Bang, bang, bang! The hooves seemed like they were breaking through the kickboards.
Agitation etched across his face, Punch stepped out of the stall with sweat on his brow. He peered down at Shane’s scarlet face. Mike stood back with a take-that-asshole sneer while his brother eased his way out of the wheelbarrow.
“I’m glad you guys are having such a good time. I could use a hand in here.” The frustration crept into Punch’s voice. Mike and Coco followed him into the stall. Trying to wipe the soggy green crap from his butt, Shane shuffled along behind.
Charlatan’s eyes were like saucers. His ears were pinned flat to his head, and his nostrils were flared. Tossing his head, he jabbed sharply with his hoof against the wall. Bang!
Dodging the kick, the Mexican exercise rider landed on top of the tiny exercise saddle laying up-side-down in the corner. Beads of sweat dotting his dark complexion, he glanced back at the obnoxious grey gelding.. He scrambled to his feet, slid along the wall, and skedaddled out the door.
Punch grabbed the gelding’s lead rope. “He’s a real jackass. I’ve been trying to saddle him for twenty minutes.”
The horse snorted and yanked back on the lead, he reared and punched out with his front hooves.
Punch jerked down on the lead. “Easy now.”
“You’re being too rough with him,” Coco said. “Charlatan just needs some love and understanding. That’s all.”
“I was thinking more like a two-by-four.” Mike watched the snarling Charlatan stomp and pull back from Punch’s hold.
“Michael West ...”
Mike reached up and grabbed the gelding’s ear. He twisted it in his fist. Dragging Punch across the stall, Charlatan pitched his head wildly until he forced Mike to let go.
Taking it all in from a distance, Shane leaned against the threshold of the stall. He scratched his head. “You want the twitch?”
“Yeah,” Mike yelled back while trying to help Punch gain control.
Shane turned to retrieve the heavy handled device with a loop of thick rope attached to the top. They would have to slip the horse’s upper lip through the rope, and then twist until it was taut around the lip, which caused great discomfort until it forced him to settle down and submit.
Filled with disdain, Coco gasped and grabbed Shane by his sleeve. “No, I don’t like twitches. They’re inhumane.”
Shane grew a cock-eyed smirk while once again catching a glimpse of her full cleavage. “Yeah, Mike, they’re kinda inhumane.”
The horse whirled his hind quarters around while taking a quick jab at Punch who stepped out of the way. “You want a shot at this, boy?” he asked Shane.
The horse yanked away from their grip. Tossing his head, he reared high into the air and danced on his hind feet, until he toppled over backward. Mike and Punch jumped back while the horse struggled to organize his feet before finally leaping up.
“He’s a flipper,” Mike said. “When he becomes agitated, he throws himself backward. Coco, how many time has this horse flipped?”
Gnawing on her manicured pinky, Coco demurred, “Well, ah, maybe once or twice.”
Mike’s suspicious gaze overwhelmed her.
“Okay, quite a few times, but only when provoked.”
Punch blinked hard. “Provoked? You mean like being saddled?” When Coco lifted a shoulder at him, he realized why Doug was so willing to give the horses up without much of a fuss. What were the other four horses capable of doing? His shock shifted to irritation.
Coco grabbed a bag of peppermints from her purse. Charlatan’s ears stood straight up at the sound of rustling paper. His eyes wide, he snorted when she stretched out her hand toward him with the plump round peppermint in her palm. The horse snatched the candy and sucked on it like a baby sucking on a pacifier. Stroking his thick muscled neck, she whispered, “There now, isn’t that better?”
With a searing stare, Punch turned to Mike. “You’ve got to be kidding me, dude.”
After a short deliberation, Mike and Punch decided to give Charlatan a shower and shelf the morning gallop until they could devise a plan. This seemed to be the best idea since the exercise rider was nowhere to be found.
While he turned his attention to one of Coco’s more cooperative Thoroughbreds, Mike suggested Punch move on to other horses.
The equine swimming facility was located at the far end of the stables. The Wests had added it three years earlier in order to provide a low-impact way to exercise horses to build better lung capacity and strong lean muscle without constantly pounding on their joints.
The afternoon sun beamed through the tall arched windows lining the perimeter of the facility to glint off the water in the pool. A long ramp dropped into the water for the horse to enter the swimming area and the walls were curved inward so that it could not climb out.
Mike and Coco could hear the soft hum of the pump when they went inside.
The strong smell of chlorine wafted through the facility where, from the edge, Shane was guiding a horse, snorting with every stroke of his legs, around the pool with a long staff attached to its halter. The horse’s ears were perked, his nostrils flared, and his head bopped up and down above the water while he swam.
Mike led a sleek sorrel mare that seemed harmless enough into the shower stall on the far end of the facility. “We have to give her a shower before she can swim,” he explained to Coco. “That way the pool stays clean.”
Nodding her head, Coco grabbed the hose from the hook on the wall and sprayed Mike hard in the chest when she depressed the nozzle. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. She grabbed her mouth with her hand. It seemed that Coco wass full of no-no’s. Some were easier to deal with than others.
Forcing a smile, Mike decided that every time the beautiful bombshell pulled a no-no, he would picture her naked. While the water soaked into his shirt to suck it against his chiseled chest, he made this one of those moments.
“I’m sorry,” she said through her fingers.
He removed the nozzle from her hand. “I’ll take it from here,” he replied with a calm that was as forced as his smile.
Across the pool, Shane’s cell phone played the tune Brown Sugar from The Rolling Stones.
“Hello. … Oh, Mr. Mason, I’ve been expecting your call,” he said into the phone while guiding the snorting horse through the water.
Coco nuzzled and cooed at the mare while Mike finished her shower. “Shane should almost be finished with that one.” He called out across the pool, “Are you almost done?”
Nodding to him, Shane continued his conversation with Tom Mason.
Coco watched Shane lead the horse through the water. Just walking around the pool while holding the guide staff seemed simple enough. “That looks like fun,” she said. “Can I try to swim mine, Mikey?” With a coquettish smile, she batted her long lashes.
“It’s Mike.”
He wasn’t at all sure that Coco was up to the task. The last thing he needed today was to have to fish her out of the pool. On the other hand, it really wasn’t that difficult to do. On the other hand, if she fell in, she could get hurt. On the other hand, that tight shirt she was wearing would show-off a lot of stuff if it were soaked. He was all out of hands while picturing her naked. The two things weren’t jiving.
“I’ll tell you what … I’ll get her started, and then you can take over for a few minutes.”
Okay. That seems like a safe arrangement. I’ll be right there with her in case she pulls a no-no, like tripping over herself and taking a flying leap into the semi-clean horse water.
Mike led the mare toward the ramp when he spied an extra guide staff at the other end of the pool. “Can you get that staff for me, Coco?”
“Sure.” Delighted to help, she trotted toward the staff and past Shane.
Not at all concerned
with Coco’s movements, Shane continued to talk on his cell phone while guiding the horse toward the ramp. “I assure you, Mr. Mason, this is the safest form of training you can do. For the horse as well as the person ...” he pledged, just as Coco bent over to pick up the long staff.
Mike’s gaze fell upon her smoothly curved derrière. Instantly, alarms went off in his head that she would strike Shane with the staff and knock him into the water. Panicked, Mike dropped the horse’s lead. He dashed toward Coco, snatched the staff from her grip, swung it around, and cracked Shane in the back.
His eyes wide, Shane teetered at the rim of the pool with his arms flailing in circles. Coco’s gasp at Mike’s sudden action distracted him, which caused him to swing the staff in the opposite direction and smack his brother in the stomach.
“Wh-wh-whoa!” Shane plunged head-first into the water.
Frantic, the Thoroughbred trounced in the pool. Shane surfaced to face the horse’s hooves thrashing through the water toward him. He needed to steer clear or be severely cut. Trying to push away from the animal, he swooshed his hands backward. The horse grunted at the chlorine now splashing into his eyes. His panic piqued.
Coco grabbed the staff. “Shane, get hold,” she called to him.
Shane swam toward the edge. Bouncing off the side of the pool, the staff poked the horse in the face to agitate it more, which created more thrashing. While dodging the horse’s hooves, Shane pawed at the water until he clutched the staff and managed to lift it over his head.
Coco leaned over the edge of the pool. The wet, slick, wooden staff slipped through Shane’s hands several times before she finally grabbed hold of it.
“Whoa, easy now,” Coco whispered to the animal while gingerly guiding it toward the ramp.
Mike managed to hoist Shane, huffing and puffing, from the pool. In a puddle of chlorine water, he collapsed onto the cement floor. Much to his own surprise, he found the cell phone still in his hand. Gulping for air and blinking his eyes from the nip of the chlorine, he lifted the phone to his face.
“Mr. Mason ... Mr. Mason?” No reply. “Great. Hey thanks, bro.” Grumbling, he pitched the phone into the pool.
Mike’s face flushed.
Enough is enough for one day, Mike thought.
It seemed like a wise decision to not bother with any more of Coco’s horses for the rest of the day. After gathering Shane up from the wet cement, they put the two Thoroughbreds away. Having been on the receiving end of dirty looks from Punch earlier, and now Shane wielding the same expressions in his direction, Mike considered it a brilliant decision to send Coco home. She looped her arm through Mike’s when he escorted her to the barn door. He wondered if she was picturing him naked after his poor judgment call at the pool.
“I’d love you to come for dinner at my house tonight, Mike,” she said. “I know it’s probably hard to believe, but I’m actually a very good cook.”
In fact, yes, it was very hard for him to believe, but he was so busy with the birthday suit thing, that he found himself most agreeable. “I’m sure you are.”
Biting her lip, she gently stroked his wet chest while churning out in a soft, sensual tone. “Are you sure Shane will be all right?”
He didn’t care what happened. Even though it was his no-no and not hers, he was picturing those full, firm, fantastic breasts. Shane? Shane who? Mike blinked back into the moment. “Oh, yeah, he’ll be fine. It was just an unscheduled bath, that’s all.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Do you think Mr. Mason will swim his horses?”
“We’ll see.” He opened the door of her SUV.
She stroked his cheek before she slipped into the driver’s seat. Then, she drew his face close and kissed his lips while caressing them with her tongue. When she pulled away she thought that he would look damn good naked.
“See you tonight around seven,” she said while starting the vehicle and shoving it into reverse.
Slowly, the SUV backed.
Catching a glimpse of Shane walking past with his dripping shirt over his arm, Coco’s eyes veered from the rear-view mirror. Her eyes fixated on his wet sculpted pecks. His tight abs glistened in the sunshine.
The SUV backed.
She licked her lips when he stopped to wring out his shirt in the driveway.
The SUV backed.
Droplets of water dripped down Shane’s broad shoulders, biceps, and over his tight belly while the water poured from the shirt.
The SUV backed.
“Coco, watch out.” Mike’s voice ripped through her diversion.
Her attention jolted back to the driveway at the very moment the Escalade sideswiped Mike’s six-horse trailer. The sound of metal ripping and curling reverberated through the farm. Horrified, Coco slammed on the brakes.
Shane stopped wringing-out his shirt.
Kate and Punch rushed from the barn.
Mike darted toward the Escalade.
Their faces fell in shock at the sight of the smashed trailer that was tangled up with the SUV.
Mike yanked open her door. “Are you all right? What were you doing?”
Dry, her mouth moved but nothing came out for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I’m so sorry,” she wailed.
Kate leaned in close to Shane. “She is so not for him.”
Shane sighed. “Wait till he checks out the damage.”
Pursing his lips, Punch expelled a long downward whistle that was accompanied by a wince.
Afraid to look, Mike approached the trailer and cringed. Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried to remain cool.
Naked ... She’s gorgeous naked. Try like hell to picture her.
Naked.
Naked ballerina.
Okay, just naked.
He opened his eyes. “Coco, pull forward ... very slowly.” His voice was tight.
Smothering whimpers, Coco bit her lip. Shoving the Escalade into DRIVE, she pressed the accelerator gently. The tinny echoes of ripping metal skittered up Mike’s stiffened spine. It seemed like forever. Finally, there was a loud pop, and the two vehicles were separated.
Gasping, Coco jumped from her SUV and clutched her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said repeatedly with great remorse.
Mike took in a deep, frustrated breath. His brain was betraying him. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine the buxom blonde beauty naked. He needed her to leave immediately. “I’ll see you later. …Okay?”
Coco cowered. “Okay, Mike. I’ll see you at seven.” She stopped to measure the damages to her white Escalade. While bending over to run her hand over the curled, smashed bumper; her shirt hiked up enough to reveal a butterfly tattoo that swept daintily across her lower back.
Kate’s eyes brightened. She jabbed Shane with her elbow. “Nice tramp stamp.”
Shane’s face lit-up. He leaned into Punch. “A little bit of ba-donk-a-freakin’-donk going on.”
“Mmmm, mmm, mmm,” was all Punch could manage.
They watched Coco drive up the driveway, past the grand oaks, and through the stone entrance.
Pallid, Mike dragged his fingers through his dark hair and cupped his hand on the nape of his neck while staring at his trashed trailer. “I’m going to the track.”
“What for?” Punch asked.
“To get some information on Coco’s horses.”
“Who ya gonna talk to?” Shane wanted to know.
“Someone who’ll tell me anything I want to know. Margie O’Conner.” He went to his truck.
“You might have to put out,” Shane joked. When Punch chuckled along, he continued, “Take one for the team.”
“Not even with a ten-foot pole, buddy,” Mike assured the two laughing hyenas.
Four
Sitting on a bale of hay, Margie O’Conner wiped down a b
ridle with an old filthy rag. Next to the bale, a pile of bridles waited their turn for her to clean them. She examined the leather on the bridle and the bit to make sure it was spotless. Perfect. She set the bridle aside and picked up the next in line.
Doug always kept her busy with cleaning stalls, hauling water, and grooming the horses. When she wasn’t at the track, she was doing laundry or cleaning the shack-of-a-house they lived in at the far end of Lanzville.
When a strand of her mousey brown hair fell loose from the rubber band to tickle her nose, she combed the mop with her fingers to tidy up her ponytail. An old Charlie Rich song filtered through the radio. Unlike the other stables along the shed rows, the radio was never tuned to the popular country western music stations. As far as her father was concerned; Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, and Waylon Jennings—those were the real country western singers. She didn’t dare touch the dial on the old battered radio—Doug would have a stroke.
In looking for something else to occupy her mind while she scrubbed green horse salvia from a bit, Margie noticed something resting on top of an over-turned bucket. She put down the bridle to investigate.
It was a book.
She remembered seeing Scott reading it earlier in the day. He looked so content with his glasses parked on his nose while submerged in the story. She fingered the words on the sleek cover.
Earlier, when she had asked him what he was reading, he said, “It’s a book about a solider in the Civil War. I like historical books. What kind of books do you like?” There he was again—looking into her eyes while waiting for a response as if her opinion mattered.
Margie was most taken aback by the question and the way his beautiful compassionate eyes always probed hers. Dropping her gaze, she searched her mind. Unbeknownst to her father, some of her mother’s old paperbacks were still in a box in the corner of the basement.
“I like the ones with the good-looking guys holding the pretty girls on the front,” she blurted out.
Scott’s eyes fell into a squint. “Do you mean romance-type books?”
“Ummm, yep, those are the ones,” she lied. “You seem pretty smart, Scott. What are you still doing here? Why didn’t you go on to college instead of mucking stalls and living in the trailer park?”
Hot Coco Page 3