A Christmas to Believe In (24 page)

"I suppose you'd know."

It was Clint's turn to scowl. But before he could protest or

deny, Heath continued, "You've been spending a lot of time

with Jesse."

Slowly, he acknowledged the truth with a nod. "Yeah."

Heath's gaze locked with his. Though he smiled, and his

tone was light, what he said next conveyed strict warning.

"Be careful there, big brother."

And there it was—the stiff reminder Jesse wasn't just any

woman. Another reason he had to call things off before they

became any more complicated. Jesse had the power to put

brothers at odds. She was too close to the family. Too much

the little sister they all adored and would break bones to

protect.

"Well, I've got some things to do," Heath remarked. He

rose to his feet, carried his plate to the sink. "I'll talk to you

later."

Nodding, Clint finished his breakfast. As his brother walked

out of the house, a heavy weight settled onto Clint's

shoulders. This wouldn't end well. One way or the other, he'd

disappoint someone who meant a great deal.

He trudged up the stairs and entered his room to find his

cell phone chirping. He made a lunge for the desk and picked

it up in time to hit the button before it transferred to voice

mail. "Hello?"

"It's Jim. I was calling to see how Angel's doing."

Clint stifled a groan. Yet another person intent on turning

this morning into the crappiest morning he'd had in a long

time. He didn't want to think about all the things on his

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shoulders. Too many things demanded his immediate

attention, not the least of things his horse and his future in

the world of racing. "She's holding on."

"No progress?"

"She gave me a scare a couple days ago. But we're the

same as we were when we left. Least we were last night. I

haven't been over there this morning. How's the farm?"

A pregnant pause lifted the hairs on the back of Clint's

neck. His fingers tightened on the casing. "Jim?"

"Royal Promise slipped in the paddock yesterday, Clint.

Had the vet out."

All the air fled Clint's lungs as an invisible fist punched into

his gut. His prized runner, the only colt who offered any

chance of keeping the farm going through the coming year.

Jim's grave tone made warning sirens scream in his head.

Suddenly weak-kneed, Clint sagged into the desk chair.

"And?"

"He's done. Hairline fracture to the left elbow. If it pops,

he's done done. I've got him on stall rest. Doc said chances of

him standing at stud were good if it heals."

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, strangling a string of oaths.

"Susan Silby was here about her filly when Doc was

looking at him. She knows how things are here, Clint. She

told me to tell you she'd make you a good offer if you wanted

to sell out. I know that's not anything you want to consider,

and I told her that. But I gave my word I'd relay."

Sell out. Throw in the towel. Give up. So that's what his

peers thought he ought to do. Clint huffed out a breath.

Taking his forehead between index finger and thumb, he

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squeezed his temples. "I'm not quitting. We've worked too

hard, Jim. We're almost there. See what Mike Mular has for

sale that's ready to run."

"We can't afford Mular's prices."

A burst of sheer rage erupted inside Clint. He slammed a

fist into the desktop. "Damn it, Jim. Do you want out?"

Another long silence, followed by a heavy sigh. "Susan

made me an offer. It's handsome."

"You know what? You take that damn offer if you want it. I

don't give a flying fuck what you, Susan, or anyone else

thinks I ought to do. This is my farm, my life. You can bail. I

can't. And I won't."

Not willing to hear any further doubts, Clint jammed his

thumb on the connect button and terminated the call. His

gaze pulled to the window, settled on the distant barn on the

hill. "C'mon, Angel," he whispered.

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Jesse shoved her feet into her boots and tried to ignore the

erratic rhythm of her heart. She told herself she was going to

Amelia's to see if Amelia needed any help with the wedding.

But her conscious refused to accept the lie, and her nerves

kicked in at the prospect of seeing Clint. She didn't want to

wait until tonight. Couldn't. Breakfast with Ethan had been

too tense; she needed the feel of Clint's reassuring embrace.

Needed to soak in his unfaltering strength.

"I'm off," she hollered up the stairs.

Ethan hadn't believed her excuse either. Though he'd said

nothing, his snort spoke volumes. Oh well. He'd done as she

asked—exercised a modicum of politeness. And his snort, in

truth, was nothing less than he'd done when she'd hedged

about his Christmas gifts, emphatically denying she'd

purchased the mountain bike he'd wanted since summer.

"Brenda will be here at five, don't forget. I'll be back in a

little while."

"Okay," he hollered from his room.

She stuffed her arms into her coat and flew out of the

house. In her car, she took a deep breath. Would he think

she'd become clingy? He hadn't stopped in to say hello when

he'd come by to check on the mare. But that could be

because of Ethan. Probably easier to keep the peace,

especially since they had all night together. Still, the unusual

lack of contact left her jumpy.

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"Calm down," she murmured over the low drone of the

radio. "Everything's okay."

Backing out of the drive, she forced the bout of nerves

aside. For as long as she could remember, she'd come and

gone as she pleased at the King household. Just because she

and Clint were sleeping together didn't mean that had to

change.

She arrived to find the drive empty, save for Clint's blue

truck. Fresh tracks leading from the garage marked Amelia's

departure as well. Her nerves kicked back in, full force. Why

hadn't he said hello this morning?

Stop
, she ordered her mind. They had an entire night

planned. There was no need for Clint to drop in.

With a deep breath, she exited the car and jogged up the

cleared-off front steps. The shovel propped against the side of

the house announced someone had recently shoveled. Clint?

Alex? Not Amelia. It would be like Clint or Heath. Alex rarely

offered help with mundane chores. Although lately, she'd

observed some differences in the youngest King brother. Ten

years ago, he'd have fled from children faster than a blink.

Now, he stepped up. Embraced the idea of fatherhood.

She shrugged and tried the handle. It twisted easily,

allowing her entry. Inside, the house was quiet, no television,

no one lounging on the couch. "Clint?"

"In here."

Following the sound of his voice, Jesse meandered into the

kitchen. He sat at the table, coffee mug in hand, his gaze

trained outside. He didn't look up.

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"Morning, handsome. Where's Mom? I stopped by to see if

she needed any help with last minute wedding prep."

"In town."

Though the compelling urge to greet him with a kiss

tugged at her, she ignored the terse timbre of his voice and

helped herself to a cold waffle. "Where's everybody else?"

"Heath's doing something. I think he's with Nicolette. Alex

is with Mom."

Unease lifted the tiny hairs along her arms. She rubbed at

them and shivered. Something definitely wasn't right. He

hadn't even spared her so much as a glance. Not a single

drop of warmth radiated off his hunched over posture or

lurked in the tight lines of his jaw.

Trying for a degree of normalcy, she quipped, "What's

eating at you?"

"Nothing."

Right. Just like nothing had been eating at her last night.

She frowned at the back of his head.

He rose to his feet, stamped a foot to straighten the leg of

his sweats. "I'm going to shower. I've got some errands to

run before dinner." With a weak smile, he started for the

stairway exit.

If he thought that lame excuse would dissuade her,

evidently Clint didn't remember her that well. She dogged his

heels all the way to his room. "Clint, I'm not stupid. What's

bugging you?"

"Nothing you can help with." He jerked a shirt out of his

drawer. It rolled shut with a sharp thump.

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Intercepting his path to the closet, she set a palm on his

chest and tipped her head up to look at him. "Maybe I can.

Why don't you tell me and find out?"

His frown darkened, and he shouldered past her to yank a

pair of jeans off a hanger. He passed her again, then came to

a halt in the middle of the room. His shoulders bent, he

bowed his dark head. Letting out a sigh, he went to the edge

of the bed, sat heavily, and patted the edge of the mattress,

inviting her to join him.

She lowered a hip, bent her knee. Foreboding crept into

her veins as she searched his furrowed brow, his troubled

eyes. Her hand covered his larger one, and she gave it a

gentle squeeze. "What's going on?"

When he lifted his gaze to her face, his amber eyes

reflected sorrow. He blinked once, a prolonged lowering of

dark lashes that twisted Jesse's heart.

"I can't do this, Jesse. You, me..." He pulled his hand free

and dropped his head into both. "It's not fair to you. You

deserve so much more."

Though her stomach did a long slow roll, she reached out

to run her fingertips through his thick hair. "I'm not asking for

more."

He shook his head, dragged his fingers down his face. "You

don't understand."

"Then make me. What happened since last night?"

Something had, that was for damn sure. Had Alex or Heath

said something? Amelia? Something that pushed him beyond

what he wanted to accept? She bit her lower lip, nibbled as he

collected himself and sat up straighter.

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He twisted to face her more fully. Gathering her hands, he

gazed into her eyes. "I care about you, Jesse. So damn much.

But I'm just going to disappoint you. I don't want to be the

one you hate."

Her breath caught at the sincerity in his stirring stare.

They weren't just pretty words. He cared for her, really truly

cared. She flipped her hands over, laced her fingers through

his. "I'm grown up, Clint. I can't hate you. I admire you too

much. Always have."

The soft snort that met her heartfelt confession made her

cock her head. This wasn't just about them. He doubted

himself again. Why? What memory of his father had he run

into that set off the insecurities he harbored? Her gaze

searched his, looking for some hint as to what ate him up on

the inside. When his expression revealed nothing, she

whispered, "Where's this coming from?"

"I'm not what you think I am."

"No?" She gave him a soft smile. "You aren't Clint King

who lives in Kentucky and has devoted himself to a dream of

racing? You aren't the guy who worked his summers on the

track and went to school to make that dream happen? You

aren't the man who touches his horse with the same

gentleness he gives a woman? The one whose heart is too big

to shut out an angry teen?"

Shaking his head, he chuckled. Good. She was breaking

through. Making progress. But just as quickly, his expression

sobered, and a ball of frustration jammed her stomach.

"The farm Jesse... I'm barely hanging on. I lost my

sprinter today. He
might
be able to stand at stud. Without

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him, without the earnings he would have brought in this

spring, I've got nothing."

Her brows furrowed as she tried to follow his explanation.

She knew so little about horses, only the bare minimums.

"What about the mare in my barn? Her foal?"

"She's the last of my dreams. If she foals before January, I

can kiss the rest of them goodbye too. The foal will compete

at a disadvantage, and unless it's just a phenomenal runner,

the odds aren't in my favor. It doesn't even really matter,

though, because if I don't have a facility, owning a foal won't

make a damn bit of difference."

She didn't know horses, but she knew finance, and if there

was a will, nine times out of ten there was a way. His

situation couldn't be as poor as he imagined. Most often,

when people were at their most troubled financially, they

couldn't see the opening. Something she excelled in. "Can

you get another horse? How soon could the other one stand