by Susan Fox
The laughter had faded from her eyes as he spoke. But when he finished, she smiled again. Gently. “Ev, you have a brilliant brain, but you gotta admit you really are a klutz.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Jess. You know what a self-fulf illing prophecy is? That’s what you and I created. But it’s not true. I’m as good at sports as the next guy. Not a natural like you, but not bad.”
Her mouth formed a silent “oh.”
“About riding . . . I wasn’t trying to learn how from a book. I only wanted some background.”
“Background is good.” Her voice sounded choky and moisture sheened her eyes. “Gosh, Evan, I’m sorry. I misjudged you. I feel like . . .” She sniffed. “Like I ruined your childhood single-handedly.”
He chuckled. This was vintage Jess. Her emotions ran close to the surface. “Don’t overdramatize. But a person tends to live up to others’ expectations, right? Well, have higher expectations of me.”
She sniffed again, then smiled tentatively. “All right, I will.” Then she touched his forearm. “I did notice you’ve, uh, developed some muscles.”
His arm tingled. He looked down and saw three grubby fingers resting on his bare skin. There was dirt and he hated to think what else under her short fingernails. How could these fingers send such a zing through his blood? A zing that went straight to his groin.
“Squash,” he blurted, moving his arm away and swinging an imaginary racquet.
Her cheeks were pinker than they’d been a moment ago. Had she felt that zing, too? “Running around a court chasing a ball? Boy, that sounds like fun.”
He refused to apologize for preferring squash to riding. “It keeps me fit. And I run, lift weights. Ski.” Away from her touch, his pulse slowed. A little. “Believe it or not, I skate at Rockefeller Center every winter.”
“You used to say the only muscle a man needed to develop was his brain.”
“My brain got so heavy, I had to build up some other muscles to support it.”
She grinned. “I dunno about your brain, but your ears used to be pretty darn big.”
They laughed together.
“Gosh, Ev, I’ve missed you. You know that?”
“Me, too.” Now that he was standing next to her, he couldn’t imagine how he’d survived ten years without her. Or how he would survive the next ten.
Her smile was so openhearted . . . and then, in a flash, it changed. As if she’d remembered something bad. Damn. Guess it was too much to hope that they’d be able to put everything behind them.
He grabbed the reins from her hand. “Okay, teach me the trick for mounting this gigantic beast.”
“Um, well, you should tighten the cinch first.”
“You mean I was right?”
“Yup, actually. Madisun would have left it loose and—”
“Show me how.”
But he regretted the request when her grimy fingers guided his own fumbling ones in hoisting the strap tighter around Rusty’s belly. How could grubby hands possibly be so arousing?
He hiked himself on board, she sprung onto her black horse, and they rode over to the training ring. There, Jess told him to circle the perimeter, keeping Rusty close to the fence. Simple, repetitive, and it gave him time to reflect. He’d survived his apology, even though Jess had thrown in a twist he guessed would have him awake to all hours.
She’d seduced him? He didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.
She’d cared for him. Not just as a friend, but romantically. Of course, she’d said it was only a silly crush, and she’d had no qualms about blowing him off in an e-mail a couple months later. Still, she’d cared. He had, too, though he’d never sorted out how much was friendship, how much was lust, and how much was . . . something else. A crush, like she’d said.
“Heels down and straighten your back!” Her voice broke into his musings, and he obeyed her instructions. Glancing over at her, looking so pretty and at home on horseback, he wondered if there was a chance the two of them might resurrect their friendship. Having found her again, he didn’t want to lose her for the second time.
Jess was married, and surely Evan could get over his totally irrational feelings of attraction. Good God, he was dating Cynthia, who was exactly the kind of successful, classy woman he’d always wanted.
But even if he did handle the attraction issue, what about Jess’s business scheme, and Gianni? He stretched his back, which ached from doing nothing more than sit atop a horse. He hoped Jess had developed a head for business and he could, in all good conscience, make a favorable recommendation. He hated the position Gianni had put him in.
He also hated how sexy Jess looked, sitting tall yet at ease in the saddle, a grubby white T-shirt hugging her curves.
“Take Rusty to a trot,” she called.
“I hate trotting. It hurts.”
“Of course it does if you flop around like a sack of potatoes. Come on, Ev, you have muscles now. Use them. Watch me.”
Mesmerized, he watched her thighs and trim butt as she trotted her horse around the ring. Then, gritting his teeth, he gave it another try, and began to feel marginally more adept even though his muscles screamed in protest.
Finally, Jess said, “Okay, time to call it quits. You done good, Ev. There may be hope for you yet, cowboy.”
They rode together into the deserted barnyard. Evan clambered awkwardly out of the saddle and winced as he landed on the ground.
“Sore?” Jess asked, swinging lightly from her own saddle.
“I’m finding new muscles.”
She yanked the hat from her head, hooked it over a fence post, and pulled off the leather thong that held her hair in its tail. She tilted her head back and raised her hands to shake her hair loose, beaming with pleasure. The gesture was unaffected and purely sensual. It left him breathless.
“You should have a sauna before supper,” she said, hands still at her head, torso stretching with abandon. “Remember, this is a resort and spa. The idea is to feel good and have fun, not to suffer.”
He almost groaned. If she didn’t want him to suffer, she shouldn’t toss her hair that way. She shouldn’t lift her arms high and wriggle around like that, so her T-shirt strained against her breasts.
Grimly he reminded himself of the reason he’d come to the Crazy Horse. “So tell me what you’re up to these days, Jess. No more dreams of winning the Triple Crown?”
She shook her head, then flashed a quick, conspiratorial grin. “No, but I do have—” She broke off and her face sobered. “It’s been a long day. I have chores to do before I go, and you don’t have too long before supper. You really do need a sauna. And I’d bet, this close to mealtime, you can find a masseur or masseuse who’s got an opening. Just think how good a massage would feel.”
Oh, yeah. Every muscle in his body was begging. Resigned, he shrugged. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Sure. See you in the morning.”
“See you.” He began to make his painful way toward the lodge.
“Evan?”
He turned back to find her staring at him.
“Why are you here in Hicksville?”
She’d asked before and he knew he’d eventually have to respond, so he had worked out an answer. It was even three-quarters true. “I belong to a young businesspeople’s association. A number of us are around the ten-year mark in terms of when we left home to pursue our careers. One of the men came up with the idea of a ten-year plaque to celebrate our achievements. One of the women threw out a challenge. Before we could qualify for the plaque, we had to achieve something we were afraid of or backed down from or failed at as a kid.”
Jess’s forehead scrunched up. “What a weird idea.”
He’d thought so, too, which was why he’d voted against Harriet Prince’s proposal.
“You couldn’t have settled for skating?” Jess asked. Then she shook her head. “No, that would be too easy. It had to be riding.”
He nodded. “It sounds ridiculous.
”
“It’ll make for some interesting stories when all you big successes get back together and report on your return to childhood.”
That was pretty much what Harriet had said. And that was another reason he liked Cynthia; she’d agreed that the idea was absurd. Now it occurred to him that, if he really did learn how to ride, he could actually earn the stupid plaque. Not that he wanted it.
“So you need a trophy to prove to you how far you’ve come,” Jess murmured.
“Of course I don’t.” Annoyed, he turned away again and began to hobble along the unpaved road, wishing he could just peel his boots off and toss them into the bushes. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that she stood still, staring after him. He raised a hand and, after a moment, she raised her own.
Evan took a deep breath, then continued along the road to the lodge. It was uphill, of course, which he figured was a fair analogy to this whole Crazy Horse experience.
Jess had cut herself off when she’d begun to reveal her latest dream. She didn’t trust him enough to pour out her heart as she had when she was a girl. The truth was, he didn’t deserve her trust. But if he couldn’t get her to tell him about her no-frills riding camp, how the hell could he evaluate it? What’s more, he felt like a pile of horses hit for deceiving her. And he felt as guilty as hell for being attracted to her.
He needed to hear Cynthia’s voice. He hadn’t talked to her since he’d arrived. When he’d tried yesterday, his call had gone to voice mail. Now—he made the calculation quickly—it would be evening in New York. She’d probably be out for dinner. Oh well, at worst he could listen to her recorded voice. Maybe that would restore his sanity.
As he approached the picturesque log lodge framed by lush hanging baskets and a garden full of brilliant flowers, he tried to evaluate it through Cynthia’s eyes. He remembered Gianni’s term: upscale rustic. Yes, it was. If it was a ski lodge in Switzerland, Cynthia might like it, but when you combined it with heat, dust, and the smell of horses, he knew she’d be unimpressed. On the other hand, the spa facilities were world class. Maybe he should ask her to join him.
The lobby was quiet and he claimed the chair by the old-fashioned pay phone. He positioned the chair to face out the side window, though there wasn’t much to see but a mass of tall trees, and called Cynthia.
A bird hung on to the side of one of the trees, banging its beak into the trunk. The word woodpecker flashed into his mind, surprising him because he was no more a bird person than a tree expert. Was the creature beating its head against a brick wall, just as he was? No, likely it was hunting for bugs. Doing something productive.
It was a pretty bird, with a red throat and black and white spotted markings.
“Cynthia Jefferson.”
“It’s really you. I was half expecting voice mail.”
She laughed, a husky, sexy purr. “Darling. You called to talk to my voice mail? Shall I hang up?”
“Don’t, please. I just wanted to hear your voice, in any form.”
“Homesick?”
“Yeah.” Oh yeah. He’d been feeling frustrated and restless, and now homesickness hit him like a punch in the gut. He stopped watching the stupid bird. If he were in Manhattan, he could be sitting with Cynthia in one of their favorite restaurants. He imagined waiters bustling around, other diners negotiating deals or flirting across the table. Cynthia, full of energy, just like the city, telling him about the latest merger she’d negotiated. Looking amazing, all sleek and sophisticated. Immaculate, from her short, elegantly styled blond hair to her perfectly manicured fingernails and pedicured toenails.
“Tell me you’re finished and you’re coming home,” she said.
“Don’t I wish.”
“You can’t just interview this wrangler person, get her business plan, make an assessment, and fly home?”
“Gianni’s determined that I not reveal why I’m here, and immerse myself in ambiance. He calls it ambiance, I call it horseshit.”
She chuckled. “Sounds utterly disgusting.”
“Pretty much. And I ache in muscles I didn’t even know I had.” Calling her had nixed the possibility of a sauna, so he would shower and do the stretches his personal trainer had given him, though they’d been designed for a desk-bound CEO, not a beginner rider.
“Poor baby. Still, it’s true there are factors to consider other than purely financial ones, and you can often assess better by observing.”
“You’re right,” he admitted. He always valued Cynthia’s intellect and her opinion.
“It’s harder for a person to deceive you. If this woman is going to run the type of operation she pitched to Gianni, she needs quite the package of skills. Strong organizational ability, excellent business planning and budgeting, marketing, people skills, as well as the actual, um, horsy talents, whatever those entail. So, what do you think so far?”
How much should he tell her? “Something unexpected happened. It turns out this TJ Cousins is actually a girl I knew when I lived here. Do you remember me mentioning Jess Bly?”
“Of course. Your best friend when you were children. Good Lord, Evan, is she the person you’re investigating? That’ll make it difficult.”
Cynthia didn’t know the half of it, thank God. He’d never told her about his adolescent lust, nor the night at Zephyr Lake. “It does. I feel like I’m doing something underhanded.”
“Hmm. Of course you’d hate to mislead an old friend. But Evan, surely in this case your loyalty is to Gianni. He’s the sole reason you’re there.”
“That’s true. But he should trust me. I can tell Jess why I’m here, and still make an objective assessment.”
“Darling, you’re the best at what you do, but you’ve never had to analyze a friend’s business proposal. She’ll try to trade on your old friendship.”
“She’s not like that.”
Another husky laugh. “Don’t be naïve. Everyone’s like that. The animal instinct for self-preservation. She may not even be conscious she’s doing it, but you’ll feel pressured.”
It was true. He already did. But at least if Evan preserved his anonymity and Gianni decided not to invest, Jess would never know Evan was behind that decision. He grimaced. That didn’t sit well with him either. How could he and Jess renew their friendship if the foundation was a huge lie? “I’m caught between a rock and a hard place,” he muttered.
“You are. But you have excellent business sense. You’ll make the right decision.”
And she could help him stay objective, not to mention keep him from thinking dirty thoughts about Jess. “Why don’t you come and join me?”
He listened to dead air for a moment, and then she said, in a tone of disbelief, “You want me to come to the Crazy Horse?”
“There’s a luxury spa. All sorts of seaweed wraps and manicures and massage. Pilates, too. You love that kind of thing.”
“I love it because I’m a frantically busy lawyer who needs to destress on occasion.”
“Destress now, here with me. I promise you’d never have to ride a horse.”
“You can bet on that. But seriously, Evan, you know it’s impossible. I have a full schedule. By the way, Bob Graham’s coming in tomorrow. From Weston Ventures? He’s thinking about buying that up-and-coming software company, Dynamite, and it could be quite exciting. Hush-hush, of course.”
“Of course.” They often discussed confidential matters, and trusted each other implicitly.
“Now, darling, I must run. I’m in a cab and it’s just arrived at Nobu. I’m having dinner with Vanessa and Yul.”
“I’m envious.” The food at the Crazy Horse actually was gourmet, but he yearned for the sophistication of New York eateries.
After he hung up, he sprawled back in the chair and thought about Cynthia’s analysis of his situation. She thought Jess would, intentionally or unintentionally, try to trade on their prior relationship. He had once accused Cynthia of being cynical and she’d given him a condescending smile. “No, darling, just
realistic. It’s another thing we have in common. It’s part of the reason we’re both so successful.”
He knew her assessment of him was correct. Yet he did believe—as he knew she did—that decent people could promote their own interests without being unethical or dishonest. That’s why it bothered him so much to keep quiet about his reason for being at the Crazy Horse.
And Cynthia was wrong about Jess. Jess would never manipulate him. She was honest and completely without guile.
Except that she had seduced him by means of a rather complex deception, and only confessed ten years later....
Damn. He didn’t want to think of Jess as a schemer, any more than he liked keeping secrets from her.
He rose creakily to his feet and glanced out the window, noticing that the colorful bird had disappeared.
Chapter Four
Jess sat at the kitchen table at Bly Ranch, eating her mother’s roast chicken, taking a second helping of the parsley-sprinkled boiled new potatoes her father passed, but mostly watching Robin as she ate supper and chattered about her day at school.
Tonight, the similarities between her daughter and Evan seemed particularly pronounced, though no one else had ever noticed. The touches were subtle—the Bly genes had taken over the dominant features like bone structure and color of hair and eyes—but Evan’s signature was there. When Robin screwed her face into a grimace as she told about some icky boy’s gross joke, she mirrored Evan’s expression when he’d seen the manure on his new Tony Lamas. When Rob’s young brow furrowed with concentration as she described the science project she was planning, it was Evan’s look as he listened to Jess describe the correct riding posture.
Evan’s genes had definitely gone into creating this unique, fantastic human being.
Should she have told him back then? Given him a chance?
No, of course not. In the past ten years, he’d achieved the life he always dreamed of, and that wouldn’t have happened if he’d known about Robin. Evan, whatever his flaws, was an honorable guy. He’d have insisted on marrying Jess, and they’d all have been miserable. This way, they were all happy. Yes, she’d done the right thing.
