by T. J. Kline
Normally, the barn sounds relaxed Travis, soothing his stress, but tonight, realizing what Fallon expected from him, he felt overwhelmed.
“I can’t work miracles,” he muttered, turning back to where she sat.
She slid the glass to the table, almost missing the edge, and unfolded herself from the couch. Travis arched an eyebrow, his gaze wandering to the empty wine bottle on the table, wondering when she’d finished it off. She slinked toward him like a cat, softly smiling at him.
“Yes, you can. I saw the way Dreamer responded to you at the track. The way he listened to you, even when he was going berserk.” Her voice was quietly seductive, lulling him. “You bring out the best in—oh!”
Fallon’s toe caught on the edge of the rug covering the office floor. Travis immediately rushed forward, catching her as she tumbled.
She weighed next to nothing, but as he held her close, her soft curves melted into him. Clutching his biceps, she looked up at him and burst out laughing. Lifting her back to her feet, Travis slid one arm around her waist, steadying her with his other.
But once she was standing again, she didn’t release her grip on him.
Their gazes met, melding together. The heat from her body, still pressed against him, intoxicated him more than the alcohol had. Without meaning to, he took a step closer to her, drawing her in to him as his arm slid up her back. Her hands moved up his arms to grip his shoulders and her smile turned apologetic.
“Sorry, maybe I should have—”
Travis didn’t let her finish, didn’t give himself a chance to second-guess his action. His mouth slanted over hers.
Without hesitation, her fingers slid along his neck, curling into his hair, dragging him closer, her tongue seeking the heat of his. Travis tasted the sweet tartness of the wine and the spiciness of the pizza on her lips as she matched the yearning in his kiss. Fallon sighed and the sweet sound reverberated through him like a bolt of lightning. His body grew rigid and desire raged through him like a storm.
He couldn’t do this. She was his boss, and vulnerable, thanks to that bottle of wine. He wasn’t the kind of man to take advantage.
Gripping her shoulders, Travis took a step back, breaking the kiss. She blinked up at him, confused by his sudden retreat.
As a man, he was having a damn hard time keeping his hands off her. He wanted her. The aching throb in his groin was more than enough proof. But, as a gentleman, he knew he had to walk her up to the house. Chivalry won out.
Travis fisted his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Let’s get you back to the house,” he said, leading the way out of the office, standing beside the door, waiting for her to follow. “We can talk about the plans for Dreamer in the morning.”
A frown flitted over her brow before Fallon raised her chin. “I’m a big girl, Mr. Mitchell. I can find my way back to the house myself, thank you.”
She brushed past him, leaving him standing in the doorway, trying to pretend he wasn’t eyeing her curves and wishing he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
Chapter 8
Fallon rolled over in bed, draping her arm over her eyes and trying to ignore the pounding in her temples. Her brother might make fantastic wine but it always left her with a killer hangover. She regretted her decision to drink an entire bottle—minus the one glass Travis had—in one sitting.
But dinner with him had set her nerves on edge. She’d hoped the wine would relax her. She enjoyed his company, and that was precisely the problem. He made her forget all the rules of etiquette she’d had forced on her growing up. He made her want to forget all the proper behaviors her grandmother would deem necessary for a lady of her stature. If she were honest, he made her want to drag him back to her room and throw him on the bed.
The memories of tripping and falling into his arms came back to her, and, of course, that kiss.
And the way he’d immediately rejected her.
“Ugh!” she groaned. “Nothing like making a fool out of yourself.”
She flung back the covers. No point in delaying the inevitable.
After rising, she padded into the kitchen and slid a coffee mug from the cupboard before choosing a single-serve coffee pod for her brother’s machine. She pressed two fingers to her throbbing temple. She needed something full of flavor, and as strong as possible, please.
She took the steaming mug with her back to the bedroom, and there, threw on a pair of jeans and a thin, ribbed turtleneck. After making quick work of brushing her teeth and tugging her long, blond hair back into a ponytail, she headed back to the kitchen, sans makeup.
“Why bother? It’s not like I’m impressing anyone,” she muttered to no one as she tipped her head to one side, gazing out into the faint dawn light as she brewed herself another cup.
She could barely make out the shape of Travis, already up and walking Dreamer toward the pipe round pen. She glanced at the clock: it was barely six thirty. If he was working Dreamer already, that meant he’d been up to feed no later than five. She’d been in the barn until after midnight. Didn’t the man sleep?
Feeling slightly guilty and more than a little embarrassed, Fallon brewed a second mug. Hoping Travis liked cream and sugar, she carried both cups out to the corral.
Her stomach tightened as she crossed the driveway. She’d kissed him last night and, while he had kissed her back for a moment, she must have made him uncomfortable since he’d broken it off so abruptly. She needed to apologize for her behavior and assure him it wouldn’t happen again. Though she really, really wanted it to.
At her approach, Dreamer lifted his head and whinnied a greeting. “Good morning,” she called. “I come bearing an apology by way of a steaming offering.”
“You’re a saint.” He sighed in relief. Unclipping Dreamer’s lead, Travis turned him loose into the corral and took the mug she offered. “There’s a pot in the office, but no grounds. Withdrawal symptoms were imminent.”
It didn’t escape her notice that he’d glossed over her apology and was careful to avoid touching her. She stood on the lowest rail beside him and watched as Dreamer pranced in the pen, head and tail lifted. He trotted over to them, dropping his head for a quick rub on his face before running off again, playfully kicking up his hooves.
Neither spoke for a long moment. Fallon couldn’t stand the silence any longer. She opened her mouth to speak as Travis turned toward her.
“What do you say we—”
“I am really sorry about last night,” she blurted out at the same time. “Oh, go ahead.”
Travis looked down into the mug before clearing his throat. “Look, Miss Radcliffe.” He paused.
She arched an eyebrow at him. He was back to Miss Radcliffe? That seemed a bit formal for a guy whose tongue was on hers last night. Just the thought sent a tingle down her spine. Her hands itched to run themselves over the rough whiskers covering his jaw. She gripped her mug tighter.
He cleared his throat again, as if he’d come to the same realization. “Fallon,” he corrected. “I think we need to make sure to keep this…”
“Professional,” she interrupted.
“Exactly.” He faced Dreamer again but she had a feeling it was more of an attempt to avoid meeting her gaze. “I think we were both a bit…off-balance last night. I want what’s best for Dreamer, and while I still think you’re shooting way too high with this horse,” he warned, “I’m going do everything I can to get him to the Derby for you.”
“Really?” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound breathless. Or for it to carry the surprised relief it did.
He simply nodded in agreement, downing the rest of his coffee before passing her the cup and hopping back over the fence to grab a long nylon rope. He cued Dreamer to move toward the railing, asking him to speed up with a cluck of his tongue. After getting him to gallop several circles, Travis moved in front of the colt and cued him to turn, repeating the movements in the other direction. Dreamer followed his cues as if he could read Travis’s mind.
&n
bsp; “What are you doing?”
“A join up.” His words explained nothing, so she carefully watched him turn his back to Dreamer. The horse immediately broke his pace and walked to Travis, dropping his head. He reached out a hand and rubbed it over Dreamer’s face without looking at him. “Want to come try it?”
“Yes,” she answered enthusiastically, but then she stopped herself. “I should probably let you work with him though.”
He shook his head. “No. It’ll help him. Come on.” He opened the gate for her as she set the cups aside and entered. “It’s a bonding exercise. Take the rope and swing it to get him moving.”
She followed Travis’s instructions and Dreamer immediately obeyed her command, moving out to the railing and breaking into a trot. Travis stepped close behind her as she twirled the rope at her side.
“Like this,” he said, sliding his hands over hers, holding them still and low at her sides. “You only need to toss it toward his rump if he slows before you want him to. If he cuts in, toss it toward his shoulder. You don’t want to hurt him, just get him to give to the pressure of it.”
Fallon tried to listen to his words but the lazy flame of desire licked over her. With Travis’s chest pressed against her back, his calloused hands on hers, her blood ignited. His breath brushed over her ear as he leaned forward slightly to tell her what to do next.
“When you’re ready for him to reverse, step sideways into his path, and hold your arms out to the side.”
One hand fell to her hip and he urged her to move with him while the fingers of his other hand curled around her wrist. Longing danced low in her belly, twisting and twirling as her pulse pounded through her veins. She looked back, her lips mere inches from his, and caught the scent of him. He smelled like the outdoors. Like hay mixed with horses and a spicy male scent that was all his own.
“Like this?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Exactly.”
His voice was a husky rasp, as choked as her own. His hand slid forward, splaying over her flat abdomen and she was sure she would burn up from the inside if he stayed close any longer. This was not the way to keep things professional between them.
She dropped her arms and spun away from him quickly, shoving the rope back into his hands. “I’m heading to the grocery store. Is there anything you need?”
He inhaled deeply, picking up the rope that had dropped to the ground and pinching his lips into a thin line. She focused on his mouth—his full, kissable mouth—as he licked his lips slowly. The ache started to build in her as his smoky eyes caressed—
Damn it!
Fallon hurried toward the gate without waiting for his response. “Text me with a list of items and I’ll pick them up at the store.” Grabbing the mugs, she walked back to the house as fast as possible. Any faster and she would have been running. She had to get away.
It wasn’t until she was back in the house when she realized he didn’t have her phone number.
Chapter 9
Travis leaned back in the desk chair, staring at the photo in the online article he’d finished reading about the Radcliffe family. He’d known Fallon was from “old money” but he hadn’t realized how much or how old. Her family fortune dated all the way back to the Gold Rush.
From what he could tell, Fallon was sort of the black sheep of her family. Her grandmother was family matriarch and controlled the shipping business that had garnered the family their original empire. Fallon’s father, an only child, helped his mother. Fallon’s mother was the face of the corporation, making public appearances and schmoozing investors at parties. Fallon’s siblings had their own business ventures, like this vineyard.
That left Fallon to inherit Radcliffe Industries. But she’d told him last night she’d never do it. And after one look at the pictures online, he couldn’t blame her. He could see right through the smile she’d plastered on her face for the cameras. She would be miserable working there.
In fact, Fallon barely resembled the other members of her family. Sure, her fair skin and light hair were similar to her mother’s but she’d been chubby as a child with her clothes constantly mussed and her glasses askew. Her thick honeyed waves had been a chaos of curls but her smile was as infectious then as it was last night.
Travis clicked on another picture of her, no more than ten years old, with the rest of the family surrounding her, somber expressions on their faces. But not Fallon. She was sporting a broad, toothy, chubby-cheeked smile.
Joy. That was what he saw in Fallon. When she was happy, she lit up the room.
The next photo was of a slightly older girl, maybe fourteen. The glasses were gone, the wild hair tamed into long waves. Now, the girl wore the same austere expression as the rest of her family. She’d matured, learned to control her emotions, to fit into society’s expectations of a Radcliffe. The passion she’d once had had dimmed.
He clicked on a picture of Fallon as an adult, dated three years ago, as she knelt beside a newborn colt who had to be Destiny’s Dreamer. Though Fallon looked the part of a debutante, the joy was back in her eyes.
Travis watched several video interviews and could only come to one certain conclusion—Fallon Radcliffe wasn’t the woman he’d assumed she was. And he was more attracted to her than ever before. Damn it.
“Hey.” Fallon’s soft voice in the doorway jerked him back to the present. He slammed the laptop closed a little too forcefully. He cringed as she arched an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice was tight, probably making him look guilty as hell. He rose from behind the desk. “What’s up?”
“Do you like Chinese food?” Fallon smiled and lifted a bag in front of her. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
“I thought you were going to the grocery store.”
She shrugged. “I did, but by the time I finished shopping, I didn’t feel like cooking.” She came inside without waiting for an invitation and set the bag on the desk. She slapped a hand against her forehead. “Shoot, I forgot plates.”
“No worries,” he assured her, tugging open the bag as the tangy scent of the food hit him, making his stomach rumble loudly. He lifted the containers out, one by one, and handed her a set of chopsticks from the bottom. “We can eat out of the cartons.” She lifted her eyebrows and he laughed. “Trust me, it’s better this way.”
He opened a container and found chow mein. He dug the chopsticks into the food and expertly lifted them to his lips. After he took his first bite, he sighed with delight. Either this food was amazing or he’d been starving. Maybe both.
He looked up to see the glare on Fallon’s face.
“What if I wanted that?” As she spoke, her sour look transformed. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she picked up another container. From his seat, he could see it was lemon chicken—his favorite—and the sweet citrus tang filled the air.
He plucked several noodles between his chopsticks and held them out to her. “I’m okay with sharing if you are.”
Her gaze leapt up to meet his. He saw indecision flicker for a moment before she leaned forward and took a bite. As soon as her mouth closed over the food, he realized why she’d seemed indecisive.
It was an incredibly intimate experience, making him remember the way those lips had felt against his last night. Heat bubbled up in his gut, spreading through him like a California wildfire through a dry field. He watched her eyelids drop as she savored the food. Then her gaze lifted, hooded, as she peered at him through her lashes.
“It’s good,” she whispered, her voice breathier than the meal warranted.
She wasn’t talking about the food and they both knew it. Fallon cleared her throat and shoved her chopsticks into the lemon chicken, looking down abruptly. “So, what is the plan for Dreamer?”
He tipped his head to one side, studying her. Pink dotted her cheeks, so he knew he’d embarrassed her. He turned his attention back to the food, unable to still the warning in his gut. He should be running from her, as fast
and far as his truck could get him.
But where would that leave him? It wasn’t like he could go back to his old life. There was nothing left of it. His job as track security wasn’t going to help him get to where he belonged, training horses.
Besides, he’d agreed to help Dreamer. And he knew he could. Fallon was right. Dreamer could make it to the Derby. After working with him today, even Travis could feel it in his gut.
“The plan is to build his trust in me,” Travis said.
“That’s what the exercise earlier was? Did it work?”
“The join up? Yeah. I’m surprised it worked so well. Now I know he’s willing to trust, but it’ll still take some more time for him to learn to see me as his herd leader. Considering where he was when I first saw him, I think this is good progress.”
“You mean, because of Casper.” She shot him a challenging look.
He set the container of noodles to the side. “Since you mentioned it, yeah. Why would you hire him? You had to know his reputation.”
She broke eye contact, her brow dipping slightly as she stared at the food in her hand. “I’d heard rumors. But I knew he had a lot of winners under his belt, too. That carried a lot of weight. I mean, I should have done more research into his methods.”
“You’re in over your head, Fallon. You realize that, right?” He glanced at her, trying to judge her reaction to the truth. “I mean, these guys—”
Her hand tightened on the paper container of food. “You think I don’t already know what people are saying or see them pointing out my inexperience? I might be in over my head, but I’ve still been able to tread water in this pool of sharks. And now I’m asking you to teach me how to beat them, because I know Dreamer has what it takes to do it.”
She met his gaze and he could read her worry. Her eyes revealed everything she was feeling, including the doubts she tried to hide.
“You’re welcome to walk away, Travis. I won’t force you to stay because I understand this is just business for you. It’s more than that for me. I’d like you to stay and do it with us.”
