Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash

by Bev Pettersen

  Leo grabbed his arm and gave a hearty laugh. “Yes, well, it’s an improving Center now. Look, Derek. That’s John Simms over there. He runs the local bank. I’ll take you to meet him right after this race.”

  The horses were circling, no gate, only a starter with a red flag. Leo’s mouth flapped but Burke stared, not at the horses but at Jenna. Her dress, so gay and jaunty earlier, was now marked with horsehair and a smear of chocolate ice cream, no doubt left by a child’s grateful hug. His fingerprints dented her hat, and grass stains covered her sandals. She’d come for the people and animals. He’d come for the money.

  Something ached in his chest.

  Kathryn’s insistent voice jerked at him. “Come say hello to Derek Burke, the new owner of Three Brooks, darling.” Kathryn tucked a possessive hand around a man’s arm and pulled him closer. “This is Colin McDonald,” she said. “He owns a vet clinic.” She frowned at the tall red drink in the vet’s hand. “A Singapore Sling? Really, Colin?”

  “For a good friend,” he said evenly. He reached out and shook Burke’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. Wally and your staff do wonderful things at the Center and I’m very grateful. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  He firmly disengaged Kathryn’s hand and walked over to Jenna. Pried the champagne glass from her fingers and replaced it with the Sling. Jenna’s head tilted. Burke couldn’t see her expression, but the naked longing on the vet’s face was unmistakable. He jerked his head away, feeling as though he intruded.

  Kathryn’s eyes narrowed on Jenna’s back. Her mouth flattened and she headed toward Colin.

  “Kathryn, tell me what horse you like,” Burke said quickly, stepping forward and holding out his program.

  “My daughter’s an expert at picking the good ones.” Leo gave another loud chuckle, oblivious to the drama.

  Burke forced a smile, nodding attentively as Kathryn began a recital about her expert system of picking winners. He’d dragged Jenna over here and the least he could do was divert this woman.

  “Oh, this number six horse I also like,” Kathryn went on. She seemed to have forgotten about the vet’s defection and enthusiastically summarized the runners’ pedigrees. “I massaged him once, and he won his next race. The owner said it was solely because of my work.”

  The announcer called, “The flag is up!” The crowd roared. Burke grabbed the excuse to escape, easing away from Kathryn to stand on the other side of Jenna. At least she was buffered now. Colin’s shrewd eyes met his in a tacit moment of understanding. Jenna, however, didn’t look at him.

  The horses galloped around the track, leaping over the jumps in madcap fashion, all miraculously staying on their feet. In the end, a pretty mare sprinted from the pack and crossed the finish line, lengths ahead of the other runners.

  “That mare was bred to Ridgeman’s big stud last year,” Colin said, looking at Jenna but politely including Burke in the conversation. “No foal, so she was put back into training. Strange she didn’t take. Seems to have a new career with jump racing though.”

  “She’s a pretty mare,” Jenna said, her voice rusty. “Same color as Peanut.”

  “How is the little fellow? I’d be glad to come by—

  Leo rushed over and Burke could no longer hear Colin’s quiet words. “You’ll be presenting right?” Leo asked. “In place of Wally?”

  “No, let someone else do it,” Burke said, loath to leave Jenna. “Just mention Three Brooks’ name.”

  “Excellent.” Leo hurried around the tables, gesturing importantly at the winner’s circle while Burke nursed his Scotch and tried not to brood. He should have listened to Jenna. What a cluster fuck.

  The crowd cheered the brave little mare, and the announcer’s voice droned on about sponsors and breeding and the history of the race. And then Kathryn Winfield presented the trophy on behalf of Three Brooks, speaking very eloquently about her new massage job at the improved Center.

  Beside him, Jenna stiffened but only for a moment because her good friend, the vet, leaned over and coolly advised Burke that he was driving her home. And then they walked out.

  Burke walked over to a solitary table, yanked out a chair and sipped his Scotch. Couldn’t remember when he’d ever messed up so badly.

  Oh hell, and then the Winfield entourage paraded back from the winner’s circle and he glanced longingly at the tunnel but it would hurt more to see Jenna slipping into another man’s car, so he didn’t move.

  “Where’s Colin?” Kathryn asked, glancing around suspiciously.

  Burke ignored her and signaled for another Scotch.

  “This is definitely the place to be,” Leo said, sinking heavily into a chair. He reached out, grabbing an entire bottle of champagne from a waiter, almost tipping the tray in his exuberance. “I wonder what the poor people are doing now.”

  Everyone laughed heartily except Burke, who stared at the ice in his glass and wondered if Charlie still celebrated his win or if he’d already started his five-mile trek back home.

  “Surprised she had the nerve to come here.” Kathryn said, still looking over her shoulder, searching for Colin.

  “Who?” Burke asked, his fingers tightening around the glass.

  “Jenna Murphy.” Kathryn sniffed. “It’s just not done. The infield is reserved for business owners. Her family certainly doesn’t own a business. Never have, never will. Don’t you know? They’re trailer trash.”

  Burke wordlessly pushed back his chair, rose and strode into the dark tunnel. Took the shortcut beneath the grandstand, trudging through a litter of discarded programs, cold fries and soiled napkins. Weaved through the parking lot where patrons picnicked on tailgates, cars honked and girls giggled.

  He blocked the racket. Tried to concentrate on his next project—the bankrupt company in Maine or the buyout in California. Tried to think of anything but his most pressing fear.

  She might forgive him, but she probably couldn’t.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jenna groaned and dragged a pillow over her head, muffling the earsplitting racket. Someone pounded on her roof. Oh, God. He couldn’t possible have come today, could he? Not after yesterday’s humiliation.

  She lifted the pillow, pried open her eyes and peered through the crack in the curtains. The sun had poked over the trees but was still very low. Couldn’t be more than six, maybe seven. Too damn early. A ragged piece of tile flew past the window onto the ground.

  Maybe Burke thought she’d run out and yell for him to stop, a convenient way to avoid his promise to fix her roof. Or maybe he didn’t want to work in the midday heat—it was supposed to be blistering hot today. She squeezed her eyes shut, debating. Tell him to get lost and feel good for five minutes, or suck up her pride and get her roof patched?

  And what was he using for patching anyway? She rolled over and checked the bedroom clock. Six thirty. She groaned but scrambled out of bed and crept down the hall. Looked like someone had made a delivery. A load of tiling had been dropped only fifteen feet from the trailer. A conservative beige color, rather pretty actually. It would definitely keep the trailer cooler in the summer.

  She pressed her nose against the window, straining to read the writing on the boxes. It looked like those fancy tiles that carried a lifetime warranty, rather wasteful since the trailer couldn’t possibly last many more years.

  A lot of boxes too. She tilted her head, counting. Looked to be enough for the entire roof which would be freaking wonderful. Of course, she was still very, very cross. She flounced back to bed, surprised to discover the sound of a man working on her roof was quite comforting, a bit like a lullaby. She was even able to fall back to sleep.

  The next time she woke, she stretched, totally refreshed.

  She dressed carefully, even swiped on some coral lipstick. Walked across the yard, not looking once at the roof. Gave Peanut his morning kiss and led him over to the grass. The rat-tatting stopped for a moment, but not long.

  She peeked up but Burke wasn’t looking, and it was obvio
us he’d already made considerable progress. He appeared to be doing the entire roof, hauling off old shingles and replacing with new tile. A shiny aluminum ladder was propped against the side of the trailer, as though her wooden one wasn’t good enough.

  She sniffed but it was hard to show how huffy she was when he wasn’t even looking. She stuck her nose in the air and flounced inside. Made a pot of tea and wandered restlessly around the small trailer. Unfortunately, the sun was now beating down, and the kitchen was airless.

  She retreated to the swing with her tea and fancy phone. Called Emily and received a cheery message.

  “Come home and see our new roof,” Jenna said, trying to sound equally upbeat, but it was early Sunday morning and where was Em? “No more leaks,” she added. “Good luck applying for the scholarship. You can do it. Love you.”

  She cut the connection and wandered back into the kitchen. Sounded as though Burke was working on the left corner, closest to the kennel. He hadn’t yet taken a break. Maybe he had a thermos up there, but he wasn’t stopping to drink, not long anyway.

  Perhaps she should offer him a coffee, or at least water, but he’d been such a prick yesterday. Certain that he knew best. Not earlier in the day though; he’d actually been a good sport earlier. And now it sounded like he was fueled by demons.

  She sighed, trying to fan her anger, but she’d never been able to hold a grudge. He definitely had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, winding himself in knots at her little burn. Frances said the Center doors were now marked ‘entrance’ and ‘exit’, and the staff room had been equipped with a new beverage machine, one of those fancy models that made anything one desired.

  Kathryn would probably like a machine like that. Jenna scowled and dumped the rest of the tea in the sink.

  The hammering stopped. Silence. Something splashed, then a trickling. Good grief. Was he pissing on her roof? She tiptoed down the hall until he was directly above her. It definitely sounded like something dripped.

  Maybe the coward was afraid to come down. She certainly wasn’t letting him use her bathroom. No way. Not after yesterday. But he could at least have the decency to climb down and go in the woods. Her roof leaked, for heaven’s sake.

  She huffed but her curiosity was overpowering. She wheeled and headed for the door. Had to go outside anyway; after all, it was time to clean Peanut’s kennel. She grabbed the binoculars on the way out.

  The pounding didn’t slow even when she rattled open the kennel door and yanked the wheelbarrow inside. He was definitely intent on his job, which was the proper thing, considering all she’d endured at the steeplechase.

  Out of habit she grabbed a pitchfork but edged to the only window in the kennel. The glass was old and distorted but if she pressed her eye against it, she could see Burke’s back. Beige T-shirt with long sleeves. He must be roasting.

  Oh, my…it wasn’t a shirt.

  She hastily wiped a corner of the dusty window with her finger and pressed the binoculars against the glass. Blew out a slow sigh of appreciation. He was bare-chested and those arms she’d noticed earlier weren’t the only thing big. He was magnificent and definitely qualified for any beefcake calendar.

  She refocused the glasses, moving lower. A smattering of dark hair led into the waistband of his jeans.

  Jesus. What was she doing? She dropped the binoculars. If someone spied on her like this, she’d be furious. On the other hand, it was her land, her house, her roof. She hadn’t told him to remove his shirt. And he was sort of her employee. People always watched their employees. Certainly Burke did.

  She dragged a bale of straw to the window and made herself comfortable. Picked up the glasses and supervised, determined to keep her attention on the roof.

  He was doing a good job, only about a quarter of the way through but it was excellent progress. Would he leave at noon and come back tomorrow? It would be horrible if he pulled off all her tiles and then didn’t come back until next Sunday. Or didn’t come back at all.

  He climbed down, his back glistening in the sun. Maybe leaving now? No. His muscles rippled as he hoisted a box of tiles over his shoulder and climbed back up the ladder.

  Good. He should keep working. He was really sweating though. Maybe she should take him a towel, even though the sheen on those ridged muscles was wildly attractive. He scooped up a bottle of water. His throat rippled as he took a long swig then raised it over his head and dumped.

  Ah, so that explained the splashing noise. Maybe he’d like a big jug of water, even some ice. Heat stroke could be so dangerous. Her mother had always worried, rushing to deliver her dad a chilled beer even after an eye-blackening fight. Wimpy Mom had never stayed mad either.

  She blew out an agonized sigh and sank back into the straw.

  ***

  Burke cursed as he hit his thumb, readjusted the hammer and drove in another nail. Damn, it was hot. He swiped his forehead with his arm and opened the last bottle of water.

  He’d have to make a run back to his house, grab a sandwich and something more to drink. He was sweating buckets, but this kind of work was always therapeutic, doubly so since it was her roof.

  He could hear movement in the hall beneath him. The screen door slammed and he paused, praying this time she’d speak, even if it was just to call him an asshole.

  “Hey, Burke.”

  He dropped his hammer, almost tripping as he rushed to the side of the roof.

  “Do you want some water or lemonade?”

  “Yeah.” His voice croaked with relief. Finally. She was speaking.

  “Well, which one?” She tilted her head, eyes flashing with impatience.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll come down.”

  “No!” she said. “Stay there.”

  “Okay.” He sank meekly to his knees, watching as she wheeled around the corner. Her denim shorts almost reached her knees, her faded blue T-shirt was two sizes too big, and if she was trying not to be sexy, it wasn’t working.

  She returned with a pitcher of clinking ice and lemonade, and a plastic cup. Passed it up to him without a word.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She wordlessly began to climb down.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She lifted a haughty eyebrow but paused on the ladder.

  “The cup will blow away. Wait a sec and I’ll give it back.” He took his time drinking then quickly refilled his cup, studying her face. In situations like this, it was always important to get the woman talking, but he didn’t have a clue what to say.

  ‘Sorry’ wouldn’t work. She’d look wounded and stalk off, and they’d both feel like shit all over again. Christ, he hated her wounded look.

  “There will probably be some tiles left,” he said, scrambling to fill the silence. “Maybe enough to do Peanut’s kennel.”

  “Really?” Interest flashed across her face then her expression shuttered. “That’d be nice.”

  “I’ll do it next Sunday.”

  “This roof looks good,” she said grudgingly.

  He poured himself another lemonade, wondering where the hell he was going to put it. There was no way she’d let him use her bathroom, and anyway he didn’t deserve it.

  “The raises are going through this week,” he said, trying to hide his desperation. The accountants were going to scream and he didn’t give a rat’s ass.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “I imagine they’re retroactive.”

  “Yes…of course.” He paused and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Ah, when did you imagine they’d be retroactive to?”

  She tilted her heat thoughtfully. “Back to the sale date, of course.”

  “Yes. That’s what I thought.” He stared blankly at his full glass. “Was there anything else we should talk about?”

  “I think Frances deserves a raise,” Jenna said. “Even though she doesn’t have much education, she’s been trying. Even doing a lot more typing.”

  “Yes. I was thinking that myself.” He cleared
his throat. “Five percent, I thought?”

  “Should be ten.”

  He nodded. Would have gone fifteen but Jenna was having fun and deserved to turn his screws. He drained a fourth glass, almost bursting his bladder. “I wonder if I could use your bathroom?” he asked meekly.

  “All right,” she said.

  ***

  Jenna parked Burke’s Audi after a drive to town and swept back into the trailer, carrying a bag of antibiotics for Peanut. It had been rather fortuitous Colin had driven her home last night and lingered to check the pony. ‘Low-grade skin infection,’ he’d said. ‘Drop by and pick up some antibiotics. And use that light therapy at Three Brooks. It works wonders for this type of thing.’

  Kind, gentle Colin. Seemed she always pushed the good ones away. She stumbled on the bottom of the step but straightened her thoughts and peered up at the roof.

  Burke had materialized at the far corner, scanning his big car, obviously checking for damage. The Audi had been a dream to drive, so loaded the dashboard resembled a small airplane, unlike the simplicity of her battered Neon.

  She stepped back a few feet, tilting her head so she could watch his reaction. “Thanks for letting me borrow your car. I haven’t been able to drive my standard yet,” she waved her wrapped hand just in case he needed a reminder, “but it feels a lot like my Neon. My car takes the bumps a little bit better though. I’ll let you drive it sometime. Maybe we should trade for the week.”

  His eyes flared with panic and the thought of him squeezed into her underpowered rust bucket made her grin. He hadn’t said much when she’d delivered a peanut butter and jam sandwich on dry whole wheat bread. Only nodded when she’d stated that the chicken coop needed a roof too, and he had wordlessly tossed down his keys when she’d mentioned a standard shift was hard to handle with one hand. He hadn’t even complained about the blaring country music.