Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash Page 4

  She zipped into the parking lot and rammed her car into its usual spot. Stared through the windshield in dismay. A bold white sign jutted two feet from her bumper. Visitors Only, it proclaimed. She glanced around but there wasn’t another car in the upper lot. No surprise that everyone else had listened.

  At least his car was parked in the lower staff lot too, beside Frances’s blue hatchback and Wally’s Chev truck. The visitor section, however, was empty—a ridiculous waste of prime parking. Grumbling, she rammed the Neon in reverse and backed up, past the row of cars and Burke’s gleaming Audi, hunting for a vacant spot. Finally found a slot, but it took an extra three minutes to rush up the winding walkway.

  The clock in the main aisle showed eight forty but her first horse wasn’t booked until nine, so it shouldn’t be a problem. A hard hand grabbed her forearm, tugging her into the alcove between a wheelbarrow and a stack of blue feed bins.

  Wally’s flushed face was only inches from her nose. “What did you tell him about the books?”

  “Hey, Wally, back off.”

  “Sorry.” He immediately released her arm, dragging his hand over the dots of sweat beading his forehead. “Derek told me he saw the books. I tried to call but your phone was busy. So? What did you tell him?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she said. “But we can’t do community horses anymore, at least not at the same rate.” She tried to remember everything Burke had said, but the words blurred. All she could remember was the primal intensity of his eyes, his hard mouth, the way it twitched when he tried not to laugh.

  “But what about the cash horses?” Wally’s voice rose. “You didn’t say anything about those, did you?”

  “Well, yes, I did, but he already knew about them. He had both sets of books.”

  “Goddammit.”

  Jenna stiffened. Wally was usually easygoing. She’d never seen him so agitated and he definitely needed to back out of her space. She tilted her head. “What’s going on? Have you been pocketing money?”

  “A little, but we can cover it. All you have to do is say you were paid a hundred dollars per horse.”

  “But I already told him the truth. That you paid me twenty.”

  “Just say you forgot.” His voice tightened with impatience. “Come on, don’t look at me like that. I helped a few people out. The money’s gone.”

  “But you took eighty dollars a horse?” She gulped. She’d been so happy to earn extra money, she hadn’t questioned how much the cash horses were paying in total. No wonder Wally was considered a local Santa Claus. No wonder the Center struggled.

  “Christ, Jenna, the Tuttys couldn’t afford colic surgery. I had to raise the money somehow.”

  She crossed her arms, caught in a moral tug of war. “Did the Canadians know?”

  “They didn’t care.” But he averted his gaze. “Come on. My job’s on the line. It’s just a little lie. Make sure you think about this.”

  She jerked away and rushed down the aisle, too stunned to look at him. She’d never guessed he was using the Center’s money to cover outside vet bills, hadn’t even thought about the reporting requirements. Probably why he was so paranoid about anyone going into his office. Maybe she should have questioned him…or maybe, deep down, she’d known.

  She gave her head a shake, not liking that idea. Sure, sometimes she was a little creative but only if it didn’t hurt anyone. Yet if Wally felt the need to cover up, this couldn’t be good. Her breath escaped in a tormented sigh.

  “Your nine o’clock was moved to eight-thirty,” Frances, the receptionist called. “The horse is in there now. Better hurry.”

  Jenna grimaced, still thinking of Wally. “Guess the mare won’t mind if I’m a little late, Frances.”

  “She won’t mind at all because someone else is massaging her.”

  Jenna jerked to a stop, forgetting about Wally and his troublesome Robin Hood tendencies. “You’re kidding. Who’s doing the massage?”

  “Kathryn Winfield. She’s pimping for a job now that she finished that massage program in Kentucky.” Frances shrugged, her shoulders returning to their perpetual hunch. “Mr. Burke said he’d watch her work on a horse. Glad it’s not me. He’s scary.”

  But Kathryn Winfield wouldn’t be intimidated, Jenna knew. Kathryn was smart and was armed with a degree as well as a diploma from that new center in Kentucky. Her dad, Leo, was a town bigwig. Kathryn had never really liked animals though, and it was doubtful she’d be effective as a therapist. So if Burke wanted results and was astute enough to ignore the bullshit, Jenna’s job wasn’t really in jeopardy.

  Oh, God, please. She prayed her job wasn’t in jeopardy.

  She detoured by the staff room—heck, she was already late—and made herself a fortifying cup of tea. On impulse, she poured a coffee for Burke. Kathryn would be busy with the horse and besides she was much too nasty to be served a cup.

  Jenna knocked quietly—this mare was rather skittish and needed little excuse to jump—before pushing the door open. She spotted Burke, looking rather bored, his hip propped against the back wall as he watched Kathryn work on the mare’s left shoulder.

  “Good morning,” Jenna said, passing the coffee to Burke. Everyone thought he never smiled but that lip twitch spoke volumes. Unfortunately, his lip wasn’t twitching now.

  “Oh, you’re finally here, Jenna,” Kathryn called, tacking a smile onto her snide greeting. “I was just telling Mr. Burke that this mare would benefit from some craniosacral therapy. I certainly hope you’re doing that?”

  “Of course.” Jenna took a quick sip of tea. What the hell was craniosacral therapy? She did know the mare had a displaced sacrum, and she itched to make it right. She peeked at Burke over the top of her cup.

  From the jaded look on his face, it was clear he’d rather join the construction crew outside than watch his technicians do boring things with their hands. Maybe he’d already been on the work site. A car had roared past her trailer early this morning but it had been deathly dark, and she’d merely dragged a pillow over her head. The smell of fresh pine clung to his clothes though—that appealing earthy smell—and the way his chiseled throat rippled when he drank was also pretty darn appealing.

  He lowered his cup. “How did you know I like my coffee black?”

  She jerked her wayward gaze back to his face. “Going with the odds.” His type would consider it a weakness to add milk or sugar. “What exactly is happening here?” she added, trying to sneak a peek at Kathryn’s resume, curious as to what fancy title they bestowed on the elite Kentucky grads.

  He raised his arm, deftly blocking her view. “We need a massage therapist on the grounds from eight to four. I don’t care who it is, as long as someone’s here.” The warning in his clipped voice was unmistakable, but on the bright side he seemed to be enjoying his coffee.

  She’d been late and with a man like Burke, the best defense was to go on offense. She shook her head and moved one step closer. “Well, you should care who the therapist is. Did you notice how that mare walked?”

  “Short in the right hind.”

  His quick analysis surprised her, but she nodded. “Exactly. So she needs manipulation over the sacrum.”

  “But that’s chiropractic, not massage.” His eyes narrowed. “Where exactly did you get your diploma?”

  “A local college.” She didn’t want to meet his penetrating eyes so took a hasty gulp of tea. Almost burned her mouth. Luckily he seemed to have forgotten she’d wandered in late, but this college topic was also very sticky. Her workmates had been buzzing about possible raises but in her opinion, far too much credence was placed on formal education.

  It was a pity simple, old-fashioned results didn’t matter. She’d been helping animals since she was nine and truly loved her job. Heck, she could probably make up fancy college titles and no one would be the wiser.

  She studied him over the cup, her mind churning. Wally had said Burke was an exceedingly busy man and wouldn’t be staying in Stillwater lon
g. Certainly not long enough to check diplomas.

  She drew in a fortifying breath and lowered her cup. “I went to a local college and as we discussed yesterday, I just finished another update for my Equine Sports Massage Certificate. Does that qualify for a raise?”

  “We need documentation, of course,” he said, “but there’s a pay bump on top of your upgrade. And you’re presently underpaid for the diploma you have.”

  Jenna’s eyes widened. “Underpaid? By how much?”

  “Eight percent. Plus you’d get another ten percent for the completed certificate. Burke Industries encourages education. We stand behind our promise of having the most qualified employees in the business.”

  She shut out his rah-rah-Burke speech, too busy with calculations. Eighteen percent! Her last raise had been a two percent cost-of-living almost three years ago. She bounced on her toes, almost spilling her tea. This was awesome. Burke Industries was awesome. Her face split in a delighted grin. “You’re awesome, Burke!”

  The words leaked out with bubbling joy. She saw his blink of surprise, the lip twitch, then an actual smile. He had such a beautiful mouth. Not even the perpetually timid Frances could be scared of a man with that kind of mouth—tolerant, kind, amused.

  She gave a guilty jerk as Kathryn’s voice cut their connection.

  “See what I mean, Mr. Burke?” Kathryn called. “This mare would definitely benefit from an intensive schedule of craniosacral therapy. They’ve pioneered that program in Kentucky and taught us how to perform at a deeper and more intuitive level. We can do so much more,” she glanced pointedly at Jenna, “than the basic massage they teach locally.”

  “That’s fine, Kathryn,” Burke said, his voice clipped. “Thanks for stopping by. We’ll certainly keep your resume on file.”

  He turned to Jenna, his dark eyes inscrutable. “Can you work your magic on that mare? I’ll be back in an hour to check her walk. Then send her for thirty minutes of infrared. Thanks for the coffee.”

  Jenna watched in stunned appreciation as he strode from the room. Maybe he was results oriented. Wally was generous and wanted to help every horse and person he encountered, but his knowledge of lameness was rudimentary. The door snapped shut behind Burke’s broad shoulders.

  Kathryn scowled. “Dad said they were upgrading staff. Said the new people should appreciate a college grad. I don’t understand. You just have a measly certificate, right?”

  Not even. Jenna lobbed her empty cup into the metal garbage can and walked toward the mare. Even now the horse rested her right hind, tail and hip cocked at an odd angle. Poor girl. “I’ll be sure to let you know when they’re hiring, Kathryn,” she said politely.

  “No need. My dad’s a member of the Hunt Club. He’ll talk to Mr. Burke there. You know what the Club is like…oh, sorry.” Kathryn gave a disdainful sniff. “Guess you don’t.”

  Still a bitch, just like in high school, Jenna thought. She deliberately widened her smile. “Oh, but I’ve been there a few times. Colin took me on several occasions, remember… Oh, sorry, guess you don’t.”

  Kathryn’s lips narrowed to a malicious line. “Well, you won’t get there again because I’m dating Colin now. And you and your tramp sister still live in that dog shack.”

  “My sister’s not a tramp!” Jenna charged forward.

  “Relax.” Kathryn raised her palms, backing to the door. “A tramp is actually a step up for your family. And I will have this job.” She gave her fingers a sarcastic flutter and sashayed from the room, her designer boots clicking on the concrete.

  Jenna unclenched her fists and turned back to the horse. Nothing to worry about. The Center had always been safe from Leo’s influence. Wally was a rock. But her breathing remained ragged, and the mare’s soulful brown eyes seemed to reflect Jenna’s growing concern.

  ***

  The powerful saw roared in Derek’s hands, slicing through the wood with an aggressive thrust. He flicked the switch and the air hushed. “A couple more like that,” he said to the foreman. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  The man nodded and if he was resentful of Derek’s hands-on style, he hid it well. “Certainly, Mr. Burke. As you suggest, we’ll start at six.”

  Derek nodded, wiped his forehead with his arm and headed back into the Center, grateful for the diversion. Construction work always provided an outlet. It was no coincidence he’d approved the building of a storage shed. Generally it was the only release he had. Employees steered clear of him, tiptoeing with wary eyes, as well they should.

  He was the Machiavellian arm of the organization. But when he left, companies were leaner, more profitable, much improved.

  Often he was in and out in a few weeks; at other jobs he remained much longer. Three Brooks needed some streamlining but it shouldn’t be too long a stay. Add a much-needed facelift and good horses would be clamoring for appointments, engendering the fees every elite stable expected to pay.

  Of course, Three Brooks also needed a new manager. Wally Turner was lazy, incompetent and dishonest. Termination wouldn’t even require a payout if the theft could be proven. Jenna had already admitted she only received twenty dollars per horse. If that were confirmed in writing, they’d have Wally by the balls.

  Shouldn’t be too many issues with this assignment, other than the usual loneliness and boredom. His one meal at the Hunt Club had been spoiled by constant intrusions from social climbers, and their groveling aroused nothing but his annoyance. Typical. People in small communities generally were either hostile or fawning although Jenna was totally unapologetic about anything. He rather liked that.

  Long hair and legs didn’t hurt either, but it was her honesty he most enjoyed. That and the fact she’d stood up to him on his first day, yet had been inherently kind enough to offer advice on landing a grunt job. Amusing really.

  But she was a thief.

  He shoved aside that thought, annoyed by his ambivalence. Stealing supplies wasn’t something he condoned, although technically it hadn’t been on his watch. And at the last second, she’d warned him not to barge into Wally’s office. That counted for something.

  He strode into the building, scanning the reception area. Everything looked fine except the way the receptionist shrank whenever he looked at her. Jesus. People would think they beat horses here.

  Unthinking, he wheeled and barged back into the massage room, scaring the jumpy mare. Jenna calmed the mare, returning to work on the horse’s muscled rump. “How many times do I have to ask you to knock?” she asked.

  “Apparently more than once,” he said, “but I need your help. Please tell that woman out front to smile. We’re supposed to be a happy, healing environment.”

  “Then maybe you could set a better example.” Her voice was mild though, and it was clear she was focused on her job.

  “Unlikely.” He grabbed a chair and sat, tilting it against the wall. She leaned back into the mare, and the horse lowered her head seeming to enjoy Jenna’s ministrations. And why not.

  Jenna was a looker, and this was an excellent chance to admire. Her legs were almost as long as the mare’s, shapely and elegant in those faded jeans. When she raised her toned arms, her shirt tightened, and if he looked hard enough he could almost imagine the outline of a nipple.

  Damn, when had he slept with his last girlfriend? Must have been awhile. He’d taken Theresa to dinner that last week in New York but couldn’t remember any of the details.

  He dragged his head away, switching his attention to the mare. She stood evenly now and her hip no longer appeared broken. However, Jenna was holding her shoulder oddly high and didn’t seem to be using her right hand with as much pressure.

  “Your shoulder bothering you again?” he asked.

  “It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I can do my job.”

  He rose, shaking off his impatience. “Obviously you can do your job. But we don’t want any workplace injuries either. Are you finished? Let’s see her walk.”

  “Sheesh, just gi
ve her a minute. She’s all relaxed here.”

  “We have to keep a schedule. Have to be able to handle a lot more horses.” He watched critically as Jenna led the mare along the rubber walkway. Stared in disbelief as the mare stepped out with a loose, swinging stride. Unbelievable. Just like the horse yesterday.

  He shook his head. Obviously the massage end of the Center was in good hands. He’d match Jenna against anyone in North America. He still wasn’t confident of the infrared benefits though. Some of the holistic elements here seemed a little left field, but if horse owners wanted it, Three Brooks needed to provide it.

  At this point though, he was definitely satisfied with his masseuse. “Damn, Jenna, but you do good work.”

  She gave him that hundred watt smile, like a model on a runway, a model with a slightly sore shoulder.

  “I want you to stand with that mare under the infrared light,” he added, checking his watch, “and we’re going to move your second appointment to this afternoon.”

  “But that means I only do three horses today.” Her smile faded. “I can’t buy groceries with that.”

  He scowled, unused to being questioned. “You’re paid the same, no matter how many horses you rub. And you need to follow orders, without all this debate.” But she was watching him with that hostile look and he much preferred her smile. “Besides,” he softened his voice, “I really want to see if the infrared will help your shoulder.”

  “Oh, so you’re using me as an experiment? That’s neat. I’ve never been in the solarium before. It’s fifty dollars a session.”

  He walked over and pried the mare’s lead line from her hand. “And the price is going up. Now lift your arm and see if you can reach my shoulder.”

  She raised her right arm, face set in concentration. There was some sort of shiny stuff on her lips and her hair smelled like flowers. However, pain shadowed her face and he grabbed her wrist, sensing she wasn’t the type to quit.