MILLIONAIRE'S SHOT: Second Chance Romance Read online

  Millionaire’s Shot

  by

  Bev Pettersen

  She vowed never to return.

  He swore he’d never ask her.

  Copyright © 2016 Bev Pettersen

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-987835-07-6

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or a portion thereof, in any form except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  This is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, horses or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Editor: Pat Thomas

  Cover Art Design: Vivi Designs

  Formatting: L.K. Campbell

  http://www.BevPettersen.com

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  Author’s Note

  OTHER BOOKS BY BEV PETTERSEN

  About The Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alex Sutherland despised polo almost as much as he despised his ex-wife. It hadn’t always been that way. Once, the crack of the mallet and the beat of pounding hooves had filled him with adrenaline. Now he was immune to the festive atmosphere, so weary of hiding his contempt for Rachel that his mouth seemed to have permanently tightened.

  “Oh, no!” His daughter, Grace, tugged at his arm, her troubled eyes peering up at him. “Mom missed the ball again. She’s going to be so mad.”

  He gave her a reassuring smile, subtly waving away a black-tied waiter who hovered with a tray of champagne. “No, she won’t, sweetie,” he said. “It’s just a game.”

  “But she hates to lose,” Grace said. “And she just switched horses and it hasn’t made a bit of difference. She’s barely touched the ball.”

  He glanced across the polo field. Rachel was chasing the rolling ball, legs and arms pumping as she spurred her bay mare. But she was also yanking on the reins, as if intimidated by the speed. The mare jammed her nose in the air, confused by the conflicting signals. However, she still tried to follow the ball, valiantly attempting to do her job. All Rachel’s polo ponies were well trained—his money made sure of that—but this mare was different from Rachel’s usual mounts. Faster, quicker, more spirited…and clearly accustomed to a higher caliber of rider.

  “That’s a nice mare,” he said, hoping to switch the subject and ease Grace’s concern about Rachel’s truly volatile temper. He didn’t remember seeing any new horse invoices cross his desk, but his apathy toward his ex-wife had hit an all-time high. “Did your mother buy a new polo pony?”

  He glanced back down. Grace adored all the animals and insisted on helping in the barn, as if that somehow might put her in Rachel’s good graces. Unfortunately, in nine years, that still hadn’t happened. Rachel had the mothering instincts of a hamster.

  “She hasn’t bought the horse yet,” Grace said. “She’s trying her out. Santiago said the mare was brilliant so Mom wanted to ride her in the big game today.”

  Alex suppressed a grimace. Naturally Rachel would insist on riding any pony Santiago liked. As patron of the team, she had that power. However, Argentina supplied the best horses and polo players in the world, and while the mare might perform beautifully for Santiago, she was clearly too explosive for an amateur. The mare simply exposed a poor rider’s faults, something Rachel would hate. Especially at an invitational match designed to flaunt her talented team.

  A spectator behind him gasped, and he glanced back across the field. The agile mare had twisted after the ball, leaving Rachel clinging to the horse’s neck. Santiago reached out and tugged Rachel back into the saddle, hiding the rescue maneuver by giving his mallet a jaunty twirl.

  Alex checked the scoreboard, just wishing this fiasco would end. The Sutherland team was well ahead on goals but Rachel was having a poor game. Her three teammates were clearly trying to set her up to score—she paid generous bonuses for that—but the mare she rode was anticipating the play long before Rachel was ready. And the result was ugly.

  It was never good to be over-mounted, even if one could afford the best. But Santiago couldn’t control her. Rachel was always grasping, never satisfied unless she was the center of attention. Well, she’d certainly achieved that status today, judging by the snickers drifting from the sidelines. No one in the restricted clubhouse area would dare laugh, not in his presence, but the rowdy spectators in the tailgate section were much more blunt. And honest.

  “That’s a wild horse,” the President of the Ponhook Polo Club announced, his voice deliberately loud. “Impossible for any rider when the mount is clearly unsuitable.” A cluster of Club members murmured agreement and soon everyone was blaming a badly trained pony for Rachel’s poor performance.

  Alex’s mouth tightened. It wasn’t the horse’s fault. But he followed a strict policy of never criticizing Rachel in front of their daughter, or anyone else. Grace deserved two parents in her life. And she needed them to be civil, no matter how difficult.

  “It’s a good thing this chukka is almost over,” Grace said, “and Mom can switch horses. Maybe she’ll get a goal before the end of the game. That would make her feel better. But I’d like to drive home with you tonight…if that’s okay?”

  “Of course,” he said. He might have to placate Rachel with a new polo pony but paying her off had proven the easiest way to buffer Grace. And it was a price he was happy to pay. “I’ll talk to her after the match,” he said. “Let her know you’ll be with me. She can join us later for dinner if she wants.”

  “She won’t,” Grace said. “She’d rather us all eat at the Club. That’s why I had to wear this.” She smoothed a self-conscious hand over the front of her dress, a frothy thing of pink and white that seemed rather garish for a nine-year-old.

  “But I really don’t want to go to the reception.” Her voice was low and hesitant, as if watching his reaction. “Do you?”

  “Not one bit.” He resisted the impulse to scoop her up and escape the fawning people clustered around them. But lately she considered his hugs embarrassing, at least in public
. “We better let your mom know we won’t be staying,” he added.

  “She won’t care what I do,” Grace said, and the sad truth to her words tugged at his heart. “She just wants you around.”

  “She’d prefer we both be there,” he said. “But polo is her hobby. It doesn’t have to be ours.”

  “Well, I like polo a lot, just like Mom,” Grace said quickly. “We like a lot of the same things. But I really don’t want to go to the reception.”

  “Then we won’t go,” he said.

  She tugged at her lower lip, the way she always did when she was agonizing over the best way to please.

  “We’ll make some people very happy by giving them our tickets,” he added. “It would be a nice thing to do.”

  Her face brightened. “Then that means we can leave right now. And I can change out of this dress and go to the barn and check on the kittens. And I’ll still be able to help with the horses when the grooms bring them home.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll have the cook make us something.”

  “I’d rather have pizza and eat in the barn,” she said. “Then we won’t miss the horses when they arrive. And we can play with the kittens while we’re waiting… But only if that’s what you want.” She gave a little shrug, as if it didn’t really matter. She hated drawing attention to herself and always tried too hard to please. However, she was more excited now than she’d been during the whole afternoon at the ritzy club. And he lived for these moments.

  “That’s exactly what I want too,” he said. “Pizza, horses and my favorite girl. My idea of the perfect Saturday night.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Are you sure the doctor said the polo game was okay?” Cassie’s hands tightened around the steering wheel and she shot another concerned look at her grandfather.

  He leaned forward in the cab of the truck, face pale but eyes sparkling with anticipation. His expression reminded her of the vigorous man he’d been before his heart attack. And anything that took away his recent despondency must be good. Still, he wasn’t supposed to get too excited.

  “I’m not going into the Club,” he said. “We’ll just watch the mare from the sidelines. And I’m not talking business there, I promise.”

  She gave a cautious nod. Her grandfather had been a trainer and horse broker his entire life, but she’d rarely seen him this excited about a pending deal. Of course, most of the horses he sold didn’t cost fifty grand. She’d been putting aside a portion of her paycheck to help with her grandfather’s retirement but it wasn’t nearly enough. This sale to the collegiate team would be a godsend.

  Maybe his lifetime of honesty and hard work would finally be rewarded. Usually his investment in a horse’s care ate up most of the profits. He was a wizard at finding horses with potential and then following up with appropriate training. Had built a reputation for being able to turn around dangerous animals, and more importantly, matching them with suitable riders. But his generous nature left him vulnerable to buyers who couldn’t afford his asking price. If he thought they’d give the horse a good home, he always lowered the price and made the deal happen.

  His work had let her enjoy a dream childhood. They didn’t have the land or money of her wealthy neighbors but she always had a variety of horses to ride. Both she and Alex had relished her grandfather’s training insights.

  Alex. Her grandfather hadn’t mentioned the Sutherland name yet. Nor had she. But if Gramps had been training polo ponies before his heart attack, he must have needed a place to gallop. “Do you still ride in that big field on the other side of your property?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.

  “The south field? Of course. It’s big and flat, and the horses need a place to run.”

  That big beautiful field was owned by the Sutherlands, and she was rather surprised Rachel still let her grandfather ride there. But Gramps said nothing more. He was peering over the dash, busy surveying the cramped lot of the polo club.

  Clearly he’d forgotten her old relationship with Alex Sutherland. Or perhaps he’d never noticed the month that her friendship with Alex had shifted to something far different.

  “Drive around to the field side,” Gramps said, jabbing his thumb to the left. “By the tailgaters. There are good people over there. And we can sit on the grass and be close to the action.”

  She pulled her thoughts back to safer ground and swung his truck onto the road adjacent to the playing field. Thankfully they weren’t dressed for the clubhouse. Besides, it would hurt too much to set foot in there. She wouldn’t be here at all except her grandfather had insisted on watching his mare’s tryout game. And she wanted to spend every precious minute with him. Even though he was only sixty-eight, his heart attack last month emphasized that he wouldn’t be around forever.

  But her throat thickened at the sight of the sprawling polo field. She’d cherished this place almost as much as she loved her grandfather’s little farm. She’d known every roll and dip of that field: how the ground was soft at the north end, the exact angle the ball would ricochet off the wooden boards…and how Alex always grinned and tapped her helmet when she made a good play.

  Swallowing, she glanced across the field at the clubhouse. The Club had definitely prospered in her absence. A swanky deck and awning had been added, and white tablecloths and women wearing colorful sundresses gave an air of festivity. Everyone was smiling and holding champagne flutes, and a few people were even watching the game.

  She jerked her head away, concentrating on navigating the narrow road that skirted the opposite side of the field. The playing area was the size of nine football fields —plenty of distance between her and the clubhouse. Even if he were here, it was unlikely she’d see him.

  She squeezed the truck between a shiny pickup and a rusted sedan, breathing much easier on this side of the field. The brilliant canopy still gleamed beneath the sun but now all the clubhouse faces were an indistinguishable blur. Which meant nobody would be able to see her either. Perfect. The tightness in her shoulders eased and she turned off the engine.

  “You’re going to be impressed by this mare,” her grandfather said, focused on his horse. He pushed open the door and scrambled to the ground before she could help. “Santiago has a six-goal handicap,” Gramps went on. “He’s a playing pro but is also advisor to the collegiate team. He’s the one who recommended they check out my horses. Everyone in Virginia listens to him.”

  “I’m surprised he’s riding at our club,” she said. “At the Ponhook Club,” she corrected. This was no longer her club or her home. Nor did she want it to be. She was quite content living in California.

  “He has a sweet deal,” Gramps said. “Rachel Sutherland assembled a dream team.” He paused, looking rather puzzled. “She must pay ungodly amounts for Santiago to put up with her.”

  Cassie fought a swell of satisfaction. Rachel may have snared Alex but it seemed his money hadn’t made her any more likeable. As patron of a team, she could stack it with top players…and then insist on riding with them. But that meant Rachel and Alex were both here, and her throat thickened again.

  “I’m hoping my mare will win Best Playing Pony,” her grandfather went on, oblivious to her turmoil. “That would cinch the college deal. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to show off a horse in a real game. Not since you left.”

  Not since you left. Those words always twisted a knife in her heart, and seemed to be the dividing point for everything in their lives. She reached behind the seat, fumbling for the blanket and binoculars, craving news of Alex—yet conversely dreading it.

  Besides, this visit was all about helping Gramps prepare for retirement, and if he wanted to talk about the Sutherlands, she no longer intended to change the subject. That family had ruled supreme here for generations and had always been an integral part of the horse community. And Gramps didn’t only have Ginger to sell. He had three more polo ponies back in the barn that urgently needed buyers.

  His heart attack proved it was time
to slow down. Training and selling horses was stressful, especially when cash was a constant struggle. She’d been home less than a week and found his pallor frightening, so different from the tanned and youthful man who’d raised her. Of course, his decline had probably been gradual. She just hadn’t been around to notice.

  She locked the truck and followed him to an empty space on the sidelines. She was home now, and able to help. Selling his four polo ponies would be a huge boost for his retirement. And if they needed the Sutherlands to make that sale happen, so be it.

  She spread the blanket on the grass, checking the score while she waited for him to sit. The original board remained, along with the traditional way of keeping score by hand. But the familiar scoreboard was now shadowed by a massive digital display. Numbers showed not only the goals but the time remaining in the game as well as the temperature and humidity. Bold letters on the bottom proclaimed: ‘Sponsored by Rachel Sutherland.’

  Cassie jerked her head away, determined to concentrate on her grandfather’s excited commentary. And maybe even enjoy the game.

  “It’s the third chukka,” Gramps was saying. “So we’re here in plenty of time. Santiago said he’ll ride Ginger last.”

  She nodded. Here, the polo matches were divided into six timed periods, each called a chukka. Riders generally used four to six horses, switching after each seven-minute chukka. It was a relief they didn’t have to watch the entire game. It would be fun to see her grandfather’s mare in action, but she didn’t want to be stuck watching Alex and Rachel pass the ball back and forth. Didn’t want to see their hand slaps, the team toast, their intimate hugs.

  Even after nine years she felt edgy, the fluttery feeling in her stomach refusing to go away. She was no longer a local and this was Sutherland territory. The sooner she could help her grandfather sell his polo ponies and leave, the better it would be.

  But this time she was determined to take Gramps with her. She couldn’t bear to leave him again. Besides, it wasn’t as if she were asking him to give up his life with horses. She understood and shared that passion. Her boss had already promised to find him a low-stress job, a spot where he could ride and train when his health allowed. It would all work out beautifully.