Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash

by Bev Pettersen

  After last night, she wouldn’t need sex for another year, maybe three. She sighed and leaned into him, not intending to cuddle but somehow he’d found the spot, that nagging shoulder soreness, and his hand felt so good. He cradled her against his chest with no pause of that swiftly moving pen, though he obligingly continued rubbing.

  She hoped her little sigh of contentment had been inaudible. It was nice lounging around with a man—usually she bolted long before breakfast but it was difficult to leave when she was already home. His touch was soothing too, although surely he’d scold if she didn’t snap out of her daze and finish the research.

  Or maybe not?

  His fingers drifted along her inner arm, her shoulder, along the curve of her collarbone. He wasn’t even doing anything, his touch so light it was surprising she felt it. But she did feel it, every single stroke, and her nerves quivered beneath her skin.

  She looked into his dark eyes, unable to move as that slow finger moved along her body, tracing her with such tenderness she wanted to cry.

  “Don’t fight things so much, honey,” he said. “Everything will be okay.”

  But it won’t. A lump balled in her throat as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t like a normal woman. She should be ecstatic to spend time with such a wonderful man. Instead she was terrified.

  “I have to go to the Center now,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “No.” Her voice rose. “I have to finish this research.” And he was too magnetic, too overpowering. She needed to be alone, needed to reclaim her independence.

  “Okay.” He shuffled his papers and slipped them into his briefcase. “Guess you can see Nifty tomorrow.”

  “He’s here?” She scrambled to her feet. “But of course, I’ll come with you. Please wait a sec.”

  He grinned and she rushed into the trailer. Changed into jeans, pulled on her worn boots and stuffed a pair of thin leather gloves into her pocket. He was waiting in the car when she scrambled into the passenger’s seat.

  “Looks like you’re planning to massage,” he said, his eyes narrowing on the gloves.

  “Just a quickie.” She jammed the gloves deeper into her pocket, wishing he wasn’t quite so observant. “I want to see how he feels in the hind end. With a glove, the blisters won’t bother me at all.” He looked so skeptical, she laughed. “He’s a Derby winner. Of course, I’m planning a massage. But I’ll do all the Ridgeman and stud fee research first.”

  “You can work on that in my office,” he said.

  “Okay.” She jammed on her seatbelt, eager to see Nifty, then realized she’d just agreed to another intensive day in his company…along with the next two nights. Her chest kicked with an equal portion of dread and longing. It would be much wiser to hang out in the staff room, away from Burke.

  “We should probably get Nifty out to loosen up after his trip,” Burke said, as he backed the car from the driveway. “Want to go over to the track with me? See how he moves?”

  “Oh, yes. That would be great.” She bounced in the seat, forgetting her reservations. She loved watching morning gallops but it ate up a lot of work time, and Wally had never approved of staff hanging around the oval. She stiffened, realizing she hadn’t talked to Wally since he’d turned in his resignation. “Does Wally know Nifty’s here?” she asked.

  Burke stepped on the accelerator and the car sped up. “He’s not a Three Brooks employee anymore.”

  “Of course. But this is a very famous horse, and I’m sure Wally wants to see him.” She picked up her phone.

  “I’d really prefer that you didn’t call him.” Burke’s voice was silky smooth, but there was no mistaking its ring of command. “At least on company time,” he added with a tight smile.

  His smile was the clincher and she pocketed her phone. Besides, she’d rather speak with Wally when Burke wasn’t within earshot. It seemed strange Wally would quit when he’d been so determined to hang on. And she wanted to know all the details.

  They pulled alongside a gleaming silver trailer parked by the receiving doors. The ramp was down and the trailer was empty, except for a bored driver lounging behind the wheel. Clearly, the groom had already unloaded the horse.

  “Did you ever see Nifty before?” She unbuckled her seatbelt, waiting for Burke to park, almost quivering with excitement.

  “I was at Churchill the day he won the Derby. His stud value skyrocketed so they retired him early. He’s a walking bank machine and deserves the best of care.”

  She bit her lower lip, her enthusiasm flattened. Nifty was a star and to Burke, it was all about book value. Beloved animals like Peanut and Molly were worthless so didn’t rate the Center’s care. The stark economics of his world were depressing—and rather chilling.

  “Top care. Absolutely,” she muttered, gripping the door handle. “I’ll lay down my life for him.”

  Burke reached over, covering her hand with his. “No need. Save that for me. Or at least three nights of it,” he added softly. “And start thinking about what you want this evening.”

  Her gaze cut to his mouth and she gulped, no longer thinking of Nifty. “You mean, like…to eat?”

  “Of course. What did you think I meant?”

  His lip twitched and she blushed, but the pressure of his hand was so intimate, she couldn’t help but remember what they’d been doing a few short hours ago. What they’d probably be doing again tonight.

  He finally pushed the door open. She scrambled out, grateful for the cooling breeze, determined to steer her thoughts back to Nifty. And away from sex. This was turning way too intense. It would be wise to make up some excuse, to snuff out these feelings before it went any further. Conversely, if he were leaving soon she’d have no worries anyway.

  She blew out a sigh of indecision and circled to the front of the car. “Are you interviewing any more managers today? When exactly are you leaving?”

  He closed the driver’s door, seemingly preoccupied with some data on his phone. “The groom is called Tank,” he said, “although I guess you know that from your research this morning?”

  “Yes, he’s been with the horse for six years and three months.”

  Burke smiled. “Very good. Now let’s go meet Tank and Nifty.”

  He always changed the subject when he didn’t want to answer her questions, but at least he didn’t lie. Besides, she was keen to see this big horse. Nodding, she followed him inside.

  Tank was short and wiry and lingered around Nifty’s stall as though on guard. “I was told to put my horse here. But there’s not a single window.” His brown eyes flashed with disapproval.

  “Mr. Ridgeman requested this stall,” Burke said. “He thought Nifty would be less agitated.”

  Tank snorted. “Nifty’s never agitated. Some food, a mare and he’s happy.”

  Jenna pressed her face against the mesh, studying the stud. Chestnut with a blaze. Three white feet. Standing square, appeared beautifully balanced and already eating hay as though unperturbed with his new home.

  He raised his head and approached the screen. Sniffed her hand curiously, his eyes large and luminous, then moved over to the door and nudged Tank. Turned back to his hay and resumed chewing. Calm, composed, confident.

  “What a cool horse,” she said.

  “He’s Mr. Cool,” Tank said. “But I still don’t understand why he had to come here.”

  “We’ll get him feeling better,” Burke said. “Get his sex life back on track.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with his sex life. It’s much better than mine.” Tank shook his head. “You’ll get him out every day?”

  Burke checked his notes. “Jog a couple miles a day but watch for stiffness in the hind.”

  “I haven’t noticed any stiffness.” Tank frowned, obviously unhappy with his orders to leave. “But I will miss him. He likes his peppermints and a carrot or two.” He looked at Jenna, obviously realizing Burke wasn’t the type to feed a horse peppermints. “Will y
ou give him his treats for me?”

  “Of course,” Jenna said. “We’ll take good care of him.”

  Tank sighed and gave Nifty an affectionate pat. “Then I’m taking some vacation. Hasta luego.”

  He shuffled out the door, hands in his frayed pockets, not once looking back. Nifty charged to the front of the stall with an ear-splitting neigh but Tank had disappeared.

  Nifty called again, his nostrils flaring a bright pink. “He’d probably be happier closer to the other horses,” Jenna said. “Especially his first days away from Tank.”

  “He’ll settle.” Burke had already turned and gestured for Nifty’s new groom to bring another hay net.

  But Jenna lingered by the stall as Nifty circled, rustling the straw in obvious agitation. He was the only horse in this wing and with his trusted groom gone, the stud was definitely upset. The only person around was the technician attending the oxygen chamber. Clearly Nifty wasn’t accustomed to solitary confinement. David Ridgeman was an idiot.

  Her gaze cut back to Burke. “Couldn’t we move him to the main wing? The Ridgemans probably won’t be visiting for a while.”

  Burke’s scowl was quick and disapproving. “This stall was already discussed. They want the horse alone. I’m surprised you’d even suggest a switch. It was an integral part of the agreement. Non-negotiable.”

  His rebuke stung. He was so inflexible. If he gave his word, it was good but any deviation was considered an absolute betrayal. Not a good person to lie to. She rubbed her arms, trying to ward off the sudden chill.

  Burke’s voice softened. “We’ll get him out for some exercise later this morning. That’ll help him relax and we can see what his problems are. Who’s our top pony rider?”

  “Wally is the best one to ask,” she said, still gripping her arms.

  “But I’m asking you.”

  “Guess it would be Terry and his quarter horse gelding,” she muttered.

  “All right. They can pony Nifty.” His voice softened. “Jenna, the Ridgemans own this horse. If they want us to paint him pink, we’ll do it. Never forget who calls the shots.”

  “Yes, boss,” she said. “But we could at least make sure the paint is non-toxic.”

  His mouth flickered for a moment, resigned but amused. “Okay. Check the Internet for pictures. See if they had any toys in his stall. We can’t move him but maybe we can make it more like home.”

  She smiled, relieved he could compromise even if it was minimal.

  “My office is locked but here’s an extra set of keys,” he added. “You can use my computer this week.” He reached in his pocket and tossed her a jangle of keys, his voice lowering. “Password is bluechip649.”

  Regret flattened her smile. His trust wasn’t given lightly. “Thank you,” she said. But her voice wobbled and she averted her head, unable to meet his gaze.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The information on Ridgeman was extensive and much easier to read on Burke’s large computer screen than on her phone. The facility had certainly been plagued with bad luck.

  The tragic fire that killed David Ridgeman Sr., along with seven valuable Thoroughbreds, was only the first of a rash of incidents. In the past year alone, a prize broodmare had broken a leg, David had lost his wife in a car crash, and Lorna had been in and out of two pricey rehab clinics.

  Nifty was their major moneymaker, raking in a hundred thousand dollars per live foal and covering two mares a day. Ridgeman capitalized on the horse’s popularity by sending him to Australia for the southern hemisphere breeding season. Jenna shook her head in dismay. No doubt, the stud was exhausted; they treated him like a sex machine.

  An image of Burke’s hard body flashed in her head and she permitted herself a brief moment of indulgence. Damn, he’d been good. She peeked over her shoulder. He tilted in his chair, feet propped on his desk, talking to someone called Edward while they debated which company they should ‘fix’ next.

  Poor unsuspecting company didn’t stand a chance.

  She turned back to the screen and clicked another Ridgeman link. Pictures of the property, the paddocks, the barns. And there it was—Nifty’s stall. No rubber balls or toys but a mineral lick on the wall and three airy windows. And it was in view of at least two other horses. Strange. The stall he occupied at the Center was the exact opposite of his longtime home.

  Her neck tingled. She glanced back over her shoulder. Burke had finished his call and now stared with hooded eyes. “Find anything?” he asked.

  She swallowed, still off balanced by his trust, guiltily aware she didn’t deserve it. “No toys but the website says Nifty loves company.” She drew in a deep breath. “Especially playful ponies with sweet dispositions.”

  Burke crossed his arms, and it was hard not to be distracted by his rippling muscles. She lifted her gaze and locked it on his face. “I’d be happy to lend Peanut as a companion for Nifty. Wouldn’t even charge anything except a few solar sessions.” Her words came in a rush now, but it was clear she couldn’t sneak Peanut in any longer. Couldn’t stand to deceive Burke that way. But her pony needed help. “Please,” she added, hating the way her voice cracked.

  “I’m working on something for the pony, but he’s definitely not going in the stall next to Nifty. The little guy is looking better anyway.”

  That’s because I’ve been bringing him up here. She turned away, struggling with despair, wishing she didn’t have to tiptoe like a thief in the night. She couldn’t do that any longer. But she couldn’t stand back and watch Peanut die either.

  Burke’s chair moved. Seconds later, his hands flattened over the table, his heat covering her as he leaned down and studied the screen. “Is that the stall?” he asked. “Wonder why they insisted on the horse being alone?”

  “Because David likes to hurt,” she said, remembering the look on the man’s face when he squeezed her hand, his obvious pleasure at causing pain.

  Burke’s warm breath fanned her neck. If she turned her head, she sensed his mouth would cover hers. But he won’t help my pony. She squared her shoulders and stared stubbornly at the screen.

  “Likes to hurt? That’s ridiculous.” Burke straightened and stalked toward the door, his frustration obvious. “I’m going over to the track to watch Nifty. You’re welcome to come if you want.”

  “I want.” She rose from the chair and trailed him to the car.

  He opened the passenger door then circled the car and slid behind the wheel. Slipped on his dark sunglasses and wordlessly nosed the vehicle from the lot.

  They climbed the steps to the balcony in front of the viewing stand. Nifty trotted past, head high, escorted by Terry and his muscular gelding.

  “Looks good to me,” Burke said, finally breaking the stiff silence. “Sounder than a lot of horses still racing.”

  Jenna shaded her eyes from the sun, straining to see. Nifty trotted perfectly, stepping underneath with a long, even stride—happy, healthy, eager. Only two other horses were on the track this late, both galloping with riders, and he tracked them with pricked ears, as though keen to race again.

  “Well-behaved fellow,” Burke added. “With that smooth action, I can see why he’s in demand as a stud. Apparently he’s booked for the next couple years.”

  “And a season in Australia, according to industry reports,” she said, still watching Nifty. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to boost his mares from two to three a day.”

  “Not a good idea. His sperm count might suffer. The last thing Ridgeman wants is impotence.”

  “Yes, that’s the last thing anyone would want.” She couldn’t resist a mischievous smile and glanced up, checking his expression, wondering if he was quiet because she’d avoided his kiss. But that top lip twitched and the wind ruffled his thick hair. He looked relaxed again, almost boyish. Obviously he enjoyed life outside office walls. Little wonder he grabbed a hammer whenever possible.

  He even smelled as if he’d been working with wood again, and she moved a step clos
er, drawing in another appreciative sniff. “I thought the construction was finished?”

  “I’m working on the interior now,” he said.

  “But isn’t that an open building for storage?”

  “That was the original intent. Sometimes in this job,” he slipped his arm around her waist and gave a gentle squeeze, “a man has to be flexible.”

  She smiled, unable to remain annoyed despite his stubborn refusal to let Peanut into the Center. “You’re the least flexible person I know. And Terry and Nifty are getting closer. You’d better move your arm so he doesn’t see.”

  “What does it matter? I’ll be gone soon.”

  “Really?” Her smile deepened. “You found a manager?”

  “Seems so. Talked to a good candidate on the phone.” He looked at her, his expression hidden by the dark sunglasses. “It really makes you happy I’m leaving?”

  “Well, I’ll certainly miss you,” she said, “especially the first couple of weeks. But maybe you’d come back every spring and visit?” A weekend a year would be perfect. She’d love to keep in touch with him. She was so delighted by the prospect she tilted on her toes, brushing his mouth with an excited kiss. “There’s a long weekend in May,” she went on. “I’ll put in now for vacation.”

  He remained motionless for a second, completely still behind the dark sunglasses. Then his arms tightened and he backpedaled her into the deserted viewing building. Yanked off his sunglasses and lowered his head. The kiss was hard, almost punishing, but when she tried to pull away, his mouth softened. Turned persuasive.

  He really was a tremendous kisser and it was very private in the cool room. She linked her arms around his neck and twined against him. Already his hand was on her breast, thumbing her nipple, creating ripples of sensation. He tilted her against the wooded wall and pulled her shirt up. When his warm mouth replaced his hand, she went a little crazy.

  She wrapped her calf around his leg and arched against the bulge in his jeans. He slipped his hand between her legs, his fingers moving over the denim, but not enough, not near enough, and she groaned with frustration. It was scary how quickly he’d aroused her.