Jumped (15 page)

“Please!” Amanda said. “Do I have to make you count strides like a novice?”

“Keep your pants on, Vogel. I'll get it this time.”

Beth piloted her big bay around the ring. It was spacious, with room for a full jumper course and cushy footing that was gentle on a horse's joints and tendons. Amanda had set up just a few jumps for Beth's lesson today. Beth came at the vertical again, this time paying more attention and taking more of a feel on the reins so she could rate Brooke's stride and get her to the fence in a more balanced frame. It worked. Beth knew it was going to be a perfect jump three strides out. Brooke pricked her ears as she sighted the fence, then powered over it from the ideal distance, tucking her front legs and soaring.

“Thank God!” Amanda said, and laughed. “I thought I'd have to set up some nice six-inch crossrails for you. Since that was so gorgeous—and it was, she has really come along—let's quit there.”

Beth walked Brooke for fifteen minutes to cool her out, untacked her, rinsed off the sweat, washed her with Vetrolin and water, squeegeed her, and turned her out into the pasture. Beth loved the ease of taking care of a horse in the summer, when she didn't have to deal with blankets or clipping winter coats. When she was done, she went to the house to join Amanda for lunch. She wondered—idly, she told herself—if Finn would be there.

He wasn't. Beth, still in her breeches and paddock boots, joined Amanda on the patio. Harris was going to eat with them as well, having turned down a lunch outing with Grady, Solstice, and Wave to the Woody Creek Tavern. Again. The girls would live there if they could, and they were always trying to get someone to take them. They had even conned poor Ellis a few weeks ago.

Beth, Amanda, and Harris sat at the big table where they'd had dinner the night before. This time Harris provided a spread of sandwich fare, including turkey, ham, roast beef, bacon, various cheeses, lettuce, tomatoes, condiments, and breads.

Harris had warned Amanda earlier. “I don't have time to make you a fancy French Laundry lunch. I have things to do.”

“It's just Beth and me. You don't have to do anything. We can get our own lunch.”

“Oh no. You never put things back where they belong.”

“I do so!”

“Missy, don't start with me. My life hasn't been the same since you lost my Williams-Sonoma garlic press.”

“Who uses a garlic press for a sandwich?”

“So,” Amanda said to Beth as she assembled her sandwich. “What's up? You're all smiles today.”

“It's Jack, isn't it?” Harris asked. “I've been smiling, and I didn't have him one-on-one like you did.”

“You make that sound so dirty,” Beth said.

“Thank you!” Harris nodded.

“Jack gave me a lot of good ideas and said he'd keep helping me. He also said he wouldn't take any money—that it was a favor to Grady—but I can't do that. I have to pay him.”

Harris said, “There are many ways to pay a man.”

“Actually . . .” Beth said, as she spread homemade mayo on a slice of sourdough, “I . . . uh . . . might have
paid
Finn last night.”

“What?” Amanda and Harris said simultaneously.

Beth related the tale of her and Finn's argument over Jack and their subsequent roll in the hay.

“Ha!” Amanda said. “I'm right! You are still in love with him!”

“Oh, honey,” Harris said to Amanda. “Not everyone's like you and has to have all that romance. She might have just enjoyed it for what it was—pure lust.” Then to Beth, “Was it hot? I've never had broken-leg sex, and I've had all kinds of sex,” Harris said.

“It was hot,” Beth said. “It was incredible. And not just the sex—sorry, Harris—but it was . . . sweet, too. He was really, really sweet. He was the old Finn. The one I fell in love with.”

“Oh boy.” Amanda put her head in her hands, and then looked at Beth with her big-sister face. “Are you okay?”

Harris said, “How could she not be, getting serviced by that hunka hunka burnin' love?”

Beth chortled. “I'm not a brood mare!” She looked at Amanda and sighed. “I'm fine. I started it. I'm not sure what got into me, but I'm fine.”

“Got into you?” Harris asked, eyes gleaming.

Amanda said to Beth, “Ignore him. Go on.”

“Do you think we can keep doing it? Then go our separate ways when he feels better?”

“Exes with benefits?” Harris asked.

“Is that what you want?” Amanda asked.

“We'd keep it casual and friendly,” Beth said.

“You're not going to let feelings creep in?” Amanda sounded skeptical.

Harris said, “This could help his healing. Florence Nightingale had sex with lots of injured soldiers.”

Amanda made a face. “She did not.”

Harris said, “Nevertheless, I'm sure that throughout history, plenty of the stricken have been aided in their time of need by a come-on from a comely angel of compassion such as yourself.” Harris nodded to Beth. “If not, why would they make those sexy nurse costumes? I say go for it. Life is short.”

“What do you want?” Amanda asked again. “Just sex? Do you think you two
can
be merely physical, given your history? Or do you want to be with him again? Have things changed between you two?”

Beth finished chewing the bite she had just taken. Amanda had just posed the gazillion-dollar question and Beth didn't know her answer. She needed more time. For Scarlett O'Hara, tomorrow had arrived. She pursed her lips. “Since the accident, we haven't talked about our . . . issues. I don't know if our irreconcilable differences are reconcilable. Hell, I don't even know if he'd be interested.”

“He still wants you,” Harris said.

“And loves you,” Amanda said.

“Oh my stars,” Harris said, looking at Amanda. “This is just like last summer with you and Brunzy.” He clasped his hands over his heart, looked heavenward, and gave a melodramatic delivery: “America wants to know—will these two wayward souls find love again in each other's arms? Or will she break his heart to match his leg? Only time will tell.”

Beth said to Amanda, “Can I throw him in the pool?”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Absolutely.”

“Speaking of which, is the pool fixed?” Beth asked.

Amanda looked at the pool, frowning. “I didn't know there was anything wrong with it.”

“Yesterday Jacqueline said they had to turn off the water because they were fixing the pool. I had to shower in the cottage.”

Amanda said, “I didn't know about it, but that doesn't mean anything.”

Harris started to gather the plates. “Better get these inside. The bread dries out so quickly up here.”

Amanda smiled. “Harris?”

He kept bussing. She pressed on. “Did they turn off the water yesterday?”

He pierced both of them with an indignant stare and pursed his lips. “I have no idea what either of you are talking about.”

Amanda smiled as she turned to Beth. “You were punked.”

“By Jacqueline?” Beth could hardly believe the sophisticated, no-nonsense assistant would ever do something so . . . un-French.

“She has a romantic streak a mile wide. It's the French half. And Harris has been encouraging her.”

Harris spoke, “I can neither confirm nor deny that.” He wiggled his fingers at them. “Napkins, please.” He pretended to storm toward the house with dishes.

Amanda called after him, “It doesn't work if we can hear you laughing!”

“Stir crazy” didn't
begin
to describe Finn's afternoon. If he thought it would've made him feel better, he would've pulled out his hair. He could work, but only in twenty-minute stints before a blazing headache would swamp him. His leg hurt less and he felt more alert, but the tradeoff was that he slept less and had more time to feel frustrated, courtesy of his limited mobility. He lay in the hammock behind the guesthouse for a while, but getting onto the thing with the heavy cast was death defying. He wanted Bethany there to keep him company. She could sit in the hot tub in a bathing suit . . . or her birthday suit. He was hungry, too. He hadn't been hungry before because he'd been so doped up, but now he could eat a horse. He laughed—that wouldn't go over well at Aspen Creek.

Speaking of torture . . . Bethany hadn't yet returned. Even Mingo had abandoned him, preferring his mistress's company. Who could blame him?

And then Finn had a simply awful thought.
What if she was with Cormier?
What if Cormier had picked her up and given her a tour of his cool, hip, award-winning ad agency? What if he had taken her to lunch at some tony Aspen restaurant where he knew the celebrity-chef owner? What if Cormier had some goddamned romantic ski chalet where he could drown her in his Southern Cajun Creole charm, get her drunk on Hurricanes, and
aw, shucks
her right into bed?

He didn't think he could feel more restless, but the thought of Bethany in bed informed him that yes indeed, he
could
. He might have to do some weight training in Grady's basement gym, if only to work off all this energy.

He would take it easy. He would go for light weights and few reps, like a geriatric rehab patient. After days of no physical exertion, he wasn't sure he could do much anyway.

Once on the porch, as he geared himself up to crutch up the drive, Bethany appeared. Figures she'd decide to show up just as he was leaving. She was walking down the driveway from the house. He'd know that walk anywhere, an alluring loose-hipped near-swagger. It was confident, athletic, graceful, and all Bethany. If he didn't recognize her walk, he would've known her hair, which was loose and gleaming in the afternoon sun. He wanted to grab it and wrap it around his fist as he kissed her.

There's my goddess.

The unbidden thought struck him in the head like a blow from a ball-peen hammer.

And Cormier is nowhere in sight.

“Going for a run, McNabb?” She was only a few strides away now.

“Only five miles or so. Don't want to break my cast.”

“Lightweight.”

He gave her a slow, sexy grin as she stepped onto the wood porch. “I don't know about you, but I'm still recovering from last night.” He used his most seductive voice.

“So you're too tired for another round. That's too bad.” She pouted.

“I didn't say
that
. It's good for my circulation. Better circulation means my leg heals faster.”

“Nope,” she said. “I wouldn't want to tire you out. And believe me, I would.”

Finn laughed and looked over Bethany's head at someone else coming down the drive.

“Special delivery!” It was Jacqueline, Grady's long-limbed girl Friday, striding down the drive holding a long cardboard box. She wore her black hair in a sleek bun and her air of efficiency like a Chanel suit, although today she was in black capris. Finn loved her melodic French accent and soft voice.

Nicer than Cormier's accent
. Finn needed to get over Cormier. But for now, he wondered what was in the box.

“For me?” Finn asked.

“Yes, Mr. McNabb. It is for you. It arrived this morning.”

“Please call me Finn.”

“Yes, Mr. McNabb,” she said, smiling.

Finn fought the urge to hobble to her and take the box so she wouldn't have to carry it so far. A broken leg quashed some gentlemanly tendencies.

“Did you buy a new tibia?” Bethany asked.

Jacqueline set the box on the porch. “It is somewhat heavy.”

“I'll get a knife,” Bethany said.

“Hold the phone!” It was Harris, jogging down the drive. “I love surprises, and I've got a box cutter!” It took the chef only a few seconds to join them. “Whew. Look at me running, and I'm not even in a gym.” He looked at Finn. “Finneus, someday we have to talk about your biceps. I insist you share your secrets.”

“It's easy,” Bethany said. “Build a few dozen houses from scratch.”

“I don't think so. Splinters.”

Finn laughed. “Will someone do the honors? What's the return address?”

Harris read the return label, but Finn didn't recognize the name. “Without further ado,” Harris said, brandishing the blade and quickly cutting open the box. He retrieved a slightly curved object covered in bubble wrap. It was several feet long and slender.

“If this was once a golf club,” Harris said, “it warped in transport.” He set it on the porch, crouched, and removed the wrapping. “Oh my stars. This is kinky even for me.”

9

Y
ou bought a
samurai sword?” Bethany asked.

“No,” Finn said. “I did not.”

Harris slid the sword out of the black lacquered scabbard, that depicted an intricate Japanese scene. “When I think of what I could chop with this . . .”

Jacqueline studied the label. “It is your name and the correct address. Perhaps you should check your credit card records. If you would like any help, please let me know.”

Finn said, “Thanks, but I'll take care of it.”

“Could it be a gift?” Bethany asked.

“There is no card or gift message to indicate such a thing,” Jacqueline said.

“It's beautiful,” Bethany said. “'Fess up. Is this a new hobby?”

Finn said, “I'm telling you, I didn't buy this. May I see it?”

Harris carefully handed it to him. Finn looked it over, turning it from side to side. “It's pretty cool.”

Harris said, “If Grady does a Kurosawa remake, you're golden. But please, no hari-kari on the property. So messy.”

“Don't worry,” Finn said. “I'll keep my sword sheathed.”

“Let's not go overboard, right, Bethany?” Harris said.

“Harris!” Bethany was blushing. Finn found this utterly charming.

Jacqueline asked, “Harris, it is time for you to go back to the kitchen, no?”

“Just when the conversation was getting interesting,” Harris said. “If you need any help polishing—”

“
Allons-y!
” Jacqueline ordered, then said to Finn and Bethany, “Someone has to keep him in line. It is my biggest job challenge.” And she smiled and ushered Harris up the hill to the house.

As Finn laughed, he watched Bethany's face return to its normal shade.

Back in the
cabin,
Finn sat at the pine table, his leg propped on a chair, and checked his online credit card records. It seemed he had purchased the sword in question. There were some other items as well, but the statements only listed the vendors and he couldn't figure out what the items were.

“It's on there?” Bethany asked. “You really bought a sword?” She sat at the table.

“Looks that way.”

“Could it have been for a client?”

“Don't think so.”

“A corporate gift? It seems like a he-man, macho gift for some grand poobah corporate type who has everything.”

“Like your father?” Finn asked before he could stop himself. He stared at the laptop's screen.
Why did you say that, McNabb?

She blew out a harsh breath. “Now it starts. You get me in bed and now it starts with my father.”

“Bethany. I didn't mean—”

“Yeah, so what, my dad's got money. He's a self-made man, like you. I'd think you'd admire him.”

“You know why I said that. He never liked me taking away his little girl. I wasn't good enough for you, and he never let me forget it.”

“He didn't think any man was good enough! Warren Buffett wouldn't have been good enough, and he worships Buffett.”

Finn had been clenching his jaw so tightly, his molars hurt. He relaxed.
Get a grip. This is no way to get in her good graces.
He closed his eyes, then met her hard gaze. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It still bugs me that he screwed with my career. And . . . I hated how he used to upset you.”

“He's ruthless in business sometimes, and not the most sensitive with his family. But you beat him. You did it anyway. I don't want to talk about him, okay?”

“Sometimes it helps to talk to someone who knows how things are.”

“Finn,” she said softly. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But you don't know how things are in my life anymore.”

I'd like to change that.
“That's why I'm asking.”

A small tremor rippled across her lips. “Okay. He thinks the clothing line is silly.”

Finn resisted his urge to fix her problem.
Be a good listener, McNabb.
“I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry he doesn't take your business seriously.”

“I can hardly blame him—he doesn't understand why I don't have a store on Main Street if I want to sell clothes. He also doesn't understand that I can charge a small fortune for a shirt people wear to ride a horse. But what really gets me is . . . in some ways, he's right. I don't know if I can do this. I'll try, but I have no idea if this is going to fly.”

He was absorbed in her words, and it felt like a ventricle shifted when he saw the uncertainty darkening her gray eyes. He wanted to give her advice, but that's what her father would do. Worse, she might realize he wanted to show up Cormier, give her
better
advice than his. He had to be her rock. “You'll have to find out. You'll give it your best shot, work hard, and that's all you can do. If it means anything, I believe in you.”

“It doesn't suck.” She gave him a 40 percent smile, not quite half.

On impulse, he pushed himself to his feet and held her hands. “You're gonna be fine. It's all going to work out. You'll see.” And he kissed her knuckles.

This made him want to kiss more of her. As their gazes locked, he saw that her eyes were glistening just a little. She was downplaying how much her dad bothered her, or how worried she was about her new venture.
I can fix this!
He leaned in and her lips met his. They kissed gently, not like the torrid kisses from the night before. He felt her tremble against him and his heart lurched again.

Long moments later he looked at her, letting every steamy notion he had shine through. He shifted his gaze to her shoulder and skimmed his fingertips along her arm from the edge of her short sleeve to her elbow, giving this simple gesture his full attention and as though he were touching her naked body. Then he stroked the sensitive skin at the crook of her elbow with his thumb. Teasing. Tantalizing. He trailed his fingers back up her arm, over her shoulder, and up the side of her neck until he cradled the back of her neck with his fingertips and played with her earlobe with his thumb. She smelled of horses, which had become an aphrodisiac for him even before they'd started dating.

He traced her lips with his fingertip, then kissed her again. Her mouth opened, inviting him. He obliged, letting the sweet sensation of kissing his ex-wife wash over him. He loved feeling the familiar contours of her mouth, tasting her lips and tongue, probing and seeking.

He wanted more. She did, too, because she grabbed the back of his head.

“Come to bed with me, Bethany,” he whispered against her lips. “Come to bed with me.” He took her hand and made it to his bed almost as smoothly as a table saw cutting through pine.

“You're gonna have to
get your pills yourself. Because I can't move,” Bethany called to Finn from the bed. He was in the bathroom. She lay prone, one arm flopped over the side, limp as could be. Even hindered by that big heavy cast, Finn had worked his considerable sexual magic on her.

He entered the main room. “No problem,” En route to the kitchen he detoured and stopped at the bed. A naked Finn and his just-had-sex hair. On crutches, so she could watch all those wonderful arm and back muscles bunch and flex. He could still get her hormones to careen, even after their recent workout. He picked up her hand and pressed it to his lips. Then he went to the bottom of the bed where the sheets had sought refuge from the melee.

His eyes toured her naked body and his eyes glimmered. “Do you have the slightest idea how gorgeous you are? I could look at you for days.” He picked up the top sheet. “You cold, honey?”

She smiled. “A little.” With almost unbearable tenderness, he pulled the sheet up to her shoulders and methodically tucked it in around her. Then he smiled down at her and kissed the tip of her nose. Yes,
this
was the Finn she had fallen in love with all those years ago, with his intriguing mix of strength and gentleness, the man who could be both serious and playful with aplomb.

She watched him take his Percocet, because she got to look at his back and the crazy muscles it took to lift a glass of water. And his ass. And arms. It was all stunningly good except for the cast.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mmm. Yeah. Pretty much okay.”

He laughed. Then he struggled to snag his boxers off the floor with a crutch.

“Here,” she said, sitting up. “Let me help you.” She squirmed out of her sheet cocoon and helped him into the boxers, shorts, and a T-shirt.

“Say, would you go grocery shopping with me?” Finn asked as he dressed.

Beth had just recovered from the final tremors of an epic orgasm. He could have whatever he wanted.

He said, “I want to make you dinner. I'll need a little help, though.”

“That's why God invented Harris.”

He regarded her from under his brows as though she were a slightly naughty child. “I'd
like
to make you dinner.”

“Why?” Beth asked. “You gonna poison me?”

He made another face, which was a variation of the looking-at-naughty-child one he had just made. “Dude, where's my car?”

“In the garage. But you can't drive. I'll drive. You love driving with me.”

Off they went to a grocery store in Aspen, with Beth driving the late-model black pickup that had pulled her horse trailer from Florida to California to Colorado. Finn wanted steaks, which was so Finn. She laughed, noting how shopping with him felt so . . .
normal
.

Again, this was considerate Finn, beguiling Finn, the Finn who had been the object of her most severe post-college crush.

They returned to the cottage with two sirloins, two potatoes, a bundle of asparagus, ice cream, and a bottle of red wine. With Beth's help, Finn grilled the steak and asparagus and baked the potato. During their year of marriage, Beth couldn't recall Finn ever making a dinner more complicated than microwaving a hockey puck of meat from an orange Stouffer's box. She joined him on the deck behind the cabin, sitting at the small table for two while he manned the flame. As he turned the steak, she thought she saw him wince. She wondered if he was simply tired from the energy healing required, or if their bedroom escapades had taken their toll. She had thought about telling him to nix dinner, but he had been so eager to cook for her that she didn't have the heart.

Twenty minutes later, after fetching the baked potatoes while he finished grilling the asparagus, she resumed her spot at the table. A linen napkin over his arm, he set a plate in front of her. “Would madam like some wine?”

“Yes, madam would.”

“Very good.” He filled her glass. Finn hopped around the table, sat, and they clinked their glasses.

“Oh my God, Finn, first the sex and now this. It's great,” she said around a bite of steak. “I could die now and be happy. Thank you.”

Finn laughed and rolled his eyes, then smiled. “Good. That was the plan. I'm no Harris, but I learned to make a few things since you last lived with me. I could only choke down so many Hungry Man dinners.”