Unforgettable: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Cajio, Linda

  “Now, just one minute,” Lettice began.

  Anne cut her off. “I will be checking before the van leaves, and if you try to sneak in anything other than what I have just listed, it will be put back on the van. If you defy me and have everything moved in, I will have my people move everything back out, and they will be instructed to dump it on your front lawn. You are my guest, and as such I will treat you with gracious hospitality. I only ask the same of you, Madame.”

  Lettice stared regally at her. Nobody moved, nobody breathed in the stunned silence. All of them waited for the mega-ton explosion that was sure to come.

  “Six things,” Lettice finally said.

  “Four,” Anne countered.

  “Five.”

  Anne smiled. “Four, and that’s it. It was a nice try, Grandmother. Now cut your losses.”

  Lettice harrumphed, then turned to the moving men. “You heard my granddaughter, gentlemen.”

  “I warned you that you wouldn’t get away with it,” James said to Lettice as the men opened the back of the van.

  “Don’t be an ‘I told you so,’ James,” she snapped before going around to the back of the van to pick her four things.

  Anne sighed with relief.

  “Wow!” Philip exclaimed. “Nobody tells Grandmother Lettice what to do, Mom.”

  James grinned at her. “Nice shootin’, Anne. You got her right in her good manners.”

  She grinned back. “I do feel like I just lived through the O.K. Corral.”

  Her gaze had been focused on his eyes. Now it began to wander, and she found it fixing on his mouth. She wondered what it would be like to feel his lips on hers again. Would they take her to a glorious paradise? Or would they fill her with a scorching heat? It had been so long since that one kiss between them. Part of her was terrified that she was even wondering, and part of her wanted to know the answers.…

  “Boy, when’s that horse getting here?” Philip asked, drawing his mother’s attention. He stared up the drive.

  “Yeah,” James added. “When’s that horse getting here?”

  Relieved to be distracted from her traitorous body’s response, Anne smothered a chuckle at the two of them. But her brain echoed the same thought. Now that she had settled with her grandmother, when the hell was that horse getting here?

  Lettice regally marched up the steps, the moving men following her, loaded down with suitcases. “I know the way, Anne,” she said, and swept into the house.

  Anne grinned and glanced at James. Abruptly she realized they couldn’t just stand there, staring at each other, while they waited for Battle Cry. Her heart couldn’t take it, for one thing. But the alternative of inviting James inside for coffee seemed too cozy. Not exactly the signal she wanted to send. Unfortunately, she had no choice without being rude.

  Screwing up her courage, she asked, “Would you like coffee while we wait?”

  His smile almost melted her. “I’d love it.”

  They went inside. She was all too aware of James walking directly behind her, his steps matching hers. It reminded her of a big cat stalking its prey … patient, watchful … all that power under control … waiting for the right moment to reach out and take …

  The kitchen, with its everyday utensils, brought a needed dose of common sense to her unruly imagination. James might be an attractive man, but he was just a man. Getting involved with him would be a mistake. She’d already made one, and she wasn’t about to make another.

  She poured them both coffee and settled across the kitchen table from him. He said nothing, but simply gazed at her, his eyes pinning her. Her face heated, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath. His gaze lowered to her breasts. Her nipples tightened.

  Move, she told herself. Say something. But her body was melting under his hot, sensual gaze, and she wanted nothing more than for him to reach out and touch her, kiss her.…

  Philip skipped into the kitchen, chattering away. “Grandmother Lettice says she’ll take me to the art museum and to see the dinosaurs.…”

  Anne flopped back in her chair, released from the sensual purgatory James had created within her with just one look. One look! She was in deep trouble.

  “Get Lettice to take you through the armory room at the museum,” James said, sounding completely uneffected. “They have weapons over two thousand years old.”

  “Really excellent!” Philip exclaimed.

  As the two of them discussed war gear through the ages, a vague uneasiness settled over Anne. James seemed to enjoy talking to Philip. She would have thought he wouldn’t be bothered with a child. But far from condescending, he was genuinely interested in Philip’s opinions. And Philip was clinging to every word. Enjoying children was a side of James she hadn’t expected. The image she’d had of him slipped further off its pedestal, leaving her even more confused.

  They no sooner finished their coffee when a second van was heard roaring along the drive. Philip spoke for the adults when he shouted, “Finally!”

  They all hurried back outside. The drivers had been sent a map with instructions on where to unload the horse. Clearly, a mixup had occurred, and to Anne’s horror she watched the van take the right turn off the circular drive toward the mares’ stables, not left toward the stallion barn.

  “Stop!” she screamed, waving and running toward the van. “Not that way!”

  “Not that way!” Philip shouted, his tone echoing his mother’s panic.

  The driver waved back, and she realized he’d taken both her and her son’s motions for a welcoming. The windows of the cab were rolled up and the man couldn’t hear her. The van continued on around the drive. Anne ran after them, her son running with her. Most of the mares were in heat, and there’d be hell to pay when the stallion got within scent of them.

  “Why are we running?” James asked, jogging up alongside her.

  “That’s the mares’ stables,” Philip said, panting. “The horses’ll all go crazy if they’re put together. We gotta stop them before they get too close. Otherwise, Battle Cry’ll go nuts.”

  Anne was grateful her son had answered. She didn’t want to waste the breath. All of them ran faster.

  They were too late. They arrived at the first courtyard of the mares’ stables to hear clattering hooves and something heavy banging against the inside walls of the horse van. This was topped by loud whinnying and human curses, also from inside the van. From the stables came dozens of answering whinnies and more banging, while the mares in the paddocks outside were running restlessly, their foals at their sides. Her people were scurrying around, trying to calm the animals, but nature was having its own fireworks show. Nothing but distance would stop it.

  “Dammit! Move that van!” Anne shouted as the driver and an assistant simultaneously opened the cab doors. “Follow the drive all the way around. Now, move it!”

  “But … but …”

  “You heard the lady,” James roared. “Move that van!”

  The men slammed the doors shut in hasty compliance. From the back of the van she heard “About bloody damn time!”

  With a screech of tires, the van zoomed off around the rest of the drive. Her face heated from the run and from embarrassment, Anne was relieved to see it go … and resentful that it had taken James to get the driver to pay attention. After all, she was the owner of the farm, not he. She had always hated not being taken seriously—she had even quit racing when she discovered the other jockeys “eased up” on her because she was a woman. She could never be sure she had truly won a race, or if the men hadn’t ridden all-out against her. And yet she was in a male-dominated business. Sometimes she just had to grit her teeth and accept help from “the great big man.” Still, the whole incident was humiliating. James was probably thinking she was a nincompoop. She wished she could start the day over and make a much better impression with him.

  Otis, her head groom for the mares, strode over to her. “Who was the idiot who did that?” he demanded.

  The idiot wasn’t import
ant. The mares were. Concerned, Anne asked, “What about the mares, Otis? Do you think this upset them too much?”

  “Probably not as much as it upset the stallion. The mares should be okay. They’re calming down now.” They could hear the panicked whinnying and restlessness abating. Otis chuckled. “Poor Battle Cry. He probably thought it was a deliberate torture to smell all the ladies and be trapped inside that little bitty box.”

  Anne couldn’t help grinning at his description. Otis was small and dark and had a knack for knowing when the mares would be most receptive to a stallion. She was lucky to have him, and she knew it.

  Philip tugged at her sleeve. “Mom? Can we go see Battle Cry now?”

  “Yeah,” James said, grinning excitedly. “Can we?”

  Anne smiled at him. She couldn’t have stopped the smile if she tried. And she didn’t want to try.

  “Go, go, Anne,” Otis said, shooing her with one hand. “Your mares will be fine. Go see to their new husband.”

  With a last wave they were again on the run.

  James glanced at the woman next to him with a mixture of admiration, tenderness … and lust. Annie Kitteridge was something, he thought. She’d gone toe to toe with her grandmother, and that had taken quite a bit of courage. Truthfully, he wouldn’t want to face down Lettice. Then Anne had been ready to take the van driver apart for his mistake, and in the next breath was genuinely concerned for the well-being of her mares. Now she was ready to handle the arrival of a prized and very touchy stallion.

  He noted her face was flushed, her jaw set with determination, yet that look only made her seem young and vulnerable, just as he remembered her from that summer long ago. His heart twisted. She moved with a grace a dancer would envy, and her light scent, like clover on a dewy morning, spun enticingly through his senses. She challenged a man to break through the steel and find the softly petaled rose underneath.

  “All these horses,” he said breathlessly as they jogged between the fenced pastures. “And we’re running like Carl Lewis on the five hundred.”

  “I prefer Flo-Jo,” Anne said. She laughed. “I’d say Battle Cry is pretty free of quirks, wouldn’t you?”

  “And loving the idea of retirement,” he added, grinning at her.

  She blushed and glanced at her son. James realized it might not have been a good remark to make in front of Philip, but the boy was already pulling ahead of them, his attention obviously on getting to the barn first. James liked the boy. Philip had the same look of determination as his mother, combined with a child’s excitement. He knew exactly how the boy felt.

  They arrived at the stallion barn just in time to see the back of the van opened and the ramp being laid out. Inside the dim interior a robe-covered horse was still prancing restlessly, but not frantic enough to burst its restraints.

  “I heard,” were the first words from Anne’s head stallion groom, Curtis.

  Anne nodded to the tall young man. James had missed Curtis on his first visit to the farm. As he was introduced, he decided the man was a little too tall and too young for his liking. Also, he gazed at Anne with a proprietary look that James didn’t care for. Even knowing he had no claim on her, James was bothered by Curtis more than he cared to admit.

  “When he calms enough to back him out of the van,” Anne said briskly to Curtis, “put him into one of the paddocks. He can run the rest of his excitement off there.”

  “Right.”

  Curtis was a man of few words, James observed.

  The first thing out of the transport van was not Battle Cry, but a small gray-haired man who immediately turned on the hapless driver and his assistant.

  “You nearly sent my boy to the glue factory!” he shouted, not at all sounding like their coworker. “What the hell happened back there?”

  The two men nearly fell all over themselves trying to explain about misreading the map. The gray-haired man glowered ominously, then snorted. “If there’s any damage to my boy, I’ll see everyone here sues your company for giving us two of the biggest dummies the good Lord created!”

  “Excuse me,” Anne said, frowning at him. “I’m Anne Kitteridge, the owner of Makefield Meadows.”

  He turned and appraised her, then smiled and shook her hand. “I’ve seen you race, miss. You were a fine rider in your day. And you’re making quite a name for yourself with this farm.”

  “Thank you,” Anne said, smiling at his compliment.

  Before she could say more, he turned to James.

  “And you must be Mr. Farraday.” The man grinned, his anger gone like lightning. He grabbed James’s hand and pumped it vigorously. For a small man his fingers were surprisingly strong. “I’m Oliver MacGinley—Mac to ya. I saw you when you came out to see Battle Cry several months ago, although you probably don’t remember seeing me. Now you’re the new owner of my boy. That’s wonderful, wonderful, sir. I work for Riker Racing Stables, Battle Cry’s trainer. I’ve had the pleasure of taking care of my boy since he left his mama. Oh!” He reached into his pocket and produced several papers. “Here’s the paperwork.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” James said. He took the papers from Mac and shoved them into his pocket without a glance. He tried to remember the man from his trip last fall to Riker, but gave up. The place had been huge, after all. “Did he make the trip all right? We’ve been a little worried about that.”

  “Set your mind at ease, sir. He’s a good traveler. Except when he’s taken to the wrong kind of stables by a couple of … Never mind.”

  James chuckled. “Your hard work made him a winner.”

  Mac nodded. “That it did, if I may say so. Many long hours I put in schooling him—”

  A stamping and a loud whinny interrupted Mac, who seemed to jump at a hidden command.

  “That’s my boy wanting out of his cage.” The man scurried back up the van ramp, calling over his shoulder. “You’ll be wanting to see him anyway. I’m forgetting my manners, sir and good lady. I won’t be needin’ no help,” he added suddenly to Curtis, who moved toward the van. “My boy will come out like a lamb, you’ll see.”

  The man definitely had charm, James thought as Mac disappeared into the van’s interior. Especially with his manner of formal speech. Somewhere, too, was a hint of a long-ago brogue. He refused to admit, however, that Curtis’s angry expression at being reprimanded had any influence on his opinion of Mac.

  He glanced over at Anne to find her looking worried. He wished he could wipe away all of her concerns, whatever they were. His surge of protectiveness wasn’t good, he knew. It meant there was more than chemistry at work. He’d have to be much more careful from now on.

  The horse came out just then, with a last little prance of hooves. Mac unclipped the blue robe, whisking it off Battle Cry’s broad back, then led the animal over to a paddock. He regally allowed Curtis to hold open the gate before he unclipped the rope lead and slapped Battle Cry into the pasture. With a snort of startlement, the horse leapt forward like a well-oiled machine coming to life. Curtis shut the gate, and all the humans walked over to the fence and leaned on it, watching in reverent silence.

  Battle Cry was breathtaking. He was a true bay with a white blaze down his forehead. His ears flicked with intelligence, the eyes were almost fiery with an inner life force. The deep reddish-brown hide gleamed with vitality and covered a streamlined body of solid bone and muscle. He galloped around the enclosure with a grace that was pure pleasure to see.

  “Wow,” Philip said in awe, speaking for all the adults.

  “He’s beautiful,” Anne said, her voice dreamy. She leaned her forearms along the top rail and rested her chin in her fist.

  “I knew it would be like this,” James murmured, watching her watch the horse. Nothing in the world would ever give him more pleasure than this moment. He had spent a whopping amount of money to get Battle Cry, and it didn’t matter a damn. He felt honored just to be in the horse’s presence. Furthering his line would bring a wild beauty into the world that
no money could buy. Anne understood all of that, he knew. It was why he had been so desperate to share this with her. Louder, he said, “He looks happy in his new home.”

  “Hardly fretting, but no thanks to those nitwits,” Mac muttered ominously, then added, “So you all like my boy.”

  Anne smiled at him. “You’ve kept him in good health, Mac.”

  To James’s amusement, Curtis nodded grudgingly.

  “It’s my job, miss.” Mac stared at the horse and sighed. “That was my job. Who will have his care now?”

  “All of us share the duties,” Curtis said.

  The man straightened. “But he hates a lot of different people touching him! You’ll upset him, make him unhappy—”

  “His whole routine will be different now,” Anne said, her voice soothing. “It will be very hard on him, I know, and he’ll miss you. But we’ll be extra good to him, Mac. We know how to help a horse adjust to a new environment. You come back in a few weeks and it’ll be as if he’s always been here.”

  James could hear the sympathy in her voice. He felt bad, too, for the man. That Battle Cry would adjust he was sure. It was Mac he wasn’t sure of, and he felt responsible for causing this unhappiness.

  “I don’t doubt you’ll take good care of him,” Mac said, “and I mean no insult. But you don’t know his quirks. Ya wouldn’t have an opening for a groom, miss, would you? I’ll just take care of my boy, I promise. I’ll just see to his personal needs. Everything else up to your people, of course. I wouldn’t interfere, miss, and you’ll only have to pay me room and board.”

  Anne smiled gently. “I’m sorry. I have all the grooms I need right now.”

  “Mom!” Philip looked stricken at her words.

  The life seemed to go out of the little man, although he straightened with dignity. “I … I was hoping. But I can’t say I didn’t expect ya to refuse. Oh, well. Riker’s planning to retire me, too, when I get back. Not looking forward to it. Can’t turn off the horses, can we?”