Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash (27 page)

“Yes, boss,” she said. “But we could at least make sure the paint is non-toxic.”

His mouth flickered for a moment, resigned but amused. “Okay. Check the Internet for pictures. See if they had any toys in his stall. We can’t move him but maybe we can make it more like home.”

She smiled, relieved he could compromise even if it was minimal.

“My office is locked but here’s an extra set of keys,” he added. “You can use my computer this week.” He reached in his pocket and tossed her a jangle of keys, his voice lowering. “Password is bluechip649.”

Regret flattened her smile. His trust wasn’t given lightly. “Thank you,” she said. But her voice wobbled and she averted her head, unable to meet his gaze.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The information on Ridgeman was extensive and much easier to read on Burke’s large computer screen than on her phone. The facility had certainly been plagued with bad luck.

The tragic fire that killed David Ridgeman Sr., along with seven valuable Thoroughbreds, was only the first of a rash of incidents. In the past year alone, a prize broodmare had broken a leg, David had lost his wife in a car crash, and Lorna had been in and out of two pricey rehab clinics.

Nifty was their major moneymaker, raking in a hundred thousand dollars per live foal and covering two mares a day. Ridgeman capitalized on the horse’s popularity by sending him to Australia for the southern hemisphere breeding season. Jenna shook her head in dismay. No doubt, the stud was exhausted; they treated him like a sex machine.

An image of Burke’s hard body flashed in her head and she permitted herself a brief moment of indulgence. Damn, he’d been good. She peeked over her shoulder. He tilted in his chair, feet propped on his desk, talking to someone called Edward while they debated which company they should ‘fix’ next.

Poor unsuspecting company didn’t stand a chance.

She turned back to the screen and clicked another Ridgeman link. Pictures of the property, the paddocks, the barns. And there it was—Nifty’s stall. No rubber balls or toys but a mineral lick on the wall and three airy windows. And it was in view of at least two other horses. Strange. The stall he occupied at the Center was the exact opposite of his longtime home.

Her neck tingled. She glanced back over her shoulder. Burke had finished his call and now stared with hooded eyes. “Find anything?” he asked.

She swallowed, still off balanced by his trust, guiltily aware she didn’t deserve it. “No toys but the website says Nifty loves company.” She drew in a deep breath. “Especially playful ponies with sweet dispositions.”

Burke crossed his arms, and it was hard not to be distracted by his rippling muscles. She lifted her gaze and locked it on his face. “I’d be happy to lend Peanut as a companion for Nifty. Wouldn’t even charge anything except a few solar sessions.” Her words came in a rush now, but it was clear she couldn’t sneak Peanut in any longer. Couldn’t stand to deceive Burke that way. But her pony needed help. “Please,” she added, hating the way her voice cracked.

“I’m working on something for the pony, but he’s definitely not going in the stall next to Nifty. The little guy is looking better anyway.”

That’s because I’ve been bringing him up here
. She turned away, struggling with despair, wishing she didn’t have to tiptoe like a thief in the night. She couldn’t do that any longer. But she couldn’t stand back and watch Peanut die either.

Burke’s chair moved. Seconds later, his hands flattened over the table, his heat covering her as he leaned down and studied the screen. “Is that the stall?” he asked. “Wonder why they insisted on the horse being alone?”

“Because David likes to hurt,” she said, remembering the look on the man’s face when he squeezed her hand, his obvious pleasure at causing pain.

Burke’s warm breath fanned her neck. If she turned her head, she sensed his mouth would cover hers.
But he won’t help my pony
. She squared her shoulders and stared stubbornly at the screen.

“Likes to hurt? That’s ridiculous.” Burke straightened and stalked toward the door, his frustration obvious. “I’m going over to the track to watch Nifty. You’re welcome to come if you want.”

“I want.” She rose from the chair and trailed him to the car.

He opened the passenger door then circled the car and slid behind the wheel. Slipped on his dark sunglasses and wordlessly nosed the vehicle from the lot.

They climbed the steps to the balcony in front of the viewing stand. Nifty trotted past, head high, escorted by Terry and his muscular gelding.

“Looks good to me,” Burke said, finally breaking the stiff silence. “Sounder than a lot of horses still racing.”

Jenna shaded her eyes from the sun, straining to see. Nifty trotted perfectly, stepping underneath with a long, even stride—happy, healthy, eager. Only two other horses were on the track this late, both galloping with riders, and he tracked them with pricked ears, as though keen to race again.

“Well-behaved fellow,” Burke added. “With that smooth action, I can see why he’s in demand as a stud. Apparently he’s booked for the next couple years.”

“And a season in Australia, according to industry reports,” she said, still watching Nifty. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to boost his mares from two to three a day.”

“Not a good idea. His sperm count might suffer. The last thing Ridgeman wants is impotence.”

“Yes, that’s the last thing anyone would want.” She couldn’t resist a mischievous smile and glanced up, checking his expression, wondering if he was quiet because she’d avoided his kiss. But that top lip twitched and the wind ruffled his thick hair. He looked relaxed again, almost boyish. Obviously he enjoyed life outside office walls. Little wonder he grabbed a hammer whenever possible.

He even smelled as if he’d been working with wood again, and she moved a step closer, drawing in another appreciative sniff. “I thought the construction was finished?”

“I’m working on the interior now,” he said.

“But isn’t that an open building for storage?”

“That was the original intent. Sometimes in this job,” he slipped his arm around her waist and gave a gentle squeeze, “a man has to be flexible.”

She smiled, unable to remain annoyed despite his stubborn refusal to let Peanut into the Center. “You’re the least flexible person I know. And Terry and Nifty are getting closer. You’d better move your arm so he doesn’t see.”

“What does it matter? I’ll be gone soon.”

“Really?” Her smile deepened. “You found a manager?”

“Seems so. Talked to a good candidate on the phone.” He looked at her, his expression hidden by the dark sunglasses. “It really makes you happy I’m leaving?”

“Well, I’ll certainly miss you,” she said, “especially the first couple of weeks. But maybe you’d come back every spring and visit?” A weekend a year would be perfect. She’d love to keep in touch with him. She was so delighted by the prospect she tilted on her toes, brushing his mouth with an excited kiss. “There’s a long weekend in May,” she went on. “I’ll put in now for vacation.”

He remained motionless for a second, completely still behind the dark sunglasses. Then his arms tightened and he backpedaled her into the deserted viewing building. Yanked off his sunglasses and lowered his head. The kiss was hard, almost punishing, but when she tried to pull away, his mouth softened. Turned persuasive.

He really was a tremendous kisser and it was very private in the cool room. She linked her arms around his neck and twined against him. Already his hand was on her breast, thumbing her nipple, creating ripples of sensation. He tilted her against the wooded wall and pulled her shirt up. When his warm mouth replaced his hand, she went a little crazy.

She wrapped her calf around his leg and arched against the bulge in his jeans. He slipped his hand between her legs, his fingers moving over the denim, but not enough, not near enough, and she groaned with frustration. It was scary how quickly he’d aroused her.

He abruptly pulled away, yanked down her shirt and coolly replaced his sunglasses. “I’m rather busy now. Guess we’ll finish this next May.” He strode from the building and back onto the balcony.

She stared at his back, stunned and disbelieving. Fumbled with her bra, listening as he calmly called directions to Terry. And now they were discussing the weather. She pressed her hands to her cheeks trying to soothe the heat. Half horniness, half humiliation. She’d never felt so cheap. God, what a prick.

She stumbled past him, head averted as she fled down the narrow steps. The Center wasn’t too far. Half a mile, max. She’d walk back. No way was she getting in his car. Never, ever again.

A vehicle slowed and she jerked around. Not Burke but a green security truck. If she hadn’t been so shattered, she would have recognized the distinctive diesel engine.

“Hi, Jenna.” Larry stuck his smiling head out the window. “Too hot to jog? Want a drive to the Center?”

“Yes, thanks.” She climbed into the cab, struggling to act normal. “But could you drop me off at my place instead? I’m not working this week.”

“No problem. It’s not on my route but won’t take long. And I want to thank you for reminding Mr. Burke about my firearms update. Getting a raise, can hardly believe it.” His phone buzzed and he picked it up, his smile fading as he listened to the caller.

A brown clipboard lay on the seat between them. Larry was absorbed with his call so she tilted the board and scanned his schedule. Night checks this week were every hour, on the hour. Good to know.

She was going to bring Peanut up and stand him under the lights, in the oxygen tank and maybe even in the saltwater spa—and she wasn’t going to feel an ounce of guilt. Not anymore. Larry shot her a curious glance, and she eased the clipboard back on the seat.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” he finally said and hung up.

His knuckles whitened around the wheel and his Adam’s apple moved convulsively, but he didn’t look at her again. Seemed embarrassed by her presence.

“So, how’s your day going?” she asked, trying to help him relax. She checked her shirt, wondering if things were a little askew. That would explain his discomfort but no, Burke had replaced everything he’d handled.
Asshole
.

Larry turned to the right and headed up the hill. Rocks pelted the bottom of the truck. She leaned forward, eyeing the pothole on the second curve, the deceptive hole that had already cost her two mufflers. Of course, they were in a rugged truck but still…

“Better slow down, Larry,” she said. “The road’s rough. Big pothole coming up.”

He didn’t slow. The truck’s right wheel slammed the hole, bouncing her several inches off the seat. “Oops, well that’s the spot. And there’s my place.” Her voice rose. “Better slow down a little.”

He still didn’t speak. If anything his speed increased as they topped the crest of the hill. “Larry! You know where I live. What are you doing?” And then she knew.

She twisted. A powerful black car loomed behind them. “What the hell did he tell you to do?”

“Drive to his house and not let you jump out.”

“I’m not going to jump out, Larry. That would be stupid.” Her hand crept to the door handle.
Click
. The locks dropped.

“Sorry, Jenna. He said you might try that.”

Her jaws clenched as the truck roared down the road, only slowing when they approached the huge Three Brooks’ mansion. Larry stopped at the top of the drive, scanning his side view mirror, clearly upset with his orders. “This doesn’t seem right. Making you come here.” His throat convulsed. “Guess if you’re really scared, you don’t have to get out.”

“No.” She shook her head, somewhat mollified by his concern. But Burke expected Larry’s total obedience, and security jobs weren’t plentiful. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “Mr. Burke just wanted a meeting. I misunderstood the time.”

She faked a nonchalant wave and stepped out, keeping a smile pasted until Larry’s truck disappeared. Burke’s car door slammed. She wheeled to face him, hands fisted, fury stoked with humiliation. “You’re truly a professional prick. Bet you wouldn’t treat your rich friends like that.”

“I’ve never cared enough to treat anyone like that,” he said.

She turned and strode up the driveway, head high. If he touched her, she’d plug him in his arrogant nose. But he caught her in three strides, clamped her arms at her sides, and she was reduced to impotent jerks.

Her father had taught her the head-butt move, to be used only in dire situations, but this seemed to qualify. She snapped her head up. However, he clearly was adept at street fighting and blocked it easily.

She was hogtied and helpless and the knowledge was infuriating. She wasn’t going to cry, wasn’t going to swear, but he’d have to let go of her sometime and when he did, she was going to kill him. She quivered with impotent rage, her fury escalating as she waited for the moment he’d relax that steely grip.

Swearing, he carried her around the side of the house, past the flowers, the fountain and the patio chairs.

He released her—she had one second of shocked comprehension—then hit the cold, bracing water. She went under cursing. Came up choking. The sonofabitch just stood by the edge of the pool.

He’d thrown her in the shallow end and she sputtered to her feet, arms and legs flailing, clumsy in her drenched clothes. Oh, no, her phone! She fumbled for her pocket, struggling to rescue it. Finally. Held the phone above the water, staring in horror at the display. But it was black, dead and dripping. Her phones calls to Em were finished.

She pressed it to her chest, her heart as broken as her phone. Water streamed over her face, but she was too defeated to push back her bedraggled hair. A wrecked phone at the worst possible time, now, when Emily needed her. Her shoulders drooped, and despite her best efforts an aching sob leaked out.

Something splashed. A moment later his big arms wrapped around her. “Don’t cry, honey. Please don’t cry.”

But her anger had wilted, leaving her vulnerable, and the only thing she could do was cry—wracking sobs that tore at her chest, hurt her lungs and made it difficult to breathe. And she didn’t understand him, not one tiny bit.