Winning Ways (6 page)

Pete's Barbeque was an interesting little hole-in-the-wall with sawdust on the floor, plank tables, and cheap plastic chairs. The heady aroma of an open fire mingled with that of juicy meat simmering in pungent barbecue sauce.

Kurt held Liz's elbow, guiding her through the mob of customers to a table in the back. He glanced down at her as they walked, dazzled by how attractive she looked. The memory of someone from his past sent a stab of sadness through his heart, and he raised his defenses against the emotions threatening to intrude. He was playing with fire - he had a new job, a demanding boss, and some scores to settle. I can't afford to get involved with anyone.

They settled at a table, and he furtively binged on the way her dark blue silk blouse clung to her, enhancing every feminine curve. A pulse of desire welled up deep inside, and he turned his attention to the menu, relieved that his arousal was hidden from view.

Through dinner, he talked about his early days showing horses, describing some of the blunders he'd made as a very young trainer. Liz laughed at his stories, and it pleased him that she'd relaxed. In the time he'd known her, he hadn't seen her smile even once.

She laughed and dropped a rib bone onto the growing pile in front of her, then licked her fingers.

"What a delicious mess!"

He squirmed, watching her small pink tongue remove the last drop of barbeque sauce from her thumb. She's oblivious to what she's doing to me! Tender thoughts moved in. Untouched, modest, genuine. All the words that jumped to mind described the woman he watched through lowered lids. Like someone else in my life.

Liz sat back and smiled. "When I was a kid, my dad always took me to Louisville for ribs after a big win at the nationals."

Kurt's brain made a sudden connect. "You're Ben Barnett's daughter? I never made the connection. Now there was a horse trainer."

A wistful smile shadowed her features. "Yes, I learned a lot from him."

Kurt leaned across the table and gave her a teasing look.

"I guess I better worry about facing you in the ring."

She giggled. "I hardly think so...I'm still pretty new at this."

He sat back and narrowed his eyes. "We'll be at the regional together...That should be interesting."

He saw the apprehension move into her eyes. He wouldn't need to worry about her skill as a trainer...before they competed against each other at a show, he'd make damned sure she was a nervous wreck.

Though the hour was late, the evening air remained warm. The scent of jasmine drifted through the open windows as the truck wound along the curved highway toward Placerville. Kurt was quiet, apparently lost in his own thoughts, and Liz felt content to gaze out the window at the blue-black sky peppered with stars. A large, yellow half-moon hung just at the top of the hills to the east.

Kurt's hand slipped onto her knee and she smiled, relishing the warmth and soft pressure of his fingers, and the prickles of excitement that rushed up her thighs. She placed her own hand over his, and they traveled through the night in comfortable silence.

Kurt's banter during dinner had been about his career, but he'd revealed little about his personal life. Finally, Liz's curiosity got the best of her.

"Where did you work before you came to Aliqua?"

He glanced at her, his expression suddenly wary. "A farm in New Mexico."

"Why did you leave there, and come to work for Aliqua?"

He didn't say anything for a few moments, then shrugged.

"Simple. Better horses. Better pay. More responsibility."

"Eve has wonderful horses. You must be thrilled to be working with them."

"Yeah. Poor old Eve's been struggling for a long time to make a name for herself, but just hasn't been able to pull it off."

Liz patted his hand. "That must be why she hired you."

Scorn edged his reply. "I guess."

Suddenly, his head snapped forward, his attention riveted on the horizon. "Oh, God."

Liz followed his gaze. The night sky over Placerville was filled with an eerie, pale-orange glow.

Kurt pushed the gas pedal flat against the floorboard, his expression grim as he navigated the narrow highway toward the light. Liz held her breath as they came into the outskirts of town, wondering what nightmare awaited them. As they rolled through the deserted streets, her heart moved into her throat. The glow had changed to deep orange with a halo of dark yellow, and the odor of burning wood lay heavily on the night air. Kurt turned the truck into the dirt lane that led to Marilyn Cook's farm, and Liz shut her eyes tightly, fighting the wave of fear that threatened to overpower her.

The equipment shed behind the barn was engulfed in flames. Against the orange blaze that roared through the small building, Liz saw the black silhouette of a tractor. She gasped as her attention snapped to a corner of the horse barn, where flames worked their way along the edge of the roof.

The truck slammed to a stop, and Kurt hit the ground at a dead run. Liz jumped down, and started after him, praying there would be enough time to get the horses out before tons of hay in the loft exploded into flames. A pumper truck was on the scene, and firemen were frantically hauling a huge siphon hose down to the pond below the house. Two sheriff's cars were there, and several people stood around watching the frightening spectacle.

Liz sprinted toward the barn doors and into darkness that echoed with the terrified cries of the horses. The smoke was beginning to filter in, and breathing would be impossible in another few minutes. She stopped for a second, looked around to get her bearings, then dashed over to the wash rack. A stack of towels caught her eye. She tied one around her face, bandit-style to cover her nose and mouth, then snatched up another, and headed for the nearest stall.

The frightened neighs tore at her sanity, echoes of another fire in the past. Please, please, let us get them all. Grabbing a halter and lead rope from a hook on the stall door, she entered. The animal inside cowered in the corner, eyes wild with terror. Liz quickly slipped the halter over the horse's head, then wrapped the towel around its face.

Kurt came running into the barn as she emerged from the stall with the struggling horse.

"Take them down by the pond," he shouted over the din. "It's fenced!"

He disappeared into the dark recesses of the barn. Two men came running up to help.

"Halters are hanging next to the doors!" she shouted. "Try to cover their eyes with something!"

The horse beside her pulled and reared, trying to turn back. Yanking hard on the lead rope, she brought him back to all fours, then started down the slope toward the pond. The terrified animal fought her, crazed by his strong instinct to get back to the only safe place he knew - his stall.

A few minutes later, Liz released the horse into the small pasture, turned, and sprinted back up the hill. Fire-hoses pumped long jets of water over the barn roof, the fire fighters desperately trying to smother the flames before the hay ignited. From the corner of her eye, Liz saw a figure standing next to the house. Marilyn stood like a statue, huddled in her robe and slippers, her arms hugged tightly against her body, her gaze glued to the inferno. What's wrong with her? Why is she just standing there?

Kurt ran past, leading two horses toward the pond. Another man followed close behind, trying to control a young horse that reared and bucked at every step. Liz refocused on the emergency and did a mental head count. Three more and we've made it. She dashed back into the murky depths of the barn. The old mare - Miss Marcy - where's her stall? Liz stopped a second to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, then headed toward the far corner.

The elderly mare whinnied loudly as Liz opened the stall door. The horse weaved back and forth, her eyes dark with terror, her nostrils flared, as she fought to breathe in the acrid atmosphere.

"Easy, Girl. It's okay."

Talking constantly to the mare, Liz tied the blindfold. A loud crack overhead startled them both. The fire had reached the hayloft, and tiny snake-tongues of flame licked between the boards above the stall, intent on eating their way through. Smoke filtered through every crack and knothole, the wisps swirling in elegant, deadly patterns against the ceiling, waiting for a gust of air to carry them downward to snuff out their victims.

Liz's eyes burned and tears streamed down her face as she led the mare out of the stall. Two more and we'll be okay.

One of the other men suddenly appeared, and Liz thrust Marcy's lead-rope at him.

"Here, take her down. I'll get the other two."

The old mare obediently followed the tug of the lead-rope and left the barn. Liz tried to figure out how to get the last two horses out of the barn at the same time. Kurt materialized out of the smoke and grabbed a halter. He looked up at the flames dancing across the ceiling of Miss Marcy's stall, and threw Liz a grim look.

"Hurry!"

As she pulled the horse out of the stall, a deafening noise like a freight train roared through the building. The hay in the loft exploded, and the already-scorched and brittle wood splintered. The ceiling in the corner disintegrated, and the animal reared, squealing with terror. Liz squeezed her eyes against the thick smoke, tears pouring down her cheeks. Voices shouted from outside, urging her to run. Another explosion, and the ceiling directly overhead started to groan. Liz frantically pulled on the rope, but the terrified animal wouldn't budge.

Suddenly, a blast of icy-cold water hit her, and the tension in the lead-rope relaxed. Spinning around to look, she saw that the horse had also been drenched, and the shock of the water had momentarily distracted him. She started to run, the horse right behind her. As she leapt through the door, another loud explosion sent debris slamming into her back.

The dazed horse followed Liz down the hill. When she reached the gate, Kurt stepped forward to help her.

His voice was tight. "I think we got 'em all. I count nine. Is that right?"

She nodded numbly. Adrenaline crashed through her system, her breath came in ragged snatches, and hot tears burned her cheeks. Without a word, Kurt reached out, and pulled her to him. Two hearts thundered against each other, separated only by heaving rib cages. In the safety of his arms, the terror of the ordeal began to fade.

A moment later, the horse at the end of the lead-rope nickered, and Liz smiled foolishly. Kurt wiped the tears from her face, a tender look passing over his features, and Liz's pulse jumped at the tiny glimpse of the real man inside "Kurt DeVallio - Tough Guy."

As she reached for the gate, a flash of red caught her eye. A long gash angled across the animal's shoulder, the edges of the wound filled with splinters of wood. Blood ran steadily down his foreleg.

"He must have been hit by flying wood in that last blast. I need to clean him up and take a look. See if the firetruck has a first-aid kit."

While she waited, Liz inspected the injury, a superficial laceration that wouldn't require stitching. She pressed her fingers firmly over the area that bled the hardest. Within minutes, the rivulets slowed, then stopped. Kurt returned, lugging a large, red box. He dropped it on the ground, exhaling sharply. A moment later, she brandished a bottle of sterile water.

"You'll need to hold him. He won't like this."

Kurt stepped up to the horse's head and murmured something as he grasped the halter. The animal's body relaxed, and Liz started cleansing the wound, a part of her brain focused on Kurt's magic.

Thirty minutes later, the injured horse was inside the pasture, quietly grazing with his herd mates, the nightmare forgotten. Liz dropped onto the grass, her knees finally too weak to hold her up any longer. Kurt eased down beside her, and slipped his arm around her shoulders.

In somber silence, they watched the old barn burn to the ground.

By the time Liz and Kurt trudged up the hill, the firemen had rolled up the hoses, and were peeling off their heavy suits. The sodden, smoldering ruins permeated the air with an acrid odor. Liz walked toward the spot where Marilyn sat on the ground, her back against the house.

Squatting down, Liz lightly touched her arm. "Marilyn, let's go inside."

The old woman slowly turned her head, following the sound of Liz's voice and trying to focus vacant eyes. Her lips moved, but no words came out. She tried again, her voice but a whisper.

"It's gone."

Liz felt deep sympathy for the poor soul who'd just lost so much, but seconds later, a positive attitude tempered Liz's pity. It could have been worse - at least we saved the horses.

When Marilyn was inside and settled into her chair, Liz moved into the kitchen to make some tea, staring with distaste at the sink piled with dirty dishes filled with scummy water and moldy bits of food. As she poked through cupboards looking for a kettle, Marilyn's rocky condition worried her. She might be in mild shock, or need to be hospitalized. I'll have to watch her closely for a while. Reaching into a small cupboard to retrieve a teakettle, Liz spotted a small glass vial and metal box. She threw a quick look toward the sitting room, then picked up the vial. A second later, she understood Marilyn's confused state. Insulin. She's diabetic.

The labor of the night's drama screamed through every aching muscle, as Liz washed the greasy, black soot from her hands and arms. Her thoughts returned to the fire. How did it start? And how did it get so far out of hand before the fire department showed up?

Kurt appeared beside her. "Find a kettle?"

She nodded. It felt so good to have him near. She resisted the powerful urge to lean against him and close her eyes for just a minute. Glancing toward the sitting room, she lowered her voice.

"How do you think the fire started?"

Kurt shook his head. "I dunno. Maybe smoker's carelessness."

"But, Kurt, the woman's been in the business for years. Surely she wouldn't smoke in the barn!"

He shrugged. "Folks get worn out in this rat-race, get careless. I really don't know much about her."

Liz remained silent, unable to deal with the notion of setting one's own barn on fire.

A few minutes later, Marilyn sipped the tea, but still seemed dazed. Liz grasped her arm.

"Marilyn, do you need your insulin?"

The woman looked baffled, then shook her head and spoke haltingly.

"No...I took my shot at dinnertime...I'm just tired."

Liz rose from the couch, motioning for Kurt to follow her to the kitchen.

"I think I'd better stay with her the rest of the night. She's diabetic, and seems a little shocky. If she needs medical attention, someone should be here to take her to the hospital."

"I'll stay, too. You might need help."

She searched his face, warming to the sincerity written on his weary features. Gratitude swelled in her chest, followed by another unfamiliar feeling where Kurt was concerned - trust.

Marilyn finally drifted into a deep sleep, and Kurt went down to the pond pasture to check on the horses, leaving Liz alone with her thoughts. She was sticky and dirty, but didn't have the strength to let it bother her. Leaning her head back on the couch, her heavy, burning eyelids closed. Immediately, against the dark backdrop of her brain, flames licked around the corners of the barn and into stalls filled with screaming horses. Her eyes flew open, her heart thundering. How many times will I have to live this night again?

As the urgency of the disaster began to fade, her thoughts centered on the teamwork she and Kurt had shared in order to save nine horses from death. Kurt had plunged into the dangerous situation without hesitation, confident of his skill in getting the terrified animals to obey him.

Her own courage had been bolstered by his presence, and the certainty that he would help her if she needed him. The memory of his protective, tender embrace warmed her heart. There's a lot more to this man than he wants me to see.

Kurt returned, and settled down next to her, intruding on her musings and bringing her back to the reality of the present.

"The horses are fine for tonight. I'll pick up some feed and hay in the morning." His gaze drifted to Marilyn's sleeping figure. "I wonder what she'll do with 'em, now that she doesn't have a barn."

Liz's analytical mind switched on. "That's a legitimate question. Nine horses can't live in that tiny pond pasture for more than a day or two. We can talk to her when she wakes up, see what she wants to do." She thought for a minute. "I have two empty stalls in the barn, and my run-in shed is pretty large, but I don't have room for all of them. Could you take a couple back to Aliqua?"

He shook his head. "I doubt that Eve would be agreeable. She and Marilyn have never gotten along."

Liz bristled. "Well, this isn't exactly a social event we're talking about! Doesn't she have any feelings for other people?"

Kurt's crooked smile emphasized his words. "Not much, Lovey. She's a one-woman woman."

Liz fumed for a minute, then decided not to waste time and energy thinking about Eve Aliqua.

"I'll call Colleen. Fairhill might have some room."

As she outlined a plan from beginning to end, she was aware of Kurt's indulgent smile. A minute later, he slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"You are somethin', you know that?"

She laid her head on his shoulder, loving the protective feel of his arm, the soft pressure of his face against her hair, his heart beating strong and steady beneath his shirt. They cuddled quietly for a few minutes, then Kurt lifted her chin and gazed at her without speaking. She looked into his eyes, saw the desire, and spiraled into a whirlpool of her own longing. The spin ended as his lips covered hers, melting her against his body and capturing her in the kiss she'd dreamed about for so long.

When their lips parted, a flash of courage surprised her.

"You're not too bad yourself," she whispered, breathless from the sexual energy coursing through her body. "I think we're pretty good together."

Kurt pulled her closer, his hand quickly moving to her breast, his voice husky with need.

"Let's find out."

Marilyn sat straight up in her recliner.

"What's goin' on? What're you doin' here?"

Liz leapt up from the couch, embarrassed at having been caught in Kurt's arms, and struggling to control the emotions raging through her head.

She moved to the chair. "How are you feeling?"

Marilyn looked confused, then indignant. "I'm fine. Now, what the hell are you doin' here?"

Liz laid her hand lightly on the woman's arm. "Do you remember the fire?"

A brief silence, then recognition flashed across Marilyn's lined face. Her worn features crumpled with the reality that the fire hadn't been a bad dream. She started to weep and keen, rocking back and forth in her dingy chair. Liz felt helpless, watching pain rack the old woman's body and mind.

Marilyn's tears finally subsided, and she turned her misery-ravaged gaze toward Kurt. "Are they all gone?"

"No, they're all okay. We put them down by the pond."

The old woman began to weep again, this time, with relief.

After about an hour, Marilyn had regained her composure. Liz took charge and the conversation turned to the fate of the horses.

"I can take three or four to my place. We'll find temporary homes for the rest while you rebuild the barn."

Marilyn's red eyes brimmed with tears again. "I can't rebuild. I don't have no insurance...I couldn't pay the premiums."

Kurt hadn't said much, but now he spoke up.

"How about we get them settled somewhere, then help you sell them?"

Marilyn looked defeated. "Yeah, I guess that'd be okay. I really can't take care of 'em anymore. I'm too old, and I can't afford their upkeep. Sellin' 'em's the best thing to do."

The outlines of the trees were barely visible against the dawn sky when Kurt and Liz silently climbed into the truck. As they headed down the lane, Liz looked back once more at the blackened rubble, and shuddered.

Kurt remained quiet during the drive. Liz glanced at him several times, wondering what he was thinking. Her own thoughts were filled with the embrace on the couch. God, I have never felt so wonderful in my life! The skin on her breast tightened with the memory of his caress, and she felt a stir deep inside. Her breath quickened. In moments, they'd be able to pick up where they'd left off.

The truck eased to a stop by her back door.

Kurt's expression was serious. "Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I got a little carried away - tired from all the excitement, I guess." He hesitated. "Truth is, I just don't have any room in my life for a relationship. You really turn me on, but as you pointed out, we shouldn't mix business with our personal lives."

The words stung like a slap, and Liz's thoughts hardened. You arrogant son-of-a-bitch! Without a word, she opened the door, and jumped to the ground.

His voice followed her. "I'll probably see you around."

Looking back at him, she saw a hint of sadness cross his features. Her heart bumped painfully, but her voice was without emotion.

"Not if I can help it."

Kurt drove through the early morning mist, a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. Liz Barnett had wormed her way into his life, and he'd found himself thinking of her as the most fascinating women he'd ever met. She always seemed to be in control of what she wanted. Smart. Professional. Successful. Sexy. He wanted to be with her in the worst way, but now she'd be the Aliqua vet, and she owned a colt that might derail his own plans. He had to consider her as nothing more than competition in the show ring.

As he watched the narrow road ahead, her face floated through his thoughts, the taste of her willing mouth still on his lips, the memory of her firm breast beneath his hand. The jarring events of the previous six hours had shown Liz's courage in the face of danger, and it was proving to be even more exciting than her physical appeal. Her self-confidence gave her the strength to take charge when needed. He cringed, recalling what a jerk he'd been the morning they'd met in the stall. It had only taken her a moment to put him in his place. And I've been right there ever since.

He slipped back into the memory of their embrace on Marilyn's couch. What was I thinking, kissing her like that? Taking a deep breath, he shook off the thoughts and switched on the radio. The country-western strains of "Achy, Breaky Heart" drifted through the cab, a fitting tribute to his life.