Dream Trilogy (87 page)

“Pal, you’ve graduated and your cap and gown are in tatters. Congratulations.” She cocked her head as Laura rinsed out her cup. She knew the woman who carefully washed out china as well as she knew herself. “Are you in love with him?”

Laura watched the water run and drain. “I don’t know. Love, this kind of love, isn’t as simple as I once thought it was. I’m afraid I could be, and I don’t want to complicate everything.”

“You once told me that love just happened, couldn’t be planned,” Kate pointed out. “I found out you were right.”

With care, she set the cup to drain. She’d already given Kate’s question a great deal of thought, knowing it would be asked by those who cared the most. “If it does happen, I’ll deal with it. There’s so much more to him than I ever imagined. And every time I see one of those pieces I didn’t know was there fall into place, I’m more involved.”

Laura dried her hands and turned back to Kate. “I’m not going to get dreamy-eyed this time around, or want more than someone’s capable of giving. I’m just going to enjoy it.”

“Is that going to work for you?”

“The way I feel this afternoon, it’s working perfectly.” Feeling loose, she stretched her arms high. “Absolutely perfectly.”

“Glad to see you two are enjoying yourselves.” Margo stepped into the doorway and scowled. “One of you was supposed to relieve me, remember? I, unlike my feckless partners, haven’t had a break in four hours.”

“Sorry.” Laura dropped her arms. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’ll go.” Kate hopped off the stool. “It’ll give you a chance to fill Margo in.”

“Fill me in on what?”

“Michael screwed Laura’s brains out last night in a horse stall.”

Gracefully, Margo fluffed her hair while Laura flushed. “Really?”

“Ripped her clothes off,” Kate added as she headed out the door. “I’ll leave Laura to fill in the details.”

On a long hum, Margo settled herself on one of the padded ice cream chairs, crossed her long, shapely legs. “Pour me some tea, would you, Laura? I’m whipped.”

Automatically Laura poured a cup, brought it to the table. “Want a cookie?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Margo debated them, selected, nibbled. “Now, sit your butt down and start filling in those details. And don’t worry about being too specific.”

Whistling between his teeth, Michael sent Zip into a raging gallop, bursting out of the woods into the sun like a flaming fire. The little demon could run, Michael thought. He’d be sorry to lose him, but the offer that had come in that morning closed the deal.

In a matter of hours, the speedy little colt would be on his way to Utah.

“Going to have some fun with the fillies up there, kid. And breed some champs.”

And the asking price meant that Michael could close the deal he’d been negotiating for a particularly fine-looking Palomino mare and her doe-eyed foal.

The mare was ornery, he mused, had twice tried to kick him and her handler during the inspection. Michael liked her the better for it, and for the fact that she’d bred such a tough little foal. A foal he was already planning to raise for stud.

Couple more years, Michael thought, the new colt would cover twenty mares, and at four his full complement of sixty.

They’d do fine together, he decided. That snippy Palomino mare and the energetic little buckskin she’d birthed would help him start a new phase of his business.

Within two years, he projected, Fury Ranch was going to mean something—something more than livelihood and survival. It was going to mean quality. And that, Michael thought as Zip tore around the stables, was something he’d lived most of his life without.

It would have been impossible and, worse, embarrassing, for him to explain to anyone that he had always wanted quality. Not just for what he had, or what he built, but for what he was. He’d always wanted to come from something. To be something.

And he had come from nothing. That he’d had to face, couldn’t be changed. Nor could he change the fact that it left a sore spot inside him that was never really eased.

He’d gone years telling himself it didn’t matter what his parents had been, how he’d grown up, or how he’d lived. But it did matter; now more than ever, he knew it mattered. There was a woman in his life who shouldn’t have been there.

Sooner or later, he had no doubt, she’d see that for herself. The insult of it, and the inevitability, made him push the colt for more speed. Not for a minute would he have admitted that he was racing away rather than toward. Nor would he admit, even to himself, that his emotions had been in turmoil from the moment he’d stepped inside the stables last night and found her.

As if she was meant to be there, with him. For him. As if he could take, and hold, maybe even deserve something as lovely and fine and vital as Laura. And be for her what she could be for him.

The hell with that, Michael told himself, squinting into the sunlight as the colt flew over the ground. No way he was going to start fashioning pretty little dreams about a life with Laura. If he was one thing, he was a realist. His time with her was temporary, and he would damn well pack as much into it as he could while it lasted.

He was already into the run, the colt bunched for the leap when Michael spotted the figure loitering at the paddock. They sailed over the fence, spewed up dirt and dust.

“That’s a hell of a horse,” Byron called out as Michael trotted to him.

“He is.” Bending, Michael slapped Zip’s neck, then dismounted. “Sold him today. Guy in Utah.” After uncinching the saddle, Michael hung it over the fence. “Wants to breed for speed.”

“He’ll get it.” Byron leaned over, patted the colt’s sleek throat. “Isn’t even winded.”

“Nope. He’ll tire his rider out first.”

“I’m surprised you’re not using him for stud yourself. He’s prime.”

“Yeah, he’s prime. But I have more foundation to build before I add a stud.” Couple more years, he thought, picturing the foal again, and we’ll both be ready. “Right now it’s horse trading and building on the investment.”

“You’ve got a good start. That walker there.” Byron gestured. “What are you asking?”

“Max?” Michael glanced around, watched the horse swish his tail. “I’d sell my own mother first.” He held up his hand, and Max walked over. “Glad to see me, Max?”

Max peeled back his lips so his teeth showed and split the air with a horsey laugh. “Give us a kiss, then.”

Max nibbled affectionately on Michael’s chin, and being nobody’s fool, snuffed at his pockets. “True love is never enough. Want one?”

“A kiss from your horse or a carrot?”

“Whichever.”

“I’ll pass on both, thanks.” But he stroked Max’s mane as the horse crunched the carrot. “You got some fine-looking stock here.”

“You in the market?”

“I told myself I wasn’t, especially with the baby coming.” He looked longingly at the mare nursing her foal. “Shit, this takes me back.”

Michael picked up a dandy brush and began to groom Zip. “What are you, about two-ten?”

“Twelve,” Byron said absently. “Two-twelve.”

“That bay gelding with the two front socks? He’d carry you.”

Byron studied the bay, noted the lines, the flashy white blaze. “Handsome bastard, isn’t he?”

“Good saddle horse, well mannered but no pussy. Needs a firm hand. The right hand.” Michael tucked his tongue in his cheek as he continued to work. “Make you a good deal, seeing as you’re related to Josh and married to one of my favorite people.”

“I didn’t come by to horse-trade.”

“No?” Placidly, Michael leaned against Zip, lifted a hoof to pick it out. “Why, then?”

“I was in the neighborhood, more or less, and thought you might want to come by on Saturday night. Poker.”

“I’m usually up for a game.” Then he paused, narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t going to be one of those enlightened evenings with women asking if a straight beats a flush.”

“Kate would knock you on your ass for that comment.” But Byron grinned. “No, it’s purely sexist, men only.”

“Then I’m in, thanks.”

“Maybe I’ll win that bay from you.”

“Keep dreaming, De Witt.”

“Good heart room,” he murmured. “About sixteen hands, isn’t he?”

Michael smothered a grin, continued to clean his mount’s hooves. “About. Just turned four. His sire was a walker, his dam a dark-eyed floozy from Baton Rouge.”

“Shit.” He was sunk. “You stable?”

“Yep. Here, for now. Then at my place when it’s finished. Should be ready to start construction in a couple weeks.”

“Let’s take a closer look.” In his Saville Row suit and Magli shoes, Byron climbed into the paddock.

“I’ve heard you Southern boys are cardsharps and horse thieves,” Michael commented as they strolled companionably toward the bay.

“You heard right.”

 

How long was she going to make him wait? Michael paced the floor, contemplated the bottle of wine on the counter. It made him scratch his head. He’d actually gone out and bought wine. Not his usual style, but he’d figured sex in a horse stall wasn’t Laura’s usual either. The least he could do was offer her a civilized drink. Before he jumped her again.

Which was just what he wanted to do.

If she ever got there.

Of course she was coming. He’d reminded himself of that half a dozen times over the last hour. The way it had been between them the night before, she had to be just as eager for a repeat performance. She’d have thought of him during the day, countless times, the way he’d thought of her.

The way he would have sworn he’d smelled her every time he took a breath. The way he’d caught himself going off into some brainless trance because he could see her face in his head, or hear her voice, or . . .

Want her. Just want her.

When had he ever wanted anything like this? Once he’d wanted escape, and he’d gotten it. He’d wanted danger and risk and reckless adventure. And he’d gotten that, too. And when he’d wanted peace, a life he could look at with some measure of pride, he’d gone out and gotten that as well.

But did he have Laura? Was she going to slip silkily through his fingers before he’d gotten a good grip, or before he’d figured out what the hell to do with her? About her.

She was out of his league, and knowing it pissed him off. Made him determined to drag her to equal ground. Sex was a great equalizer, and he had her there. For now.

Furious with himself for niggling at what shouldn’t have been a problem, he poured a glass of the wine. He sniffed it, shrugged, downed it.

“When in Rome, Fury.”

But he set the glass aside and began to pace again, prowling back and forth across the length of the room like a cat prowling the confines of a cage.

He’d caught a glimpse of Ann that afternoon, when he supervised the transfer of the colt. From the bullets she shot out of her eyes, he had the feeling that Laura hadn’t managed to get past her that morning.

It made him grin to think of it, the elegant lady of the house sneaking in at dawn in a baggy shirt and jeans, caught by the ever-present, cold-eyed housekeeper.

Maybe Sullivan had locked Laura in. His grin vanished as the idea popped into his head. Maybe she had Laura trapped inside, refusing to let her out. Maybe she was . . .

And maybe he should get a grip on himself, he decided.

The hell with it. He headed for the door. He was going after her.

When he yanked it open, Laura jumped back a full step, pressed a hand to her throat. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry. I was about to rescue you from the dungeon.”

“Oh?” She smiled, puzzled. “Were you?”

“But you seemed to have managed it on your own.”

“I couldn’t come any sooner. We’ve been having a little chaos. My parents have decided to come out for a quick visit. They’ll be here in a couple of days, and the girls were so excited, I had a hard time getting them to bed. Then we had to—”

“You don’t have to explain to me. Just come here.” He pulled her close and released a portion of frustrated need in one rough kiss. Pressing her back against the doorjamb, he fisted his hands in her hair and released more.

The same, she thought, wrapping herself around him. The same heat, the same rush, the same wonder. When she could breathe again, she kept her clenched hands on his shirt.

“I thought . . .”

“What?”

But she shook her head. “Nothing.” Smiling, she lifted her hands to frame his face. “Hello, Michael.”

“Hello, Laura.” He circled her inside, closed the door with his boot. “I was going to offer you some wine.”

“Oh, thank you. That would be nice.”

“But it’s going to have to wait.” He swung her into his arms.

“Oh. That’s even nicer.”

 

He did bring her a glass when she was sitting on his rumpled bed wearing his shirt. Not having what he considered her misplaced sense of modesty, he sat across from her naked, knee to knee.

“I’m kind of celebrating,” he told her, and tapped the glasses together.

She felt so loose she was certain she could slide right into the sheets. “What are you kind of celebrating?”

“I sold two horses today. One to your brother-in-law.”

“Byron?” Surprised, she sipped, recognized the rich tang of a good Templeton Chardonnay. “Funny, Kate never mentioned that they were buying a horse.”

“I guess he hadn’t told her yet.”

“Oh . . . uh-oh.”

“Does Kate have a problem with horses?”

“No, but it’s quite a commitment. I’m surprised they didn’t discuss it first. I’m sure she will be, too.”

“I’d say he can handle her.”

“It’s not a matter of handling, one way or the other. Marriage is a partnership, and decisions require discussion and mutual agreement. And what are you grinning at?”