She’d stiffened but really couldn’t move. He had her arms wrapped beneath his, her head tucked against his chest. Yeah, it was a pretty good position.
“You think I’d just elbow him for no reason?”
She sounded wounded but he’d seen her leap over the reception desk at Frances in defense of her sister, and the incident with David had to be addressed. “I just think you might do things a little differently around here…and I don’t want it to happen again.”
He tilted her chin and tried to kiss her—to prove how understanding and forgiving he really was—but she jerked her head away. “Please take me home now,” she said, sliding to the far side of the car.
She hardly spoke the rest of the way home but pain emanated from her in waves, and he realized that somehow he’d offended her. Again.
He parked in the driveway but she opened her door before he’d even turned off the engine. “Good night,” she said, and ran lightly up the steps.
He sighed, lingering long after she was safely inside and the porch light clicked off. She fought when mad but ran away when hurt, and it was damn frustrating. He always believed in knowing when it was best to throw down your cards and cut your losses. She wasn’t exactly high maintenance, but she was unlike any woman he’d ever slept with.
And he hadn’t even slept with her.
He gave an indignant grunt and backed from the driveway. The closest they’d come to making love was the day he shingled her roof. He should have done things differently then and perhaps slipped past all this prickliness.
Of course, she had a couple more roofs that needed repair. He brightened and grabbed his phone, keen now to check tomorrow’s weather forecast.
Chapter Twenty
The sound of a hammer jerked Jenna from a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she peered out the bedroom window. Early morning and Burke was pounding again, this time on top of the kennel. Poor Peanut would likely have a heart attack.
She pulled on a T-shirt and shorts and rushed out, the screen door slamming behind her. Peanut lifted his head, gave a welcoming nicker and shoved his nose back into the dewy grass. Okay, so Burke had let Peanut out first. That was good…rather thoughtful actually.
She hadn’t expected him to really fix the old kennel, but only a fool would turn down a helping hand. She slipped back inside and made a cup of tea and a big pot of coffee.
Ten minutes later, she walked over with two steaming cups and stared up suspiciously. “What is it you want today, Burke?” Luckily he had his shirt on, although those brawny arms were probably enough to quicken any woman’s pulse.
He walked to the side of the roof, grinned down and her heart flip-flopped. He could rip her insides out with his blunt comments, but that endearing grin sucked her in every time. She hated lying to him. And she was falling deeper. I hope he leaves soon.
“What do I want?” he repeated, still grinning. “How about supper tonight? I’m pretty lonely in your little town, sweetheart.”
He climbed down the shiny ladder and she had a chance to discreetly admire those broad shoulders, his muscled forearms. No need for him to be lonely—anywhere—although it would kill her to see him flirt with someone else.
The admission left her agitated and she shoved the cup toward his chest, almost sloshing coffee over her toes.
“Whoa. Remember the tea.” He grabbed the mug, then stilled, staring at her hand. “What happened? Your blisters are ripped.” He studied her fingers, an odd expression on his face. “How the hell did that happen?”
His voice had hardened with such fierce protectiveness, she knew she’d been right to not speak about David. She rose impulsively on her toes and distracted him with a quick kiss. “I gave Peanut a long massage last night,” she said.
“You stayed up after I drove you home?”
She nodded and glanced guiltily at Peanut. He’d had a late night session in the oxygen chamber as well as under the infrared lights. But Wally hadn’t been around and it had been a lonely, almost spooky visit. “He looks great, doesn’t he,” she said. “Guess the antibiotics are really working.”
“He looks good but no more massages.” Burke still frowned at her hand. “If you’re coming back to work next week, we need you healthy. We also need you able to massage the Ridgeman horse. Otherwise,” he paused for effect, “we’ll hire someone else.”
He was such a manipulator. But she only rolled her eyes and let him guide her to a flat rock by the kennel.
“Sit.” He pulled her onto his lap. “And tell me what you’re cooking for supper.” His words were bossy, but his tone was nothing but hopeful.
“Trout, I think,” she said, watching his face. She was an expert at pan-fried trout, but he was probably used to some very fancy meals.
“Trout’s my favorite,” he said quickly. “I’ll buy it, you cook it.”
“No need. There’s plenty in the brook. The Canadians stocked the upper lake but didn’t fish it much so the trout are thriving. I actually go there once a week.”
“Ah, ha. So you’ve been pilfering my fish.”
“Just a few meals, boss.” She placed her tea on the ground and snuggled into his chest. It was so much easier to relax with him when he was out of a suit, out of his office, away from work. Right now, she could pretend he was a normal guy. Heck, he even acted normal. Last night’s stiffness was gone, and everything was so simple. So easy.
He seemed to feel it too. He set his mug down and tilted her chin, drinking in her face. “You know how I feel about stealing,” he said gruffly. “This definitely calls for some sort of punishment.” His head dipped, blotting the sun. His lips were gentle at first then more insistent as his tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring, until she turned completely in his lap and wrapped her hands around his neck.
Minutes later he pulled away, his breathing ragged. “Honey, you’re killing me. I’m going to finish the shed tomorrow then rip the shingles off and do it all over again. If that’s what makes you sweet and cuddly, consider me your personal roofer.”
“There’s something very attractive about a man with a hammer,” she admitted. “And much more my type.”
“Good to know. And now I’m going to follow you down to the brook and supervise this fishing operation.”
“Only if you’ve finished the roof,” she said.
***
“Damn, look at that monster.” Burke whooped as he pulled in another olive-brown fish, its silvery speckles glinting under the sun. This was the most fun he had in years, so much so, that he’d confiscated Jenna’s fishing rod after the first trout and hadn’t yet returned it.
She was a stickler about size though. “Sorry,” she said. “A quarter inch too small. You’ll have to throw it back.”
“Too small. This is the biggest yet.” He whirled in time to catch her grin and splashed her with a handful of water. “Four is probably enough though, right?”
“Why don’t we catch a couple more and we’ll take some to Mrs. Parker. She always appreciates fresh fish.”
“Great idea. Bait my hook, honey,” he teased. He had no idea who Mrs. Parker was, but he definitely wanted to keep fishing. He loved the little squeals Jenna made when he pretended to drop a worm down her shirt.
He stuck another worm on the hook, chuckling when she averted her head from its helpless twisting. “For a country girl, you’re quite a sissy. What would you have done if I wasn’t here?”
“Bait my hook with hot dogs.” She idly chewed a blade of grass and studied the row of fish lying at her feet. “By the way, how much longer do you think you’ll be here?”
“That depends.” He cast the line across the brook toward the shade of a big tree where the fish had been biting all morning. She wandered up and he pulled her in front of him and stuck the rod in her hand. “You bring the next one in, hotshot.”
As expected, she turned her attention to the water, let out a little more line and forgot her question. He had an interview late this afternoon for Wally�
�s position. As soon as a good manager was in place, he’d be ready to move on. Although it would be nice to see the Ridgeman stud before he left. And Jenna—he didn’t know what to do about her.
He nuzzled the back of her neck. “Think I’ll do some work on your porch and then drive up to the Center around three. Come back around six for supper. That sound okay?”
She’d already hooked her fish and was reeling it in. “Sure,” she said, expertly guiding the line past the deadfall in the middle of the brook.
“It might rain tonight,” he added, watching her face, “so I better sleep at your place. Watch the roof for leaks.”
“It’s supposed to be nice for the next three days,” she said. “Wow, look at this guy!”
At least she hadn’t said no. He kept his arms around her, even letting her catch the last fish, although his arms twitched to take possession of the rod. Damn, this was fun.
“Thanks for sharing this spot, Jen.” He rested his chin on the top of her silky head, listening as water bubbled merrily down the brook. “I thought the Canadians were idiots, but maybe they knew what they were doing.”
“They weren’t idiots. They were very nice people. And maybe they’d like some of their stuff returned, including those horse pictures in the hall.”
“Okay,” he said quickly, hearing the indignation in her voice. “I can do that. Crappy at management but they sure made a nice fishing hole.”
“Not everyone manages like you,” she said.
“Fortunately. Because mismanaged companies hold opportunity.”
“But how do you pick?” she asked. “Why buy Three Brooks?”
“We look for undervalued companies in a growth industry. Make some strategic changes. Place appropriately minded managers at the top and move on.”
“Appropriately minded?” She was stroking her fingers over his forearm, and he liked her gentle touch. Didn’t want to think about work right now.
“Usually the corporate personality has to change,” he said absently. “New management is better equipped for the tough decisions. You cold?” He tightened his arms, feeling her shiver even though the morning sun was comfortably warm.
She didn’t speak for a moment. “It’s nice to have met you,” she finally said, “but I have to admit I preferred the Canadians’ policies. And you’re scaring me, because it sounds like you’re definitely getting rid of Wally.”
He debated the best way to change the subject, maybe even wave a worm in her face, but surprised himself with the truth. “Wally gave his notice yesterday, Jenna,” he said gently. “We’ll have a new manager in there soon.”
She twisted in his arms, her eyes widening. “But why would he quit? Isn’t it standard to give a month’s pay for every year of service? And where will he live?” Her voice turned pensive. “Maybe I better clean out Em’s room.”
“You will not.” His jaw clenched, and the words came out much too clipped.
“Of course I will.” She rammed her hands on her hips and stepped back. “He’s a family friend who’s suddenly out of a job. So unless you can think of a better idea...”
Burke blinked, appalled at the idea of Wally ensconced on Jenna’s swing. “Maybe he can stay another month in the apartment.”
“At least three,” she said, her face mutinous.
“But we need his place for the new manager. We don’t want to pay for a motel.” He dragged a hand over his jaw. “And Wally quit on his own. Obviously he doesn’t want the apartment.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Okay,” he said quickly, turning away. “We’ll go back to your house and I’ll call about the legalities and insurance issues but hell, Jenna, this won’t be easy.”
A half hour later, he closed his phone and leaned his head on the swing. She pushed open the screen door, watchful as a cat, so he stretched out and closed his eyes. “Think I’ll have a nap,” he said. “Wake me at three.”
She squeezed onto the swing, sweetening the air with a hint of cinnamon and apple. “But what did your legal people say about Wally?” she asked.
He cracked open an eyelid, trying to keep his lip from twitching. She was a natural at negotiations and had even learned the lingo. “My people said your people could stay, four months max.”
He’d added an extra month, hoping to please her. It worked. Her face sparkled with delight and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re very kind even though you try hard not to be.”
“I’m not kind at all,” he said, feeling his throat constrict. “Just tired. You’re wearing me out, sweetheart.” He pulled her down, tucking her alongside him. “Stay right here and don’t move. Unless you have something in the oven.” He gave a hopeful sniff.
“Apple cobbler. But it’s not in the oven yet.”
“I love apple cobbler.” He blew out a contented sigh, pulled her head into his shoulder and fell asleep.
He wasn’t sure what woke him, maybe an ingrained alarm clock. She was still asleep beside him, fingers over his chest and head tucked trustingly against his shoulder. A light breeze rocked the swing and a hawk circled in the cloudless sky. He’d never felt so serene. Or happy.
A man could live like this, work from home, travel when necessary but keep the trips brief. He checked his watch, dropped a reluctant kiss on her forehead then eased her back onto the swing, so smoothly she didn’t wake.
He grabbed a sports jacket from the back seat of his car, tugged it on and headed to the Center.
“Your three o’clock appointment is here, Mr. Burke.” Frances stopped typing and gave a bright smile. “Would you like me to bring some coffee?”
“No thanks, Frances. I’ll get it.”
He found Ben Vickers in the waiting room and led him into his office, mentally reviewing the man’s background. Vickers would be perfect for the Center: tough, knowledgeable and experienced. He knew horses, knew the industry and had been a key force in settling a labor dispute two years earlier.
He had some good ideas too which Burke noted with interest.
“We’ll follow all the horses we treat,” Vickers went on. “Insert congratulations in the Racing Form and industry publications. It may not be the Center’s treatment that propels them to a win, but we can certainly create that impression.”
Burke nodded, flipping through the man’s comprehensive resume. Education, experience, networks. All excellent. His last position included an impressive man-hour ratio. But this couldn’t be right. “Each masseuse handled eight horses per day?” Burke asked, staring at the number.
Vickers gave a smug nod. “One masseuse, eight horses. And technicians were ultimately responsible for production shortfalls.”
“One person can massage eight horses?” Burke frowned. “In one day?”
“Of course. Admittedly it’s demanding work so we preferred to replace staff every year, before being hit with repetitive strain injuries. I’m not convinced of the benefits of massage, but owners and horses love it. And there’re always plenty of workers to fill the positions.”
Burke pushed the resume aside and rose. “Thanks for dropping by. I’ll give you a call if you make the short list.”
Vickers frowned. “Thought I was on the short list?”
“Not anymore,” Burke snapped.
He was still scowling, staring through the window as Vickers gunned his pickup past the new building and out of the parking lot. There must be someone else in Stillwater, someone with good managerial skills, someone who cared about animals and staff. Someone a little…softer.
He called Frances on the intercom. “How many vets in town?”
“Three,” she said. “The Center uses Hillcrest Vet run by Paul Johnston.”
“What about the other two?”
“One only does small animals,” Frances said, “and Colin MacDonald never does any Three Brooks’ work.”
“Give me Colin’s number.”
Burke jotted down the vet’s number then glanced through his mail. Some in
voices, a purple handwritten envelope and a couriered jewelry box. Good, that meant Theresa had already received her kiss-off present, and he had a spare necklace ready for gifting.
And not one piece of the usual hate mail, thanks to Leo and Jenna’s influence.
He opened the purple envelope and grinned at the picture. Beautiful crayon colors of children running in a green field, a white stick figure with matching shoes smiling by a blue tree and another darker stick figure standing by the finish line.
‘Thanks for the ice Cream’ was underlined in pink and surrounded by a generous row of smiley faces and purple sparkly hearts. Signed, Sophie.
He didn’t know who Sophie was—maybe the little girl who Jenna had boosted onto his shoulders—but it was the nicest piece of mail he’d ever received.
He folded the picture and carefully slipped it into his wallet then called the number Frances had provided.
***
Colin MacDonald’s clinic was easy to find, on the main highway with a receiving barn for horses and a large graveled turnaround for stock trailers. A small metal sign stated: ‘Closed on Sundays. Emergencies only.’
Dogs yipped as he walked into the reception area, a cat scurried between his feet and a little boy protectively cradled a black and white rabbit.
“That way,” a harried receptionist said, pointing down the hall to an open door.
Colin didn’t rise or offer to shake his hand, just stared with anxious eyes over a desk littered with drug samples. “You said this was important. Is Jenna sick?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Burke said, sitting down on an uncomfortable, high-backed chair. “Looks like you’re working hard. What do you put in? Twelve-hour days, six days a week? Probably net a hundred thousand annually with no chance for growth unless you hire another vet.”
“I’m very busy,” Colin said, “so if you have a point, please get to it.”
Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash Page 19
