Love Is a Four-Legged Word (25 page)
Read Love Is a Four-Legged Word Online
Authors: Kandy Shepherd
“Fire away,” she said.
“I’d like to . . . to ask you on a date.”
She spluttered into her coffee.
“A date?” was all she managed to get out as she got her breath back.
“Yes,” he said, still looking very serious and lawyerlike and—curiously for a soccer hunk—vulnerable, his brown eyes wary. “We’ve had kissing occasions and we’ve had French kissing occasions. But we haven’t had a date. A proper I-ask-you-out type of date.”
“No, we haven’t,” she said, smiling at his overly formal tone. When she first met him she’d have thought it unbearably stuffy. Now she knew he was just being Tom. And along with the stuffiness went the sincerity and honesty she found so appealing. “And . . . and I would like to go on a proper you-ask-me-out type of date.”
His relief at her acceptance was apparent in the breadth of his smile and the depth of his dimple. “It’s late notice, I know, but I’d like to ask you out on a date today.”
“Today?” She looked out the window. The sun shone from a pale blue sky. Lunch at a bayside restaurant? A ferryboat to Sau salito and a leisurely browse through the galleries there? “But I’m not allowed outside.”
“If the coast is clear of reporters and if you lie down on the backseat so you can’t be seen, we could get right out of San Francisco. To a place where they know me and our privacy would be respected.”
“And what would we do?”
“Horseback riding,” he said.
She stared at him. “Horseback riding? I didn’t know you liked horseback riding.”
“I used to ride as a boy. I started again last fall at a ranch in Marin County.”
She jumped up from the chair. “I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do. I miss my horse so much—thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Hmm. Maybe she’d overdone the enthusiasm some. Tom looked bemused at her reaction. She backpedaled. “What I’m trying to say is that’s a great idea for a date.You know, no clichés like lunch or romantic picnic or—”
“The picnic idea is good,” he said. She noticed he didn’t pick up on the word “romantic” but she wouldn’t really expect that from Tom. In her experience, men ran from the word. Ran screaming.
She gave her enthusiasm full rein. “I ordered tons of stuff from the supermarket yesterday. I can fix the picnic.”
“Excellent. We can pick up extra things on the way if we need to.”
“But what about Brutus?”
“We’ll take him with us. He could probably do with some exercise.”
“In . . . uh . . . your car?” She quailed at the memory of the chewed upholstery.
“I’ll cover the seats with some rugs.”
“That might be wise. But what about when we get there? I mean when we ride the horses?”
“The woman who manages the ranch likes dogs. I’m sure she’d be happy to look after him and keep him out of mischief. Though we’ll have to remember to call him Bruce, not Brutus. Just in case someone has been following the millionaire mutt story and puts it together.”
“Oh, Tom, this is a great idea. I can’t thank you enough.” She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him but stopped herself from giving in to the impulse.
She could have easily done it before she realized she was in love with him. But somehow that secret new knowledge made her self-conscious about touching him.
He looked pleased at her words. “There are some good horses out at the stable. I’ll call and book.”
“But what about clothes? My breeches and boots. My helmet. They’re at my apartment.”
Tom frowned. “That poses a problem. I could drive over and get them. But if there are press camped outside I can’t risk them following me here.”
Maddy’s spirits plummeted to the level of her toes. She felt overwhelmed by sheer hatred of Jerome for putting her in this position.
“Tell you what,” said Tom. “You get the picnic ready. If I can’t get into your apartment, we’ll eat right here.”
“A picnic on the living room floor?” It wasn’t the same as horseback riding. But it could be a romantic option. “Okay,” she said. She started to plan the picnic menu. Did she have time to whip up some muffins?
Tom shifted from foot to foot. “Before I go, I’d like to ask you something else.”
“Yes?” she said, her mind still with the muffins.
“Keeping in mind your two-date rule, I’d like to ask you on another date.”
“Another date?” Caught off guard, it was all she could think to say.
“Yes. Late notice again.Thursday night?”
“A nighttime date?” A date after eight was serious stuff. In her book, a date after the sun set equaled two daytime dates.
He cleared his throat. “Dinner with the senior partners of Jackson, Jones, and Gentry.”
“Wow,” she said, again caught off guard. “Sounds, uh, impressive.”
What she really wanted to say was, “Sounds boring—really, really boring.” Not boring being in Tom’s company, never that. But dinner out with a bunch of stuffy lawyers was not exactly her idea of a hot date. But if Tom wanted her company, did the occasion matter?
“It’s kind of the last round of my bid for partnership,” said Tom. “Dinner with them and their wives. I’d like you to come with me as my date.”
This really was progress. She’d be his official date, not just a nuisance client he was keeping out of trouble. “Fine,” she said. “I’m, uh, fine with that.Thank you.”
But what on earth would she talk to these men about? And would their wives be as stuffy as the guys were sure to be?
Still, she knew how important Tom’s goal of partnership was to him. She’d do anything she could to help him. “I’d better be on my best behavior then.”
“Just be yourself.That’s your best behavior,” he said, warming her with his words.
Panic set in. “But what will I wear? I—”
“You want me to pick up a dress for you at the apartment as well as your riding gear?”
“Let me think.” Mentally she reviewed the contents of her purple suitcase. “No. I think I have something with me that will suit.” What sixth sense had made her pack her favorite black party dress and the shoes that went with it?
After he left Maddy found herself singing as she prepared her muffins. Two dates with Tom. A daytime date—and a nighttime date.
Was she seeing a variation to his plan? She hoped his master plan was like her basic muffin recipe—able to stretch to accommodate new developments.
She could add blueberries, pistachios, grated lime peel, or chocolate chips and the recipe would still work. It was just a matter of adjustment. Maybe she should see herself as the chocolate chip in his muffin mix of life.
She sang a little louder as she stirred the muffin mixture—adding oat bran for Tom’s cholesterol—but quickly switched to another tune when she realized she was warbling the words to “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” with way too much feeling.
Twenty
Tom thought Maddy looked sexy in jeans. Sensational in a skirt. Words failed him as to how she looked in her riding gear as she strolled toward the stables. It was a good thing the reporters had given up on her apartment and he’d been able to get her stuff.
Her tight cream breeches clung to her curvy bottom and her slender legs, but it was her T-shirt that was like a magnet to his gaze.
Long-sleeved and dark green, it was embroidered with plump “hungry ponies” galloping toward a bunch of carrots stitched on the pocket. The pocket that just happened to be placed over her left breast. He’d like to dive into that pocket and feast, too.
“Cute T-shirt,” he said, trying to be as casual as he could, forcing himself not to focus on the pocket and how provocatively it curved.
“It is, isn’t it? I’ve got another one that’s just as cute with frisky ponies kicking up their heels.”
Tom groaned inwardly. He felt more than frisky himself. Being in such proximity to her and holding back was beginning to tell on him.
“After years of formal dressage stuff, I like wearing something fun,” she explained unself-consciously stroking the pony nearest to her breast.
Fun. Tom gritted his teeth. Fun like the sexy underwear she chose to wear under her chef ’s uniform. He wondered what underwear she had on now—and it wasn’t the first time he’d thought it today.
This fascination with her undergarments was bordering on obsessive. Though to be honest it wasn’t just her underwear that was constantly in his thoughts. Her smile. The warmth in her eyes when she laughed. That cute way she wrinkled her nose. They intruded as often.
Maddy Cartwright had come so unexpectedly into his life and turned it upside down. So upside down he found himself struggling to keep his balance. But when he thought about her smile, he felt like dancing way up there on that ceiling.
“Where’s the horse you ride?” she asked. “I’m dying to meet him.”
The big bay nickered as they approached his stall and poked his head over the gate.
“He’s magnificent,” said Maddy when they reached him.
“Over seventeen hands,” Tom said. “He’s an ex-racehorse.”
“I had no idea you were into horses,” Maddy said, her nose crinkling in that delightful, now-so-familiar way.
He shrugged. “My dad was a real outdoorsman. He taught me to ride when we lived in Denver.”
Her eyes were thoughtful. “I don’t know why, but I think of you as such a city slicker.”
“Because I wear a suit and work in a legal firm?”
She tilted her head on its side. “Maybe.”
“In that case, I might have some more surprises in store for you.” The kind of surprises he’d have to show, not tell.
“I like surprises,” she said, surprising him by leaning up and kissing him lightly on the lips.
As she was carrying her helmet in one hand and a bag of carrots in the other, it was difficult for him to do more than pull her to him in an awkward hug. “More on the surprises later,” he murmured.
He was acutely aware of the interest he and Maddy were getting from the teenage girl stable hands. He could see a gaggle of them nudging each other and giggling as they watched him from the other end of the stable.
This was the first time he’d brought a girlfriend here with him. The first time he’d thought anyone special enough to share this newly resurrected aspect of his life.This weekend world was important to him. His escape. A link to his father. Up until now he hadn’t wanted to share.
The horse he always rode nickered again for attention. Maddy turned to face the big bay gelding.
“What’s his name?” she said. “Oh, hang on, I see it on the stable nameplate.
Squiggles.
You’re kidding me, right? Don’t tell me this big boy’s name is Squiggles.”
Squiggles.
You’re kidding me, right? Don’t tell me this big boy’s name is Squiggles.”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s kind of inappropriate. But I think it suits him.”
In fact, the thought had never entered his head. What was it with Maddy and names?
She was obviously having some trouble suppressing her laughter as she stroked and patted the big animal. “Okay, Squiggles,” she said, feeding the horse a chunk of carrot from the flat of her hand. “I’d think of you more as a Blaze or a Chieftain. Something more . . . dignified.”
There she was again, talking to an animal as if it were a human and would answer her back. But after his conversation with Brutus last night, on what grounds could he say anything?
“At least his name isn’t Bruce,” he commented.
Surprised, Maddy looked up at him. A shaft of sunlight from the window in Squiggles’s stall hit her hair and it gleamed like burnished copper in the gloom of the stable.
“Point taken,” she said, her eyes creased with good humor.
It warmed Tom’s heart the way Maddy could take a joke. He also liked the way she was as at home here in the muck and the straw as she was in a photographer’s studio.
“Shall we saddle up?” she asked with a grin. “I don’t mind if you help me mount. That will really give those girls ogling you something to giggle about.”
The stable hands giggled all right and continued to giggle every time they “accidentally” encountered him and Maddy along the trail ride.
Their surveillance was beginning to bug him. Maddy was an expert on horseback, and they were well matched to ride together.
But—trail ride over—here he was with Maddy on a picnic blanket and not appreciating an audience hiding somewhere in the forest behind them.
Brutus—known for today as Bruce—was snoring peacefully nearby. Tom had had a tough time separating the less-than-discerning dog from the wonderful new toys he’d found lying around everywhere—dried balls of horse manure.
Maddy lay back against the big tree stump they’d used as a table. She stretched her arms out above her head, an action that lifted her breasts enticingly into prominence, the embroidered ponies pulled nearer to their bucket of carrots.
Lucky ponies. From where he sat Tom could reach out and touch them. But as he moved closer, there was a muted chorus of giggles. He swore.
“Be flattered,” Maddy said, smiling, “and accept that we’re being chaperoned.”
He didn’t want to be chaperoned. He was thirty years old and he wanted to kiss Maddy in privacy. And maybe explore those carrots. He grumbled some more. This wasn’t how he’d planned the day.
“The girls obviously think you’re a hottie and are used to having you all to themselves. I’d say they’re jealous as hell of me.”
“A hottie? Me?” The idea seemed preposterous, although he had to admit to being flattered. “Get real. I’m an old man to them. A boring old lawyer.”
“I find you anything but boring. And you look pretty well preserved to me.” Her gaze traveled lazily over him. It was as if she had trailed tantalizing fingers over his body and it reacted accordingly.
“As long as you think so, that’s all that’s important,” was all he managed to choke out. He lay down on his stomach to disguise the evidence of his reaction. “But you’re a grown woman, these are just kids.”
“When I was fourteen I had a mad crush on my riding instructor.” A smile hovered around her impossibly sexy mouth. “He scarcely knew I existed and, boy, did that hurt.”
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