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Jake considered peeling off his jacket. Maybe he’d just open the collar to let some steam out. Moving what looked like soft white fluff was hard work, but it felt good. So far, they’d dug out the front porch and a wide swath around the SUV. Now Tara was headed around the side of the house, clearing a path the width of her blue plastic shovel.
Stuffing his wool cap into his pocket, he followed her, widening what she’d started and grinning at the cold zap of each snowflake as they landed on the back of his neck.
When she disappeared inside a large shed, he poked his head in and was glad to see a tractor fitted with a plow blade. “We going to use that for the driveway?”
“Once this stuff stops coming down. No point doing it twice. Now, at least we can get to the shed when we’re ready.” After carefully closing the door, she headed into the knee-deep snow between the house and the lake, and startled him by suddenly flinging out her arms and falling flat on her back, flailing her arms and legs while grinning like an idiot.
“What the hell?”
“I’m making an angel.”
“Okay...”
“You’ve never made one?”
“Uh, born and raised in California. Never stepped foot in anything like this until I was about twenty-five.” On a job he didn’t talk about.
She got up slowly, carefully, and turned to look at her handiwork. “See.” She pointed to the crater she’d made. “An angel.” Then with a laugh—no, a giggle, for God’s sake—she flopped backward in a new spot.
He watched her repeat the process half a dozen times, amazed by the transformation. The dark, angst-filled woman of last night was now playing like a child.
She grabbed him by the hand. “No one should go through life never having made a snow angel.” She dragged him to a wide, untouched area. “We’ll both fit here.” She flopped down. “Come on. Don’t be a wimp.”
Not much else he could do, so down he went, surprised when ultra-fine crystals puffed into the air, then came to life on his warm face.
She jumped up to stand at his feet and coach. “Now, arms up and down, and then do the same with your legs, back and forth, like jumping jacks.”
When she was satisfied with his efforts, she held out a hand and helped him up. “See?” She pointed. “Your very own angel.”
Something lightened inside of him. He took three giant steps away from her, spun, and threw himself down in a fresh spot. Her laughter was contagious and so was her sense of fun.
Laughing like kids, they kept making angels until they lay side by side, spent.
Jake glanced over at her and something stirred in his chest. He started to roll toward her, uncertain, yet eager, until their gazes met.
She tossed a handful of snow at him then jumped to her feet. “We’re soaked. I call dibs on the shower,” she said and she raced toward the house.
By the time Tara emerged from her room, Jake had built a roaring blaze in the fireplace and Charlie was sprawled on the hearth.
“No wonder you’re getting so fat, Charlie. You do nothing but laze about. Whatever happened to that mouse-hunting dynamo you used to be?”
Jake looked back and forth between them. “You don’t really expect him to answer, do you?”
“Of course not. But I did get his attention.”
And mine. “Mice? In the house?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Outside. He has a cat door in the cellar so he can come and go as he pleases. Food, water, unlimited access to the outdoors and he answers to no one. I envy him his lifestyle.”
“We have all of that right now.”
“True, but he has no meetings in big cities, no flights here and there, no schedules to fuss over.” She lifted her head and sniffed. “You made coffee?”
“I did.”
“Then I’ll pour.”
Jake sat quietly enjoying the flicker of the flames, the crackling of wood, and the company of a woman he still had no idea why he was attracted to. He’d enjoyed their day together, and then the easy camaraderie they’d shared while preparing and enjoying a simple supper together.
“Do you play chess?” he asked.
“Only the human kind,” she said thoughtfully, and her eyes darkened. “Get your notebook. I need to finish.”
Disappointed, and annoyed with the reality of why he was here, Jake gathered his things quickly and had barely sat back down before she started.
“Stallions. New industry standards, which include DNA testing, should be enough to keep things on the straight and narrow now, but there are leftover effects of the times before.”
He turned to a fresh page to make notes.
“Rumors, stories from twenty years ago, if true, could still be impacting the industry. I’ll tell you one of them, so you can understand the history. Use it to consider other avenues of deceit.”
An odd, but interesting statement, he thought.
“One breeding farm out west had three stallions standing at stud. Two were plain brown, and the other—with the best pedigree, race record, and the highest stud fee—was a chestnut. A detail here that’s important is that chestnut is a genetically recessive color. Therefore, if you breed a chestnut to a chestnut, you will always get another chestnut.”
She seemed to be waiting for him to respond, so he nodded.
“Similar then to blue eyes in people. Two blue-eyed parents means any kids they have will be blue-eyed.”
“Yes. Apparently, the chestnut horse had trouble settling his mares—that means getting them pregnant. But oddly enough, the only mares he wasn’t able to produce foals with were chestnuts. Stories started to swirl then and horsemen speculated that the mares that did have foals were actually being bred to other stallions. Does that make sense?”
He thought so but went for clarification anyway. “In a nutshell, the stud managers could get away with breeding any mare but a chestnut to the other stallions, right?”
“Yes.”
“But if they took a chance and bred a chestnut to one of the others, there was more than a fifty percent chance the foal would be born a different color than chestnut, so they’d be busted.”
“Exactly. And to add to the speculation, many of the foals registered as his, but from other-colored mares, grew up to look amazingly like the other stallions on the farm. It appeared that mares were being bred to the lesser stallions, while the breeders charged the bigger stud fee for the chestnut.”
She shifted in the chair. “We also still have horses out there who were born and registered before DNA testing was brought in, which only becomes an issue because of the possibility of inbreeding due to their true heritage being unknown. And the reason why Cinderella stories sometimes come with a side dish of suspicion.”
He held up one finger. “Cinderella stories?”
“A horse drastically outperforming his pedigree. Think about a couple of non-physical academics or brain surgeons producing a world-class athlete.”
He got that, which was good, because she wasn’t slowing down.
“Vedigan Way is a Cinderella. He sold for less than ten thousand dollars as a yearling because his mother had never won a race and his sire was a star at a little known track in the backwoods of nowhere. His grand dams and grand sires had equally dismal careers. Yet, he was a superstar and was syndicated for millions to go to the breeding shed.”
She crossed her arms. “What if, when they draw blood to set up the records for his career at stud, they discover his DNA doesn’t match his pedigree? What happens to the money that went into the syndicate? The people who’ve booked their mares for thousands of dollars? His insurance policies?” Her eyebrows rose, but when he was about to respond, she held up both hands.
“This is big money, Jake. And over the years, people trying to expose the dark side have died mysterious deaths or simply vanished. I’m sticking my neck out because it’s time the last of the bastards got caught, but by sharing all of this with you—even in the convoluted way I’ve chosen—I’ve put myself at risk. Do you understand why my name can never be associated with your case? Why I’m asking you to never have any kind of contact with me once you leave here?”
He nodded. “Your name will be protected. Meyers is good at—”
“Not good enough to protect me from—” her hesitation was infinitesimal— “from the kind of people you’re after. I need your word that after you leave here tomorrow, you’ll never contact me again. For any reason.”
No. Whatever the attraction, he wanted to explore it. Which would be a mistake. She was a hot body with a pretty face. Could be nothing more. He strode toward the wide windows and watched the steadily falling snowflakes. “I doubt the roads will be clear enough to leave tomorrow.”
“I thought you had an important meeting to go to.”
He spun to face her. “No meeting is worth getting stuck in a snow drift, and I’d like to spend more time with you. We had fun today, didn’t we?”
Tara’s heart double-thumped when his gaze locked onto hers. Did he really want to stay with her or did he just want more information? She’d panicked outside when she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Panicked because she’d wanted him to. Tension tracked up her spine and stiffened her shoulders until the discomfort made her move.
“Want some brandy?” she asked on her way to the kitchen. She needed something to help her relax. He didn’t answer, but she took two snifters and the bottle back to the living room. She just needed to mellow out and quit worrying about everything, about whether or not she could trust her own judgment.
She didn’t even know Jake. How could she be contemplating letting what was happening between them move to another level? It wasn’t who she was. She didn’t do sex with strangers. Not that he’d asked for sex, but if she let him kiss her, would she be able to stop what was happening inside her?
One night. What harm could come from allowing herself to forget everything for one lousy night? She splashed amber liquid into the glass, took one gulp, then another when the burn subsided. She leaned back against the couch.
The cushions sagged when he sat beside her. She absorbed his scent, and wouldn’t allow her inner voices to ruin the pure pleasure of his warmth, or distract her from the movement of his fingers on the snifter, his mouth on the rim, his throat while he swallowed.
But when he set his drink on the table, turned toward her and started to speak, she had to stop him. Terrified he’d ask a question she couldn’t answer, she shook her head then boldly put a finger to his lips.
“Don’t say anything, okay? Maybe we could just sit here for a bit.” She wished she had the guts to ask him for what she wanted, but how, when she didn’t know herself? Maybe just, keep me warm inside. She lay her head against his shoulder, and a hot fist of tears balled in her throat. Scared her. She never cried. Ever.
She took deep even breaths, fighting until she regained control, relaxing when his arms came around her and then, besides the gentle rise and fall of his chest under her cheek, nothing else mattered.
Until she awoke around midnight with Jake asleep beside her, looking innocent and unkempt.
It was cold in the room. He’d covered them with a blanket, but the fire needed tending before the coals cooled. She started to get up but his arms tightened, pulling her back against him.
“Where you going?” His sleep-roughened voice was sexy and his breath tickled the back of her neck, causing a delightful series of sensations to wash through her.
“Nowhere,” she answered, savoring the scrape of stubble. “Nowhere at all.” Still a bit sleepy, and with no thought of resisting the silent invitation, she turned so their mouths met. His moved slowly over hers as though asking for a response. Her lips parted, and suddenly it was as though her heart was climbing up the back of her throat. All she wanted was more.
Until fear and insecurity clawed its way between them like a cruel and possessive entity.
She needed to get away from him before she did something she couldn’t take back. It wouldn’t just be sex. It would be more because somehow, he’d made her feel, found a crack in the impenetrable wall she’d built around her heart—and how the hell had that happened? She pushed herself away from him.
“I can’t. I...” I can’t do this. Now. Ever. I can’t have this. I was wrong to think otherwise, to want...
“Just let me hold you.” His hands were gentle on her arms.
Too comfortable. She couldn’t trust herself. The voice in her head was refusing to let her heart have control any longer. Her ability to override her emotions was her strength. It was time to make a move. Get away from him. Withdraw from his warmth.
But what if, just this once...
No! Panic flashed.
She lurched away. From him, the couch, the room, the whole painful situation, bolting for her own room. As though driven, she ran straight to the sliding door, jerked it open, and raced to the safety of the outdoors.
Black spots and bright flashes of light pounded in her head, obliterating the landscape while she gasped for breath.
Stop it. Do not pass out. Focus.
The lake was still there. The boathouse hadn’t moved. The sky had cleared, and the moon hung quietly above. Nothing had changed.
But me, she thought as her gaze tracked over dozens of snow angels. She was feeling things she wasn’t supposed to. She couldn’t let this man, or anyone else, into her heart. She’d shattered once, so completely she didn’t dare risk a second time, couldn’t allow herself to be changed.
Again.
Forever. The squeezing pain in her chest dropped her to her knees and for the first time in many, many years, something cracked open inside of her. Exposing her inner fears, her needs, her terror...
And she wept. Cried for the child she’d been, for the innocence she’d lost, for the woman she could never be, and for the mother she couldn’t turn to for understanding.
Too long she’d stood strong and dependable. Reliably unemotional.
At a cost to who she was deep inside.