Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash Read online

  “I’ll be back in a few hours with some pain pills, okay.” He paused, trying to think what she might need. “Maybe some chicken soup?”

  “That would be nice,” she whispered, her voice scratchy. “Did your mom give you chicken soup when you were sick?”

  “My mother wasn’t the type to make soup.”

  “We were lucky.” She gave a wan smile. “My mom made us chicken soup when we were sick.”

  “Then you were very lucky.” He reached out and awkwardly patted her hair. “Don’t worry about anything. Try to sleep, and I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for trying to feel me up?”

  “I was not. I told you…”

  But she closed her eyes, her lips tilted in a teasing smile, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pain jerked Jenna from a muddle of disjointed dreams. She sat up, struggling against the sheet that was tucked so tightly it felt like a straitjacket. Her hand and arm throbbed, a sharp knifing pain that made her stomach roil and left her cursing.

  Terry had promised the tea was hot, made just the way she liked it. Heck. She should have been more careful. Had never expected the door to swing open so violently. At eight am, people were supposed to be rushing into the building, not out. If it had been anyone else but the owner, she would have chewed him off a strip.

  Clearly though, Burke felt bad. She figured the blame was fifty-fifty even though she’d never suggest it was even partially his fault. He already was very apologetic, a rare occurrence for a man such as him.

  She just had to figure a way to get through the next couple of weeks. Each massage would take twice as long—she’d only be able to use one hand—but since the Center was only accepting fancy clients now, the work shouldn’t be a problem. Lately, she only had three horses a day anyway, not counting the neighborhood animals on the weekend. They might be tough to look after but she didn’t want to disappoint anyone; some of them were planning to ride at the Stillwater Fair, part of the annual steeplechase festivities.

  And it would be a good incentive to strengthen her left hand. She’d always thought it would be helpful to be ambidextrous. Now was her chance to learn. If only it didn’t hurt quite so much.

  She eased from the bed, pausing to lean against the wall, briefly amazed that burn victims—real patients with third degree burns—could be so stoic. It was tempting to remove the bandage and check her skin, but she didn’t think she was prepared for the sight. Maybe tomorrow.

  The floor tilted as she staggered down the hall, and she dropped gratefully into a kitchen chair. They must have given her some powerful drugs. Her tongue was thick, her mouth cottony, and she craved a drink. But walking the five feet to the sink suddenly seemed like a marathon.

  She laid her head on the table, feeling weak, vulnerable and alone. Closed her eyes, trying to fight her exhaustion.

  “Jenna. You asleep?”

  She straightened, blinking, and was swept with an odd rush of relief at the sight of Burke. “Hi.” Her voice cracked and she tried again. “Hi.” The second time it sounded much better, not quite normal, but much better. “I must have fallen asleep,” she said.

  His arms were loaded and he dropped the bags on the kitchen table, his gaze on her face as he pulled out a case of water. He lifted a bottle, cracked open the top and moved to the cupboard. Found the glasses on the first try.

  He had a good memory, she noted, trying to sit straight and not slump. And she was perfectly fine. It would be no problem working tomorrow. She’d show him.

  “Here,” he said.

  She automatically reached for the water glass with her right hand then paused in dismay. He scowled and she switched to her left. “I got it, thanks,” she said and drank the entire glass.

  “Save room for soup,” he said, turning away.

  He was pissed about something and she squared her shoulders, wishing she had more energy. She should tell him it was all right to go but conversely didn’t want him to leave. Her hand burned, the pain escalating with each endless minute, and even though she rarely cried, her eyes felt oddly itchy.

  The smell of soup abruptly overpowered the hot airless kitchen, and her stomach lurched with nausea.

  He pressed a spoon in her left hand, his face dark and unsmiling. “Eat,” he snapped, shoving a plastic container in front of her.

  “I think maybe later,” she managed, trying not to breathe, trying to avert her nose from the steaming soup. God, the smell clogged her nose, her throat—she feared she’d vomit.

  “It’s five o’clock. You haven’t eaten since breakfast. Eat while it’s warm.”

  “I…” She shivered, fighting the overwhelming pain in her arm and the horrible feeling she might throw up. He looked angry. He’d obviously taken the time to send someone for groceries and he had driven her to the hospital and even though he was acting like a bully, she wanted to please. Her mother had probably felt this exact same way, every time her dad picked a fight.

  A tear pricked the corner of her eye. She tried to wipe at it, but her bandage was too bulky, and it slid down her cheek. Oh, God, he saw. She reached up with her left arm but was trembling too much—

  “Damn.” His face darkened and he turned and walked out, slamming the screen door behind him.

  She wiped at her face and rose, unsteadily. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, and then he was there again.

  “I’m sorry, honey. The doctor said to give you these pills. Here.” He twisted the cap off a vial and shook out some blue tablets. “Take two. Maybe even three.” He stuck them in her mouth and waved a bottle of water by her face. “Drink.”

  She was shivering so much that he missed her mouth. Water dribbled down her chin, but he brushed it away with a gentle knuckle.

  “I can do a much better job of taking care of you.” His voice roughened. “Really I can.” He scooped her up, his body so big and healthy and comforting, she just wanted to burrow close.

  And then they were on the bed and he’d pulled the sheet around them. “It’ll get better. I promise.” His breath was warm and minty on her forehead. “Those pills will kick in, probably about fifteen minutes. Not long.”

  They must have already kicked in because she felt much better. Her arm no longer throbbed with the same intensity. His hand splayed beneath her hair, rubbing the back of her neck. She hadn’t dropped her defenses in a long time but she liked his touch, the feel of his chest. Sighing, she closed her eyes and surrendered to a bone-deep exhaustion.

  ***

  Someone was talking and she cranked her eyes open. The room was dark. A fat moon gleamed yellow through the narrow window. Her arm hurt but not the excruciating pain from the morning, or had it been the afternoon? Details blurred. She remembered the doctor’s needle though, that wonderful needle and the rush of relief.

  Burke had been wonderful too, driving to the hospital, staying with her, giving her water…holding her. Her cheeks flamed, and she jerked her head sideways, checking her bed. Empty, thank God. He must be in the kitchen, talking on the phone.

  She rose and went to the bathroom. Struggled to brush her teeth and hair, awkward with one hand. Walked down the hall.

  He greeted her with a smile, his gaze scanning her arm, but he continued talking on his phone. “Okay. We’ll show them the facility. See what happens.” Cutting the connection, he uncoiled from the chair.

  “Pain pills first, I think,” he said. “Then how about some soup?”

  “Okay,” she said, oddly shy, even though this was her kitchen. “Wish I could have another needle like the one the hospital gave. But really, I’m feeling much better now. Thanks…for everything.”

  He passed her two blue tablets and a bottle of water, his expression inscrutable. She couldn’t imagine paying good money for bottled water—their tap water was fine and actually tasted better—but she obediently drank and swallowed the pills.

  Her stomach lurched and she realized she was hungry. Peanut would be too. She twisted, peering o
ut the kitchen window at the dark kennel. Her pony was probably wondering where she was. He’d been loose for an hour of grass early this morning but his supper was definitely late.

  “I let the pony out,” Burke said. “He’s eating grass now.”

  “Oh.” She turned in surprise. “That was sweet of you.”

  “Remember how sweet I am after I beat you in poker.” He pressed the microwave buttons. “You can eat the soup outside.”

  She realized what he was doing half an hour later, when he kept insisting she flex her fingers over the cards. “But that hurts,” she said. “I’ll just use my good hand.”

  “You will not. And keep wiggling those fingers. They need the exercise.”

  She huffed and muttered and complained but then won the next two hands and was so delighted she forgot she was playing under protest. “I won all the water,” she said. “What else can we play for? I know you’re secretly angling for Peanut, but he’s off limits.”

  Burke gave a mock shudder then grinned, not his lip twitch but a nice smile, the kind that made her heart flutter. “We’ll play for questions and answers. Honest answers.”

  “Okay.” She leaned forward, concentrating on her cards, determined not to be distracted. She’d love the opportunity to question him and so far, was feeling rather lucky. After that, maybe the stakes could be pumped up to some real money. Burke sometimes made rash card moves, and it would be easy to capitalize.

  The first hand was a cinch and she leaned back, studying him thoughtfully. She already knew he had an engineering degree as well as a masters in business management, but when she saw him like this, relaxed and smiling, he seemed to have unknown depths. “If you could do anything with your life, anything at all, what would you like to do?” she asked.

  “Build my own house.”

  Shit. She’d wasted her question. That answer had been obvious, considering all the time he spent working on the construction site. “That’s not what I meant to ask.”

  He raised an amused eyebrow. “Too late. Deal and use your right hand.”

  She sniffed but dealt the cards, only fumbling two that he politely ignored. It appeared she had the next hand safely won and she was already preparing a good question, but he got lucky with two aces.

  “What do you want?” He pushed her water glass closer, his dark eyes enigmatic.

  “Is that your question?” she asked. “Because that’s almost the same as my first one and in this version of the game, repeats aren’t allowed.” She’d already learned he was a marshmallow about letting her make up ridiculous rules.

  “Maybe you just don’t know the answer.” His watchful gaze didn’t leave her face. “Everyone should know what they want.”

  “Certainly, I know the answer.” She wiggled in the swing, trying to get more comfortable. “But there’re a number of things I want, and then it would be more than one question.” She wanted Emily to earn her degree, wanted Peanut to get better and she wanted to be able to help animals stay healthy.

  “Come on,” he said. “Don’t think. Just say the first thing that jumps into your head.”

  I don’t want to be like my mother. She jerked forward, her bandaged hand slamming the water glass. Pain seared. Water spilled over the table, drenching her thigh. Burke snagged her upturned glass, his eyes narrowing on her gritted teeth. “Maybe that’s enough for one night,” he said. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  “Not necessary.” She picked up the soggy cards, trying to save them before they were ruined. “I’ll see you at work.”

  “Jenna, you’re not working tomorrow. You’re off for a while. At least a week.”

  “But I can massage with my left hand. It will take longer but I can still do it.”

  “Wouldn’t be much of a massage. And it wouldn’t look good for the Center either.”

  She sank back in the swing, staring at him, too stunned to speak. She’d used all her sick leave when she’d helped Emily move to Philadelphia. On short-term disability, she’d be down to sixty percent of her pay. Even with her ill-gained raise, that wouldn’t cover Emily’s monthly living expenses, let alone her own.

  “I’ll wear a long-sleeved shirt,” she finally managed, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. “No one will see. And really, I can do my job. One time, I broke my wrist and Wally let me—”

  “Wally isn’t in charge anymore.” He rose, picked up the wet cards and ruthlessly tossed them into the garbage. “I am.”

  “But you need me. We have horses booked and Nifty’s coming soon.”

  “We’re fine. I already hired another masseuse. She starts Monday.”

  Her mouth opened and she slumped in the swing, dumbstruck. He’d replaced her, didn’t need her, hadn’t even told her. She struggled to speak but a brick of pain clogged her throat.

  “I’ll put the pony in and fill his water.” He rumpled her hair. “Get some sleep. Don’t forget to take another pill.”

  He strode down the steps, leaving her reeling from shock, despair and the sharp pain left by his massive blindside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Collect call from Emily Murphy,” the operator’s voice said. “Do you accept the charges?”

  “Yes.” Jenna rose from the kitchen table and pressed the phone tightly against her left ear.

  “Good morning,” Emily said. “I know you wanted me to text, not call, but we haven’t spoken for a while.”

  “Oh, Em, I miss you.” Jenna stepped onto the porch, breathing in the fresh morning air. The sun was still low and already the trailer was unbearably hot. “I thought maybe you were…away?”

  “Nope, nose to the books, constantly. That’s one of the reasons I called. These textbooks are expensive. I’ve been going to the library to study, but it would be much better if I could buy them. You wouldn’t know, of course, but books can cost about two hundred dollars.”

  Jenna sank on the swing. “Two hundred dollars?” Her voice squeaked.

  “And that’s just for one book,” Emily said. “The profs assign outside reading. Scholarships are available, bursaries based on need too, but they’re impossible to get without the extra reading.”

  “Do you think you could get one of those?”

  “Maybe. If I had the books.”

  “I’ll see what money I can scrape together.” Jenna averted her gaze from her injured arm.

  “Send it as soon as you can,” Emily said. “I’ll text a reminder.”

  “Okay. And there’s some good news. The solarium is really helping Peanut’s coat—’’ But Em had hung up.

  Jenna swore at the rudeness of the dial tone. Emily needed a kick in the ass. Maybe I should drive over. She started to punch Em’s number back in then stiffened at the sound of a car.

  Aw, shit. Burke. She stared in dismay at her shorts and strapless top—clothes intended to beat the heat but definitely not to wear in public. Groaning, she rose and ducked back into the kitchen. The car crested the hill and wheeled into her driveway.

  She didn’t want him to see her dressed like this. Didn’t want to see him at all. She still ached from his meanness and doubted she could be civil—even though she had to be. But Wally would never have put anyone on disability, had always worried about employees having enough money for groceries.

  She tiptoed back into her bedroom and silently eased the door shut. Heard two hard knocks then the slam of the screen door. Thump. Another smaller thud. The door slammed again and an engine purred. She peeked out the window, relieved to see his car disappear over the hill.

  She left the bedroom and walked cautiously back down the hall. A grocery bag sat on the kitchen table along with a black leather case. She peeked in the bag: more soup, whole wheat rolls, two packs of playing cards, beer, three gold-colored jars of fancy skin cream and a year’s supply of sterile white bandages.

  The leather case was small and obviously not food. She tugged open the zipper and blinked in amazement. Oh, gosh, an Iphone! She scrolled quickly through
the apps—everything a person could want, and more. A breeze blew through the screen door, rustling a sheet of paper lying on the counter. She snatched it up and studied his bold scrawl.

  Phone is on the Burke account, full features. Use your right hand. (Be helpful if you would research Lorna and David Ridgeman of Ridgeman Racing Stables, the couple coming next week.)

  Okay, so it sounded like she was still expected to do the tour, but more importantly he’d left her a fully featured phone. She skipped around the table, needing to tell someone.

  Called Emily but cut the connection before the call went through. Not cool. Probably she shouldn’t use the company phone for personal calls. Email was okay though. That was free along with Skype and Facebook.

  Facebook. She rushed back to her bedroom and retrieved Frances’s password.

  Logged in quickly. Friend list, Emily Murphy. Scrolled across the screen and stared in dismay. Holy shit. Somehow Emily had found time to post four hundred and two pictures.

  A wide range of pictures. Pictures of laughing faces, drunken faces, leering faces. Pictures of blue pools and tiny rooms and trendy bars. Pictures of beach volleyball and impossibly small bikinis. Yes, indeed. It looked like Em was having a very good time at college. Of course, this could be happening on weekends. Em had said the spring session was lot easier.

  Steadying her breathing, she logged onto her Facebook account with its grand total of three friends—Wally, Colin and Mrs. Parker.

  Tapped a friend request to Emily. That should flush her out. If she was goofing off instead of studying, Em would find an excuse not to friend her. But, damn, if she were goofing around, all their scrimping and saving had been wasted.

  Jenna chewed her fingernails and stared at the screen.

  Two minutes later: friend request accepted. And a message.

  Okay, that was fast. She’d been holding her breath but took a relieved gulp as she read Em’s message. ‘Check out Trevor’s cool car. Meeting parents soon. They have a pool!’