A Weaver Baby Read online

  She stared out the side window at the flickering lights they passed and he stared at her. There was soft music coming from the speakers. But the low, mournful sax only seemed to underscore the silence.

  “Your aunt has her hands full, I imagine, with the boys.” Her voice was still tight and she didn’t look away from the window. “How is their mother doing?”

  “She’s had several rounds of surgery already.” Talking about his ex-wife was the last thing he wanted to do, but at least it filled the thick silence that he knew he was to blame for. “She probably has more pins in her bones than Latitude does.” What would worry Tiffany, though, was how well she’d be able to get rid of the scars.

  “But she will recover, right?”

  “Depends on your definition of recovery.”

  Her chin angled around and her gaze burned over him. “She’ll live.”

  “Yes.”

  “And so will Latitude.”

  He studied the profile she’d presented again, noticing—not for the first time—just how delicate her features were. “Is that just faith or intentionally positive thinking?”

  “Is there a lot of difference?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t believe in faith.”

  “If you had no faith, you’d have never put Latitude through the surgery in the first place.” She looked at him again. “Miguel told me the track vet advised putting him down. Your sister agreed. Miguel agreed. You could have consented, collected the insurance, end of story. Nobody would have blamed you.”

  She would have blamed him. He knew it as certainly as he knew his own name.

  “Tell that to the animal rights group that was parked outside the gates at Forrest’s Crossing within an hour of the race.”

  Her brows drew together. “Seriously?”

  “Mabel told me when they arrived. They were still there when I got home, all ready to draw and quarter me as an example of the cruelty of the industry. Imagine what they’d have had to say if Latitude had shared Sideofhoney’s fate?”

  “You’ve never cared what reporters had to say.”

  “Only if it affects the P & L at Forco.”

  Her lips firmed. “I refuse to believe you’re guided only by money. You’re going to extraordinary means to save Latitude.”

  “I wasn’t willing to give up on the possibility yet that he could still produce,” he said flatly. “It’s a calculated risk.”

  “Call it what you want. Somewhere, you had faith that he could still be a winner—whether on a racetrack or in the breeding shed.”

  He shook his head at her. “You like putting a pretty slant on it.”

  “And you’re determined to be cynical and jaded. Why is that?”

  His laughter was short and devoid of humor. “Well, honey, that is because I am my father’s son.”

  And because he was, looking at J.D. and thinking of anything beyond the horse they had in common was pure fantasy.

  When they arrived at the hotel, the concierge, Diana, was waiting for him with his key and messages. “You’re in your usual suite, Mr. Forrest.”

  He barely slowed to take the messages and tucked his hand behind J.D.’s back, guiding her to the elevators.

  Once inside, he handed her one of the keycards. “Your and your sister’s suite is on the seventeenth floor.”

  “Suite!” She looked startled as she took the card. “Jake, that really wasn’t—” She broke off when he tiredly lifted his hand. “Thank you,” she finished instead. “Where are you?”

  “A few floors up.” He pulled out the messages again and paged through them, but his mind wasn’t really on the contents.

  His usual suite would be comfort itself.

  And it would also be silent.

  Empty.

  “They know you pretty well here,” she commented after a moment.

  “Hmm.” He glanced at her. Something was ticking behind those brown eyes.

  “Even Diana?”

  He hid his surprise as he absorbed that. Diana was lovely and had never made a secret of her availability if he’d have been interested.

  His tastes though, had become wholly centered on a certain green-eyed blonde with a mile-wide stubborn streak.

  Frankly, it annoyed the hell out of him. “Who?”

  Her soft lips tightened just as the elevator softly chimed. “This is my floor.” She stated the obvious, and stuck one foot out, as if she were afraid the car might keep on moving if she weren’t careful. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll take a rain check on the dinner. I’m too worn out to eat.”

  A rain check she had no intention of redeeming, he’d be willing to bet. “Another time, then.”

  The relief on her face was almost comical. And it was proof that he wasn’t any sort of gentleman by enjoying the unease that followed hard on the heels of that relief when he stopped off the elevator with her. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

  “I’m not in danger of getting lost,” she muttered, striding ahead of him. She reached the door and swiped the key card, but he smoothly pushed open the door for her and walked inside.

  J.D. was eyeing him suspiciously as she slowly entered the quiet room. “My sister is here, right?”

  “In there, I imagine.” He gestured at a door that was closed on the other side of the beautifully appointed living area. “Which leaves that room for you.” He nodded at the opened doorway behind them through which they could see a massively wide, king-size bed.

  The image of the two of them sharing it filled his head with agonizing clarity.

  The price to be paid, he supposed, for deliberately needling her out of her comfort zone.

  She backed toward the door and moistened her lips, which only succeeded in drawing his attention right to them. “It’s a beautiful room and much too generous of you. But thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He could still see the corner of that king-size bed and judging by the way she clenched her hand over the door handle, he figured she did, too.

  “Well. Good night.”

  He stopped next to her. “What? No handshake? No hug?”

  She shot him a look. “Very funny.”

  “Nobody from the stable around here to gossip, so why are you so nervous?”

  “I’m not nervous. I’m tired.”

  His head ducked over hers. “Liar.” He whispered the accusation against her ear.

  She jerked her head back. “If you want to amuse yourself, call down to Diana. I’m sure she’d be accommodating.” Her voice was thin. But there was a fiery glint in her eyes that he found a whole lot more interesting.

  He settled his hand on her shoulder. He knew her slenderness was deceptive. He’d seen for himself how she could control a half ton of racing horseflesh.

  How she could control him with the slightest flex of her hips.

  “That’s twice now,” he murmured. “Are you jealous, J.D.?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “That’s right.” He tilted his head, studying her. “The thing that gets your blood pumping is Latitude.” He waited for her to deny it.

  Wished that she would.

  But all she did was look away, the sooty fringe of her eyelashes throwing shadows on her ivory cheeks. “You should go.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. “I haven’t been able to, you know.”

  Her forehead crinkled a little. She finally lifted her lashes, curiosity obviously getting the better of her. “Excuse me?”

  “Forget,” he supplied. “I haven’t been able to forget.” Then he lowered his head and covered her mouth in a fast, hard kiss.

  But when he lifted his head, he wasn’t sure just who had been seared.

  She stared at him, her lips softly parted. And before he could do something really crazy—like pull her into that room with that waiting bed—he yanked open the door and walked away.

  Chapter Eight

  There wasn’t much about the town of Weaver, Wyoming,
that called attention to itself as Jake drove slowly down the main street with its curbs covered by plowed snow.

  A diner named Ruby’s that looked like it was doing a brisk business; a couple of shops; a couple more restaurants; a sprawling old motel. If he’d been driving faster than a snail’s pace, he’d have passed by them all in the blink of an eye.

  The GPS unit in his dash told him he had just another ten miles before he reached J.D.’s place, and it annoyed the hell out of him that the closer he got, the more he had to restrain himself from hitting the gas pedal a little harder.

  He hadn’t spoken with her in weeks. Not since that night in her hotel suite when he’d had to force himself to walk away from her.

  If he’d have stayed with her for two seconds longer, he’d have had her in that bedroom and kept her there for a month of Sundays no matter how wrong he knew it would have been.

  Instead, he’d been short-tempered at the business meeting he’d had early the next morning, and blown off two other appointments to drive out to the equine center. But when he’d expected to find her there with Latitude, he’d been stunned to learn that she hadn’t shown up there that day at all.

  She and her sister had checked out of the hotel and returned to Wyoming without a single word to him.

  The thin vein of decency inside him said it was only what he deserved after the way he’d kissed her. But he’d still taken juvenile delight in shredding the concise and formal little thank you note she’d later sent, and tossing the pieces in the fireplace.

  And now, here he was.

  Hauling the damn colt to her because he’d finally accepted the fact that she wasn’t coming back to Georgia no matter what.

  The small detail of not having notified her that he was bringing Latitude to her was immaterial.

  It had been a long drive from the Cheyenne airport, where he and Latitude had flown into. And that had been followed by the involved process of moving the colt from his private jet to the specially outfitted horse trailer that Sidney had arranged to have waiting.

  His sister thought he was insane going to such effort for the horse, but she’d still been a help when he’d needed her to be. In that, she was more like J.D. than she would probably ever admit.

  The dulcet female voice on his GPS told him to turn at the next intersection, and he followed. The route took him through what was obviously a newer area of town. There was a sizable apartment complex; a modest, but decent-sized shopping center. A few chain restaurants and another motel.

  He turned again when the GPS directed, and he quickly left behind even those fresher marks of Weaver progress for a sweeping arch of narrow, but smoothly paved road that snaked out into the open snow-covered plains.

  The road crested slightly, and he figured he didn’t need confirmation from Madame GPS to guess that the only dwelling that came into view was J.D.’s.

  The house sat well back from the road. It was two-storied and modestly sized, and its white paint and black shutters looked freshly done.

  When he drove up the gravel drive that ended on one side of the house, he had a clearer sight of the faded red barn situated behind the house, as well as the unpainted wood fencing that surrounded several corrals where a few horses stood around grazing through the trampled snow.

  Everything looked on the long side of well used.

  And it was all a helluva far cry from the rolling acres surrounded by pristine, white fencing that he was used to at Forrest’s Crossing.

  It was also as cold as a witch’s temper and for a moment he had a second of doubt about what he was doing.

  How could Latitude turn the corner toward a recovery in a place like this? Even with J.D.?

  But then he saw her familiar figure, her lankiness hidden beneath the bulky jacket that reached all the way down to her knees, walking from the barn area toward the house.

  He knew the moment she spotted him, because she went stock still.

  The only thing that moved was her curling blond hair, longer than ever, drifting around her arms in the cold breeze, and the visible puffs of breath circling around her head.

  He shoved his cold hands in his pockets and blessed the heated truck and horse trailer as he started toward J.D., closing the distance between them.

  Her emerald eyes were narrowed against the sunlight that seemed inordinately bright thanks to the reflection against the snow. Her coat was an ugly blue-and-red check, her jeans were muddy from the calves down, and there wasn’t a speck of makeup on her ivory face. The red on her nose and her cheeks was clearly caused by the cold.

  And damned if he wasn’t instantly primed and ready for her, just as he had been that night at the hotel.

  One hint that she’d be receptive would be all it took.

  But receptiveness wasn’t anywhere in evidence when she stopped several feet away, and he figured it was just as well.

  She was still the kind of woman good men wanted to marry, and he was still the kind of man who ought to know enough to stay miles away.

  It was his own damned luck that she seemed more beautiful than ever.

  “Jake,” she finally greeted, after giving the truck and trailer parked near her house a thorough look.

  “J.D.,” he returned in the same even tone.

  Her gaze glanced off his. “I don’t suppose that trailer is empty.”

  “Don’t suppose it is.”

  Her lips thinned. “You have a colossal ego.” But he could still see the way her gaze kept creeping back toward the horse trailer.

  “It’s been almost six weeks since the accident.” His voice was even. “Lat’s cast has been changed multiple times. He’s battling an infection. He’s been off his feed and actually bit Miguel.”

  She drew her brows together, her gaze snapping back to him. “And you shipped him all the way here?” Her opinion was clear. He was mad to put an ailing horse through such an ordeal.

  “Here is his last chance.”

  She paled to a shade not much more colorful than the stark white snow all around them. “Latitude needs a good vet. Not a former assistant trainer.”

  “Your cousin’s husband is a good vet,” he returned just as rapidly. Evan Taggart had an excellent reputation with large animals. He knew, because he’d checked. “Lat had a good vet back home, too. What he didn’t have was you. I’ll double the fee you were getting at Forrest’s Crossing and pay for whatever supplies or equipment you think you’ll need.”

  “I’m not going to argue fees with you. What you were paying me in Georgia was more than enough. And there’s no need for expenses, anyway, because I’m not—”

  “Consider it an investment in your future as a trainer,” he interrupted. “Someday, the racing world can thank me.”

  She looked uncertain for a moment, only to shake her head firmly. “No. I’m finished with racing.”

  He lifted his brows, truly surprised. “Why? You were a natural.”

  She held his gaze for a long, tight moment. But she looked away first and her cheeks were rosier than ever. “We might as well get him into the barn.” She pointed to a small clearing. “Pull the trailer up there.”

  Though he’d counted on her soft spot for Latitude, he was still relieved that she hadn’t sent them straight back to the highway. He returned to the warmth of his truck and drove around to where she’d indicated, backing the trailer as close as possible to the barn doors that she’d pushed wide open. She was already lowering the rear gate when he joined her and he pulled open the trailer doors.

  Inside, Latitude snorted and shifted nervously. J.D. quickly went in beside him, and the horse almost magically calmed. With practiced ease, she untied him and pushed aside the rump bar. “Come on, handsome,” he heard her croon. “Back it up.”

  Lat took his time about it. But J.D. was patient. And eventually, the colt had backed down the shallow ramp. He resisted again the second his hoof hit snow-covered ground, but still, J.D. showed no impatience. She just waited until he was ready to move in h
is own time, and when he did, she rubbed her hands over him, praising him all the way toward the barn, and damned if Latitude’s demeanor didn’t noticeably pick up.

  “There’s a bushel of apples sitting inside the kitchen door. Would you mind going to get one?”

  It wasn’t very common for Jake to be put into the role of gopher, but he strode across the unyielding ground toward the house. The kitchen door was presumably the door that faced the barn. Up three steps, and he was inside a rectangular mudroom. There was a cord fastened on the walls running across the short end of the room. It was oddly old-fashioned to see a clothesline like that hanging above a state-of-the-art washer and dryer that rivaled the one at Forrest’s Crossing.

  What was most distracting, though, was the handful of lacy bras and skimpy panties hanging over the line. They brought to mind much too easily the memory of him stripping similar garments away from her satiny skin.

  He continued through the mudroom into a kitchen that smelled like warm chocolate. There, he saw more new appliances. Fresh paint. Surprisingly contemporary and very inviting.

  He grabbed a few apples out of the bushel that was, indeed, sitting on the floor just inside the doorway, and strode back outside.

  She’d gotten Latitude inside the barn and was letting him sniff around, looking as curious as a kid in a toy store while she pitched fresh straw into an empty stall. “You might have given me some warning,” she said without looking up at him, “about your plans.”

  “And chanced you leaving the state or the country?” He tossed the apples in the air, catching them one by one. “Don’t think so.”

  Her head snapped up and she gave him a serious glare. “This is my home. Why would I leave it?”

  “Forrest’s Crossing was your home for a while, too, and you sure as hell left it.”

  She shoved her pitchfork into the bale and scattered more on to the stall floor. Her face was rosy, whether still from the cold outside—her exertions now in the warmth of the barn—or his comment, he couldn’t tell.

  “Forrest’s Crossing is your home. I just worked there.” She poked and tossed and scattered some more, then straightened and pulled out a pocketknife. “If you’re just going to stand there, be useful and cut the apple. See if he’ll eat it.” She balanced the knife on top of the stall rail and went back to her pitchfork, almost as if she were afraid to chance touching him by handing him the knife directly.