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Authors: Carolyn McSparren

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BOOK: Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance)
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“How much could we borrow if we had to?”
“I’ve no idea. But we’d have to mortgage the land. That’s the only thing Robert and Gwyneth couldn’t get their nasty paws on.”
“Call some banks. Find out. I’m definitely going to try to buy the stallion first, before this goes any further.”
He heard Hamish’s gust of breath. “Oh, laddie, I’m glad. You’re not cut out to be a thief.”
“But I need to know how much I can afford to spend. It’ll cost several thousand to get him back to Scotland legally, and then there’s quarantine.”
“What’s made you change your mind?” Hamish asked.
“Not my mind. My heart. These are fine people, Hamish. Frankly I hate to have them think badly of me.”
“Yes, I suspect she is a fine person,” Hamish rumbled. “If she’s kept herself up, she’s probably still a beauty.”
“You randy old goat. Just get me that information. Twist a few arms. Call some of Vlado’s less-shady acquaintances. Find me some ready cash in case I need it. Can you do that?”
“I’ll do what I can. But I fear it won’t be enough. I found out how much Whitten paid for the horse in Belgium.”
“A hundred and twenty thousand dollars American,” Jamey said. “I got the figure from the bill of sale. Roman may well be worth that and more eventually, but at the moment he’s not worth a quarter of it. Add to that the cost of getting him to America, quarantine, transportation—I’ll never come up with that kind of money.”
“Why don’t you try telling them the truth?”
Jamey laughed. “What? That my wicked half brother seduced my wife, tried to grind me up in a hay baler to inherit the place, and then while I was in a coma and you and Vlado were at the hospital watching me, sold every horse and every piece of equipment out from under me with a fake power of attorney?”
“You tell them that Roman was sold by someone who did not own him or have the right to sell him, and you’ve been chasing him across Europe for the past two years.”
“And how do I prove this is Roman? Or that Gwyneth didn’t have the right to sell him? No, Hamish. Nobody’d believe me, and even if they did, they’d shake their heads, say a few tut-tuts about my unfortunate luck and go about their business.”
“Maybe not.”
“Whitten is a businessman. You think he’s going to fork over a horse he just paid more than a hundred thousand dollars for just on my say-so? Hell, Hamish, maybe I should forget the whole thing and come home.”
“Maybe you should. Jock would understand.”
“I wouldn’t!” Jamey slammed the phone down on its cradle and dropped his head into his hands. He ought to call back and apologize. He loved Hamish and knew the man loved him back.
It was his black temper. He fought it constantly, covered it with a cheery smile and a happy disposition.
He should have been a boxer. At least then he could have bashed away at somebody in a ring.
He should have bashed Robert, but he’d had no clue about Robert and Gwyneth. Not until he awoke in hospital to find himself minus both brother and wife, as well as every horse he owned and most of the equipment.
Not to mention minus a decent right hand. He stared down at his hand, realized that he still wore the rubber glove, stripped it off and watched the thick red scars surface as he pulled it away. God, he hated this hand! He’d have been better off if the doctors had simply lopped it off and left him with a stump he could have attached a hook to.
They had mechanical hands these days that looked fairly real. Perhaps a woman could endure having a hand like that touch her skin. Of course he wouldn’t feel anything. At least with his mangled hand, the nerves were still there. They jangled like an alarm clock every time he did something stupid with the thing.
“God hits us in our pride,” he said to Sam, who had laid his head on Jamey’s knee. “He damned well hit me in mine. I either find myself a prostitute I can pay to endure being touched by this thing or I live celibate the rest of my life. Neither option appeals to me, my lad. Especially now that I’ve found a woman I’d very much like to touch. Come on, let’s get us to our solitary bed.”
As he walked slowly back to the house, he sniffed the frosty air. A lovely night to snuggle up against a warm woman, to pillow on her breast under layers of quilts and eiderdown. One woman. A woman who slept so close to him. She might as well have been on another continent for all the good it did him.
 
TWO ASPIRIN and a long hot shower later, Vic climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. She didn’t think her sore muscles would allow her to sleep, but, in fact, she was dozing when the telephone jangled her awake. She grabbed it and glanced at the luminous dial of the alarm clock beside it. Not even ten o’clock. “Hello,” she croaked.
“Vic? I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
She dragged her free hand across her eyes. “Liz? Of course not. Is everything all right?”
Liz chuckled. “Wonderful. Mike keeps having to fly off to New York on some big deal he’s got cooking, and Pat has decided there’s no way her tutor can force her to learn algebra, but aside from those minor inconveniences, things are super. The horses are performing beautifully. Pat won a blue ribbon in a large pony class against fifty other riders.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“How are you managing? Are the house renovations driving you crazy?”
“Not a bit.” Vic crossed her fingers. “Everything is coming along perfectly. The horses are all fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Angie’s working out as an exercise rider? You’re not working yourself to death, are you?”
“Piece of cake.”
“Mike says he’ll be back to town for a couple of days next week, but he’ll stay at his apartment. He’ll drive out to check on the renovations and take care of any problems. Don’t you worry about it.”
Vic gritted her teeth. She was very fond of Mike, but needed him to stay away from ValleyCrest. He would have kittens the moment he spotted Jamey, much less when he learned Jamey was actually staying in Vic’s guest room.
“How’s Mr. Miracle doing?”
“Gentle as a lamb, quiet as a mouse. You’d hardly recognize him. I don’t think he’ll ever be a jumper, Liz, whatever Mike thought when he bought him.”
“Tell me about it. Mike still won’t tell me what he paid for him. I think he’s embarrassed. But I didn’t call to talk about the horse.
“I just wanted you to know that marrying Mike and becoming a stepmother to Pat is the best thing I ever did. Thanks for pushing me into it.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“Come on! You’re the one who told me to take the chance, to risk falling in love. That was good advice. Good night, Vic. I’ll let you know when Mike is due in town.”
Vic hung up the phone and lay back against the pillows. Liz had taken the risk, fallen in love with Mike. Did she, Vic, dare risk listening to her own heart? Admitting that Jamey McLachlan was becoming more important to her than she wanted to admit?
She heard the soft swish of the front door and his step on the stairs, followed by the clicking toenails of both dogs as they followed him up to bed.
She nearly called out to him. But what would she say?
Come share my bed?
What if he said no? Or worse yet, made love to her out of a sense of duty. How would she ever be able to tell the difference?
Life had been a lot less complicated before Jamey had reawakened her sexuality. No, not merely sexuality—emotions. Far worse. “Drat!” She curled into a ball and pulled her pillow over her head.
CHAPTER TEN
“W
HO’RE YOU? What are you doing here?”
Jamey looked up from the feed cart into the stormy dark eyes of the man he remembered as Albert. He smiled his most ingratiating smile, rubbed his hands down his jeans and offered his gloved right hand to the mountain that towered in front of him. “Jamey McLachlan at your service. You must be Albert. Glad to see you up and about.”
“That’s one question. Answer the other one.” Albert’s hands remained on his hips. He didn’t seem receptive to smiles.
“Vic hired me to exercise the horses and be a general dogsbody after Angie broke her collarbone and you came down with the flu.”
“Huh. Where’s Vic?”
“Asleep, I assume.”
“It’s six-thirty in the morning. What’s she doing asleep?” His eyes narrowed as though he suspected Jamey had left her bludgeoned to death on the floor of her cottage.
Jamey shrugged. He couldn’t very well tell Albert that he’d put her to bed after a long session in the saddle. First, he wasn’t certain she wanted Albert to know, and second, even if she did, the secret was hers to tell, not his.
“You know what you’re doing?”
Jamey nodded. “No different from what I’ve done since I got here.”
“Where from?”
“Scotland by way of Kentucky. I had a letter of introduction to Vic. She checked me out, then she hired me.”
“Huh. Mighty opportune, you showing up when you did.”
“I thought so. So apparently did Vic.”
“That your motorcycle?”
Jamey nodded.
Albert sighed and shook his head. “Woman lied to me, flat out lied. Trying to hide something, that’s for sure.” He turned away, then looked back over his shoulder. “You keep doing what you’re doing until I say different. Me and Vic’s about to have a little discussion about hiring and firing around here.” He stomped off.
Jamey had not expected Albert to be either so surly or so suspicious. That could mean trouble. Vic might accept Jamey without suspicion, but Albert was an entirely different matter. He seemed as fiercely protective as a Rottweiler and about six times as big. Jamey prayed Hamish could come up with enough bank financing to offer Mike Whitten a profit on Roman, because he suspected that stealing the big animal had just become a much more difficult task.
Plus, he suspected that if he hurt Vic in any way, Albert would track him down across two continents and beat him to a much worse pulp than that hay baler ever had. And he’d deserve it.
He finished feeding and haying, put the cart carefully back into its place and began to turn the horses out into the paddocks. As he passed the office, he saw Albert standing with his back to the door, the telephone clutched to his ear, his other hand waving forcefully. Uh-oh.
He haltered the stallion, clipped the lead line to his halter and began to walk him to his paddock.
“What the hell’re you doing?”
The stallion jumped sideways and snorted in surprise. Jamey kept walking. “Putting out Ro—uh, Mr. Miracle.”
“You gonna get yourself killed. That big old fool needs a chain over his nose.”
“Does he now?” Jamey slid his hand to the end of the line, held it between two fingers and kept walking. The stallion sauntered along behind him with his nose in its usual place—the top of Jamey’s shoulder. Jamey smiled to himself as he walked. He could hear Albert’s grumbling behind him.
Jamey turned Mr. Miracle out and watched as the animal wandered away to the far corner, put his head down and began to nibble on the stubble of winter grass.
“You doped him, didn’t you?” Albert asked from the door of the barn. “What you got him on?” The anger in his voice was almost palpable.
“Not a thing.”
“Don’t you lie to me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jamey passed by Albert whistling his little tune under his breath.
Albert leaned down to stare at the stallion. “He’s still got all his groceries. Got to be drugs. That stallion was a nutcase when I left here.”
“Just insecure. He’s fine now that he’s used to the routine. And now that somebody’s riding him.”
“Riding him?” Albert gaped. “You?”
“Who else? He’s actually had the basics of some decent dressage training in Germany...” Jamey almost added, “since my brother stole him from me,” but he stopped himself in time. “I suggested to Vic that she enter him in the introductory class at the dressage show that’s coming up. Good way to show him off.”
“To sell? Nobody around here does much dressage. Won’t be anybody crazy enough to buy that moose.”
“You never know. Well, I have to start mucking out stalls. I’ve got ten horses to ride today.”
“Then maybe you better get started. I’ll muck.”
“Man, you’re still getting over the flu. You need to take it easy.”
“Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do. I said I’ll muck. You want to ride, then maybe you better get to it. Like to see what made Vic hire a stranger right off the street and turn him loose down here on his own.”
Jamey felt his temper flare. He eyed Albert. The man had just about accused him of being up to no good—doping horses and possibly stealing from the barn. On his own, indeed. Unsupervised and free to steal at will, is what Albert meant.
Much as he longed to sink his good left fist deep into the big man’s midsection, Jamey knew it would be extremely counterproductive. For one thing, it would be like hitting a stone wall. He needed to cool his temper and play up his charm and his expertise. He might not win Albert over, but he certainly could not afford to give the man an excuse to fire him.
He wouldn’t be able to work with Vic if he was fired. Or share her meals, knead her muscles, kiss the back of her neck.
Damn! How would Albert react to the news that Jamey was living in Vic’s guest room?
“What?” Albert said suspiciously.
“Uh. Nothing. You’re right. Time to get myself up on a horse.”
He was warming up Trust Fund when he heard Vic’s voice. He’d heard her scared and nearly hysterical. He’d never heard her coldly angry before. The woman could snarl!
“Since when do I have to get your permission to hire somebody to exercise these horses?”
“Since you hire motorcycle tramps and turn ’em loose down here by themselves is when!”
“I am not totally loony. Marshall Dunn, a very old friend from England, vouches for him.”
“Yeah? How?”
“Marshall says he’s extremely honest and a superb trainer and rider. If you’ll get off your own high horse for a minute and take a look, you’ll see that he’s the best we’ve ever had. In fact, the name Pat gave the stallion—Mr. Miracle—suits Jamey McLachlan far better. He really does work miracles. He’d give Liz a run for her money, and she’s the best rider I know.”
“What’s this fine fancy trainer doing hiring himself on with a little operation like ValleyCrest, I ask you? You ever think of that?”
“He’s working his way around the world. He wants to travel. How much damage can he do in two months? He’ll be gone by the time Liz and Mike and Pat get home from Florida.”
“That’s crazy. Nobody does that.”
Vic’s voice dropped. Jamey could no longer make out the words, but he suspected she was telling Albert about Jamey’s ruined hand and his family griefs. If sympathy for Jamey’s losses would get Albert off his back, it would be great.
Probably Vic would be only mildly successful. For some reason—call it instinct—Albert had done what Jamey’s Romany uncle Vlado called “taken against” Jamey at first sight. That opinion would be difficult to change. Jamey had better tread carefully, because from this point forward, somebody very large would be watching his every move.
All day, Jamey managed to stay aboard horses or generally out of Albert’s way. And Vic’s. He drove into town on his motorcycle for a solitary lunch, instead of joining Vic at the cottage for sandwiches. She stayed in the office a good part of the day dealing with paperwork. They barely exchanged two words.
He even took over a couple of Vic’s training sessions with some of the younger riders. The girls were all developing crushes on him. He recognized the signs.
So, apparently, did Albert. He glared at Jamey every time he passed the open door of the barn, and once he said, “In these parts that’s what we call jailbait.” Jamey longed to tell Albert that the only woman he was interested in was considerably older than thirteen. He smiled grimly and kept his mouth shut.
Finally the last horse was ridden, the last client departed. Albert considered the workday over. Obviously he had no way of knowing that for Vic and Jamey the hard part was yet to come.
“You leaving?” Albert said to Jamey.
“Not yet. I exercise the stallion in the evening after the clients have gone home.”
“Huh. Alone?”
“Vic generally acts as my ground man.”
“Where you staying in town? Mighty cold ride these nights on a motorcycle.”
“Uh—”
“He’s staying with me,” Vic said from the office door. “Upstairs in my guest room.”
“He’s what?” Albert turned scandalized eyes to Vic and then angrily to Jamey.
“At first he was going to stay in the groom’s room, but it’s a mess and it seemed ridiculous when I’ve got the room and the dogs love him. It’s worked out fine.” Vic stuck her chin out as though daring Albert to challenge her.
“Does Liz know?”
“What business is it of hers? Or yours, for that matter? It’s my decision, thank you very much. I do not need anyone’s permission.”
“Victoria—”
“Not one more word, Albert. I am a grown woman. You are acting as though I were some sort of dotty teenager inviting Ted Bundy into the living room. And you owe Mr. McLachlan an apology.”
“Apology?” Albert growled.
“Apology. You must admit he’s a hard worker and a fine rider. We couldn’t manage without him at the moment. Honestly, Albert, I don’t know what your problem is, except that I didn’t kowtow to your monumental ego before I hired him.”
“Me? Monumental ego? Woman, you have done some crazy things in your life, but this is about the craziest. What will people say?”
Jamey very much wanted to slink away, but he was trapped. The last thing he wanted was to drive a wedge between old friends. Besides, Albert’s instincts were correct. He
was
up to no good, dammit. He might be able to change his path from corrupt to righteous, but he’d definitely come here with evil intent.
Now he’d added another layer to his duplicity. If he did wind up stealing Roman and betraying Vic, he’d leave her vulnerable to Albert’s lifelong I-told-you-so’s. That would make both Vic and Albert miserable.
“Look, you two,” Jamey said. “If it will make Albert happy, I’ll do what I suggested in the first place and bed down here.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Vic snapped.
“And leave you free rein in this barn from sundown to sunup? I don’t think so,” Albert finished.
Vic turned to Albert with flared nostrils, set jaw and blazing eyes. “Are you willing to exercise ten horses a day?”
“Don’t be silly. ’Course not.”
“Well, I can’t, Angie can’t, and there’s nobody else available who’s good, cheap and here. The clients love him, the horses love him, and I—” she took a deep breath “—trust his instincts. For pity’s sake, Albert, for once in your life, trust
my
instincts, won’t you?”
“Yeah. I don’t have much choice, do I?” He swung around to stare down at Jamey and pointed one sausagesize finger at his chest. “And you better behave yourself, ’cause if you don’t I will break you in two and feed you to the coyotes. Is that clear?”
“As crystal.”
“Good, ’cause I love this woman and this family and this place, and I am not about to let you or anybody else hurt us.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“You better mean that, boy.”
Without another word Albert turned on his heel and stalked out of the barn. Jamey and Vic stood rooted to the ground until they heard Albert’s truck drive away.
“I’m sorry about that,” Vic said.
“Me, too. He loves you.”
“And I love him. We’re not just in business together. We’ve been friends all our lives. Dammit, there are times when I’m sick to death of being protected!”
“You’re upset. Do you want to forego tonight’s session?”
Vic squared her shoulders. “Now you’re doing it. I won’t have it. Pick a horse, any horse—except the stallion or Trust Fund—and put a saddle on for me. Nobody is going to protect me any longer, not even you.”
The gelding he chose was big and gentle, but considerably more feisty than the mare. When he handed the reins to Vic, she took them, but he saw her hand tremble. Without a word he set his foot in the stirrup and vaulted aboard, then reached down for her hand. “I miss holding you, lass. Give me the pleasure one more time.”
BOOK: Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance)
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