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He held firm, his glance roving her face before moving lower. “Yes, you are.”
“Spence.” She tugged harder. When was he ever not pouring on the charm?
“Sorry I’m late.” He finally released her.
“What was it this time?” She couldn’t keep the irritation from her voice. He always had one excuse or another. Flat tire. Dead battery. Traffic. A buddy who just happened to drop by.
“I had to make a few calls. The transport driver encountered flooding in Texas. He’s going to be delayed a good half day.”
“What’s being transported?” She occupied herself with reorganizing the containers.
“I own two retired racing mares.”
“Racing mares?”
He peered over her shoulder at the spread she’d prepared, getting a little too close for Frankie’s comfort. As if set on automatic, her body responded before she could stop herself, softening and leaning ever so slightly into him.
“We should probably sit down,” he said, his breath tickling her neck. “A lot’s happened these past few years.”
Little did he know she could say the same thing.
* * *
IF IT WASN’T incredibly rude, Spence would have smacked his lips. “You could always cook, honey.”
“Don’t call me that. Please.”
Frankie had quickly regained her composure and eased away from him. He liked knowing he could still rattle her. What he didn’t like was the skittish look in her eyes. It was one thing for her to fight an attraction to him, another to be uneasy.
Popping the lids on various containers, she dealt paper plates as if they were cards from a deck. Next, she unwrapped the barbecue beef brisket he’d been dreaming about this entire past week, ever since deciding on returning to Mustang Valley.
All right, all right. Food wasn’t all he’d been dreaming of. Luck had been on his side when he stopped by the café this morning and found Frankie’s sisters there. He’d assumed she wouldn’t be glad to see him, not after the last time he’d left and she told him in no uncertain terms to delete her number from his phone contacts.
And he’d been right. After her initial shock wore off, she’d fired an entire arsenal of invisible daggers at him.
Her sisters, however, had been happy to make room for him in the booth. They’d always liked him. And he’d liked the entire Hartman clan, which had apparently grown by a long-lost half sister and a brand-new stepmother.
With very little prodding, Mel and Ronnie had opened up, telling Spence the most important details—Frankie wasn’t married and she wasn’t currently seeing anyone.
Music to his ears. Though how some guy had yet to put a ring on her finger baffled Spence. In his admittedly biased opinion, she was better looking now than ever. The short, chic hairstyle suited her, as did the stunning hourglass figure outlined by shorts and a snug top. Her brown eyes, when serious, had the power to captivate him, and make him laugh when twinkling with amusement.
She definitely wasn’t amused now. Really? Just because he was a few minutes late?
“Would you like a beer?” she asked, her hand disappearing into the cooler.
He shook his head, reminding himself to focus. He likely had one chance with Frankie and didn’t dare blow it.
“No, thanks. Lemonade’s great.”
“You’re refusing a beer?” She turned to him, an incredulous expression on her face.
“I don’t drink much anymore, except on special occasions.”
“Since when?” She narrowed her gaze.
“No DUIs or mornings I regret or nights I blacked out, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just cut back. Different lifestyle these days.”
She handed him the lemonade she’d already poured, then grabbed another cup. “I forgot to ask earlier. Where are you staying?”
“Eddie’s putting me up.”
“Did he ever move out of that old double-wide trailer?”
“Are you kidding?” Spence took a swig of lemonade, sweetened exactly to his liking, then another. “At least I have my own room. With a bed.” He’d spent many a night on a friend’s couch or floor, more than he cared to admit. “But I have to figure out what to do with my mares. The transport truck will be here tomorrow afternoon.”
“You shouldn’t have much trouble. Plenty of places in the area accept temporary boarders.”
Temporary? Was she fishing for information or insinuating he was leaving soon?
“Any suggestions?” he asked.
“Ronnie keeps her horses at Powell Ranch.”
She filled a plate with slices of brisket and one big, meaty rib. Handing it to him, she indicated he should sit and help himself to the sides and her homemade barbecue sauce. He noticed right away she’d made coleslaw. His favorite.
“I’ll check them out.”
Spence had been casually acquainted with the Powells at one time years ago. The family owned the largest public horse stables in the valley and had made a name for themselves breeding and training mustangs—some of them captured in the nearby McDowell Mountains.
“They have weekly rates,” Frankie said. “For short-term customers.”
Definitely insinuating, Spence thought. He should tell her of his plans, but decided to wait and see how their dinner progressed.
Frankie sat down across from him. “So, tell me about this different lifestyle of yours. And, if I’m not being too nosy, how you came into enough money that you can afford to invest ten thousand dollars in a start-up business.”
“The answer to both is the same.”
He’d much rather she sat beside him. Not going to happen, however. For a moment there, when he’d leaned close, he swore the old spark had flared between them. The next instant, she’d raised her guard.
On the drive here, Spence had worried that she’d agreed to meet with him only because of the money. Now, thanks to their mutual sparks, he knew that wasn’t the case. She cared for him. A little, anyway. Even after their long separation.
He indulged in a bite of brisket, instantly forgetting where he was and what he was doing. “This is good. No, fantastic.”
“It’s better warm and freshly carved.”
“Something to look forward to.” Swallowing, he flashed her a grin. “Next time.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Can’t help myself, honey. I mean Frankie,” he amended, before she could correct him. “This food is incredible. How is it you haven’t opened up your own restaurant?”
“You were saying.”
“Yes. Right. Different lifestyle.” He fortified himself with a heaping forkful of coleslaw. “Two years ago this spring, I took a job as assistant trainer for Cottonwood Farms. Have you heard of them?”
“Hmm. No.” She concentrated on her plate, delicately picking at her food. “But someone did say you were working with racing quarter horses.”
“Up until recently, Cottonwood Farms was a small player. Not anymore. The owner quite literally invested everything he had in a young colt named Han Dover Fist. The colt went on to be the top winning quarter horse last year, making his owners very rich.”
“We don’t hear much about horse racing of any kind in this part of the state.”
Spence figured as much. Mustang Valley was a cattle ranching community, its horses primarily working stock or those ridden for pleasure. Probably only a few people realized one of the better known quarter horse racetracks was a mere hundred miles away, outside Tucson. Spence did, and while not the reason he’d returned, it certainly was an added benefit. He’d be making a trip there in the near future.
Picking up the Fred Flintstone–sized rib Frankie had given him, he said, “I didn’t think I’d like training racehorses. It’s a lot different than cutting or calf roping. Turns out I’m pretty good.”
“That where you’re working now?” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Cottonwood Farms?”
Spence remembered what it was like to kiss those lovely, full lips, and the thrill that coursed through him when they parted beneath his. Clearing his throat and banishing distracting thoughts, he continued.
“I was up until a couple months ago.”
“Ah.”
He knitted his brows. “What does that mean?”
“Two years. That’s a pretty long time to stick with one job. For you.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Enlighten me.”
While she’d delivered the statement with a teasing tone, there was no mistaking the seriousness of it. She saw him as a drifter. Unable or unwilling to hold down a job for very long.
“I guess you could say I’m on leave, with an invitation to return at any time.”
“Why on leave?”
“I’m trying my hand at racehorse breeding. Which is why I purchased the two retired mares. They were sold at a good price. One I couldn’t turn down.”
“Even at a good price, they couldn’t have been cheap.” She propped her elbows on the table. “Do you mind me asking where you got the money?”
“Well, that’s where the story gets interesting.”
“I bet.”
“Betting does have something to do with it, yes.” He pushed aside his plate. Not because he was full, but because he wanted to watch the play of emotions on Frankie’s face. “Buying Han Dover Fist drained my boss’s finances. He didn’t have enough money to pay me full wages, so we worked out an agreement. I helped train the colt in exchange for an ownership share.”
“You might have wound up working for nothing.”
“But I didn’t. Han Dover exceeded everyone’s expectations. He was the long shot in more than one race at the beginning of last year. I would scrape together what cash I could and bet on him to win.”
Interest flared in her eyes. “Is that where you got the ten thousand dollars? Gambling winnings?”
“No. My gambling winnings are what I used to buy the mares.” At fifty-to-one odds that first race, Spence had done okay for himself. He’d quadrupled those winnings over the next three months.
“You must have believed in the horse.”
“I did. And not just because I helped train him. At the end of the season, my boss paid me a bonus on top of my share of the winnings. There are also stud fees, which will roll in for as long as I own a percentage of Han Dover Fist.”
She blinked in disbelief. “Are you making this up?”
“Every word I’ve said is true. I’m not rich, but I have a nice nest egg in the bank, and if all goes well, I’ll have my own racing quarter horse farm.”
“That’s a pretty ambitious dream.”
Spence took her hand, half expecting her to snatch it away. She didn’t.
“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve moved from job to job, place to place, and rarely had two nickels to rub together. But the fact is, I’ve changed.”
“So you say.”
He was a bit wounded by her disbelief in him. “I’ve worked hard and have something to show for it. I also intend to keep working hard and have more to show.”
“Horse racing—” she reclaimed her hand in order to shoo away a pesky fly “—is a risky business. It’s also a rich man’s business.”
She wasn’t wrong. Plenty of people went broke. A few lucky ones, like his boss, made a fortune. If they had the right horse. Spence had high hopes for the foals his pregnant mares were carrying.
“I’m smart,” he said. “I’m starting small and not investing any more money than I can afford to lose.”
She glanced away, staring unseeingly at the play area.
“I’ve disappointed you in the past,” he said gently. “Plenty. I get why you think I’m chasing rainbows. But aren’t you doing the same thing with your catering business?”
Her head snapped back around. “It’s a lot less risky. And besides, I have a steady day job. One that provides benefits.”
“True. But if I lost everything I have now, I wouldn’t be worse off than when I started. Better, in fact. I have a job waiting for me.”
She frowned. “That’s not a very responsible attitude. Lose everything?”
“Believe me—I intend to be a success.”
She looked away again.
“I get it. My track record doesn’t inspire confidence.” He paused and started over. “I really believe I bounced around so much because I was searching for this. I love what I’m doing, Frankie.”
“Is it the excitement?” she asked.
“I won’t deny horse racing is fun. Nothing compares to the thrill of watching a horse you helped train cross the finish line in first place.”
