“Dad!” Margie dashed in from the end of the barn.
Tears filling her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, she stared at Mike. The image of her perfect Mike West shattered and fell into mangled fragments of her heart around the pedestal from which he had tumbled.
Her voice quivered with hurt. “Mike didn’t do anything wrong. He never touched me.” She glared through her tears into his eyes. “He would never get close enough to touch the likes of me. Now, you’ve gotta get it outta your head.”
Doug’s wicked daggers had been exchanged with fear. “C’mon, Dad.” Margie tugged her father down the aisle to drag him out the door.
Biting down on his lip, Mike took in a deep, ashamed breath.
Punch threw the huge, bay gelding, Disturbia, an armful of hay and watched the well muscled horse dig in. He patted him on the neck before he meandered up the aisle to turn off the lights for the night. The barn was dark. Martina McBride’s voice filtered through the radio to fill the dimness. A low glow from the office sifted down the aisle. Surprised that he wasn’t the only one left, he checked it out.
He found Mike leaning a hip against the desk while staring at the boarded-up wall and the huge pile of debris swept in the middle of the floor.
What a mess.
Relaxing against the door jamb, Punch folded his massive arms over his chest. “Eh, Eric was talking about putting a bigger window in anyway.”
Mike pitched a broken mug into the pile. “She’s a real live train wreck, isn’t she?”
“Yep.”
“Kate isn’t speaking to me. Dad thinks I’m an irresponsible jerk, and Shane ... well, he’s just Shane.”
“Don’t forget O’Conner. He thinks you’re a pervert.” Punch urged a crooked smile out of him.
“A womanizing pervert.”
“So, what’re you gonna do?”
Mike felt a snarl of regret churning in his gut. He hated himself for scaring poor Doug half-to-death. Add to that, blurting out such a grisly insult and seeing the result of his damning words in Margie’s dark teary eyes. He didn’t know she was there. That was no excuse. Yep, this is turning into a huge forgive and forget state of affairs: Ava, Coco, and now Margie.
He’d hit the trifecta.
Sliding onto the desk, he took a deep confident breath and looked Punch square in the eye. “I’m gonna race Charlatan tomorrow night. Then, I’m gonna tell Miss Beardmore to get out of Dodge.”
Nine
Coco sat at her vanity filled with angst. The palms of her hands were sweating.
Booger’s ears perked. In need of her attention, he let out a frustrated grouse. When he saw it was of no use, the dejected Spaniel flopped to the floor to pout.
Indecision rolled through her. How can I do this to my gentlemanly cowboy? How can I not show up for Charlatan’s race? She feared that her horse would flip when Mike tried to saddle him, and then her cowboy would wield that look at her again: the klutzy-Coco look. She couldn’t bear it anymore. She couldn’t stand those looks anymore.
The gelding had flipped over several times when Doug attempted to saddle him, but she had surmised that the horse was threatened by the crotchety trainer’s nasty demeanor. Who could blame him? Then, when Charlatan flipped for Mike and Punch, it shook her confidence in that conclusion.
The purple whisper of twilight seeped through her bedroom curtains. She dropped her elbows onto the vanity and put her face into her hands.
Perhaps I should stop Charlatan from racing all together. Maybe I should call the racing office and tell them that I’ve fired Mike as my trainer, and he isn’t to enter the paddock with Charlatan.
Expelling a sigh, she realized that that would only result in a different look from the cowboy: frustration, anger, and possibly even hate. She couldn’t bear to see that in his eyes.
Mike had a plan, and she hoped it would work.
Glancing down at Booger, she gently stroked his head.
Taking in a deep breath, she decided to call Mike after the race. It was a cowardly decision at best, but it was the only one she could muster.
Charlatan never looked so magnificent. Mike had instructed the groom to brush him to a laser sheen, and braid his mane.
Wide-eyed and ready to rumble, the gelding burst into the paddock at the end of Shane’s lead.
Striking his usual pose, Mike leaned against the saddling stall with his arms folded over his chest while watching the gelding, the patrons eyeing him up, and the other Thoroughbreds high-stepping around the paddock.
His plan was to feed Charlatan peppermints while he was being saddled to keep him from rearing up and flipping over. He reached back to his hip pocket to make sure the bag of peppermints was still there. Check.
“Hey, West!” Doug’s voice ripped up his spine like a chainsaw. “What’s it gonna be tonight? Flip or flop?” The cantankerous old trainer shouted at him while passing Mike’s stall. He expelled an obnoxious laugh followed by a croaky nicotine cough.
What an asshole.
Looking like an old, well-used, rag doll, Margie walked by carrying the bridle for the horse her father was running in the same race.
“Margie,” Mike called to her.
She seriously considered ignoring him; but, to her aversion, she couldn’t. Damn it. He was Mike West, un-ignorable, hot-as-hell, and sexier than any sin that she’d love to commit. Hating herself for feeling that way, she wished so damned bad that she could be resolute and stroll past with her nose in air and not regard him in any way. Well, so much for that plan.
“Good luck, Mike,” she politely said while avoiding eye contact.
“Thanks, Margie. I need it.”
“Oh, I dunno, Sebastian told me that he thinks he can win with that grey.” She continued on.
Mike gently touched her arm. Her breath caught. Dear God, how I wish I wasn’t wearing a long sleeved shirt, so I could feel the warmth of his hand directly on my skin.
“I’m sorry for what I said, Margie. I didn’t mean it.”
She gazed into those wonderful, mysterious, hazel eyes that always made her heart thump and the butterflies in her stomach whip into action. I’m not going to let you get away with it—not this time.
“Yeah, you did,” she said. “Folks always say what they mean when they’re pushed.”
He was taken aback. It was true, and she knew it.
Tending her father’s demands and his racehorses, Margie had lived her entire thirty-three years on the backside of Keystone Downs. She wasn’t well traveled, well read, or even well spoken; but she knew the truth when she heard it, and she damned well knew a lie when she heard one, too.
Mike really was sorry. He regretted the words the minute they had come out of his mouth. Or was it that he regretted them when he realized Margie had heard them? How many times had I said that I wouldn’t touch Margie O’Conner with a ten-foot pole—and meant it.
Suddenly, he felt a playful swat on his shoulder. “Eh, forget it,” she said, “I forgive you.”
“Margie, where’s that damned bridle?” Doug bellowed across the paddock.
Smiling at him, she turned and did what she did best—obey her father’s commands. She trotted toward him with the freshly-cleaned bridle extended out in front of her.
Forgive and forget? Just like that? It’s that simple for this simple woman. Not so with the other, beautiful, complicated women in my life. Maybe that’s the crux of my problem.
“Hey, Mike, we saddling this bad boy or what?” Shane called out.
Jolted back into the moment at hand, Mike turned.
Tapping his foot, the tiny saddle slung over his arm; the valet had an impatient expression on his face.
Mike grabbed the bag of peppermints from his pocket and tossed them to Shane.
“Keep him happy,” he in
structed.
Shane fed him a peppermint. The valet tossed the saddle onto Charlatan’s back and Mike tightened the girth. The gelding savored the mint and looked for more, which Shane gladly delivered.
Twirling his crop through his fingers, Sebastian arrived at the stall. “What’s the game plan?” he asked with a confident grin.
“Send him,” Mike said.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
“Riders up!” The paddock manager’s voice sliced through the sound of horses fussing, the patrons along the fence deliberating, and the murmur of last minute instructions from trainers to jockeys.
Mike gave Sebastian a leg up. Shane threw his brother a bracing glance when the gelding tossed his head.
“I’ve got him.” Mike took the lead and guided Charlatan into the parade of Thoroughbreds that were trotting toward the tunnel. Humming a tune, Sebastian bounced along in the saddle while tying the reins in a knot. Trusting, his legs dangled casually at the gelding’s sides when they drew closer to the long, dimly lit, dank tunnel.
The echo of hooves clambering on the pavement, and the Spanish chatter bouncing off the walls brought Charlatan’s ears straight-up. His eyes were like pure white saucers. His nostrils flared, he snorted into Mike’s ear so hard that his hair blew in the horse’s hot breath.
Stroking the gelding’s neck, Mike tugged at the lead while whispering, “Easy boy, take it easy, whoa now.” He reached into his pocket for the peppermints—only to realize that he had given them to Shane.
Charlatan whinnied, stomped his feet, and tossed his head.
Mike’s eyes trained on the opening of the tunnel. It seemed like it was five miles away. Bracing for trouble, he glanced over his shoulder and past several horses. Doug and Margie were walking alongside their sorrel gelding. Entering the tunnel, Shane tossed a peppermint into his mouth while talking with another trainer. Shit, he’s too far away to call to.
Charlatan’s eyes were now bulging with anxiety. Whinnying and snorting, he popped his front feet off the ground.
Sebastian snapped to attention. “What’s up with him?”
Too late.
Rearing up, Charlatan danced backward on his hind legs. Grabbing a frock of mane, Sebastian managed to stay on for the first round.
“Jump!” Mike yelled when the gelding came down.
Charlatan pushed back up and flipped over backward. Sebastian vaulted from the saddle, smashed against the wall, and fell to the floor where he lay motionless.
Panic erupted throughout the tunnel. Whirling, horses dropped their riders to the ground. Grappling at the leads, the horse handlers tried to keep control. A huge bay gelding yanked back to break loose from his handler. Knocking people to the ground, he ran free through the confusion.
Shane tried to push his way past the panicked handlers, trainers, and horses to get to Mike, but the gap closed tight and shoved him back.
More violently hysterical, Charlatan scrambled to his feet and reared to punch out at Mike, who clung to the lead until it snapped. Mike tumbled backward to the ground. Fright filled and out of control, the gelding ran madly toward the end of the tunnel.
Margie plastered herself against the wall and slid past the confusion until she reached Mike, who was scrambling to his feet.
The world was whipping around him in a blur of horses, people, and ricocheting hysteria off the curved, tunnel walls. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his face was flushed with agitation.
Margie’s tender hand squeezed his shoulder. He turned to find himself face-to-face with that unattractive gaunt face with the oversized nose. Her dark almond-shaped eyes, filled with empathy, caught his attention. She was ready to lend him a hand in a turbulent situation. Her calm voice was soothing. “You’re too riled up to deal with Charlatan. Stay with Sebastian, I’ll get the horse.” Dodging hysterical horses and frantic people, she darted through the tunnel.
Gulping for air while reaching for someone’s hand—anyone’s hand, Sebastian regained consciousness.
Mike clasped it tightly. “Bad?”
Sebastian grunted. He held his torso with one hand while the other lay limp beside him. “Stuff’s broken, don’t know what for sure.”
“Stay still. The medics are coming.”
At least, Mike hoped so. Most of the horses were now being cleared from the tunnel, but Charlatan was running around the racetrack. He could hear the fans clapping and laughing. They were unaware of the dire situation in the tunnel below them.
Ten
Once again Mike found himself driving the long way home while contemplating life’s twists and turns—and the occasional flip-over.
Someone once told him that if you wanted to hear God laugh—tell Him your plans. It seemed like God was having one hell of a long belly roller ever since he bumped into Coco Beardmore that morning at Keystone Downs and claimed her horses from Doug O’Conner.
Maybe God created her as an experiment to see how much of a sense of humor men can pull out of their asses when faced with a gorgeous goddess plagued with disaster. I can picture Him up in Heaven, smacking His knee while hooting and shaking His head.
Funny, very funny.
Glancing down at his cell phone resting on the seat, he could see there were several messages from Coco in his voice mail. An aching knot of tension formed between his eyes. Forgive and forget: Forgive myself for letting this go too far, and forget ... who the hell am I kidding? How can I forgive myself for letting this bombshell version of Calamity Jane blur my decisions? How can I forget that Sebastian is in a hospital bed with possibly months of physical therapy ahead?
Mike had graduated to the superfecta.
The sun was cresting the hills behind his family’s home when he drove through the stone entrance of Westwood. The heavy dew glittered where it bled from the massive oaks that cradled the house. Mike rolled the pickup to stop, dragged his fingers through his dark hair and laced them together on top of his head. He closed his eyes and listened to the morning DJ on the radio tell a really bad joke.
The morning light gleamed through the dining room window. Sipping his coffee, Eric wondered if Mike was home from the hospital and how Sebastian was.
It’s a risk every time a jockey swings a leg over a horse. Anything can happen between the paddock and the finish line. That it happened under Westwood’s watch bothered the shit out of him.
Kate carried a plate of pancakes from the kitchen and placed it in the middle of the table. They heard the kitchen door slam. Looking like he’d been dragged by a truck, Mike strolled into the dining room. She poured him a cup of coffee, which he took from her with a thin smile.
“How’s Sebastian?” Eric shot him a look over his coffee cup.
While he was a grown man of thirty-three, Mike recognized the reprimand in his father’s stare. He took a quick sip of the hot coffee and sighed. “Broken collar bone, three ribs, and a wrenched knee.” He sank into a chair. “I can’t believe how stupid I was.”
The guilt that blonde wielded on her older brother cut like a knife. Kate became painfully aware that he was looking for something in Coco stripped from him by the red-headed whore he had married. Her heart ached for him. “You weren’t stupid, Mike. You did everything you could to cure that horse.”
“Obviously, I failed.”
“Where was Betty Boobs last night?” Kate asked.
“No show.”
Eric set his cup on the table, and broached the subject that he’d been dreading, “Mike, don’t tell me you have feelings for her. Do you?”
“Yeah, like a bee sting on my ass.” He sat back hard against the chair. “No, I think I was infatuated with—”
“Her boobs?” Shane snorted from the doorway.
Mike shrugged and cocked his head.
Kate rolled her eyes. “Ni
ce. It’s always a good idea to take on clients based on their cup size.”
“Seemed like a good idea to me,” Shane said with a smile. “By the way, Tom Mason called this morning. Seems he’s been in Punta Cana visiting a friend.”
“Hmmm, I feel another set of nuptials coming on,” Eric said.
“Maybe. Anyway, he wants to come see the horse swim this morning.”
Eric pitched an uncompromising gaze at Mike. “It’s time to send Miss Beardmore packing. Do it before Tom gets here. We don’t need anymore mishaps.”
“Seriously, it would be nice to send Mr. Mason home with his vehicle in one piece,” Kate said.
“Don’t worry,” Mike assured them. “She’s as good as gone.”
Sunshine glinted off the water through the arched windows that lined the perimeter of the equine swimming area. The pump hummed, and the water lapped against the sides of the pool like a gentle lullaby.
Tom Mason took his sunglasses from his tanned face and placed them on his head while being careful not to mess his smooth, slicked-back, dark hair. He squinted to allow his dark brown eyes to acclimate to the inside.
“Eric ... Eric ... is anyone here?” He made his way to the edge of the pool. He picked up a guide staff and examined it with great interest. “Hello, anyone here?” he called out again while looking around.
The door jerked open to slice bright sunshine into the room.
He turned.
Smiling at the stranger, Coco peered into the room. While stepping through the door, her heel caught on the threshold and broke off.
With a squeal, she leaned against the door jamb to survey the damage in disgust. “Oh, poo, I just bought these.”
Tom’s eyes brightened at the sight of the busty blonde’s lush figure. He turned his attention to her broken heel. “Can I help you?” he asked with a cool, gallant voice.
She glanced up at the handsome, tanned, older man. Instantly, she sported her coquettish schoolgirl smile. “I thought I heard someone in here. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of Jimmy Choo’s on you?”
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