cardboard tray filled with coffees.
Jen Fleming tiptoed from behind to playfully loop her arm through his. A slender, attractive, middle-aged woman, Jen was the racetrack nurse. She wore her brunette tresses in a short blunt cut around her face to give her a pixie-like appearance.
Having a thing for the imposing patriarch of Westwood Stables, she was optimistic that someday he would have a thing for her as well. So far, he behaved like a charming courteous gentleman toward her. That wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but it would have do for now.
“Good morning, Mr. West ,” she chirped in a sing-song voice.
Eric smiled. “Good morning, Jen, what brings you to the lowly backside?”
“I was hoping one of those coffees might be for me.”
He looked down at the coffees. There were no extras, so he plucked his cup from the tray. “This one looks about right.”
Grinning, she wrapped her hands around the warm Styrofoam cup that the true gentleman gave up for her. Oh yes, she was well aware of the sacrifice. “Do you have horses racing tonight?”
“Mike has a mare in the fifth race for Coco Beardmore.”
“Mmmm, what’s she like?”
“Interesting, in a frightening sort of way,” he answered.
“So I’ve heard.”
They shared a quiet chuckle.
“West!” Doug O’Conner’s gruff voice skittered up his spine. “You’re just the man I wanna talk to.” He spit an icky brown line of tobacco juice at their feet.
Eric’s brows furrowed. “What’s the problem?”
“That oldest boy of yours, that’s what. I’m gonna kick his ass!” Doug shook his fist in his face before turning to Jen. “You watch ‘em, Ms. Fleming. Them Wests ain’t nothing but a bunch of horny bastards.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She was stunned.
Placing his open palm hard against Doug’s chest, Eric forced him back a step. Through a clenched jaw, he spoke, “Why don’t you calm down and tell me what’s eating at you?”
“Mike came to the barn last night and had a little one-on-one with my Marge.”
“With Margie?” Jen didn’t realize she had said it out loud.
He glared at her.
Swallowing hard, she back-peddled. “She’s a lovely girl.”
Eric’s face wrinkled with doubt when he asked, “Who said so?”
“I got my sources.”
That morning, Scott had informed Doug over coffee and Copenhagen about bumping into Mike while rushing, red-faced, from the barn. He also relayed his sincere concern. Margie had seemed very guarded about her meeting with Mike and he saw her adjusting her shirt while leaving the office.
That was good enough for Doug. Mike West had done the dirty deed, and it was time for him to fess-up and pay-up.
“I asked Margie, too,” Doug told Eric. “She says he was just asking questions about Coo-coo Coco’s horses. She’s just trying to protect him from a good ass kicking. That’s what I think.”
“I’m sure it was more than likely the way Margie tells it,” Eric said. “Mike would never take advantage of her.”
Doug’s face went from smack-dab injured to insulted. “What? You think your boy is too good to take Margie for a little joy ride? I’ll take you on right here, West!” He hitched his pants higher on his hips and pushed his sleeves farther up his arms.
“Relax, Doug. Give me a chance to talk to Mike before we declare all-out war.” Eric wasn’t into street fighting.
A crowd was beginning to gather with hopes for some cheap entertainment to add to the juicy gossip they’d just been fed. That gossip would rip through the backside within mega seconds.
With his lip jutted out, Doug stood with his feet spread apart, his jaw set, and his fists poised high for a little round of fist-a-cuffs. Scowling, he contemplated Eric’s request. Feeling as though he had already tasted victory, he let his hands relax and drop to his sides.
He scrubbed his whiskers with his grimy twisted fingers. “Fair enough, West. But talk to him quick, and if my Marge is
Jen Fleming tiptoed from behind to playfully loop her arm through his. A slender, attractive, middle-aged woman, Jen was the racetrack nurse. She wore her brunette tresses in a short blunt cut around her face to give her a pixie-like appearance.
Having a thing for the imposing patriarch of Westwood Stables, she was optimistic that someday he would have a thing for her as well. So far, he behaved like a charming courteous gentleman toward her. That wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but it would have do for now.
“Good morning, Mr. West ,” she chirped in a sing-song voice.
Eric smiled. “Good morning, Jen, what brings you to the lowly backside?”
“I was hoping one of those coffees might be for me.”
He looked down at the coffees. There were no extras, so he plucked his cup from the tray. “This one looks about right.”
Grinning, she wrapped her hands around the warm Styrofoam cup that the true gentleman gave up for her. Oh yes, she was well aware of the sacrifice. “Do you have horses racing tonight?”
“Mike has a mare in the fifth race for Coco Beardmore.”
“Mmmm, what’s she like?”
“Interesting, in a frightening sort of way,” he answered.
“So I’ve heard.”
They shared a quiet chuckle.
“West!” Doug O’Conner’s gruff voice skittered up his spine. “You’re just the man I wanna talk to.” He spit an icky brown line of tobacco juice at their feet.
Eric’s brows furrowed. “What’s the problem?”
“That oldest boy of yours, that’s what. I’m gonna kick his ass!” Doug shook his fist in his face before turning to Jen. “You watch ‘em, Ms. Fleming. Them Wests ain’t nothing but a bunch of horny bastards.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She was stunned.
Placing his open palm hard against Doug’s chest, Eric forced him back a step. Through a clenched jaw, he spoke, “Why don’t you calm down and tell me what’s eating at you?”
“Mike came to the barn last night and had a little one-on-one with my Marge.”
“With Margie?” Jen didn’t realize she had said it out loud.
He glared at her.
Swallowing hard, she back-peddled. “She’s a lovely girl.”
Eric’s face wrinkled with doubt when he asked, “Who said so?”
“I got my sources.”
That morning, Scott had informed Doug over coffee and Copenhagen about bumping into Mike while rushing, red-faced, from the barn. He also relayed his sincere concern. Margie had seemed very guarded about her meeting with Mike and he saw her adjusting her shirt while leaving the office.
That was good enough for Doug. Mike West had done the dirty deed, and it was time for him to fess-up and pay-up.
“I asked Margie, too,” Doug told Eric. “She says he was just asking questions about Coo-coo Coco’s horses. She’s just trying to protect him from a good ass kicking. That’s what I think.”
“I’m sure it was more than likely the way Margie tells it,” Eric said. “Mike would never take advantage of her.”
Doug’s face went from smack-dab injured to insulted. “What? You think your boy is too good to take Margie for a little joy ride? I’ll take you on right here, West!” He hitched his pants higher on his hips and pushed his sleeves farther up his arms.
“Relax, Doug. Give me a chance to talk to Mike before we declare all-out war.” Eric wasn’t into street fighting.
A crowd was beginning to gather with hopes for some cheap entertainment to add to the juicy gossip they’d just been fed. That gossip would rip through the backside within mega seconds.
With his lip jutted out, Doug stood with his feet spread apart, his jaw set, and his fists poised high for a little round of fist-a-cuffs. Scowling, he contemplated Eric’s request. Feeling as though he had already tasted victory, he let his hands relax and drop to his sides.
He scrubbed his whiskers with his grimy twisted fingers. “Fair enough, West. But talk to him quick, and if my Marge is
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