It Takes a Rebel (14 page)

her chest and pasted on a serious expression.

Jack looked over his shoulder and lifted his hand in greeting, but otherwise didn't move a muscle. "How's it going, Mr. T?

Reddinger?"

"Fine, Jack," her father said, his voice laced with amusement as he gave her a questioning look. Heath just continued to look

from her to Jack. Or rather, from her to Jack's backside.

Wanting to disappear, she instead conjured up a sublime smile for Heath. "Wh-when did you get back in town?"

"Not long ago," he replied absently.

"And not soon enough," her father muttered for her ears only.

She frowned at him and shook her head in warning. "Heath and I were both looking for you, my dear," her father said in a

louder voice. "Tess told us where to find you."

She was going to fire that woman. "Jack and I were just starting to choose his wardrobe for the photo shoot and the

commercial."

"Let's try to keep the censors off our back, shall we?" Al said cheerfully.

"Father," she said, exasperated. "We're waiting for the tailor."

"When he gets here," her father said, peering around Jack, then clapping him on the back, "let him know our boy is a left-

handed dresser."

Alex closed her eyes briefly, her cheeks flaming.

"Alex," Heath said. "May I see you outside?"

"Of course," she said, unreasonably nervous, but delighted for an excuse to flee the preposterous scene. Once they stepped

around the corner, Heath scanned the area, then grabbed her hand, pulled her into an alcove, and kissed her soundly. Surprised

at his uncharacteristic behavior at work, Alex laughed and drew back, hiding her unexplainable irritation. "What's this all

about?"

"I missed you," he said, his gaze intent. "And I guess it did something to me when I saw you with a half-dressed man."

She scoffed, feeling prickly. "That's ridiculous. I can barely stand the man."

"Good," he said, giving her a crooked grin. "I'm sorry I missed our dinner at Gerrard's."

Alex fidgeted, reluctant to admit she'd used their reservation, even sat at their
table
, with the man she could barely stand.

Heath wouldn't understand the circumstances, she reasoned—Jack giving her a ride home, then tackling a would-be attacker in

her apartment. It all sounded too … intimate.

Anxious to spend time with Heath and erase the memory of Jack, she smoothed his jacket lapel and tilted her face up at him.

"How about us taking the afternoon off tomorrow and using my father's box at Keeneland for opening day at the races?"

Heath smiled. "Terrific. I'll pick you up at your apartment at noon."

Alex exhaled in relief—just the two of them. By the time she got through this disconcerting afternoon, she'd be ready for a

day without the presence of "Jack the Attack" Stillman.

* * *

been nothing compared to the torture of behaving himself around Alex all afternoon while she pulled and poked at his clothing,

suggesting alterations that the tailor marked with a gazillion little razor-sharp pins. "That tailor missed his calling in

acupuncture."

Reggie laughed good-naturedly. "When my mom told me you were going to be the new spokesman for Tremont's, I was

hoping I'd have the chance to work with you, sir."

"Call me Jack. 'Sir' makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old." Jack leaned one arm on the counter. "Listen, Reggie,

speaking of your mother, is she, uh—"

"Unstable?" the young man asked with a grin.

"Well, the thought had crossed my mind."

"To be honest, all of us kids have just gotten used to her eccentricity. She travels around the country, stays with one of us for

a while, then moves on to another."

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Nine."

"Wow. No wonder she acts like a general."

"Yep, she's a go-getter. If it makes you feel any better, though, she's a smart lady."

"Yeah, well, no offense, but I think I have too many smart ladies in my life right now." He looked around.

"Ms. Tremont left."

"Probably went to let the air out of my tires," he muttered.

Reggie laughed. "She said she was going to accessories to buy a new hat for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Opening day at Keeneland. Said she and Mr. Reddinger are using her father's box seats."

Jack always wondered who sat in the expensive box seats, and now he knew. Personally, he thought the cheap seats had the

best access to the betting windows, but then again, the people in the boxes attended the horse races mostly to socialize, to see

and be seen, not to wager their beer money on the trifecta.

"Sounds fun, doesn't it?" Reggie asked, his voice wistful.

"It'll probably rain," Jack said sourly, then thanked Reggie for his help and moved toward the escalator. He wasn't sure why

the thought of Alex spending the day with Reddinger bothered him so much—they were a couple before he came on the scene

and probably would be long after his stint with Tremont's ended. Nursing an increasing bad mood, he stepped onto the down

escalator only to see Al Tremont on the opposite escalator, being carried up.

"Jack, I was hoping you hadn't left," the beaming man called, turning as they passed. "I forgot to ask you earlier if you would

join me tomorrow in my box at Keeneland for opening day."

Jack's ill humor vanished. He cupped his hands around his mouth so his voice would travel across the distance widening

between them. "Thanks—I'll be there!"

Chapter 10

« ^ »

T
uesday wagged her finger. "With work coming out of your big ears, you're going to spend the afternoon at the racetrack?"

"It's business," Jack insisted.

"So if your brother calls, I can tell him where you are?"

He balked. "That might not be prudent."

She put one hand on her hip, arm akimbo, and nodded. "Mmm-hmm. I thought so."

Jack gave her his most charming grin. "But I feel lucky. In fact, I'm planning to win enough money to get new equipment for

the office." He gestured around, then stopped and squinted. Several vines and ferns, plus two palm trees accented shelves and

corners in the front office. "Where did all the plants come from?"

"I have a green thumb," she said, then handed him a stack of papers. "Sign, lick and mail."

"Tuesday." Jack ran his hand down the length of his face. "There is no job! I can't pay you for working here."

"Five dollars," she said, pulling out a file drawer. Rows of new color-coded hanging files swayed gently.

"What?"

"Put five dollars on the daily double for me, horses two and five." She turned a placid smile in his direction. "And that'll be

my pay for the first two weeks."

"What if it doesn't come in?"

She shrugged. "Life is a gamble."

Jack pursed his mouth—he could live with that. He walked through the doorway into the back office where the auditor still

claimed Derek's desk. "How's it going, Mr. Stripling?"

The man scowled. "If you must know, terribly." His voice and hands were shaking, and the boardlike device was still

strapped to his back by a cord around his waist and chest. Jack poured himself a cup of coffee from the little refreshment center

Tuesday had established on a sturdy table she'd confiscated from the supply room—coffeemaker, tea bags, creamer, sugar and

fresh minibagels every morning. He'd considered hinting for jelly donuts, but decided not to push his luck. Her one rule had

been not to touch the single china cup and saucer sitting nearby—it had been her mother's and was to be used only in

emergencies, she instructed. Jack wasn't exactly sure what kind of an emergency would require fine china, but he hadn't argued.

He lifted his mug in the other man's direction. "More receipt problems?"

"No, not more receipt problems," the man snapped. "Unbeknownst to me, your office manager has been plying my tea with

some repulsive concoction of dried leaves—she's probably trying to poison me."

"Tuesday," Jack yelled, stirring cream into his coffee. "Are you trying to poison Mr. Stripling?"

"No," she yelled back.

Jack took a bite out of a blueberry bagel and shrugged. "You heard her."

Stripling's face reddened to a deep crimson. "I'm on the verge of convulsions here."

Tuesday appeared and sashayed by, rolling her eyes as she headed toward the bathroom. "It's called energy, tax man. That's

what ginseng does for a body."

Jack dropped into his chair, chewing. When the door closed behind her, he said, "So that's what she's on."

"Mr. Stillman," Stripling croaked, his eyes bulging. "This will not look good in my report."

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch." Jack unfolded the paper and snapped it open to the day's racing form. "You play the ponies?"

"I most certainly do not."

He made a sympathetic sound. "Too bad. Races five and eight have great-looking long shots."

After a stretch of silence, Mr. Stripling cleared his throat, then offered, "My father was a groom for Spectacular Wish."

He flicked down the corner of the paper. "No kidding?"

The little man shifted in his chair, his expression slightly less unpleasant. "I do not kid."

"Then you
have
to place a bet, because the third horse in the eighth race is the granddaughter of Spectacular Wish."

He had the man's attention. "Through mare or sire?"

"Sire."

"Maiden race?"

"Yep."

"What are the odds?"

"Sixty to one."

"Let me see that form," the man said, and stood up with amazing agility for a man bound to a board.

* * *

Alex touched the wide brim of her chocolate-colored straw hat. "You don't think it's too big?"

"No. I think it's very chic."

"We're pushing these for fall, so I thought I'd advertise." She stepped back to allow him inside her apartment. "You look nice

yourself."

He wore classic horseman colors: hunter green slacks and a tan shirt, with a navy-and-green-plaid cotton sweater tied

around his neck. "Thanks," he said, looking boyish as he gave the bridge of his small glasses a nudge.

"Just give me a minute to change my purse." Alex agonized between two purses, finally settling on a brown leather tote to go

with her cream-colored water-silk dress, fitted through the torso, but with a long flowing skirt. At the last minute, she tossed a

brown leopard-print scarf around her shoulders.

"Jacket?" Heath asked.

"No, I—" Alex looked up and stopped, staring at the black leather coat Heath held by the collar. Jack's coat. Oh, no. " Wh-

where did you find that?" she asked, stalling.

Mouth pursed, he nodded to a table behind the door. "Under there."

"Really? It … must be one of the things Lana dropped off." She smiled wide—convincingly, she hoped.

"It's a man's coat."

Her smile dissolved. "Well, she's been stealing things lately—it's all very weird." Alex looked at her watch and gasped.

"Oh, fudge. Look. We'd better get going if we don't want to miss the first race." With one motion, Alex yanked the coat out of

his hand and tossed it over a chair. "You know how bad parking can be." She steered Heath back into the hallway and closed

the door behind her.

And Heath, bless his trusting heart, didn't ask another question about the jacket. Just to make sure, she chattered the entire

drive about news and nonsense, since all the work-related topics that came to mind seemed to lead back to Jack: The vacated

vice presidency … proving herself by taking on difficult tasks … the Jack Stillman project. Sliding sales … a new ad

campaign … the Jack Stillman project.

"It's crowded all right," Heath noted as they waited in a long line of cars to access the preferred parking area. "I'll drop you

off, then park and meet you at our seats."

"Okay," she agreed, feeling a bit guilty. She didn't mind the walk, but she did want to minimize the chance of the mysterious

leather jacket coming up again. Once inside, the crowd noise and the excitement would alleviate conversation for the most part.

She gave him a loving smile before she alighted and closed the door to his black Mercedes. As he pulled away, Alex berated

herself for not simply telling Heath the truth. After all, her evening with Jack had been purely innocent, hadn't it?

Hadn't it?

She sighed inwardly as she merged with the crowd of people moving through the admission gates. The Keeneland facility

was a rambling two-story stone structure that housed covered walkways, spectator grandstands, restaurants, and window after

window for placing bets. Horse racing appealed to all walks of life—retirees looking for a day of inexpensive entertainment,

college kids looking for an excuse to party, professionals looking for a network, dyed-in-the-wool horse people looking for a

reputation, and hard-core gamblers looking for this month's rent. Most people dressed up, and many women wore hats, as was

tradition. As far as people-watching venues were concerned, Keeneland was one of the finest.

Alex loved it here. Just walking past the paddock area where the horses exercised was thrilling—the sight of the colorful

silks, the pungent odor of groomed horseflesh, the whinnying of eager mounts. All of it sent the blood rushing through her veins,

as if she were a teensy part of the centuries-old legacy.