A Christmas to Believe In (29 page)

Utter happiness clashed with sorrow as the realization all this

would end when Clint returned to Kentucky eased its

traitorous way into her mind. There had to be some way to

change things. An end that would see them both satisfied.

More preferably, no end at all. One lifetime wouldn't be long

enough, and the very idea of spending another minute of that

apart felt as if she'd sliced her own veins open wide.

Finance was what she knew. She'd climbed to the top of

her field by manipulating figures, cutting here, adding there,

minimizing budgets to optimize constraints. Horses, however,

were as foreign as trying to read Russian. What looked like a

backwards 'R' held some vastly different meaning. Hell, she'd

only just learned tonight that paw wasn't an interchangeable

word for hoof.

Clint turned his head toward hers and brushed aside her

dampened hair. "Where are you?" he murmured.

She searched for a smile, found a weak one. "I was just

thinking."

"About?"

"You." Snuggling in close, she gave him a tight hug. "How

much I like you in my bed."

It wasn't a lie. She did like him here. And keeping him

here prompted the journey her mind had taken.

He chuckled low. "If Ethan were a bit more open to me, I'd

make it a habit."

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And then there was that. Even if she could find a way to

solve Clint's financial issues so he could stay, her son didn't

want him anywhere around. God only knew how many

months it might take to convince Ethan to open up. Give Clint

a chance. Damn, why did life have to be so unfair?

"Speaking of," Clint continued. "When is he coming home

tomorrow? I've had enough of Mom walking in on us—

probably not a good idea for him to."

The lighthearted remark broke through her melancholy to

elicit a laugh. She tipped her head back, grinned at his

handsome face. "Early afternoon. Probably not until after

lunch." A snippet of white outside her bedroom window

caught her eye, and Jesse lifted to her elbow. "Oh look, Clint.

It's snowing."

He turned his head to take in the dusting of flakes that

floated down. The arm around her waist tightened as a smile

pulled at the corners of his mouth. When he looked back to

her, the warmth in his amber gaze made her heart swell a

little more. He said nothing, but those brilliant eyes

trumpeted feeling.

Lifting his head off the pillow, he tucked his hand beneath

her chin and drew her into a leisurely kiss. The velvety brush

of his tongue took her back to the heavenly place where no

obstacles lay between them and tomorrow was just another

day in a chain of never-ending many. When he withdrew, he

rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. "A perfect finale."

"Mm." Jesse slipped her leg between his. As she glided it

along the sensitive inner skin, she fanned her hand over his

abdomen and gently massaged his corded muscles. She

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placed a kiss on his chest and whispered, "How about a

beginning? Make love to me again, Clint."

The stirring against her thigh was the only forewarning she

had, before Clint rolled her onto her back.

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One hand on the skillet, Jesse jostled the phone with the

other. While Clint slept, she waited for the solution to her

horse-idiocy to answer. "Yes, Nadine, this is Jessica Saurs

with Bellborne Marketing. I don't know if you remember me,

but we did a spread last year for a horse you had?"

The middle-aged woman who Jesse had bumped into in

the elevator last spring squawked with glee. "Oh yes, Miss

Saurs, I remember you. Your company, most especially. Andy

did such a wonderful job on Phantom Legacy's campaign. We

covered twice as many mares last year and booked this year

full already."

Jesse's heart did a little tap dance; she resisted her feet's

urge to do the same. Not bothering to hide her ignorance, she

asked, "Your horse is a boy, right? We did the ad campaign to

promote stud services?"

"A stallion, and yes, dear. You really should take me up on

my offer and come see him. Bring that handsome young Andy

with you. He's such a
doll
! Besides, I'd like to discuss this

spring's approach. I'm thinking of doing frozen semen this

year."

Jesse turned the omelet, then stepped back from the stove

to lean on the counter. She glanced out the window, noting

the sky still spit thick white flakes. "What do you know about

Thoroughbreds, Nadine? And racing?"

"Well, we raise Quarter Horses. But my late husband raced

Quarters when I met him. I'm a little rusty, why?"

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Glancing at the stairwell to insure Clint hadn't sneaked

down while she wasn't paying attention, Jesse answered, "I

have a friend who has a...stallion. I think he's pretty young. I

want to set my friend up with a promotions package for

Christmas. Do you think you'd be willing to help?"

"Of course! I'd be happy to," the woman gushed. "When? I

have some time this afternoon, but company comes in

tomorrow."

"I really just have a few questions."

"Fire away. I'll see what I can do."

For the next several minutes, Jesse drilled the woman for

answers while she tended to breakfast. To her elation, she

discovered the simplest thing to solve Clint's problem with his

injured horse was to start promoting him early. Book mares

ahead of time and arrange a contingency breeding to another

stallion if his horse's leg failed to recover. All she needed to

do to accomplish that was negotiate dollars with another

owner. Dollars Jesse had in reserve, and Nadine happily

referred Jesse to the Jockey Club for contacts.

As for the mare and foal, the only solution would be to

breed the mare back to the same stallion, this time in early

March. Again, an easy task. Jesse would do whatever it took

to help Clint over this financial rut. Once he was on his feet,

he'd become far more willing to investigate creative solutions

to their involvement.

The third and final thing Jesse needed to know lay in how

to resolve Clint's lack of horses capable of racing. After a few

minutes of shuffling paper and closing drawers, Nadine gave

her the name of her deceased husband's former apprentice

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jockey; a young man who had evidently gone on to make a

name for himself in racing—Ben Farley.

Information gathered, numbers in hand, Jesse bid Nadine

a hearty farewell and hung up the phone. She pulled her

omelets off the stove, stuffed them in the microwave to keep

them warm, then jogged up the stairs to her bedroom.

Clint lay in bed, wide awake, his arms behind his head. He

greeted her with a lazy smile. "Morning, sweetheart."

Jesse meandered to the bed and bent over to give him a

soft kiss. His arm snaked around her waist, bringing her down

against the hard planes of his chest. "Mm," she murmured.

"Good morning. Only, it's almost noon."

Three times, she'd made love to him during the night. Yet,

as his body's warmth filtered into hers, her blood stirred. Her

pulse kicked up a beat, and she had to fight the instinctive

desire to crawl back under the covers with him. Pulling away,

she grinned. "I have brunch ready and waiting."

"Brunch, huh?"

She eased out of his embrace and backed away from the

bed. "Yes, and hurry up. I have something exciting to tell

you."

Denying him the opportunity to distract her further, she

left him to dress alone. In the kitchen once more, Jesse fixed

their plates, set them on the bar. She poured two mugs of

coffee and perched on a stool.

He stumbled down the stairs in his jeans, the fly still

hanging loose. His disheveled dark hair only made him more

adorable in the early morning light, and her stomach fluttered

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at the sight. Clint in her kitchen. Looking as comfortable and

appropriate as the very appliances. A fantasy come true.

He tossed a leg over the neighboring stool, let his knee fall

into hers. Taking up his mug, he drank deeply. With one heel

cocked on the stool's bottom rung, Clint speared a bit of

omelet onto his fork and asked, "So what's this news?"

"Well, I've been busy this morning."

Smirking, he nodded. "You were supposed to sleep in with

me."

A blush crept into Jesse's cheeks, and she ducked her

head. "Yeah, I know, but I woke up with an idea and couldn't

wait. Last year, this lady who raises Quarter Horses had my

company design an advertising campaign for her stallion. I

called her this morning. I know how to solve the issues on

your farm."

Slowly, he lowered his fork and arched a solitary dark

brow. Features tight with wariness, he asked, "Oh?"

"We breed your mare back to the stallion you bred her to

this year. I have investments I can cash in for this, and it

won't set me back. I'm going to set up a full marketing

package and plan, which I can manage for you, to promote

your horse that's hurt. If he doesn't heal, I've got a back-up

plan—just need to make a few phone calls and arrange an

alternate stallion for your customers."

Clint held up his hand, but Jesse rushed on, too excited to

keep the last bit quiet. "And she gave me Ben Farley's contact

information. Said we could get another horse from him, one

that's ready to run."

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"Ben Farley?" Clint thundered. "Good God, Jesse! I can't

afford Ben's horses! He ran the Triple Crown and won, for

Christ's sake. We're talking millions."

At his sudden explosion, Jesse drew back. He wasn't

supposed to be angry. What part of this plan had he not

heard? Frowning, she replied, "I'm not buying you a million

dollar horse. Nadine said he would either know where to refer

me, or maybe we could pick up one of his lesser caliber

horses who would be suitable for the level you're racing at."

When the hard lines around his eyes didn't ease, she

gazed at him, pleading with him to agree. "Clint, I believe in

you. In this dream of yours. You've worked too hard to not

succeed. I can help. Finance is what I do. I
want
to help. I

have the means—please let me."

"You're not buying me any horse. Or a breeding, or

anything else." His fork clattered as he dropped it onto his

plate. Mouth turned down into a harsh line, he rose from his

seat. "My stables are not a
we
equation. They're my mess. I'll

figure it out. And I'll be damned if I accept a penny from you

in the process."

Stunned, Jesse watched as he stalked to the couch, zipped

his jeans, and yanked his T-shirt on. Skipping the sweater, he

jammed his feet into his boots and stormed out the door.

Clint ran his hands down Angel's sides. The feel of her soft

hair soothed the angst that churned his belly and made him

feel like he could vomit. Jesse bailing him out. For God's sake,

did she think he didn't have any pride at all? Nothing in this

world could make him accept her money. Forget his own

discomfort with the idea, his father would roll over in his

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grave. His mother would never be able to look at him again.

Everyone else he knew would look at it as if he'd decided

Jesse Saurs was his free ride to success.

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. Maybe if all he

needed was a couple grand he could accept a loan. But

certainly not this kind of help—even if she meant well. She

was talking about spending thousands. One of Farley's lesser

stock would hit the triple digits. The renowned jock enjoyed

unique circumstances, but he didn't own the horses. The

McCleery-Jennings partnership set the prices, and even Ben

couldn't work out a deal Jesse could afford. She couldn't

possibly know what she was getting into.

Hell, his own stable manager couldn't handle the disaster.

Clint would absolutely not allow Jesse to get involved so deep

she'd come to resent him. Horses took time and money

beyond the initial investment. Money Jesse couldn't possibly

fathom. And while her proposal to purchase a new sprinter

had merit, when it came to racing—horses period for that

matter—there just weren't any guarantees.

He leaned his head into Angel's neck and closed his eyes.

He'd just bitten Jesse's head off. The look on her face—wide

eyes, open mouth, ashen features—clawed at his heart. She'd

only been trying to help. Had been damn excited about her