Marriage At A Price
Miranda Lee
What did an independent, spirited woman do when her stud farm was deep in debt? Marry for money? Never! Courtney set off for Sydney in search of a silent business partner.Handsome investment broker Jack Falconer said he knew the right man for her. Courtney jumped at the chance only to find that Jack was that man and he had a deal to offer. He'd clear her debts if she would do something for him in return have his baby!
“It’s not charity I’m offering you. It’s a deal.”
“A deal,” Courtney repeated, dismay clutching at her heart.
Not love…
A deal…
“I will clear your debts if you do something for me in return.”
“For heaven’s sake, what?” It had to be something huge in return for three million dollars.
Jack looked worried for a second. “This might be a bit of a shock, coming so quickly after we’ve met. But I’m quite sure on my part. In fact, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“Jack, for pity’s sake, what?”
“I want you to have my child.”
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He’s big, he’s brash, he’s brazen…he’s Australian!
Miranda Lee
Marriage at a Price
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
COURTNEY knew, the moment she saw William Sinclair’s face, that her mother’s accountant had really bad news. He’d hedged over the phone when she’d asked him if Crosswinds was in financial trouble, saying he just needed to have a little chat with her, face to face.
Courtney hadn’t been fooled by that. Her mother’s cost-cutting measures these past couple of years had been obvious to everyone. Staff was down to a minimum. The fences had not been painted. Other repairs had been left undone. The place had begun to look shabby. Which wasn’t exactly good for business.
If Crosswinds was to compete against the lavish and very modern thoroughbred studs now gracing the Upper Hunter Valley, then it needed to look its very best.
When she’d pointed this out to her mother earlier in the year, Hilary hadn’t agreed. ‘What we need, daughter, is a new stallion. Not fancy stables.’
Which was also true. Four years earlier, when the stud had been doing very well, her mother had imported a classy Irish stayer named Four-Leaf Clover.
Unfortunately, the horse had contracted a virus and had died shortly after standing his first season at stud. His only crop of foals hadn’t been much to look at as yearlings, bringing such poor bidding at auction that Hilary had stubbornly kept most of them rather than let them go for less than they’d cost to breed.
With Four-Leaf Clover gone, and their remaining two sires both getting older, Crosswinds had a real hole in its breeding program. But there hadn’t been the money to buy a replacement till this year.
‘I’ll still have to look for a bargain,’ her mother had told her. ‘I haven’t got much spare cash.’
Her mum had been cock-a-hoop when she’d arrived home with Goldplated in May, especially with the price she’d negotiated. Though no price was a real bargain, Courtney realised ruefully as she walked into the accountant’s office, if the money to buy the darned horse had been borrowed.
William Sinclair rose as she entered, being the old-fashioned gentleman that he was. ‘Good morning, Courtney,’ he greeted. ‘Do sit down.’ And he waved her to the single chair facing his large, but large, ancient desk.
Courtney took off her Akubra hat and sat down, making herself as comfortable as she could in the stiff-backed seat. A fruitless exercise. Tension had already knotted the muscles between her shoulder blades.
The accountant dropped his eyes to the papers in front of him, then started shuffling them around.
Courtney’s agitation rose. She wasn’t in the mood for any further procrastination.
‘Just give it to me straight, Bill,’ she began bluntly, and his eyes lifted, his expression faintly disapproving. He’d never liked her calling him Bill. But that was rather irrelevant at the moment. ‘No bulldust now. No waffle. I’m my mother’s daughter. I can take it.’
William shook his head at the young woman sitting before him. Yes, she was indeed her mother’s daughter, he thought wearily.
Not in looks. Lord, no. Hilary Cross had been as plain as a pikestaff. Her daughter had clearly taken after her father, that unknown, unspoken-of male who had miraculously impregnated the forty-five-year-old spinster owner of Crosswinds over a quarter of a century ago, then disappeared off the face of the earth.
Gossip claimed he’d been a gypsy, and Courtney’s looks seemed to confirm that, with her long black curly hair, dark brown eyes and rich olive skin. A striking-looking girl, in William’s opinion.
Her personality and ways, however, were pure Hilary. Just look at the way she was sitting, for heaven’s sake, with her right ankle hooked up over her left knee. That was how men sat, not young ladies. And then there was the matter of her dress, ‘dress’ being the pertinent word. Because she never wore one! William had never seen her in anything but blue jeans and a checked shirt. Yet she had a very good figure.
As for that glorious hair of hers. It was always bundled up into a rough pony-tail, then shoved under a dusty brown stockman’s hat. Lipstick never graced her deliciously full mouth. And the only scent he ever smelt on her was leather and horses!
But it was her manner that rankled William the most. Not quite as aggressive and opinionated as her mother, she was still far too tactless with people. And bold in her attitude all round. Bold as brass!
Of course, it wasn’t her fault. Hilary had raised Courtney as though she were a boy, letting her run wild from the time she was a tiny tot. He could still remember the day he’d driven out to Crosswinds, when Courtney had been about eleven or twelve. She’d met him at the gate, riding a big black colt with a crazed look in its eye and wide, snorting nostrils. Far too much horse for a man, let alone a wisp of a girl.
‘Race you up to the house,’ she’d shouted from where the horse had been dancing around in circles, obviously eager to get going. ‘Last one there is a rotten egg!’ And, nudging the huge beast in the flanks with her heels, she’d taken off at a gallop, hooping and hollering like some bush jockey on picnic day.
Though appalled at her unladylike antics, he’d still gunned the engine and had chased after the minx, certain in the knowledge that any car could easily outrun even the fastest racehorse in the long curving uphill driveway.
And what had she done? Jumped the darned fence and gone straight across the paddocks, scattering mares and foals as she’d leapt fence after fence like the mad dare-devil she was. She’d been there waiting for him when he’d finally rounded the circular gravel driveway in front of the house, her dark eyes sparkling at him.
‘You’ll have to drive faster than that next time, Bill,’ she’d teased. ‘Or get yourself a sports car!’
It was the first time she’d called him Bill. Before that, he’d at least been Mr Sinclair.
When he’d spotted Hilary standing on the veranda of the house, glaring down at her daughter, he’d experienced some satisfaction that the brazen creature would be suitably chastised for her cheek and foolhardiness.
But what had Hilary done?
Chided the girl for losing her hat!
‘Do you want to end up with skin cancer?’ she’d snapped. ‘Go back and find it and put the thing on, girl.’ At which, the bold hussy had whirled her horse and, with another hoop and holler, set off exactly the way she’d come, jumping fence after fence.
When William had dared make some critical comment himself about the girl’s recklessness, Hilary had levelled a steely gaze his way.
‘Would you have said that if she’d been a boy?’ she’d challenged. ‘No! You’d have praised a boy’s horsemanship, marvelled at his nerve, been impressed by his courage. My daughter needs those qualities in even greater quantities than any boy if she is to take over from me when I’m gone. The world of horse-breeding is a man’s world, William. Courtney needs a loose rein to become the sort of woman who can survive in such a world. There’s no room for sissies around here. As my heir, she will need more than a man’s name. She will need a man’s spirit. A man’s strength. A man’s ego. I aim to make sure she acquires all three.’
And you did a good job, Hilary, William thought now. The girl certainly has courage. And character, for want of a better word. But will she have enough to get out of the spot you left her in?
William gave it to Courtney straight, as requested.
Courtney listened to the very very bad news. Not only had her mum borrowed to buy Goldplated, as she’d feared, but to buy Four-Leaf Clover as well. And that horse had cost a small fortune! Worse, it turned out Four-Leaf Clover had not been insured, so when he’d died, the loss had been total and none of the original loan repaid.
‘Your mother didn’t believe in insuring anything against death,’ the accountant informed Courtney, ‘and I could never persuade her otherwise. As you know, she carried no life insurance herself.’
Courtney nodded. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, a lump forming in her throat as the reality of her mother’s death washed over her again.
Hilary’s heart attack had come as such a shock to everyone, despite her being seventy last birthday. She’d always seemed so strong…
Courtney frowned. Had this escalating debt been a contributing factor in her mother’s coronary? Had she been worried sick about the loan?
She’d never said a word. But then, she wouldn’t have. She’d have been too proud to admit to being so foolish.
Thinking of her mother again brought a lump to Courtney’s throat and a stinging to her eyes. She coughed, blinked, then gathered herself. Her mother had always hated her to cry. Tears achieve nothing, girl. Get out and do something to fix whatever’s bothering you. Don’t sit there blubbering and feeling sorry for yourself!
‘Exactly how much money do I owe?’ she asked brusquely.
The way Bill cleared his throat before answering was not a good sign. ‘Er…three million dollars, give or take a thousand or two.’
Three million!
Courtney struggled to hide her shock. And, somehow, she managed.
‘Never let the bastards know what you’re thinking and feeling,’ Hilary had told her more than once. ‘Let your guard down, and they’ll take advantage of you.’
The bastards, Courtney knew, were all men. And whilst she had not grown up to be the rabid man-hater her mother had been, she was learning to appreciate, firsthand, where her mother had been coming from when she’d lectured her daughter over the predatory nature of the male sex.
The month since the funeral had been an education, all right. She couldn’t count the men who’d come out of the woodwork since she’d inherited Crosswinds, smarmily flattering her and asking if there was any way they could help, now that she was all alone in the world, poor little thing.
Courtney’s thoughts turned wry. They wouldn’t come sniffing around if they knew this poor little thing was three million dollars in debt!
Pity she couldn’t tell them.
Pride, however, would keep her silent on the subject. Pride and loyalty to her mother. Hilary had spent a lifetime earning the respect of her peers in the horse-breeding world. No way would she let them laugh at her now, especially the men.
But what on earth was she going to do?
‘I know it’s a lot of money,’ Bill said gently. ‘I did try to advise your mother not to borrow any more, but she simply wouldn’t listen to me.’
Courtney nodded. She understood exactly how stubborn her mother had been, and was determined not to do the same. Bill might be getting on in years but he was an intelligent man, with an old-fashioned integrity she both admired and respected. He would never try to take advantage of her, or give her bad advice. He wasn’t one of the bastards. Courtney liked him enormously.
‘Is the bank calling in the loan, Bill? Is that it?’
‘No. They’ve been amazingly patient, and suspiciously generous in lending your mother more money, possibly because she had such excellent collateral against any loan. They can’t lose, no matter what. Let’s face it, Courtney, Crosswinds is worth a lot more than three million.’
Courtney felt the first stirrings of real alarm. ‘Are you saying Crosswinds is at risk here? That one day I might have to sell up?’
‘If things keep going the way they’re going, and you don’t try to stem the rising tide of this loan, then I’m afraid such an occurrence will be inevitable. The bank will do it for you.’
Courtney just sat there, staring at him.
How could she bear to live without Crosswinds? The house. The horses. The land. It was all she knew and loved. It was her lifeblood. She would die without it.
Real pity for the girl swept through William. He hated having to do this so soon after her mother’s death, but such things couldn’t wait. A loan as large as this grew every day, especially now that interest rates were on the rise again. That loan was like the sword of Damocles, swaying over Courtney’s head.
‘If you want my opinion,’ he said firmly, ‘then you should sell some of the horses. And quickly. You have some very valuable brood mares at Crosswinds.’
A scathing look crossed the girl’s face.
‘Sell the brood mares? Are you mad? Do you know how long it took my mother and her family before her to breed up such stock? The brood mares are the backbone of Crosswinds. They are invaluable. I’d sell myself before I sold a single one of them!’
William smothered a sigh. Oh, yes. She was a chip off the old block all right. That was exactly what Hilary had said when he’d suggested the same thing a few days before her heart attack, right down to the bit about selling herself first.
He’d refrained from telling Hilary she was hardly a saleable commodity.
But her daughter was a different matter. As William’s male gaze roved over the girl before him, a startling picture popped into his mind, that of a bound and naked Courtney standing proudly on some white slave trader’s auction block, her magnificent black hair spread out over her bared shoulders, her beautiful brown eyes blazing defiance at the lust-filled bidders leering up at her.
What a price she would command! He could well imagine some billionaire sheikh paying a king’s ransom to install Courtney Cross in his harem.
Did such things happen these days? he speculated. Possibly. But not here, in Australia.
Still, it did give William the germ of an idea…
Courtney got hold of her temper with difficulty. But, truly, Bill didn’t know what he was talking about. He might know money, but he knew nothing about horses.
‘How long do you think I’ve got?’ she demanded to know. ‘How long before the bank starts jumping up and down? One year? Two? Dare I hope for three?’
William suspected the bank in question might carry such a mortgage indefinitely—till it would take more than a miracle for Courtney to extricate herself from debt. In the end, they’d foreclose, and Crosswinds would be sold off, including Courtney’s precious brood mares. The trouble was, in such a fire sale, nothing brought its true value. If Courtney wasn’t careful, she’d not only lose Crosswinds, but there wouldn’t be anything left over for her to live on. She’d be penniless.
He had to force the girl to do something now, or all might be lost in the future.
‘It’ll be the first of August this Saturday,’ he said. ‘I’d say you might have till the end of the year.’
‘But that isn’t enough time!’ she protested. ‘You’ll have to talk to the bank, Bill, explain to them that in another couple of years I’m going to have a fantastic lot of yearlings to sell. Mum might have been foolish in some things but she was a great judge of horseflesh. Goldplated is going to be a success. I just know it. Within three years, Crosswinds will have money to burn.’
William sighed. He’d heard that one before. From Hilary. Over the years, he’d learnt that there was no such thing as a sure thing regarding racehorses, either on the track or in breeding.
‘Courtney,’ he said sternly, ‘you must find a way to pay back that loan. And soon.’
‘Well, don’t go telling me to sell my horses again,’ she threw at him, her face set into a mutinous expression, ‘because I’m not going to. And that’s final! There has to be some other way.’
‘I can think of only two other solutions to your problem. Although, come to think of it, only one is viable,’ he added drily.
What multi-millionaire would want to actually marry this difficult, stubborn, bossy girl? Beauty alone would not cut it, especially her kind of beauty which was of the wild and natural kind. Wealthy men wanted glamorous, well-groomed wives who stroked their egos and hosted perfect dinner parties, not independent, prickly creatures with an attitude, as well as a money problem.
‘What?’ Courtney’s right foot hit the ground as she hunched forward on the chair, all ears. ‘Tell me.’
‘You’ll have to find yourself a business partner, someone who’ll pay cash for a share in Crosswinds.’
Pulling a face, Courtney straightened up in the chair. ‘Nope. That won’t work, Bill. No horseman would buy a share in Crosswinds and keep his hands off the running of the place. Mum would turn in her grave. And I wouldn’t like it, either.’
‘I wasn’t talking about a horseman,’ William explained. ‘I was talking about a professional businessman. A city man. He would be a silent partner.’
‘Oh, well, now that’s the kind of partner I could just about tolerate. So how would I go about finding such a stooge?’
William winced at the word ‘stooge’. But it probably described any potential partner of Courtney’s to a tee.
‘I was thinking that you could ask Lois’s help. She’s a clever woman, not just at training horses but in public relations. She’s a whiz at getting money out of people for her racing syndicates. She also has some very wealthy clients and a wide range of contacts in the business world. I would think Lois knows quite a few likely candidates with more money than sense.’
William saw the girl’s nostrils flare indignantly. ‘Are you saying that a man would have to be stupid to go into partnership with me?’
His smile was wry. ‘Not you personally. But a wise old accountant once told me never to invest money into anything that had to be fed or watered.’
Courtney sighed. ‘You’re right. Breeding racehorses is a risky investment. This businessman is going to have to be one hell of a rich businessman.’
‘Businessmen who get mixed up with racehorses in any aspect usually are, aren’t they?’
‘True, Bill. True. Look, I can’t say I fancy taking a partner, even a silent one, but what must be must be. Better than selling any of the horses. I’ll give Lois a ring as soon as I get home. I could hitch a ride down in the horse float this Friday. I’m sending down a couple of young horses she’s agreed to syndicate out and train for me. Darned good types, too, but obviously Crosswinds can’t afford to pay for them to be trained right now.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ William confirmed, relieved that Courtney was taking it all so well. Still, he wouldn’t have expected Hilary’s daughter to fall apart.
‘I can’t stay away too long, you know. Come this weekend, foals will start arriving.’
‘You have staff to handle that. Finding a partner is more important, Courtney.’
‘Mmm. Before I go, what about insurance? I don’t want to make the same mistake Mum did.’
‘I insured everything after your mother died,’ William confessed. ‘I didn’t want to bother you at the time for permission. I hope you don’t mind.’
Courtney smiled as she rose to her feet, extending her hand across the desk. ‘Not at all. Thanks, Bill. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
He flinched at the steely strength in her handshake. No wonder the horses she rode did as they were told.
‘There’s no trouble with our general running expenses, is there?’ she asked.
‘No. Cash input is matching output at the moment. Of course, the place could do with some money spent on it. It’s beginning to look run down. So if you and Lois are going to sting some city fool for three million, you might as well try for four, and be done with it.’
She grinned at him. ‘Bill! You shock me.’
‘I doubt that very much,’ he remarked drily. ‘By the way, if Lois can’t come up with anyone suitable, I suggest you approach a financial consultancy which specialises in handling country-based investments. But that’s a last resort. Middlemen always want their cut. A personal contact deal would be much better all round.’
‘I agree. If I have to have a partner, then I’d like to have some control over who it is. Now, I’d better get moving. Friday will be here before I know it.’
‘Good luck, Courtney.’
‘See you, Bill.’
She spun on the heels of her elastic-sided boots and had taken three strides towards the door when she stopped and threw a puzzled glance back over her shoulder at him. ‘What was the other one?’ she asked.
‘What other one?’
‘The other solution to my money problems.’
‘Oh, that. It was a stupid idea. Not worth mentioning.’
She turned right round again with that stubborn set to her face he knew so well. ‘I’d still like to know.’
William let out a resigned sigh. ‘I was thinking of what impoverished aristocratic women used to do in the old days when their castles were crumbling around them.’
‘What’s that?’
‘They married for money.’
Courtney crowed with laughter. ‘You’re right, Bill. That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of. I think the world has moved on since the days when young ladies went round sacrificing themselves in marriage to aging pot-bellied counts, simply to save the family jewels.’
Actually, William wasn’t too sure of that.
‘If and when I marry,’ Courtney announced as she planted the dusty Akubra hat firmly on her head, ‘it won’t be for money.’
‘Ah-h-h.’ William smiled his approval. ‘For love, eh, girl?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Bill. Love won’t have anything to do with it. It’ll be strictly for the sex.’ And, smiling a truly wicked smile, she whirled and strode from the room.
CHAPTER TWO
‘EVERYONE’S very dressed up,’ Courtney said, glancing around at the crowd of racegoers.
All the men were in suits and ties, and most of the women were wearing hats. Lois herself was in a rather flamboyant floral suit and matching hat which might have looked over-the-top on anyone less slender and vivacious. But she carried the outfit off with great panache, looking a lot younger than the forty she admitted to.
‘I did warn you, darling,’ Lois replied. ‘Randwick is a far cry from a country racetrack.’
‘You can say that again. Thanks heaps for lending me these clothes, Lois. Sorry I was stubborn about it.’
Lois rolled her eyes. She’d had the devil of a time persuading the girl out of the jeans and checked shirt she’d been wearing this morning, and into the stylish black pants and matching cropped jacket she now had on. This minor miracle had only been achieved by her firmly telling Courtney that the members’ section at Randwick had a dress code that definitely didn’t allow jeans.
As for that revolting checked shirt… Lois shuddered at the memory.
Lois had learnt many years ago that, in the city, appearance was everything. Just because you were a horse trainer it didn’t mean you had to look like one. Lois spent an absolute fortune on her vibrant but stylish clothes, and the expenditure was worth every penny. The press photographers snapped her all the time, and the media were always seeking her opinion on the chances of her horses, possibly because she looked better on TV than most of the male trainers. She talked better, too. And smiled a lot. Lois believed that acting bright and always sounding positive brought her more coverage and more clients than the actual success of her horses.
‘You look fantastic in black,’ she complimented Courtney. ‘Much better than I ever did.’ Actually, black hadn’t been her colour since she’d had her hair blonded last year. It looked great on Hilary’s daughter, however, with her olive skin, black hair and almost black eyes. If the girl had agreed to some red lipstick and to leaving that gorgeous hair of hers down, she’d have been simply stunning. But, when Lois had suggested both this morning, Courtney had bluntly stated that she looked like a clown in make-up and simply couldn’t stand her hair around her face.
Lois had argued her case but the girl was adamant. Clearly, she was as opinionated and strong-willed as her mother. Lois had put her foot down, however, when Courtney had gone to scoop her gorgeous black curls back up into that awful rubber band, and had insisted that if her hair had to be off her face, it should be anchored more attractively at the nape of her neck with a gold clip.
Courtney had finally shrugged and given in, as though it didn’t really matter either way. Lois could only conclude that Hilary’s daughter had no idea of the uniquely exotic beauty she possessed, and which would have more than one wealthy man slavering at her feet if only she knew what to do with it.
Still, what could one expect? Teaching her daughter to make the most of her striking looks would not have been high on Hilary’s agenda. Such a stupid, warped old woman. Why hate men when they ran the world?
Tonight, over dinner, she would try to explain to Courtney that when a woman did business in a man’s world, she did it as much with her body as her brain. If Courtney wanted to save Crosswinds, then she would hopefully listen to reason.
If not, then it would be up to herself to rescue the darned place single-handed, Lois decided pragmatically. No way was she going to sit back and let that wonderful old property pass into other hands. Crosswinds had the best staying brood mares in Australia. All they needed was the right sire, and a whole crop of champion colts and fillies would be in the making. And she would be right there, willing and eager to train every single one of the little darlings!
Courtney wasn’t enjoying her trip to the races as much as she’d thought she would. Her mind was still on Crosswinds and her money problems.
‘Do you think we might meet someone here today, Lois?’ she asked tautly.
‘Someone to bail Crosswinds out, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Possibly. Though this isn’t all that major a race meeting. Not too many of the seriously rich here today. Look, darling, take my advice and don’t go worrying about Crosswinds this afternoon. Just relax and enjoy yourself. Tonight, after dinner, I’ll sit down and make a list of likely candidates, then tomorrow I’ll ring around and issue some invitations.’
‘What kind of invitations?’
‘Dinner. Drinks. Whatever suits each man in question.’
‘You don’t know any suitably rich women?’ Rich women liked racehorses too, Courtney had been thinking. And there would be less chance of a woman partner wanting to interfere with the management of Crosswinds. She just didn’t trust a man not to try to poke his bib in.
Lois looked just a tad exasperated. ‘Lord, darling, no woman is going to want to be your partner. You’re far too good-looking. No, no, no, some filthy rich old bloke is our best bet. Trust me. By the end of the week, we’ll come up with just the right person. I have every confid— Oh, good God, it’s Jack Falconer. And he said he definitely wasn’t going to be here today!’
Courtney followed the direction of Lois’s disgruntled gaze and encountered a man standing at the railing of the saddling enclosure, alternately studying the race book in his hands, then the horses being led around the parade ring. A pair of expensive-looking binoculars were hooked around his neck. He was tall, with a strongly masculine profile and close-cropped dark hair.
Courtney’s eyebrows lifted. She’d always fancied macho-looking men, and this one was certainly that, despite his sleek, city-smooth clothes. He was somewhere in his early thirties, she guessed. Though she couldn’t be certain from this distance. He could have been older.
His being older wouldn’t have made him any less attractive to Courtney. She liked older men.
‘Who’s Jack Falconer?’ she asked, intrigued by Lois’s reaction to seeing him.
‘What? Oh…one of my owners.’
‘Rich?’
‘Used to be. Not so rich any more.’
‘What happened?’
‘He chose the wrong business partner. The mongrel embezzled a good chunk of their clients’ money and did a flit to Paraguay or Bolivia, or wherever. Jack nobly made restitution himself, though legally he didn’t have to, and it almost sent him to the wall. He lost just about everything, including his live-in lady. The rotten cow dumped him and married a politician old enough to be her father. Rolling in dough, of course. Jack pretended he wasn’t shattered but he clearly was. He was besotted with his darling Katrina. He only bought a share in a racehorse in the first place because she loved coming to the races and mingling with the rich and famous.’
‘She sounds awful. Whatever did he see in her?’
Lois laughed. ‘When you see her, you’ll know the answer to that. And you’ll see her today. Her new hubby is presenting the trophy in the main race of the day. That’s why I was so taken aback to see Jack here. Because his… Oh, darn, he’s spotted me. I’ll fill you in later.’
Lois plastered a high-voltage beam on her face and stepped off the veranda of the members’ stand into the warm winter sunshine. Courtney followed, more intrigued than ever by the man walking towards Lois. Full frontal and up closer, he was even more attractive, with the sort of deep-set blue eyes that Courtney adored.
No grey in his dark brown hair that she could see, so her guess of early thirties remained. As did her initial impression that he was really built. With his suit jacket flapping open and his tie blown back over his right shoulder, there was no hiding the way his broad chest was stretching the material of his pale blue shirt.
Yet there was no question of fat, or flab. That telling area around his waistline against which his binoculars kept bouncing as he walked showed no hint of a soft underbelly, or of being held in. His stomach looked flat and rock-hard, just the way Courtney liked them.
He was even taller than she’d first thought on seeing him standing alone in the distance. Six four at least. A big man all round.
Courtney adored big men.
The three of them met on the grass, with Courtney hanging back slightly. All the better to observe him from…
‘Jack, darling…’ Lois presented her cheek to him for a kiss. ‘How lovely to see you.’
‘Hello, Lois.’ He smiled with a slightly crooked smile as he bent to give her a peck. ‘You’re looking lovely today. There again, you always look lovely.’
‘You’re such a flatterer,’ she said coyly, and Courtney tried not to laugh. But the woman was a riot. As rough as guts around the stables, but here, at the races, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
‘Now, what are you doing here, Jack?’ Lois went on sweetly. ‘When I contacted you this week, you said you definitely wouldn’t be. What changed your mind? The glorious weather?’
He seemed drily amused by her none too subtle probing. ‘No, after we talked I remembered you always said that the first time you put Big Brutus over a bit of distance, he’d win.’
‘He will too,’ Lois replied. ‘I’m very confident.’
Recognition of the horse’s name dragged Courtney’s attention away from ogling Jack Falconer. Big Brutus was one of Four-Leaf Clover’s first crop and the ugliest colt her mother had ever bred. Hence his name. He’d been one of the yearlings she’d refused to sell for peanuts, subsequently leasing him to Lois. He’d been a total dud at two years old, not much better at three, and had turned four this very day, still with only a few minor placings.
But he was bred to stay all day.
Courtney scrambled through her race book to find the race Big Brutus was entered in. There it was. A handicap over twenty-four-hundred metres, with prize money of…
‘Wow!’ she exclaimed. ‘First place pays a hundred thousand smackeroos. My cut would be what, Lois?’
Those piercing blue eyes swung her way. ‘I beg your pardon? God, don’t tell me you’re Big Brutus’s jockey. Tell me she’s not the jockey, Lois.’
‘She’s not the jockey,’ Lois said with a wry smile on her face. ‘But if she was, you’d have one of the best riders in the country on your horse.’
‘That may be, but I’ve never had much luck betting on female jockeys.’
Courtney bristled in defence of her sex. And irritation at herself for once again being attracted to a male chauvinist. Would she never find a man who looked as she liked them to look, yet believed God created man and woman equal?
‘When a race is lost,’ she said frostily, ‘it’s mostly the horse’s fault. Or the trainer’s. Or the owner’s. Not the jockey, be she female or otherwise.’
‘I don’t see how it can be the owner’s fault,’ he argued back.
‘Some owners insist on seeing their horses run in races far above their talents. And other owners insist their horses not run up to their ability at all!’
‘Courtney,’ Lois whispered under her breath.
‘No, no, let her finish,’ Jack insisted. ‘Do go on, Ms…er…?’
‘Cross,’ she announced.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ he said, smiling.
Courtney would have liked to wipe that smirk off his face with more than her tongue. But she hadn’t physically brawled with a member of the opposite sex since she was thirteen, and didn’t think the lawns at Royal Randwick Racecourse was the place to begin again.
‘Aside from the horse having a lousy trainer or a crooked owner,’ she continued tartly, ‘the main reason female jockeys don’t ride all that many winners is that they are rarely offered the best rides in races, and when they are their male counterparts make sure none of the breaks go their way. It’s a sad fact of life that the male sex do not appreciate women taking them on in fields they’ve always considered their own private turf.’
‘Possibly. But you must concede that pound for pound male jockeys are stronger. Take you, for instance. If you were a jockey, quite a few pounds of your riding weight would be wasted on your very nice but less than useful breasts. Strength-wise, that is,’ he added ruefully.
‘Actually, no, that’s not the case,’ she countered without batting an eye. It wasn’t the first time Courtney had heard that old argument. It had whiskers on it. ‘If I were riding professionally, I’d have to strip off at least twenty pounds and my boobs would shrink from their present cup C to a flat-chested double A. Add five hundred push-ups a day, and I’d be every bit as strong as any male jockey. Being female is not the point here. It’s a matter of talent and opportunity. A woman jockey can have all the talent in the world, but rarely gets the opportunities.’
He smiled. ‘I give up. You win.’
‘Thank you,’ she said crisply, but didn’t smile back. She was still smarting inside for finding him so attractive, and wasn’t about to be won over by one smarmy little smile.
Getting the message that he was on the outer, he turned to Lois. ‘So explain the mystery to me, Lois? Why is Ms Cross, here, entitled to a share of Big Brutus’s prize money?’
‘Courtney’s mother bred Big Brutus. I leased him as a yearling, then syndicated him out to you and your partner.’
‘Oh, I see. Sorry,’ he directed at Courtney with another winning smile. ‘And sorry about the jockey bit. I was only stirring. I don’t know about your riding talents, but your debating skills are excellent. You wouldn’t be a budding lady-lawyer by any chance?’
His charm was undeniable, and Courtney struggled to stay angry with him.
‘Courtney is a horse breeder, too,’ Lois answered for her. ‘The Crosses have been breeding thoroughbreds for generations.’
‘You don’t look like a horse breeder,’ he said, and those sexy blue eyes raked over her from top to toe.
Courtney’s heart lurched upwards, then did a swallow dive down into her stomach.
Wow, she thought a bit dazedly. This guy is dynamite.
‘Since Lois isn’t going to introduce me properly,’ he said, ‘then I will. Jack Falconer…’ And he held out his hand.
It was a big hand, naturally. He was a big man.
Reaching out, she slid her own relatively small hand against his huge palm, curling her thumb around half of his and squeezing firmly.
‘Courtney Cross,’ she replied, steadfastly ignoring her madly galloping heart.
‘Delighted.’ And he squeezed even more firmly back.
She felt it all the way down to her toes.
Courtney simply could not understand how any woman with an active libido could prefer some aging politician to this gorgeous hunk of male flesh.
The only possible answer was money.
Okay, so he’d fallen on hard times. But not through any fault of his own, according to Lois.
Courtney wondered how he could afford Big Brutus’s training fees. Lois didn’t come cheap.
‘And what is it you do for a crust, Jack?’ she asked, not subscribing to the theory that you never asked personal questions on first acquaintance. How else were you going to find out what you wanted to know?
‘I used to be a financial consultant,’ he said happily enough. ‘Or an investment broker, if you prefer that label. At the moment, I’m a gentleman of leisure.’
‘You mean you’re unemployed.’
‘Courtney!’ Lois broke in. ‘For heaven’s sake.’
‘It’s perfectly all right, Lois,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t mind. If by unemployed you mean I don’t work for wages, then you’re absolutely right. I am unemployed in that sense. But I’m not broke. And I’m not on the dole. Currently, I am a man of independent means.’
Which meant he was looking for work and living on his savings.
‘Would you two excuse me for a few minutes?’ Lois interrupted. ‘I’ve just spotted the owners of my horse in the second race. Jack, darling, look after Courtney for me, will you? Take her inside, up into the bar overlooking the track. Get her a drink. I’ll find you when I’m finished down here.’
Courtney was not displeased at being left alone with the dishy Jack. But, as Lois walked off, he looked momentarily disconcerted.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said straight away.
His eyes cleared of the cloud that had momentarily muddied them to a bleak grey. ‘Why should I mind?’
‘Maybe you want to go place a bet on the first race,’ she said. ‘Or maybe you have other friends here that you feel you should be getting back to.’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘What about the other part-owner of Big Brutus?’
‘He’s in Bolivia. I now own all of Big Brutus.’
‘Oh! I didn’t realise Lois meant that partner. I wasn’t listening properly.’ She’d been too busy ogling Jack. ‘Owning a racehorse all by yourself is very expensive, you know. Can you afford it?’
‘I will be able to, after today. Lois is confident Big Brutus is going to win.’
‘Lois is always confident her horses are going to win, especially when there’s a cup or a prize at stake.’
Jack smiled a lazy smile. ‘She is, isn’t she?’
‘Still, often enough she’s right. She does love those trophies. My mother thought her quite wonderful.’
‘Thought?’
Courtney swallowed. ‘My mum passed away recently.’ It still hurt, but the urge to cry whenever she thought about, or talked of her mother was gradually lessening. In a dozen years or so, she might actually get over losing her mentor, and champion.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said gently. ‘Had she been ill? She couldn’t have been very old. Unless you’re the youngest in the family.’
‘Actually, she was quite old. Seventy. I was her only child, born when she was forty-five.’
‘Goodness. And your father?’
‘My father is not a part of my life,’ she said with an indifferent shrug. ‘I never knew him, you see, and Mum rarely spoke of him, except in general and not very flattering terms. But gossip put him a good deal younger than her. A gypsy seducer, I gleaned from my classmates at school. And others over the years.’
‘Ah. Good old gossip. It never lets the truth get in the way of a good story. He was possibly a very nice man.’
Somehow, Courtney doubted that. A very nice man would not have made her mother so bitter. But his absence had never hurt her. She’d rather relished the freedom of not having some male hand controlling her up-bringing. People said her mother had let her run wild. That wasn’t entirely true. The wildness, Courtney believed, she’d been born with.
‘But let’s not dwell on sadness,’ Jack said, hooking his right arm through her left. ‘Let’s go and have that drink Lois suggested.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ Courtney agreed, delighted to have the company of this very stimulating man.
The table he steered her to in the upstairs bar had a perfect view of the track. She could see the horses trotting out for the first race. But she didn’t watch them for long. Her eyes were all on Jack as he went over to get the drinks himself rather than wait to be served at the table.
‘Will you be going back into the investment business again?’ was her first question when he returned with two glasses of champagne.
‘Possibly.’
‘I might be in need of an investment broker soon,’ she said.
‘Why would that be?’ Jack asked, frowning.
‘To find me a silent partner. For my stud farm. Not that I like the idea. Unfortunately, it’s a necessity.’
‘You have a money problem?’
Courtney rolled her eyes. ‘Do I have a money problem?’
‘Tell me about it.’
Courtney could see no reason why she shouldn’t tell him. If Lois didn’t come through with someone, she just might give him a call. Besides, she fancied him rotten and there was interest in his eyes.
So she told him. Everything. All her mother’s mistakes and misfortunes over the last few years. Even the amount of money she now owed and needed to find.
‘Lois thinks she’ll find some suitably mega-rich businessman from amongst her wealthy racing contacts,’ she finished up. ‘And she probably will, knowing Lois. But I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to take on a partner who’s mad about racing and who might develop some private fantasies about becoming a hands-on breeder himself. I’d prefer someone who just looks on this as a financial deal.’
‘Fair enough. Have you told Lois that?’
‘I’ve only just starting thinking that way. It’s difficult to think straight when you’re desperate.’
‘Never be desperate, Courtney. Being desperate is the way to disaster. People know when you’re desperate and take advantage of you. Always be cool. Never show fear. I’m sure you’d be very good at that.’
Courtney was impressed. It was the sort of advice her mother would have given her.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘There’s no need to panic. The bank hasn’t actually foreclosed as yet. So what do you suggest I do?’ she asked.
‘Take your time in finding just the right person. If the bank hasn’t sent out any warning or threatening letters, then desperation hour has not yet arrived. Don’t rush into anything. Scout around. I could give you the names of some very good investment brokerages here in Sydney. Ring them up and go see them.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘How long have you got?’
‘I really have to get back to Crosswinds as quickly as I can. It’s foaling time and I’m short-staffed. My accountant says this is more important, but he just doesn’t understand.’
‘It would take at least a week to line up appointments and do the rounds,’ Jack said.
‘Would you help me? I mean…a personal introduction would be much better than my just ringing up these people out of the blue.’
He seemed a little taken aback by her request.
‘You did say you were a gentleman of leisure,’ Courtney pointed out with a decidedly flirtatious smile.
He smiled back, if a little ruefully. ‘You have a hide, Ms Cross. Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Several people, actually.’
‘I’m not surprised. But, okay, I guess I could do worse things with my time than squire a beautiful young woman around town. Have you been down to Sydney before? Or is this your first visit?’
‘Lord, no, I’ve been lots of times over the years. And frankly I’m always happy to get home to Crosswinds.’
‘You don’t like the city?’
‘Can’t say that I do. What you see is not always what you get.’
‘So young to be a cynic.’
‘Is there a right age to see through hypocrisy?’
‘I guess not…’ He looked thoughtfully down into his champagne for a few moments before glancing back up. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again with no words coming out. His blue eyes grew arctic-cold, then colder still, his gaze fixed on something beyond Courtney’s shoulder.
Female intuition warned her that only one person could cause this reaction. The treacherous Katrina. The woman who’d ditched him and married another man; the woman Lois said he was still besotted with.
But that didn’t look like love glittering in Jack’s chilling blue eyes. It was more like hate. Hate, and the need for vengeance.
CHAPTER THREE
WHAT kind of woman, Courtney puzzled as she sat there, could inspire such strong emotions in a man like Jack Falconer?
If Courtney had been alone, she’d have simply spun round in her chair and taken a good, long, hard look. But this situation called for a bit more subtlety, despite the fact that subtlety was not her strong suit.
She improvised. ‘I need to go to the loo. I won’t be long.’ Standing up, she turned and pretended to search the room for the ladies’ whilst zeroing in on the direction of Jack’s piercing gaze.
And there she was, standing by the bar, clinging to the arm of a white-haired gentleman whose suit jacket was struggling to remain done up over his portly stomach.
Courtney had no doubts it was Katrina.
Lois had said she would understand Jack’s infatuation once Courtney saw her. And she did.
Katrina would have given any supermodel in the world a run for her money. She had everything they had, and possibly more. The height. The figure. The face. The hair. Definitely the clothes.
She was wearing a superbly cut calf-length cream woollen dress which hugged her stream-lined body, revealing every flowing but delectable curve. Her hair, which was a similar cream colour, was worn up in a rather severe French pleat which served to emphasise the perfection of her classically beautiful face. Gold and diamond earrings winked in her lobes. Her neck was bare, perhaps because she didn’t want to distract any man’s eyes from its elegant length, and the impressive cleavage the dress’s deep V-neckline put on display.
Courtney couldn’t see the colour of her eyes from that distance but she could certainly see the colour of her mouth. A rich blood-red.
Jack’s blood, she thought angrily.
Seeing the man Katrina had chosen over Jack, however, confirmed Courtney’s guess that this was all a matter of money. Katrina had obviously wanted to marry money, and Jack no longer had enough. What a cold-hearted money-grubbing bitch!
‘The ladies’ room is over there,’ Jack said, misinterpreting her lengthy hesitation.
Courtney whirled back to face him. He’d sounded totally composed, but his eyes betrayed emotions best not explored. ‘Where?’
He pointed to a far corner.
Courtney quickly assessed that there were two routes she could use to make her way there. One went straight between the tables, the other skirted the bar. Courtney went between the tables on her way there, and skirted the bar on her way back. Superbitch was still there, sipping a cocktail and hanging on hubby’s every word.
‘Hi, Katrina,’ Courtney said breezily as she passed, but without stopping. Long enough, however, to see the cow’s green eyes—they would be green, wouldn’t they?—lift in surprise, then trail after her.
Courtney threw Jack a blinder of a smile as she walked towards him, and he automatically smiled back, as she had known he would. ‘You were quick,’ he said once she’d sat down again.
‘Didn’t have to touch up my make-up,’ she said truthfully. ‘Or my hair.’
He gave her face and hair a long, thoughtful look. ‘You don’t need to. You look great.’
‘Thanks. You look great too.’
His laughter was real, and his eyes warm with genuine amusement. ‘You are a very unique girl, do you know that?’
‘Yep.’
He laughed again. ‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you modesty?’
‘Lord, no. She taught me to say what I thought and do what I pleased.’
Jack’s straight dark brows shot upwards. ‘A very unusual mother, from the sounds of things.’
‘She was.’
‘You must tell me more about her. And about yourself. But first, I think another drink is—’
When he broke off, his eyes freezing once more, Courtney knew the reason why. She’d bargained on Katrina watching where she went, then not being able to resist coming over. It was one thing to dump a man. Quite another to find him seemingly happy in the company of another woman. And a much younger woman, at that.
If there was one thing guaranteed to get up the nose of a thirty-something female, it was seeing her ex with a younger woman.
And Courtney wanted to get up Katrina’s oh, so perfect nose to the nth degree.
‘Jack,’ came a softly purring voice which could belong to none other but the scheming cow herself. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here today.’
She drifted into Courtney’s view. Hubby, however, was nowhere in sight.
Jack smiled a smile that sent shivers running down Courtney’s spine. Here was a man who would not forgive easily. Or forget. It occurred to her that Jack’s embezzling partner would be wise to stay exiled for ever in his South American hide-away.
‘Why ever not, Katrina?’ Jack drawled, leaning his broad shoulders back against his chair. ‘Big Brutus is going to win today and I’m going to be there to accept the trophy. Along with Courtney, here.’
Glittering green eyes swung her way. ‘I’m sorry,’ Katrina said with lemony sweetness. ‘You said hello to me, but I can’t seem to place you.’
‘Oh, you don’t actually know me,’ Courtney trilled back. ‘But I feel like I know you. Jack has told me so much about you.’
‘Really,’ Katrina said coldly.
‘We didn’t want to have any secrets between us, did we, Jack?’ Courtney smiled over at Jack, who thankfully wasn’t looking too poleaxed by her bold charade.
‘How nice,’ his ex managed to grate out between her dazzlingly white but grindingly clenched teeth. ‘So how long have you two been going out together?’
‘Gosh, I’m not sure,’ Courtney jumped in again. ‘I haven’t been counting. How long has it been, darling?’ By now, she hoped and prayed Jack would back up her story.
‘Lord knows, sweetheart,’ he returned, his eyes amused on her. ‘I haven’t been counting, either. All I know is it’s been one remarkable experience.’
Courtney could practically feel the woman’s hostility. If she gripped her purse any tighter, her scarlet fingernails would sink holes in the leather.
‘She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Jack?’ Katrina sniped.
Jack’s expression was superbly indifferent to the woman’s barb. What a man, Courtney thought. City-smooth and city-smart. But with such adorably macho looks. A most unusual combination.
‘I would have thought she’s just the right age,’ he replied coolly. ‘Can’t say the same for old George, however. He’s only got a few good years left in him, I would imagine. Look, I’d love to chat, Katrina, but the horses are in the barrier. We’re sure to run into each other later, after Big Brutus wins his race, since George is going to present the trophy.’
With that, Jack picked up his binoculars from the table and focused them on the race that had just jumped. Katrina glared pure hate at Courtney, then stalked off.
‘She’s gone,’ Courtney whispered, smiling satisfaction to herself.
‘I’m not sure if I should be angry with you, or grateful,’ Jack muttered drily, but without shifting his eyes away from the binoculars.
‘Grateful would be the more sensible option.’
‘I presume Lois told you about Katrina.’
‘Only the bare facts. I asked her if you were rich and she told me of your own recent money troubles, which led on to her mentioning Katrina’s defection to George.’
‘Ah… I see… Yes… That explains everything.’
He fell silent then, seemingly intent on the race. It was only a sprint and the runners were already approaching the turn into the straight, with three of them vying for the lead and another pair hot on their heels. It looked like being an exciting finish.
Yet, for the first time during the running of a horse race, Courtney found her mind wandering away from the action.
A couple of things had begun puzzling her. She could understand why Jack hadn’t quite got over Katrina yet. After all, he was the one who’d been dumped. And the woman was simply stunning to look at. Courtney suspected she was hot stuff in bed as well.
But Katrina’s jealousy on seeing Jack with another female seemed over the top. What on earth had she expected? That a man like him would never turn his eye elsewhere? Had she imagined for a moment that she was irreplaceable in Jack’s life, that her betrayal would turn him into an embittered celibate?
The idea was laughable. The woman had to have a screw loose.
Unfortunately, it did seem as if Jack hadn’t turned his eye elsewhere as yet. He’d come here today alone, hadn’t he? She was just a pretend girlfriend.
‘You’re far better off without her, you know,’ she announced with pragmatic logic just as the horses flashed past the post. ‘If she didn’t love you poor, then she didn’t love you at all, did she?’
Jack lowered his binoculars and gave her a long, hard look. ‘I know you meant well in doing what you just did, Courtney. And in a way I’m grateful to you. But you really don’t know what you’re talking about where Katrina and I are concerned. Neither does Lois. She…oh, oh, talk of the devil. Lois is about to descend upon us. Now, for pity’s sake, don’t relay to her anything that just happened. And you can drop the besotted girlfriend bit. Katrina and co have left the bar.’
Courtney pulled a face. ‘Pity. I was rather enjoying myself. What about when Big Brutus wins? Shouldn’t I revive the role, at least for the presentation?’
‘Let’s wait till the horse actually wins, shall we?’ Jack stated drily. ‘Hi, there, Lois. Time for a glass of champers?’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘SO WHAT do you think, Courtney?’ Jack asked ten minutes before the main race. ‘Will Big Brutus win, or not?’
They were standing by the parade ring, watching the grooms leading their charges around in circles. Lois was standing in the grassed centre, giving her hoop last-minute instructions and suddenly looking very much the professional horsetrainer she was.
‘Come on,’ Jack persisted. ‘You’re the horse expert here. Give me your expert advice.’
Courtney had to admit she was impressed by Big Brutus’s appearance this time in. He was beginning to look like the classy thoroughbred his breeding indicated, most of his earlier ugly angles filled in with hard muscle.
And there was that superior look in his eye which often denoted a good racehorse. Her mother had always had faith in Big Brutus and her mother had been no mean judge of horseflesh.
‘He certainly looks the goods today,’ she said. ‘Worth a bet at the odds.’ He was twelve to one.
‘Mmm.’ Jack reached for his wallet. ‘Each way?’
‘Betting each way is for little old ladies,’ she scorned. ‘Better to put your money straight out on two horses than wimp out on one.’
‘Heaven help any man who looked a wimp in front of you!’ he returned, smiling wryly. ‘Straight out it will be, then. Stay where you are. I’ll be back shortly.’
Courtney watched him counting out a lot of notes as he hurried off. She hoped he wasn’t going to put too much money on Big Brutus’s nose. He probably couldn’t afford it. Besides, her record of tipping winners wasn’t all that great. Too biased, most of the time.
Strangely, she wasn’t much of a gambler herself. Her thrill whenever a Crosswinds-bred horse raced was just as great with or without a bet on it. She didn’t need any extra adrenaline charge. Her excitement level was already at its zenith, just watching one of their horses run around. To see it win was the ultimate joy.
Her heart contracted at this last thought. If only her mum could have been here today. She loved it when one of her horses won.
Though in this instance it was a case of if, not when.
‘If you’re watching from up there, Mum,’ she murmured under her breath with an upward glance into the clear blue sky, ‘then ask the Lord for a little help. No, a lot of help. This is Big Brutus here. As you know, the best he’s finished so far is second. In a maiden!’
The reality of Big Brutus’s past form hit home and Courtney sighed. Lois really shouldn’t build people’s hopes up.
By the time Jack returned to lead her up into the stand to watch the race, Big Brutus’ price had tumbled to an alarming six to one.
‘My God, how much money did you put on?’ she questioned as they squeezed into a spot in the stands not too far from the winning post.
‘Nothing I can’t afford,’ he returned calmly.
‘Yeah, right. And if Big Brutus doesn’t win? I’ll bet come Monday you’ll be heading for the dole queue.’
‘But you said he would win.’
‘I said no such thing!’ she protested. ‘I said he looked well. If you want to lose the rest of your savings on a stupid horse race, then that’s your problem. I didn’t twist your arm.’
‘True,’ he said with a smile.
He wouldn’t be looking so cool when Big Brutus ran down the track, Courtney thought angrily. Men! Egotistical fools, the lot of them!
Despite her dismissal of any personal responsibility for Jack’s bet, Courtney’s stomach began churning and chundering like an old washing machine stuck on the spin cycle.
‘They’re off!’ she shouted simultaneously with the course commentator, every muscle in her body tightening.
It wasn’t a big field. Only ten starters. But when Big Brutus settled down at the tail soon after the start, Courtney had to stifle a groan of dismay. As much as she kept telling herself this was Randwick, where horses could come from behind once they topped the rise into the straight, Big Brutus’s record in races up till now didn’t help. He was a good stayer, all right. He usually stayed at the back of the field.
By the time they reached the back straight, with half the race already over, Big Brutus was still running last. Admittedly, the front runners were setting a brisk pace, which meant they might tire, and Big Brutus did look as if he was just jogging.
‘Get a move on, you ugly old brute!’ she burst out at long last.
‘You talking about the horse or the jockey?’ Jack quipped drily out of the side of his mouth.
She threw him a vicious glance, warning him that any smart alec chit-chat was not a good idea at this stage of proceedings. But he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were glued to his binoculars.
‘Move him up closer,’ Courtney urged loudly from the stand, cupping her hands around her mouth as though by some miracle this action would funnel the advice half a mile away.
‘Now, that’s definitely advice for the jockey,’ Jack muttered, bringing an exasperated sigh from Courtney.
‘It’s your money going down the gurgler,’ she pointed out tartly, whereupon Jack dropped his binoculars and started shouting advice as well.
They both fell deathly silent, however, when the field swung into the straight and a still trailing Big Brutus was pulled out into the centre of the track to make his run. His long legs lengthened stride and he began to gobble up his opposition. With a furlong to go, he swept past the tiring front runners.
‘The ugly old brute is going to win,’ Jack said with awe in his voice. ‘Lois was right!’
The reality of his words snapped Courtney out of her own frozen state of shock, and she started jumping up and down. ‘Go, boy, go!’ she chanted like a demented rock groupie. ‘Go! Go! Go!’
Big Brutus went all right, leading the field by ten lengths, stretching out his neck at the winning post as all really good racehorses do. An ecstatic Courtney threw her arms around Jack. ‘He won!’ she cried. ‘He won!’
‘He sure did,’ Jack said, grinning and making no attempt to disengage her.
‘You must have won a good bit,’ she said, so pleased for him.
‘More than a good bit. The bookie is going to be the one heading for the dole queue after he pays me out, I can assure you.’
‘Fantastic! Lois, did you hear that? Jack won a stack on Big Brutus.’
Lois didn’t hear a thing. She was too busy hugging everyone within hugging distance. It suddenly crossed Courtney’s mind that Katrina was probably watching all this hoo-ha from somewhere in the crowded stand. With that thought in mind, she launched herself up on tiptoe and kissed Jack full on the mouth.
For a second or two, she thought he was going to spoil everything and push her way.
But he didn’t do any such thing. He did just the opposite. He yanked her hard against him and kissed her back, kissed her with an incredibly explosive passion, kissed her till everything in her head was scattered to the four winds and there was nothing but his lips grinding against hers, his tongue deep in her mouth, and his hands burning hot through her clothes.
And then…then he pushed her away.
She gasped and stared up at him with startled eyes. He laughed softly, gathering her close again. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t resist.
Amazing…
‘Be careful what you start wanting, Courtney Cross,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Or you just might get it.’
Lois’s tapping Jack on the shoulder had him drawing back once more.
‘Hate to interrupt, folks,’ she said, giving a flushed Courtney a raised-eye glance. ‘But it’s time to go lead Big Brutus in. Would you like to do the honours, Courtney?’
Courtney snapped out of her highly uncharacteristic fluster to congratulate Lois on her brilliant training of Big Brutus, grateful for the opportunity to turn her mind from Jack’s kiss. She’d been dangerously turned on there for a while. And he’d known it.
Courtney never liked a man to think he had her at a disadvantage. She liked to call the shots in every aspect of her life. And that included her sex life.
‘You do realise you’re leading in a Melbourne Cup contender,’ Lois remarked happily as the three of them made their way downstairs.
The Melbourne Cup! Courtney had to admire Lois’s optimism. Admittedly, after today, she respected the woman’s judgement a good deal more. But Australia’s premier staying race over two miles was a big step up from today’s mediocre-class handicap.
‘You’ve actually entered him?’ Courtney asked, knowing that was not a cheap exercise in itself.
‘Your mother did.’
‘My God, wasn’t that just like her?’
‘Your mother knew what she was doing, Courtney. The horse has got a good chance. It’s a handicap race, remember? Big Brutus will get in with a very light weight. Of course, he’ll have to win one of the qualifying lead-up races to ensure him of a start. But he’ll do that easily, after today.’
‘Lord, don’t say things like that in front of Jack!’ Courtney exclaimed. ‘Or he’ll make Big Brutus favourite next time! He might even be tempted to take some of those ridiculous odds they give Melbourne Cup entries months in advance.’
It was three months till the big race itself took place, on the first Tuesday in November. A veritable lifetime in horse racing. A million things could happen to stop them even taking their place at the start!
And then there was the race itself. Twenty top stayers from all over the world vying for the biggest prize money on the Australian racing calendar, every owner trying, every jockey riding more recklessly and ruthlessly than usual.
‘Tell Jack not to waste his winnings, Lois,’ Courtney advised firmly. ‘Tell him to wait and see how things pan out.’
‘As long as Jack’s paying Big Brutus’s training fees,’ Lois said, ‘I’ll be telling him the truth as I see it. Big Brutus has a good chance in the Cup, Jack. Make no mistake about that. And I’ll get him to the post. Make no mistake about that, either. Your money could do worse than to ride round on such a noble animal’s back.’
Courtney rolled her eyes at Jack, who tactfully smothered his laughter.
They’d barely made it downstairs and out onto the grass when a tall, balding chap with a microphone grabbed Lois for an on-the-spot television interview.
Courtney hurried over to lead Big Brutus back into the number one gate, patting his sweaty neck and telling him what a good horse he was before remembering to congratulate the jockey on his brilliantly patient ride.
‘Just followed instructions,’ the jockey said. ‘Frankly, you could have knocked me over with a feather when he took off like he did. Never done that before. Still, now that he’s hit his straps, I think the big boy will go on to better things. I’d be very happy to have the ride on him again, no matter what race he starts in.’
‘What was the jockey saying to you?’ Jack asked on her eventually returning to his side.
‘He wants to ride Big Brutus, no matter what race he’s entered in.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I think you kiss very well.’ Couldn’t leave him thinking he’d really rattled her.
He shook his head, laughing. ‘You’re incorrigible, do you know that?’
‘Agnes tells me as much, practically every day.’
‘Who’s Agnes?’
‘She’s the housekeeper at Crosswinds. She’s also the woman who delivered me. Mum hired her when she was pregnant because of Agnes’s midwifery skills. She didn’t want any man attending to her, you see. Agnes helped raise me, too. But she gave up when I was around seven. They say that’s the age of reason. Agnes claims seven was the age of my becoming unreasonable.’
‘Perceptive woman, this Agnes.’
‘Really!’
‘Well, you do suffer from a serious lack of discipline and self-control. One day someone is going to have to take you in hand.’
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