A Christmas to Believe In (7 page)

into the chilly winter morning. No use harping on him. He'd

only push back.

As she hurried down the walk to her car, she fumbled in

her pocket for her keys. A faint glimmer of grey-lavender light

touched the horizon, but the stars still shone down, not yet

ready to surrender to morning. Dawn brought bitter cold,

lending credence to the forecaster's predicted snows later in

the week. Her breath billowed around her; she huddled

deeper into her coat.

From the barn, a thump brought her up short. She'd

almost forgotten Clint's horse. Turning to investigate, she

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found a dark blue pickup truck parked in front of the barn.

Faint light spilled from the cracked-open door, and the

thumping gave way to the steady pound of a hammer.

Her heart skipped a beat. He was here.

She scowled at her body's reaction. All night, she'd tossed

and turned, unable to shake the memory of their almost-kiss.

In a futile attempt to chase away her curiosity, she'd even

given in at one point and let the fantasy come to life. But that

had only made sleeping more miserable. Now, when she

finally had her mind trained to the mountain of work on her

office desk, that incredible imaginary kiss reached in and

curled a fist around her stomach.

If she were smart, she'd get in her car and leave without a

good morning. Only, smart behavior was rude behavior, and

she didn't intend to let what had almost happened drive a

wedge between her and Clint. They were too close. Besides,

she'd decided she wouldn't go down that path. Kisses

wouldn't happen.

Swallowing to alleviate the jittering of her belly, she

adjusted her hat and started for the barn. The snow crunched

beneath her dress boots. A crisp gust rose up to swirl her

calf-length skirt up to her thighs. She swiped at the fabric,

catching it before it could rise higher. If he'd been anyone

else, she'd have thrown the idea of a hello out the window

and ran back to her car. At least it would block the wind. But

the barn would too, and she determined not to give Clint a

reason to suspect anything had her out of sorts.

She pushed the door open wider and slipped inside. The

steady racket amplified. Following the sound, she made her

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way to Clint's horse's stall and discovered him crouched

inside, nailing a board between a gap in two others.

His coat hung on the nearby rail. Moving to it, Jesse leaned

her elbows on the tanned suede and waited for him to finish

the task. As he worked, thick muscles in his shoulders pulled

and bunched. Beneath the woven fabric of his long-sleeved

grey Henley, his forearms were tight. Larger than she'd ever

remembered Clint being. Had he started a workout routine?

Or was that yet another fantastic aspect she'd never noticed

before?

She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to let her mind

travel down that path. What did it matter? His body might

make her lightheaded, but he would still leave. In seven days.

When she looked again, he stood at his horse's side, the

thick black neck blocking Jesse from Clint's line of sight. She

watched as he tugged off a leather glove, ran his hand

affectionately down the mare's shoulder. He bent over, slid

strong fingers down her foreleg, lifted a hoof, dusted off dry

shavings.

"Hey, sweetheart. How you feeling, girl? How's that baby

of mine? I brought your blanket with me. We'll get you settled

in right and get you warm."

His husky murmurs sent goose bumps rippling down

Jesse's arms. She shifted her weight, suddenly uncomfortable

with watching him. She shouldn't be here. This was Clint's

time with his horse. He'd never want anyone to see this

softer, tender side of him.

Yet, the scene that played out before her froze her in

place. He massaged the mare's shoulder, rubbed the wide

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expanse of her belly. Crouched down on the opposite side of

the horse where he couldn't possibly witness an onlooker, he

devoted himself to pampering his mare.

And to Jesse's horror, a longing to be on the receiving end

of those strong hands curled her belly into a knot. If he were

half as good with women, as he was with this horse...

She bit down on her tongue to stop the thought before it

could take hold. She cleared her voice and tried for

nonchalance. "Morning, Clint."

His head popped over the mare's back so fast, the horse

took a quick sidestep. For a priceless moment, his handsome

features washed with shock before he found a lazy grin.

"Morning." He gave the horse's rump a pat, passed behind

her tail, and let himself out of the stall. "I was just filling in

the gaps in the wall. I hope you don't mind—I can't risk her

getting a foot caught."

His amber gaze burned into her, warm and as rich as

burnished brass. Though a good couple of feet separated

them, the heat of his body begged her arms to wind around

his neck. She gave into the pull, stepped closer to welcome

him with a tight hug.

As his arms wrapped around her waist and she caught the

musky aroma of his aftershave, her heart tripped into her

ribs. With his gentle squeeze, she shut her eyes. Oh yes, she

could get used to this. Fast. Those hard pectorals pillowed her

cheek like down.

Remembering herself, she let go before she lingered too

long. Offering him a smile, she stepped back and pulled her

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coat around her more tightly. "I don't mind. Do what you

need to. Make yourself at home."

His gaze skipped down to her toes, then back up to rest on

hers. Those mesmerizing eyes flickered with appreciation

before he twisted around to retrieve a plastic bucket. The

same way they'd intensified seconds before she'd known he

was going to kiss her.

Jesse dragged in a shaky breath. "I'm, ah, off to work."

She swallowed to alleviate the cottony feel in her throat. "Just

thought I'd stop in to say good morning. Ethan's at the house

if you need anything while you're here. I'm off now." Her

hands shoved into her pockets, she started for the door.

Clint ground his teeth against a snort.
If he needed

anything.
The only thing he needed right now was Jesse's

mouth on his. Good God, he should have moved his horse

first thing. But somewhere last night, amongst his many other

delusions, he convinced himself leaving Angel at Jesse's was a

good idea.

So he could be closer to the woman.

He'd rationalized it by telling himself he would offend her if

he moved his horse. But when he'd seen her standing on the

other side of the stall, her dark hair tumbling around her

shoulders beneath her adorable red hat, he'd realized his

decision had nothing to do with offending Jesse and

everything to do with misplaced desire.

His gaze riveted on her backside as she approached the

rolling door. Long legs fit into calf-high black boots. The slight

heel added to the allure of her office attire.
That
woman was

supposed to live in jeans, muddy boots, and old T-shirts.

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Nowhere in the encyclopedia of what he knew about Jesse did

it read skirts, dress coats, and a touch of makeup. The last

time she'd worn a dress and heels, she looked like a giraffe

on roller skates. Now, she walked as if she'd grown up in

them.

"Jesse." Her name popped out against his will.

Half in the doorway, she turned around, that damnable

smile bright and breathtaking.

He faltered. The sudden tightness in his chest made

speech impossible. Now what? He'd stopped her retreat, but

what did he say now?
Lunch. Ask her to lunch. She's just

Jesse.
He took a deep, steadying breath.

"Have lunch with me?"

At her partly open mouth and wide eyes, he hurried to

soften the edge of desperation in his question. "Heath's

already out and about today. Alex is meeting with Keeley's

lawyers. Mom's going to drive me insane with this wedding

planning. I have to have my tux fitted, and I thought we

could meet up for lunch since I'll be in town anyway."

There. That sounded casual. Normal. No reason for her to

think he had anything else in mind but a good lunch with an

old friend. Even if his traitorous body refused to see her as a

simple friend.

"Ah." Her smile slowly spread across her face. She dipped

her head in a nod. "Sure. I went over with Alex last week—I'll

meet you at the shop?"

He felt the tug of a grin and gave it free reign. The tension

in his muscles fled, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized

he was holding. "My appointment's at twelve-fifteen."

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"I'll meet you there." With a delicate lift of slender fingers,

she waved good-bye and slipped out the door.

Clint sank against the stall wall, surrendering to a groan.

He was done for. No use fighting it any more, he wanted

Jesse. Logical, illogical—he no longer cared. Every fiber of his

body awakened to her impromptu hug, and no amount of

sense would cool the heat she poured into his veins.

He'd just have to figure out how to keep the situation in

hand. No getting caught up in each other. They were friends.

They could be lovers. As long as they both understood the

boundaries, this could work. Heath and Alex didn't have to

know. Neither he, nor Jesse, would suffer their taunts, and on

the surface, everything would remain as it always had been.

He pushed a hand through his hair, and shook his head.

Right. Nothing would remain like it had been. He was only

deluding himself.

But Jesse was a grown woman. Hell, for that matter,

neither one of them were kids anymore. The way her blue

eyes intensified when she looked at him. The open invitation

she'd treated him to last night... She wanted him every bit as

much as he wanted her. And he wasn't going to be the fool

who danced around desire and lay awake at night in torment,

when the solution stood right in front of him.

Jesse. Who'd have ever thought he'd come home to fall for

his little sister?

He let out a heavy sigh and pushed himself off the wall.

Letting himself inside the stall, he summoned his

determination and trained his thoughts back to his horse.

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Lunch was still five and a half hours away. He had plenty of

things to accomplish before then.

He picked up a hard bristled brush and approached Angel.

Running it down the length of her dark coat, he lost himself to

what lay in his soul. The beauty of horses, the way when he

worked with them, nothing else could intrude upon the peace

they created. Bills didn't matter. Lost races became

insignificant. His inability to be the man his father had been

faded to the recesses of his mind.

When Angel's coat was free of tiny shavings particles, and

her tail shone with the bright morning light, he set the brush

back on the wooden rail and ventured to his truck. He

retrieved her heavy winter blanket and a small box of medical

supplies. Back inside the barn, he set the box inside the stall

and eased the deep burgundy blanket over her back. Two

twists of his wrists fastened the closures across her chest. He

folded the rest over her withers, waiting to see how her

morning tests came out before he secured the rest of the

fasteners.

Rummaging through the box, he picked out a small plastic

vial and returned to the mare's side. "Easy, girl. I know you

aren't fond of this."

With a reassuring pat to her flank, he slipped his hand to

her udder, positioned the vial, and squeezed out a few drops

of milk. When he had what he needed, he gave her another

pat and returned to the box. A small squeeze-bottle of

distilled water provided the rest of what he needed, and he

added several more drops to the collected milk. He gave it a

shake, then dropped in a pH test strip.

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As he pulled it out, a hard ball of dread rolled around in his

gut. Her calcium read high, as it had been for the last two

days. However, where her pH had been off the charts

yesterday, today it dropped into reading zone. Still over

seven, but the drop indicated progress.

Progress she should not be making until after December

31st.

"Damn it," he muttered.

He shook out the vile and dropped everything into the box.

Turning around, he stared at his mare. "You can't do this to

me, girl. Twelve days. That's all."