The Gift Horse

by Jami Davenport

  The sad fact was that he had no idea who he was other than his father’s creation, molded to take over the reins of the family empire. Now, he found himself mired in self-doubt, a foreign emotion and one he didn’t enjoy one fucking bit.

  Carson frowned and locked his self-pity in the deepest corner of his psyche. He didn’t indulge in excesses, be it pity, alcohol, laughter, happiness, or even sex. He left that to his brothers. He guessed that was why women flocked to Jake and Brad. Not that they didn’t chase him, too, but he was always their last choice. Then once they got to know him, they considered him way too dull for words. Money can only go so far.

  Usually, he didn’t care, but lately his mind kept drifting to Sam.

  Why did that scruffy horse trainer bring out the testosterone in him, of all the women in his world? She wasn’t beautiful and classy or charming and witty, or even clean. She’d never be an executive’s hostess or a stylish date on his arm at the symphony. Symphony? He snorted. She probably listened to twangy country music He liked safe, predictable, and controllable. Samantha MacIntyre didn’t fit that mold and never would.

  Women found his stiff demeanor and workaholic personality boring. A woman like her would find him as amusing as a slug on the sidewalk once the novelty wore off. Been there, done that.

  As a closet romantic, Carson was cursed with the unfortunate tendency to fall in love at the drop of a hat. He guarded this secret more closely than the Secret Service guarded the president. Each time he’d fallen and fallen hard, he’d brushed his broken heart off his sleeve and buried himself more deeply in work.

  Ten years ago had been the last time he’d succumbed fully to this weakness. He’d said “I do” but she’d said “I don’t” in front of three hundred of their closest friends and family. To make matters worse, she chose to share with the guests exactly why she “didn’t.”

  In the aftermath, the pieces of his shattered heart could be found scattered from Portland to Seattle. He’d been riding the commitment-free wagon ever since, and he’d no intention of falling off.

  Yet, he couldn’t deny the truth. Sam attracted him on several levels. From the most basic—a physical attraction, to something much more complicated and frightening. Especially for a man who’d imprisoned his heart in an armored truck.

  He’d seen a new side of her today, which disconcerted him even more. She had some major phobia when it came to fire. A sassy smart-mouthed Sam he could handle, but a vulnerable, emotional Sam was another thing entirely.

  Carson slowed his pace and looked, really looked, at his surroundings. In front of him was that run-down brick brewery building that he knew so well. The Evergreen Brewery.

  As a child, he’d spent countless hours with his grandfather, crafting ideas, drawing plans, and dreaming about restoring the old building. Granddad had always been there. When both his parents had been too busy to attend his games, he’d been at every one. When his fiancée left him at the altar, it had been Granddad who had taken him to a bar and gotten drunk with him.

  On his last day on earth, his grandfather still hadn’t given up reviving the original source the Reynolds family’s wealth. This pile of bricks had been more than a building to Benjamin Reynolds. Ben’s grandfather had traveled to Seattle, destitute and alone with only youth on his side. He’d worked the docks and the forests, saved every penny he could and started this brewery on a promise and a prayer.

  Now the building was deserted and in disrepair. The crumbling concrete in the parking lot had long ago surrendered to over-zealous weeds. Moss and ivy covered the grimy bricks. The windows were boarded up and the doors were barred.

  Carson trudged onward. Sadness weighed him down. He missed discussing tactics with his father. He missed the excitement of making more money, bigger deals, taking risks and winning. He’d excelled at it, lived for it, and breathed his every breath with that goal in mind.

  Now it was all gone.

  It didn’t matter. He didn’t need any of that anymore. This was a new life, a new venture.

  He didn’t need his family. He didn’t need to banter with his brothers at family meals or tease his sister about putting on weight. He didn’t need to help his mother plant her beloved roses. He didn’t need to discuss business or sports with his father. He didn’t need the headache of renovating the old family brewery or rescuing that disaster of an equestrian center. He didn’t need the nightmare of trying to pull Reynolds Corporation out of the gone-concerns to the going-concerns.

  Most of all, he didn’t need her, the current bane of his existence. And he sure as hell didn’t need that damn horse.

  Who was he kidding?

  Well, except for the damn horse.

  * * * *

  Gabbie stuck her head over the stall door and watched a man creep down the dark aisle. She recognized him immediately by his smell, though his scent was different than usual. She sniffed again, catching the odor of an animal in fear. Gabbie flared her nostrils. She didn’t smell any predators. She surveyed the area with her sharp eyes and close to 360-degree vision. Nothing sinister lurked in the shadows.

  He tripped over a bucket and spouted some angry words in a language she didn’t understand but had heard before. There were such things as light switches. He should know that. The man’s gaze met hers. His menacing expression caused her to back up a step.

  She sniffed again. She smelled fear in his perspiration. The dark person stole into the tack room, only to emerge a few minutes later with a pocketknife in hand.

  * * * *

  Rainbow swatches of color swirled in a kaleidoscope of changing images until the colors faded to shades of red and orange. Red everywhere, rivers of red flowed from the cracks in the walls. Oranges illuminated the room and licked through the open door. The angry colors wreaked havoc and sought revenge, leaving destruction in their wake, generating an intense heat and swallowing all resistance.

  Nothing survived.

  Left behind were blacks and grays, charred remnants of what was and never would be again. Scattered amongst the ashes were crumpled forms, indiscernible until a person took a closer look at the twisted limbs and sinew and hollow-eyed faces.

  Sam bolted upright in bed, the sleep wrung out of her by the nightmarish, charcoaled images that had ripped through her unconscious mind. Something was ringing. Incessant ringing that wouldn’t stop. She groped for the phone, sending several items on her cluttered nightstand flying across the room. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “You should have listened to Juan.” The voice sounded synthetic, sexless.

  “Who is this?”

  There was dead silence and then a dial tone.

  Sam ran for the bathroom, slammed into the doorjamb and banged her elbow. Crying out from pain, she crouched in front of the toilet and wretched.

  Finally, she leaned her head against the cool tile on the wall. Her elbow throbbed, but she didn’t care. When would this nightmare end? God knows, she’d tried to escape, but she couldn’t hide in Europe forever. Someone had framed her. She needed to know who.

  Steeling her resolve, she hauled herself to her feet. She’d rebuild her life and career. No more running. Not this time. She’d face her fears and find a way to prove her innocence. She didn’t have a choice. She had debts to pay and a career to resurrect.

  Sam stumbled into a warm shower, hoping to wash away reminders of a haunted past and visions of an uncertain future.

  * * * *

  After tying the big mare in the cross ties, Sam ran a stiff brush over her burnished red coat. With each stroke, her troubles faded a little bit at a time. Something about grooming horses always relaxed her. She guessed it followed the same lines of why dogs were great therapy in nursing homes or why petting a cat lowered people’s blood pressure.

  The mare blew softly and nibbled on the zipper of Sam’s vest. Freud would consider her orally fixated. Sam considered the mare busy—busy with her mouth, busy with her body, just busy. If she could find the key to channel tha
t energy into something productive, they’d be an unbeatable combination.

  It was a big “if.”

  Carson lounged against the nearby stall door; his ice blue eyes intent on her. Despite the fact that he made her nervous, she welcomed his strong, quiet presence after her disturbing early morning.

  Sam stole a look at him. His eyes drilled hers with an expression she was afraid to decipher. They smoldered, the ice melting to a hot blue flame. She couldn’t figure out why. After all, she hadn’t uttered one word to piss him off—yet. It couldn’t be attraction, could it?

  No, not her. She was the girl next door, a tomboy, and every guy’s buddy. She didn’t make rich, lethally handsome men smolder. Never.

  Gabbie nickered and drew her attention. The mare watched Carson out of the corner of her eye and swung her big butt in his direction, effectively pinning him against the stall. Sam caught his panicked expression over the top of the mare’s rounded rump.

  “What’s she doing?” he choked.

  “Gabbie likes men. She’s a hussy.” As if on cue the mare swished her tail in his face. “She’s trying to seduce you. She’s in heat.”

  “In heat?” His voice climbed surprisingly high. “Make her stop.”

  “And ruin all her fun?”

  “Hell, yes, I have no desire to be the love object of a 1500-pound, over-sexed horse.”

  “Ah, Carson, you’ll hurt her feelings.”

  “I don’t give a...” The rest of his response was muffled by a mouthful of tail.

  “It does give a new meaning to piece of tail.” Sam chortled. She gave the mare a push to move her butt away from his chest.

  Carson slid out from behind the horse and positioned himself out of range. He brushed horsehair from his clothes; then he gave her his full attention. “You didn’t really say what I thought you said, did you?”

  She nodded and graced him with her most innocent grin.

  “Great. Wonderful. As if my brothers aren’t bad enough.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You don’t want to know. Are you going to harass me or ride that thing?”

  “Whichever you prefer. You’re the boss.”

  “I prefer you ride her or whatever it is you do with her. So far she eats, poops, slobbers, and rubs her hairy butt on me. Does she do anything productive?”

  Taking the mare’s reins in her hands, Sam headed for the arena and called to him over her shoulder. “Hold onto your shorts, pretty boy. I’ll show you her special talents.”

  Chapter 7—Surveillance

  Gabbie turned her head and eyed Carson as Sam swung into the saddle. She blinked big brown eyes at him and made a soft rumbling noise. Good lord, the animal was flirting with him. Appalled, Carson backed up a step.

  “You’re not much for animals, are you?”

  Carson shrugged. “Guess not.”

  He’d had a dog once, a Labrador, growing up. He’d loved that dog. Every night Amos had slept at the foot of his bed. On Carson’s tenth birthday, the dog died from a rare form of cancer even though the best veterinarians in the Northwest tried to save him. He’d never had another pet since.

  He glanced up. Sam studied him with eyes that saw too much from her perch on the horse’s back. His stomach flipped in response, too reminiscent of how Marcia had made him feel. He didn’t like it. It undermined his control. Carson looked away and feigned indifference. “Are you going to ride or waste more of my time?”

  Sam stiffened. A pang of guilt slithered through him at his rudeness. Turning Gabbie away from him, she gave the mare a soft boot in the side. “Quit gawking, girlfriend, let’s get to work.”

  With a heavy sigh, Gabbie moved into a ground-covering walk. That horse was as much of a princess as his sister. That type of female plagued his life. Except Sam. No way was she a princess. She was someone he’d like to see naked. Someone he’d like to touch once he got her naked. Someone he’d like to bury himself in so deep that he’d be lost forever.

  Shit. He grimaced. Enough of that thinking.

  With the horse a safe distance away, Carson leaned against the rail and watched. After one more hopeful glance in his direction, Gabbie picked up the pace, ready to show off for him.

  Around they went. Around and around and around. One endless boring circle after another.

  Carson’s eyes glazed over as he watched Sam ride the elephant in those never-ending circles. So far, this dressage stuff didn’t do a thing for him. He covered his mouth to conceal a real yawn and wondered what his father had gotten him into and why.

  He’d be fossilized before he found this exciting. He couldn’t believe people did this for fun.

  Yet... Sam did something different. It was almost as if she turned up the intensity a notch or shifted into another gear.

  Carson leaned forward.

  The horse might be as big as a truck, but she was as light on her feet as a ballerina. She moved with an ease and grace that belied her size. Carson had played enough sports to appreciate an outstanding athlete, even in a horse suit. Watching the two of them, he almost understood what Harlee and Sam saw in this horse. She was an impressive animal, even if he found her career less than exciting.

  His attention shifted to the rider. The woman rode as if she was an extension of the horse. They were one mind, one body, and one purpose. Her long legs encased in black boots draped around the animal’s midsection. That gorgeous ass sat deep in the saddle, while her hips moved in time with the horse’s back. Forward and back. Forward and back. Forward and back.

  Carson wiped his brow. The temperature in the arena shot up about twenty degrees. He removed his coat and slung it over the rail. The horse caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and executed an impressive vertical then sideways leap. Sam, caught off guard, slid to the side and hung there, balanced precariously on the huge creature’s back. Carson heard a snap. The saddle flew one way; Sam flew the other in an impressive flying dismount that ended with her butt firmly planted in the arena dirt.

  Before Carson could make a move toward her, she leapt to her feet and shot him a menacing glare. He swallowed a smile. Her body seemed to be fine, but her face was bright red.

  A smart man would have kept his mouth shut, but what fun would that be? “So is that what you meant by showing me ‘her stuff?’” His hearty laughter echoed through the arena.

  “Shut up,” Sam grumbled as she stalked over to the saddle lying on the ground.

  “So when does she start her career on the rodeo circuit?” Carson continued to grin like a fool. Good thing Brad and Jake weren’t around. They’d misconstrue his amusement as interest.

  Sam ignored him and stared at her saddle half buried in the arena dirt. She bent down and examined it more closely. Carson admired her ass. Even though it was covered in dirt, those tight breaches looked damn good on her. Frowning, she looked up at him. He pasted an innocent smile on his face in case she’d caught him staring like some horny teenager. He braced himself for the inevitable.

  “Carson?” She sounded tentative, puzzled, definitely not pissed.

  He blew out a breath and moved to stand beside her, hoping his relief wasn’t obvious. “What?”

  Sam pointed at the saddle on the ground and lifted her golden eyes to meet his. “The stitching attaching the buckles broke.”

  Carson yanked his gaze away from her face and knelt down, studying the leather. He was no detective, but it looked like it was just worn. “You didn’t notice this when you were saddling her? You don’t do some kind of preflight check?”

  “This is a horse, not a 747.”

  Carson shifted his gaze to the monster horse calmly dismantling the arena gate with her teeth. “Coulda’ fooled me.”

  “I didn’t see it, okay?” Sam shot back testily.

  Carson raised an eyebrow and took in her disheveled appearance. “No surprise there. Details are not your forte.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that both buckles broke at the same time?”


  “Not if one was hanging on by a thread, and the other was carrying all the weight.”

  Sam rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated. She looked damn cute when she was annoyed. “Take the saddle into the barn, I’ll get Gabbie.”

  Carson hid his grin and picked up the saddle, while Sam crossed the arena to retrieve the errant mare.

  He walked into the barn. A strong scent wafted toward him. He wrinkled his nose and frowned. A fresh pile of horse manure sat in the otherwise immaculate aisle. Then he noticed the man crouched down in a nearby stall. Carson’s eyes narrowed. Damn. Just what he needed, some two-bit thief hiding in a barn full of prima-donna, middle-aged, neurotic women and pampered horses. It wasn’t exactly great for business, not that the business mattered to him.

  “Get up and get out of there.”

  A small Hispanic man came storming into the aisle holding a pitchfork in one hand and a can of Pepsi in the other. He was ranting in a tirade of Spanish. Carson knew a little Spanish, but not those particular words. He doubted they taught them in traditional Spanish classes.

  Carson raised his voice to be heard over the man. “What the hell were you hiding in that stall for?”

  “You ruin it!”

  “Ruin what?”

  That seemed to anger him all the more, as his crazed ranting took on a new decibel level.

  “Who are you?” Carson yelled.

  “None your business!” The man answered in English laced with more colorful Spanish. His extravagant gestures spoke even louder than his voice.

  Carson advanced on the man with the intention of bodily removing him from the premises when Sam hurried into the barn leading Gabbie.

  “What’s going on?” She glanced at Carson then back at the ranter. “Juan, what’s the problem?”

  Juan continued his rant, the words escaping his mouth so quickly that even Sam seemed to have a hard time following him. She tossed the reins at Carson. “Here, hold her.” He stared at the reins in his hand then back at Sam as she hustled Juan out of earshot.