Unforgettable: A Loveswept Classic Romance (11 page)

Two weeks ago a slight hitch had developed in the negotiations between the current owners of a gambling resort in the Caymans and the cartel he’d put together to buy them out. Their respective lawyers could have easily worked it out, but he’d latched onto it like a hungry shark and taken the first plane out of Philadelphia. And he’d been on the road ever since, visiting all his current and prospective ventures, and drumming up more investors for more cartels. He thought he was in Idaho now, but he couldn’t be sure. The days had blurred into jumbo jets and conference rooms. He did know the paperwork he’d just been reading involved a ski resort somewhere in the Rockies.

A wry smile touched his lips. Business was in great shape, but he wasn’t. Being latitudes and weeks away from Anne was hardly the cure he’d hoped for. His sleepless nights in his damned empty bed attested to that. There was no denying he wanted her more than ever. She’d been an ideal once. Now she was an obsession. Being away from her hadn’t suppressed the urges to act on that obsession. If anything, they were worse, disrupting him at every turn. So far he had resisted the urge to call and see about Battle Cry. He was sure the horse was enjoying his retirement with great enthusiasm. Truthfully, though, the last
thing he wanted to do was talk about sex, even horse sex, with Anne. That was a torture he wouldn’t survive.

One of the notions that had started going around and around in his head surfaced again. He frowned, wondering if he really ought to examine it. Ignoring it wasn’t giving him any peace.

Could it be that he was still being victimized by his past years of low self-esteem? Most dyslexics did suffer that, he knew. It might be he wasn’t giving Anne enough credit. She had never shown signs of snobbery, social or physical. She had a son who wore a hearing aid. Philip was a good kid, well-adjusted and responsible, and Anne was a big factor in his shaping. If she wasn’t supportive, it would show in the boy, he was sure. Would that support transfer to an adult?

He rocked his head from side to side. He didn’t know. He didn’t know if he was crazy. He didn’t know if he could take a chance. He was too old to ride an emotional whirlwind to a bitter ending. He doubted he would ever be prepared for that. He felt so tired, weary of fighting his impulses, fighting himself.

And yet he wondered …

The telephone rang, startling him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The room seemed darker than before. He glanced at his watch and realized that somewhere in the midst of his thoughts he’d actually dozed off.

“Maybe I ought to take that as a sign,” he muttered, reaching for the phone. “Hello?”

“You better stop traipsing all over the place, young man, and get yourself home.”

The imperious tone was suspiciously familiar, and James asked, “Lettice? Is that you?”

“It’s not the Queen of England,” Lettice snapped. “It took me four hours to track you down there in Idaho.”

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, her words about his having to come home finally penetrating his brain.

“Battle Cry. There’s something wrong with him. Anne needs your help.”

Everything clicked into place for him at the thought of her needing him. Why she was an obsession, why he would never be able to accept a rejection from her, why he had never been able to truly excise her from his mind. Why he
needed
her so badly. He was in love with her! And now she needed him—for help with the horse. The idea of a problem with that beautiful gift of nature made his stomach churn. Whatever it was, he’d see it through no matter the time or cost. He’d see it through with Anne. And maybe when that was resolved she’d need him for other reasons. Maybe it was time to stop avoiding the problem of Annie Kitteridge and face her head on.

“I’m on my way.”

He slammed the receiver down before Lettice could say another word.

“All right, bring her in. Steady now.”

Anne stood by the entrance of the breeding shed as the men, using calm movements and gentle voices, urged the mare into the stable. With her all-brown coat and black mane and tail, she looked like fifty others at the farm. But she was different, very different.

Curtis came out of the small barn. “Jezebel’s Pride is ready. I’m going over now for Battle Cry.”

“Fine,” Anne replied through gritted teeth. Her stomach was already a knot of anxiety.

“It’s probably a wasted effort,” Curtis said gloomily. “His first seven mares didn’t take—”

“Do it.”

He nodded and walked toward the stallion barn.

Anne turned and stared inside the breeding shed. It was ironic that she had seen horses mating on only two occasions, and they had been by accident. The breeding crew were all men, and she had made it clear from the beginning that she would not make them uncomfortable by helping
with the actual mating. She had earned their respect with that action. She allowed herself a brief smile. Truthfully, as the only female in the proceedings baring the mare, she would be just as uncomfortable as they.

But this time she had good reason to stay, and the man moving quietly around the shed knew it. A problem had shown up with Battle Cry. A disaster. The farm’s reputation was riding on that horse. Her belly lurched ominously at the thought.

Anne focused on Jezebel’s Pride. Having been one of the farm’s original mares, Jezzy was an old hand at this. She was already munching on the contents of the hay crib. Dr. Adamson, the veterinarian Anne used, sat on several bales of hay, a much more clinical witness to the spectacle about to take place. She was hoping against hope that they were all doing something wrong and the doctor would spot it. A simple explanation for why every one of Battle Cry’s mares was
not
pregnant was hardly likely, but still …

She had to get this solved as quickly and as quietly as possible. Although she’d admonished all her people not to talk about the problem, she was terrified it would get out. She’d been over the paperwork, and Battle Cry’s initial fertility tests showed a horse with the “right stuff.” He hadn’t refused one mare so far, so why he couldn’t perform …? She groaned, thinking of James. She didn’t want to tell him. And the way things had been left between them, she was now feeling more of a failure than ever. She hadn’t been able even to take good care of his horse!

The clatter of hooves drew her attention, and she turned back around. Battle Cry literally gleamed with health. Sick at heart, she watched the horse
prancing and whinnying in eagerness, clearly scenting the mare nearby. He fought the rope clipped to his head collar, but Curtis was too experienced to allow a randy horse to run amok.

Anne followed the horse until she stood just inside the shed’s entrance. Battle Cry was brought to Jezebel’s Pride, and the next minutes were filled with a savage splendor and tender domination that only nature could create. In the aftermath Battle Cry stood sweating and shaking, while Jezzy calmly went back to munching hay.

“Well, that wasn’t it,” Anne muttered to herself, feeling as shaken as the stallion.

The animal had acquitted himself admirably. In fact, as she’d watched his vigorous thrusting, she had found herself wondering about his owner. Would James treat a woman with overwhelming passion and gentleness? Would he move so deftly inside her? Would the human version with him exceed the equine’s?

Anne pushed away the lingering sensations she had experienced while watching the animals. James had bluntly told her there would never be a time or place. She ought to be worrying instead about his horse.

“All his reactions are quite normal,” Dr. Adamson said, coming up to her after his examination.

She nodded. There was nothing she could say.

They began to walk back to the house as he added, “In fact, that was a textbook case of mating if I ever saw one. And I’ve seen a few in my time. At least there’s no sign of sexual dysfunction …”

Anne listened as the doctor droned on about Battle Cry’s performance. So much for her prayer that the stallion was as green as a newborn foal
on the subject of sex. Unfortunately, he’d caught on early. Probably the same as his owner, she thought with silent sarcasm.

“… and I sent the samples you gave me to the lab the other day. We ought to have the initial fertility testing results back anytime.” He shrugged. “Although it’s unlikely, it is possible his original test results are inaccurate. It’s more probable that whatever’s wrong is subtle. Don’t worry, Anne, we’ll get it fixed.”

She sighed. “If it’s fixable.”

He patted her shoulder in commiseration. “Have you told his owner?”

“Not yet. I want to be able to tell him exactly what’s wrong when I do.”

“Smart thinking. It could be anything, even the change in environment that’s affecting him. No sense upsetting …”

“Mr. Farraday,” she supplied when the doctor paused.

“Mr. Farraday before you have to.”

Good advice, Anne thought. But when they came in sight of the house she realized the doctor’s advice was a moot point. James’s car was parked in the driveway.

“I better get moving on,” Dr. Adamson said. “I have to go over to the Radissons’ place. They have a horse with a hot hoof that refuses to heal.”

Anne nodded. She supposed she ought to face James alone. It was a punishment she deserved. Her motives for taking Battle Cry hadn’t been as pure as the driven snow. That snow had had a lot of dirt behind it, and she knew it. Her attempted trick with Lollipop’s Rainbow was now coming home to roost—with an ironic vengeance.

After seeing the doctor off, she trudged up the
portico steps and into the house. She hung her jacket on the coatrack and slipped off her boots, leaving them on the rubber mat by the front door. Voices were coming from the living room, and she took a deep breath before pulling open the old-fashioned oak double doors. Lettice was seated on the sofa while James was standing by the tall, narrow window.

“Look who’s back, dear,” Lettice said with a knowing smile. “I was just telling James how much
we
missed him.”

“Thank you, Grandmother,” Anne said, keeping her gaze on the older woman. Her one look at James, in his chambray shirt and pleated wool trousers, had caused her blood to throb in her veins. “Will you excuse us? I need to talk to James alone in my office.”

The room went quiet, a little too quiet. In the frozen silence Anne realized that this wasn’t just a social call on James’s part. He knew. And Lettice was her number-one suspect on the blabbermouth list of the month.

James strode briskly across the room and out into the hallway without a word. He didn’t look at her as he passed. She wished a hole would open in the floor and blessedly swallow her into oblivion. Anything was better than this.

“Thanks a lot, Grandmother,” she whispered fiercely.

“Well, you were sitting on your fanny
not
calling him,” Lettice snapped back. “I had—”

Anne closed the doors on the rest of Lettice’s words. Something about the room bothered her, as if there were one too many tables. But the notion was silly; she knew how many tables she owned. Probably it was nerves. She put the “extra”
table question out of her mind and tried to gather the right words to deal with James. None came.

When she reached her office, she found him standing by her bookshelves, looking at the titles. The books were a mix of breeders’ information, classics, cookbooks, horror, mystery, and romances. She lifted her chin. She liked what she liked and she wouldn’t apologize for it. She just wished he hadn’t seen the romances. They revealed a little more about herself than she wanted him to know.

He set her copy of a recent best seller back on the shelf and turned to her. “What’s wrong with my horse?”

At least the man didn’t dither, she thought. She walked behind her cherrywood desk, seeking protection. Gathering calm words, she said, “He’s not … performing the way we all hoped, James.”

“Is he gay?”

She blinked.

“He is, isn’t he?” He paced the room. “It figures. I buy the biggest horse in five decades, and the damn thing would rather have a purse and high heels—”

“No! No!” Anne started giggling. She couldn’t help it, with the vision he was creating. “Horses don’t have homosexual tendencies. Battle Cry is not gay.” She remembered the breeding shed. “Definitely not gay.”

“Then what is he?”

James’s green eyes were practically boring into hers. His jaw was tight with frustration, and his smile was nonexistent. He looked sexier than ever. The topic of conversation was having its usual effect, and her thighs were tightening slowly with the pull of attraction. Her skin was sensitized,
almost irritated with the weight of her clothes. It wasn’t fair that he could elicit this kind of response from her—especially when she needed all her wits about her.

She cleared her throat and tried to bring herself under control. “He’s … well, none of the first mares he’s been with have become pregnant. They’ve all gone back into season again. I told you before, it’s not unusual for one or two not to take. But every one so far … that just doesn’t happen unless there’s a fertility problem.”

James looked stricken. “You mean he’s shooting blanks!”

Anne found herself giggling nervously again. She also nodded in agreement.

“But that’s impossible!” he exclaimed, staring at her. “He’s been tested, and he came out fine.”

“I know. It’s practically impossible for his original tests to be wrong, but I’m having him re-tested just the same. I’ve had him examined by our vet, and he’s in good general health. The vet feels, and so do I, that the sterility is temporary. Just the change in environment can affect a horse. If these tests come back fine, then we’ll have more subtle testing done as an added precaution.” She looked down at the cluttered desktop. “I’m sorry, James. This is my fault—”

“Your fault?”

Glancing up for a moment, she nodded. “Yes. I should have allowed more time for his adjustment.”

“Anne.” He came over to the desk. “I was here every day, remember? That horse was as happy in your pastures as Lettice is with a new charity. I saw that myself.”

She took a deep breath. “Our breeding schedule might be too … vigorous for him. After all, he’s unproven—”