Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash

by Bev Pettersen

  She faltered and he nodded encouragingly.

  “I might also say,” she added, “that they sometimes fall asleep under the lights and that it’s especially beneficial after a massage. And that they love it.”

  “Very good, Anna. Now jog my memory—where exactly is the massage room?”

  “Down the hall, to the left. But Jenna wants people to knock before entering.”

  He strode down the hall and pushed the door open, deliberately not knocking. Jenna glanced up from a thick textbook, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Hey, Burke. Next time knock. Don’t scare my horse.”

  “There’s no horse in here.”

  Her smile was slightly mischievous. “But you didn’t know that. Have a seat.”

  He didn’t like to be offered anything that was already his, but it had been a tiring day and she, at least, wasn’t uptight. He stretched out his legs, folded his arms behind his head and watched her through narrowed lids. Rather odd to have a textbook beside her. None of the other technicians had books.

  “Studying for something?” he asked.

  Her hesitation was almost imperceptible but it was there. “I have my massage diploma but I’m finishing my…equine sports certificate.”

  “Burke policy is to increase salary with all post secondary education.”

  Interest flared in her blue eyes. “Yes, I heard. Actually, I’m pretty much finished. So that’s a ten percent increase, right?”

  “That’s right. How many horses can you massage a day?”

  “As many as you want.” She laughed. “And it also depends on what’s wrong with them and how quiet they are.”

  “I need an exact time for scheduling. Is there an appointment book somewhere?” Massage was probably the least important treatment offered with less tangible results. If the profit margin was negligible, he intended to drop the service. Not that he’d tell her, not yet. And for now, it would increase profits to squeeze in as many massages as possible.

  “Of course, there’s an appointment book. Wally keeps it up to date.” She subtly shifted on the chair, but his senses were honed and he knew the signs of guilt. “Would you like to see the next patient?” She gestured at the end doors. “Molly will be arriving soon.”

  And indeed Molly did arrive. He’d never seen such an ugly mare, with cow hocks, a swayback and a dragging left hip. “Jesus, why don’t we just shoot her,” he said.

  “Shush, Burke. You’ll hurt her feelings.”

  The handler’s eyes widened. Jenna really shouldn’t be telling him to shush—and she definitely shouldn’t be calling him Burke—but he was too stunned by the horse to bother with a reprimand. This unsightly animal couldn’t possibly be a Thoroughbred.

  Jenna dragged a blue plastic block behind the horse’s hindquarters and stepped up. He hadn’t seen many massages before, but the ones he’d viewed had always started at the front. Maybe she was doing a shorter version since the horse was evidently on its last legs.

  Made perfect sense, he decided.

  “Is this a ship-in?” He cautiously lifted the mare’s front lip, surprised to see a tattoo. Old and faded, but clearly a tattoo. Definitely a Thoroughbred.

  “Molly’s more like a lead-in,” Jenna said with a smile. “Now please stop talking. I need to concentrate on my patient.”

  Her face set in concentration as her hands moved slowly down the horse’s rump. The mare’s trusting eye followed as Jenna circled to her side—clearly the mare believed she was in competent hands. Always a good sign.

  But he was puzzled by Jenna’s technique. This was like no massage he’d ever seen. “What exactly are you doing over the sacrum?”

  She shot him a warning frown. “Be quiet, Burke.”

  He tightened his mouth and scowled at the attendant who ducked his head and scraped the rubber matting with his boot. At least one of the people in this room was respectful.

  “There,” Jenna pronounced, stepping gracefully off the block. “She should move better now.”

  Derek snorted. If this were Wally’s clientele, no wonder Three Brooks operated in the red. He doubted anything could improve this nag, and it wouldn’t help the Center’s image to have animals collapsing in the aisles.

  Clip, clop. His eyes widened as the mare walked evenly from the room. Nothing could ever be done for her conformation but her hip no longer dragged, at least not at a walk.

  Jenna was leaving, following the mare without so much as a word, and he stalked after her. “Tell me what you did.”

  “Of course,” she said. “But first I have to talk to the owner.”

  Talk to the owner. Of course. That was good. Owners and trainers appreciated full reports, would pay a premium for the service, although it was preferable to present them in writing, complete with a glossy folder. More efficient, better publicity and with the right clientele, the Center could draw horses from all over the eastern States.

  He joined the parade, following the handler, the mare and Jenna down the aisle and through the wide end doors. He didn’t see a trailer; in fact the receiving lot was disturbingly empty, a fact he needed to remedy.

  A freckle-faced boy popped up from the grass, sporting ripped jeans, a stained shirt and a gap-toothed smile. “Thanks, Jenna. She looks way better now.” The kid reached over and plucked the rope from the attendant’s hand.

  “Not so fast, Charlie.” Jenna stepped forward, hands on her hips. “Have you been racing Molly again?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Don’t lie to me, young man. I know you’ve been racing.”

  “Maybe just a few times.” The kid’s gaze darted to the ground and he twirled Molly’s lead rope. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he added sheepishly, “but I have to practice for the big race.”

  Jenna’s voice softened. “It’s not the galloping. It’s the hard start. If you want to race, ask your friends for a trot start. She’ll hold up much better.”

  “Yeah?” The kid brightened and tugged on the rope. “Can I ride her home?”

  “Walk her down the driveway and mount past the gate. But take it easy and stay on the soft shoulder. Molly’s a nice horse. You need to take care of her.”

  Derek dragged a hand over his jaw. “Leave us,” he snapped, jerking his head at the handler who quickly fled back into the building. Derek waited until Charlie was out of earshot. “What the hell was that?”

  “Local boy with a horse.” Jenna shrugged. “I made the mare feel better.”

  He stared down the circular drive, watching as the kid angled his horse to a rock, scrambled onto her bare back and trotted away. “We treat ride-ins?” His voice sounded strange and he had the absurd notion he might laugh.

  “Sometimes. This place is never busy so of course we help the community.” She squared her shoulders. “Wally said you wanted to stop that, but I really think you should reconsider.”

  “This is a profit center, Jenna, not a charity. Our plan calls for treating an elite animal with a high profit margin. You can’t have nags like that stumbling up to the back door. It weakens our image. Besides, who knows what contagious diseases they might carry?”

  He shook his head, still scowling. Wally must be an imbecile, probably charging half price to locals. He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “What price do the locals get?”

  She stuck her hands in her back pocket, shrugging, and he was momentarily distracted by the way her shirt tightened over her breasts. Momentarily.

  His voice hardened. “How much did he pay, Jenna?”

  Her gaze darted to a blue bag half full of cans and he couldn’t help it. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  She grinned then, flashing him a conspiratorial smile that would lighten any man’s mood. “Maybe we should charge a full bag next time?”

  “There can’t be a next time.” He forced a frown, purely out of habit, but it was obvious he didn’t scare her. Christ, she must be used to some hard-assed men. “We don’t have insurance for walk-ins,” he added, still trying
to figure out how to stop this practice without raising the town’s ire.

  “I never let the kids mount until they’re off the grounds,” she said, reaching for the bag of cans. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid at all. And where are you going with those cans?”

  “Putting them in my trunk.”

  “Ah, ha. But that would be stealing, Jenna.”

  “I usually collect them for the school. But I’ll leave them in your office if you want.”

  He blew out a long and resigned sigh. “Please. Put them in your trunk.”

  Chapter Four

  Peanut’s ears flicked toward the crest of the road and Jenna guessed a car was coming. Despite his age, the pony’s hearing was excellent.

  Seconds later, she heard the purr of a powerful engine, definitely not a diesel.

  She considered whistling for Peanut but feared he’d be hit when crossing the road. Besides, most of the caretakers tending the Three Brooks’ mansion knew enough to slow down. Probably safer to leave the pony where he was.

  A black car streaked over the hill and Peanut, for some obscure pony reason, ambled to the middle of the road, tiny ears pricked in welcome. Rocks peppered the bottom of the speeding car as it skidded to a halt. The driver’s door snapped open.

  Jenna sauntered down the steps and across the yard, hiding her fear the only way she knew how.

  “What the hell is that?” Burke asked, stepping out.

  “That’s my racehorse, Peanut. You’ll have to drive a little slower on this section.”

  “I’m not talking about the pony.” His eyes widened as he stared over her head at the crooked trailer. “Please tell me Three Brooks doesn’t own that.”

  “Three Brooks doesn’t own that.”

  “You live there?” His normal scowl darkened to amazement.

  “Happily.”

  “Indoor plumbing?”

  “Installed last week.” She laughed then because despite his growly exterior, he really was quite a good sport, not even complaining about loose livestock nibbling away at his property.

  “I guess my place is a little further down.”

  “Yeah, another half mile,” she said. “Wally had some extra cleaners working around the clock.”

  His scowl darkened and she regretted mentioning Wally, but Burke was still scrutinizing her property with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion. “This place needs a bulldozer.”

  “Absolutely not. It’s my home.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t Three Brooks own this land?”

  “Not this strip.”

  “I’ll have our lawyers find a loophole and make you an offer. What’s cooking?” He sniffed the air. “Chicken?”

  “It’s not ready yet.”

  “I’m in no hurry. And I want you to look at some appointment books, if you don’t mind.”

  They both knew it wasn’t a request and she turned away, pretending to admire the red glow settling over the valley. “You’re working late?” she asked.

  “Checking out a few things.” He reached through the open window, grabbed the green appointment book and Wally’s private blue one. Pocketed his keys with a wry smile. “Think my hub caps are safe here?”

  “Peanut’s pretty honest.”

  “Good to know.”

  Her feet dragged as she walked toward the porch. He, on the other hand, glanced around, assessing everything with a clinical stare. “Kennels? No hounds?”

  “No hounds, not anymore.”

  He nodded as though he understood, but she knew he couldn’t and she tugged her pride tighter, trying not to see the property through his eyes—the rusty hubcaps nailed to the shed, the crooked porch, the forlorn kennels. Deserted by everyone but her.

  “Have a seat outside.” She jammed her hands in her pockets, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Tea, water or beer?”

  “Beer, please.”

  He was polite for a hatchet man and she opened the screen door, hurried to the stove and flipped off the oven—dammed if she’d share her chicken—grabbed two beers and kicked the fridge door shut with her foot.

  She passed him the bottle, challenging him to ask for a glass, but he didn’t say a word. Just nodded his thanks and took a long drink. His strong throat rippled. She took a second to admire the sight, but pulled her gaze away before he noticed.

  The appointment books lay between them and she glanced down once, then stared at the reddening skyline. He hadn’t spoken, and she was determined not to make it easy.

  “Nice view.” He settled against the seat, looking much too comfortable. “That pony always loose like that?”

  “Only for an hour in the morning, a couple hours in the evening.”

  “I’ll watch out for him then.”

  “Appreciate it.” Her grateful smile faded as he reached down and picked up the books.

  “You in this with Wally?” His voice was curiously flat, as though discussing the weather and not their deceit. However, anger radiated from his big body.

  He was too savvy to trick and she blew out a weary sigh. “Yes, it started with a couple sore horses, worried owners who couldn’t afford the treatment. The Canadians didn’t care but didn’t want the auditors to discover we were giving away free services. They asked Wally to keep a separate log. We probably do ten a week now, at free or reduced cost.”

  “I understand that. You made it perfectly clear this afternoon. But what about the other horses?”

  “That’s it.” She shook her head in confusion. “There are no other horses.”

  He pulled out a sheet, pinning his gaze on her face. “Last week you massaged thirty horses. Yet in the official books, it’s reported as thirteen. And it’s physically impossible for anyone to massage thirty horses a week.”

  “It’s not impossible. You saw how fast results came today.”

  “Strange massage.” He grunted. “Looked more like chiropractic. And where’s the money for the rest of the sessions?”

  “I was having trouble with some bills,” her throat thickened, “and Wally offered to pay me cash.”

  “How much does he pay per horse?”

  “Twenty dollars.”

  “I see.” But Burke didn’t sound appeased and, if anything, his voice roughened. “That volume of horses can’t be good for your shoulder.”

  She swallowed, ripe with misery. She’d blown it. He was going to fire her and rightly so—Emily would have nothing. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick.

  “From now on, it’s five horses a day, max. Don’t push yourself. And no more under the table stuff.”

  He continued his lecture in a solemn voice, but she couldn’t concentrate after the ‘from now on.’ Seemed she wasn’t going to be fired after all. Her bottom lip quivered with relief. And gratitude.

  She wasn’t exactly sure when he turned silent or when his enigmatic eyes settled on her mouth. But she sensed his sudden awareness, the thickening of his breathing, the subtle shifting of his body.

  “Want another beer?” She scrambled from the swing, holding her bottle in front of her chest like a shield.

  “No, I’m good.” He rose gracefully for such a big man. “I better go.” He strode to his car without a backward glance.

  Well, that’s a relief. For one crazy moment, she’d thought he might kiss her and that could have turned out to be extremely problematic. So it was a relief he’d chosen to leave, most definitely.

  He paused by his car. “We’ll have that chicken tomorrow,” he called, before sliding behind the wheel and roaring away.

  Chapter Five

  “Trevor’s dad is a doctor,” Emily said. “I can’t bring him home. It would be way too embarrassing.”

  Jenna’s fingers tightened around the phone, and she kicked the trailer door shut with her foot. “I’d never want to embarrass you, Em.”

  “Then you understand why I can’t visit this month. Maybe later, when Trevor likes me enough.”

&nb
sp; Enough to overlook her dubious background. Jenna flung her purse on the passenger seat and jerked into the car. “Of course,” she said, but it was hard to keep her voice from cracking. “Come when you can. And good luck with the biology paper.”

  “Thanks for helping with the research. I’d still like a summary though. At least this semester, you can help while the material is so basic. You won’t understand once it gets complicated.”

  Jenna jammed the phone against her shoulder, fighting her frustration. Emily was ashamed—ashamed of her family, their home and once she had a degree she’d probably be more embarrassed. “I really have to go to work.”

  “Why the rush?” Emily’s carefree laugh filled the phone. “Just tell Wally you’re helping me with a course. He never cares when staff are late, as long as they do their job.”

  “Wally’s not in charge, not now anyway. Three Brooks was sold. There’s a new guy here.”

  “I heard something about that. Is he cute?”

  Jenna paused. She wouldn’t call Burke cute. He was too dangerous, circling like a panther, looking for a weakness and poised to pounce. She checked her watch. Thirty minutes on the cell, bills to pay and now late for work. “I’ll work on your paper tonight, Em. But just the research. You have to do the rest. And remember not to use your cell phone so much. Texting is free.”

  Emily gave a long-suffering sigh. “I wish we had more money. Trevor doesn’t understand when I ask him to text. And it would be a big help if you could do the summary too. Everyone else can afford to buy their papers. Bye, bye.”

  Jenna closed the phone, rubbing her forehead as she bounced the little Neon over the dirt road. Maybe on the weekend she could massage some local animals and make a few extra bucks. Unfortunately her friends and neighbors expected her to work for free, or else for a token bag of recyclables. Most people in the area simply couldn’t afford high-priced pet care. However, she simply couldn’t ignore animals in pain, not if there was something she could do to help.

  Possibly she could buy some chickens and sell eggs again, but that wouldn’t cover Em’s phone bill or even come close to paying for new shingles. She’d grown to rely on the extra cash Wally paid and despite the toll the additional work took on her shoulder, its loss left a gaping hole in her paycheck.