Jumped (21 page)

Like. Hell.

Bethany might not link today with the end of their marriage, and he probably shouldn't either. She was merely having a business meeting. He had to be more flexible. He'd put his laptop in his backpack and carry it up to the house, eat, and work.

He called Harris and canceled the lunch.

“It's not going to keep.” Harris snapped. “I'm feeding this to somebody, and if you want some, you'd better skedaddle your broken bones up here. Besides, you'll want to see what the UPS man brought you. On a Sunday, of all things. How much did you pay for shipping?”

“What?”

“You got another delivery, and it's a wee bit bigger than your sword. No euphemism intended.”

It was a pinball machine. An honest-to-goodness, shiny, blinking, noisy, arcade-worthy pinball machine. Harris had had the delivery guys place the new amusement in an alcove near the stairs, out of the way. Finn, on his crutches, stood staring at it. Grady and Harris stood next to him.

“I didn't order this,” Finn said.

“You think your identity was stolen?” Grady asked.

“I don't know. I should cancel my cards.”

“Maybe you have some form of Tourette's that makes you shop,” Harris said.

Amanda joined them, fresh from a shower. She looked at the pinball machine and said, “Finn? This is yours?”

“Apparently.”

Amanda said to Harris, “You might be right, in a manner of speaking. Not “shopping Tourette's” exactly, but . . . Remember last summer when I hurt my back and was looped on Percocet?”

Grady smiled. “Fondly.” He turned to Finn, “She accosted me in her own bed. It was fantastic.”

Amanda smiled and rolled her eyes at her husband, then said to Finn, “Maybe something like that happened to you. I've heard of people on strong pain medication buying stuff online and not remembering.”

Harris grinned, showing off cavernous dimples. “I'm praying you went loco for Prada—I bet we wear the same size.”

Jack Cormier was
on time. Beth had seen his car from her room's window. She'd also seen Finn come up earlier, so she stayed put because she didn't feel like dealing with him and his predictably crappy mood. She had to focus on her business.

She opened the door, observing Jack's white polo shirt, jeans, and beautiful R.M. Williams Australian paddock boots that spawned an acute case of boot lust in her marrow.

Harris, bless his heart, had set out food for them on the big patio table, some of it from the lunch for the canceled picnic.

Finn sat on a patio chair a ways away, working on his laptop, his leg on a small table. Beth didn't feel like talking to him, but Jack did.

Beth. Stop being a jerk.

The handsome men exchanged greetings: Jack asked how Finn's leg was; Finn asked how the ad biz was. The small talk got around to occupations, and Jack asked Finn what he did for a living.

“I'm an architect.”

“You don't say? I've always thought that would be a rewarding career, building things. Workin' on anything you're excited about?”

“I'm finishing up a house in Branson that was a lot of fun.”

“Huh. I just saw a friend in Branson who's havin' a house built. Cyrus Roberts. He's a country singer. Great guy.”

Finn's face lit up like an eager jumper galloping to an inviting fence. “You know Cyrus?”

“I surely do. Known him for years. He loves baseball, and he's a Southerner.”

“That's my house.”

“No kiddin'! Isn't that somethin'? The world can be an awfully small place, can't it? He showed me the house, and the plans, and I loved it. Any chance you'd design something for here?”

“I just got licensed to build in Colorado. That's why I moved here. Why? You need a house?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I'm renting right now, but I'd like to build, eventually. Do you have a card? I like what I saw in Branson. Now that I think of it, he mentioned his architect was a rock star, and easy to work with.”

Beth felt a frisson of pride scamper through her. Even though it had to jump over the grumpy part of her that was annoyed with Finn.

“Not on me. But Bethany has your email—I can send you my information.”

“You hear that, Beth? Another lagniappe.”

Several hours later,
Finn was in the cabin, pretending to work. He sat in an armchair next to a window overlooking the barn, leg elevated, as usual. On impulse, he was examining his samurai sword, running his fingertips along the lacquered surface of the scabbard, which he learned from the Internet was called a
saya
. It really was a cool sword. He could see why he'd bought it, even while he was Internet shopping while on pain medication that would have dropped a bull moose and so didn't remember a blessed thing.

He set it down, opened his laptop, and looked up his credit cards again. Recent activity was almost nonexistent—thankfully—but there were two hefty purchases he didn't remember.
What the hell, McNabb? What the hell did you buy?
He called the credit card company but the billing department was closed on Sunday, so he wrote an email to get the mystery-vendor ball rolling.

He'd been buoyed by the bizarre “lagniappe”—that Cormier was friends with Cyrus Roberts and had seen—and loved—the house he'd designed. Finn had to give Cormier a break, since he was a potential client. He still didn't like how much the ex-player—Finn thought of him as a player—and Bethany had laughed during their afternoon meeting, but it bothered him less.

What bothered him now were the leaden skies, because Bethany and Cormier were still out riding. A crack of thunder made him startle, then wince as pain shot up his leg. In an instant, rain gushed from the clouds and roared on the cabin's roof. The sharp scent of wet earth breezed through the open window.

He would've loved the sound and smell if Bethany had been with him, preferably in bed. But all he could think of was her out in the open, on a horse, in the mountains. He'd remembered from that summer in Steamboat that lightning strikes were common this high up, and he feared she'd be a victim.

Then he envisioned something worse. She and Cormier would gallop through the storm and take shelter in an abandoned barn. They're chilled from the sudden downpour. Bethany's self-designed shirt is transparent and clinging to her wonderful curves. Cormier takes full advantage. And Bethany likes it.

Stop this, McNabb. Stop being a caveman. You have no claim on her.

For the next five minutes he stared at the opening in the trees where the trail started. The deluge calmed to a steady shower and his fears ebbed. He realized he'd been clenching his fists so tightly, his nails had made little parenthetical indents on his palms.

As his breathing slowed to normal, he felt ridiculous. “God,” he said. “Get a grip!” He was turning away from the window when he heard them—laughing, of course. He saw Bethany on Smooch, and Cormier astride Titanium—the striking ebony Friesian—and looking as though he'd been born there. They were wet, but walking, not galloping.

“Well, McNabb. She's safe. She's with him, but she's safe.”

They marched to the barn, dismounted, and took the horses inside. He thought about going to meet them—and grabbing Bethany and kissing the life out of her in front of Cormier—but dismissed it as one of the dumbest ideas he'd ever had.
Why not just pull 'em out and compare?
He forced himself to leave the window and move to the kitchen table. Where he couldn't see the barn.

He'd intended to work on the Mitchell Frederick RFP. Instead, he found himself writing a letter. To Bethany. All he'd done lately was thank her for helping him with his broken leg, had sex with her, and, oh yeah, asked her for a favor for this project. It felt like she would slip out of his life again if he didn't take some action that didn't involve an orgasm.

After the soggy,
chilly trail ride, Beth showered to warm up. Jack had refused a shower but agreed to wear Grady's sweats while his clothes dried. “Just like the old days at Leland Stanford Junior University,” he'd said of the worn Stanford sweatshirt.

While he waited, Beth made hot chocolate for him, along with Grady, Amanda, and the girls. Harris had gone to see a friend in Glenwood Springs. The Brunswicks and company sat in the kitchen, arranged on stools around the large center island.

“You know who you
should
have been riding today?” Solstice asked Beth. The girl's brown eyes gleamed as she leaned on the counter, her dark hair framing her pretty, slender face. She looked more adult by the day.

“Who?” Beth waited for the punch line.

“Rainy!” said the girl, and laughed, as did her sister.

Beth groaned. “Just for that, your next lesson will be all posting trot, no stirrups.”

“Hear, hear!” Amanda said. “Did you have a good meeting?”

Beth and Jack glanced at each other. “Definitely,” Beth said.

“I don't know the first thing about riding clothes,” Jack said, “but you and Beth do, and based on you two experts, I have utmost faith in the product.” He turned to Beth and touched her arm. “Do you mind if I tell them about what we discussed?”

“Go ahead.”

“As I was sayin', I don't know a stock pin from a stock market, but lucky for Beth, I know plenty of smart, connected people. If I'm right—and I think I am—Beth doesn't need marketing and advertising help. She needs to sell her line to one of the big boys. She needs big sales if she wants to make a splash. There's nothin' wrong with a boutique environment, but if she wants that horse rescue to see the light of day, she needs mass distribution. Like my daddy says, if you want to catch more crawfish, use a bigger net. I'll send out some feelers tomorrow. We'll see what turns up.”

Beth couldn't believe Jack was talking about her, using terms like “mass distribution.” “It's all preliminary,” she said. “But it's something.”

“I have some sponsors. Would it help to talk to them?” Amanda asked.

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Always preferable to have a personal connection. I'll be in touch if necessary.”

Amanda said to Beth, “Did you know Vern was a rescue? I bought him from the woman who bought him at a last-chance auction.”

“Vern?” Solstice's eyes were enormous with alarm. “Vern was almost killed?”

“Yes, sweetie,” Amanda said. “But we have him now, and he'll always have a good home.”

“I didn't know about Vern,” Beth said. “It just goes to show how perfectly good horses can end up in terrible straits.”

“Mom, you should train rescue horses to be in the Olympics,” Wave said.

“Stranger things have happened,” said Amanda.

“And think of the PR,” Jack said.

Beth added, “I know I can't save all of them, but I can save some . . .”

Amanda's eyes got glassy. “I know. You will.” Amanda took Beth's hand and squeezed it.