Jockeys and Jewels

by Bev Pettersen

  He paused a moment. “Yeah.”

  She swallowed as she imagined the quality of his animals. Lazer wasn’t even his best. She felt inexperienced, gauche and slightly jealous. Her own family had worked so hard, struggled on the fair circuit. Sacrificed so much.

  She stared at the green hills, trying to untangle her feelings. At least it was Kurt. If someone was born to privilege, she was glad it was a man like him. He was kind to his horses and, when he chose to be…kind to people as well.

  She turned back, able to tease with hardly any rancor. “So you really are another spoiled Easterner, always handed the easy road.”

  “I’m not spoiled, Julie. But I am an Easterner.” His gaze lingered on her lips, and she felt an odd tingle before his attention swung back to the road.

  He was probably an excellent kisser. He had a thin upper lip, much fuller on the bottom, but it softened when he smiled, like he was doing now—

  Her gaze shot to his eyes, and she blushed. He was watching her again, comfortable with the fact she’d been studying him, and, oh God, maybe he even knew what she’d been thinking. He always seemed to know.

  “What did you do before training?” Her voice sounded breathless.

  “Whatever I was told,” he said. “What about you?”

  She gathered he hadn’t liked some of his orders and she wanted to hear more, but there was a finality in his voice, in the abrupt way he’d turned the conversation.

  “I wanted to be a jockey since I was three,” she said. “Mom rode and taught me a lot. But she wanted me to go to university. Wanted me to have options.”

  She tapped her fingers on the edge of the window, not wanting to think about the last four years—the sheer exhaustion of university courses, ranch work and the need to hone her riding skills. She’d been reduced to racing on the bush, unable to break into Calgary’s elite jockey lineup. But now she had the time, the opportunity to prove she had enough talent to ride with the pros.

  She calmed her hand and pointed out the window. “The Millarville track is past those poplar trees. That’s where I rode my first race.”

  She didn't add that it was a stock horse race. No starting gate. No rules. If he knew much of her experience was at small tracks and local fairs, he wouldn’t want her. Kurt’s background was blue blood—no backyard tracks in his pedigree.

  A fat gopher darted across the road and Kurt shifted the wheel. She leaned forward, checking the side mirror as the gopher emerged intact behind the long trailer.

  Skill or luck? If it was skill, he was a helluva driver. And soft enough to care about a gopher. How sweet. Her heart gave a little sideways shuffle. She checked his hands, large capable hands with big fingers which Sandra swore corresponded to a big dick—Julie quickly slam dunked those thoughts and averted her head, staring into the fierce eyes of a red-tailed hawk perched on a post.

  “Good hunting for hawks,” Kurt said, as the truck and trailer rumbled by. “Gophers are everywhere.”

  She nodded, surprised he even noticed the bird. “I wanted more hawks after one of our horses stepped in a gopher hole,” she said, surprised she was sharing the story. It still hurt to remember how her favorite yearling—a last gift from her mother—had broken his leg, and her words stumbled, rusty at first, but coming faster as he listened in empathetic silence.

  “I took my rifle and sat for an hour in the back pasture,” she concluded. “Wanted to rid our field of gophers but couldn’t take a shot. Decided they were part of living here.”

  “It's hard to kill,” he said quietly.

  “Yes.” He was a good listener, but she didn’t want to babble his head off anymore so she relaxed in the seat and admired the vast stretch of looming mountains. Their jagged teeth were stark against the sweep of blue and except for an occasional pump jack, the view was timeless.

  Her father only rode in the fall, on his hunting weekends, but when she was young, she and her mom had enjoyed countless rides. Life had been full of fun and horses and long chats. God, she missed her.

  She realized Kurt was talking and jerked around, blinking away the sting in her eyes. “Pardon?”

  “What kind of rifle do you have?” he repeated.

  “Mine is only a twenty-two, but we have racks of guns. And a pistol.”

  “I see.” He stopped talking, studying the view as the truck and trailer bounced along the rutted road. Ranches dotted the hills, intermingled with stands of aspen and spruce, and she thought it was the prettiest spot in the world.

  “Turn left at the next driveway,” she said, breaking the silence.

  He swung to the left of the cottonwoods and followed a rail fence that flanked their property. Some posts had been replaced, and the green color contrasted with the weathered rails. She lowered her window and shouted at the blue heron standing in their trout pond, but the bird remained unruffled, legs hidden in the dark water.

  Kurt laughed at her frustrated groan. “We’ll make a scarecrow. See if it keeps him out.”

  Her heart jerked at the easy way he linked them, and she leaned forward on the seat, fingering her seatbelt, as she directed him up the driveway to the barn.

  “This place must be a lot of work.” His eyes narrowed as he studied the fields of cattle and horses. “Just you and your dad here?”

  “It’s not so bad now,” she said, “now that I’ve finished my degree.”

  “It must have been tough driving into the city every day.”

  Her face tightened in a defensive reflex. She couldn’t remember telling Kurt she’d commuted, and it had been a sore point—her dad had wanted her to live in residence. However, he’d needed her too much, both physically and emotionally. “I only went part time,” she muttered.

  Kurt was watching her with that interested expression so she shrugged and kept talking. “Mom had just died. The drive wasn’t so bad once I got used to it.”

  “So you put your life on hold for a while,” he said as he eased the truck and trailer to a stop.

  She blinked, jolted by his statement. No one had ever said it so succinctly, but that’s exactly what she’d done. And no wonder. Her selfishness had caused her mother’s death. She waited for the customary rush of guilt but felt only sadness. The heavy guilt had ebbed.

  “You’re right. Guess I did put it on hold.” She pushed open the door and leaped to the ground, feeling much lighter.

  He lowered the ramp and backed Country Girl off the trailer. Cisco’s plaintive nicker resonated behind them and the gelding strained to see his travel buddy, unhappy at being left alone.

  “This way,” she said, and Kurt led the mare down the lane, following her to the empty paddock. He unbuckled the halter, released Country Girl and joined her beside the gate. The mare dropped to her knees, rolled luxuriously in the grass then galloped along the rail, bucking and calling to the other horses.

  She peered at Kurt’s face, trying to figure his thoughts. She’d done the bulk of the talking today and while he knew much about her, he was still an enigma. He’d stretched his arm over the top rail, looking relaxed and clearly enjoying seeing the mare run free. His expression was satisfied, almost triumphant.

  His elbow brushed her arm, but she didn’t edge away as she generally did when men moved too close. Didn’t want to.

  “My vet will drop by,” he said, breaking the easy silence. “Take some blood, run a few tests.”

  “Is something wrong with her?” She stared up at him in alarm. She’d hoped the mare would race later in the month, especially after running such a brave third. With Kurt as her trainer, the mare would no doubt improve. Heck, she’d almost won last night, even hampered by Otto.

  “It’s just a routine check I run on all my new horses,” Kurt said, but she noticed he didn’t look at her. “It helps me work out their feeding program.”

  “How long will she be here? I can gallop her in the evenings. Keep her in shape.” It would be great for both of them, and the mare would be even better after a break. “I woul
dn’t charge you,” she added when he didn’t answer.

  She saw him swallow and then he turned to her, his eyes regretful. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure if she’ll ever return to the track. I know she was one of the horses you rode. But if she does run again, I’d definitely want you to ride her.”

  “Oh,” she managed, moved by his empathy almost as much as by the loss of the mare. She tried to force a smile, but her lower lip quivered.

  “Damn. Please. Don’t look like that.” His voice roughened. “You have Lazer. And you can ride Ace too, if you want.” He wrapped his arm around her in a reassuring squeeze. “But this mare shouldn’t race. She’s had a tough time.”

  Oddly she wasn’t that upset, her disappointment tempered by the knowledge he was right. There had been something wrong with the mare, and it was nice he was a responsible owner. Nice that the mare was free and eating grass. Nice that he’d kept his hand splayed around her hip.

  She could feel the heat of his body, smell his minty breath, and if she turned her head a few inches…a quiver of anticipation shook her.

  “The mare is going to like it here,” he said. His warm breath fanned her ear, sending little shivers down her spine. “Peaceful, no bugles.”

  He lifted his hands to her shoulders and gently turned her around. His eyes darkened as they settled on her mouth, his desire so obvious her pulse jammed into overdrive. She knew she should remind him, remind her, that she absolutely never dated trainers. Absolutely never.

  She could stop this thing right now. But the intensity that pulsed from his big body was too magnetic, too overpowering and it was impossible to do anything but rise on her toes and slide her arms around his neck.

  His head dipped and his mouth covered hers. A hand slid beneath her hair to cup the back of her neck. His mouth was firm and hungry and coaxing. Her lips automatically parted and when his tongue slipped in her mouth, her brain seemed to shut down. She clung to his hard shoulders, conscious of nothing but his kiss, the way his tongue mated with hers, the way he feasted on her mouth. Sensations rocketed through her, and she was only dimly aware of his bold hand as it drifted over her rear and tucked her between his hips.

  Her world shifted and she had no conception of time, but when he finally lifted his head, she clung to him with a shameless sigh.

  “Julie,” he breathed, his voice husky, his eyes a darkening gray. He dragged a thumb over her lower lip, and she saw him swallow. “Is your dad home?”

  “His truck’s here,” she managed but his thumb traced a sensual path along her neck, lingering over her collarbone, and it was difficult to speak.

  “Let’s grab you a horse then.” He lowered his hand and brushed her mouth with a quick kiss. “Remember where we stopped.”

  She stared, blinking in disbelief. Her legs were weak, her brain still stumbled, and he was thinking of riding? “We stopped,” she muttered, “just as I was about to say this was a bad idea.”

  He tilted her chin, his breath ragged. “This is a damn good idea. And I’d really like to be alone with you right now.”

  “We sort of are,” she said, amazed at how the touch of his hand on her neck could cause such a ricochet of sensations.

  Steps pounded beyond the barn, and she jumped. Kurt gave her a rueful smile and stepped back just as her dad, hatless and frazzled, charged around the corner. The brisk wind ruffled his gray hair, and he looked half dressed without his Stetson.

  “Glad you two are still here. I need some help.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?” she asked, adjusting Country Girl’s halter over the post, afraid that if he saw her face, he’d know she’d been kissing Kurt. And, in fact, wished they were still kissing.

  “Got a mare in for breeding,” he said, “and she ain’t cooperating.” His voice was thick with impatience, and he vanished behind the barn.

  She looked at Kurt but he’d already turned to help her dad, and she followed them both, weaving through the outbuildings until they reached the round pen where Dude paced the fence in a frenzy of anticipation.

  “Nice-looking stud.” Kurt’s warm gaze flickered over Julie’s before turning to her father. “Foundation breeding?”

  “Yeah, Joe Cody bloodlines. Dude’s offspring are real versatile, great in reining and cutting. You interested in Quarter Horses?”

  “Where’s the mare?” Kurt asked.

  Julie hid a smile, admiring how he’d averted a long pedigree conversation. Her dad had the fanatical zeal of a breeding enthusiast and would have talked for hours. She always found it boring.

  “It’s Nick’s, the farrier’s mare.” Her dad retrieved his dusty Stetson from the dirt and slapped it against his leg before placing it carefully on his head. “I put her back in the barn, first stall on the left. She’s a first-timer. Needs a chain. Almost kicked Dude’s head off. Mine too.”

  Julie turned to get the mare, but Kurt touched her shoulder. “Relax. I’ll get her,” he said quietly.

  Minutes later, he reappeared leading Nick’s horse, a pretty bay with four white socks. Julie had seen Nick rope with the mare. She was agile and quick, but lacked power, and the farrier hoped for a foal with more size than his dam.

  Kurt led the mare into the pen and adjusted the chain over her nose. The mare stared at the stallion, trembling in response to his hopeful snorts. Her tail was wrapped, and she squatted slightly.

  “She looks ready,” Kurt said.

  “She doesn’t know what she wants,” her dad said. “I teased her with him earlier. She was responsive then, but changed her mind.”

  Their blunt words made Julie flush. She’d helped with countless breedings, but Kurt’s presence and his hot kiss left her strangely self-conscious. Her gaze drifted back to him; she studied his body while he was busy with the mare.

  His arms were big—he was almost as muscled as Dude—and his biceps rippled when he patted the mare. When he reached up to adjust the halter, she glimpsed his ridged stomach. Her breath quickened, and she clambered up on the top rail, figuring she might as well enjoy the view. Most of the men who brought mares for breeding were potbellied and ancient, almost as old as her dad. Kurt was a vast improvement. And he sure could kiss.

  “Ready?”

  Her dad’s question pulled her attention back to Dude who pawed and stretched his head, curling his upper lip in response to the mare’s odor. He nuzzled her flanks. Julie felt a rush of sympathy as the fully erect stallion swung up and entered the mare with a savage thrust.

  Dude covered her, biting her urgently on the neck, then signaled jerkily with his tail. He withdrew with a satisfied grunt.

  “All he needs now is a cigarette,” Julie said, oddly irritated by his contentment. Tomorrow he’d be just as eager to breed the next mare led into his pen.

  Kurt chuckled, but her father shot her a reproachful look as he guided the stallion through the gate. “I’ll rinse off his penis,” he said.

  Her face warmed. She jerked her head away, awkward again now that she and Kurt were alone. She slid off the fence, reluctant to meet his eyes. “I’ll walk the mare around a bit,” she said.

  “I’ll do it, honey,” Kurt said. “You go catch your horse.”

  Honey? She’d always thought that word sounded patronizing. Had never let anyone at the track call her that. Even Otto had backed down after saying it once too often. But they weren’t at the track now, and it didn’t really annoy her. In fact, the easy way it rolled from Kurt’s mouth kicked her body into a tingling awareness.

  She shoved her hands in her back pockets and sauntered toward the pasture, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel. Certainly she couldn’t deny the attraction, but events were moving much too fast. And a man who could kiss like Kurt was dangerous. She didn’t like her mindless reaction. Needed time to think. Time to regroup.

  Unfortunately she had the disturbing feeling she was no longer the one in control.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kurt unwrapped the mar
e’s tail, staring over her rump to watch Julie trudge toward the south pasture. Her head was bent; she appeared deep in thought. He hoped those thoughts included him. Her passionate kiss had left him hard with need and if she wanted a little fun, he’d be more than willing to provide it. In fact, he intended to shove any thoughts of Bixton right out of her stubborn head.

  “Thanks for the help,” Adam said as he walked up and stroked the mare’s neck.

  Kurt smoothed his expression before turning and tossing Adam the rolled bandage. Julie’s father always seemed to be creeping up on him. It was a bit unsettling, especially when he’d been eying Julie with distinctly carnal thoughts.

  “Going to be a nice day.” Adam fingered the tail bandage and scanned the sky with an expert eye. “Be nice to go with you, but I’m helping a neighbor shuffle some cattle.”

  Kurt nearly choked on his relief. Much as he liked Julie's dad, three would be one too many for this trip. He nodded, making a sound that he hoped passed for disappointment.

  “Did you get your mare settled?” Adam asked.

  “Yeah.” Kurt nodded, happy to change the subject. “She's in the middle paddock next to the buckskin. I wrote down her feeding directions and an emergency phone number. Be careful. She's lost faith in people. A vet is dropping by for a routine check. How do you want the board handled?”

  “You can pay later when I figure out her costs. Let’s go back to the house and grab a coffee.”

  Kurt followed Adam into the cedar home. The screen door slammed behind them, and a huge mottled shadow stalked down the hall.

  “Sit, Blue,” Adam said, using a bootjack to pry off his muddy boots. “Don’t pat the dog. He’s not real chummy.”

  “What kind of dog is he?” Kurt asked, noting the dog’s raised hackles. “Coat looks like a seal.”

  “We don’t have many seals in Alberta.” Adam’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Julie found him when he was a pup. Probably part coyote with some heeler and Australian shepherd mixed in. He's great with the stock, tougher than a badger. Doesn’t like many people, but he’s a helluva dog.”