“Cat got your tongue, kid? Am I really going to complicate your life that much?”
He sounded far too pleased with himself. “I don’t know. Depends on how much time you require, I suppose. I not only have my job—I do have to study, too.”
“Will I be imposing on your social life? Do you have a steady man in your life?”
“Not hardly. Well, I mean,” she stammered, “not one.”
“Still playing the field, huh? Well, I shouldn’t get in the way too much, then. If you’re a good teacher, this may not require a lot of time.”
“You mean if you’re a good student, don’t you?”
“Now, that’s more like the woman I remember with straw in her hair. Do you realize that you are drop dead gorgeous with a half dozen pieces of straw sticking out of your hair? The guys must be lined up around your block with their tongues hanging out. I’m sure they won’t like my intruding on their time, but I won’t let that deter me. Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” Daisy tried to keep her voice steady while her heart raced wildly.
“Maybe you’ll just have to put some of the guys on ice for a while. I can be quite demanding, and I make no apologies for that. There never is enough time to do everything I want to do. But this horse thing is now at the top of my to-do list. And that includes you. Remember, you’ve been paid in advance.”
“I remember. Owning a part of Rainbow far exceeds any of my dreams.”
“Listen kid, if you hang around me much you’ll have to get used to expanding your dreams. I don’t dream small. It doesn’t take any more time to dream big than small.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“What do you mean maybe? Weren’t you listening to what I just said?”
“I heard you. It’s just that some folks can dream all they want to, work as hard as they can, and still nothing happens.”
She heard Underwood swallow. “Guess you’re right,” he said, “sometimes I get so wrapped up in what I’m doing that I forget where I’ve come from and what I’ve seen.”
“What?”
“Some other time. Good to hear your voice, kid. There’s a quality about it that I can’t quite name. Maybe its youthful exuberance. Anyway, I’ll see you next Thursday at two o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there.”
- o -
Nicholas Underwood sat staring at the cell phone long after he’d set it on the massive oak desk at the center of his study in his fourteen room Kenwood house. The woman stuck to his hide like a sandbur. Sultry described her voice. She probably didn’t have a clue how sexy she sounded or looked.
He leaned back in his swivel chair and propped his feet on the desk. She had to be his employee. It was safer that way. But she might be right. He hired Sam Gallagher, and Sam hired Daisy Matthews. So what did that make Willow to him? One could probably cut it either way.
Who was he kidding? He didn’t want to regard the tall, slender woman with the deep smoky voice as an employee. He closed his eyes. Twenty-five from forty-two equals seventeen. Shit. He slammed his feet back to the carpet and strolled over to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that nearly ringed his study. He reached for a slim volume and turned the pages until words leapt out at him. Let the world slip: we shall ne’er be younger. It was from Taming of the Shrew.
Would that he could. What he really wished was that he could forget how Daisy Matthews’ soft breasts crushed against his chest or how her gray eyes rounded in pools of pain and then turned iridescent in the delight of banter and the unexpectedness of surprise. She possessed a vitality that he found intoxicating and difficult to shake.
If he was a smart man, he’d go to the Twin Cities, conduct his business and arrange for the sale of RainbowBlaze while out of town. But that would be too much like the coward’s way out. No, he’d stay the course. He wasn’t about to cheat destiny. Certainly a man of his experience and talent could best a woman who’d probably lived no more than a quarter century.
But why even bother to enter the contest? He could simply flee. No one was watching.
He could no more flee than sprout wings. There was something about Daisy Matthews that drew him like the sorrowful call of the loon. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to listen to her story. He wanted to have some excuse to hug her again. Given her youthfulness, she might not be good for his pride, but she seemed good for his soul.
A rap on his office door jolted Nick from his reverie. “Yes, come in.” Mary Brown entered and Nick tried not to smile.
Other than his bedroom, his office was the only room in the house where she knocked before entering. How often had he felt like an intruder in his own home before the inquisitive eyes of Mrs. B.?
Maybe it was because he’d inherited her; well, sort of. She came with the house. The eighty-something bent African American woman had been taking care of residents in this house since she was a teenager. And she had an uncanny sense of showing up when he least wanted to talk. He often threatened to fire her, but they both knew that he cared for her like a favorite aunt. And if he didn’t watch out, she could easily smother him with love. She’d outlived her family and her friends. She hardly had anyone else to irritate or to love.
“So, Mister Nick, I was worried when you didn’t come home for supper. You usually call.” Mrs. Brown stood in front of his desk peering at him with large dark questioning eyes.
He waved his hand dismissing her concern. “Sorry, I must have gotten overly involved at work.”
“Harumph. That usually don’t make you forget your manners.” Mary Brown bent over and straightened two stacks of papers on Nick’s desk.
Nick scowled. She backed away abruptly. “Oh, I forgot. Don’t touch a thing in the master’s office,” she chided.
“I’m not your master,” Nick responded quickly. “But you’re right about not touching things in here.”
“Sounds to me like you’re the one who’s touchy.”
Nick always found it hard to ignore Mrs. Brown, but he tried his best.
“My, my,” she said, “how many years has it been since you’ve had a woman throw you off stride?”
“What?” Nick nearly shouted.
“A woman. You know. You remember what they are.”
“I know what a woman is.”
“Good.” Mrs. Brown gave him a toothless grin. “I was hoping you wouldn’t forget. She must be something.”
Nick closed his eyes, took a deep breath and reopened them. The housekeeper was still there. “What do you mean by that?”
“For the last several days you’ve been moping around here like a tomcat returning from the street who had no luck. There’s no bounce in your step. Indecision about a woman will do that, you know.”
“I didn’t know that,” Nick responded sharply. “And don’t you have something better to do than worry about my love life?”
“No need to get huffy.” Mrs. Brown took another step back from the desk. “If you ask me, you could use some good loving. This old house could use a good woman. It’s getting to be more than I can manage alone. And I’d like to hear the sounds of children again in these walls before I die.”
“Go to the park and rent a kid or two. Bring them here and let them scream their heads off. Just as long as I’m gone.” He glanced at the papers on his desk. “Now, Mrs. B., if you have nothing further, I do need to get back to work.”
“Didn’t look like you were working before. Looked like you were staring off into space.”
Nick raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.
“Okay, Mr. Nick, I can take a hint. I just want you to know that you can bring a woman here anytime. It won’t bother me none. I may be old, but I know how things are with you young people these days. Even my old Andrew thought we should test out the equipment before we got married.”
“Mrs. B.!”
“I’ll leave you now, Mr. Nick. Maybe you’ll get a skip in your walk soon enough.” Nick shook his head and watched Mrs.
B. leave the room. A skip, indeed.
He turned more pages of the Taming of the Shrew. The words blurred. Gray sultry eyes stared back at him. A long elegant nose and narrow chin emerged. Then there were full lips and a slight overbite. The mouth turned upward in a shy grin.
Nick frowned. The only thing that skipped was his heartbeat.
- o -
Ten miles away, Daisy hugged Bear and drifted off to sleep. Words from Twelfth Night teased her mind: Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, youth’s a stuff will not endure. She wet her lips. The image of his face sharpened. His lips parted, inviting. She leaned forward. His image swirled, fading into the night.
“Underwood checks out. Clean as a whistle, according to the guys in the Racing Office.” Sam Gallagher sat at the desk in his tiny track office and chewed on the stem of a crusty pipe. He hadn’t lit it in years. “Not to worry. He’s legit.”
Daisy nodded and grinned at him. “Thanks for checking him out for me.” Gallagher had taken off his University of Maryland ball cap, exposing his gleaming white bald crown. She respected Sam’s skill with horses and his judgments regarding people. “So what do you think of him?”
“Hard to know. Only talked with him twice by phone. He’s a businessman. That’s clear. And he’s honest. At least he admits to knowing nothing about horses.” Gallagher idly scraped caked mud from his boots with a ball point pen. “You sure got him hooked. He’s ready to get involved with racing, and apparently he has a checkbook that can back him up.”
“That’s not surprising.” Daisy took a seat on the straight-backed wooden chair. “So do we work with him?”
Gallagher smiled. “Do you work with him? I think that’s the question. Oh, Underwood was respectful enough toward me. But he clearly sees himself as somehow sponsoring you in this training business. Every trainer needs to find an owner who will provide enough financial backing to carry him through the bad times as well as the good.”
“But I’m not ready to go out on my own.” Daisy shuddered. “I like working for you. And there’s so much more to learn.”
“Underwood has good business sense. He seems to know that. Talked to me about being your coach, and that I’d continue getting my training fees with any horses he might purchase.” Gallagher eyed Daisy. “Frankly, you’ll get a raise for bringing in a fair amount of business. Sounds like I’ll be picking up a small piece of the next horse he buys.
“A lot of owners want to do business that way. Makes them feel like the trainer will be more committed to their horses. Maybe it’s true. I’ve done it both ways. And either works all right. There’s more potential profit when you own a share of the horse—and there’s more potential for loss.” He shrugged. “Like horses, each owner is different, and you have to kind of read their cues and shape the game for them without losing your own integrity.”
Daisy sighed. “There’s so much to learn.”
“You’ll do fine.” Gallagher glanced away. “I know I’m old enough to be your grandfather, and you’re a young woman on your own.” He stopped talking and then looked back at her. “I just want you to be careful with Underwood. He’s a legitimate businessman, but he’s still a man. He’s smitten by racing. And he may be smitten by you. That’s neither good nor bad. Depends on what you want. My only suggestion is be careful, and sort out what you really want. Being business partners is one thing, being something else—well, that’s something else.”
Daisy blushed. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll try. You’ve been like the grandfather I’ve never known. Right now my head is spinning in ways I never knew possible. But I’ve got street smarts. I won’t get easily hurt.”
“I know. I should be giving the same advice to Underwood. He may be at more risk than you. Doubt if he has any real grasp of the tenaciousness of the woman he’s selected for a partner.” Gallagher chuckled. “But it’s the right of grandfather types to worry some. Sort of like on the day before a big race.”
Nicholas Underwood was proving an able student. Daisy watched him pour over the past performances for the next day’s races at Arlington, his broad shoulders slumping forward. They’d spent two hours a day together for the past four days. It was always two to four, like clockwork.
She vaguely wondered what he did after he left the track. He talked very little about himself. He was brooding about something. Hopefully, there weren’t any problems with his business. Or with his women. Good grief, she didn’t even know if the man was married.
Daisy cleared her throat, setting down Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales on which she had a paper due the following week. He hadn’t heard her. They sat in a corner of the track kitchen; half chilled coffee and crumbs remained from their study break.
“Mr. Underwood.”
Across the small table, Nicholas Underwood glanced up sharply. “How often do I have to ask you to call me Nick? We’re partners. Strangers call me Mr. Underwood. Partners and friends call me Nick.”
Daisy frowned.
“So what did you want?”
She had to know. “Are you married?”
That ridiculous, lazy smiled worked across Spec’s lips. She was going to die. Her toes curled.
“Shouldn’t the question be are you married...”
Her head pounded. “Okay, damn it. Are you married, Nick?”
“Ah, I’ve heard my name roll off a woman’s lips more smoothly and with more passion than that. But that will have to do for now.” He folded the paper and laid it down beside his empty plate. “To answer your question and unasked questions. First, I am not married. Second, I was married to a beautiful woman with a lot of class and money. She wanted more class and money than I did. We parted amicably and still greet each other now and then. The marriage has been over for fifteen years, probably when you were still in training bras.
“With all her makeup and designer clothes, Ashley couldn’t hold a candle to your natural beauty. Third, there have been many women, but none currently. I’m finding that you cramp my style in that way. You keep me studying these forms and the horse books so much, there’s no time for women. Even if I were so inclined. Does that about answer your questions?”
Daisy nodded. She chewed her lower lip. How could he read her mind? She felt like such a neophyte.
“So how about you, Matthews? Ever been married?”
Her eyes rounded. Underwood was dead serious. His crack about the training bra sank into her awareness. Good grief, he thought she was considerably older than she was. “No,” she stammered. “Never.”
“No live-in boyfriend?”
She shook her head. “Current men?”
“None,” she mumbled. “There’s no time.”
“Good.” Nicholas leaned back and graced her with a satisfied grin. “Maybe I’m cramping your style, too.” He unfolded the newspaper and redirected his attention to the Saturday races.
Daisy picked up her book and blew air through pursed lips. She’d learned what she had to know. How fast would he run when he discovered she wasn’t even of legal drinking age?
Chapter Three
The sputtering sounds of the apartment buzzer penetrated Daisy’s sleep. She rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head. The buzzer continued ringing sporadically. “Go away,” she grumbled. “It’s Monday. It’s my day off.”
Scrambling off the futon, she grabbed her robe and poked her arms through the armholes as she strode angrily toward the entry. She’d have to remember to get the landlord to fix that damn buzzer. Maybe she should just snip its wires.
Daisy peered through the peephole and grew deathly still. Why had he come? She didn’t want him to know this part of her world. With fingers trembling slightly, she turned the knob and opened the door.
“Morning, kid. Damn, you look quite fetching with sleep still in those lovely smoky eyes of yours.” Nicholas Underwood strolled into her living room like he’d been there many times before, like he belonged. “Come on, girl. Get your butt in gear—hell, it’s mid-morning. It’s your day off. We’re go
ing to do Wrigley today. Enough of the books and pedigrees. I need a break. We need a break.”
Daisy stood in the entryway as if her feet were poured in cement and she was still waiting for it to dry.
“You got any coffee here? I’ll make it while you get into some clothes.” Nick licked his lips. “Don’t know why you bothered to put that robe on; it doesn’t hide a damn thing unless you tie it.”
Daisy’s hands flew to her ears. “Stop. Stop talking, please. How did you get here? Why are you here? My robe!” She pulled the robe tight around her body and knotted the sash. Her cheeks must be scarlet.
“Damn, I hope you don’t go answering the door like that for just any guy who happens by.”
“Guys don’t happen by without calling first. Now that you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. The coffee is on the counter in the kitchen. Two scoops for eight cups. I’m going to get dressed.”
Daisy padded toward her bedroom with as much grace as she could muster and then slammed the door behind her so hard the hinges rattled.
The nerve of the man getting her out of bed. Was he checking up on her? A boyfriend could have slept over. Right! Well, it was possible. Yeah, and sewer rats can sprout wings.
Had he said something about the Cubs? Wrigley. The Cubs. What did you wear to a baseball game? Probably no different than the track. She tugged on a pair of white shorts and wiggled into a yellow spaghetti-string tank top. Under the tank top was a sheer bra that held things in place, but didn’t cover much up. She touched each nipple playfully until they were on full alert. Looking in the mirror, she chuckled softly. Underwood had come to her uninvited; she wasn’t about to run away and hide. He might think of her as a kid, but someday he’d realize she was more than enough woman for him to handle.
She entered the kitchen running a brush through her tangled hair. Underwood sat at the card table sipping coffee. He took one brief look at her and spewed coffee from his lips. Quickly, he grabbed a paper towel to clean up the mess. Daisy continued brushing her hair, ignoring his discomfort.
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