Getting Lucky

by Jennifer Seasons

  One that he was no longer feeling stubborn enough to muddle his way through on his own.

  Why hadn’t he listened to his mates Aidan and Jake last month when they’d encouraged him to hire a stable manager? It had been a dumb-shite move on his part to dismiss the applicants who’d called after the guys had placed an ad for him anyway. With the leap in the ranch’s popularity the past year, his once-quiet home was now permeated with the sound of the telephone ringing off the hook. People were begging to be put on the breeding program waiting list and given personal facility tours.

  A frustrated sound rumbled in Sean’s chest when the numbers on the screen he’d highlighted turned into some alien language of symbols instead of neatly adding up the selected column like he’d been expecting. Scraping his fingers through his shaggy black hair, he scowled at the screen, muttering, “Feck me already.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Sean shoved away from the desk and froze in midchair-rotation, his stomach tightening with the movement. The feminine-sounding voice coming from the doorway had his instincts jumping to alert—and not in the most pleasant of ways. For a brief moment, he shut his eyes and prayed his sudden suspicion was wrong.

  People weren’t just showing up at his place now too, were they? What, were nonstop phone calls not enough anymore? He was grateful for the business, really he was. But this was too much.

  It was even worse than the women who’d hounded him for being one of the so-called Bachelors of Fortune.

  Sean felt irritation creep into his chest and took a deep breath. If it was true, and random visitors were in his future, then he needed that stable manager in the worst way. He needed a buffer. There was no way he’d survive another month of fielding telephone calls and impromptu visitors, especially since a low profile and privacy were necessities for a guy like Sean. Even though he’d disappeared from the Irish mob scene long ago, pissed-off mob bosses tended not to cap revenge timetables with something as stupid as a statute of limitations.

  Forcefully relaxing his muscular shoulders, Sean slowly spun back around as he began with a slight grimace, “Welcome to Pine Creek Ra—”

  Suddenly his lungs seemed to deflate right inside his chest and air was hard to come by. There, standing in the doorway of the office, was the warmest, sexiest-looking woman he’d ever seen. She looked like autumn with her long reddish-brown hair and big, rich brown eyes. As she stepped through the doorway, he noticed that her face was covered in a light dusting of freckles, like cinnamon had been sprinkled over the top of her and some had stuck to her skin.

  Out of nowhere, he had the strongest urge to know if she smelled like it too. Shaking his head at his odd thoughts, Sean cleared his throat and began again as if his heart wasn’t pounding slowly and heavily in his chest, “Welcome to Pine Creek Ranch. Can I help you?”

  If she said she was there to lobby for an open schedule spot, then she was in luck. Because looking at her now, he just couldn’t seem to find one single reason why he shouldn’t give her a spot—or heck, even give her someone else’s. Clearly she needed it worse than they did. Why, she’d driven all the way out to his ranch to make the request in person!

  All that hemming and hawing he’d been doing about random visitors wasn’t serious.

  Or was it?

  He thought about it for a second. No, it was. It just didn’t apply to pretty women who looked like fall and had the most sumptuous hair he’d ever seen. That was fair, right?

  Of course it was. He made the rules.

  “I’m looking for Sean Muldoon.”

  Jesus, even her voice was full of warmth. “You found him. I’m Sean.”

  Because he was busy studying her pretty face, he didn’t miss the slight rounding of her eyes at the mention of his name. “You are?” she said.

  He couldn’t help laughing and replied with a quick, crooked grin. “That’s what me mum tells me.”

  Two little round rose patches colored her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect—I mean, you’re so Irish. I was anticipating more cowboy.”

  “Is it the accent?” he teased, even though he knew that was only part of it.

  No doubt rightfully, people assumed that since he owned a horse ranch in Colorado, he had to be some Irish version of John Wayne. It often surprised them to discover that he wasn’t. Not that he wasn’t rugged and masculine and all that shite, but it hadn’t come from wrangling horses on a ranch all day.

  It had come from bare-knuckle boxing his way up from the back alleys of Dublin, fighting with sweat and blood to make something of himself. It was that toughness, combined with his penchant for wearing his beloved Irish wool cap, that threw people off. He’d considered switching to the typical cowboy hat, but that just hadn’t been right. In fact, he’d felt like a bloody fool the one time he’d given it a go. One look in the mirror and he’d decided to just feck it and be himself. To hell with anyone who had a problem with it. Besides, Irish horsemen didn’t wear ten-gallon hats, cowboy boots, and spurs—yet they bred some of the best horses around. Was anybody confused by them?

  Stereotyping was a funny thing.

  His guest smiled at his joke. “I admit, the accent is stronger than I’d anticipated. But anyway.” She strode across the room toward him and held out a hand, all cordial business. “It’s nice to meet you, Sean Muldoon. I’m Shannon.”

  Reaching for her outstretched hand, he said, “Ah, an Irish lass. What can I do for you, Shannon?”

  When their hands connected, a jolt shot up his arm at the soft feminine feel of hers. His work-hardened hand swallowed her slender one whole.

  “I’m here about the stable manager position. Is the spot still open?”

  Surprise jarred him and he automatically shook his head. “I didn’t place that ad; my friends did, even after I told them not to bother.” And it was still a little irritating. For the past week he’d had those calls to fend off, too.

  She tilted her head to the side and frowned slightly. “Oh, it was a Craigslist ad from the Internet listed just last week.” She began reaching into the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ve got a copy of it right here.”

  Sean took the worn and folded piece of paper from her and smoothed it flat. He quickly scanned the contents. “If you’d stopped by last week like another applicant did, I’d have probably sent you on your way, but I’m really fed up with computer work. I don’t get it. We’re incompatible, me and computers.”

  As he watched, she smiled and her loose braid slid over her shoulder, the tip settling over her right breast. Her very-nice, very-shapely breast. He pretended not to notice. Mostly.

  “I can definitely help you out with that, Mr. Muldoon. Why don’t I sit and tell you about my qualifications?”

  Before he could utter a word, she’d planted herself in one of the old wooden chairs that abutted the desk, dropping a black bag at her side. “I grew up with horses. I love them and understand them. But, more importantly as I’m seeing, I know computers. If you hire me, not only will I keep the stable itself running smoothly, but all that accounting work and phone calling that’s such a pain will all be part of my job—not yours.”

  Hot damn.

  The prospect of never having to deal with accounting software ever again was enough to make him want to hire her on the spot. Well, that and the fact that having her around every day to look at wouldn’t be much of a hardship. Plus, she could keep the stream of strangers calling off his back. And God forbid if they actually did start showing up on his doorstep.

  When he’d first come to the States some five years ago, he’d never expected to find such popularity. Nor had he been looking for it. Exactly the opposite, if truth were told.

  He’d wanted to disappear.

  But fate was a fickle son of a bitch. Now that he had made a name for himself, there were some very real, very serious concerns about his visibility.

  Because good ol’ Mickey “Mad Dog” O’Banion might not take kindly to discovering the fact he was still alive
.

  Giving himself a mental shake, Sean leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his flat stomach, trying for casual. “Where are you from, Shannon?” Her accent was different from the locals of Fortune. To him, everyone else had accents, not him.

  As he watched, she crossed legs that were both slender and shapely at the same time, the worn denim snug around them, encasing them in a very tantalizing fashion. He felt his own jeans become a bit tighter across the front as a part of him began to wake.

  Sexy women in faded jeans were a total turn on.

  “I’m from back East.”

  “Kentucky?” He didn’t know why he was so curious to know where she called home, but he was.

  She shook her head and her gorgeous hair shimmered like banked fire in the afternoon sunlight that trickled in through the window behind him. “No, I’m from Saratoga Springs, New York.”

  His eyebrows shot to his hairline. Saratoga was famous for its racehorses. In fact, one of his biggest competitors lived there. “One of my favorite places,” he said pleasantly. “You say you grew up with horses. Is your family in racing then?”

  Her gaze held steady on his as she leaned forward in her chair and placed her elbows on her knees. From his new vantage point, he could see directly down the front of her gray V-neck T-shirt. The skin there was milky pale and covered with more of those cinnamon-colored freckles. It took a whole lot of willpower not to openly stare, but he couldn’t stop his physical response to the sight of her gorgeous cleavage on display like that.

  Belatedly his brain registered that she was speaking and he jerked his gaze back to hers, tuning in to hear her saying, “Of a sort. I spent a lot of time at the Saratoga track, but mostly in the stables with the horses. Yet another reason you should hire me.” She finished with a smile meant to be persuasive.

  It was. Or rather, she was. All of her.

  Sean was most definitely feeling persuaded. “You swear you can take that fecking computer off my hands before I throw it out the window?” he said with a nod toward the ancient Mac desktop.

  Humor sparked in her big brown eyes and she chuckled. “Bet you’re not much of a TV guy either, are you?”

  Sean smiled fast and sharp, amused by her comment. It was sarcastic and insightful at the same time. He liked that. “Don’t even have one. Do nothing but rot me brain if I sit in front of one long enough.”

  She laughed and they grinned at each other. “What do you say, Muldoon? How about you hire me and let me save you from the tortures of QuickBooks?”

  The lure was there, for sure. Like a Titian siren she beckoned to him, promising deliverance from the drudgery of office work. Her rich brown eyes sucked him in and he was on the verge of saying yes. Maybe he should run a background check, ask for references . . .

  The phone rang, startling them both. Sean leaned forward and began to reach for the receiver when Shannon snatched it from the cradle before he got there. With a wink in his direction, she spoke into the mouthpiece. “Pine Creek Ranch, this is Shannon speaking. How may I help you?”

  Sean was impressed at the professional tone and businesslike manner. Settling back into his seat, he let her work. Relief flooded him as he listened to her handle the call with finesse, even as she grabbed a pen and Post-it from his desk and began scribbling on it.

  “Thank you so much for calling, Mr. Sentoal. Let me check the schedule and speak with Mr. Muldoon, then I’ll get back to you.” A pause and then, “Of course, I’ll tell him you said that. I’m certain he’ll be pleased to know you admire his program so much.”

  Quietly Sean got up and strode across the room to a coat rack by the front door where he grabbed an old faded flannel shirt. He could hear Shannon behind him wrapping up the phone call as he put it on.

  “You have a lovely evening now, Paul. Good-bye.”

  If she could work a computer half as well as she just managed one of the biggest names in the horseracing business, then his problems were most definitely solved. No more phones. No more spreadsheets that made his head want to explode.

  His mind made up, Sean said over his shoulder, “Anybody who can handle a phone call with one of the most cantankerous old farts you’ll ever meet and ends up on first-name basis by the end gets my vote. You’re hired. Now come away with me and I’ll show you around.”

  Spinning slowly around, Sean stopped when he caught a glimpse of her expression. She was staring hard at his chest with a frown. “What?” he asked, wondering if he’d left his fly down or something else dumb like that.

  “You’re wearing flannel.”

  He cocked a jet-black brow. “And?”

  “My sister hates it.”

  Sean shot her a grin and strode out the door, his voice trailing after him. “That’s only because she hasn’t seen me in it.”

  He could hear scuffling behind him as she hurried to catch up. “I’m sure I didn’t hear that right. What did you say?”

  She glanced up when she reached his side, and their gazes locked. For a moment his brain went fuzzy, like a radio station going out of tune. Then it snapped back, crystal clear. Just like nothing had happened. Warm, rich pools of brown looked expectantly back at him, all soft and innocently seductive. And his brain went fuzzy again. He shook his head, frowning. It had to be her eyes. There was something about them.

  He spoke quietly, “I said, ‘come.’ ”

  As soon as he said those words, something deep in him stirred restlessly to life. And by her quick intake of breath, she felt something too.

  For some reason that made him smile.

  Chapter Three

  ANY FLEDGLING BIT of confidence Shannon had managed to gain just took a nosedive and crash landed in a pile of smoke. How was she going to save her family now?

  She wouldn’t—not if she kept panicking, which she was prone to do.

  She was so screwed. Royally, totally, completely screwed. Why on earth did Sean Muldoon have to go and be the sexiest freaking man alive? Like, the absolute sexiest. What had she ever done to deserve this?

  Cruel, stupid world.

  How was she supposed to pull off this stealth mission and find dirt on the guy if she couldn’t see past her own hormones long enough to snoop? And seriously, what could be more unfair than for such a bad person to look so, so ridiculously good?

  I said come.

  The words echoed in the pit of her stomach as she followed behind him and tried very hard not to check him out. Had she imagined the double entendre? Ugh. If she had, then maybe there was something to all the stuff Colleen had said. Maybe she did need to get laid.

  A vivid image of sweaty, tangled naked limbs popped into her head before she knew it and she nearly gasped. Not so much at the mental picture itself, but at the subjects who were twisted up like a folded slinky. It was seeing the Irishman striding so confidently down the stable corridor in front of her, with his impressively muscled broad shoulders and tight backside—and having the image of them inside her mind, sans clothing.

  Even as she took a steadying breath for composure, her heart rate sped up and she could feel heat flooding her cheeks. If he looked over his shoulder at her right now, she’d probably have “I’m picturing you naked!” stamped across her forehead. She was so guilty.

  But man, she had to give her imagination credit.

  Damn.

  Maybe she’d gone off the deep end from all the pressure being put on her to save the family’s farm. She was broken. And this was the result. Her brain had split and the only neurons making any connections from one side to the other were the horny ones.

  Sounded plausible, didn’t it? Maybe she should go ask Colleen. Now.

  “I need to pee!” Shannon blurted out frantically.

  One part of her brain registered that she was dangerously close to sounding like a crazy person, but she didn’t care. Her chest had gone tight like a clamped vice and she was struggling to breathe.

  It had been years since she’d had a full-blown panic at
tack, but she recognized the telltale signs of one beginning now. What she needed were a few minutes in a quiet place to calm down and get a hold of herself. If she’d declared that need rather ineptly, it couldn’t matter. Not when the alternative was hyperventilating until she passed out.

  “The toilet is over there,” he said, oh so calm. If the guy was weirded out by her odd behavior, he certainly didn’t show it. Not that it mattered really, in that moment.

  Following in the direction he’d pointed, Shannon choked out a garbled, “Thank you!” and dashed past a large tack room and then cut a hard right. Directly ahead was a door with a hand-carved wooden sign on it that read BATHROOM. Scrambling through, she kicked it shut, flung her back up against it, and barely registered the sparse and rustic surroundings while she frantically fought for breath.

  How could her father put her up to something like this and expect her to actually go through with it?

  Worry seized her and had her hard in its grip while she gasped for air; her lungs squeezed so tight it felt almost an impossible task. All the ramifications and potential consequences of what she was doing came crashing down on her, had her fighting back tears and biting her trembling bottom lip. She couldn’t just ruin a person’s life. What kind of monster would that make her?

  Shannon looked up and saw her reflection in the mirror above the sink directly across from her. The state of shock and helplessness that she registered in her expression brought tears flooding down her cheeks, hot and furious all at once.

  Why did fixing her family’s problems always have to fall on her shoulders?

  It was so much pressure.

  A solid, thudding knock on the door directly behind her head scared the crap out of her and she jumped away from the door, her heart palpitating wildly. “Are you well, Shannon?” came Sean’s deep, rich timbre through the barrier.

  Swiping clumsily at the tears streaking her cheeks, she gulped a great breath of air and managed to reply weakly, “I’m fine,” and then an even less convincing, “Really.”