One Scandalous Christmas Eve

by Susan Stephens

  Having arrived at his destination, he rested his cane against the canvas wall and, drawing the flap aside, he ducked his head and walked in.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Jess rapped with the paint-stripping look he remembered so well. ‘I’ll call you in when I’m free.’

  ‘Oh, no, no, please,’ the woman seated at the table opposite Jess insisted, getting up to make way for him.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Jess demanded, shooting emerald fire his way.

  He would have known those flashing eyes anywhere, and those lips that formed a perfect Cupid’s bow of possibility. The urge to taste the creamy perfection of Jess’s rain-washed skin and rasp his stubble against its soft perfection was overwhelming right now. But he had business to transact. ‘I’m here to cross your palm with silver and your lips with a bottle of water,’ he explained.

  ‘You’re asking me to tell your fortune?’ she asked with surprise.

  Having put the bottles down, he delved in his pocket for some coins to toss on the table, but his casual air was halted by a bolt of pain.

  ‘You’d better sit down,’ she said. ‘Where’s your cane?’

  ‘Thank you for reminding me.’

  The look she gave him told him she understood what it must have cost him to come here today with his cane, in front of all these people. And yet what was pride when there was a deal to be done? They measured each other for a few moments and then she reached out to take his hand. Full marks to Jess, he conceded, for retaining her composure, and remembering that he might save the farm. She had guts, and to spare, he reflected.

  ‘Are you sure you want this?’ she asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,’ he assured her, while his senses prompted him to take her somewhere where they could be alone. ‘Why does that surprise you?’

  ‘I can’t believe Señor Acosta is incapable of predicting his own future.’

  ‘Oh, but I can.’ He held Jess’s gaze locked in his and was rewarded when she blushed deeply.

  ‘You crashed the line,’ she scolded.

  ‘I did,’ he agreed with a shrug. How beautiful she was, even with what looked like a piece of Christmas tinsel wrapped around her head. Her hair glowed like fire in the soft light of a lamp, over which she’d draped a piece of red chiffon, while her eyes were deep pools of unfathomable green.

  ‘Stop staring at me. I’m supposed to be reading you, not the other way around.’

  ‘Then get on with it,’ he suggested.

  She reached across and rattled an old biscuit tin that had an opening cut in the top. ‘Put your money in here—those pieces of silver,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Of course...’

  He added a few more coins to those he’d already tossed down on the table. She still held out the tin. ‘A twenty should do it,’ she prompted bluntly.

  ‘Twenty?’ He pulled his head back with surprise.

  ‘Can’t you afford it?’

  Her lips curved in the first real smile he’d seen and her eyes danced with laughter. That was the Jess he remembered from the stable ten years ago—feisty and free to speak her mind, rather than constrained by the fact that he might be her father’s last hope when it came to saving the farm. He preferred this Jess.

  ‘Every penny goes directly to charity,’ she explained. ‘Nothing I take in this tent will be kept for the farm.’

  ‘Then you can have all my cash.’ Levering himself to his feet, he reached into his back pocket to bring out a wad of notes. He fed them into her tin. ‘This had better be worth it,’ he warned.

  But fortune-telling wasn’t on Jess’s mind now. ‘Your leg,’ she said with concern. ‘You really must agree to treatment. Please don’t be stubborn if the appropriate therapy is offered to you, or you could be left with a permanent limp.’

  ‘Did you see that in your crystal ball?’ he demanded edgily as he sat down again.

  ‘I don’t need a crystal ball to see that. I’m a fully qualified physiotherapist, more than used to dealing with injuries like yours. Which is why I can tell you with authority that you can’t afford to leave this any longer,’ she added before he could get a word in.

  ‘Well, thank you for your advice, Skylar,’ he gritted out, ‘but that’s not what I’m paying you for. What can you see in that crystal ball...if anything?’

  ‘A very difficult man,’ she fired back.

  They glared at each other, and for a good few moments fire flashed between them. Just like ten years ago, it seemed they were destined to strike sparks off each other whenever they met.

  ‘You’ll have to be quiet or I can’t concentrate,’ she said.

  ‘That’s the best line I’ve heard yet,’ he muttered as he settled back in his seat.

  But Jess did appear to compose herself, before dipping her head and cupping her hands around the ball. His groin tightened at the sight of slender fingers caressing the inanimate object. This was ridiculous. He’d never reacted like this.

  Then Jess looked up and made things ten times worse. Her green eyes flayed him before she even spoke, and then she exploded, ‘No way!’ Pushing the crystal ball away, she snapped, ‘This session is at an end.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ he queried dryly. ‘Did I miss something, only you don’t seem to have told me anything yet.’

  Standing up, she stared pointedly at the exit. ‘There are people waiting outside. Thank you for your contribution, but—’

  ‘But get lost?’ he suggested. ‘Is that any way to treat a prospective buyer?’

  ‘If you’d seen what I’ve seen, you’d be begging to go.’

  ‘All that money and I don’t get a second chance?’

  ‘Believe me. You don’t want a second chance,’ Jess assured him.

  He felt a frisson of something as he stared at her, but dismissed it out of hand. No one could foretell the future. This was all an act.

  ‘I can tell you one thing,’ she said. ‘Like your namesake The Wolf, you should shed your old winter coat, to be ready for spring and changes.’

  ‘Claptrap.’

  ‘Is it?’ she challenged, eyes flashing fire as they refocused on his face. ‘Or are you afraid to face what lies ahead?’

  ‘Frightened?’ he queried with a short, humourless laugh. ‘Are we talking about therapy for my leg?’

  ‘Might be. You must accept treatment before it’s too late.’

  ‘Is that what you do?’ He gestured around the tent. ‘Offer advice under the guise of fortune-telling?’

  Jess sighed softly. ‘Is that so terrible? Sometimes it’s the only way people will hear and take in what they need to. I don’t mean any harm.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he agreed grimly. ‘But, thank you very much, my siblings have arranged something for me, so you don’t need to worry about my leg.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ she said.

  He grunted. ‘Don’t keep your other mugs waiting.’

  ‘Let’s hope they’re politer than you.’

  But Jess said this with a smile and a genuinely concerned look, which made it hard to remain angry for long. The most annoying teen had grown into a most annoying, hot as hell woman.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SO JESS WAS unmarried and unattached. Why that should please him, he couldn’t say. After all, it wasn’t as though he was interested in a relationship with her. Still, his conversation with her father when he returned to the farmhouse hadn’t been solely confined to business, and Jim Slatehome had confided that Jess was single. Jim was proud of his daughter, and eager to talk about what she’d achieved. ‘Without anyone’s help,’ he told Dante. ‘I just feel sometimes that I’m holding her back. Jess has a big heart. She should share it with a family of her own.’

  He fell silent, and the pause was only broken by the crackle of the fire and an old clock ticking on the mant
elpiece. And then Jess walked in.

  Her father visibly brightened. ‘Come and join us,’ he said, pulling out a chair.

  ‘When I’ve showered and changed,’ she promised.

  Without sparing him a glance, she gathered up the mud-soaked hem of her skirt and dashed upstairs.

  She didn’t take long to return. Still glowing from the shower, she radiated energy and purpose, and even in a pair of old jeans, scrappy slippers and a nondescript top she was beautiful. She’d made no attempt to impress, which was probably what impressed him most of all.

  ‘Talks between you two go well?’ she prompted with seeming unconcern, but there was an edge of tension in her voice.

  ‘Extremely well,’ her father enthused, which only succeeded in making Jess pale.

  ‘Well?’ she pressed. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what you’ve decided? Are you buying the horses, Dante?’

  ‘All in good time,’ her father promised, thwarting Jess’s attempt to turn the spotlight on him. ‘Deal or no deal, Dante’s still our guest, and he doesn’t want to go over the details time and time again. We’ll have plenty of chance to discuss it when he’s gone.’

  Jess’s jaw worked as if she disagreed, but she sensibly remained silent. The chance of a deal could not be risked, and she was wise enough to know this.

  ‘Did Skylar do well in the end?’ he asked to break the ice when she sat with them in silence.

  ‘You tell me,’ she said, fixing him with a look. ‘Did you find me convincing?’

  ‘I mean financially,’ he explained, matching her no-nonsense look and raising it with serious concern of his own. ‘You said it was for charity, so I hope you raked in lots of money.’

  ‘Your generous donation helped,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever raised so much.’

  ‘You’ll have to come back every year,’ her father put in.

  Jess drew in a settling breath. ‘Yes, why don’t you?’

  ‘I intend to.’

  ‘That’s good,’ her father exclaimed, thumping the table in his enthusiasm. ‘Now we’ll never lose contact again. The day’s been a huge success, and that’s all down to you, Jess.’

  ‘And your wonderful ponies, and our helpers from the village,’ she insisted, shaking off her father’s praise as if she didn’t deserve it.

  ‘Sometimes, just say thank you,’ he advised good-humouredly.

  She shot him a narrow-eyed look, and now her father looked guilty as hell.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jess challenged.

  ‘Going on?’ her father echoed in a splutter. ‘Absolutely nothing,’ he protested. ‘We’ve struck a wonderful deal.’

  As if to confirm this, the sound of helicopters roaring overhead prevented conversation for a while.

  ‘So all the other potential purchasers are leaving,’ Jess commented, staring skywards. She stabbed a look into his eyes. ‘So, it’s all down to you.’

  ‘Stop fretting, Jess,’ her father insisted. ‘Dante bought all the horses.’

  ‘All of them?’ she murmured, frowning. ‘Why do I get the feeling there’s something more?’

  ‘Shake his hand, Jess. The farm is saved. The deal is done.’

  If looks could kill, the Acostas would be short one member of the family. Jess could afford to show her true feelings now. Standing up, she extended her hand for him to shake. As he captured the tiny fist in his giant paw he was surprised to discover how strong she was. This was no soft, vulnerable individual, but a worthy opponent. That pleased him. He was tired of sycophants and creeps. Extreme wealth came with disadvantages, not least of which was its effect on other people. He couldn’t count the times he’d been fawned over, when all he required was to be tested and judged on his merits as a man.

  ‘You can let me go now,’ she said.

  Realising they were still hand-clasping, he released her. ‘Skylar was right about one thing,’ he admitted.

  ‘Oh?’ Jess’s green stare pierced his.

  ‘The deal I struck with your father marks the start of a new chapter in my life.’

  ‘Does that happen every time you buy a few horses?’ she demanded suspiciously.

  ‘These aren’t just any horses,’ her father interrupted, clearly keen to bring Jess’s line of questioning to an end. ‘These are Slatehome ponies.’

  Jess hummed, her suspicion by no means satisfied.

  ‘How did you come by the name Skylar?’ he enquired, to break the tension between them when, at her father’s insistence, Jess sat down again.

  ‘It was a nickname my mother dreamed up for me when I was heading into my shell and she wanted me to shine. She said Skylar was a witchy name for people with The Sight and it would give me special powers. We laughed about it, and I never felt shy again, because I had this other person inside me: Skylar Slates, fortune-teller extraordinaire. Even now the name reminds me of my mother and the many ways she had to make people feel good about themselves. That was her gift. Skylar’s predictions try to encourage hopes and dreams and soothe worries. It seems to help,’ she added with a self-deprecating shrug, ‘but that’s all thanks to my mother.’

  ‘You must miss her terribly.’

  ‘I do.’

  For a second he saw that, in one area at least, Jess was vulnerable. The raw wound of loss had never healed. It had been some time since her mother’s death. He didn’t know exactly. He was guilty of losing touch with anything outside his privileged cocoon and had become even more isolated since the accident.

  ‘My ancestors on my mother’s side were gitanos,’ he revealed. ‘Mountain people. Some would call them gypsies. Many of them have The Sight.’

  ‘Jess is shrewd and intuitive, but her magic is confined to making the best cup of tea in Yorkshire,’ her father interrupted with his broadest hint yet.

  ‘Make mine coffee,’ he reminded Jess.

  Having arranged three mugs on the range, she absent-mindedly filled them all with tea from the pot. ‘Oh, look at me!’ she exclaimed with impatience.

  He was having difficulty doing anything else.

  After making a coffee for Dante she left the two men in the kitchen. She didn’t mean to listen in on her return. Who ever did? Her father was telling Dante it was time for him to say goodbye to the last of his guests, and the moment the kitchen door closed behind him Dante was on the phone. ‘It’s all done,’ he said. ‘Everything wrapped up to my satisfaction. Notify the lawyers and have the contract drawn up ASAP.’

  The covering certificate for each individual pony was already to hand, Jess reasoned with a frown, together with all the requirements for any valuable pedigree horse changing hands. This included a DNA hair sample from both the Sire and Dam to confirm the pony’s parentage. The deed of sale was a straightforward matter that would be handled by her father’s lawyer. So why was more paperwork necessary?

  She barely had chance to reason this through when there was a crash in the kitchen, followed by an earth-shattering curse. Bursting in, she rushed to Dante’s side. ‘Let me help you up.’ Crossing the kitchen without his cane, he’d tripped over a chair leg.

  When he snapped tersely, ‘My cane, please,’ she let it go. The loss of face on a daily basis for a man like Dante Acosta had to be monumental. If he refused treatment, nothing would change.

  Handing him the cane, she stood back.

  ‘And no bloody lectures about accepting treatment,’ he warned.

  ‘Just do it,’ she suggested mildly.

  This was rewarded by a grunt. ‘Let me look at that leg,’ she insisted. ‘You might have caused more damage when you fell. Please,’ she added when Dante looked at her in silence.

  ‘Very well,’ he agreed reluctantly.

  She knelt on the floor in front of him, while Dante sat down on the chair. Rolling up the leg of his jeans, she quickly reassured herself that no
further damage had been done.

  ‘Gracias,’ he grated out when she told him this, and got up.

  ‘It’s my job,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Here,’ she said when he began to rise. ‘Don’t forget your cane.’

  He took hold of it, and for some reason she didn’t let go. For a few potent seconds they were connected by a length of polished wood. Then, to her horror, he began to reel her in. She could let go but she didn’t, and Dante only stopped when their faces were almost touching. Closing her eyes, she wondered if she’d have the strength to resist him, or if she would follow the urges of a body that had been denied release and satisfaction for far too long.

  ‘You like playing with fire, don’t you, Skylar?’ Dante murmured,

  She dropped the cane like a red-hot poker. ‘I’m trying to help.’

  ‘Yourself?’ Dante suggested.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I think you do,’ he argued. ‘And if you play with my fire you will definitely get burned. Is that what you want?’

  She gave a short huff of incredulity. ‘My interest in you is purely professional.’

  Furious with herself for succumbing to the notorious Acosta charm, she crossed the room and reached for her coat. Ramming her feet into boots, she went to join her father in saying goodbye to their guests, leaving the mighty Dante Acosta to sort himself out.

  * * *

  He refused to go unless Jess came with him. She plagued his mind and tormented his body, and until she agreed to accompany him to Spain he wasn’t going anywhere.

  How was that supposed to happen when they weren’t on speaking terms?

  He’d find a way.

  Confined to the house long enough, he gritted out a curse and heaved himself to his feet.

  He found Jess riding in the outside arena. From the look of concentration on her face he guessed she found solace as he did, by twinning her soul with a horse. Animal and human moving as one, with scarcely a visible adjustment on Jess’s part to suggest she was directing the intricate moves, was the most healing activity he could think of. She was a master equestrian. He should have expected that. He was impressed.