Her hand found its way to the glasses. Words stuck dry in her throat. She gazed at him staring at her, like she’d grown another head. “I gotta go,” she finally blurted while jogging down the shed rows toward her own stable.
Seven
The outdoor paddock at Keystone Downs was surrounded by a white fence, which was adorned by manicured boxwood hedges. Bifocals parked at the edge of their noses, racing enthusiasts lined the paddock with race programs in hand. They glanced up from the program picks to the Thoroughbreds being led around the paddock.
Shane led a tall lanky bay mare that pranced and tossed her bowed neck for the crowd. Mike leaned against the saddling stall with his arms crossed over his chest while watching the mare’s every move.
Gauging Mike’s pensive expression, Punch leaned on the opposite side of the stall. He couldn’t figure why Mike was so tense. This was just another race. This mare had been leaving the other horses in the dust during morning workouts. So, what’s the problem?
After lugging her vet box across the paddock, Kate checked out the pumped-up mare that Shane was struggling to keep under control.
“Isn’t that one of Malibu Barbie’s horses?” She approached Mike.
“Yep,” he replied.
She searched the fence line, and then the paddock area. No Coco. “Where is Goldilocks?”
“Her name is Coco. The insurance adjustor is coming this evening.”
A crooked devilish smile appeared on Kate’s lips. “Will she be serving him flambé?”
In no humor, Mike tossed her a dirty look. She unsuccessfully tried to smother her chuckle.
“Are you sticking around for the race?” he asked.
She checked her cell phone. “I’m supposed to go sign for my new car.”
“Ah, c’mon, it’s only a few more minutes. You’ll look pretty in the win picture.”
She shrugged. “Well, you seem quite confident. Okay, I’ll stay.”
Shane led the mare to the stall. After the track valet arrived with the saddle, he steadied the nervous mare while Mike tightened the girth.
Twirling their crops through their fingers, the jockeys filed from the locker room and approached their mounts. Sebastian O’Terra rode many mounts for Westwood Stables. With a wide smile, he extended his hand to Mike. His Italian accent was heavy, but his physique was light. “Are we ready to win this one?” he asked with a great air of confidence.
“Should be a cinch.”
“My thought exactly,” Sebastian said. “You want me to send her, right?”
“Yep, go straight for the lead.”
“Riders up!” The short chubby paddock manager hollered in his gruff, all-business voice.
After Mike gave Sebastian a leg up, the horses with their riders trotted toward the tunnel that traveled under the grandstands to open up onto the racetrack at the opposite end. Sebastian bounced along in the tiny saddle with his legs dangling at the mare’s sides. He was tying the reins into a knot when they disappeared into the tunnel.
In the grandstands, Mike, Punch, Kate, and Shane found a good spot among the patrons waiting for the horses to be loaded into the starting gate. Nervously, Mike fumbled with his binoculars until he finally parked them in front of his eyes to watch the bay mare being loaded in her post position. So far, all seemed to be going well.
He couldn’t bring himself to trust Coco’s horses. They were always causing one debacle or another. This bay mare seemed to be more of a follower than a leader. If she ran her race the way Mike and Sebastian had planned, she should win easily ... if ...
Frowning, Shane shoved his cell phone into his hip pocket.
“What’s the matter?” Mike asked.
“Tom Mason. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him. He isn’t answering his phone.”
“Maybe he’s turned tail and run.”
“Can’t say as I blame him after ...” He decided that was a sentence better left unfinished. After the fiasco in the swimming facility, and then the fire, it was a better idea to drop it.
The track announcer interrupted their conversation. “The horses are at their posts.”
Like a freaking amateur, Mike’s palms were sweating.
The bell rang. The gates burst open. The horses thrust forward from their posts.
Mike searched the stampede for Coco’s bay mare, Number Six.
At the gate, Sebastian sat on his mount. He slapped the mare with his crop, but she refused to move. He whacked her again across the rump.
Frozen wide-eyed in position, she snorted.
The gate crew watched with baffled expressions while Sebastian kicked and slapped and cursed in Italian.
Finally, one impatient member of the crew stepped forward. “C’mon, O’Terra, get her going.”
“I’m trying!” Sebastian bellowed.
The ten men that made up the gate crew exchanged befuddled glances. Then, they surrounded the mare.
Mike’s jaw dropped open when he spied through his binoculars Coco’s mare standing in the gate with the gate crew pushing and shoving on her rump while Sebastian slapped her with his crop. Shane sucked down the last drop from his can of soda while squinting over the top in search of the Number Six horse among the field that was now maneuvering the Clubhouse turn.
“What’s going on? I thought you were gonna send her.” He noticed his brother’s expression.
“She’s still in the gate. What the hell is Sebastian doing?” Mike fretted.
The gate crew pushed and shoved and grunted and clucked at the obstinate mare to no avail. Finally, she shifted her weight from one hoof to the other. Optimistic that she would at last step out of the gate, the gate crew stepped back.
Instead the mare flopped down on her rump in a sitting dog position.
Sebastian slid down her back to the ground into the sand. Thump.
The gate crew was aghast.
The horses that willingly participated in the race thundered across the finish line in front of the grandstands to a cheering crowd.
Mike wasn’t cheering. He was watching his horse now being pulled and tugged by the gate crew in an effort to get her into a standing position. His face was pallid. He could feel his stomach churn.
The track announcer kept the patrons informed. “Salty Silver Sally wins by five lengths. Looks like the Number Six horse is still standing, I mean, sitting in the starting gate.”
The John Deere tractor pulled the gate forward, to reveal the seated mare chomping on her bit like a cow on a cud. Laughing and pointing, the crowd went wild. Some even took pictures with their cell phones.
Mike cupped his forehead in his hand.
Punch grabbed the binoculars from him. He’d never seen such a display of repudiation. He thought back on Coco’s grey gelding flipping over in the stall while he was trying to saddle him. Shaking his head, he lowered the binoculars to his chest. “I don’t believe it.” He was bewildered by the sight. “We’ve got flipper and flopper.”
“What the hell do I do now?” Mike dug deep into his mind’s eye in search of an image of Coco stark naked. Nope, nothing.
The answer seemed crystal clear to Kate. “Get rid of that bimbo. She’s been nothing but trouble.”
“She’s right, Mike,” Punch said.
Certain that his brother would have a smartass comment, Mike glanced at Shane, who shrugged and gulped the last of his second can of soda before tossing it in the trash bin.
“Mike West, the gate crew requests that you claim your horse from the starting gate, please,” the announcer said.
Hidden among the hundreds of cars in the dark parking lot, Margie listened to the race that she knew Mike had a horse in on the radio in her father’s truck. She hoped to talk to him after the race. She didn’t want him to be caught off-guard. Doug was seething mad about some
thing that never took place between them. After what happened during the race, she thought it best to try and warn him later.
She turned the key in the ignition and the old, rickety truck rumbled to a start. She heard a soft bing. Looking down on the dash, she noticed the door ajar light glowing in the darkness. Taking a firm hold of the handle, she shouldered the door hard and jerked it all the way open.
There was a yelp, and a hard thump.
Perplexed by the sound, she peered out the window to find Coco in a puddle on the pavement.
Margie jumped from the truck. “Oh my God, Coco. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” She grabbed her by the arm and hoisted her to her feet.
Slightly dazed, Coco was soaked from her shoulder blades to her buttocks. “I was trying to make it to see the race.” Trying to focus, she rubbed her head. “Did she do good?”
Margie wasn’t so sure that she wanted to be the bearer of the big flop. “Well, she could’ve done better,” she said with a wince. “Are you okay?”
Coco ran her fingers through her hair while taking in her drenched clothing. “I think so.”
Margie couldn’t believe how beautiful this woman looked even when sopping wet and disheveled. Even when she hadn’t been knocked to the ground and wasn’t sopping wet, she always look disheveled and undone.
Envy scraped down Margie’s spine, burned through her gut, and into her soul. Coco had never been anything but kind to her, and she had no right to feel badly toward her. She struggled to slash through the pit of jealousy she couldn’t help but fall into.
“You should get out of those wet clothes. They’re pretty filthy, too,” she said while watching Coco twist and turn to gauge the damage.
“I really wanted to see Mike,” she moaned.
Margie thought about the stubborn mare sitting in the starting gate. She was certain that Mike had enough to deal with at the moment. “Ahhh, I dunno. He’s probably gonna be pretty busy for a while. C’mon, I’ve got some extra clothes at the barn.” With that, she took Coco by the arm and led her to the passenger side of the truck.
The O’Conner stable was dark when Margie rolled the pickup to a stop in front of the barn door.
Coco was apprehensive. “I don’t think your father’s going to be happy to see me, Margie.” She eyed-up the stable while searching the shadows for any sign of the nasty man.
“I don’t think he would be either.” Margie shoved the truck in PARK. “Good thing he went home about an hour ago,” she added with a wink.
Coco slid from the truck to follow Margie into the dark, shabby stable. The horses nickered quietly to Margie when she flicked on the lights. Gently, she stroked each horse’s muzzle when she passed their stall while approaching the barn office. She hadn’t lived a charmed life in a big house with closets full of designer clothes, social mixers, or traveling to Europe on a whimsy vacation. No, Margie’s life was hard, full of work, toil, and then more work. With all that in mind, Coco found herself admiring the woman. She’s unassuming. She knows who she is. Although she has so little, she loves what she has. And those are qualities well-worth possessing. Qualities that have escaped so many people, including me.
Margie opened a large storage bin in the corner of the office and pulled out a pair of clean Lee jeans; and an aged, but clean, T-shirt. Looking at Coco’s jeans and her soiled silk blouse, she was embarrassed by the offering. “They’re not fancy, but they’ll get you home.”
Coco smiled. “They’ll do just fine. Thank you so much for your kindness. You have the most beautiful eyes. You really do, Margie.”
Margie was unsure if the gorgeous goddess was offering a pity compliment or if she was sincere. It didn’t matter. Her generous words filled her with a moment of rare replete.
What a lousy night. Mike drug his weary body from his pickup and shuffled across the stone patio to the kitchen door. He was feeling used, abused, and well spent. The image of Coco’s mare sitting in the starting gate went round and round in his mind. The image of Coco naked in his bed? Not happening. He was absolutely sure that there would be a forgive and forget scenario involved somewhere in this disaster.
“Hi, Mike. How did it go tonight?” Coco’s tender voice jolted him to attention. There she was in that little, black have-hot-sex-with-me-now dress. She was thankful that she had caught him. After her debacle in the parking lot, Coco had rushed home to change into something more … alluring than Margie’s barn clothes.
Feeling a bit flushed and noticing Mike’s apprehension, she decided he might need a little encouragment after their last dinner date. “I won’t go near your stove and you can pour.” Smiling, she held up a bottle of wine. She lowered her voice to an inviting, sultry murmur. “I want to make-up for the other night.”
She tenderly raked her fingers through his hair, down his neck, and across his square jaw. She pressed her mouth against his and let her tongue caress his lips before she pulled away.
After all the calamities, he wanted to tell her he was too tired, that he was a coward and wary to even go inside the house with her; but before he could muster the words, she took him by the hand and guided him through the door. She had a “do things to me” look in her eyes. He was rendered helpless.
She led him through his small kitchen with oak cabinetry, a bistro-style table and chairs beneath an arched window that looked out over the white barns with blue tin roofs and white fences. “Cute kitchen, it makes me want to bake cookies.” When he pitched a warning look, she giggled. “Teasing—I’m teasing.”
She found his living room with the stone fireplace. A simple décor for the gorgeous, gentlemanly cowboy. She pulled him down onto the sofa.
Mike was beyond helping himself. The way she tugged at his shirt with the look in those blue eyes, and the passion in her kisses on his mouth and neck while she unzipped his Levis had him forgetting how tired he was, his trashed trailer, the burnt kitchen, and her flipping/flopping horses. It was time to sit-back, relax, and let the “trainer with benefits” package finally kick-in. It’s about damned time.
His strong hands gently smoothed down her neck, and over her shoulders and luscious firm breasts. He looked into her enticing eyes while he slipped the dress from her shoulders to expose the sexy black satin and lace bra. Her hand slipped inside his jeans to stroke the hard length of him.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Their heads jerked toward the kitchen. Someone was knocking on the screen door.
Seriously?
“Michael, are you in there? Hello ...” Ava’s voice carried through the house.
Mike’s head dropped to his chest. What the hell is she doing here? boomed through his brain.
Hastily, Coco pulled her dress back into position. “Who is that?”
It didn’t matter. Ava stepped through the threshold of the kitchen, and was now standing in the living room.
Pulling his jeans together, he could see in Coco’s eyes that something was amiss. He was afraid to look, but he had to. Slowly, he turned toward Ava.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t know you had company.” Looking like red-hot desire, Ava was dressed in the exact same little, black have-your-way-with-me-now dress that Coco was wearing. There she stood with her auburn hair draped over her shoulders. He felt like he was about to star in a very bad porn flick.
That wasn’t happening—not in this life anyway. He knew Ava.
“What’s going on, Ava?” Suspicion filled his tone and his narrowed eyes.
Coco whispered in his ear, “Should I go?”
“No,” he replied embarrassingly fast. He wasn’t letting his “trainer with benefits” get lost in the shuffle—not this time. He jumped up and, as gently as an aroused man can, he took Ava by the arm.
“Coco,” he called over his shoulder, “Make yourself comfo
rtable. I’ll be right back.”
He ushered Ava through the kitchen directly to the patio behind the house. Once he felt they were safely out of ear-shot, he whipped the stunning red-head around to face him.
She was wearing her sultry green bedroom eyes—the one’s he could never resist—the one’s she used to get exactly what she wanted from him. He felt himself waning. He wanted to pull her close and press his lips over hers. Shit, he wanted to put his lips everywhere. She still owned a corner of his soul. He was feeling pissed at himself for it. Not today. I’ve forgiven and forgotten. Forgave my stupidity. Forgot her existence. Remember? Still, there she was looking hot in that little take-me-now-I’m-yours dress. Damn to hell.
“What are you doing here, Ava?” he demanded in a low and deliberate tone.
Her eyes and her voice were filled with the sweet innocence of a kitten. “I heard you had a bad day. I came to cheer you up.” She purred while feathering her fingers through his open shirt and across his chest. “I didn’t realize you had company. Someone new?” Using her master manipulation skills, her index finger traced the buttons on his shirt down to his jeans while poking it through a button hole to circle his navel. It was gentle, sensual, and driving.
The muscles in his abs contracted and his spine tensed at the caressing tease of her fingernail.
Ava knew she would get this kind of a response. Her touch always made him liquefy. She could see the melt-down well underway. Game over. I own him. I can have him here and now on the patio while Miss Rich Blonde Bombshell’s waiting for him in the living room. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. Sex with Michael was great. It was the one thing about their marriage she relished, maybe even missed. When this man takes his clothes off he’s a study in hot-damn-amazing. When things get hot, he’s as hot as they get—blazing. But she had to keep it at a distance, or the control she wielded could possibly wilt.
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