“Don’t be an idiot.” The older woman poked her niece in the arm and the big horse nodded in agreement. “And don’t make me get mad at you, young lady. Of course you should be here, you should’ve come sooner rather than hiding out in that little place in the city. And if you’re useless, so what? I should be used to that by now, you’ve always been lazy.”
Sarah snorted. “Gee, thanks Aunt Tilly. You always know just what to say to cheer me up. But I’m being serious now. Are you sure my being here is going to be okay with your customers? What do they think about their children being taught by a killer?”
Tilda hissed at that. “Don’t say such a thing! Most of the customers have known you since you were a leadliner and they don’t believe your guilt any more than I do.”
“The hospital sure seemed to believe I messed up, didn’t they?”
“They’re a bunch of blind idiots if they think you were sloppy in your work, and you’re an even bigger idiot if you think you had any hand in either of the deaths.”
“But I didn’t stop them, did I?” Noble nuzzled Sarah comfortingly and she rubbed the soft gray face.
Tilda snorted. “Could you? Do you have that kind of power over people? I can’t even make crabby old Bob wear a new hat, so what makes you think you could’ve changed anything that happened at the lab?”
“I didn’t know you bought Bob a hat.” Sarah was willing to change the subject. She had come to the farm for a purpose, but didn’t want Tilda anywhere near the ugliness at Boston General. “What didn’t he like about it?”
“Who knows? Probably just the fact that it was new, you know how he hates change.” Tilda continued to mutter about the barn manager under her breath.
Sarah gave a watery laugh and mopped her face with the cuff of the baggy dress shirt she was wearing. She looked at it and thought of the man that had once worn it. “Speaking of change and new clothing, do you think it’s strange for me to still wear Jay’s shirts?”
“Yes. I think it’s pretty weird and not very attractive.” Tilda smiled. “Didn’t expect me to say that, did you? It’s time for you to move on, Sarah. Isn’t that one of the reasons you’re here? Get rid of the rest of Jay’s things, he’s been gone over a year and it wasn’t your fault, even if you might want to take the blame. As for the other, you weren’t responsible for her actions either and the day you want fight for your job, just let me know. I’d love to go a few rounds with some of those administrators.”
Sarah watched in amusement as her rotund, gray-haired aunt mimed punching a few members of the hospital review board. She pictured Tilda popping Jay’s former partner in his overlarge nose and smiled. “So I guess that means you’ll go shopping with me?”
“Huh?”
“My question was actually intended to segue into asking if we could take the rest of the day to go shopping. All I have are three pairs of jeans and a bunch of Jay’s old shirts. I think I wore everything else to death and nobody noticed I had on the same thing every day because I lived in a white coat.” And then after her suspension she’d hidden out in her north end condo for a few months in her bathrobe. “And,” Sarah continued, rising from her seat in the shavings, “I used to find shopping a good way to forget irritation. I certainly found Mr. Devers irritating to say the least. Where did you find him, anyway? I would’ve thought him a bit too fussy for your tastes.”
Tilda shrugged. “I didn’t find him, he found me. Remember Dina Masters? She used to ride here when you were a kid—owned that big black horse with the funny-looking star. Well, she’s an editor with Horseman’s now and she called to ask me if one of us could show him around.”
“How come I get the honors then? Admit it, you wanted to set me up with him, right? You took one look at those big blue eyes and that tight butt and thought of me.” Somehow when Sarah put it that way she sounded awfully ungrateful.
Tilda grinned. “You should be so lucky. No, truly he called and asked if he could stop by some time. I just happened to put him off until you were going to be here just in case you were interested. If you really find him that annoying, I won’t ask you to do more than show him around a bit and answer a few questions tomorrow. He needs to know enough to get through the first few shows of the season, so you can just give him a quick rundown on who’s who and what types of stuff the magazine will go for and be done with it. Okay?”
“I shudder to think what else you had planned. Next time you feel like volunteering me for some kind of horseman’s community service, remember to warn me. And if this is another of your attempts to find me the perfect man, do me a favor and don’t, okay? I’ve got enough problems right now without having to fend off another overamorous dental hygienist.”
Tilda drew herself up. “That was years ago. Besides, there was nothing wrong with Monty, you’re just too particular.”
“Oh yeah. I consider it real picky to expect a dental hygienist to floss his teeth at least once a year.” The memory made Sarah gag. “So I’ll say it once. If you have any ideas about me and this photographer, do us all a favor and forget them. I’ll show him around tomorrow and that’s it!”
Tilly slid a sideways glance at Sarah. “But still, he is kind of cute, don’t you think?”
“If you like the effeminate silk shirt and Italian shoe type, which I certainly don’t.” Sarah nodded decisively, trying not to picture Devers in a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a day’s growth of beard. “And even if I liked dark haired men with dimples, I wouldn’t like his attitude!”
The older woman nodded sagely. “Noticed his dimples, did you?”
Tilda drove into Boston, since Sarah now refused to take responsibility for passengers. They found a semi-legal parking space in Chinatown, and headed into the shopping district with laughter in their hearts and credit cards in their hands.
Hours later, the two women returned to the Honda juggling bags of purchases and giggling as they staggered under their burdens. In Sarah’s book, messy lives and irritating men stood little chance against spring sales at Downtown Crossing. For a few hours she had been able to forget about her troubles and just be a woman trying on clothes.
“I could’ve sworn I locked this thing,” Tilda fussed and shifted her load onto one wide hip to open the driver’s door without needing her key. Sarah saw that the passenger door was unlocked too.
“I’m sure you did, Aunt Tilly.” Sarah felt a strange creeping feeling on the back of her neck, like someone was watching her. She spun around, packages bumping against her thighs as she scanned the swirling pedestrians. She cursed the jittering feeling in her stomach. There was nobody following her. There never was. She was just being paranoid.
“Sarah?” Tilda stood beside the car, looking inquiringly at her niece. “Is everything okay? Are we going?”
“Yeah, in a minute.” Sarah stared around for another moment before tossing her bags in the back and sliding into the passenger seat. As they drove through downtown Boston she stared out the window at the people they passed, looking for a familiar face.
She didn’t notice the bald man who watched her from the shadows of a narrow alley and faded back into the darkness once the little Honda had driven past.
Chapter Two
The next morning Sarah slid into a new pair of jeans and a soft orange shirt that almost matched her hair and told herself she was dressing nicely for her own pleasure, not for anyone else’s opinion. She had almost convinced herself that wearing new clothes was a liberating experience when she caught herself spritzing on some of the racy perfume she’d bought on a whim the day before.
“You’re going down to the barn, Sarah.” She scrubbed at the side of her neck where the scent had landed, trying to erase the damage. “Get a grip, you don’t even like him.”
But that didn’t mean she had to look like the south end of one of her training projects, did it?
She wandered down to the barn carrying a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, only to find that the photographer had not yet arrived. �
�Just like a greenhorn, not starting his day until nine when the morning’s half over,” she grumbled halfheartedly. It was too fine a morning to be ticked off first thing.
When Bob poked his head out of the office she skipped nimbly aside and tried not to giggle at the ratty old baseball cap he insisted on wearing. Tilda did have a small point—the hat looked as if it had been run through the manure spreader a few too many times without a wash.
“Sorry, Bob old pal, but I can’t help muck this morning. I’ve got four to ride before lunch and I’m supposed to talk to some guy about the horse shows.” She was around the corner and out of the barn manager’s sight before he could respond.
Happy to be home, Sarah hunkered down to lean against the weathered planking that protected the stallion barn from the elements. This had always been one of her favorite places to sit, where she could see the horses playing in the big field as it sloped down to a well-tended pond. Why had she waited so long to come back? What had she hope to prove?
With an emphatic “Whuff!” Bogart appeared from around the corner and plopped down next to Sarah.
“Where’s Zip?” she asked, not minding the little terrier’s absence. She liked the sturdy golden retriever but could do without his Jack Russell counterpart, especially on such a quiet morning. She closed her eyes and soaked up the warming sun like a cat.
She felt Bogart tense under her hand, but waited until she heard the man’s step on the gravel before she opened her eyes to look. Then stare.
Blue jeans.
Worn shirt.
Unshaven.
It just wasn’t fair.
Scarred black leather jacket draped over one shoulder, Dante Devers stood with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of faded jeans. His soft chambray shirt was unbuttoned enough to let a few tufts of wiry hair peek out and was worn enough to leave little to the imagination. The dark stubble that shadowed his cheeks and chin mirrored the hair that had been fussily slicked back the day before but today was an unruly black mop curling to just above his collar.
His dark blue eyes held hers a moment, and skittering tendrils of sensation ran up and down her spine as if he were trailing his blunt fingers over the curve of her hip, even though he was standing ten feet away.
She broke eye contact in self-defense, but that didn’t help as her gaze traveled down the length of his body, stroking down the long columns of thighs encased in faded blue denim. His jeans were worn to a soft white at the stress points and she had to force herself not to linger overlong on the more interesting of those points.
Not fair.
Sarah looked quickly back at Bogart and made a great show of straightening his collar so that his name and rabies tags swung free. She berated herself sternly. You don’t like him and you don’t want to have anything to do with one of Tilly’s infamous setups, remember? Good grief, stop looking at him like he’s on the dessert cart at an expensive restaurant, you know better. It’s like you’ve never seen a handsome man before. What must he think of you, gawking like a teenager?
I want. That’s about all Dante was capable of thinking at that moment. Simply, I want.
That primitive phrase was all he could come up with since his brain had shut down the moment he’d rounded the corner and seen Sarah Taylor leaning against the old barn with her eyes closed, smiling into the sun.
She was wearing new jeans still crinkly with the sizing and a snug T-shirt that outlined her round, full breasts; a pair of attributes that had been hidden by the oversized shirt she’d worn the day before. She looked more rested and her cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment. It should have clashed with her reddish-blond hair, worn down today rather than in its practical ponytail, but the color muted her blush to a peach wash.
He closed his eyes hard and desperately tried to summon up an image of Susan’s face, but she’d been gone for months, and for years before that he’d been on assignment and hadn’t seen her often. All he could find in his mind was a static picture of a dark-haired woman holding a child that seemed to have been caught in mid-squirm by the portrait photographer. Her memory seemed far away and not nearly vital enough to withstand the impact that the very existence of Sarah Taylor had on him.
Enemy, he reminded himself frantically, Sarah Taylor is not for you. She is the enemy. But his traitorous mouth watered when he opened his eyes again to see her fiddling with the dog.
He’d been too long without a woman, that was all. He’d been too wrapped up in family stuff for the last months to check in with any of his usual escorts, sharp-featured women with knowing eyes and no expectations. And before that he’d been six months in the jungle with a bunch of photographers and naturalists. There were no available women there unless you counted Merrilee the botanist, which he certainly didn’t. His skin crawled at the very thought of her bug eyes and green fingers.
Dante shrugged against his clothes, which suddenly seemed tighter than they had that morning, and tried to collect his thoughts. Sarah Taylor was an assignment, nothing more. It helped to think of her in that way, allowing him some of the detachment he so desperately needed.
He cleared his throat, annoyed when she continued to fiddle with the dog’s collar. He’d counted on his usual charm to gain her trust, but she seemed impervious to his legendary animal magnetism.
He coughed again and thought he sounded like a longhaired cat expelling a hairball but persevered anyway. “I’m sorry if you’re upset that you’re aunt volunteered you for this. I’ll try to listen hard and not ask too many dumb questions, okay?” He attempted a grin that felt pretty feeble.
She looked at him then, or rather she looked over his left ear as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him. When she spoke, her voice was a pleasing contralto that he imagined the horses would find soothing. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Devers. I’ll try to help you as best I can although it’s going to be tough to cover the whole A Circuit in a day, or even several days. The world of equine sport is just that, a world. One with its own politics, its own leaders, its own heroes and villains.” Sarah laughed and grinned directly at him. “There I go lecturing you already. How about we start with a tour of the barns?”
She led the way to one of the pin-neat stables. Dante hung back, figuring that now was as good a time as any to begin. “Sarah?”
“Yes?” She turned back and cocked her head inquiringly.
“Uh. About yesterday. I’m sorry if I was a jerk.” He paused. “No, strike that. I was a jerk and I’m sorry for it. I don’t make a habit of running around insulting people, but I was worried about something else and I took it out on you.”
“Oh.” Sarah stared at him for a moment. “Um, no problem. I was a bit on edge too, so let’s just forget about it, okay?” She continued to look at him strangely.
“Is there something wrong? You’re looking at me funny. Did I suddenly sprout a horn or wings or something?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just not used to men apologizing for anything short of nuclear holocaust, and generally not even then. Did it hurt?”
Dante grinned. “Not too much. I had a mother and a sister who pretty much outvoted Dad and me, so we got really good at apologizing, especially after my sister hit puberty.” He sobered, thinking that neither his father nor his sister had lived much past that time. “How about you? Are you close to your family?”
Sarah led the way into a cool stable. “Tilda is my family. She and Bob, the barn manager here, pretty much raised me because my parents traveled so much even before they died. I chose to live here rather than attend boarding school and it was the best decision I could’ve made. The horses gave me responsibility and perspective I might not have had otherwise.” She turned away and shot the bolt on a stall door nearby, effectively ending the conversation. “Why don’t we start with introducing you to some of the horses? If you can begin to understand the fascination, then maybe there’s hope for you after all.”
Obligingly he moved over to peer into the stall and meet its inhabitants
. “Awwwwww.” He was a little embarrassed that had come out of his mouth, but figured it could be excused when he looked at the tiny foal standing by its mama in the large loose box. Dante was so busy stretching his fingers to scratch the little fellow’s forehead that he missed the softening of Sarah’s expression as she watched him with the baby.
The big chestnut mare blew warningly when the photographer crouched down near the foal, and Sarah touched his arm. “You better come out now, she’s a first-time mama and you’re making her nervous.” He stood and Sarah produced a piece of carrot for the worried mother. “You’re a brave girl, you are,” she cooed, “letting that scary man touch your beautiful baby.” The mare nodded once as if in agreement then shepherded her foal into the corner of the stall as Sarah latched the door.
Dante scanned the nameplates that lined the aisle. “Why do they all have two names?”
“Most of these are show horses. A show horse needs a name that is powerful and easy to remember. It also helps if it’s simple enough that the announcers and loudspeakers at the shows won’t garble it.”
“For example?” He was curious now, realizing that this was the kind of information he was going to need for his assignment at Horseman’s. Even though he was using the job as a cover, he planned to give them their money’s worth. He’d photographed Bengal tigers hunting in their natural habitat, surely capturing trained animals jumping over painted fences would be a breeze, right?
“Well, I had a color pony when I was a kid.” At his baffled look she clarified, “One that’s a nonstandard color—not brown, black or gray. This one was a pinto, which means his body was covered big spots of brown and white. I wanted to name him ‘Aurora Borealis,’ but figured the announcer would never get it right, so I showed him as ‘The Northern Lights’ instead.”
Dante had stepped close to her as she spoke and he thought he caught an elusive whiff of some jazzy perfume that seemed out of character. He leaned in to sniff just as she turned around, obviously thinking that he was still several feet away. She jerked back, almost slamming into the wall next to a nameplate that read “Lothario.”
The Stable Affair Page 2
