Doug attempted to stand, but the rocker got the best of him to force him back into the seat. “You get outta here, West. And I don’t want you around here no more, ya hear me?”
“I hear ya, Doug. Too bad you can’t hear yourself.” Scattering the chickens, Eric made his way down the lopsided cracked sidewalk.
“Margie, get me a beer!” the old bugger bellowed for Eric’s benefit.
She watched through the screen. Eric hesitated before continuing through the gate.
“Margie!”
Jolted back to the moment, she blinked hard before darting into the kitchen to retrieve Doug’s beer.
On the long way home, Eric found himself driving slower than usual.
In the silence of the night ride, with the windows down and radio off; he was immersed in thought. He’d been thinking a lot lately …about Jen Fleming. She was a very attractive woman. The way her short brunette hair curled around her heart-shaped chin. Her big, brown eyes were kind, compassionate. Hey, they’re pretty damned sexy, too.
She was always stopping by the stables with really lame “professional” reasons. Like, he needed to sign an insurance form that he’d signed two days before; or she needed the name of a hired stable hand that didn’t exist. He knew. He never let on, but he knew, and he liked it.
It’s time to stop liking it, and do something about it, damn it. It’s been ten years since Barbara died. Ten years, Eric. It’s time to move on with your life. Who knows? Jen Fleming may be just the woman to move on with. Okay, time to end the cat and mouse game. Time to make a move.
Margie was making great progress. It was time to make some progress of his own. Smiling to himself, he steered the Denali through the stone entrance of Westwood.
The mid-morning sun glimmered through the maple trees that lined the racetrack at Keystone Downs. The morning workouts were over, and the John Deeres raked the dirt surface to prepare it for the evening races.
At a picnic table under a huge maple, Margie practiced writing her name over and over again. She worked each letter with meticulous attention. The next time the UPS man asked for her signature on a package, she wanted her signature to be perfect.
Her father had forbidden Eric to come to the house, so he was now tutoring her at the track after morning workouts.
People noticed them at the picnic table. Some would call-out and wave to them. Suspicious of the pair, some would stop and watch before continuing on their way. Margie and Eric paid them no mind. They had important business to tend to, and she felt so lucky to be important enough for Eric West to spend time with her.
Margie thought it was imperative to look as nice as possible for her sessions. It helped with her learning. She made sure her hair was neat and clean. Today, she wore it braided and cascading over her shoulder while she worked.
She had bought some Cover Girl eye shadow, which she brushed a little green over her lids. After struggling with the mascara, she wiped it off and decided to learn how to apply that another day.
She had changed from her barn clothes to fresh jeans and a green shirt before going to the picnic table. She looked good in green … considering. All in all, it was a poor attempt at perfection. She would never be as beautiful as Kate or Ava West. Christ, all the Wests seemed to be perfect. Perfect complexions, hair, eyes, and they all had bodies like workout gurus.
I’ll never be beautiful like them, but I’ll no longer be an idiot. I will be able to read, and write, and sign my name neatly when the UPS man comes. Perfect might be out of reach. Average is the best I’ll most likely ever be.
Glancing at the plate of snicker-doodles she’d baked for today’s lesson, another thought occurred to her. Those women are pretty, but they probably don’t bake half as well as I can. Lord knows, Eric sure does love my baking. He’s even compared it to his wife’s.
Take that pretty girls.
She had just finished the letter E in her first name, when a shadow hovered over her. Thinking it was Eric arriving, she turned to greet him with a smile, only to find Dan Quaide with a smirk on his coarse face.
Dan made an effort at pleasant. “Hey, Margie, whatcha doing?”
She turned away to concentrate on the letter O. “I’m busy, Dan,” she replied curtly.
“With what?”
Annoyed, she let out a sigh. “Practicing my—It’s none of your damned business.” She was hoping to hear his footsteps retreating through the grass so that she could finish her last name.
He continued watching over her shoulder. “What’re you and ol’ Eric up to under this tree?” he asked with a snort.
She whipped around. Her eyebrows furrowed. “He’s teaching me to read and write.”
He snorted louder and harder. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”
“Shut-up.”
Refusing to leave it at that, he leaned down on the table. His tone was mean and teasing. “Is he taking you to the dance next week?”
She slid across the seat. “Why would he?”
Dan burst into a laugh. “You’re right. He’d have to really lower his standards to show up with you.” He snatched her clipboard from the table. “Hey, lemme see what you’re writing.”
Margie’s breath caught. She grabbed for it, but Dan backed away too fast. Grappling for the clipboard, she jumped from her seat. Merrily, he danced in circles while holding it over her head and watching her struggle to claim it.
“Give it to me, Dan!” Tears formed in her eyes.
“I just wanna see what he’s really been teaching you at night.”
She begged, “Please, Dan. I got work to do.”
“Just let me—”
“Dan!” Eric’s bellow ripped through the struggle.
Dan froze. Wearing a cock-eyed smile, he turned. “Hey, Eric, how’s things?”
Eric leaned against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. “What are you? Twelve?”
Dan suddenly became aware of the crowd that had gathered to stare at him like he wasn’t wearing pants.
“Give her the clipboard,” Eric strongly advised.
Margie seized the clipboard from the brawny man and folded it into her chest. She lowered her head to hide her flushed face.
Dan held his hands up. “Hey, I don’t want to get in the way of progress.”
Eric’s tight gaze never wavered. He nodded. “Wise decision.”
Dan looked around at the crowd. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he whistled when he walked away.
Eric pushed away from the tree to take a seat next to Margie at the picnic table.
Amongst the dispersing crowd, Kate watched her father getting down to the business of teaching the young woman. Biting her lip, she wore a worrisome expression. The murmurs in the group were filled with innuendos of a surprising affair between the older, wealthy, horseman and the younger not-so-attractive woman. No one saw what her father was doing for this woman. No one really cared what was really going on. Oh no, the dirty, little rumors were much more entertaining.
Ava strolled up behind her to draw close to her ear. “He’s been spending a lot of time with her, hasn’t he?” she chirped. “She doesn’t seem like his type, but you never know, do you?”
Thirteen
Tom was pumped. Anticipating a vigorous swim with his Thoroughbred, Ivan; he waited next to the pool. Stuffed into a red Speedo, he consciously sucked in his tanned abs. The gold chain and cross shined against his dark curly chest hairs sparsely spread over his torso and down his abs to circle his navel.
Unable to look at him, Mike kept his eyes focused on the floor, on the horse, on the windows, on the pool, on anything at all in order to not to have to look at the bulge covered only by a thin piece of spandex between Tom’s legs.
Gee-zuz, man, is he for real?
“Give me a leg
up, Mike. Lead us into the pool,” Tom said with the enthusiasm of an over-zealous child at an amusement park.
Mike’s eyes bugged. The last thing he wanted to do was grab this man’s leg and have his “boys” directly in his face. No way in hell. Desperately, he glanced around the large room.
Where the hell is Coco? He had called her the night before to try like hell to talk some sense into that blonde brain of hers before Tom took the big splash. I hope she heard what I was telling her. All he got back from the conversation was, “Uh, huh,” “Mmmm,” and a few “Okay’s.” Maybe he had called her at a bad time, or a good one … it was all in the perception.
Here Tom was, practically in his birthday suit, ready to take the plunge. Obviously, Coco wasn’t able to talk him out of this crazy idea. Maybe she’s as crazy as he is.
“Mike ...” With his leg hoisted, Tom stood close while poised for him to give a lift onto the horse’s back. “What are you waiting for?”
“Divine intervention,” Mike murmured under his breath.
“Tom-Tom.” Coco’s voice rang out from across the room.
Mike turned.
There she was—in all her glory—wearing a hot pink, string bikini. Her perky, round breasts bounced gently when she strutted toward him in a pair of pink stilettos. Her shapely hips eased down into her long, lean legs. No ballerina could be more beautiful while gliding across the room toward the edge of the pool to look down into the water.
He closed his eyes. Well, she’s almost naked. He couldn’t think about that. Coco was about to do a really big no-no. He had to put a stop to this dangerous game they were adamant on playing.
He heard her voice again. “Tom.” This time her voice was stern, almost scolding. Mike opened his eyes to a sight he never thought he’d witness. She was peering into the horse water, with her hands firmly on her gorgeous hips and an uncompromising look on her face.
Sexy.
Tom dropped his foot to the floor. Thank God. He was peering over the horse at her.
“Tom, I’ve had second thoughts,” she stated decisively. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of the less than crystal clear water.
Oh yeah, she doesn’t like what she’s looking at. She is definitely in control mode. Very sexy.
“I think Mike knows best. We should leave the swimming to him.”
Mike exhaled. “Thanks, Coco.”
“It’s Colette,” she corrected him in a firm voice.
Ballerina sexy.
Tom’s lower lip drooped far and low. “Do you mean, let Mike ride while the horse swims?”
Terrified that in fact that was exactly what the sexy little blonde meant, Mike’s entire body stiffened. He braced for yet another Coco calamity. Only this time it would be at his expense. Aren’t they all?
“No, Tom, I mean leave the training to the professional.” Her eyes scanned the water again before landing on the gentlemanly cowboy. She tossed him a resolute look. “Isn’t that best, Mike?” She wasn’t begging for his confirmation, she was damn well demanding it.
“It is ... Colette,” he assured her with a soft, half-smile.
She returned his smile with her lips and her eyes. She made her way to him, brushed a stray strand away from his eyes, and kissed his cheek tenderly to urge another smile out of him.
“Thank you, Mike.” She squared her shoulders. “I wanted you to know that I’ve made arrangements for my horses to be shipped to a Thoroughbred placement program.” She squeezed his arm. “I feel really badly about what happened to Sebastian. I don’t want Charlatan to hurt anyone ever again, but I want him to have a good home.”
“Another good decision, Colette.” Relief filled Mike’s voice.
“Thanks again, my gentlemanly cowboy.” With that, she took Tom by the hand to lead him, and his Speedo, from the swimming facility.
Mike held on to his smile. He was amazed how far Coco—Colette had come in only a few, short weeks. A strange metamorphosis had taken place. From the train wreck to the cool-headed, rational—and yes—in control—individual in the relationship. Still, he wished one of those damned strings would come undone and that bikini come tumbling down. Seeing Coco naked just plain wasn’t meant to be. Damn it.
Forgiving just became a whole lot easier. Forget? No, not really. I don’t want to forget Coco—Not the calamities she caused. Not her twinkling crystal blue eyes. She is beautiful and kind. She never used her beauty to manipulate or hurt anyone. No, forgetting Miss Colette Beardmore is not a viable option.
Progress.
Today was the day. Eric wasn’t going to put it off any longer. He was going to march into Jen Fleming’s office and take the first step toward a future. He was sure she was feeling the same way—pretty sure, anyway.
Morning workouts were finished. Reviewing nouns and pronouns, he’d spent an hour with Margie. Now, he stood outside Jen’s office doorwith his hand on the knob. He sucked in a deep breath, and tapped on the door while he pressed through.
Nobody.
The office was quiet and still.
Jen’s metal desk rested along the wall with two stacked baskets filled with neatly piled papers on the right corner. Several framed pictures of her son, Brandon, took up the desk’s left corner.
Eric picked up one of the pictures. He’d never met Brandon. The young man, whose last name was Marshall, rarely came back to Lanzville. Jen must have been married before, and took back her maiden name after a divorce. She never spoke of it, and he didn’t feel that he should pry. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
“Looking for me?” Jen slipped through the door.
Startled, Eric replaced the picture on the desk. “Yes, I just dripped by ... I mean, I just dropped by.”
She tossed him a befuddled look. She had never seen him unraveled. “Is something wrong, Eric?”
“No, no, I ...” The words were catching in his throat.
This used to be easier—back when I was young, and romancing my wife. Now? It seems awkward, and ridiculous. Deciding to take the plunge, Eric shook his head and took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I came to see if you were available for the benefit dance next week.”
At last. She gazed into his anxiety-filled expression that was anticipating her response. How cute is this? He’s like a nervous teenager—adorable. Should I make him wait for my answer? I don’t want to seem too eager. But he looks so incredibly handsome standing there all vulnerable and anxious. She had never seen the imposing man like this before. It made her want to push him against the wall, smash her lips against his, and see where things went after that.
She held her poker-face. “Are you asking me to go with you?” She didn’t want to jump at the proposal, and she certainly didn’t want any misunderstandings at this point in the game.
Good God, didn’t I make that clear? He was feeling really rusty at this stuff. “Yes, if you’d like to go with me,” he admitted coyly.
Her plan was waning. She’d waited so long for this man to want to be with her, and she so wanted to be with him. To hell with looking too eager. “Of course, I’ll go with you.” She was quite pleased with herself that she didn’t seem overly enthusiastic, or at least she hoped.
Eric smiled in relief. Looking into those big, brown, damned sexy eyes, he couldn’t help himself anymore. Gently, he took her by the shoulders, drew her close, and pressed his lips tenderly to hers.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him back just as gently, just as wanting, and just as relieved. At last, at last, he’s come to me. I’ve waited for so long, dropped so many hints, and now here he is, kissing me. I don’t want to let go. Ahhh, sweet, sweet, progress.
Out of nowhere, there was another presence in the room—clearing her throat. Eric and Jen jerked away from their embrace and met Ava’s haughty smirk.<
br />
Jen brushed a brunette lock from her face. “Ava, what can I do for you?” She pounced into the all-business track nurse mode.
“Could you take a look at this cut? I think it’s infected, and I’m really tired of having Doc Spears look at things for me.” She held out her bandaged right hand.
Eric cleared his throat. “I’d better be going. I’ll see you later?”
Jen’s breath caught. What? Is he kidding? “Oh, yes, I’ll definitely see you later, Eric.”
Ava waited for the door to click closed before she seized the moment. “Good for you, Jennifer Fleming. When were you going to share the good news?”
Jen lifted a shoulder while pulling a bottle of antiseptic solution and gauze pads from a cabinet. “There’s nothing to share ... yet.” She was trying to control her excitement; but, the way her head was swimming, she feared it was a losing battle.
Ava’s lips curled in deviant delight. “Mmmm, I’m totally thrilled. You know, he’s been getting way too cozy with the O’Conner girl. I’m so glad he’s not one of those older men who always fall for younger women.”
Jen hesitated. Eric is much too level-headed for that. Right?
The barn was rocking. Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffett were singing about the possibility of it being five o’clock somewhere.
Perusing Glamour Magazine, Margie studied the season’s new eye colors while taking a break on a bale of straw. She’d never enjoyed time at the barn as much as she was at that moment. Upbeat, modern country music was blasting from the old radio. Actually, she was surprised that the radio hadn’t exploded. It had never been on any station except Old Country Gold.
Her foot was tapping, her head was bobbing, and her eyes were wide with the prospect of a new her. Maybe I can’t be as beautiful as Kate, or Ava, or even Coco—maybe perfection is out of my reach, but I sure can take it up a notch. I’ll show Mike West what he’s been missing out on all these years. Thanks to his own father. She giggled to herself at the idea. Sooner or later, he’ll want to do more than have dinner.
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