by Laura Moore
“Emma, love, I’ve got it! This is cause for celebration! What do you say we go get you a big cup of milk?”
“Orange juice!” Emma countered.
Ty considered. It wasn’t milk, but at least it was good for her young goddaughter. “Okay, orange juice it is, and I’ll make a huge cup of coffee. Black, with loads of sugar, ’cause I deserve it!”
Scooping Emma into her arms, they left artwork, displaying Emma’s talent with colors, scattered over the living room floor and went off in search of vitamin C and caffeine.
The slow, steady drip of the coffeemaker had finished, its glass pot filled with dark brew, the aroma of which wafted through the warm kitchen. Emma was busy guzzling orange juice from the spout of her plastic cup, her legs scissoring back and forth against the smooth wood of the kitchen chair, and Ty’s mind was busy working out details. There were twenty box stalls in Southwind’s barn, three of them occupied. That left room to accommodate seventeen horses. Good. Too big a clinic, and the riders wouldn’t receive the kind of personalized attention from Steve that would make an event like this special, alluring.
Ty had just lifted the coffeepot to help herself when the front doorbell rang. Probably Bubba with more items for his wish list, thought Ty with a smile.
“Hey, Em, let’s go open the door. Yes, you can bring your juice. Coming,” Ty called, raising her voice in the hopes it might carry sufficiently. She bent slightly and hefted Emma onto her left hip, keeping a wary eye on the juice cup, which was listing rather alarmingly toward the front of Ty’s button-down shirt. “On second thought, let’s leave the juice.”
The front door opened to reveal, not Bubba Rollins, but Sam Brody. “Sam!” she cried in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“ ’Morning, Ty.” Sam grinned, his eyes meeting hers briefly, before settling on the cherubic face of Emma. Ty caught a flicker of emotion in Sam’s tawny eyes as he gazed at the toddler, who, in turn, was staring back at him with open curiosity.
“Come on in, Sam.” Ty stepped back, her free hand ushering him inside. “Emma and I were just making coffee. Emma, honey, this is Sam, an old friend of your mommy’s and mine.”
Sam appeared astonished when Emma immediately stretched out her arms upward and diagonally, their goal the corded column of Sam’s neck. Recovering himself, Sam quickly grasped Emma. Well, isn’t this interesting? thought Ty, amused, watching the pair now that she and Sam had finished performing the exchange of Emma’s outstretched body. Emma was running her palms up and down Sam’s bristled jaw, the golden-brown stubble apparently fascinating to the toddler. Even more interesting was her ex-bodyguard’s reaction. For a second, while Emma’s tiny hands went about their sensory exploration, Sam had stood, apparently frozen in shock. Then suddenly, with a grin that brought to mind a Barbary pirate, Sam had ducked his head, planting his mouth against the side of Emma’s neck and had blown an outrageously loud strawberry against the toddler’s soft skin. Emma had shrieked in delight, her hands fisting into Sam’s short dark hair. Pumping her sturdy little body up and down in his arms, Emma demanded, “Again, again!”
Four wet strawberries later, the three of them were seated around the kitchen table, Emma bouncing happily on Sam’s knees, Sam seemingly totally at ease in his role as Emma’s newest plaything. Ty placed a cup of coffee before him. “ Congratulations, Sam,” she laughed, “Emma’s taken a shine to you.”
“Great kid. Obviously has excellent taste in men. I take it Lizzie’s somewhere nearby, too?” His voice was casual.
Ty nodded. “She and Emma arrived earlier this morning. Lizzie’s looking at some ponies out in Amagansett. I imagine she’ll be back soon. So what brings you out here? Getting visits from my two closest friends on the very same day is nothing short of amazing. Wonderful but amazing.”
“No, we didn’t plan it,” Sam said with a smile. “Pure coincidence. It’s been years since I’ve seen or talked to Lizzie.” His left hand ruffled Emma’s curls, as cautiously Sam brought the coffee cup to his lips, avoiding Emma’s squirming body.
Ty was right, Sam acknowledged. Emma did resemble-her mother. Sam could picture Emma in fifteen years’ time, effortlessly dazzling the entire male population, and a fiercely intense need to protect filled him. Similar to the one he’d experienced when he’d received a matted photograph in the mail, announcing Emma’s birth. The picture had shown a tiny baby, wrapped in a light pink blanket, sleeping peacefully. What had held Sam spellbound, as he battled emotions, was the image of Lizzie. Lizzie, all grown up, that incredible reddish-gold hair cascading down her shoulders, its ends brushing Emma’s blanket. She’d been smiling, but her smile hadn’t quite erased the sadness shadowing her eyes. Eyes Sam remembered as always being so full of life, mischief, and joy. Emma bounced, hard, bringing Sam abruptly back to the present. Forget it, Brody, he said to himself. It ain’t going to happen. Never in a million years. “She probably doesn’t even remember me.” he added, not realizing he’d said the last aloud.
“Oh, I can assure you Lizzie remembers you, all right. It’s not as though you’re an easy man to forget. Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or am I supposed to guess?”
“If you did, you’d only get it half right. That means I’d better tell you—wouldn’t want your grade average to drop,” Sam teased, grinning at Ty’s narrowed glance. “Main reason I’m here is as a favor to another friend of mine. He’s got a great-aunt living alone out here, in Georgica. Ninety-something and still going strong. But Alex worries she’s too isolated living with no relatives nearby. He asked me to install a security system in her home, one that’s hooked up to the police as well as to his office in Manhattan. But the only way he could persuade her to allow me to set it up was if I agreed to give her private lessons on this computer he bought for her. Mrs. Miller wants to visit museum Web sites, download information, go into chat rooms, all that jazz, but she keeps getting lost in the Web. Spent yesterday afternoon and evening with her. An insatiable woman, Mrs. Miller,” Sam finished, his grin even broader.
“You do that sort of thing?” Ty would have thought this kind of work would be peanuts to him. Sam’s company, Securetech, in addition to having a contract with the government, was also consulted by some of the country’s biggest corporations.
“As a favor to Alex Miller, yeah.” Miller had been one of Securetech’s principal and earliest investors. A financial wizard, he had a nose for sniffing out young, developing companies. Alex Miller’s interest had given Sam’s fledgling business a crucial boost during those tumultuous early months. Now Securetech set the standard by which other companies in the security field measured themselves. That Ty didn’t recognize Alex’s name didn’t surprise him. Unlike her father, Alex Miller preferred to work behind the scenes. His name rarely hit the headlines, making the influence he wielded all the more impressive.
“I’ve also got some information for you about your father,” Sam continued, getting back to the reason for his unexpected presence. “As I thought, someone’s accessed every bit of financial information available about you. I followed the cookie trail, and it went back to Crane, Adderson and White. Your father wouldn’t want it to lead back to his own company. Time to figure out when he’s going to strike and what tactic he’ll choose.” Sam would have said more, but Emma abruptly surged to a stand, weaving as she tried to balance on his muscular thighs, effectively bringing Sam and Ty’s discussion to an end. Sam’s hands automatically spanned Emma’s waist, supporting her, her eyes now almost on level with his. Cornflower blue met amber gold as child and man solemnly took each other’s measure.
“Hey, squirt.”
“Hey, Sam,” Emma’s high-pitched voice returned. “Emma needs to go potty.”
Sam’s mouth quirked. “Awfully glad you decided to share this with me. You want Ty to take you?”
“No, you!” Emma bounced on his legs for emphasis. Sam glanced over at Ty, who shrugged and smiled.
“Use the one next to my bedroom. It’s
upstairs, take a right, second door on your left.” Sam nodded, rising, Emma perched on one forearm.
“Okay, off we go. Want me to carry you, Emma?”
“No, I wanna walk!” Emma declared, sliding down Sam’s rock-solid body fireman fashion. It was a long trip. Then tugging Sam’s fingers, she led the way out of the kitchen. Alone, Ty took a deep, steadying breath. Sam’s news concerning her father was the figurative equivalent of the antidote being almost as poisonous as the venom itself. She shouldn’t be surprised. After all, her father had been trying to control her life for as long as she could remember. That she was twenty-five years old would hardly be reason to stop. What caught Ty unawares was the pain and how it sank its barbs into her heart. She’d truly, foolishly, believed herself past the point of caring what her father did. When the front door opened, voices in the entry signaling the return of Steve and Lizzie, a new concern superseded all others, her father’s machinations included. Sam, Lizzie, and she. In the same place. With Steve. Oh, please, God, not today!
Ty shot up from her chair by the kitchen table. “Hi,” she called out, a minor feat, considering that panicky foreboding leached her mouth dry, making her tongue seem two sizes too big.
“Hi.” Lizzie breezed in, shucking her jacket, Steve following close behind. “Where’s Em?” Lizzie inquired, looking around.
“Um, upstairs.” Ty motioned vaguely with her hand.
“Conked out, huh?” Lizzie nodded sagely. “All this excitement must have got to her. Emma’s such a great napper,” she said, pride lacing her voice. “Steve, do you mind if I use the phone?”
“Go ahead, there’s one by the sofa in the living room,” he replied, all the while looking at Ty.
“Thanks. I’m going to try and reach Catherine’s parents, see when they can arrange to come out and try out the ponies at Damien’s. They’re going to flip over the little Dartmoor pony I rode, Fly, though I’ll do my best to have them think in the long term, in which case Sassafras is the better choice. Mmm, is that coffee I smell? Save me a cup, would you? This shouldn’t take long.”
Before Ty could stop her, before she could figure out how to inform Lizzie that Emma was most definitely not napping. That Sam was there. Sam, whom Lizzie hadn’t seen in years . . . Sam, who right now was upstairs earning his stripes as Emma’s new best friend. Lizzie was gone, leaving Ty and Steve. She gulped. “Hi, how’d it go?”
“Fine. I like your friend. You okay? You seem a mite shaky.” Actually, she looked terrific, if a trifle pale. She’d changed into an azure blue shirt, the vee offering a tantalizing glimpse of skin he’d been thinking about far too often. Her blue jeans were ancient, decades olderlooking than she, white with age, frayed at the hems, and tight enough for him to have his fingers itching. Yeah, she looked great. Casually devastating.
Steve hadn’t been alone with Ty since this morning, since the mind-blowing-back-walking session, and as much as he truly did like Lizzie, he wanted her gone. He hungered for a chance to taste Ty’s lips again, to explore that silky-smooth flesh with his hands. To possess. But it wasn’t about to happen with her best friend in the next room and a two-year-old asleep upstairs.
“Uh, what are you doing?” Ty squeaked, her voice no longer hers to control. His hand was around her arm, just above her elbow.
“Taking you into the kitchen so we can have a cup of coffee together. Like I said, you look a little shaky.” Liar, you’d use any excuse to touch her.
“Don’t you need to go ride or something?” Anything to get him out of here.
“Farrier’s working on Gordo. Mac’s up next. They need new shoes before the Garden. I’ve got enough time for a coffee break.”
“Oh.” Damn. There went her hope of avoiding a meeting between Steve and Sam. Perhaps Steve wouldn’t remember, anyway. It was probably sheer conceit to assume that just because she could remember every second of their long-ago encounter, Steve would.
“You take it black, right? Sugar?”
“Yes, please.” Lord, she must be truly smitten. No other reason for the secret thrill she experienced hearing he knew how she liked her coffee.
Steve carried the mugs toward the table. He had such beautiful hands. Strong and square, they were testimony to years of hard work. Blunt-tipped nails at the end of long, elegant fingers. Clever hands, Ty remembered.
“So, what’ve you been up to?” Steve asked, pulling out the chair next to her. “How’d the morning go?
Make any headway on the list?”
Ty nodded. “And Bubba came by with a wish list.”
“Yeah. Mentioned it when I saw him in the barn. Told me if I had one of those shower and heater jobs, it wouldn’t take him an hour and a half to groom Gordo every time he decided to take a mud bath.”
“What about the other items on the list?” Ty asked, wanting to be sure he agreed before she started placing orders.
“Some of my old stablehands will be returning by the end of the week. I’d already talked to them. We can hire more as the barn fills up. The rest is cosmetic, right? I’ll leave that up to you,” Steve finished with an enigmatic smile.
And what precisely did he mean by that?
That she had good taste or, rather, that he still wasn’t going to let her make any decisions of real importance? Ty thought of her idea for the clinic. That certainly didn’t fall under the category of cosmetic. Well, no time like the present to clarify the situation.
“I also came up with another idea for Southwind.”
Steve took a slow sip of coffee, his blue eyes watching Ty steadily over the brim, all too conscious of the number of times he’d brushed her off in the past few days. His pop would have blistered his ears if he’d witnessed Steve’s recent behavior. And pop would have been right. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
Ty blinked in surprise. “Right. I was trying to come up with something different to build up Southwind’s clientele. It occurred to me that we need to give them a sampling, whet their appetite.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“A clinic.”
“A clinic?”
“Yes.” Ty nodded eagerly. “Just one weekend, so it doesn’t interfere with your show calendar. We could schedule it for some time in December. That’ll give us enough time to get the word out, get everything prepared. We’d offer three days of riding: instruction over the flat, over fences, videotaped with your comments dubbed in a voice-over so that the riders could refer back to problems you pointed out. The horses could all be boarded here, giving the owners an opportunity to see what a beautiful place this is.”
He was silent. Silent long enough that Ty had to fight the urge to fidget. Then, “A busy mind you have, Ty. It’d be interesting to clock. My guess is it’s been racing at about seven thousand rpm.”
“And you prefer your women dumb and blond?” Dear Lord, why had that slipped out? She must have awakened this morning with a mental image of Steve’s date, Cynthia, emblazoned on her brain. Steve grinned. “Not particularly. These days, frighteningly intelligent brunettes seem awfully appealing.”
His grin widened when Ty’s eyes darted away to peer into the bottom of her cup, as though fascinated by the dregs. “And you think a clinic would attract riders who want to train with me?”
His words had Ty’s gray eyes meeting his, comfortable once more, now that they’d left the subject of Steve’s taste in women. “Of course,” she said with a nod. “I’m willing to bet money on it.”
“That so? How much?”
With what could only be described as a cocky smile, Ty named a sum that had Steve shaking his head in laughter. “Sorry, no can do. Even though I’d love to take you up on it, I never bet more than I can afford to lose.”
Ty extended her slim hand across the table. “A gentleman’s bet, then. But you’re still going to lose,” she promised, clasping Steve’s warm hand firmly. “ Remember, I’ve got firsthand experience. I’m the one who got a private lesson from you.”
Did she have
any idea how willing he’d be to give her private lessons in any number of subjects? He’d be a real diligent and thorough teacher, no area left uncovered, no subject he wasn’t willing to explore in depth. He wondered what it would take to convince her.
“Before you go any further with this clinic idea, you’d better make sure Bubba’s agreeable. This bird ain’t gonna fly otherwise,” he cautioned. “It’ll require a lot of extra work.” Extra work for Bubba. And for himself, too. That was why it surprised Steve to realize how good, how right, it felt to have Ty sitting there, a huge, happy smile on her face, her eyes shining bright, a kid at Christmas.
“I’ll go talk to him right now,” she was saying, already rising from her chair. She couldn’t believe it! Steve was willing to do it, hold a clinic. If her sore muscles had permitted, she would have performed a tap dance on the table. “Maybe if I offer to groom Gordo for him, he’ll be so grateful he’ll say yes. Then I can flesh out the details, advertising and the like, while you’re riding.”
“Speaking of which, can I interest you in hopping on Mac’s back again today?”
Those incredible eyes of hers grew round as saucers. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope,” Steve replied calmly, shaking his head. “Best thing for you. ’Course, riding bareback on the beach might be a little much.” His strong white teeth flashed in a smile at Ty’s loud and decidedly inelegant snort. “ Seriously, I guarantee you’ll feel loads better if you ride Mac for a while—think of it as the hair of the dog that bit you. But if your muscles are still ouchy . . .” The timbre of his voice dropped, reaching out to her like a caress. “I’ll be more than happy to walk on you again.” For starters, he added silently.
“Sounds like a win-win situation, Ty,” Lizzie said with a broad smile, unabashedly eavesdropping as she entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee pot. “Go for it.”
