Hot Coco (2 page)

She stared back at Coco with befuddlement in her lovely dark eyes.

”You have the most beautiful eyes,” Coco said.

“Save the bullshit, Beardmore,” Doug cursed from behind, “just get that freaking horse outta here.”

Coco clucked to the Thoroughbred and continued toward the barn door.

Margie measured her as she walked away. She rather liked her and was always amazed at how pleasant the beauty was. She had always complimented Margie on her eyes, or how pretty her hair could be if she used a certain conditioner or shampoo. Her father was quick to put a stop to such conversations. He didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

“Well, Mike’s got the blonde, a bundle of training fees, and a whole bunch of trouble,” Scott pointed out.

Slamming the barn door, Doug coughed. “Couldn’t happen to a better bunch—looking down their long West noses at us.” He spewed another stream of brown juice into the floor.

Margie’s face wilted and her shoulders slumped.

The barn was no longer bright. The pleasant, pretty woman was no longer a client. Worse, Mike West had made his exit—as he always did. Shrinking onto a bale of straw, she stared at the dirt floor without really seeing it.

“Margie,” her foul father roared, “clean them empty stalls.”

Slowly, she lifted from the bale. “I gotta dump this load.” She pushed the wheelbarrow through the barn door. She hesitated for a moment to watch Mike lead the horses down the shed row, his Levis clinging to his smooth buttocks while he chatted with Coco.

Lord above, how I wish I were Coco Beardmore.

When the group turned the bend and were out of sight, Margie glanced down at the book resting amongst the pile of dung in the wheelbarrow. She snatched the book and wiped what stains she could from the faces of the rapt lovers on the cover. Staring at the words scrolled above their heads, she wished she could read the wonderful story that must lie within the pages.

Two

Among the long white fences of Westwood Thoroughbred Farm, the iridescent droplets of dew clung to the blades of grass. It was as if God had scattered diamonds over night before beckoning His sunbeams to make them glitter to greet the morning.

Eric West slapped the Thoroughbred gelding’s rump when he trotted through the gate into the paddock. Smiling, he watched the strong horse snorting, tossing his head, and kicking up his heels in foal-like glee while galloping through the paddock.

Breathing in the fresh day, he raised his face to the wisp of the morning breeze. The mighty oak trees waved their leaves along the winding driveway of the horse farm, and the sunshine glinted off the windows of the Victorian farmhouse that stood on the hill beyond the long, blue roofed barns. His chest always filled with pride when he looked over her, Westwood, the vast Thoroughbred farm he’d raised from ruins. She was now a grand prize he could hand down to generations of Wests.

The rumble of Mike’s truck drew his attention past the oaks on the driveway to the stone entrance. Hauling a six-horse Featherlite horse trailer, the silver dually pickup rolled through the archway. Eric’s eyes narrowed when he noticed a white Escalade following the truck and trailer. They came to a stop in front of the barn.

Punch and Shane jumped out of the pickup. Mike and a very attractive blonde slid from the seats of the Escalade.

This instantly brought an arch to Eric’s eyebrow. The training schedules were tight and they had decided to hold back on accepting new clients for the time being. “What’s all this?” he inquired.

“Dad, this is Coco Beardmore, a new customer. We’ve brought in five horses for her,” Mike told him.

Once again admiring a handsome West man, Coco favored him with a smile.

Extremely fit for a man of fifty-five, the patriarch of the West family struck an imposing figure. His dark hair had only a spatter of gray; and, like his sons, he had broad strong shoulders.

Coco offered Eric her hand, which he accepted. “Such a handsome group, you Wests are.”

“Beardmore ...” Eric said. “Are you associated with—”

“Her father owns it,” Shane interjected.

“Ahhh.” Eric shot a look in his older son’s direction.

Ducking his father’s glance, Mike suggested, “Let’s get those horses settled in.”

Turning toward the horse trailer, Coco slipped on the loose gravel beneath her and fell to her knees. Racing to help the curvaceous Coco to her feet, Mike and Shane bumped into each other. Mike shot his brother a “back off” look. Scowling, Shane honored his silent, yet lethal, request.

Slightly burned, beads of blood bubbled from the abrasion on her knee. Coco winced.

“Are you okay?” Shane asked.

“I’ve got her,” Mike elbowed him. “You start unloading the horses. I’ll take Coco into the barn.” After another glowering look, he escorted her toward the door.

No way.
Leaving the horses right where they were, Shane followed Mike and the bruised blonde bombshell. “Do you need a band aide, Coco? How about a cool compress?”

Punch rolled his eyes at a baffled Eric.

“I didn’t know we were taking on new customers.” Eric folded his arms over his chest while taking in his sons’
Three Stooges
act.

“Well, most of our customers don’t look like that,” Punch said. “I guess I’m unloading the horses.” He strolled to the back of the horse trailer.

Kate West wandered out of the barn at the same time her brothers were stumbling in while hovering over the limping lovely. Considering the fuss that was taking place, she held the door open for them. “Who’s the sex kitten?” she asked her father.

“Her name’s Coco.”

“What’s she doing here?”

Glancing at his sons, he shrugged his shoulder. “I’m not sure.” Deciding it was a good idea to change the subject, Eric nodded toward her car. “When are you picking up your new car?”

Her mood brightened. “In a day or two.”

He glanced at her three-year-old sage Altima parked in the driveway. The sun gleamed off its chrome. It didn’t have a scratch on it. “Your old car isn’t in bad condition.”

Kate wrinkled her nose. “I know. But that’s just a car.”

The evening draped its dark purple light over Westwood Farm. Kate massaged her hair in a towel before letting the blonde ringlets spill out across her damp shoulders. Droplets of water trickled down her spine when she pulled a soft cami over her torso and slipped into a comfy pair of pajama pants.

Her days were long. In the morning, she was an assistant to the track veterinarian. Dr. Ben Spears was a crotchety old man, and that was one of his most endearing virtues. After arriving home around noon, she would make her rounds through the farm’s stables to rub down this horse or slap a white thick poultice on the legs of another.

Ahhh, the day is over. It’s time to relax, and make the final decision on that hot Mustang.

She lay across her bed.

A gentle breeze inflated the curtains into fat billows, and then sucked them back against the screen. The tiny flame of the candle on her vanity flickered in the waft to blow the scent of honeysuckle through the room.

Ready to examine the features available on the brand-spanking-new Mustangs, she opened her laptop. With a tap of her fingertip, the sporty convertible’s color would change from blazing red to a rich silver to a shiny ebony.

Hmmm, the red is really sexy.

Leaning back against her pillows, she bit her lip and became completely lost in concentration while trying to picture herself in the sweet little ride. Her dream of whizzing along the highway with her blonde mane whipping in the wind was broken by the sound of a loud snort and a rustle of the shrubs below her bedroom window.

Looking up from the laptop, Kate’s eyes narrowed. She listened intently. Nothing. Shrugging her shoulder, she returned her attention to the Ford dealership’s website. The colors of the glorious Mustangs changed. Red. Silver. Black.

The study was dimly lit. The glow of the computer screen on Eric’s desk cast a soft, blue hue over the handsome man’s face while he studied race results on the Churchill Downs web page. He slipped his glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes.

Munching on a sandwich, Shane wandered into the room, plunked down on the sofa, and propped his feet on the coffee table before taking another big bite.

Rapping his fingers on the desk, Eric stared at the youngest West with his lips pursed until the sandy-haired man looked up. Eric pointed sharply at his feet.

Clearing his throat, Shane jerked them from the coffee table. “Tom Mason is supposed to call me sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

His father chuckled. “Tom is a very old friend of mine, but don’t forget that he’s new to the Thoroughbred game. He wants to talk about a swimming program for his horse, but he’s not exactly convinced that horses should be swimming. He’s worried the horse will sink.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I can be very persuasive when I wanna be.”

“When he calls, talk slowly.”

“Wait a minute, isn’t this the guy that you’re always getting wedding invitations from?” Shane asked.

The thought of his eccentric friend prompted another chuckle. “Oh yeah, Tom’s been married and married. His wives seem to be getting younger and younger. I think his last wife was twelve.”

“They say there’s someone for everyone,” Shane said. “How old is he anyway?”

“Fifty-one. Maybe fifty-two. Tom’s charming in a very clumsy sort of way. His fourth—Or was it his third wedding? Anyway, Tom and his newest bride were having their first dance together—” Eric snorted while trying to suppress his amusement. “He stepped on her gown and ripped the entire skirt off.” He burst into chuckles. “I shouldn’t laugh. It really was terrible. But there she stood with a blue garter around her thigh while wearing a white thong. That marriage lasted only a year.”

He and Shane laughed.

“Yeah, Tom is very well-to-do,” Eric said. “He doesn’t have any trouble finding someone.”

Kate found herself ambivalent between the blazing red Mustang and the classic ebony sports car. Both were convertibles, and both were hot. She couldn’t make a decision. Unconsciously, she nibbled at her pinky fingernail. The sound of a horse whinnying broke her deliberation. The whinny was followed by hooves shuffling through grass. Then, there was a loud squeal.

She set the laptop aside and tip-toed to the window. The silhouette of a grey horse trotting through the yard like a phantom in the moonlight caught her eye. While straining to see where he had gone, she spied five more. Kicking and nipping at each other, the group of escapees were galloping up and down the driveway.

“Cripes.” Grumbling, she slipped on a pair of flip-flops and dashed from her bedroom. Her shoes
thump, thump, thumped
against her feet while she hurried down the sweeping staircase, past the grandfather’s clock in the foyer, and into the study.

“Dad! Shane! Loose horses!”

Shane and Eric rushed to the bay window and pinched back the curtains.

“How did they get out?” Shane asked.

“It doesn’t much matter,” Eric said. “Let’s go.”

Mike had decided to retire early. After taking a hot shower, he pulled on a comfortable pair of lounging pants, and grabbed a Yuengling beer from the fridge. He sank into the sofa in front of the stone fireplace that climbed to the open beams of his bungalow on the far side of Westwood Farm.

He and his wife, Ava, used to live in the charming bungalow together, but their marriage had ended after five years. At the age of thirty-three, he was a bachelor once again

He plunked his legs on the coffee table. Crossed his left ankle over his right, and clicked on the fifty-two-inch flat-screen TV mounted over the mantle.

Droplets of moisture drizzled down the brown beer bottle, dangled, and then trickled onto his bare chiseled chest. Click after click of the remote, sip after sip of the chilled beer, he failed to find anything worth watching.

“A million channels, and there’s never anything good on.” He turned the TV off and pitched the remote onto the coffee table.

It was quiet evenings like this, with shit for TV, that Ava crept into his thoughts. He couldn’t help himself. The loneliness getting the better of him would catapult him down a sultry memory lane. He was always amazed how strong his weakness for her was. Oh yeah, the way her auburn hair swept across the pillows. The sheets would lie lightly over her breasts. The way they lifted and fell with each breath with her hard nipples pushing like petite pebbles through the silken sheets. The way her full plump lips pressed against his.

God, she was hot.

When he found himself lost in thoughts of Ava, he mostly thought about her mesmerizing green eyes—the great manipulators. When she looked at him with those, he was a goner. She could pluck out his very soul.

Unfortunately, she plucked at lots of men’s souls. Yep, that’s right. Ava was a cheater—a big one.

He shook his head in disgust with her, but more with himself. He took another swig of the smooth beer.
C’mon Mike, it’s time to forgive and forget. Time to forgive yourself for being so damned stupid, and try like hell to forget she ever existed.
But that was the proverbial “easier said than done” routine.

He bumped into Ava on a regular basis at the racetrack. She worked for Dr. Spears on the days Kate didn’t. If Kate worked the morning shift with Spears, Ava would work the evening.

Although they were cordial toward one and other, there was always tension between them. It was sexual tension—on Mike’s part anyway. She still held a fistful of his soul. He hated it, but try as he might, he couldn’t escape it.

Forgetting that Ava existed was not very viable
.
Well, maybe not
.
Mike scrubbed his fingers across the evening bristle on his chin, and took another long cool swig of Yuengling.
Hmmm, Coco may be the fix I need to clear my head of Ava. Hey, I can picture that. Now there’s a viable option. Sure, she seems a bit clumsy, but she might move like a freaking ballerina in the sack.