A Christmas to Believe In (8 page)

She swung her head around with a long, slow blink. Her

tail swished. She shifted her weight, cocked out one hind foot,

and dropped her nose back to the hay.

If only he could be so unconcerned.

Clint lifted his eyes to the rafters, beseeching whatever

power that might be listening for aid. Angel couldn't foal. Not

now. Not here in Missouri, and certainly not before the end of

the year. He had fancy monitoring equipment set up in his

barns at home. His vet already stood at the ready. Here, he

knew no one credible. All he had was the milk test strips and

the foaling book he'd read so many times the binding was

crumbling. He could spend all day working on this stall, and it

still wouldn't be anywhere near as safe as his custom-

designed foaling facility in Kentucky.

He sank his head into his hands and let his shoulders

slump. He shouldn't have come. He should have stood up to

his mother and stayed in Kentucky. If he had, he wouldn't be

faced with meeting a new sister and suffering through an

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endless list of wedding plans. Jesse wouldn't be an issue

either. He'd have been tucked away in his barns, blissfully

unaware the girl he'd grown up with possessed curves that

made him lightheaded.

Dragging a hand down his face, he looked to the old

wooden walls and heaved a sigh. He'd better get the stall in

shape. From the looks of things, his mare was determined to

throw him into financial ruin.

Another reason he ought to stay far away from Jesse. One

look at her this morning, and he'd known she'd found

success. Her fashionable clothes, the care she put into

everything right down to those amazing boots—she'd done

well for herself.

He on the other hand, had nothing to offer. A farm on the

brink of bankruptcy. A pocketful of dreams he'd likely never

see. Jesse would never accept that kind of instability.

Certainly not with a child in the picture. He might make for a

good tumble in the sheets, but that's all he'd ever be.

A scowl bunched his eyebrows together. What the hell did

that matter? Since when had he considered anything beyond

that? He'd dated a fair amount. In thirty-six years, he'd never

considered what he had to offer to a woman—why should it

bother him now? A good tumble was perfect. Good memories

to take back home with him when he left the day after

Christmas—foal or no foal.

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A Christmas to Believe In

by Claire Ashgrove

Jesse pushed her keyboard away with a mutter. It was no

use—she couldn't keep her mind on the column of figures to

save her life. Each time she turned away from the monitor to

study the fiscal projections from the IT department, her

thoughts wandered back to her barn. Back to Clint.

Leaning forward, she powered down her computer and hit

the speakerphone button. "Susan, I need you to cancel my

three-fifteen with IT. I won't have the budget review

completed until tomorrow."

"Would you like me to reschedule the meeting?"

"No, I won't have time to meet with Jason until after the

holidays. I'll send him the file tomorrow, so he's aware of my

modifications, but exceptions and requests will have to wait

until January."

"All right. I'll tell him."

"Thank you, Susan."

Reclining in her chair, Jesse willed the clock to move

faster. Twenty minutes until her lunch date. Time couldn't

possibly pass any slower. She'd accomplished nothing in the

five hours she'd been here. Tomorrow wouldn't be any better.

Tomorrow, she finalized Ethan's adoption at two. He hadn't

said anything about their court date, which told her he'd

forgotten about it. But she'd be every bit as scatterbrained,

and the pile of budget reports waiting on her approval

wouldn't diminish on their own.

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Today, however, she could solely fault Clint for. He and his

lunch date. Jesse couldn't remember the last time she'd had a

non-business luncheon. Even Susan had lifted her eyebrows

when Jesse told her to black out the noon-to-two time block.

Susan would never say anything—theirs was a strictly

professional relationship. But she'd noticed, despite the casual

way Jesse delivered the instruction.

Jesse picked up a pen and absently tapped the end of it on

her blotter. Fifteen minutes. If she left now, she'd be early.

But if she sat still another minute longer, she'd squirm right

out of her chair.

She grabbed her keys and purse. To hell with it. She could

always claim she'd wanted to beat traffic.

As she left her office, Susan looked up with a bright smile.

"Enjoy your lunch."

Jesse returned her smile. "Thanks."

The walk to her car seemed endless. Never before had an

elevator taken so long to open on her floor. Never before had

she considered just how long it took to trek across the

parking garage. When she finally reached her door, her hands

shook as she inserted the key. She dropped behind the wheel,

tossed her purse on the seat next to her and let out a long

breath that stirred the loose hair around her face.

Lunch. Not a date, just lunch. Alex might have asked her

to join him if he weren't so preoccupied with the Keeley

situation. Heath too. There was absolutely nothing intimate

about Clint's invitation. As it should be.

She started the engine and pulled in a calming breath.

Reversing, she edged out of her reserved space. Jesse flipped

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on the radio, then drove down the narrow lane, around two

turns, and out into the bright Kansas City sunlight.

Though normally packed with vehicles around the noon

hour, the traffic worked against her on the main road. She hit

all the green lights, even when she tried to slow to catch a

red, and the usual back up near the highway on-ramp tallied

only three cars. To her dismay, she arrived at Maude's

Formalwear ten minutes early.

Only, as she nosed into a parking space in front of the

shop, a dark blue pickup two vehicles down caught her eye. A

smile eased the tightness around her mouth. Clint was early.

She should have expected that—she could count on one hand

the number of times he'd ever been late.

Feeling more confident about her early arrival, she stepped

out of the car, walked around a plowed bank of snow, and let

herself into the shop. A bell jingled as she shut the door. Her

gaze scanned the wide showroom floor, resting briefly on a

model that sported a wedding gown suitable for a queen,

before she looked to the men's section on the opposite side of

the room.

"May I help you?" a saleswoman asked from behind the

counter near the rear.

"Ah..." Jesse fumbled for a casual smile. "I'm meeting

someone here."

The young blonde's face lit with excitement. "I think he's in

the back. He should be out in a minute or two." She rushed

around the countertop, motioning Jesse to follow. "You'll love

the tux. You have wonderful taste. He'll be the groom of the

century."

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Jesse's face burned with hot color. "Um."

"Really, I mean it." The woman stopped, leaned closer,

and whispered, "Your fiance is gorgeous."

If it were possible, her cheeks heated even more. "He's not

the groom. And I'm not the bride. I'm not even in the

wedding. I grew up with him, we're just having lunch."

The blonde's features fell as her mouth dropped into a

dainty O. Quickly recovering, she snapped her mouth shut

and gave Jesse a short nod. "Well. You'll still like the tux."

She pushed behind a heavy curtain, her voice carrying down

the hall, "Mister King, how's that working for you?"

Out of her element and uncomfortable, Jesse turned to

inspect a rack of evening gowns. Weddings had never been

her thing. Once or twice in college, she'd been a bridesmaid,

but the fervor her friends shared eluded her. If she ever

managed to take a trip down an aisle, she'd much rather wear

something she could use again in life and skip the expense of

elaborate ceremonies. A few words under the big oak at the

park would work just fine.

"Whatcha think, Jesse?" Clint's voice rumbled behind her.

She turned around, and her breath caught. Good Lord, he

filled out that tuxedo perfectly. Accented by the crisp cut, his

broad shoulders screamed strength and power. The starched

white shirt beneath didn't bunch or sag and fit trimly into the

dark crimson cummerbund around his narrow waist. No tails,

but then those would have been reserved for Alex.

"Does it fit okay?" He turned around on a heel. "I think the

cuffs are a little long still."

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Unable to find her tongue, she dropped her gaze. It

skimmed over taut buttocks, thighs that looked firm despite

the loose fabric, and down to his ankles where the material

brushed against the heel of his dress shoes. "No," she

managed.

Wow.

Jesse's heart drummed a faster cadence. The saleswoman

hadn't exaggerated at all. That tux looked like it had been

made with Clint in mind. Funny, he hadn't seemed so

handsome when they'd doubled for Prom.

He turned around and his one-dimple grin tugged at the

corner of his mouth. "Pretty slick, eh? I think Sydney will

approve."

Sydney and every other woman in the tri-state area. "You

look nice." Hot, really. But admitting that threatened her

resolution to ignore the way he made her belly flip-flop like a

fish out of water.

The blonde returned, measuring tape in hand. She gave

Clint a coy smile that made Jesse want to claw out her eyes,

and set her hand on his forearm. "Just need to take a few

measurements, Mister King. Spread your feet, please."

Clint did as instructed, and the blonde knelt before him.

She measured his inseam, the cuffs on his trousers, and his

waist. Biting on her lower lip to dampen a rush of

uncustomary jealousy, Jesse watched through narrowed eyes.

That woman was entirely too close to him. And her hands had

no business fiddling with the inside of his thighs.

She glanced at Clint's reflection in the mirror and blinked

when she found his gaze locked on her. His smile absent, the

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glint in his amber eyes sent a shiver skittering through her

veins. Her breath suddenly unsteady, she ordered herself to

look away. To break that mesmerizing contact before her

lungs forgot how to expand. But she could do no more than

swallow.

"Your date won't be able to keep her hands to herself," the

blonde quipped.

Jesse snapped her stare back to the woman in time to

catch her throw Clint a wink. At his chuckle, the saleswoman

added, "And if you need one, you let me know."

His date. At once, a vision of Clint escorting one of

Sydney's picture-perfect friends down the aisle assaulted

Jesse. Damn. He'd spend all evening entertaining whomever

he'd been paired with. He'd sit at that woman's side, make

her laugh, and toast with her.

Clint's chuckle tightened the growing knot in Jesse's belly.

His words turned her throat dry.

"I filled up my dance card. You'll have to ask Jesse here if

she'll sit out a round."

As Jesse lifted her disbelieving gaze back to his laughing

eyes, he tossed her a wink that tilted her stomach upside

down. Flirting? With her? Surely not.

"A shame," the blonde said on a laugh. She stood up and

gathered her measuring tape. "We'll take in the waist a tiny

bit more and let out the cuffs about half an inch. The coat

doesn't get any more perfect."

"So I'm good to go then?"

"Yep. Pick it up the twenty-third."

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As Clint disappeared behind the heavy curtain, Jesse took

a much needed gulp of air and turned back to the rack of

evening dresses. She really needed to get a hold of herself if

she intended to hold true on her decision to keep Clint from

getting under her skin. He'd caught her off guard. If she'd

stopped to consider what he might look like in a tuxedo, she'd

have anticipated the eye-candy version of her childhood

friend. The fact her heart hammered in double-time had

absolutely nothing to do with anything but surprise, and if he

came out here again now, she'd react no differently than

when she'd seen him in the barn.

Only then too, he'd had a similar effect on her.

Damn. Why, oh why, had she agreed to lunch?

A warm hand in the small of her back jolted her out of her