Hot Coco (10 page)

“Margie,” Mike called to her.

She seriously considered ignoring him; but, to her aversion, she couldn’t.
Damn it.
He was Mike West, un-ignorable, hot-as-hell, and sexier than any sin that she’d love to commit. Hating herself for feeling that way, she wished so damned bad that she could be resolute and stroll past with her nose in air and not regard him in any way.
Well, so much for that plan.

“Good luck, Mike,” she politely said while avoiding eye contact.

“Thanks, Margie. I need it.”

“Oh, I dunno, Sebastian told me that he thinks he can win with that grey.” She continued on.

Mike gently touched her arm. Her breath caught.
Dear God, how I wish I wasn’t wearing a long sleeved shirt, so I could feel the warmth of his hand directly on my skin.

“I’m sorry for what I said, Margie. I didn’t mean it.”

She gazed into those wonderful, mysterious, hazel eyes that always made her heart thump and the butterflies in her stomach whip into action.
I’m not going to let you get away with it—not this time.

“Yeah, you did,” she said. “Folks always say what they mean when they’re pushed.”

He was taken aback. It was true, and she knew it.

Tending her father’s demands and his racehorses, Margie had lived her entire thirty-three years on the backside of Keystone Downs. She wasn’t well traveled, well read, or even well spoken; but she knew the truth when she heard it, and she damned well knew a lie when she heard one, too.

Mike really was sorry. He regretted the words the minute they had come out of his mouth. Or was it that he regretted them when he realized Margie had heard them?
How many times had I said that I wouldn’t touch Margie O’Conner with a ten-foot pole—and meant it.

Suddenly, he felt a playful swat on his shoulder. “Eh, forget it,” she said, “I forgive you.”

“Margie, where’s that damned bridle?” Doug bellowed across the paddock.

Smiling at him, she turned and did what she did best—obey her father’s commands. She trotted toward him with the freshly-cleaned bridle extended out in front of her.

Forgive and forget? Just like that? It’s that simple for this simple woman. Not so with the other, beautiful, complicated women in my life. Maybe that’s the crux of my problem.

“Hey, Mike, we saddling this bad boy or what?” Shane called out.

Jolted back into the moment at hand, Mike turned.

Tapping his foot, the tiny saddle slung over his arm; the valet had an impatient expression on his face.

Mike grabbed the bag of peppermints from his pocket and tossed them to Shane.

“Keep him happy,” he instructed.

Shane fed him a peppermint. The valet tossed the saddle onto Charlatan’s back and Mike tightened the girth. The gelding savored the mint and looked for more, which Shane gladly delivered.

Twirling his crop through his fingers, Sebastian arrived at the stall. “What’s the game plan?” he asked with a confident grin.

“Send him,” Mike said.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

“Riders up!” The paddock manager’s voice sliced through the sound of horses fussing, the patrons along the fence deliberating, and the murmur of last minute instructions from trainers to jockeys.

Mike gave Sebastian a leg up. Shane threw his brother a bracing glance when the gelding tossed his head.

“I’ve got him.” Mike took the lead and guided Charlatan into the
parade of Thoroughbreds that were trotting toward the tunnel. Humming a tune, Sebastian bounced along in the saddle while tying the reins in a knot. Trusting, his legs dangled casually at the gelding’s sides when they drew closer to the long, dimly lit, dank tunnel.

The echo of hooves clambering on the pavement, and the Spanish chatter bouncing off the walls brought Charlatan’s ears straight-up. His eyes were like pure white saucers. His nostrils flared, he snorted into Mike’s ear so hard that his hair blew in the horse’s hot breath.

Stroking the gelding’s neck, Mike tugged at the lead while whispering, “Easy boy, take it easy, whoa now.” He reached into his pocket for the peppermints—only to realize that he had given them to Shane.

Charlatan whinnied, stomped his feet, and tossed his head.

Mike’s eyes trained on the opening of the tunnel. It seemed like it was five miles away. Bracing for trouble, he glanced over his shoulder and past several horses. Doug and Margie were walking alongside their sorrel gelding. Entering the tunnel, Shane tossed a peppermint into his mouth while talking with another trainer.
Shit, he’s too far away to call to.

Charlatan’s eyes were now bulging with anxiety. Whinnying and snorting, he popped his front feet off the ground.

Sebastian snapped to attention. “What’s up with him?”

Too late.

Rearing up, Charlatan danced backward on his hind legs. Grabbing a frock of mane, Sebastian managed to stay on for the first round.

“Jump!” Mike yelled when the gelding came down.

Charlatan pushed back up and flipped over backward. Sebastian vaulted from the saddle, smashed against the wall, and fell to the floor where he lay motionless.

Panic erupted throughout the tunnel. Whirling, horses dropped their riders to the ground. Grappling at the leads, the horse handlers tried to keep control. A huge bay gelding yanked back to break loose from his handler. Knocking people to the ground, he ran free through the confusion.

Shane tried to push his way past the panicked handlers, trainers, and horses to get to Mike, but the gap closed tight and shoved him back.

More violently hysterical, Charlatan scrambled to his feet and reared to punch out at Mike, who clung to the lead until it snapped. Mike tumbled backward to the ground. Fright filled and out of control, the gelding ran madly toward the end of the tunnel.

Margie plastered herself against the wall and slid past the confusion until she reached Mike, who was scrambling to his feet.

The world was whipping around him in a blur of horses, people, and ricocheting hysteria off the curved, tunnel walls. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his face was flushed with agitation.

Margie’s tender hand squeezed his shoulder. He turned to find himself face-to-face with that unattractive gaunt face with the oversized nose. Her dark almond-shaped eyes, filled with empathy, caught his attention. She was ready to lend him a hand in a turbulent situation. Her calm voice was soothing. “You’re too riled up to deal with Charlatan. Stay with Sebastian, I’ll get the horse.” Dodging hysterical horses and frantic people, she darted through the tunnel.

Gulping for air while reaching for someone’s hand—anyone’s hand, Sebastian regained consciousness.

Mike clasped it tightly. “Bad?”

Sebastian grunted. He held his torso with one hand while the other lay limp beside him. “Stuff’s broken, don’t know what for sure.”

“Stay still. The medics are coming.”

At least, Mike hoped so. Most of the horses were now being cleared from the tunnel, but Charlatan was running around the racetrack. He could hear the fans clapping and laughing. They were unaware of the dire situation in the tunnel below them.

Ten

Once again Mike found himself driving the long way home while contemplating life’s twists and turns—and the occasional flip-over.

Someone once told him that if you wanted to hear God laugh—tell Him your plans. It seemed like God was having one hell of a long belly roller ever since he bumped into Coco Beardmore that morning at Keystone Downs and claimed her horses from Doug O’Conner.

Maybe God created her as an experiment to see how much of a sense of humor men can pull out of their asses when faced with a gorgeous goddess plagued with disaster. I can picture Him up in Heaven, smacking His knee while hooting and shaking His head.

Funny, very funny.

Glancing down at his cell phone resting on the seat, he could see there were several messages from Coco in his voice mail. An aching knot of tension formed between his eyes.
Forgive and forget: Forgive myself for letting this go too far, and forget ... who the hell am I kidding? How can I forgive myself for letting this bombshell version of Calamity Jane blur my decisions? How can I forget that Sebastian is in a hospital bed with possibly months of physical therapy ahead?

Mike had graduated to the superfecta.

The sun was cresting the hills behind his family’s home when he drove through the stone entrance of Westwood. The heavy dew glittered where it bled from the massive oaks that cradled the house. Mike rolled the pickup to stop, dragged his fingers through his dark hair and laced them together on top of his head. He closed his eyes and listened to the morning DJ on the radio tell a really bad joke.

The morning light gleamed through the dining room window. Sipping his coffee, Eric wondered if Mike was home from the hospital and how Sebastian was.

It’s a risk every time a jockey swings a leg over a horse. Anything can happen between the paddock and the finish line. That it happened under Westwood’s watch bothered the shit out of him.

Kate carried a plate of pancakes from the kitchen and placed it in the middle of the table. They heard the kitchen door slam. Looking like he’d been dragged by a truck, Mike strolled into the dining room. She poured him a cup of coffee, which he took from her with a thin smile.

“How’s Sebastian?” Eric shot him a look over his coffee cup.

While he was a grown man of thirty-three, Mike recognized the reprimand in his father’s stare. He took a quick sip of the hot coffee and sighed. “Broken collar bone, three ribs, and a wrenched knee.” He sank into a chair. “I can’t believe how stupid I was.”

The guilt that blonde wielded on her older brother cut like a knife. Kate became painfully aware that he was looking for something in Coco stripped from him by the red-headed whore he had married. Her heart ached for him. “You weren’t stupid, Mike. You did everything you could to cure that horse.”

“Obviously, I failed.”

“Where was Betty Boobs last night?” Kate asked.

“No show.”

Eric set his cup on the table, and broached the subject that he’d been dreading, “Mike, don’t tell me you have feelings for her. Do you?”

“Yeah, like a bee sting on my ass.” He sat back hard against the chair. “No, I think I was infatuated with—”

“Her boobs?” Shane snorted from the doorway.

Mike shrugged and cocked his head.

Kate rolled her eyes. “Nice. It’s always a good idea to take on clients based on their cup size.”

“Seemed like a good idea to me,” Shane said with a smile. “By the way, Tom Mason called this morning. Seems he’s been in Punta Cana visiting a friend.”

“Hmmm, I feel another set of nuptials coming on,” Eric said.

“Maybe. Anyway, he wants to come see the horse swim this morning.”

Eric pitched an uncompromising gaze at Mike. “It’s time to send Miss Beardmore packing. Do it before Tom gets here. We don’t need anymore mishaps.”

“Seriously, it would be nice to send Mr. Mason home with his vehicle in one piece,” Kate said.

“Don’t worry,” Mike assured them. “She’s as good as gone.”

Sunshine glinted off the water through the arched windows that lined the perimeter of the equine swimming area. The pump hummed, and the water lapped against the sides of the pool like a gentle lullaby.

Tom Mason took his sunglasses from his tanned face and placed them on his head while being careful not to mess his smooth, slicked-back, dark hair. He squinted to allow his dark brown eyes to acclimate to the inside.

“Eric ... Eric ... is anyone here?” He made his way to the edge of the pool. He picked up a guide staff and examined it with great interest. “Hello, anyone here?” he called out again while looking around.

The door jerked open to slice bright sunshine into the room.

He turned.

Smiling at the stranger, Coco peered into the room. While stepping through the door, her heel caught on the threshold and broke off.

With a squeal, she leaned against the door jamb to survey the damage in disgust. “Oh, poo, I just bought these.”

Tom’s eyes brightened at the sight of the busty blonde’s lush figure. He turned his attention to her broken heel. “Can I help you?” he asked with a cool, gallant voice.

She glanced up at the handsome, tanned, older man. Instantly, she sported her coquettish schoolgirl smile. “I thought I heard someone in here. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of Jimmy Choo’s on you?”

He smiled. “I’m afraid not. Here. Let me take a look. Perhaps I can fix it for you.” He knelt down to slip the pump from her foot.

Her heart skipped a beat when his hand swept over her heel, across her arch, and through her toes. His hands weren’t callused like Mike’s, or twisted and wrinkled like that mean old Doug O’Conner. He wore a gold ring on his right pinky. She noticed the small gold cross on a chain around his neck.

Just a touch of bling. Sweet.

Tom inspected the shoe, her foot, the delicate curve of her calf, and her slender tight thighs. Trying to collect his thoughts, he cleared his throat and averted his eyes to glance around the room.

Spotting tools on a shelving unit, he retrieved a hammer, placed the heel on the shoe, and tapped it once, during which he smacked his thumb. Wincing, he stuffed the corner of his thumb in his mouth to suck away a bead of blood.

“Are you okay?” Tenderly, she pulled his hand away from his mouth to massage his thumb. Her lips curled while her eyes searched his.

Feeling the electricity in their touch, he didn’t pull his hand away. His wince softened. His eyes met hers. “I’ll be fine. That should hold long enough for you to return them anyway.”

“Thank you.” She planted her hand on his shoulder to slip the shoe onto her foot.

He took in her crystal blue eyes, and the splay of blonde hair that had fallen across her soft blushed cheek. She was young, lovely, sultry, and oh-so-entrancing.