Unforgettable: A Loveswept Classic Romance (4 page)

A dull pain lanced through him at the thought.

He noticed she had stopped the horse by a white-painted fence to feed carrots to the mares and foals there. He stopped the car and rolled down the window. Chilly air infiltrated the heat inside the Jaguar.

“Wanna race?” he asked.

She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t tempt me. Digby likes to run, but he’s done enough already. He needs to cool down.”

“I’d probably lose anyway,” James admitted, eyeing the prancing horse. Although the animal was wet with perspiration from the hard ride, its healthy, rippling muscles announced all too clearly Digby’s desire to take on anything—even a car.

Anne grinned at him, then sobered abruptly, as if a switch had been thrown. He had no idea what could have caused her to change so quickly. Her tone was matter-of-fact as she said, “Go on up the drive. You can park in front of the house and walk around to the right. The main stables are there. I’ll follow you in.”

He did as she suggested, glancing frequently in the rearview mirror. She was following more slowly, visually checking fences. He had noticed horses and foals in the fields on both sides of the drive, and it reassured him to see her keeping an eye on her charges.

By the time he reached the house, he knew his glances in the mirror had been more than curiosity.
Something inside him had insisted on just looking at her. In the past few days he’d been drawn to her more and more, and he hadn’t expected that. He’d have to try even harder to control it.

He pulled the car into the semi-circular drive in front of her house. It was an old Federal brick two-story with a white-columned portico, and though small in size, it was warm and cozy-looking. His condominium building was sterile and cold by comparison.

He had no sooner parked the car and stepped out, when a dog that looked like a half-sized Doberman pinscher walked over and sat down in front of him. Its teeth, however, would have matched its bigger cousins any day. Although the dog had bared its teeth only for a moment, it was very clear to James that he would not be allowed to move away from his car.

“Great,” he muttered, staring back at the dog. He had the feeling his leg, if not the rest of him, was being considered as breakfast.

Anne’s horse cantered down the last of the long dirt drive. The dog turned and looked at her, then turned back to James. The hair on its neck bristled, and it crouched low, growling deep in its throat, ready to spring.

“Tibbs!” Anne called. “He’s okay.”

Tibbs growled once more, then sat back on his haunches.

“A minute ago you were content just to look at me,” James said to the dog.

Anne laughed. “He’s a Manchester terrier, and he likes to show me how tough he is. He thinks he’ll get an extra treat if he does.”

“I think he ought to get two.”

The front door burst open, drawing their attention. Philip raced over the threshold like a Kentucky Derby winner.

“Hi, Mom! I’m trying not to be late for the bus. Come on, Tibbs, race ya. Hi, Mr. Farraday!”

Boy and dog were off instantly down the drive.

“Good morning, Philip. It’s nice to see you too,” Anne said to her son’s rapidly disappearing back.

James chuckled.

“Kids are wonderful,” she said dryly as she got off her horse.

She dismounted in smooth, sure movements, and the blood began to pound through his veins at the sight she presented. Her jeans were faded and soft, and the damn things clung to her legs as if molded to them. His temperature rose alarmingly as he stared at her. He remembered how she had suddenly blossomed at seventeen, her teenage gawkiness turning to slender grace. It was an image he didn’t allow himself to remember. Until now.

“I didn’t think you would show up,” she said, motioning for him to join her as she walked the horse the rest of the way in. “Not for morning rounds, at least.”

“I told you on the phone I would,” he said, frowning in puzzlement. She had given him the choice of early morning or late afternoon to visit her farm. “Why would you think I wouldn’t come now?”

She shrugged. “You don’t strike me as a morning person.”

He grinned. “I’d surprise you.”

“Let’s take the fifty-cent tour,” she said, clearly ignoring his remark.

His grin widened at her deliberate change of
subject. He was tempted to keep up the sexy teasing, but he let it go for the moment. He didn’t know how far he could go without getting into trouble. Anne was too tempting.

“What prompted you to buy a race horse?” she asked, leading the way around the house to the stables. “You’re not obligated to answer, but I thought your interest was with the polo ponies.”

“I make investments,” he said. “I’m a venture capitalist. I’ve done pretty well so far for my clients, but this is my first venture with a race horse.”

“I—” She looked away as if embarrassed. “I didn’t know you worked … I mean, had a profession.”

“You do, so why shouldn’t I?” he asked, chuckling. “Anyway, I can’t play polo all day.”

She laughed. “Okay, so we’re both eccentric. Battle Cry is an investment for you, then.”

“Yes.”

“People do like horses for that reason.”

He frowned at her cool tone. Now that he was physically closer to her, he could sense hostility in her. He also sensed it was directed at him, and he had no idea why. Tibbs had nothing on his mistress for a sudden change of mood.

Before he could ask what was wrong, he saw the cinder path had led them to several long, low buildings. Each set of stables was U-shaped around a center courtyard, and each was immaculately maintained. “This one,” Anne said, pointing, “and the building behind it are the mares’ stables. Right now we’re about two-thirds full. The breeding season is in the spring, and most of the mares here now will go back home after it’s over. Some are boarded here year-round.”

“I understand mares come to the stallions, not
the other way around,” James said, watching several grooms bustle around various individual horse boxes.

“Right. The mares come into … ‘season’ right after they give birth, so they have their foals here. By the time the breeding season’s over, the foals are strong enough to travel, and hopefully, the mares will be in foal again.”

“Digby must love it,” James said, patting her horse’s neck. The horse’s ears flicked, but he accepted the strange touch.

Anne laughed. “Actually, Digby couldn’t care less. He’s a gelding. I bought him when he was being retired from racing at age ten. Geldings have a longer racing life than colts, which go out to stud.”

James patted the animal again, this time in commiseration. “You have no idea what you’re missing, Digby.”

“Well, don’t tell him,” Anne said, flipping the reins through an iron ring on one of the hitching posts. She stopped one of the grooms. “Rob, will you take care of Digby, please? We have a customer.”

The groom nodded, then led the horse away.

As they continued the tour, James saw the buildings were set in a wide semi-circle separated from one another by large paddocks. A neat cinder path led between the paddocks to each building. After the mares’ stables came a smaller one called the foaling stable, where the births actually took place. Several mares were in various stages of labor, and Anne consulted with Jonas, the gray-haired man in charge, who assured her all was going well. James gazed at the mares as he waited, fascinated by the thought of new life about to emerge into the world. He was grateful for the break in
breeding conversation. Talking about sex of any kind with Anne was giving him notions he couldn’t pursue.

The dog rejoined them when they left the foaling stable, and to James’s amusement completely ignored him. Their next stop was a large barn that housed the stallions. James admitted that the three currently there were impressive.

“Michael’s Harp, A Bit of Blarney, and Redman Chief,” Anne said, pointing to each one in turn. “Or, as they’re known around here: Jim, Bob, and Ned. The fancy names are for the racing forms. Redman’s mine, and the other two are boarded here. The first foals out of them have started racing now as two-year-olds. And winning. I have plenty of room for Battle Cry … for as long as you plan to keep him here.”

James nodded. He could easily envision Battle Cry joining these three, and the image was very satisfying. What wasn’t satisfying, however, was Anne’s businesslike manner during this tour. She had kept a noticeable space between them the entire time. At least he noticed it. And she held herself tensely, as if angry with him. It could be her way of establishing a business relationship with him, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Once outside the stallion barn, she said, “That’s about it.”

“What’s that building there?” he asked, pointing to another barn farther along the path. It was the last building on the curve.

She was silent for a long moment. “Breeding shed.”

“Can I see it?” he asked, curious about the building.

It took her an even longer time to answer, and
he wondered why she was hesitating. He could understand if it were in use, but the place looked deserted.

“All right,” she finally said. “Nothing’s scheduled this early in the day. But it’s just like a regular barn, really.”

They walked over, and she unlocked a man-door in the huge roll-aside entrance. Inside, the building was quiet, even their own footsteps hushed by the thick covering of straw on the floor.

James thought of what took place there, and knew why she had hesitated to put it on the tour. The ordinary-looking walls seemed to reverberate with the sounds and images of countless animals responding in magnificent passion to nature’s ageless demand for procreation.

His own senses heightened with awareness of the woman next to him. Pictures of her raced through his mind in a kaleidoscope of his deepest fantasies. His blood heated and throbbed.

Anne felt as if her lungs were suddenly empty of breath and knew she had to put space between them. She moved farther into the barn and leaned against the door of the building’s only stall, wishing yet again she could have ended the tour gracefully at the stallion barn.

“How many places do you plan to sell for Battle Cry during the season?” she asked, her voice sounding faint.

James took a deep breath to regain control of his surging body. “I understand forty mares are the average a stallion can … accommodate during the breeding season. I thought I would offer forty places.”

“About forty is average. Some do less and get exhausted. Some can handle more.” She could feel heat creeping into her face at her words. She’d had this conversation with many other horse owners and never once flinched. Why was it so difficult with this one?

“Lucky horse,” he murmured. The urge to close the space between them and take her into his arms was pounding through him. Instead, he pivoted and stared out the open door. She cleared her throat, and he turned back.

“It all depends on the horse,” she said. “They act on instinct, and … nature knows how to press that button—”

Anne instantly stopped. Her own instincts were raging, as if every one of her buttons had been pressed. Her body was hot and tight with the desire to throw herself into his arms and go wherever nature took them. She wanted to know again that unique fit of his mouth on hers, the complete havoc his kiss could wreak on her senses. She wanted it again and hated herself for it.

James didn’t move. He knew he would pull her to him if he did. He wanted her, right here, right now, in this place where nature was at its most primitive and most grand. If he touched her, he wouldn’t be able to stop. How, he wondered dimly, could she be so damn nonchalant about the conversation while he was being driven insane?

“Still,” she went on, “horses aren’t machines, and Thoroughbreds are especially high-strung and sometimes fussier than other breeds.” Anne wanted to run. Her attempt to distract herself with conversation was only making things worse. She somehow had to lighten the subject. The consequences
didn’t bear thinking about if she couldn’t. “Thoroughbreds are notorious for needing ‘companions’—other horses, mules, even cats, dogs, or birds—with them at all times or they won’t run. When I was riding professionally, there was one horse who wouldn’t run unless you squirted it with Shalimar perfume before a race.”

The ridiculous story broke the sensual spell, and James laughed, the tension going out of him slowly but steadily. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

His laughter made her relax a little, enough to regain her equilibrium. She shook her head and smiled at him. “No. It’s true. And it had to be Shalimar. Nobody knew why it worked, but there was a protest by the other trainers that the perfume was the same as doping the horse, and they wanted the perfume-squirting to stop. Nobody could figure that one out for a ruling. Fortunately, I’ve never heard that Battle Cry has any quirks.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t acquire them,” he said, wondering if horses could be gay. It was a horrifying thought when he considered how much he’d invested. He joined her at the stall and leaned his elbows on the top rail. There was a space still between them, but it was more comfortable. Even friendly. Almost. Aloud, he added, “Forty mares, then.”

“You know you’ll charge the mares’ owners a fixed fee for the first three years, until his issue start racing. Then the fee shifts up or down depending on whether he’s producing winners or not. In England the fee is paid no matter what, but in the United States, if there’s no live foal, the fee is refunded. There will probably be several mares a season who don’t take or who ‘slip.’ Miscarry. Life is a fragile thing.”

His sanity was a fragile thing, he thought. And being this close to her was enough to drive him over the edge. It nearly had once before, all those years earlier.

“The gestation period for a horse is eleven months,” she continued. “Thoroughbreds are officially given a January first birthdate for racing purposes, so the mares need to foal as close to that date as possible. They begin racing as two-year-olds.”

He realized that his control was slipping again. The talk was skirting dangerous territory, and it was hazardous being this close to her. Close enough to smell her faint perfume, feel the warmth of her body … He straightened away from the rail and said, “So as the owner of the stallion, I can sell a hundred and twenty places, three years’ worth, at a fixed price.”