A Christmas to Believe In (3 page)

A frown tugged Clint's eyebrows together. "Who's Ethan?"

Her smile widened with genuine fondness. "If things go

right this week at court, he'll be my son. I'm his foster

mother."

Those dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You? Little

Jesse? A
mom
?"

She refrained from laughing, though her humor bubbled in

her throat. That made three who'd had the same reaction.

"He's thirteen. And I'm sure he'd love to see a horse in

person."

"Well then, in that case, I guess I can't refuse." His gaze

shifted to the window.

Jesse took the opportunity to draw in a much-needed deep

breath and forked a bite of pie into her mouth. Ethan required

careful handling. Introducing him to these three would be

tricky. But maybe the horse would be icebreaker enough.

Lord knew Ethan needed a male influence. One who wouldn't

make him feel inferior.

"That sounds fabulous. Thank you, Jessica," Amelia said.

As Clint stared out the window, his jaw tightened. He set

his plate aside, having taken only a couple of bites out of the

pie. "I should go ahead and move her. Mind if I go on up?"

Jesse shoveled the last bite of crust into her mouth,

passed her plate to Heath, and stood up. "I'll go with you. I

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should be getting back anyway. I promised Ethan I wouldn't

be late."

Without another word, Clint stood up, crossed to the door,

and stepped outside.

Perplexed, Jesse shot Alex a quizzical look. He shrugged

his shoulders, as if to say,
Hell if I know
.

Outside, Clint's truck roared to life.

"I guess that's my cue to hurry." Jesse plucked her coat off

the rack behind the door and shoved her arms in. "Thanks for

the pie, Mom."

Amelia gave her a fond smile. "Anytime, Jessica. We'll see

you soon, dear."

Jesse let herself out to find Clint's truck already pulled

around and idling in the drive. She frowned. What in the

world had she said that pissed him off? Her head ducked to

the crisp air, she pondered the possibilities as she rushed to

her car.

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Clint steered on autopilot, staring at the taillights in front

of him. He'd much rather keep his horse at a professional

stable. Not that he couldn't provide the same care for his

mare—hell, he'd provide better regardless of where she

stayed. Being forced to go to Jesse's, at least twice a day,

when every time she looked at him his cock answered with a

twinge, didn't bode well.

He was tense enough already. If his mare foaled before

January 1, the foal would become a yearling at less than two

weeks of age. Which meant when the foal joined the rest of

the racing field, he or she would be competing at a severe

disadvantage.

Which meant dreams broken. Financial disaster.

Every penny he'd saved was in that mare and her foal.

Sired by a Grade 1, stakes-winning, stallion, and out of a

heavily black-typed mare, the foal was as sure of a shot as he

could get at a much-needed Derby win.
If
it came out of the

oven next year.

The whole damn situation had him waking up with

headaches that lingered throughout the day. He absolutely

didn't need misplaced desire furthering his agitation. And

certainly not when Jesse was the subject of said desire.

Jessie, for God's sake. Man, Heath and Alex would give

him hell for weeks, if they ever found out. Make that months.

For that matter, it would destroy his friendship with her.

Where they shared a casual comfortableness, tension would

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slip in. She'd avoid Mom's. Mom would wonder why. In the

end, he'd just be the jerk that drove Jesse away.

No, this was absolutely not where he wanted his horse.

He'd accept it for the night, but come tomorrow morning, he

was hitting the phone book for another boarding stable.

Maybe even a veterinary clinic that offered foaling services.

He eased around the turn to her drive and rolled up the

winding gravel path. Around him, the snow-covered

landscape glistened beneath the light of the moon. The thick

evergreens bordering the Saurs' property drooped with

clumps of ice and snow. He took it in, admiring the landscape.

Thirty years, he'd lived in this cozy country corner of North

Kansas City, and he hadn't ever stopped to appreciate how

pretty it could be.

Then again, he'd been twelve or thirteen when Missouri

last saw this much snow.

Jesse eased to a stop behind her parents' house, and her

headlights went dark as she shut off the car. Jumping outside,

she motioned him on ahead to the barn. When he pulled

forward, he caught a glimpse of her wrapping a scarf around

her neck before she disappeared from his side mirror.

He sincerely hoped she didn't plan on helping him get his

mare settled in. After the way his libido responded to

touching her hand earlier, he could use the time alone. Taking

care of Angel would steer his traitorous thoughts down a

more appropriate course. One that absolutely didn't involve

fleeting visions of what Jesse might look like beneath that

soft, baby blue sweater.

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Choking back a groan, he eased the truck and trailer to a

stop in front of the barn doors. New red paint hid the cracked,

grey boards he remembered. A coat of brilliant white on the

eaves and cross-boards added a touch of warm welcoming.

Man, they used to play hide in seek in here as kids. Dug for

snakes where her grandfather once stored hay. On more than

one occasion, they'd camped out overnight in the loft and told

ghost stories until all four of them surrendered their courage

and raced back inside her house.

What happened to that Jesse? He'd have leapt at the idea

of boarding Angel here if his tomboy friend had suggested the

idea.

As reluctance crept into his veins, he eased out of the

truck. Moving around to the side of the trailer, he took a lead

rope out of the small tack room. He shut the door with a firm

push and turned toward the rear loading door, only to find

Jesse standing at his side.

Beneath the brim of her stylish winter hat, her eyes shone

bright. One dark tendril of hair escaped the cap, falling just in

front of her ear and framing the side of her face in a uniquely

appealing fashion. His fingers itched to push it aside, tuck it

behind her ear. Touch her cheek and see if it felt as silky as it

looked.

She smiled and rubbed her hands together to generate

warmth. "Tell me what to do?"

Go inside.

Clint bit back the uncalled for sharp retort. She hadn't

done anything to deserve his annoyance. It wasn't her fault

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something had cross-fired in his brain. He forced himself to

smile. "Open up the barn? I'll get her."

"Sure thing."

Jesse trotted off through the ankle-deep drifts, her long

dark hair tumbling along after her. Clint's gaze fixed on the

sway of her hips. Hugged by her dark jeans, she had the

most amazing, perfect little, heart-shaped bottom.

With a roll of his eyes and a mutter, he turned back to his

trailer and unlatched the door. Perfect or not, Jesse would

deck him if she caught him looking.

"Hey girl."

The dark bay mare nickered in return. Shavings rustled as

she turned around and took a step closer.

"That's right. We're here. Don't get too comfortable, we're

leaving in the morning."

Stepping back, he unhooked the safety and slowly lowered

the loading ramp to the ground. Angel moved to the edge of

the stable box, and he snapped the end of the lead beneath

her chin. He gave her an encouraging tug, and she took a

tentative step out. Her ears pricked, she lifted her head and

let out a long snort. Then, with more purpose, she descended

into the snow.

From the open doorway, Jesse watched as Clint led a

breathtaking mare her way. A wide white blaze ran between

dark eyes and curled over one nostril. Neatly clipped, her

short black mane grazed a muscular neck. Tall and sleek,

despite the oversized belly that gave her an ambling gait, she

carried herself with regal grace.

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"She's beautiful." Stepping aside to let them pass, Jesse

took in the mare's dark, shiny coat. If not for the reddish hint

that glinted in the dim light, she'd have sworn the mare was

pitch black.

"Thanks," Clint murmured. "Where to?"

"Over there." Jesse swept her arm sideways indicating the

old, dust-covered stall. "It's not much, but it's warm and dry."

He escorted his horse through the half-door and secured

her to a thick post. "I've got some shavings in the trailer. It

won't take long to get her settled in, then I'll get out of your

hair."

She blinked. "Don't be silly. You're not in my hair, Clint."

Halfway to the door, he paused and gave her a long look.

Under the scrutiny of his warm amber gaze, a flush crept

through her body. She crossed her arms protectively, feeling

at once exposed and at the same time, strangely pleased.

A frown tugged his eyebrows together, and he opened his

mouth to say something. Thinking better of it, he closed it

and disappeared out the door. In a few seconds, he

reappeared toting a vacuum-sealed bale of pine shavings.

He entered the stall, took out a pocketknife, and sliced the

bag open. He dumped it in the corner, creating a fragrant

mound. Still without speaking, he returned outside,

presumably for another.

Jesse jumped to action. She wouldn't stand by and let Clint

do all the work when it was twenty degrees out. She hurried

after him, catching up as he stepped out of the trailer's tack

room toting another bag of shavings. "I'll take that." Before

he could argue, she snatched it out of his hands.

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"Hey," he protested.

She tossed him a wink and grinned. "I'm not helpless."

"Yeah, but—"

"But what? C'mon, it'll go faster with two, then you can

come inside and warm up with some coffee. Say hello to

Ethan."

She didn't give him a chance to protest. With a hefty yank,

she dragged the bag toward the barn and dumped it beside

the first pile. Six piles later, she joined Clint in flattening the

shavings with the side of her boot. Then, she left the stall and

leaned on the rough plank wall.

Clint approached his mare with a faint smile. He stroked

the side of her neck, her shoulder, her expansive belly, and

Jesse stared, transfixed. In all the years she'd known Clint,

she'd never seen such compassion. Such respect. He moved

around the mare, murmuring in a voice so low she couldn't

make out the words. But the expression on his face left no

doubt about what he said. Praises. Little whispers of affection.

When he bent forward and pressed a kiss to her velvety

nose, Jesse's heart lurched. She'd listened to him babble

about the race horses he'd worked with that long ago summer

at The Woodlands. Back then, she'd known he loved his job,

but she'd never fully grasped what took him away from

Kansas City to Kentucky. Now, watching him, a little bubble of

pride burst deep inside her soul. He'd gone after his dream.

He was good with this horse. Damn good. And his love for his

mare was unmistakable.

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He stepped away from the horse, her halter in hand, and

joined Jesse at the stall's rail. Elbows propped over the top,

he leaned forward and watched his horse.

"She's really pretty," Jesse whispered.

"She's my future, Jesse. Everything's riding on that foal."

"How so?" Jesse tipped her head up to look at him. She

took in the firm line of his strong jaw, his high-set

cheekbones, the way his hair dusted the top of his ears. The

shadows intensified the hint of whiskers on his chin, and she

curled her fingers into her gloves, resisting the urge to run

her knuckle over the stubble.

"I had some bad luck the last several years. So, I changed

my tactics. I've still got good runners back home, but this

one..." He nodded to the horse in reference. "I dumped all my

savings into her and this foal. Pray that baby doesn't make an

appearance before New Year's."

Giving him a quizzical look, Jesse asked, "Why?"

"The Jockey Club ages Thoroughbreds on January first of

every year. They compete, among other restrictions, by age.

It will be a yearling come January first, which means that foal