Yep, it looks like our relationship has crashed and burned. Damned to hell.
He exhaled hard. He had a mind to drive right over to her place and pound on her door until she let him in. Not exactly sure what that would accomplish, but it’s becoming the viable option, damn it. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth while seriously giving that option a whirl.
Shane plopped down on the chair across from him and jogged him out of his thoughts. Placing his soda on the coffee table, Shane tossed him an ornery grin while he munched on a ham sandwich. “Sorry to hear you got dumped last night.”
Eric sat up. “I didn’t get dumped.”
“What would you call it? When a date wants to find her own way home, you’ve been dumped.” He grabbed the soda and took a quick swig. “And when you can’t contact her—Oh yeah, you’ve been dumped. And then—”
Wincing, he gestured for him to stop with his hand. “Thank you, Shane. I’ve got the idea.”
Kate walked into the room just as the phone on the desk began to ring. She grabbed it. “Hello ...” She listened before handing the receiver to her father. “Dad, I think it’s Margie.”
Eric jumped from the sofa and dashed to the desk. With a braced breath, he took the phone from Kate’s hand. “Hello ...”
Margie’s voice was hesitant but strong. “Eric, it’s Margie, are you busy after morning workouts tomorrow?”
Exchanging glances, Kate and Shane watched while apprehension filled their father’s face. “I don’t know, Margie—”
“Please, Eric,” she pleaded with a soft reassuring tone.
“What’s up?”
“Reading and writing, like always, at the picnic table under the tree. Please come, Eric.”
He could hear a hint of anxiety in her cajoling. “I’ll be there.” He replaced the phone on its base. He turned to find wary expressions on his children’s faces.
“You’re going?” Kate was worried that her father was walking into the lion’s den without a chair or a whip.
With a shake of his head, Eric leaned a hip against the desk. “I must be a glutton for punishment.”
Sinking back into the sofa, Shane chuckled and took another bite of his sandwich.
When Margie hung up the phone, she felt a tug at her heart. What a mess I’ve made of my relationship with Eric. She was ashamed that she had let Ava convince her that he had deep-hidden feelings for her.
If she were being truthful, she couldn’t deny that there was a sputter of attraction on her part for Eric. With the same thick, dark hair, except for a sprinkle of gray, he was an older version of his son. She could see the same mystery in his eyes that she had always observed in Mike’s. Hey, who wouldn’t be attracted to that?
After she had taken the bait and allowed herself to believe that he was secretly in love with her, she fell into the chasm of those feelings for him. What a fool I made of myself. When she closed her eyes, shecould still see the shock and then the pity, on the Wests’ faces, especially Mike’s. It still made her gut wrench when she thought of it.
She promised Mike that she would talk to his father. He was right. She did owe Eric more than the cold shoulder that she had been tossing his direction. She had been treating him terribly unfair. By teaching her how to read and write, he had opened a new world for her, as promised. Sometimes that world is a cold, harsh place; but, thanks to Eric, I’m now better equipped to handle anything it throws at me.
Tomorrow, they would meet again at the picnic table under the canopy of the big old maple tree. She supposed people would pass by, some would wave and call out to them, and some would stop and watch them. They’ll be more suspicious than ever after everything that’s happened.
Looking around the kitchen, her gaze fell upon her baking pans, flour, sugar, and measuring spoons resting on the table. She wanted to bake something really special. She smiled to herself. Eric West was a very special man.
Jen tossed in her bed. How many times have I rolled over to check the time? It’s now two a.m. If things had gone according to her carefully, calculated plans, she wouldn’t be in this bed alone. Eric would be between these blue sheets and he’d be hers … forever.
Tell God your plans ... listen to him laugh.
Tomorrow, she would see Eric. Maybe she should have responded to his messages that he had left on her voice mail, but she’d rather talk to him face-to-face. Hopefully, end with lips-to-lips. She wanted him to forgive her so badly. After the terrible cat fight that she had with Margie in the ladies room that he had to break-up, she felt like she had more than used up all of her chances with him. She wasn’t so sure that a man like Eric West gave out more than one chance. She wasn’t so sure that she blamed him.
She rolled over toward the window and watched the moon’s ray’s filter through the curtains to fill the room with a soft ashen glow. It’s going to be a long night. A tear trickled down her cheek to moisten her pillow.
“Everything will look better in the morning,” her mother used to say to her while stroking her hair when she was a young girl filled with angst over a math test or a report she had to deliver in front of a class.
Trying to bite back the tears, she closed her eyes. “Everything will look better in the morning,” quietly she repeated her mother’s words to herself. She hoped and prayed that her mother would be right just one more time.
Eric kept checking his watch.
The morning was dragging even though they were busy with a visit from Tom Mason and Colette Beardmore. On alert, the West clan kept a vigilant eye on the pair. They paid particular attention to the location of their vehicles at all times. Kate had driven in to the track with Shane. She wasn’t taking any chances with her new Mustang. Calling her a coward, Shane goaded her. She had no problem ignoring him.
Tom was exuberant. He couldn’t wait to watch his grand gelding, Ivan, work-out one last time before the big race on Saturday.
Mike was quite pleased with Ivan, who had trained like a champion. He felt confident that the gelding would make an exciting showing at the race.
Waiting anxiously for Ivan to pass with the exercise rider aboard, they stood along the rail. Mike let Tom hold the stopwatch and press the button when Ivan whizzed passed like Bob Baffert working one of his Kentucky Derby hopefuls. The time on the half-mile work was forty-seven seconds, which was the fastest work on the racetrack roster for the morning.
God bless him. Tom gleefully led Ivan back to barn. His chest puffed with pride and excitement for the upcoming race, he told everyone they bumped into about Ivan’s workout results. He insisted upon helping cool-out his lean mean racing machine, and Colette offered to get a bucket of water for him. After filling the bucket to overflowing, she struggled to tote it down the aisle toward Mike, Tom, and Ivan.
Mike saw her teetering back and forth with the full bucket. He braced himself for the big splash that would surely happen when she reached him.
He had no problem picturing the scenario: Coco/Colette would trip over her feet to splash the bucket of ice cold water down the front of him—the crotch area, of course, to make it look like he’d peed himself, which would force him to walk around the track looking that way until it dried. Oh, I’ll get quite a teasing from Dan Quaide, Doug O’Conner, Doc Spears, and, naturally, Shane.
I can hear the comments already, “Hey, Mike, the men’s room is at the end of the shed row.” “They’ve got medication for that problem, ya know.” “Keep it in your pants, West.” Ba-ha-ha-ha-ha!
Nice, real nice.
With that sweet innocent smile on those plump delicious lips, she drew closer and closer still. Tom kept chattering at him, but he didn’t hear a word. Bracing for the cool shower he was surely about to receive, he winced. She walked passed him and set the bucket down in front of Ivan. She patted his neck while he took a sip.
Glancing down at his dry jean
s, Mike exhaled.
Colette definitely was the “new and improved” version of Coco Beardmore. The blonde klutz that was once painfully plagued with Calamity Jane Syndrome seemed to have climbed out of that chasm.
Eric insisted upon walking Tom and Colette to their vehicle. Where they were concerned, it had become policy, anyway. Mike was proud and quick to point out that the couple’s visit was a true success in everyway. Ivan had turned in a winning time, and no disastrous debacles had occurred. It was most impressive, indeed.
After the dynamic duo had been sent safely on their way, Eric glanced at his watch again while holding the lead to a horse that Shane was rubbing-down with liniment.
Shane stood back to study the horse’s knee. “Hopefully, the swelling will soon go down.” He wiped his hands with a rag.
“It’s looking better. He seems sounder on it today.” Eric handed the lead to Shane.
He could see the edginess in his father. “You going to see Margie?”
“On my way now.” Eric glanced at his watch for the hundredth time while walking toward the barn door.
“Dad ...” Shane called to him. Eric turned. “Margie’s not so mangy anymore ... thanks to you.”
That urged a smile from Eric. With a nod at his son, he walked out the door.
The pigeons wobbled and warbled around Eric while he walked through the shed rows. Perhaps Margie should find another tutor. I don’t know how we’re going to get past the tension that has been set in motion over the last few weeks.
His thoughts drifted to Jen. How am I going to patch things up with her? Enough. After I see Margie, I’ll go to Jen’s office to iron things out and if she’s not there, it’s time to go pound on her door—Hell, kick it in if I have to.
He had weighed his viable options. Now he made his decision.
Game on.
“Hey, Eric.” Dan Quaide’s voice jarred him back into the moment. He was walking toward him with a coffee in his hand and a sleazy grin on his face. “I saw Margie sitting at the picnic table about fifteen minutes ago. I think she’s waiting on you. Man, she just doesn’t give up, does she? She wants it bad, Eric. Why don’t you give it to her?” He slapped him on the back.
Enough.
Eric clenched his fist, hauled back, and slammed Dan in the nose. Dan fell to the pavement. His coffee spilled over his chest and blood spewed from his nostrils. Eric stepped over the brawny man and continued toward the old maple tree near the track.
When he rounded the corner of the last stable in the shed row, his eyes widened. Indeed, Margie was waiting at the picnic table for him, but she wasn’t alone. She was passing out pencils and tablets to five young Hispanic stable hands.
What the hell?
He went through the gate and across the grass to arrive at the end of the table under the shade of the tree. Smiling, Margie looked up at him while placing a pile of easy readers in the middle of the table. She uncovered a heaping plate of raisin oatmeal cookies. She remembered that they were his favorites, and that hers were much like the ones his late wife used to bake for him.
“Thanks for coming, Eric. I knew you would,” Margie said. “I’ve brought some friends along who want to learn to read.” She could see the uneasiness in his rigid stance. “I told them what a good teacher you are, but I also told them what a busy man you are.”
Eric took in the caramel-colored faces that were looking back at him. Their dark eyes seemed to be pleading with him. “Margie, I don’t know ...”
“I told Margie that I would help.”
Jen’s voice took him by surprise. He turned to find her leaning against the tree. Her arms were crossed under her breasts. God, she was a sight with her lovely brunette hair wisped around her chin, those big brown eyes, and her pixie-like appearance.
Damn, she always looks so good.
He let go of a breath that he felt he had been holding in his lungs for two days. Maybe there is a chance for us, after all.
“Jen and me—”
“Jen and I,” Eric corrected her.
Margie sighed. “Jen and I ironed things out between us yesterday.”
He swept his hand over his mouth. “No more cat fights in the bathroom?”
Margie rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself, Eric.”
Trying to smother a giggle, Jen cleared her throat. “Or maybe you could give what time you can spare to help us help these people.”
Eric smiled. “A literacy program, right here at the track ...”
“It was Margie’s idea.” Jen smiled at her. “I’m willing to volunteer. Margie’s willing to organize.”
“I want to volunteer, too.” Another voice interrupted the persuasion. Scott Carter took a seat next to Margie and tossed her a coy smile. He looked at Jen with a thin smile that was filled with apology and regret.
Eric and Jen exchanged pleased glances. Their eyes flew open wide when Doug O’Conner plodded through the grass to plunk down at the end of the table. He snatched a tablet and a pencil, and spewed a stream of tobacco juice into the grass.
“We really need this, Eric. What do you say?” Margie wheedled.
He looked into the young Hispanic faces and the old weathered face of a man that had hidden his illiteracy for over fifty years. Then, he looked into Margie’s eyes, and Jen’s. He plucked a raisin oatmeal cookie from the plate and took a bite.
“I say ... let’s get started.”
Epilogue
Forgive and ... Forget?
Colette wiped a tear from her eye. It was the day of Tom’s big race.
She was feeling very emotional. Feeling proud of his big gelding, Ivan, and the terrific job that Mike had done training him for this day; Henry Snodgrass, her ex-husband, crept into her mind.
She remembered, how Henry had brought her to the races, had taught her how to read a racing form, and how to make an “educated” choice. She wasn’t here with Henry today.
Today was about Tom.
She tugged on her pink and black wide-brimmed hat that matched her black sheath dress, and hot pink Jimmy Choo stilettos.
Today was also the last time she would see Mike West, her gentlemanly cowboy.
She and Tom were going to live in his penthouse in Manhattan. Tom was already talking marriage. Colette was intent on taking their time. Mike had made arrangements with a trainer to take over the management of Ivan at Belmont.
She was going to miss her cowboy. His gorgeous hazel eyes, his buff body, and the way his Levis clung to his oh, so sexy buttocks. I would’ve liked to take that cowboy for a little ride. But, it wasn’t meant to be, she contentedly surmised.
Tom was more to her comfort. For some strange reason, she liked the company of older men. Standing along the rail, Tom pulled her close to him when Punch McMinn led Ivan into the paddock at Keystone Downs. She took in the pride that was swelling in Tom’s chest, and the anticipation of the race to come.
Mike noticed them at the rail. Smiling, he walked to them. “He’s a force to be reckoned with, Tom.”
“He looks fantastic, Mike.” Colette tugged him to her and kissed his cheek, which left a pink lipstick imprint behind.
He urged a gentle smile. Hot little ballerina, I’m gonna miss her.
“Only ten minutes to post,” Tom noted. “We’d better find a good spot in the grand stands. We’ll catch you there, Mike.”
Ten minutes seemed like ten hours to Tom Mason. He fidgeted in the grand stands like an anxious little boy at Mass on Christmas Eve. Suddenly, he felt the strong clap of Eric’s hand on his shoulder. He was relieved to turn and see his old friend.
“He’s going off five to one. Not bad,” Eric duly noted. “I hear congratulations are in order. When’s the wedding, Colette?”
Colette tossed Tom an arched look. “Tom-Tom,” she scolded before turning
back to Eric. “We’ll see. Maybe in a year.” When Tom’s eyes widened, she added, “or two.”
Eric chuckled. This may very well be the woman that keeps Tom Mason in line. Who would have ever guessed?
“The horses are entering the starting gate,” the announcer proclaimed.
Tom whipped his binoculars into place. The flush to his face started at his neck, and slowly burned upward. He tapped his foot against the pavement, and his fingers against the binoculars, as if he were counting each horse being loaded into their post position.
Grinning keenly, Mike stepped up behind them.
The gates sprung open, and the Thoroughbreds leapt from their posts. Ivan stumbled, but the jockey gathered him up, and sent him chasing the pack.
Aware that Ivan now had plenty of real estate to travel to catch the lead horse, Mike’s grin faded.
Tom’s face became more flushed, his foot tapped frantically, and his fingers tightened around the binoculars. “Damned to hell.” he cursed.
“The number six horse, Call Me CJ, has a firm lead rolling into the turn,” the announcer called out. “Number four, Ivan, had a stumble start, but is making up ground, directly.”
“Bring him home, bring him home,” Mike urged.
“Down the stretch they come. Call Me CJ five lengths in front; number two, All Geared Up, is coming on strong; but here comes Ivan stealthily along the rail,” the announcer’s voice was coming to pique.
The photographer’s camera flashed and the crowd cheered when Call Me CJ crossed the finish line as the victor. All Geared Up followed by a length. Ivan had managed an impressive third after coming from behind the stampede.
“Call Me CJ wins comfortably,” the announcer shouted before clicking off the microphone.
Colette stiffened. Mike held his breath. With a glowing smile on his face, Tom lowered the binoculars. “Impressive, Mike, quite impressive indeed.” He grabbed Mike’s hand and shook it feverishly. He grabbed Colette, folded her tightly against him and kissed her neck like a hungry vampire.
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