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“Good to meet you, Audrey.” Dressed in a pristine suit on a scorching Kentucky day, the man smiled with just a quirk of his lips. His smooth Australian accent underscored the sardonic expression.
So the stranger in the bar, the one who looked as if he belonged on Mt. Rushmore or some other wonder of the world, was a Preston. It figured.
Handsome and strong like the Thoroughbreds they raised, the Prestons possessed physical gifts in extra measure. Melanie, a jockey, was a tiny thing, but she sparkled like a diamond and seemed as durable. The Preston men were all life-size Ken dolls—rock solid, absurdly handsome and short on chatter.
Aussie Ken was no exception.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Audrey ducked her sweaty head, hoping he did not recognize her as the girl who had made goo-goo eyes at him last night. And then she realized he was holding out his hand.
She stuck hers out, too, a reflex reaction that she lamented when they touched callus to callus. His palm was much tougher than she had imagined.
Unfortunately, he looked surprised, too. He’d taken her hand gently; she’d automatically used her customary grip, practically squeezing the life out of him.
She meant to let go immediately, but for the briefest of moments, the stable that was the center of her life faded away; the snuffling of horses and mucking of stalls, the scents of hay and manure; horses and humans were replaced by a blanket-like silence.
She realized she was staring, her palm locked with his. Last night’s curiosity about his eyes was satisfied: they were the intense blue of marbles and morning skies.
As her heart beat painfully in her throat, Audrey remembered her comment to Seamus—that she was going to find someone of her own species.
Recalling his beautiful companion from the night before, she told herself the truth: This man is not your species. He looks better, he smells better, and he keeps better company.
When she noted the humor in his gaze, she let go of his hand as if it had burst into flame. Setting her jaw, Audrey gave him a tough, take-no-prisoners glare.
From the age of nine until well into her teens, she’d been sick and skinny and deathly pale beneath her freckles. In her experience, people reacted to sick children by coddling or pitying or pretending not to notice them. Most of the time, she’d felt out of step with her peers, so she’d trailed her dad around the stables and got to know horses better than people. She’d also learned to act a lot tougher than she was, turning into a real snot when she sensed disapproval or condescension.
So now she embraced the dirt and the calluses and the perspiration, her styleless clothing and the lack of makeup, and sent her gaze on a lazy trip down his body and back up again. Sniffing as if he was the one who smelled bad, she drawled, “You sure are dressed pretty for a stroll through a stable. Hope you got the memo about watching where you step.”
Good teeth showed in a calculating smile. “I stand forewarned. And thank you for the compliment.” He inclined his head. “I have a great admiration, too, for people like you who put so much care into their… horses’ grooming.” He’d paused just long enough to make his inference crystal clear.
Clear to Audrey, at any rate. Jenna didn’t seem to notice. Before Audrey could think of a comeback, Jenna said, “Audrey has a natural touch with horses. She’s an excellent farrier.”
Aussie Ken’s brows rose. Either he was surprised or doubtful, or he didn’t know what a farrier was. She chose the last interpretation just for the fun of it.
“That means I shoe the nice ponies.” She offered the explanation kindly, as if she were talking to a toddler.
She managed to curl the edges of his smile. “I’m familiar with the term.”
A calculating light gleamed behind the blue eyes, and Audrey felt her anticipation spike as she wondered whether he’d give her a decent run for her money.
“It’s an interesting occupation for a—” Once more he paused, this time furrowing his brow as if he couldn’t quite find the right word. “—woman.”
Dang!
Round One to Aussie Ken.
“I think we’ll let you get on with your work now, Audrey.” Becoming aware of the crackle between her nephew and her employee, but not at all sure what to make of it, Jenna verbally stepped between them. “You two can get to know each other better at lunch. Twelve o’clock sharp.”
Taking Shane’s arm and giving Audrey a bemused look over her shoulder, Jenna guided her nephew on through the stable.
Short of a natural disaster, it looked as if she was having lunch with the Prestons and their nephew. Audrey expected her stomach to clench, but felt it growl instead. Bantering with him must have burned up a few calories.
Absently patting Biding’s neck, Audrey chewed her lip. Over the years, she had carved out a place for herself among the largely male population of Quest by learning to compete. At pool, at darts, with words—she gave as good as she got. Often better.
She felt a fluttering in her blood that made her feel more alive than she had all year. What harm could come from trading a few quips? Putting the pretty boy in his place? Shane Preston was a challenge, and her life up to this point had pretty much addicted her to a dare.
A grin stretched across her lips. Picking up her tools, Audrey gave the gray filly a pat on her rump. “Okay, Biding, let’s get this shoe on the road. It seems I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”
Chapter Three
Audrey was showered and dressed in a fresh pair of jeans when she lifted the brass doorknocker that reminded her of a ring through a bull’s nose. She’d plaited her hair in a French braid this time—simple enough as it hung down her back, but a nod to the fact that she was dining somewhere more upscale than the inside of a stall.
Audrey smiled as the Prestons’ housekeeper answered the door and directed her to the patio that lay beyond the elegant white French doors off the dining room.
She had brought Seamus with her, and he followed her as far as the dining room, which was set with a stunning array of white-on-white china, and crystal that gleamed in the sun-kissed room. A polished cherrywood coffee trolley was already set with two glossy silver pots plus a four-tier dessert tree presenting an assortment of miniature cakes and truffles. Everything in the Prestons’ home bespoke of a lifestyle made luxurious by financial success.
What would happen to a family used to the finer things in life, if their current troubles proved powerful enough to crumple what they’d built?
There were people, certainly, who would be glad to watch a successful racing family lose at something. Even within the organization, there were always one or two dissenters intent on resenting the very people who signed their paychecks, but Audrey would never be one of them. She admired the Prestons. They worked hard, and at least one of them—Robbie, the youngest son—played hard, but you’d never see them throwing around their money or their power; they simply weren’t that way.
On top of that, they’d been good to her. Shortly after she and her dad had moved in—a single father and a skinny, morose-looking preteen who had recently lost her mother and most of her trust in the world—then eighteen-year-old Melanie Preston had arrived with a basket of food and books for Audrey that would have made any welcoming committee feel miserly by comparison. Quickly following his sister’s visit, sixteen-year-old Robbie had stopped by to see if any necessary repairs had been noted around the cottage.
When Audrey was sick and stayed home from school for weeks on end, the impromptu visits and special care packages continued and no one had ever made her feel like an extra appendage around the place, even when she surely had been one.
Standing now at the entrance to the dining room, with Seamus sniffing longingly in the direction of the coffee trolley, Audrey hoped that the ambiguity surrounding the breeding of Leopold’s Legacy would soon be resolved, preferably before she left the Prestons.
She ruffled the fur around Seamus’s neck. “Go find your bed, boy, and have a little nap.”
Sadly aware that the dining room was off-limits, the wolfhound turned and trudged off toward the family room where his bed awaited him.
Audrey moved toward the French doors, their glass panes veiled by sheer white curtain panels that allowed in a dreamy, filtered light.
Turning one brass door handle, she let herself out to a wide brick patio dotted with umbrellas that provided big circles of welcoming shade.
Despite a discomfiting hitch of nervousness, Audrey thought she’d managed to walk onto the patio as if she fit in fine with her surroundings.
Jenna and Shane stood by the patio balustrade, listening to Brent Preston, eldest son and head trainer at the stables, while the three of them looked out onto one of the paddocks. Brent’s sister, Melanie, and their father, Thomas, were having an animated discussion next to the hors d’oeuvres. Melanie had a glass of iced tea in one hand and a mini ham-and-cheese biscuit in the other. She waved the biscuit when she saw Audrey.
“Come here. I’m telling Dad about Something to Talk About. Audrey, isn’t he a beaut? Have you noticed his expression right before he gallops? He’s the most naturally ambitious horse I’ve ever seen. And he tunes in so well to people. He’s a total flirt. I bet he’ll win just to show off for me.”
Thomas watched his daughter with a heartwarming blend of affection and consternation. Horses had been in his blood before they’d ever become his livelihood. He’d lived and breathed racing long before his children had been a glimmer in his eye. He was an old-time track man, however, and the idea that a racehorse of any worth would win or lose depending on his affection for a jockey was pushing the boundaries of his belief system. There were still plenty of people, Audrey knew, who did not subscribe to the notion that horses possessed anything approaching emotional intelligence.
She, on the other hand, liked the idea. Working with horses day in and day out gave her a clear impression of which animals had compassion, empathy and a sense of camaraderie, and which wouldn’t let you on their backs if you were stranded in a desert without any shoes of your own.
Audrey thought Melanie could be one of the great jockeys someday and smiled as the petite firecracker turned to her now, an anxious frown working between her brows. “You don’t think Something’s toes are too short, do you, Audrey? His stride seems a little shorter than usual, and I know you don’t like long toes, but I’m just wondering… No offense.”
“You’re not offending me.”
As far as Audrey could tell, every shoer did some things his or her own way. Leaving a horse’s toes a bit long to lengthen its stride was the tradition at many racetracks, but Audrey’s father hadn’t believed in it, and neither did she.
Melanie had taken a particular shine to Something to Talk About, so was naturally a bit more… focused… on all the details of his care and training.
Gently, but with authority, Audrey reminded the other woman, “Studies have never shown that long toes lengthen the stride. Just the opposite. Thanks to videos, it’s a proven fact that they don’t.” It was also a fact that plenty of track farriers and even more owners still held on to the mistaken belief, so she added, “Even if it were true, some horses just can’t handle a long toe, and I’d never risk the leg to lengthen the stride.”
It was a bold thing to state in front of a racing stable’s owner—that you wouldn’t sacrifice safety to help create a winner—and Thomas wasn’t the only one who gave her his full attention.
Both Brent and Shane turned to consider her, Brent mirroring his father’s approval, Shane shooting her a keen stare lined by curiosity.
She concentrated her response on Melanie. “I watched Something to Talk About in the paddock this morning, and I think it may be worth an X-ray to see if he’s a bit flat-footed. That could change the way I file him.”
Melanie was pacified enough to offer Audrey one of the petite ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Hungry, Audrey felt her mouth water as her fingertips closed on the flaky golden biscuit, but it turned gummy on her tongue when Shane excused himself from Jenna and Brent and headed her way.
She felt both relieved and acutely disappointed when he stopped beside Thomas and struck up a conversation about the frustration of participating in claiming stakes, in which horses could be purchased prior to the race and therefore forfeited by the owner regardless of the race’s outcome.
Audrey wanted to listen. Rather annoyingly, she caught herself wanting to listen to every word Shane Preston said. Contrary to her earlier assumption, the gorgeous brunette was nowhere in sight. When Jenna announced that it was time to proceed to the dining room, no one mentioned waiting for Shane’s girlfriend.
“This is my exit cue,” Brent said, giving his mother a peck on the cheek and apologizing to his cousin for missing lunch. “The girls only have a half day at summer camp today, so we’re going on a picnic.”
“Bring the girls by later,” Jenna offered. “I’ll take ’em swimming.”
Brent agreed and headed out to his own life, which, no matter the complexities of Quest business, centered on the needs of his twin daughters.
Ushering the remaining Prestons plus Audrey to the dining room, Jenna directed Shane to the chair on Audrey’s left. Looking at the lovely table and linens and the raw silk cushions adorning each straight-backed chair, Audrey wished that she’d been less committed to individualism when she’d dressed for lunch and more concerned with being appropriate. Even Melanie, who typically dressed as if she were ready for a workout, had donned a casual summer dress.
Before she could dwell on it, Shane surprised her by pulling out her chair. Mumbling her thank-you, Audrey reached for the chair to scoot herself in, nearly cannoning into the table before she realized that Shane was smoothly sliding the chair in for her.
Her plan to continue their verbal swordplay at lunch seemed overly ambitious now. One whiff of Shane’s light cologne tangled her thoughts.
Geez, Audrey, he’s just a guy.
“How old are Brent’s daughters?” Shane asked as he took his own seat.
“Eight.” Thomas boomed the answer like a proud grandfather, earning a look of affection from his wife. “My favorite age.”
“Hey, you told me thirty-one was your favorite age.” Melanie needled, her eyes laughing at her father. “Dad pretends I’m still his favorite,” she said to Shane and Audrey, “but you can’t compete with grandchildren.”
Thomas and Jenna both demurred, but abashedly. “The twins have needed more attention since their mother’s passing,” Jenna admitted with a sigh. “I think sometimes we’re guilty of spoiling them.”
“We were all sorry to hear about Brent’s wife. I know my mother wished she could help. Being so far away, it was hard to know what to do.”
Shane’s deep, accented voice fell on the room like cotton, soft but substantial, changing the mood. Audrey saw Jenna and Melanie glance immediately to Thomas and sensed that Shane had just apologized for something more than not knowing what to do when Brent’s wife died.
Audrey had heard through the Quest grapevine that Thomas and his brother David had been estranged for years. One brother made his mark on horse racing in the United States; the other had staked his claim thousands of miles away in Australia, operating a horseracing stable there. Recently the frayed edges of the family had been knitted together when Thomas and Jenna attended some huge shindig in Australia. Knowing Jenna, Audrey figured Shane had been heartily invited to Quest.
“Nothing to do,” Thomas answered his nephew gruffly. “Even if things had been different between me and your father, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to make losing our daughter-in-law easier on Brent or the girls.”
Shane inclined his head respectfully. Audrey thought his careful inspection of Thomas was quite telling. He addressed his uncle deferentially, watching him closely, and yet she knew with a certainty that surprised her that Shane Preston did not defer to many people. Perhaps he was here on a peacemaking mission for his branch of the family?
Drawing circles in the moisture on her water goblet, she waited uncomfortably as the silence extended. Jenna seemed unusually quiet and contemplative; Thomas’s lower lip jutted out as he broke the Parker House roll on his bread plate; Melanie was clearly thinking about something that had nothing to do with anyone at the table; and Shane…
She angled her head to take a look at him. Still concentrating on Thomas, he felt Audrey’s gaze and turned slowly. Raising one thick brow the color of honey, he managed to look both challenging and amused without moving a single other part of his face.
Somehow she didn’t feel embarrassed for being caught staring. She knew he was off-limits, but that didn’t stop the heat that twined through her veins. Curiously, she took stock of her feelings.
Excited? Check.
Feeling daring? Check.
Physically aroused? That would be a double check.
At twenty-four, she had slept with two men, which placed her far behind her peers in terms of practical experience, to say nothing of the fact that she had never been in love. She’d had a terrifyingly large crush once on Robbie Preston, the youngest and most breathtakingly reckless of Thomas and Jenna’s four offspring, but that had gone the way of other youthful fantasies.
Shane resembled the two men who had been her lovers…not in the slightest, actually. They’d been studious, sweet, tame. So had the sex, though she had only her own imagination and a couple of books for comparison. But it had seemed tame. Memorable mostly for its newness.
As the meal was served, Shane turned his head to answer some question that Jenna raised, and Audrey studied his profile.
Recalling his presence in the bar, how he had stood out from the others, she doubted any woman would ever call him tame. If last night had turned out differently—if he hadn’t been with another woman, but instead had shown a serious interest in her—would she have ditched caution and made a dive for excitement?
She stared at his hands—large and strong with clean nails—as he reached for a water goblet and she had a sudden image of those big, experienced, untamed hands on her breasts.
Beneath the confines of a rather sturdy cotton bra, her nipples tightened.
For Pete’s sake.
Transferring her gaze to the salt and pepper shakers, she tried to distract her body. But the question persisted: had the opportunity presented itself, would she have seized the moment? One incredibly sexy, lusty moment the likes of which she’d never before experienced and might never again?
Would you, Audrey?
I don’t know.
Would you?
I—don’t—know.
Would you?
“Would you?”
“Yes! Yes!” In the silence that met her exclamation, Audrey glanced around the table. Uh-oh.
Fairly certain that last “Would you?” had emanated from somewhere other than her own thoughts, she looked up to see Eva Franklin, the Prestons’ brilliant cook, standing beside her. In a much smaller voice, Audrey said, “Could you repeat the question?”
“Would you like mango hollandaise, Miss Audrey?” Poor Eva looked uncertain, poised to ladle a thick peach-colored sauce atop the plate of salmon Audrey hadn’t even noticed being set in front of her. The deep spoon of sauce hovered precariously between gravy boat and plate.
Smiling brilliantly at the kind, middle-aged woman, Audrey tried to cover her tracks by nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Yes! I would!”
Eva smiled back and covered the fish in a thick film of mango hollandaise. Melanie regarded Audrey quizzically from across the table, while beside her, Shane smirked.
As Eva moved on around the table, Shane inquired in a wiseass undertone, “Are you a fan of all tropical fruits, Miss Griffin, or is the mango a particular favorite?”
