Greedily her hands raced over the ridges and planes of his torso and down to the flat of his abdomen, his harsh indrawn breath making her even more feverish; desperate, they zeroed in on the waistband of his jeans.

  “I really need you to make everything go away for me, Owen,” she whispered, popping the metal button. “Right here. Right now.”

  Owen wasn’t about to ask questions. The lady clearly knew what she wanted. And if she seemed a little crazy wild, well, it was infectious. The second she’d laid her hands on him, caressing him with that avid ferocity, his passion had exploded like a match to gasoline.

  He hauled her close, seizing her mouth in a deep, wet kiss that became almost brutal as he felt her hand descend, slipping inside his boxers. He shuddered as her palm pressed down his hard length. When her fingers touched his balls, teasing them with her nails, he nearly went over the edge then and there.

  He had to get her out of these clothes before he completely lost his mind. This would be the day she wore jeans, paddock boots, and a snug-fitting cotton T-shirt.

  “Lift your arms.” His command ended on a groan of agonized pleasure when, rather than following his instructions, she closed her hand around his stiff cock as if she never wanted to let it go. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for control. “Jordan, I need you naked. I need to have your breasts filling my hands. I need to feel your skin on mine while your cunt’s tight around my cock. So let’s get these damn clothes off.”

  With a whimper she drew her hand up while he concentrated on not coming as her fingers brushed the head of his cock.

  She released him, saying, “Hurry.”

  Frantic, they tore at each others’ clothes, falling to the floor in a writhing mass as Owen wrestled with her jeans and the laces of her boots while loosing a string of curses. Then the boots were off, brown leather missiles flying down the hall.

  Naked at last, their hands were only slightly less rough in their maddened need to touch and taste.

  “Now, now,” she moaned, curling her fingers into his shoulders, digging into his quivering muscles. She wrapped her legs about him, lifting her hips in frantic entreaty. “Owen, don’t make me wait.”

  His fingers parted her. She was wet, wonderfully wet. He thanked God she was ready for him, because he’d lost all semblance of control. The fierceness of his desire made it seem like it had been years since he’d been deep inside her. Poised to plunge into her slick heat, he froze.

  “Shit. Bloody fucking hell.” Even as he cursed, he was wrapping his arms about her. Jackknifing to his knees, he surged to his feet and lurched down the hall toward his bedroom.

  “Owen?”

  “Condoms,” he ground out.

  Finesse was out of the question. Nearing the bed, he tossed her onto it, letting her bounce onto the mattress with a startled gasp of surprise while he lunged for the condoms in his toiletry bag. Under any other circumstance, his near-frenzy as he grabbed one, tore it open, and covered his throbbing length would have been comical—if every fiber of his being hadn’t been pounding with near-insane lust, if Jordan, lying on the bed and staring up at him, her enormous blue eyes pleading, her nipples tight dusky buds, her long legs open in erotic invitation, hadn’t been the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld. As crazed as he was, he had a moment of clarity where he recognized that nothing was as profoundly important and vital as being inside her right now and making her his … of their becoming one.

  And when he thrust inside her as deep as he could possibly go, and saw the look of wonder on her face, when he heard the catch in her breath as if, like him, she was stunned by the intensity of her emotions, and tasted the same sweet joy on her lips, he knew he was right.

  Hours later, when they left the bed, Owen wouldn’t let Jordan put on her jeans, saying that in his depleted state the most he could be expected to peel off her was one of his shirts—as long as she only did a couple of buttons. Her underwear, too, was banned until morning. Entering the spirit of the thing, Jordan decided to only allow him his boxers and another shirt but drew the line at letting him fasten a single button. She liked looking at his chest far too much.

  “Well, I’m willing to be magnanimous,” he said, pouring a glass of chilled Sancerre and handing it to her where she sat, perched on the counter. Claiming that it would be a sacrilege to hide legs like hers, he’d lifted her there. “Here’s to a great ending to a truly lousy day,” he said, clicking his plastic wineglass against hers. “So Jade’s gone scary nasty platinum?”

  Jordan took a sip and nodded. “Yes, she kind of made me think of Billy Idol morphed into a beautiful teenage girl.”

  “That is scary.”

  “I’m just hoping that tomorrow morning she’ll be too tired to give me her perfect snarl of contempt. It’s semi-dark at five o’clock. Seeing all those bared teeth is a little too much like the vampire show she likes to watch.”

  “You could stay here and give yourself a respite from all the turbulence. I make a mean breakfast.”

  Jordan saw that Owen was almost as surprised as she by his suggestion. Invitations to sleepovers didn’t conform to his “no commitment, no entanglement” code. But she was probably reading too much into the invitation. After all, it was highly unlikely that they’d be doing much sleeping, and there was one kind of entanglement Owen enjoyed very much.

  She’d have liked nothing better than to think that Owen was coming to care for her. Hearing him say so would have been as healing as a gentle rain to the parched terrain of her heart. But her divorce had damaged her confidence in her ability to read situations. She didn’t want to strain things between them and hated the thought of losing him by pushing him where he didn’t want to go.

  So she shook her head. “I’d love to stay, but that would mean letting Margot and Travis have all the fun. Besides, I think Tim Mitchell’s coming over mid-morning, and Ned will h
ave a ton for me to do beforehand. Perhaps I can take a rain check?”

  Owen looked at Jordan, gloriously naked beneath his white shirt. The shirt, buttoned just below her breasts, offered him tantalizing glimpses of those soft white globes. “Of course.”

  “Thanks.”

  The fabric shifted as she crossed her legs, drawing his gaze south and making his mouth go dry as he saw that the shirttails had opened in a vee over her slim thighs, with the apex pointing to the sweetest spot in the world. Their eyes met and Jordan gave him a siren’s smile.

  Damn, he thought, his own smile widening. She was such a breathtaking combination of polished and sexy. An elegant woman he could take to lunch at the Ritz, but who wasn’t snooty about eating a cold meal on scarred Formica. Or prissy about fucking on it, either.

  It was natural for him to wonder if she might not possibly be the only woman he would ever want around morning, noon, and night. He couldn’t ignore the fact that being with her made him happy. A happiness that was the product of more than the sex between them, though that was fantastic enough to leave him smiling like someone who’d won the Lotto jackpot.

  Yet while she made him feel things no one else had, he wasn’t about to propose they start picking out china patterns. He liked Jordan a lot. That didn’t mean he was ready to start thinking about what would happen between them after the restoration of Hawk Hill was finished. Though he’d made peace with his discovery of Jordan’s scent of choice—baby powder—that was relatively easy. Seeing himself as a husband and stepfather was not.

  But there was no need to get in a lather over any of this, better to enjoy the moment, and moments didn’t get much better than having a nearly naked Jordan Radcliffe sitting on a kitchen counter, he told himself as he began pulling items out of the fridge, passing them to her. “Here, we need to eat these up. We’re gutting the kitchen on Monday.”

  “Between getting to look at the barn and seeing a kitchen in mid-demolition, Max is going to be in heaven.”