The Gift Horse

by Jami Davenport

  “No, I’ll take a Henry’s.” Carson forced an affable smile on his face. He could play the good ol’ boy part when needed.

  George wasn’t buying it. “I suppose you’ll be wantin’ a glass.”

  “I can drink from a bottle.” Carson leaned on the table, striking a casual pose. His elbows stuck to it.

  “Saints of mercy, thank the Lord for that.” George harrumphed and walked off.

  “Slumming it, huh?” Sam slanted him a teasing glance that lit up her golden eyes with mischief. Their gazes locked. His body reacted, while his head sounded the red alert. He yanked himself from the brink just as he felt himself diving in headfirst.

  “Do you come here often?” Carson took a paper napkin from the holder and attempted to wipe off the table.

  “Often enough.” Sam held her head up high and presented him with a level gaze. “This is my kind of place.”

  “I noticed.” At least his parents would never find him in a place like this. His father’s lackeys had been attempting to track him down ever since that fateful dinner with his siblings last night. He’d stayed one step ahead of them all day. Granted, another talk with Dad was inevitable, but Carson needed a little more time to plan his strategy.

  George slammed a bottle of Henry’s in front of him and a glass of beer in front of Sam. The man gave the table a few swipes with a wet rag and sauntered off. Carson’s elbows still stuck to the table.

  “Why is this your kind of place?”

  “It’s cheap, and the beer’s cold. I also know most of the regulars.”

  “Well, that’s what counts.” Carson flinched as the jukebox volume doubled. He glared at the idiots pumping quarters into the thing then turned to Sam. “Next time I pick the place.”

  Sam shrugged, but amusement lit up her eyes. The evil witch was enjoying his discomfort.

  “Did that song just say what I thought it said?”

  “What did you think it said?”

  “Something about saving a horse and riding a cowboy.”

  “Yep, that’s what it said, buckaroo.”

  “I’m not a cowboy,” Carson said loftily. “You know how I feel about horses, and I haven’t owned a pair of cowboy boots since my childhood.”

  “Too bad, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Nor do I care.”

  Sam leaned across the small table until her face was inches away. “Loosen up, Carson.”

  Carson shook his head and sat back. Fat chance. The last time he’d loosened up, he’d paid for it the rest of the weekend, thanks to brother Brad.

  Sam sipped her beer then placed it on the table. “Tell me about your day.”

  Carson studied the beer bottle. Oddly enough, he wanted to tell her. “I’ve been shanghaied into rescuing a sinking ship with no more than duct tape and sticky notes to repair a hole the size of a Volkswagen.” The words slipped from his mouth before he could stomp on the brakes.

  “It’s amazing what a person can do with duct tape.”

  “It can’t fix this.”

  “Cedrona?”

  Carson nodded. “My whole family is conspiring against me. It wasn’t an issue before...” Carson hesitated.

  “Before what?”

  “Before my dad had a heart attack. After that everything changed.” Carson drained his beer in one long gulp.

  “Like what?” Sam swallowed the last of hers and signaled George for another round.

  “I don’t know him anymore. It’s like my dad’s gone, and this stranger took his place. We used to understand each other, have this special bond. Now, we barely converse, let alone in a civil manner.” Carson shrugged, unable to find the words to explain his confusion. “Even weirder, Mom and Dad have always had this ‘you go your way and I’ll go mine’ relationship. Now, they’re madly in love with each other, which makes them insufferable. Mom wants everyone to have what she has.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “It is when she tries to ram it down your throat. You see, I think they’re trying to make up for all that time when we were kids, and they barely noticed our existence. It’s disconcerting to have them meddling in my life. My sister’s bad enough.” Carson took a deep breath and plowed onward, filling her in on the details. She listened—really listened—and didn’t pass judgment or give opinions. She just let him talk. And talk he did. More than he’d ever planned on telling her or anyone else in his life for that matter. He left out the small detail that his sister wanted her fired.

  When he finished, she offered no hollow words of sympathy or encouragement. Instead, she reached out and squeezed his hand. “You can do it.”

  For a brief moment, he felt better, as if she gave him strength and raised that dark cloud of doubt that surrounded him. This warm feeling trickled through his body and left him feeling content.

  That moment passed. Thank God. He didn’t need her strength. He had enough of his own, and he’d get through on his own. Carson pulled his hand away from hers.

  He didn’t know why he’d been compelled to spill his guts to this particular woman. In fact, her ability to get beneath his surface petrified him. He’d said too much and opened doors best kept closed. “We’ve been talking about me all night. You seem out of sorts.” Carson steered the conversation to her. After all, it was only fair. She’d been listening to him blabbering for close to an hour. He’d said more than enough.

  Sam shrugged. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. It’s been a long week.”

  Carson didn’t believe her. “What’s going on?”

  She smiled. “Nothing you can fix, cowboy.”

  She might be right there. Lately, he wasn’t much good at fixing his own life, let alone screwing with someone else’s.

  * * * *

  “You don’t need to follow me upstairs.” Sam glanced at Carson over her shoulder as she bounded up the steps to her apartment, anxious to put some space between the two of them. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Sam, you’re forgetting something,” Carson called after her.

  Turning, Sam noticed her sweater dangling on his index finger. “Oh, sorry.” She hurried down the stairs to grab it. Her foot missed a step; she skidded, fell forward, and grasped for a handhold.

  Instead of a handhold, she slammed into Carson a few steps below her. The force of her gravity-bound body catapulted him backward. He held on to her as his backside slammed into the opposite wall, halting his backward progress. Sam’s knees crumpled from the impact. Unable to keep his balance and support her added weight, Carson slid down the wall. His butt hit the ground with a thud.

  Sam’s breath was knocked out of her. She crumpled into a bruised heap, straddling his lap with her head buried in his chest. Her empty lungs fought for oxygen until her breathing came in grateful, ragged gasps.

  Carson’s chest rumbled under her ear. He must be talking to her, but she couldn’t hear the words. The rumbling continued. Her brain finally registered it as laughter. His. And she was making an idiot of herself. Jerking her head upward, she clipped his chin. Carson yelped something unintelligible.

  “I’m sorry. Did I hurt—” His intent expression stopped her brain in its tracks. He wasn’t laughing anymore. Deep-set eyes as blue as a cloudless sky penetrated her defenses and stripped her emotions bare.

  “You are a walking disaster, woman. Are you okay?” His husky voice reverberated through the empty barn aisle.

  Sam nodded, still dazed. Her survival instincts kicked in and warned her to run for safety. She pushed against his chest with her palms. Carson’s muscles flexed under her hands, hard and toned. The man was ripped, and she’d so hoped his expensive clothes had concealed a soft body. Wouldn’t you know he’d have a perfect body to go with that perfect face and perfect tight ass?

  She pushed again. He didn’t budge. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind for toying with her. “Let me g—”

  It didn’t happen. Instead, Carson’s face moved closer. Her face moved closer. H
is eyes grew darker, more focused. He held her tighter. The world spun a web around them, shutting out her doubts, tamping down her fears, and wrapping her in warmth that kept out the cold of loneliness. A special tapestry was woven around them made up of who they were, had been, and would be.

  The world ceased as she knew it, and her life changed in one fleeting second.

  Did he feel it, too, this incredible thing between them? Sam held her breath and attempted to still her pounding heart. Her body didn’t listen any better than her common sense did.

  His lips hovered so close they breathed the same air. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers slipped into his black hair, silky to the touch. She’d figured such perfection required a gallon of hairspray. He must be blessed with hair that did exactly as he commanded it. Not that she was surprised.

  Carson moved closer and banished her thoughts of hairspray with his presence. The faint scent of his expensive cologne, mixed with his clean masculinity, assaulted her senses. The man’s eyes locked on her lips. She shivered, and her body leaned into his, refusing to behave. An unmistakable hardness rubbed against her crotch. She pressed against him, needing more. He groaned and held her tighter. That strong, firm mouth touched hers, moist and inviting. It softened and shaped to her lips. No tongue, just an achingly gentle pressure gliding from one corner of her mouth to the other. Yet, it was the most sensuous kiss she’d ever experienced. Sam parted her lips and waited for more. Her eyelids fluttered shut. She floated somewhere between reality and fantasy, and she never wanted to leave. She clung all the tighter and ran her tongue along his upper lip.

  He moaned, the deep, guttural moan of a man losing control.

  “Shit.” He stiffened underneath her. She nuzzled him again, teasing his mouth with her lips and tongue, begging him to let her inside. “Sam. No.” He drew back and loosened his grip on her body. He looked as flustered as she felt, most likely an unfamiliar emotion to him.

  He took a deep breath as if to gather his composure. “You okay?” His voice sounded rough and husky, even a little shaky.

  His eyes studied her face, looking for something. Her stunned expression seemed to amuse him and restore a measure of his confidence. An almost smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Then his mask of cool professionalism slipped into place, and her heart sank.

  She searched for a sassy retort and was unable to find any, so she just nodded. Underneath those expensive clothes, perfect hair, and cultured manners lurked a real man. She’d just had a taste of him. Unfortunately, she wanted more because she had a major sweet tooth where he was concerned. This wouldn’t—couldn’t—do.

  He released her from his arms. For a split second she didn’t move and just stared into his eyes.

  He cleared his throat.

  She stared.

  He cleared his throat again and looked pointedly downward at Sam spread-eagled across his lap. Heat spread through her cheeks, and she scrambled to her feet. Carson stood with an easy grace that contradicted his hard fall and hard-on. He looked cool and unruffled, as if that kiss hadn’t shaken his world the way it shook hers, yet she was certain it had. He leisurely brushed the dirt from his slacks. Taking her arm, he helped her up the stairs.

  Sam tried to insert her key in the lock, but the dang thing didn’t want to fit in that little hole. Carson took the key from her hand. His thumb lingered for one slow, lazy circle on her palm. He managed to unlock the door, yet his fingers seemed as unsteady as hers.

  “Not bad for a pretty boy, huh?”

  She couldn’t let him see how much he’d affected her. “Not bad, but I’ve had better,” she lied. There was no reason to inflate the man’s already over-inflated ego.

  His expression hardened. Something that looked like hurt flashed across his face. “Good night, Sam.” Giving her a final, unreadable look, he stalked down the stairs and out of the barn.

  Sam stared after him, not seeing a thing in her mind except deep blue eyes that revealed just a hint of gentleness before reverting to their stern camouflage. No way could he have believed her last statement. A man like that had to know the effect he had on women.

  She touched a finger to her lips as if she could still feel his presence. Something beautiful and fragile fluttered inside her like a butterfly struggling to be released from its cocoon.

  * * * *

  Gabbie had watched as the two humans engaged in some odd courting ritual. She tossed her head and offered a disapproving snort. Too bad humans didn’t have tails. All a mare had to do was swish her tail in a stallion’s face. He got the point. After which a couple well-placed kicks kept him in line. Horses didn’t have to do all that groping, moaning, and slobbering on each other.

  Chapter 12—The Interfering Sister

  Carson threw the last of the suitcases onto the mauve bedspread in the master bedroom of the ranch house. He hated mauve. It clashed with the orange carpet and gold drapes. Not to mention, the Mediterranean bathroom cabinets needed to be thrown into the Mediterranean. Just looking at the room’s color combinations made him queasy and insulted his discriminating tastes. It also reconfirmed his belief that his baby brother was color blind, love blind, or both.

  It was summer. Thank God. He’d spend most of his time outside. Already this place was ruining his appetite.

  The dreaded meeting earlier that morning with his father had been blessedly brief. Dear old Dad had been all business. They’d discussed salary, benefits, the Cedrona budget—or lack of, and the terms of his employment, which included assistance in purchasing the brewery assuming that he was successful with Cedrona. It had taken all of fifteen minutes. Carson had walked out not knowing if he was being controlled or in control.

  With a sigh, he opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the balcony. At least Harlee’s decorating experiments hadn’t extended outside the house’s four walls.

  Moving into this shrine to the seventies wasn’t what really troubled him. Cedrona troubled him, and Sam troubled him. She’d be too close, not only in physical distance, but in a way that a man who prided himself on his control didn’t like to explore. He didn’t feel in control around her, last night a case in point, and right now he needed control and order in his life.

  She was the most undisciplined and disordered person he’d dealt with in a long time—maybe ever. They were polar opposites and not compatible at all. He liked his women classy and refined, not rough and sloppy.

  Carson’s mind drifted back to lush, pink lips and tawny eyes. His body rose to the occasion, at least one part of it. He battened down that hatch and steeled himself against the storm.

  He wasn’t succumbing to Sam only to have her dump him a few months later after she discovered how boring and driven he was. For nine years he’d contained his compulsion to fall in love with every decent woman he met. His attraction to her threatened to undo all the progress he’d made. It wouldn’t happen. He was a stronger man than that.

  He’d thought it was a good kiss. Hell, not just good, but mind blowing. He couldn’t believe he’d misread her so thoroughly.

  Damn. Wouldn’t you know it? He’d disappointed her. He always disappointed women. It wasn’t that he couldn’t perform. Nope, that’d never been a problem. Or that he performed too quickly. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how good they claimed he was, they always left him for some other man or cheated on him. He supposed it could have something to do with his priorities. Such as, work came first.

  “Hey, Carson!” His sister waved to him from the front lawn. “Let me in. The door’s locked.”

  Against his better judgment, Carson obeyed her request.

  “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I hope you’re here to redecorate.”

  “God knows it needs it.” Bridget, dressed in her usual expensive designer attire, sauntered in the door. She stopped for a moment and wrinkled her nose in distaste at the clashing colors in the living room. “We need to talk. How about the deck? I can’t stay in this room and ke
ep my lunch where it belongs.”

  “I know the feeling. This place is a great diet aid.” He stood back to let her pass. “After you.”

  Carson followed her onto the deck and seated himself on a plastic chair. He made a mental note to bring the teak deck chairs from his waterfront condo.

  “So how’d it go with Dad?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “What kind of deal did you have to cut with him?”

  “Phase one of Cedrona has to be completed within budget in a year. After that, he’ll finance the brewery for me if I can come up with the rest of the down payment.”

  “Are you sure it’s worth it? I mean you’ve already promised Mr. O’Brian everything you have down to your big toe.”

  “Including my big toe.”

  “I thought you only had six months to buy him out.”

  “I do. I’m going to renegotiate in six months with a large down payment. I’m counting on that horse being worth what I’m told she’ll be worth.”

  “If she made the Pan-Am team next spring, she’d probably bring half a million or more.”

  “I’d have to wait until spring? I can’t wait that long. She’s costing me a manure-sized pile of money.”

  “Well, she’s a horse, not a race car.” Bridget waved him off. Clearly not concerned about her brother’s problems. “Carson, guess what I’ve done for us?”

  “For us?” Damn, that sounded dangerous. Bridget only did things that were to her advantage.

  “I’ve hired Hans Ziegler to be our head trainer.”

  “Who?”

  “Hans Ziegler. That’s who.”

  “I haven’t a clue who he is.”

  “Only the best horse trainer on the West Coast. He’s trained Olympic champions.”

  “Yeah? Really?” Carson rubbed his chin. “But why is he here? Why isn’t he training them right now?”

  “He just came back to the area from Florida. Don’t you see? This is the chance of a lifetime, a big coup for Cedrona. Not to mention with him at the helm, your horse would have a good shot of making the team.”