The Derby Girl

by Tamara Morgan

  She didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant, because their bodies took over then, no longer willing to play captive to whatever emotional hostage-taking was going on between the sheets. It was simple sex—no frills, no gimmicks. Just two people moving together, one hot mouth robbing the other of breath and giving it back just when she thought one of them would go under for good.

  She came again, this time a slow buildup that she didn’t expect and couldn’t resist. She clutched Jared tighter, wanting to eliminate every gap between them, and held him there until he also cried out in passion. The fit of him inside her was so tight she could feel each pulse of his orgasm, a release she felt down to her toes.

  Unlike all the other times they’d been together, they remained in one another’s arms, limbs entangled, until the sleepy edges of exhaustion crept over them. Burrowing under the covers and reveling in the nakedness of Jared holding her clasped to his body, Gretchen murmured a good-night.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t find your buried treasure,” he said, yawning into her hair.

  She just pulled his arms tighter around her and closed her eyes. No amount of treasure could ever make up for the fact that this man was only on loan to her, that his stay in Pleasant Park wasn’t likely to last for many weeks more. But for tonight?

  She was going to pretend they had all the time in the world.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jared and Wally came to an understanding sometime around six in the morning.

  It started with the relaxing whir of the filtration system in the lobster’s tank, which woke him from a light sleep a little after four. Not for him the solid slumber of a man exhausted by passion and backyard digging. He doubted he’d ever have that again.

  Looking at Gretchen sprawled in a tangle of sheets and her own silky strands of hair, he felt a pang of envy, but it was no more than that. It was enough to be indoors, in a bed, near her. Sleep was overrated.

  Dropping a kiss on Gretchen’s shoulder where a dash of filtered moonlight fell, he slid off the bed and sat on the floor. “Well, Wally. Here we are.”

  The lobster—apparently nocturnal—scrambled to the edge of the tank, peering down at him. In an animal with a pulse, he would have taken it as a clear sign of begging.

  “I don’t know what lobsters have for breakfast, so don’t look at me like that. I’m not taking any chances hastening your death. She likes you.” He was careful to keep his voice down. One of life’s rarely divulged secrets: being an insomniac was socially acceptable only if you allowed other people to get their rest.

  “Unless, of course, you want to die. Unless you’re ready to move on.” Jared had eaten a lot of exotic things in his lifetime—some of them animals he probably couldn’t even find in a zoology textbook—but lobster had always been one of his favorites. “In that case, I could do you both a favor and end it right now.”

  Wally didn’t even twitch.

  “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Jared shook his head and sighed—a sound that wasn’t just offered up for the fact that he was conversing with a crustacean in the wee hours of the morning. He thumbed over his shoulder. “Neither is she. I’m losing my efficacy. Growing soft. Don’t worry. I don’t intend to interfere in your relationship. She’ll kill you when she’s ready. She’ll probably do the same to me.”

  He laid his head back against the bed and focused on his breathing. When he couldn’t sleep in the field, there had always been things to keep him busy—work to be done, papers to fill out. Now that he was back, he had to do quite a bit of internalizing during his downtime. Soul-searching, he believed it was called.

  Not that his soul provided a whole lot in the way of mystery right now. His problems had never lain so clearly before him—no lurking in dark corners, no game of hide and seek. He could either stick to his resolution to scale back his life and livelihood here in Pleasant Park, or he could pick up where he left off and make a name for himself in Washington.

  “It should be an easy choice to make,” he admitted to Wally. Wally was turning out to be an exceptional listener. “But at least in DC, I’d be busy. I’d be active again.” Too busy to care when sleep refused to come, too active to notice the gaping holes in his heart. “I know I’m just starting to figure things out here. And it seems like my friends are beginning to let me in again. You have the devoted adoration of your owner, but let me tell you—that’s a new thing for me. She’s a new thing for me.”

  Gretchen.

  Gretchen.

  “You’re absolutely right.” He rummaged quietly for his clothes. “But she’s the one who’s pushing me to go—she’s the one who knows me better than I know myself. I’ve come to trust her judgment far too much than is good for me.”

  Wally didn’t move, so Jared tapped on the glass, hoping to get some insight out of the creature. All he got was a disdainful toss of the head as Wally scuttled toward the back, away from the dusty glare of sun that was stealthily making itself known.

  As quietly as he could, he slipped his clothes back on and carried his shoes in one hand. He scrawled a hasty note asking Gretchen to call when she got up and tiptoed up the stairs. Predictably, every step creaked, but he somehow made it to the top without waking his sleeping beauty.

  “Who the devil are you?”

  He turned to find an older woman standing in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, a spoon pointed in his direction. He’d have recognized her as Gretchen’s grandmother even without being caught slipping out for his walk of shame. Small in stature, her hair a long iron sheet, wearing a haphazard mix of jangling jewelry and coveralls, she projected exactly the right amount of eccentricity and hatred of him to be a member of Gretchen’s family.

  “I’m Jared.” He extended a hand, wearing an easy smile. “You must be Gretchen’s grandmother. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

  She didn’t take his hand, instead opting for a long sip from her coffee cup, eyes appraising him over the top. They were the same cat-yellow eyes he’d grown so fond of over the past few weeks.

  “Ah, yes. I see it now. It was difficult to recognize you under all that stubble. In my day, a man didn’t appear at the breakfast table without shaving first. Hmm, and you’re shorter than I expected.”

  He had to smile. Clearly Gretchen and her grandmother were cut from the same cloth—heavy and thick and probably once used to make those scary execution masks. He glanced at his watch. “I’d love to stay and get to know you better, but I have to get to work.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Running off without even saying goodbye, are we?”

  “I left a note.”

  “Did you? How thoughtful.”

  Even though he knew it was the last emotion he should have been welcoming at that moment, Jared felt a profound urge to laugh. Like Gretchen, this woman was goading him on purpose. He was just about to express his most honorable of intentions to her when she pointed toward the glass portico.

  “About three feet to the right.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “With the digging. You two weren’t in the right spot. The statues got moved a few years ago when they had to bring a plumbing truck back there, so the map is probably a little off.”

  “Wait—you know?”

  “Of course I know,” she snapped. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but my granddaughter isn’t the most subtle of creatures. She asked me outright about the money. When I wouldn’t tell her, I assumed she’d start poking her nose in. And the dirt trail you two left last night coming in through the back door would have alerted a sloth.”

  What? She was sending her granddaughter on a wild goose chase? That wasn’t any way to treat someone whose entire life revolved around you—especially given how clearly Gretchen loved her. Call him biased, but it seemed to him that anyone fortunate enough to possess Gretchen’s love should ho
ld on to it for dear life.

  “Why don’t you just tell her what’s going on and save her all this trouble?” he asked.

  “Oh, look at you!” She released an honest-to-goodness cackle. “Coming to her rescue, telling me how to do my business. Three feet to the right. You be sure and tell her that.”

  He simply stared at her as she sipped her coffee.

  “Oh, and young man?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” The words slipped out, a vestige of years of good behavior as a kid.

  “I don’t care how many orphans you cure or how fast you can go in that flashy red car outside. I’ve read about you. I know your type. You make my granddaughter cry, you’ll regret it.”

  He nodded. This, at least, was something he could respect. “I would never do that.”

  Gran laughed, a buzzing, throaty sound that rustled like paper. “You can’t spend your life playing God only to decide you’d rather be a man. Not without someone getting hurt.”

  Jared wished he could argue with her, but the truth of her words was too accurate for him to dare. How many times had he watched his father trample over the people in his life in his pursuit of perfection? And how many people lay in Jared’s own wake?

  It was too many to count.

  And this woman—a stranger in all but her eyes—seemed to know it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I have this thing.”

  Gretchen held the phone gently to her ear, her hands sealed in loose, clawlike grips from hours of shoveling. She glared at Gran, the bearer of said telephone, and leaned on her shovel. “If you’re about to invite me on a date to hear you give another lecture, there’s a very good chance this phone will end up buried in the backyard.”

  His laughter worked like a balm on her current mood—irritable—and physical state—exhausted. Both of these things had their roots in a certain elderly woman who feigned an intense interest in the overgrown rosebushes while she eavesdropped on Gretchen’s conversation.

  “Don’t worry. I learned my lesson the last time. Inviting you to hear me talk only leads to tight pants and public displays of indecency.”

  Hmm. She really did suck at punishments where this man was concerned. “Okay, I’m listening. What’s the thing?”

  “Did you get my text about digging three feet to the right?”

  “I’m mid-shovel right now.”

  “Any luck so far?”

  She surveyed the ground. Three feet to the right. Three and a half feet to the right. Four feet to the right. Either Gran was lying, or she was terrible at measuring things.

  “It’s coming along.”

  “Well, I’d be happy to help if you decide your arms need a rest. You can sit on the sidelines and watch me get dirty. I’ll even take my shirt off if you want.”

  Was there anything better than watching a muscular man, stripped to the waist, toiling under the hot sun? She thought not. “I’d like to take you up on the offer, but given the state of bleeding currently going on between my fingers, I think it’s probably best if you save your mighty hands for more important tasks. So, what’s this thing?”

  “Don’t yell, but it is for work.”

  “I don’t yell.”

  Across the yard, Gran snorted.

  “I may occasionally provide some much-needed but not well-moderated guidance,” she amended.

  “Well, it’s your much-needed but not well-moderated guidance that I seek, actually. I’ve decided I’m going to that dinner in Philadelphia after all.”

  Stars—not at all twinkling or bright—danced before her eyes. They were falling, taking her with them.

  “Good,” she managed.

  “Not because I’m taking the job,” he said sternly. “Because I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said—about me not making myself into a martyr—and I figure I can at least go and hear these people out.”

  “Good,” she said again. Get through this one syllable at a time, Gretchen. One syllable at a time.

  “But I have a condition.”

  She stopped.

  “You have to come with me. You have to wear a fancy gown and meet people you’ll probably hate and eat mediocre chicken.”

  This time, her heart stopped too. “What else?”

  “That’s pretty much it. I know I haven’t done a very good job of taking you out on real dates, but this one comes with black tie and five courses. There may even be dancing, but I warn you—that’s not exactly what I’m known for. I mostly just sway.”

  Swaying with him sounded wonderful. Magical. Perfect.

  Which was precisely why she had to force herself not to drop the phone and swing the shovel like a cricket bat, sending it flying. He was asking her to go with him to the job opportunity of a lifetime. So he could show his dad he wasn’t afraid of him. So she could witness for herself how out of her league he was.

  So she could stand there, smiling in a slinky gown, while she convinced him to leave.

  “Sorry. I have practice,” she said blandly, shutting down.

  “Oh. I forgot that was on Tuesdays.” Disappointment softened the edges of his voice. “Maybe you could swing by after?”

  “In my roller derby gear? That might be a look you’re fond of, but I doubt it would go over well at your party.” She looked up, blinking rapidly. “I’ve really got to get back to digging, and I have tons of things to do today. Maybe another time, okay?”

  “Gretchen, wait.”

  “I can’t wait.” She couldn’t do this, period.

  She didn’t allow him to reply before she clicked off her phone, taking an extra moment to turn off the ringer. Her hands trembled—clearly another granola bar emergency—and she turned toward the house, hoping to make a quick exit.

  No such luck.

  With an agility that belied the current state of her ankle, Gran pounced forward, the sun surrounding her like an evil, hell-bound halo. “What are you quitting now?”

  It was not quitting to turn down a man who was asking you to give up a piece of yourself for the sake of his success. It was not quitting to take a break from shoveling when your hands bled and your heart hurt.

  Gretchen gestured around the yard. “You could at least tell me if I’m getting close.”

  Gran followed the sweep of her arm, counting under her breath. “Hmm. Maybe it wasn’t three feet to the right. Maybe I meant left.”

  Gretchen threw the shovel, sending it skittering across the dirt. That was the absolute end of her patience with this day. “It’s not even back here, is it? You’re messing with me. This is my punishment for worrying about you and wanting to protect you from those vultures.”

  “No one asked you to dig.”

  “No one asks me to get up every morning and go to a pair of dead-end jobs either, but I do it. No one asks me how I’m feeling or what time my next bout is or whether or not I’m taking care of myself. And definitely no one asks me if going to a fancy dinner to watch Jared get wooed away from Pleasant Park for good might very well break my heart.”

  Whoosh. And there it was.

  She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want to be left behind.

  After an outburst like that—draining and leaving her in more need of a granola bar than ever before—a hug would have been nice. Sympathy. Even a kind word.

  She got none of the above.

  “Don’t like it?” Gran shrugged. “Do something about it.”

  “I’m trying to do something about it,” Gretchen said, stabbing a finger at one of the many holes in the yard. “What do you think all this is?”

  “You, avoiding reality. You, putting your focus on something small and unimportant as an excuse for not reaching for more.”

  “Gran.” Gretchen felt very near tears. “Why are you yelli
ng at me? I’m only trying to help you.” She was only trying to take care of her. If anyone was supposed to be on her side, it was this woman.

  “When I need your help, granddaughter, I’ll ask for it. Believe me when I say that there is no way your sisters will ever touch my money, this house or any of the things contained within it.”

  “You don’t know that!” Gretchen took her grandmother’s hands, the soft skin and gnarled joints, the silver jewelry that sparkled in the sun. “You haven’t seen them in years. This isn’t just some whim. They have a lawyer, doctors—and determination, which is the scariest part of all. Even if they don’t get what they want from you in terms of money, they still have the power to make things uncomfortable. You have to at least sit down and explain Freddy to them. Promise them you won’t do something crazy like take part in a runaway marriage.”

  “Oh, sweetie. I’m not worried about them.” Gran smiled softly and disentangled her hands before tucking a stray strand of Gretchen’s hair behind her ear. “What I’m worried about is you.”

  The words were not as comforting as they should have been. “There’s nothing back here, is there? This is just a crazy plot to get me to dig a swimming pool for you.”

  “If I wanted a pool, I’d go out and get one,” Gran said cryptically as she turned to leave. “That’s what real Badgerton women do. We certainly don’t dig holes to nowhere or let our men get wooed away by something as insignificant as a job.”

  Ha. That showed what Gran knew.

  Gretchen had just dug seven.

  Chapter Twenty

  She wasn’t going to come.

  Jared waited for as long as possible outside the country club, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gretchen in a fancy dress. Or Gretchen in roller derby gear. Hell, even Gretchen in jeans and a T-shirt would have been fine. He didn’t care, just so long as she showed up.