Hot Coco (13 page)

He conferred with Kate, a more reliable source, about the rumor. Yet, she rambled on and on about some girl named Eliza.
Never heard of her, maybe she’s a new jockey at the track. Kate isn’t making any sense at all. She seems to have stars in her eyes. What the hell is wrong with her today? Women.

Eric swung a leg over Ike and fidgeted in the saddle for a comfortable position.

“Dad, what’s going on?” he asked his father breathlessly.

“Today’s Thursday. I’m the outrider.”

“Shane said you were at Margie O’Conner’s house last night.”
If Shane is screwing with me, I’m gonna have to kick his ass.

Eric adjusted his reins. “Yep.”

“Hey, look Dad—”

Eric settled into the saddle. “Calm down, Mike. I’m just teaching her to read. I haven’t made some covert deal with Doug to marry you off to his daughter.” He nudged Ike forward toward the barn door. “I’m not sure he’d have it anyway,” he added under his breath.

“Well, how long is that gonna take?” Mike called after him.

Eric tossed his hands in the air. He and Ike exited the barn.

Two Weeks Later

A cool breeze blew through the O’Conner kitchen while Margie and Eric worked through an old reader that he had found in the attic. It was outdated, and the pages were brown; but it would serve the purpose at hand, Eric figured.

As always during their tutoring sessions, there was a platter of homemade cookies and dessert breads on the table. Eric was amazed at the array of goodies she would prepare: cookies, apple pie, peach pie, cherry pie, pumpkin bread, and banana bread. It was truly impressive how this woman could bake so many things without being able to read or write down a recipe.

Margie wanted to show her sincere gratitude for his time and patience. Baking was the only thing she thought she excelled at. Motivated and smart, she was proving herself wrong.

She was improving in the brush and comb department, as well. Desiring a different look to go with her new self, she bought beauty magazines to learn new hairstyles. She was considering trying some make-up techniques, as well.

Each time Eric arrived, her hair was neatly pulled-back in a ponytail, or a tight bun. Sometimes, she would draw up the sides and allow the back to cascade over her shoulders. She was getting damned good at using a curling iron.

“See Dick run. Run Dick run. H ... he ... he ...” Margie stammered.

“Hear,” Eric helped out. When she looked puzzled, he explained, “Not like come here, but rather hear … like with your ears.”

“Oooh. Hear Spot b-b-bark.” She smiled. “Bark, Spot, bark.” She looked at him for confirmation and praise.

He didn’t disappoint her. “Very good. You’ve come a long way in only two short weeks.”

“Oh, I know, and ya know what? I’m gonna learn how to use a computer and everything.” She glanced around the kitchen. “I wanna show you something.”

She retrieved a book from a drawer and handed it to him while keeping watch for her father. Eric examined the Harlequin Romance book that was dated from the 1980s.

“I found a whole box of these in the basement,” she told him in low voice. “I got them hid under my bed. They were my mother’s. I used to look at the covers every night before I went to sleep. It’s all I have of her.”

Once again, Eric’s heart agonized for her; but her eyes were bright, hopeful, and determined.

She told him, “When I’ve learned to read good, and learn how to use a computer, I’m gonna look for her. Did you know her, Mr. West ... Eric?”

Regret filled his eyes. He sucked in his lips. “No, Margie. I never met your mother.”

“I’m gonna meet her,” she said softly while staring with longing at the book. “And I’ll have you to thank.”

He tried to change the mood up a notch. “Ahhh, it’s worth it. Look at all the great treats I get.”

With a smile, she tilted her head and lifted a shoulder. “It’s the least I can do.”

“I’m going to get fat, ya know.”

“You? Never. Pleasantly plump, maybe.” She let out a laugh, and fell silent while gazing at his handsome face. She could see where Mike got his mysterious, daunting hazel eyes.

“Well, that’s enough for tonight. I better get home.” He pushed away from the table.

She walked him to the door. “Make sure you tell Mike I said hey.”

“I will.” Eric carefully stepped over a sleeping cat as she closed the screen door behind him.

“She’s kinda young for you, eh West?”

Doug’s miserable voice crept from the shadows at the edge of the porch to bring Eric to a halt. He turned. Wrapped in an afghan, Doug rocked back and forth on an old rocker while tapping an empty beer can on its arm.

“What the hell are you so afraid of, Doug? That Margie will realize there’s a world out there beyond Keystone Downs—and
you
?” Eric remarked in a clipped tone.

“She’s a good girl, my Marge.” He slurred his words.

“She’s not a girl. She’s a woman. And you’ve treated her like your personal servant for as long as I can remember.”

Doug attempted to stand, but the rocker got the best of him to force him back into the seat. “You get outta here, West. And I don’t want you around here no more, ya hear me?”

“I hear ya, Doug. Too bad you can’t hear yourself.” Scattering the chickens, Eric made his way down the lopsided cracked sidewalk.

“Margie, get me a beer!” the old bugger bellowed for Eric’s benefit.

She watched through the screen. Eric hesitated before continuing through the gate.

“Margie!”

Jolted back to the moment, she blinked hard before darting into the kitchen to retrieve Doug’s beer.

On the long way home, Eric found himself driving slower than usual.

In the silence of the night ride, with the windows down and radio off; he was immersed in thought. He’d been thinking a lot lately …about Jen Fleming. She was a very attractive woman. The way her short brunette hair curled around her heart-shaped chin. Her big, brown eyes were kind, compassionate.
Hey, they’re pretty damned sexy, too.

She was always stopping by the stables with really lame “professional” reasons. Like, he needed to sign an insurance form that he’d signed two days before; or she needed the name of a hired stable hand that didn’t exist. He knew. He never let on, but he knew, and he liked it.

It’s time to stop liking it, and do something about it, damn it. It’s been ten years since Barbara died. Ten years, Eric. It’s time to move on with your life. Who knows? Jen Fleming may be just the woman to move on with. Okay, time to end the cat and mouse game. Time to make a move.

Margie was making great progress. It was time to make some progress of his own. Smiling to himself, he steered the Denali through the stone entrance of Westwood.

The mid-morning sun glimmered through the maple trees that lined the racetrack at Keystone Downs. The morning workouts were over, and the John Deeres raked the dirt surface to prepare it for the evening races.

At a picnic table under a huge maple, Margie practiced writing her name over and over again. She worked each letter with meticulous attention. The next time the UPS man asked for her signature on a package, she wanted her signature to be perfect.

Her father had forbidden Eric to come to the house, so he was now tutoring her at the track after morning workouts.

People noticed them at the picnic table. Some would call-out and wave to them. Suspicious of the pair, some would stop and watch before continuing on their way. Margie and Eric paid them no mind. They had important business to tend to, and she felt so lucky to be important enough for Eric West to spend time with her.

Margie thought it was imperative to look as nice as possible for her sessions. It helped with her learning. She made sure her hair was neat and clean. Today, she wore it braided and cascading over her shoulder while she worked.

She had bought some Cover Girl eye shadow, which she brushed a little green over her lids. After struggling with the mascara, she wiped it off and decided to learn how to apply that another day.

She had changed from her barn clothes to fresh jeans and a green shirt before going to the picnic table. She looked good in green … considering. All in all, it was a poor attempt at perfection. She would never be as beautiful as Kate or Ava West. Christ, all the Wests seemed to be perfect. Perfect complexions, hair, eyes, and they all had bodies like workout gurus.

I’ll never be beautiful like them, but I’ll no longer be an idiot. I will be able to read, and write, and sign my name neatly when the UPS man comes. Perfect might be out of reach. Average is the best I’ll most likely ever be.

Glancing at the plate of snicker-doodles she’d baked for today’s lesson, another thought occurred to her.
Those women are pretty, but they probably don’t bake half as well as I can. Lord knows, Eric sure does love my baking. He’s even compared it to his wife’s.

Take that pretty girls.

She had just finished the letter
E
in her first name, when a shadow hovered over her. Thinking it was Eric arriving, she turned to greet him with a smile, only to find Dan Quaide with a smirk on his coarse face.

Dan made an effort at pleasant. “Hey, Margie, whatcha doing?”

She turned away to concentrate on the letter
O
. “I’m busy, Dan,” she replied curtly.

“With what?”

Annoyed, she let out a sigh. “Practicing my—It’s none of your damned business.” She was hoping to hear his footsteps retreating through the grass so that she could finish her last name.

He continued watching over her shoulder. “What’re you and ol’ Eric up to under this tree?” he asked with a snort.

She whipped around. Her eyebrows furrowed. “He’s teaching me to read and write.”

He snorted louder and harder. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

“Shut-up.”

Refusing to leave it at that, he leaned down on the table. His tone was mean and teasing. “Is he taking you to the dance next week?”

She slid across the seat. “Why would he?”

Dan burst into a laugh. “You’re right. He’d have to really lower his standards to show up with you.” He snatched her clipboard from the table. “Hey, lemme see what you’re writing.”

Margie’s breath caught. She grabbed for it, but Dan backed away too fast. Grappling for the clipboard, she jumped from her seat. Merrily, he danced in circles while holding it over her head and watching her struggle to claim it.

“Give it to me, Dan!” Tears formed in her eyes.

“I just wanna see what he’s really been teaching you at night.”

She begged, “Please, Dan. I got work to do.”

“Just let me—”

“Dan!” Eric’s bellow ripped through the struggle.

Dan froze. Wearing a cock-eyed smile, he turned. “Hey, Eric, how’s things?”

Eric leaned against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. “What are you? Twelve?”

Dan suddenly became aware of the crowd that had gathered to stare at him like he wasn’t wearing pants.

“Give her the clipboard,” Eric strongly advised.

Margie seized the clipboard from the brawny man and folded it into her chest. She lowered her head to hide her flushed face.

Dan held his hands up. “Hey, I don’t want to get in the way of progress.”

Eric’s tight gaze never wavered. He nodded. “Wise decision.”

Dan looked around at the crowd. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he whistled when he walked away.

Eric pushed away from the tree to take a seat next to Margie at the picnic table.

Amongst the dispersing crowd, Kate watched her father getting down to the business of teaching the young woman. Biting her lip, she wore a worrisome expression. The murmurs in the group were filled with innuendos of a surprising affair between the older, wealthy, horseman and the younger not-so-attractive woman. No one saw what her father was doing for this woman. No one really cared what was really going on. Oh no, the dirty, little rumors were much more entertaining.

Ava strolled up behind her to draw close to her ear. “He’s been spending a lot of time with her, hasn’t he?” she chirped. “She doesn’t seem like his type, but you never know, do you?”

Thirteen

Tom was pumped. Anticipating a vigorous swim with his Thoroughbred, Ivan; he waited next to the pool. Stuffed into a red Speedo, he consciously sucked in his tanned abs. The gold chain and cross shined against his dark curly chest hairs sparsely spread over his torso and down his abs to circle his navel.

Unable to look at him, Mike kept his eyes focused on the floor, on the horse, on the windows, on the pool, on anything at all in order to not to have to look at the bulge covered only by a thin piece of spandex between Tom’s legs.

Gee-zuz, man, is he for real?

“Give me a leg up, Mike. Lead us into the pool,” Tom said with the enthusiasm of an over-zealous child at an amusement park.

Mike’s eyes bugged. The last thing he wanted to do was grab this man’s leg and have his “boys” directly in his face.
No way in hell.
Desperately, he glanced around the large room.

Where the hell is Coco?
He had called her the night before to try like hell to talk some sense into that blonde brain of hers before Tom took the big splash.
I hope she heard what I was telling her.
All he got back from the conversation was, “Uh, huh,” “Mmmm,” and a few “Okay’s.”
Maybe he had called her at a bad time, or a good one … it was all in the perception.

Here Tom was, practically in his birthday suit, ready to take the plunge.
Obviously, Coco wasn’t able to talk him out of this crazy idea. Maybe she’s as crazy as he is.

“Mike ...” With his leg hoisted, Tom stood close while poised for him to give a lift onto the horse’s back. “What are you waiting for?”

“Divine intervention,” Mike murmured under his breath.

“Tom-Tom.” Coco’s voice rang out from across the room.

Mike turned.