Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  Really dancing!

  A small triumph, Jane knew, but one she would savor every time she recalled these few moments in Curran’s arms. She hadn’t known she could do this again without making a fool of herself. Curran had to take all the credit, of course. He made maneuvers that seemed impossible to her, impossibly easy.

  Suddenly, the music climaxed and he stopped, chest to breast with her, thigh to thigh.

  And the glint from his eyes told her that he felt it, too. An unbearably strong attraction.

  Jane blinked and forced herself to breathe.

  Gradually…slowly…feeling as if it took a hundred lifetimes…Curran inched back, away from her.

  Jane gasped and tried to get hold of herself. To still her awakened body. To quiet her tumultuous thoughts. But flushed and breathless, she couldn’t seem to manage it.

  Hoping words could dispel unwanted feelings, she asked, “Where did you learn to dance like this?”

  “I grew up with two sisters,” he said, guiding her off the dance floor and picking up her cane. “For years, Keelin practiced on me, then if I didn’t give Flanna a spin, she threatened tears. More than any young man can tolerate. A woman’s tears, that is.”

  The way Curran was looking at her again…Jane quickly averted her eyes.

  Perhaps the connection she’d felt had been all in her head, but she was taking no chances. A private person, she felt certain that knowledge was better kept to herself. If he searched deep enough, she feared he would expose her.

  Expose the horrible thing she had done.

  “You seem flushed. Perhaps a cool drink and some air?”

  Not seeing her grandmother at the moment, she agreed. Perhaps the cool night air would clear her head, allow her some perspective. Curran led her out from under the tent to the shelter of a big tree and an empty bench, where he deposited her cane.

  “You could sit while I get the drinks,” he suggested.

  She nodded but didn’t make a move. Still caught by him, she could hardly think.

  “Sheena—”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  “You don’t like the name?”

  “The name is beautiful.” Shivering at unwanted memories, she turned away from him and stepped into the shelter of the old maple. “But it’s not me.”

  To her dismay, he followed, pressed her into the bark with his very nearness. He lifted a stray curl from the side of her face with one finger and toyed with it.

  Gazing steadily into her eyes, he whispered, “You are beautiful.”

  “No, not when I—I’m damaged—”

  “Only in your mind, lovely Sheena,” he murmured, sliding his hand behind her head. “Only in your mind.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  The feel of his hand on the sensitive flesh of her neck thrilled her. And yet she dismissed the promise of his touch. Not for her, she thought.

  “I’ve been known to fix problems of the mind that no one else could.”

  “With horses, yes.”

  “Then perhaps ’tis time I expanded my practice to include another species,” he said, his tone low and cajoling.

  He gave her no leeway. No time to object. No time to push him away. He kissed her, devoured her, like a man who hadn’t had a woman for too long.

  Jane’s arms wrapped around his neck of their own volition. Her body seemed perfectly capable of accepting what she couldn’t. What her mind told her couldn’t be.

  This wasn’t right. Wasn’t for her. Wasn’t real.

  Hadn’t she had enough of that?

  But her body didn’t know it wasn’t real. Her body betrayed her will. Her flesh grew warm and supple beneath his exploring hand, first at the small of her back, then lower. She was alive as she hadn’t been in a very long time.

  “Oh, pardon me!” came the surprised voice of an elderly woman.

  Whose words shocked Jane and drove her away from Curran. She might have fallen, but he snaked an arm around her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Mrs. Sterling.” Jane’s heart was pounding against her ribs. Great. One of the biggest gossips in the area had caught them. “Nice evening.”

  “Nice for you, I see.” The silver-haired woman peered at Curran for a moment through pop-bottle-thick glasses, before murmuring, “Ah, young lovers, so bold, so foolish. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Though she backed away, she didn’t take her gaze off them. “Go on with what you were doing.”

  Sensing Curran wouldn’t mind, Jane muttered, “Don’t even think about it.”

  Young lovers, indeed. The foolish part fit well enough. And now everyone would know.

  Why had she agreed to come?

  “Sit,” Curran said again. “And I’ll get you that drink. What would you like?”

  “Lemonade. With vodka.”

  Not that a drink was likely to remove the sting of their discovery.

  Watching him cross to the bar, she perched on the bench and waited for her senses to quiet. The only reason she’d complied was that it was less embarrassing to remain in the dark alone than to be seen on Curran’s arm. That would just give the guests something more to buzz about. No doubt Mrs. Sterling was already circulating and spreading news of their tryst.

  Still awkwardly perched on the bench, she breathed deeply and tried to calm the inner turmoil that threatened to swallow her whole.

  What had she been thinking, kissing a stranger that way?

  Hadn’t she learned anything from experience?

  Determined that she wouldn’t repeat the mistake she’d made with Gavin Shaw, Jane focused on strengthening the barriers that would keep Curran at a distance.

  SOMETHING TERRIBLE had happened to Jane Grantham. Curran knew that as well as he knew anything. For a moment, he’d experienced her emotions. Her physical pain. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. Nothing had even come close with another person.

  Then why Jane?

  And how, when his gift had always been restricted to animals in the past, primarily to horses?

  Questions continued to plague him as he crossed through the crowd, nodding and waving to horse people he knew. He had to stop for a moment, to shake another trainer’s hand, but he was so distracted, the man promised to catch up with him at the track and let him go on.

  He could put his connection to Jane to only one thing. Her bond with Finn mac Cumhail. He’d seen it with his own eyes, had experienced it when he’d watched them the day before. He hadn’t understood it then, but he understood it now.

  Shared pain.

  No other explanation fit.

  Which should have been obvious if he had been paying better attention, Curran thought. But his attraction to the lovely Miss Grantham had distracted him.

  Shared pain, but of what? The questions went on. An accident, as she’d told her grandmother? He doubted it. The hurt to Jane’s leg had been deliberate. And to Finn, Curran thought, remembering the placement of those scars—nose, shoulder and foreleg.

  Just as if someone had beaten them both…

  The incident had been so horrific that it had crazed them both, as well. Yes, Jane had become unbalanced to some extent, as he’d experienced for himself. Talking about it would help her resolve her anger and grief and whatever else she had undergone. But she obviously wasn’t talking about the incident, at least not to Belle.

  And he doubted that she would readily confide in him, either. Rather than bringing them closer, he guessed that the connection she’d recognized on the dance floor, added to the kiss, had pushed her away.

  Curran arrived at the bar and gave his drink orders. He had just collected them when Mukhtar Saladin caught up with him and stopped him from getting back to Jane.

  “McKenna, isn’t it?” Saladin asked with a touch of displeasure to his tone.

  The Saudi owner knew very well who he was—horses he’d trained had competed with several owned by the Arab, and some had even won—though Saladin had never deigned to speak t
o him before.

  “Saladin. What can I do for you?”

  “It is what I can do for you.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “To warn you away from the Irish Thoroughbred. For your own good, of course.”

  Curran snorted. “I’ll be begging your pardon on that one now.”

  “Working with Finn mac Cumhail could prove to be dangerous.”

  “For whom?” Curran carefully hid his outrage behind a smooth smile. “Me? Or you?”

  “How would I be in danger?”

  “You would be in danger of losing the Classic.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “You seem a tad too confident, lad.”

  Curran smiled inwardly when the familiar address brought a scowl from the other man, who obviously considered a lowly trainer less than his equal.

  Curran hated nothing more than the class distinctions he still encountered in the business between wealthy owners and the people who made money for them. Some wealthy owners, he amended to be fair. Not everyone was a Mukhtar Saladin.

  Or a Maggie Butler.

  “Why shouldn’t I be confident?” Saladin asked. “Stonehenge is the best horse I have ever owned.”

  His voice was raised just enough that ears eager for gossip became attuned to their conversation. People around them were staring. Curran could hardly blame them. An owner having a go at a trainer who didn’t even work for him was fair fodder for the gossip mill. Racing was a small, closed community, after all.

  Curran reminded him, “But Finn mac Cumhail beat Stonehenge the last time out.”

  “By a neck only. Besides, that crazed stallion is not the same horse he was then,” Saladin argued. “And trying to bring him back could get you killed.”

  Curran’s smile faded. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “A warning, as I said.” Saladin straightened the lapels of his tux. “The horse has been maddened, and I merely meant that you take your life in your own hands by getting anywhere near him.”

  Was that what the Saudi owner really meant? Curran wondered.

  Or did he need to start watching his back?

  STRENGTHENING HER barriers—hah!

  Every time Jane saw Curran in her mind’s eye, something inside her softened a little instead. How could she not be attracted to him when he was so charming, so handsome, so passionate?

  Perhaps a fool never learned.

  On impulse, she rose and headed away from the tents and from the possibility of letting Curran get to her again. She had to take back control first. He would return with their drinks any moment now, and she would be far too vulnerable to face him.

  The sparkle of moon-splashed water drew her. The wood-chip path wound down through a stand of trees that edged a pond where crickets and frogs called to each other. Perhaps a few minutes alone with nature would clear her hormones of a dubious attraction to a certain horse trainer.

  Carefully, she started along the path, making sure her cane found solid ground before taking each step. Inclines were especially difficult for her since her knee prevented getting the feel of solid ground beneath her left foot. Not only had the joint been affected, but nerves, as well.

  When the walk went smoothly, she breathed a sigh of relief, certain that this was exactly what she needed to gather herself together, so that she could face everyone as if nothing had happened.

  Enough stares followed her wherever she went as it was, Jane thought. People wondering about the accident but too polite to ask for details openly.

  Only the trainers had been at all direct with her, but they’d been interested in Finn’s problems, not in hers.

  She’d told them a version of the truth. That a worker had put a terrible scare into the stallion and that he’d been hurt in the process.

  By their expressions, which had always hardened at hearing even the abbreviated story, she knew they’d gotten the awful picture without a blow-by-blow account. They, too, had avoided probing further.

  A sound like a footfall behind her made Jane whip around and almost lose her balance.

  “Curran?”

  No answer.

  Jane squinted but saw no movement through the trees. Probably a small animal foraging for food, she decided. Turning carefully, she continued.

  Curran McKenna was another story. He wasn’t too polite to probe. He hadn’t asked about her injury or Finn’s, not in so many words. Not yet. That was coming, she was certain.

  And what she’d experienced on the dance floor, something she couldn’t quite put words to, still shook her.

  Shuddering despite the warm night, Jane rubbed a sudden chill from her arm.

  And as she approached the water’s edge and the fragile-looking bridge that crossed the pond, another sound, this one definitely a footfall, she was certain, made her turn again.

  This time she said naught, simply stared into the stand of trees illuminated by a full moon.

  Expecting to see Curran pop out at her, she grew fidgety when nothing of the sort happened. Her pulse picked up and a weird feeling skittered through her.

  “Curran?” she murmured, slowly backing up.

  Her hand tightened on the cane. She was having trouble breathing.

  Nothing there, she told herself as one foot hit boards that creaked, then the other. Your imagination.

  There was no reason to be afraid. What was wrong with her? Stupid question, she thought as the horror flashed through her mind. She couldn’t rid herself of the savage memories that haunted her.

  “Damn!”

  She was imagining things. She had to stop this. She had to find a way to be comfortable in her own skin again. She was home now, among friends.

  How much safer could she be?

  A few more steps and she was about to refocus her attention on the bridge when a movement caught her eye. Even as she took another step, she whipped her head back and caught a man’s silhouette between trees.

  “Jane! Wait!”

  She gaped and her eyes rounded as her cane slipped and her knee refused to hold her. The fragile rail cracked and gave way under her careening weight.

  And the next thing Jane saw was the pond rushing up to swallow her.

  Chapter Five

  Curran dropped the drinks and ran, cursing himself for calling out to Jane and distracting her like that. He saw her head bob up out of the water, followed by the rest of her upper body. She was sitting on the bottom, sputtering. She was also moving like a turtle on its back. Apparently she was unable to get herself up.

  By the time he reached the bridge, her sounds of frustration were punctuated by slaps at the water.

  “You’ll surely hurt the pond if you don’t stop that battering.” Not to mention herself.

  “Curran!”

  “Is it help you need, lass? All you have to do is say so.”

  “Yes,” she said in a small, frustrated voice.

  He reached a hand over the side of the bridge. “Grab on, then.”

  “Don’t pull. I can do it myself.”

  “I believe you can, just as you do everything for yourself. But there are times when everyone needs a hand.”

  He held steady for her, an anchor, nothing more. Maneuvering her bottom and her good leg into position, she managed to haul herself up to her feet.

  “I apologize,” Curran said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to startle you into taking a dip.”

  “You?” She let go of him and smoothed her wet hair away from her face. “That was you who called out?”

  “Aye. Who else?”

  She shook her head. “No one, of course.”

  But he could see the confusion in her face, dripping with pond water. He wanted to reach out and brush the droplets from her cheek, but right now he didn’t think she would appreciate any attention that appeared too personal.

  “I’ll just walk myself up the bank,” she mumbled, grasping onto the bridge to steady herself.

  Curran took a quick look around and spotted he
r cane. “Here,” he said, fetching and offering it to her.

  “Thank you.”

  A moment later, she was struggling out of the water and Curran was standing in front of her, once more holding out his hand. She gave him a suspicious expression before taking it. Again, he allowed her to do the work. He knew when to press his advantage and this was not the right time.

  “What do I do now? Look at me. I’m a mess.”

  Actually, she appeared quite fetching in the moonlight with her hair disheveled around her face and elegant neck. A water nymph risen from the sea. Not that she would appreciate the analogy.

  “Perhaps our hostess has some dry clothing you can borrow.”

  “Borrow? I don’t want her to know this happened.” She sounded horrified at the thought. “No, I have to get out of here without anyone seeing me like this.”

  “A little late for that.”

  He indicated the tented area. Several people were standing at its edge, pointing to them and waving over others.

  “Oh, swell.”

  There was nothing for it but to follow the trail back up to the party. By the time they got to the bench area, Belle was rushing toward them.

  “Jane, dear, are you all right?”

  “Just a little wet, Nani,” Jane said, smiling and trying to put a good face on the incident. “You know me these days. Just call me Jane ‘Klutz’ Grantham, the embarrassment of any social occasion.”

  “Jane, please stop doing this to yourself.”

  “Yes, I am responsible, aren’t I,” she said breathlessly, making Curran wonder what exactly she meant by that. He didn’t imagine she was referring to the dunking.

  “Jane—”

  “Please, no lectures, not now, Nani.” Her voice trembled a bit. “I just want to leave.” Quickly she added, “But you stay and have a wonderful time. I’m sure one of your friends will be willing to give you and Curran a ride. If not, I can come back for you later.”

  “Mitzi does go right by our place on her way home.”

  “If you don’t mind, then,” Curran said, “I’ll be leaving, as well.”

  Belle’s shrug was resigned. “All right. You take care of my granddaughter.”