Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash (7 page)

“Yes, that’s right.” She nodded but the food in her stomach suddenly felt like a brick. “So you see, I can’t sign your paper. I’m very sorry about this—your time, the beautiful dinner, the lovely wine—such a waste.”

“Not a waste at all, as I do have some other questions.” He set his glass down, his expression unreadable under the darkening sky. “You can tell me the town’s opinion of Three Brooks.”

She tilted her head. Seemed like a reasonable request. Nothing that could hurt Wally or anyone else on staff.

“The previous owners, the Canadians, were hardly ever here,” she said slowly. “They left everything up to Wally. He always hired employees from Stillwater and also sponsored a lot of events, like the annual steeplechase. And of course, town horses were treated at a reduced rate. Wally, naturally, is very popular and some people even think he owns the place.”

She leaned forward, stacking the leftovers in the bags Burke had brought. “Wally’s dad used to run the Center but back then it was more of a lay-up and training facility. Now it’s a combination of equine health and conditioning. It’s always been a good corporate citizen. Three Brooks has a great relationship with the town.”

But Wally’s generosity wasn’t good for any company’s bottom line, and she gulped, fearing Burke’s next question.

“You’re good friends with Wally?”

She blinked in surprise, staring at Burke through the gloom. Not the financial questions she’d expected. “Really good,” she said cautiously. “Everyone likes him.”

“Likeable, but he’s not a good manager?”

“That’s not what I said. He’s an excellent manager.” She grabbed the bags and twisted in her chair. “Here are the leftovers. Thanks for supper.”

He gestured at the half-empty wine bottle “The food can stay but I’m not leaving until the wine is gone.”

“It is good wine,” she admitted, picking up the bottle, trying to read the label in the dark. “Way better than what’s brewing in the still out back.”

And that didn’t even get a rise out of him. He stared silently across the road to where Peanut grazed contentedly, hardly distinguishable now in the darkening rain. “The receptionist smiled a little more this afternoon,” he finally said. “I assume you spoke to her. I appreciate that.”

“They’re scared of you, Burke. They think you’re always mad at something.”

“But not you?”

“You’ve got a little spot on the side of your mouth. Right here.” She touched the right side of her lip. “It’s a giveaway. You actually smile quite a bit.”

“Bullshit. You can’t see that.”

“Sure I can.”

“You’d be a helluva card player.”

“I already am. We
have
heard of cards around here.”

“Grab a deck and prove it.”

She eyed him warily. Probably no harm but there’d been some hot-tempered poker games played on this porch. And way too many fights. In her experience men didn’t like to lose, even if they could afford it. She definitely didn’t want to piss him off.

“We’re not playing for real money.” She reluctantly pushed aside the bags and gathered some red and white poker chips. Be nice to take his cash but clearly it would be corporate suicide. He was a guy who expected to win—that was abundantly clear. “How about white chips are a buck, red are five?”

“That’ll do,” he said but there was a wolfish eagerness to his mouth and when she passed him the deck, his easy handling of the cards showed he was no amateur.

She leaned forward, intrigued at how his lean fingers flew over the cards. Her dad had always said to watch the shuffle.

“Poker. Texas hold ‘em,” he said. “And to make it more exciting, the winner gets the leftover food, including dessert.” He raised an eyebrow as though expecting her to protest, but she’d already checked the dessert and it wasn’t one she liked. No, she’d let him win, put him in good humor and maybe he’d forgive her for not signing that paper.

Strangely enough though, he seemed to have already forgiven her.

An hour later, they were still playing and she forgot she was trying to let him win. And that the wine was long gone. “Ah, ha! You were bluffing!” She fanned her cards on the table in triumph. “I hate to take your food like that. You’re actually a pretty good player, Burke.”

“You’re not a bad player yourself, Jenna, but you were lucky tonight.” He touched her arm and she stiffened, fumbling with the deck. “How’s the shoulder feel?” he asked.

“It’s fine.” She rose, grabbed the smaller bag and shoved it into his arms. “And because you’re such a good loser, you can take the dessert as a consolation prize.”

“You must not like Tiramisu?” he said dryly. “I should be relieved. If we were playing for money, you’d be rich.”

“You don’t seem to mind losing,” she said thoughtfully.

“Not at all. I’d like to play again. For small stakes, of course.”

“Of course.” It was an effort to keep from rubbing her hands in glee. He wouldn’t miss fifty dollars here and there, and he wasn’t even a poor loser. In fact, he was the most level man she’d ever met—the Internet reports painting him as a ruthless ogre were totally wrong.

It wasn’t until his headlights swept over the dark hill that she realized the dinner had been in vain, and her new credentials still hung, unnoticed, on the kitchen wall.

Chapter Seven

“Good morning, Mr. Burke.”

The receptionist’s smile was forced but it was a huge improvement on her previous mumbled greetings. Jenna clearly had influence over her co-workers and targeting the unofficial leader was always an effective labor strategy.

Soften the leader and the rest came along easily. It kept employment disruption to a minimum. When the occasional staff members were fired—an inevitable occurrence—Burke Industries was already entrenched.

Clearly there was a new buzz to the Center. Aisles were spotless, workers moved with alacrity and soon they’d be ready to treat some classy horses.

Burke shoved his key in the lock and pushed open the office door, scanning the room with a suspicious eye. One drawer was tightly closed; he’d deliberately left it open a quarter inch, and the pen on top of his files now lay at a different angle.

Wally, no doubt. Nothing a locksmith couldn’t fix, but it would be a relief when Wally Turner was gone and a new manager installed. Three Brooks was no longer a charity case and deadwood had to be culled. Unfortunately, Wally’s termination for just cause had been blown when Jenna refused to sign the statement. Burke sighed. He hated to give a severance package to a thief.

It was clear Wally was skimming profits but that would be difficult to prove. Burke had scrutinized the appointment books and none of the other technicians had received cash, only Jenna. He needed her good will. And her signature.

He scrolled through his phone messages. Three increasingly plaintive ones from Theresa that he’d have to answer sometime but Christ…he rubbed his forehead. Feminine distraction was not what he needed now and besides, it was more fun playing cards with Jenna.

Hell, she was distraction enough. A couple times last night, he’d even forgotten why he was sitting on her cozy porch. Her saucy smile made his brain fog. She’d sucked at her bottom lip and dropped her guard when she was playing cards, so into the game. Damn good at reading him too, although he could have won most of the hands.

The subject line of the next text shoved Jenna from his thoughts: Derby winner struggling in breeding shed. We ready?

He quickly called his cousin. “What horse is it?” he asked, grabbing his pen.

“Mr. Nifty,” Edward said. “Chestnut colt that won the Derby and Preakness eight years ago. His offspring have been burning up the track. But confidentially, he’s having trouble covering mares, and the owners are desperate. They’re hoping it’s body soreness. Bad for them but a great opportunity for us.

“Anyway, how are you doing out there in the boonies?” Edward gave an amused chuckle. “Straightening out those hillbillies?”

“It’s not so bad,” Burke said. “Some mismanagement needs to be worked out. Staff is generally competent.”

“Then can you help this horse?”

Burke dragged a reluctant hand over his jaw. He didn’t like to be rushed, hadn’t reviewed all employee qualifications yet and there was that sticky business with Wally. Still, the public relations benefits of helping a Derby winner would be astronomical.

“Who are the owners?” he asked, stalling for time, uneasy with his gut reaction.

“Ridgeman Racing Stables, that outfit in Kentucky. And they’re willing to transfer full payment in advance. The stud is worth millions.”

“Worth zilch if he can’t breed,” Burke said.

“Whatever. They’re going to pay someone so it might as well be us. Let’s do it. You got special lights and magnets and all that yoga shit.”

“Jesus, Edward. It’s not yoga.” Burke grinned, picturing his citified cousin sitting behind his mahogany desk high in their New York office. Edward was a master negotiator but didn’t care much about the workings of the companies. As usual though, his enthusiasm was contagious.

“All right,” Burke said, blowing out a sigh. “We’ll take the horse for a couple weeks. He’ll be our first big client. Be great if it works out.”
Not so great if it doesn’t
.

He cut the connection and began listing preparations. Sharpen staff, beautify the landscape, check on security. Wouldn’t be smart to fire Wally now, although maybe he’d quit on his own. Without just cause, that would be the perfect solution. Staff would be complacent too, especially if pay hikes were pushed through. Money was generally the quickest way to inspire loyalty.

Checking on staff credentials though—tedious job. Best to hire a temp, and quickly.

He called the reception desk, struggling to remember the woman’s name, and then remembered Jenna had called her Frances. “I need the number for the local employment center, Frances,” he said.

“You looking for grooms?” Her voice had an irritating squeak.

“No,” he said. “Secretarial work.”

“Don’t think there’s a place like that…not sure.”

“Well, think a little harder. And call me back,” he snapped. He’d search it himself, find a landscaping company too. For God’s sake, how hard could it be?

Ten minutes later, Jenna burst in.

“Did you have to be so cruel?” She stalked up to his desk, hands on her hips, eyes flashing.

“Don’t you have a horse to massage?” he asked, surprised at her temper but secretly appreciative of the distraction.

“Only one, and I’m already finished. We’re not booking locals, remember?” She gave a theatrical sigh then seemed to remember her mission. “So why are you replacing Frances? She only looks unhappy because she’s overweight. And she did wash the feed room floor yesterday.” Jenna splayed her hands over his desk and leaned closer. “I really think you should reconsider. People here are just starting to like you. And that’s important in a small community.”

He couldn’t help it. Her beautiful chest grabbed his attention and he guessed he’d have to invite Theresa down for a sleepover after all. He forced his gaze back to Jenna’s face, amazed she could look so damn hot in a T-shirt and faded jeans. This girl was getting more attractive every day.

“I’m not replacing Frances.” His voice was husky and he coughed. Christ, he’d be putty in Jenna’s hands if she ever guessed how his body reacted.

“I’m not replacing her,” he repeated. “I only asked the woman for some help finding office staff. Obviously she jumped to conclusions.”

“Use your head, Burke.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Of course, she jumped to conclusions. She’s the only employee who’s a secretary.”

“There might be one less employee,” he said, “if you don’t show a little more respect.”

Her eyes widened and she instantly raised her hands and stepped back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean offense.” The words were quick and apologetic but he wasn’t fooled. She was smiling exactly like she did last night—right before she’d aced his king.

“There’s no employment office around here,” she added, “but old Mrs. Turnbull can do some typing. Bit of a gossip, but if it’s routine stuff...?”

“It’s not. More of a sorting.” He glanced at the employee files, scowling at the thought of the tedious job.

“Maybe I could help? I don’t have many horses booked.”

He paused, tempted by her offer. Shouldn’t be a problem. Salaries weren’t noted in the files, and he merely needed someone to go through and pull credentials. Once they were listed it would be a simple matter to adjust the pay.

“Or maybe Wally could do it,” she added helpfully.

He studied her through narrowed lids, wondering if the minx was actually trying to manipulate him. Wally certainly wasn’t going to set foot in this office. Ever again.

“Take a seat.” He gestured at the small conference table. “You need to cross-reference each category, then insert Three Brooks’ employees based on their educational background.”

“What about experience?”

“There’s another category for that, but it’s at a lower pay scale.”

“But that’s ridiculous.” He was surprised by the defensive flush in her cheeks. Clearly, if there was ever a union brewing, she’d be one to watch. “Experience is better than classroom learning,” she added.

He thumped the first stack of files on the table. “But we’re positioning Three Brooks based on superior employee education. Besides, you don’t have to worry. You have a diploma…and a certificate.” He paused, searching her face for that guilty flicker. Ah, there it was.

He’d check out her background later, but not yet. At this point he needed her. It was clear Wally and Jenna had a lot of influence, and it would be rash to alienate both employees at the same time.

“Stop breathing down my neck,” she said, her blond head already bent over the files. “You make me nervous.”

If she only knew
. “I’m going to check the oxygen chamber,” he said. “I’ll bring you a coffee on the way back.”

“I prefer tea actually, really hot, with a squeeze of lemon.”

He didn’t bother to reply.

***

Jenna whipped through the stack of files, searching for her name. This was perfect. She’d stick her name in the applicable category and there’d be no more worries. It hadn’t even been necessary to copy the certificate. Who’d have thought it would be this easy?