Holiday Spice & Everything Nice

by Conn, Claudy

  I didn’t know I could spin around so fast, but I did, and I realized what people mean when they say their mouth dropped open. Mine did, and a fly dove right in.

  I started to choke.

  He was on me, slapping my back as I choked to death, when the damned thing came flying out, landed on the ground, recovered, and flew off.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  No, I’m not okay. I’m embarrassed as hell. But what came out of my mouth was “Ah … yo … ah …” Could I sound dorkier?

  He grinned, and I had a chance to do a real double take. Holy mother of all that is perfect, he was perfect—hunky, hot, drop-dead perfect. Tall, broad manhood stood in front of me, and all my hormones began to flutter.

  From the top of his black silky head, which towered over my five feet five inches and made me think he was well over six feet, to the dark boots on his feet, he was flawless masculinity. No other way to describe the man in front of me. His body was tight and lean and made for anything a girl could ever want.

  His presence made me feel girly silly and twelve.

  I licked my lips and then met his eyes, his so blue eyes. It was like looking into the limitless sky. I don’t go gaga over handsome men—in fact, quite the opposite: I get my back up and get wary. But this one did something to my insides.

  All my neglected womanly hormones started humming a tune inside my blood. I don’t play around. In all my years I have only been with one man, one boyfriend, and that had been over long before we both graduated from Post. It had been a comfortable friendship that had played into a comfortable relationship that never really got my juices flowing.

  The hunk smiled at me, and as he spoke, I lost my ability to hear.

  Shit! What was wrong? I was deaf. I couldn’t hear anything. I could see his gorgeous lips moving, but … what, what was he saying?

  Finally, thankfully, my hearing returned as I watched his smile turn into a frown and he asked, “Are you sure you are okay?”

  “Yes, yes, I am sorry.” I could hear and speak again. Life had returned. Thinking he was here about boarding a horse, I said, “The stable office is straight up the drive.” Oh no, was that my voice? It sounded like a creaking door.

  He laughed. I continued to stare. He said, “I know—I’m Wade Devon.” He said it with an air of authority.

  Sure. Authority. He owned the place.

  I gasped. This was the billionaire who had bought our horse farm. This was, in the flesh—and such flesh!—Wade Devon.

  Oh, holy hell. What should I do? I stuck out my hand. “Hi … I’m … Charlie Wells.” Okay, no longer squeaking, but was that my voice? It was hardly a whisper.

  He laughed again. “Oh, I know who you are.”

  That snapped me back into myself. “You do? How could you? I know we’ve never met.”

  “Let’s just say I do my research when I … er … make an offer to buy a business.”

  What was in his words I wasn’t getting? Every instinct told me there was a double meaning in his words, but for the life of me I didn’t know what it was.

  He broke the stillness of the moment and changed the subject. “I’m sorry. I apparently took you by surprise.”

  “No, no,” I lied. “I was expecting you … any day, but since this day was nearly over … I thought it would be another day.” What was wrong with me? I was speaking like a twelve-year-old.

  “I did expect to be here sooner, but I only just managed to get away from some business that kept me in the city.”

  “Oh,” I said and stopped. Conversation, come on, Charlie, make some conversation. “Are you going to be here long?”

  “Now that my contractor has the place habitable, yes, for a few days, at least,” he said noncommittally.

  “Is there anything I can help you with? Anything you need to know?” I offered.

  “Yes, you can help me with everything. I want to get to know our present boarders, what you think needs improvement up at the two barns, what paddock we can give up to install an indoor riding ring. Yes. Tell me about the employees I hired—are they working out? Anyone slacking? Charlie, there’s a great deal you can help me with,” he said and then eyed me as I digested this. “Look,” he said, “I have an hour for dinner, and I am starving. Do you think you could join me, give me a briefing? We’ll call this our first business dinner.”

  Of course, a business dinner. Was I obligated to have a business dinner? Well, free apartment for me, free paddock and feed for Sassy and Mr. Goat. Yeah, I was obligated. That was the deal. “I … I … of course.” Why was I so ill at ease?

  “You must be tired after a long day, but I promise not to grill you,” he offered, and those blue eyes surveyed me with sincere concern.

  “It’s okay, honest. We both have to eat, and dinner out beats a frozen platter any day. So sure, dinner and a briefing on what has been happening all week—great idea. I did make a bunch of notes about your boarders and … a few other things you may need to know.”

  “Good, but what I really will be asking you about are your thoughts.” He hesitated, and I saw a light in his eyes … a flame that glimmered in the recesses of those baby blues. That flame made me quiver.

  I was being nonsensical.

  Too many romance books lately. Too many dreams of knights rescuing me from my dull and ordinary life. Why would someone like him be attracted to me? I knew he was from another world, one dominated by money, power, and fashion. I was a farm girl both at heart and in action.

  Sure, I knew some guys thought I was really good-looking. I have had my share of compliments, some even sincere, but he was so out of my league. He probably had top A-list models and movie stars making the moves on him. He would never be interested in me, and yet, there I was, shyly batting my eyelashes. Someone help me.

  I cleared my throat. “My thoughts on …?”

  “We’ll get into that at dinner,” he said.

  “Before we do, could I ask you, why this farm? We’re really … have always been a ‘mom and pop’ operation here. Surely you don’t mean to … actually put in time yourself at the farm?”

  He laughed. “Well, that’s why I am renovating the house. I needed a retreat. I ride you know, and Prancer and I wanted the country. When I saw … this place, I knew immediately it had potential for growth, much more than the other places my agent found for me. For example, the house—what was your house—is being turned not only into a home but one with a separate entrance for some offices where I can run my operation and still walk out and smell the roses.” He grinned. “Corny, I know, but corny was what I needed, and there are so many areas that could generate additional income that will make this not only the most sought after boarding and riding facility on Long Island but a money jar as well.” He took my elbow and guided me over a fallen branch, which was a good thing because I was just about to trip over it. “We’ll talk more about those plans over dinner. Where do you recommend we have a nice quiet meal?”

  “Do you like Italian?”

  “Love Italian,” he answered, and again I saw a flame in his blue eyes flicker. Now I wanted to melt into him.

  I kept myself intact and under control—no leaning in, no melting. “Then … it is to Syosset, only ten minutes away.”

  He took my hand, and that was another good thing, because I was just about to walk into the post and rail. Apparently all I could see was him.

  His touch around my fingers was like a bolt of electricity that shot up my arm, rushed to my head, then raced down into my belly … further down … and, oh my.

  Okay, bottom line: I was hot for this man. HOT.

  And then, earth to Charlie slapped me in the face in the form of a beautiful blonde in a silver BMW convertible. She drove right up to where we stood at the paddock fence that lined my long drive—wait, not mine, but his—his long drive.

  “There you are, Wade,” she said and gave him a flirtatious look as she got her voluptuous body out of her car. Her breasts were so large I wondered i
f they were real

  She told him, “I’ve been calling, but you haven’t been answering. Did you get my messages?”

  She looked to be around his age, late twenties, confident, cool, in a league where I did not belong or even wanted to be. I reminded myself that she was in his league—his world. I was not.

  “No, I didn’t get the messages because I haven’t even looked at my phone. I told you, Gloria, I needed some quiet days. What are you doing here?” His voice was cold, and that surprised me.

  “I came with these … thought you might want to look over the contract immediately since Tinsdale made so many changes.”

  He eyed her and then politely turned to me and made introductions. “Charlene Wells, this is Gloria Sidle. She’s a top attorney at Harriman and Boyles but works with Devon Enterprises almost exclusively.”

  I nodded and stupidly gave her a smile. Stupidly, because she refused to take note of my presence.

  She didn’t bother looking my way and concentrated her gaze only on him. “You need to look these over. Tinsdale says he has another offer he is considering and will take if you don’t agree to his terms. I thought it best to bring it in person since I wasn’t sure you would even look at your email.”

  He eyed her and said, “A mutual friend mentioned seeing you at dinner with Tinsdale last evening, and now he’s made changes to the contract we agreed upon earlier?” He sneered. “I tell you what, Gloria. Tell him to take his other offer.” He eyed the folder and added, “You can hand that back to him. I withdraw my offer.”

  I saw the businessman then. Apparently he didn’t take shit.

  He and this Tinsdale guy must have had a verbal agreement, and now the guy was playing games. My Mr. Hottie didn’t play games. I liked him immediately. He was upfront and honest.

  Gloria Sidle turned white. “This isn’t wise, Wade …”

  “Is it not, Ms. Sidle? Well, you’ve been working with my firm for only a few months and apparently have not learned that I don’t deal with people who renege on agreements. Now, if you will excuse us.”

  Whoa, Mr. Hottie was a toughie. I would have felt sorry for her had she not shot me a look of contempt. I was surprised. What did I do? But I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was probably embarrassed by his cold treatment.

  On the other hand, she was out of line, wasn’t she? Unless she and Mr. Hottie were involved?

  Ah, maybe that was it.

  He opened her car door for her, and she got inside. He said something low and quiet, only for her ears, and I looked away.

  She shot me a look full of hatred this time. I thought maybe she was crazy, but she smiled at him and said, “Wade … I’m off to meet some friends, but I could come back afterwards if you like …?”

  Ah, lovers, I concluded.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, and there was nothing of the lover about him.

  I revised my opinion. Ex-lovers.

  She evidently had no pride or shame because her voice held something—was it a plea? “But, Wade … it has been so long.”

  Okay, time to turn and run. I started to move away to give them some privacy.

  Wade reached for and caught my hand. “No need for you to leave,” he said.

  She gave him a sharp, hard smile that again surprised me and turned to me once again. Apparently she was jealous. I felt bad for her, but then Gloria Sidle, who was now really looking at me for the first time, said on a harsh note, “Well, look at you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A young and delicate flower, aren’t you? Be careful. He will swallow you whole.”

  I sucked in my bottom lip and decided to hold my tongue.

  She drove off, and I looked up at Wade Devon, but before I could speak he said, “I am sorry for that.”

  I shook my head. “None of my business.”

  Even though I felt a little sorry for her, I didn’t like Gloria Sidle. But, I told myself, she could be right.

  Yeah, maybe Mr. Hottie with the devastating looks would, if he could, swallow me whole.

  However, I decided, I wasn’t about to let him.

  Chapter Two

  DETERMINATION IS A FUNNY thing. A chocolate cake in the fridge is begging to be eaten. You are determined to stay on your diet. A call from someone gets your dander up, determination goes out the window, and the cake … downed in five minutes flat.

  I know this about myself and try to circumvent cracks in my determination, but now and then, poof, willpower explodes, and I find myself doing exactly what I’ve told myself to avoid.

  I have some rigid notions about good, bad, you know, and ugly. I have rigid notions about who fits into which category. Yeah, kinda like the Clint Eastwood movie.

  But I was about to learn a valuable lesson. I was about to learn that life is filled with far more grays than black and whites. And colors? Forget about it. Colors obscure everything, and Mr. Hottie? He was every color of the rainbow.

  When Blondie drove off with that parting remark, I decided to put up some walls Mr. Hottie would not be able to crack. I knew myself, and I knew instantly I was far too attracted to him on far too many levels.

  I needed to protect myself. I needed to be able to ‘look and not touch.’

  The only problem with that was looking at Wade Devon made something inside me whisper, Touch, touch, touch.

  So up went my wall, or so I thought, but people are complicated. You think, Well, he did that, so he must be this, and then it turns out that he is something way different than either this or that.

  He was so damned easy to talk to.

  He asked real simple questions—ones that didn’t require complicated answers. He spoke about his work and asked about my art, and the next thing I knew I was jabbering on and on about art, horses, museums, and travel, which is a dream of mine. There are so many places I want to visit, like Paris and Rome and Ireland, and my list goes on and on.

  “Travel?” he said thoughtfully. “I am well-traveled, but I can’t say that I really am well versed in any of the places I visited. They were business trips you see …” His voice trailed off, and I saw a flicker of regret in his eyes.

  I changed the subject. “You know, there’s a Hunt Club on Long Island that only does drag hunts. They take scent over fences. The huntsman takes out the hounds, and they follow the scent, and the hunt follows them if they can.” I laughed and continued. “Some of the fences are challenging. Sassy ducked out of one or two of them. It’s a lot of fun. Everyone wins. Fox aren’t hunted, hounds get to chase a scent and are rewarded with a treat at the end, and the riders get to jump over a variety of fences at breakneck speed. It is wild but fun. I’ve only done a few of them.” I smiled and added, “What I really love are the Hunter Paces.”

  He wanted to know more, and before I knew it I was recounting one funny incident after another and discovered that laughing with him was as easy as blabbering at him.

  He sat back and asked curiously, “How many boarders do we have that hunt and do these pace events?”

  “Hmm, let me think, six or seven I think. They used to hunt live scent years ago, but now they only drag, which makes it more acceptable to people. Horrible to hunt down a fox who has been planted for that reason alone. He doesn’t stand much of a chance, does he? New territory—where can he go? Horrible.” I tried to read his opinion on his face and asked, “Do you hunt?”

  “No, and I don’t compete. When I get on a horse, I just want to ride out and enjoy the quiet of the day.”

  “Hmm, that’s me as well, but I have gone on a couple of Hunter Paces, and those are fun. No animals involved, just your best speed over really tough fences to the finish line. It is done in twos.” I sighed. “I haven’t had anyone to partner with lately as Dee—my best friend—lost her horse to old age this year and isn’t ready to take on another.”

  “I might be interested in partnering with you, just to try something different. Prancer is a natural over fences. I just give him his head.”

  �
��I have to warn you, when I do a Hunter Pace, I get competitive. Sassy and I are out for time, and we usually pin.”

  “Just what I want to hear,” he said and grinned.

  Oh, yes, conversation with Wade Devon was easy. But, underneath it all, I had the feeling that he was moving towards something—and I wasn’t sure what.

  He told me that though he planned to improve and expand Norcross, he meant to keep the name of the farm and the two employees that had been with us for years and years.

  That thrilled me, and what was more, I thought his plans would work. The area could use an upscale horse farm.

  He sat back then and confessed that he usually lost interest in projects once they were completed and made successful.

  “But Norcross is already successful,” I objected.

  “True, but only on a small scale. As I said, I mean to expand. I made an offer on the land that backs up to the farm, and it’s been accepted. Those ten acres will allow us additional paddocks and another building where I can house—comfortably house—at least fifteen more horses. I already have a waiting list.” He smiled.

  “That will mean more help will be needed, and between the cost of building, taxes, and … well, it will be years before you see a profit.” I felt a blush hit my cheeks. “Oh, I am sorry. You don’t need any advice from me …”

  “Yes, Charlie, I do. But I have taken all that into consideration. Here’s the difference between what your farm was and what my farm will be. As you said, your parents ran a ‘mom and pop’ operation. Your boarding fees were too low to be realistic. You never had a vacancy, true, but the income it provided was inferior. You didn’t charge enough to do more than get by and then only because all three of you worked at it with very little help. My boarding foreman has purchased a horse van for Norcross. He’s experienced in both horsemanship and service, and he’ll drive the horses to the various shows and events for the boarders. We will also offer grooming services to our boarders and—”

  “But …” I interrupted, as I realized a great many of the present boarders wouldn’t be able to afford what he’d have to charge. “Some of our boarders have been with us for years and can’t afford to pay more …” I know I was waving my hands about. I do when upset.