“But I thought Sam was the head trainer?”
Bridget dismissed Sam with a wave of her hand. “Her? She’s talented but self-destructive and disorganized. She’ll never get anywhere.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she won’t. She’s been bordering on the edge all her life. She gets close; then she goes into fear-of-success mode and finds a way to screw it up. Everyone knows that.”
“Well, I don’t.” Annoyance crept through Carson. His sister’s condescending attitude struck a cord deep inside.
“Well, now you do. There’s a lot more to her than you can even imagine. She’s bad news. No one with a decent facility would touch her. Hans, on the other hand, will be a big drawing card for Cedrona. He brings with him a stable full of wealthy clients and fancy horses. Of course, you’ll want him to train Gabbie. I’m sure that Sam could be his assistant if she begs him.” Her eyes glinted as she considered that. “But then, there’s some past history there.”
Carson held up a hand. “Wait a minute. This is my project. I’m not hiring anyone and making big changes until I’ve had time to familiarize myself with the building plans, our obstacles, and our financial situation.”
His sister pouted. “It’s my project, too. Daddy’s building this for me.”
“And Mom,” Carson pointed out. “Until it’s complete, your involvement is strictly advisory.”
Bridget glared at him. Carson braced himself for one of her infamous temper tantrums, but she surprised him. Instead, she smiled her sweetest smile. “Carson, you don’t know horses. I do.”
“You might know horses, but I know business, and I know you. Next week, you’ll be on some new tangent. This week it’s dressage. Not too long ago it was jumpers. Before that I remember that western garb.”
“I did love those outfits and all that silver on the saddles.” She was totally unaffected by his criticism. “I’ve ridden dressage off and on for several years.”
“It’s the off part that worries me.”
She waved off Carson’s concerns. “We’re hiring Hans.”
“No, I am not. Not without more information and background. Sam stays in her present capacity for now.” Carson crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her.
“Fine. Then lease him some barn space and let him train out of one portion of the barn. Sam’s horses and students certainly don’t fill it. We have almost thirty empty stalls. We could use the extra money.”
Carson considered this for a moment. They could use the income. What could it hurt? “Is that an acceptable business practice for a horse facility?”
“Of course it is. Call around to other barns if you don’t believe me.”
“It sounds like a recipe for disaster, like two competitive CEOs sharing the same office space.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Aren’t they competing for the same students, the same horses?”
“Hans’ students are at a much higher level that Sam’s students so they actually complement each other.”
“I don’t know.” Carson was in a dilemma. After all, every extra dollar was a dollar toward the project. Maybe not directly, but to investors it did demonstrate solvency and a strong, growing business. His sister had a point as much as he hated to admit it. “Who would care for his horses?”
“That’s Juan’s responsibility. He’d have to hire a few more workers, but that won’t be a problem.”
“Sam isn’t going to like this.”
“Of course she isn’t, but she’ll get over it. She worked closely with him in the past—if you gather my meaning.”
Carson’s gut clenched as he did, indeed, gather her meaning. This had to stop. Maybe this Hans guy was just the thing to stop his dead-end attraction to Sam.
“But even if she does, she doesn’t get a vote. We own the place. She’s only using fourteen stalls.”
“I don’t know. I need to think about it.” Sam needed to be consulted. He owed her that for some unexplainable reason.
“Well, think fast, a professional like Hans will be snatched up in a minute by our competitors once the word gets out that he’s available.”
* * * *
After his sister left, Carson unpacked the remainder of his things. He hung his clothes in the small closet then folded his underwear and placed them in military precise piles in a dresser drawer.
Completing that task, he settled in a chair and tried to read a dry book on the horse business, but he couldn’t concentrate. He kept sneaking peeks out the picture window, which offered a view of the barn below.
Damn. He’d kissed her. If he knew his women—of course, what man ever did—that kiss changed their relationship even if it hadn’t rocked her world.
Did it rock his world?
Carson pondered that disturbing thought for a moment then cultivated some all-out denial.
He’d attribute his behavior to being lonely and depressed. Sam happened to be convenient and entertaining. He didn’t see a probable future with her, and she deserved better than that. Besides, she’d find him as boring as his other girlfriends had; then he’d be dealing with a damn broken heart on top of his other problems. He deserved better than that.
If there was ever a mismatched pair, they were it.
Just look at the place she’d picked for dinner, the music she liked, the way she dressed, and her propensity for attracting dirt.
After staring at the same page for fifteen minutes, Carson put down the book and walked to the window. Sam’s rattletrap truck sat in front of the barn. He pictured her long legs wrapped around a horse or bending over to clean a stall. An unwelcome response stirred in his groin and his heartbeat stepped up a notch. He adjusted himself but found no relief from his tight slacks. Thinking of Calamity Jane had given him a raging hard-on. Entering the kitchen, he popped the top off a micro brew and slugged down half of it. Frowning at the bottle, he placed it on the counter. He could sit here alone and get drunk, or he could take a walk.
Succumbing to his fate, Carson walked out the door and headed down the hill toward the barn.
Chapter 13—A Five-Car Pileup in the Living Room
Sighing, Sam slung another shovel load of manure into the wheelbarrow. It was Juan’s day off, and the barn cleaner hadn’t shown up—again. She’d taught lessons all day and hadn’t had time to clean the stalls earlier, nor had she taken the time to eat. Her stomach rumbled in protest. Leaning the fork against the wall, she rubbed a hand over her sweaty forehead. Two more stalls to go, and she’d be done in time to catch the last call for dinner at Character’s.
Someday, she’d make enough money to hire responsible people to do the tough physical work rather than teenagers working for lessons and guys with Sherlock Holmes fetishes. Imagine that, her own people available at her beck and call. She’d bet scores of people catered to Carson night and day. He probably considered it his due. Good thing that man was a pain in the ass because he was so not right for her, and she so wanted him. She was behaving like a teenage tomboy with a crush on the high school football star. It annoyed the heck out of her.
Sam blew out a long breath and surveyed the stall. Clean enough. She rolled the wheelbarrow into the next stall since her people weren’t crawling out of the woodwork to relieve her of her manure fork.
Mucking stalls left entirely too much time for her to think about her predicament. She really wasn’t interested in Carson. It was just that her body refused to listen to reason. It lusted after the man, and bad. Really bad. She tried every internal argument in the book, but her intuition continued to insist that the pretty boy was actually attracted to her. Well, her intuition worked well with horses, but it often malfunctioned when it came to men. She’d be wise not to listen to it.
Her cell rang, and she fished it out of her pocket.
“Sam?” It was the stepmother from hell.
“Hi, Eunice.”
“I seem to have misplaced your loan payment fo
r this month.”
Sam gripped the phone, wishing it were the woman’s neck. Manipulative bitch. “You didn’t misplace it. I never sent it.”
“Oh, dear, I’m sure it was an oversight. When can we expect it?” Eunice knew damn good and well that it wasn’t an oversight.
“I don’t have the money right now. I’m trying to get it.”
“You need to quit dabbling with those animals and settle down and make some real money. This is irresponsible behavior, and you’re too old for that. You know how your family feels about your hobby after what happened to your mother and all. Horses broke up her marriage. They were her priority over her children. Look where it got her.”
Sam stiffened and bit back a nasty reply. She knew where horses had gotten her mother—six-feet under. She didn’t need to be reminded of it by this money-grubbing old hag.
“Sam, are you still there?”
Her finger itched to press the End button on the phone. “Yes.”
“When are you going to get a real job?”
“My hobby, as you call it, is a business. I’m building it from the ground, but I’ve made big strides in the past six months. It takes time. I’ve explained all this.”
“Time is something none of us have. You made a deal with your father. He might be a pushover, but I am not. I’ve generously offered to let you work in my shop.”
Not the craft shop again. Sam tore a page off the calendar on the wall and crumpled it in the receiver. “Look, Eunice, I’m sorry...my...cutting out. I think...battery’s dead. I’ll...” Sam’s itchy finger hit the End button. Letting the phone drop to the ground, she leaned up against a stall and shut her eyes but couldn’t shut out the guilt and frustration.
Dumping the last wheelbarrow of manure, she trudged up the stairs to her small apartment for a quick shower. She pulled off her boots in the small entry area and tossed them in a corner. A rap came at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Carson.”
“Do you need something?” Not tonight of all nights. She combed her fingers through her messy hair and wiped at the dirt on her jeans and t-shirt. Her heart raced ahead in expectation of those ice blue eyes and sexy mouth.
“To talk to you. Please let me in.”
Sam opened the door a crack. Carson seized the opportunity to push past her with a bottle in his hand.
He stopped in his tracks one step inside the door and surveyed the chaos. Embarrassed, Sam grabbed clothes and magazines from the couch, threw them into her bedroom, and slammed the door. Carson watched with amused horror.
“Was there a five-car pileup in your living room?”
“Yeah, minus the blood and body parts.”
He sniffed. “It smells like there could be something dead in here.”
Sam took a whiff but couldn’t smell anything. Hopefully, he was pulling her leg.
Carson took a few tentative steps into the room. “This is incredible. How do you find anything?”
“I know exactly which pile everything is in.” Sam crossed her arms and frowned.
He glanced around, his expression skeptical.
“Did you come up here to criticize my housekeeping, or did you have another purpose in mind?”
“Sorry.” Carson blinked. “I was distracted by the extent of the destruction. You might be able to get some federal disaster money.” His usually ice blue eyes sparkled and reminded her of a Blue Hawaiian she’d had once in a piano bar.
She looked away before his eyes made her as drunk as that drink had. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the lone barstool in front of the kitchen counter.
Carson sat after he moved the phonebook, wrapped his long legs around the stool, and continued to examine the room. “I’m thirsty. Could I have something to drink?”
“You have a bottle with you.”
He looked surprised that he was still holding the bottle. “It’s for Juan.”
“Another one? So he’s still holding a grudge?”
“Yeah. He’s only speaking to me in Spanish, and I don’t think his words are complimentary. If I drink his tequila, He’ll probably have me stuffed into a piñata.”
“Then hung from the rafters. Alive.”
Carson cringed.
Sam shrugged. “I have lite beer.”
“Do you have any wine?”
“I do.” Sam triumphantly pulled out a box of red wine.
“You don’t refrigerate red wine.”
“You do this kind.”
Carson rolled his eyes.
“Do you want any or not?” Sam moved to put it away.
“Wait. I guess it’ll have to do.”
Suppressing a smile, she poured some wine into her best plastic glass and cleared a spot on the counter.
“Thank you.” He took a sip after he examined the glass for foreign substances. From his expression, she half-expected him to spit it out. “Do you have any napkins?”
“Second pile on the left, halfway down.” Popping the top on a beer, she leaned on the opposite side of the counter. Keeping a safe distance was advisable and definitely the smart thing to do. Crush or not, she didn’t need a man for fulfillment. Horses gave her everything she needed and more.
She looked at him, found him looking at her, and winced at the thought of what he must see. Pushing her unruly hair away from her face, she tucked it behind her ears.
“Sam, about last night...”
“I’ve already forgotten about it.” Yep, just like she’d forgotten his name.
“I was out of line.”
“So was I. I’d had too much to drink. I wasn’t thinking.” Sam precariously balanced a stack of junk mail on top of a pile of magazines and straightened a few more piles.
“It won’t happen again.”
“Damn right.”
“We’re business partners, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, well, as long as we have that straight.”
“No problem.” For a fleeting second, something like sadness flashed in his eyes. She sought a way to change the subject. “That can’t be the only reason that you invaded my privacy.”
“I wanted your opinion on someone.”
“Who?”
“Hans Ziegler.”
Sam swallowed and hugged her arms to her chest. “Hans? What do you want to know?”
“Is he any good?”
“With horses?”
“Well, of course, with horses? What did you think I was talking about? Golden Retrievers?”
Her face burned. Even though she and Hans had never shared as much as a kiss, horse show gossip had them as red-hot lovers. Her one-time hero worship of the man had fueled those flames. She also suspected that Hans had poured a little gas on that story and embellished all the more. “I was his assistant trainer six years ago, before I went to Germany.”
She’d been his protégé until he’d abandoned her after she’d been fingered in that tragic barn fire. In the back of her mind, she’d always wondered if he’d had anything to do with that fire. He’d lost three horses in the blaze, all heavily insured. His most valuable horse had come up lame only a few days prior in what appeared to be a career-threatening injury, rendering him virtually worthless as a show horse. Yet, Hans had made a killing on the insurance settlement.
“Did you keep in touch with him?”
“We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“And now?”
“I really don’t have much contact with him.”
“What do you think of him on a professional level?”
She considered lying but took the high road. “The man is brilliant with horses, a true master. He almost seems to read their minds. He has very few equals. He has the temperament of an artist, talented, explosive, difficult, and unpredictable. Why are you asking?”
“I’ve heard things about him. I wanted another opinion.”
Sam went cold. She hoped he didn’t hear the things that she feared he’d heard. “Who told you a
bout him?”
“My sister.”
“She wants him here, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, but the decision is mine.”
“Carson, I can’t work with him. His ethics are in question.”
“In what ways?”
“I can’t tell you because in most cases I have no proof, only suspicions.” Torching a barn full of horses for insurance money ranked right up at the top of her suspicions about that man.
“I’m not interested in gossip or hearsay. Give me an example of a case where you do have proof.”
“He’s known for stealing talented students from other instructors. In fact, he’s quite blatant about it. Nothing stands in his way when he wants something. He’s not beyond undermining another instructor.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience. He wouldn’t be able to steal away the clients if they were happy with their instructor.”
“His tactics are underhanded.” Sam leaned forward, bracing her hands on the counter. “Give me a chance, Carson. Give me the same chance that you wanted from your father. That’s all I ask. I really need this opportunity. It might be the last one I’ll get.”
“Why would that be?”
“I owe my family a lot of money.”
“And?”
“Over the years, my father and brothers have invested thousands of dollars in supporting my horse habit. They allowed me to drop out of college. Dad helped me finance my Germany trip and paid some legal expenses of mine by taking out a second mortgage on his house. My stepmother was furious. You’d think I put them in the poorhouse because of it. She’s making Dad’s life, and mine, a living hell. There’s a huge balloon payment coming up at the end of the year. I have to pay it. Right now, this job barely covers my expenses, let alone a large loan.”
“You don’t sound overly thrilled about your stepmother.”
“I don’t like her, but she’s Dad’s choice, and I didn’t get a vote.”
“So now you’re in a bind?”
“When I came back from Germany, she wanted me to quit ‘playing around with horses’ and get a real job. I promised my family I would take one more year to do the horse thing as a professional. If I’m not where I want to be at the end of a year, I’ll give up horses as a profession and go back to school and work in my stepmother’s craft store.”
The Gift Horse Page 10