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  Nick wore no emotion. "I can't, Sheridan. I'm working."

  "You call that work?" She laughed. "Besides, you're the boss. You set your own hours."

  "Sorry, I'll have to take a rain check."

  Their gazes locked. Billie felt like an intruder. Finally, Sheridan dismounted and handed over her horse to a waiting groom. She left without comment, although Billie sensed her anger, boiling inside.

  Billie looked at Nick and noted the strange twist to his lips. "Are you laughing at me?"

  "This is called a grimace." Nick demonstrated while he talked. "Let's start with the basics. Now, this is a saddle."

  Billie's look was deadpan.

  Nick had no idea why he was taking up his valuable time. There was no telling what was going on back at the house, and seeing Sheridan again after all these months had left him shaken. He had enough problems, and Billie Pearce was only adding to them. "This is a stirrup."

  "Mr. Kaharchek—"

  "Pay attention. Now, you slide it up snug against the saddle like this. This is a girth. You unhitch the girth and the saddle slides off. You can take the saddle pads off the horse at the same time." He motioned for a stable hand lurking just inside the barn. From the look on the kid's face—bafflement and amusement— he'd witnessed the whole thing. Nick avoided eye contact. Instead, he handed the saddle to the youth and in turn took a blue nylon halter from him.

  He pulled Billie toward Zeke's head. "Always leave the reins over the horse's neck while you're removing the bridle." He placed her hand behind Zeke's ears. "This strip of leather is called the 'crown piece.' You gently slide it over the horse's ears and—" He paused when Billie's face suddenly registered pain. Her face went white. "Something wrong?"

  "He's ... on ... my ... foot! The dumb—son—of a horse—is on my—foot!" She tried to shove Zeke, but it was like trying to move Mount Everest. Tears smarted her eyes.

  Nick reacted quickly; one firm touch, and the big chestnut gelding calmly shifted away from Billie. She stared wide-eyed at her brand-new riding boot, perfectly branded with the imprint of Zeke's shoe. She gasped in pain. "My foot is broken. It's probably shattered." She glared at the horse. Was she just imagining the smug expression? She'd seen that same look on Sheridan Flock's face. "You did that on purpose," she accused. She shot a glance at Nick. "He obviously finds it amusing."

  Nick had to agree. It did look as though Zeke were smiling. "I'll have the stable hand shoot him immediately." He signaled for the hovering boy to take Zeke away and brush him down before putting him into his stall.

  "That's not a damn bit funny," Billie said as she watched the horse walk away with a jaunty sway of its hips. If body language was anything to go by, the animal clearly thought it was the victor in their little encounter. As for her, jaunty swaying was out of the question. She couldn't put any weight on her foot. "I'll never walk again," she wailed.

  "Mrs. Pearce, please calm down." Nick sighed. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse. The woman was really hurt. She'd probably managed not to sign a release form and would likely sue the pants off him. His insurance company would cancel. His polo school would be history.

  And she was hurt. That was the worst part. His protective instincts snapped alive. Her pretty eyes were swimming with tears she refused to shed. He purposefully lowered his gaze, focusing instead on the belligerent set to her chin, and decided she probably was brave, even if it didn't look that way at the moment.

  He scooped her into his arms and turned toward the barn. Her mouth popped open in surprise, but he felt her arms circle around his neck as though she realized she had no choice. She pressed against him for support. Just what he needed after having her fall full length against him, coming in contact with him in all the right places.

  He envisioned her children and their friends coming home at the end of the day to the smell of homemade cookies and tall glasses of milk. He envied them, wondered if they realized how lucky they were. Having been raised by one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the state, he'd had little opportunity for warm, straight-out-of-the-oven cookies and cold milk.

  Billie shifted, and the soft material of her tank top brushed against his bare arms. She felt soft and curvy and feminine, a nice contrast to the women he'd dated who felt they could never be thin enough.

  He owed Zeke a nice red apple.

  Damn. He had no business thinking how soft and warm Billie Pearce was. She had room mother and PTA spokesperson written all over her pretty face. She would never consider a three-day weekend filled with sun, fun, and great sex. She was different, and she wouldn't appreciate knowing he was aroused just thinking about her.

  Inside the barn, Nick plunked her down on a bench. "How does it feel?"

  "Smushed."

  "Smushed?"

  Lord, she was talking like her sixth-graders. "How do you think it feels?" she snapped. "It feels like a horse crushed it to smithereens."

  "We have to get the boot off."

  "Oh, no you don't! Not without ordering me a morphine drip."

  He almost smiled. "Mrs. Pearce, I need to examine your foot. That means I have to pull off the boot."

  "Okay, fine. Perhaps after that you can have me drawn and quartered." Billie sucked in her breath and gripped the bench as he gingerly worked the boot off her injured foot. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the breathing techniques she'd learned in Lamaze class years before as she prepared for labor and delivery when her children were born. She took a deep cleansing breath and concentrated on the top of Nick's head.

  She wanted to touch it, run her fingers through the silky strands. It was the color of black coffee, thick, satiny, falling in lazy waves across his forehead and curling over his ears.

  Another deep breath. He probably had hair all over the place. Something fluttered in her stomach. She was delirious with pain; that was the only excuse she could come up with for allowing her mind to run amuck with thoughts of his body. Another cleansing breath. She blew out through her mouth.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Huh?" Billie blinked and found Nick watching her curiously. His mouth was set in a grim line. She wondered if he had a sense of humor. Not that the occasion called for it. "I'm trying to get my mind off the pain."

  His look softened. "I'm sorry." He eased the boot from her foot and peeled back her sock as she continued to grip the sides of the bench. She really was trying to be brave. He stood, hands on hips, and uttered an expletive. "It's swollen."

  "Imagine that." Nevertheless, she was relieved to have the boot off. Her foot was beginning to swell and change color, seemingly right before her eyes. Not very attractive. Her only saving grace was that she had taken the time to paint her toenails the night before. That and the fact that Miss High-and-mighty wasn't there to witness her second accident of the day. Who was she to Nick anyway? Billie wondered. "It's turning purple," she said.

  Nick shook his head. It was her right foot. She wasn't going to be able to drive. Someone was going to have to take her to the hospital to get the foot X-rayed. He could ask Arnie Bates, the older stable groom, but the man's disposition had soured considerably since Nick had caught him smoking in the stable, something that was forbidden. The only reason Nick hadn't fired him on the spot was that Arnie's wife was pregnant, and they needed the money. And because Arnie had needed a break.

  Someone was going to have to take her home as well, Nick reminded himself. He felt his stomach sink at the possibility that it would, most likely, be him. He could already hear himself volunteering. Not that he was averse to being in the company of a beautiful woman, but he had his own worries—his cousins. Deedee was alone in his house, and Max was wandering about the property, up to God knew what. Nick almost preferred having Zeke step on his foot to leaving the pair unsupervised.

  Deedee was not his greatest concern. She might be a little harebrained, but she wasn't dangerous. Not like Max.

  Nick glanced at his watch. Eleven o'clock. Chances were, Deedee was
still sleeping. He'd left her a full pot of coffee. Everything should be fine ... unless she decided to make herself lunch. Slim possibility, he decided. It wouldn't occur to her to prepare her own food, even if she ate on a regular basis, which she didn't, because she was more interested in keeping her model's figure. Max, on the other hand, was hiding out and could do a lot of damage if left to his own devices. Nick gave a weary sigh. He would simply have to take his chances where the boy was concerned. At least for now, since there didn't seem to be any choice in the matter.

  "You're not going to be able to drive with that foot, and you need to see a doctor."

  Arnie started past them.

  "Can you cover for me for a bit?" Nick said. "I need to take Mrs. Pearce to the emergency room."

  The other man glanced at Billie's foot. "Yeah, sure."

  Billie didn't think the groom looked very happy about it.

  Nick reached for the boot, handing it to Billie, and, once again, lifted her in his arms. They exited the barn. "What's his problem?" she whispered, motioning to the stable groom.

  Nick shrugged. "He's having a bad day. Don't mind him."

  Most of the students had left, with the exception of a few who still lingered, talking among themselves, probably comparing notes on their first lesson. Nick looked at the cars remaining in the field beside the barn. "Which one is yours?"

  Billie fished in her pocket for her keys. "The green minivan."

  A mom-van, he thought. He could almost picture her with a van full of youngsters, laughing, their metal braces flashing in the sun. He was sure he'd find animal crackers and a box of Wet-Wipes in the back seat.

  A simple hospital run, he told himself. They'd be in and out in no time. Max wouldn't have time to do much damage. Maybe. In the meantime, Nick would take the first opportunity to convince Billie Pearce to give up polo. He had his hands full in more ways than one, and the last thing he needed in his life was a woman like Billie Pearce.

  Even if he was a man who enjoyed a good challenge.

  Chapter Two

  Two hours later Nick turned into Billie's subdivision: a small cluster of fairly new, large brick colonials on the outskirts of Purcellville. The houses sat on quarter-acre, nicely landscaped lots. Each yard contained its share of flowering dogwood, cherry, and crabapple trees. The nether parts of the houses were cloaked in azalea, boxwood, spreading juniper, and holly. Silver-dollar-sized cedar chips kept order around the trees and where beds of impatiens, phlox, and begonia grew.

  Everything looked neat and orderly, Nick thought. So normal. Quite fitting for a woman like Billie Pearce.

  She pointed to a house nestled in the cul-de-sac. "That's mine."

  Nick parked the minivan in the driveway and, ice pack in one hand, helped Billie hobble to the door on a single crutch that she'd insisted she hadn't needed but now seemed grateful for. X-rays had not detected any broken bones, but the foot would be sore for a few days. It was badly swollen and tinted a bilious green and purple.

  "You'll need to call for a ride home," Billie said, standing aside as Nick unlocked her front door. She was glad she'd straightened the kitchen before she left. There would be clutter; there was always clutter in a house where children lived, but at least the place was presentable.

  Nick nodded. He did need to call for a ride, but he wasn't in a hurry. Sheridan had probably already phoned by now, and he wasn't eager for the conversation that awaited. He almost preferred having Max and Deedee run amok than facing his ex-fiancee. Besides, he and Billie had spent the past couple of hours at the hospital together, and he hadn't once mentioned she try another hobby. He wanted to do it in a way that wouldn't hurt her feelings.

  Who was he fooling?

  He was suddenly curious to see how Billie Pearce lived. It didn't matter that he could almost see the words "hands off" stamped across her forehead, or that she was the complete opposite of what he wanted in a woman; there was an alluring side of her that made him want to take a closer peek.

  He turned the knob and pushed the door open wide enough for her to enter. "I'll bet you have a dog with floppy ears, and a cat that sleeps curled up in a wing-back chair all day," he said.

  "Um, well, she doesn't sleep there all day." Billie stepped inside and he followed. "The phone is in the kitchen. Would you like a cup of coffee?" Now why had she gone and done that? she asked herself.

  He saw the doubt in her eyes and knew she had offered the coffee more out of a sense of politeness than a need for him to hang around. That made it all the more desirable to accept.

  "Sure." He closed the front door behind him and, once again, followed her, this time into a large country kitchen with an old-fashioned round oak table and four upholstered chairs. It was situated in front of a large bay window that overlooked the backyard, where a vegetable garden had been planted. The room looked inviting. He grinned at the sight of a little-bear cookie jar.

  "Just as I thought," he said and lifted the lid. It was filled with chocolate-chip cookies.

  "Help yourself," Billie said.

  Munching his cookie, Nick glanced at the rest of the house. Her carpet, a mushroom color, had been chosen out of practicality, to accommodate children and pets running about, just as her beige walls would not show handprints as easily as white ones. She had added color in comfortable-looking overstuffed furniture of plaids and prints and bright throw pillows. Tasteful watercolors adorned the walls, as well as pictures of her children in various stages of growth.

  "I like your place."

  Billie headed for the coffeemaker, taking care with her foot. "It feels empty with my children gone. I can't seem to get used to being alone." She put in a fresh filter and reached for her coffee canister.

  Nick helped himself to another cookie. "Off at camp?"

  "Off with their father," she said, giving a disparaging frown. "He took them to Disney World."

  Nick pondered it while she put the coffee on to brew. He was being nosy, but he didn't care. He noted the look on her face and wanted to learn more. "Unfriendly divorce?"

  Billie slouched into a chair at the kitchen table and propped her injured foot on the one beside it. "The divorce has been great. It was the marriage that had problems." Now, why had she gone and told him that? she wondered. She almost never spoke ill of her ex, especially in front of the children. She was feeling sorry for herself, that's all.

  Nick looked at her expectantly.

  Billie saw the look and shrugged. She'd probably never see the man after today, so what did it matter? "An early midlife crisis," she said, waving her hand in the air as though to make light of it. As though it hadn't mattered, when, in fact, it had mattered very much. "He hit thirty and took a nosedive. I should have suspected something was amiss when he got a membership to a tanning salon."

  "And after he got a tan, he got a sports car and a girlfriend?"

  "Something like that." Billie sighed. In retrospect, the marriage had never been that wonderful. She'd married a man who wasn't ready for monogamy. He'd made an effort in the early years, but as time passed, he'd felt more and more confined, restless. She had blamed herself. Perhaps she could have done more. After having been divorced for four years, she found that time had dulled the trauma of rejection. Still, it hadn't completely erased the occasional pang of guilt.

  She straightened her shoulders. She was not one to dwell on the past, but she had certainly learned from it. She might not have been the world's greatest wife, although she knew in her heart she'd given it her best shot, but she was a terrific mother. And she was a good teacher—the best darn teacher at Purcellville Elementary the previous year. She had an award that said so. And she had a green thumb that kept fresh vegetables on the table for two growing children.

  Nick saw the slight tightening of her mouth and knew his prying had opened old wounds. He decided to change the subject. "You didn't take your pain pill."

  No wonder her foot hurt like the dickens, Billie thought. It throbbed as though, well, as though a damn h
orse had stepped on it. "I try to avoid medication, even aspirin if I can help it. I'm overly sensitive to it."

  She was trying to be tough again, Nick thought, just as she'd balked at the idea of using a crutch. "The doctor wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't think you needed it." He glanced at the sample packet they'd given her. "My dentist has prescribed this painkiller to me before. It's very mild." He found a glass and filled it with water.

  Billie hesitated for a moment before popping the pill into her mouth and following it with the water.

  Nick realized he might have acted too quickly. "You probably shouldn't have taken it on an empty stomach."

  "Now you tell me."

  The coffee had finished dripping through. He'd only planned to grab a quick cup, dissuade her against her polo career, and be on his way, but he couldn't just leave her. She needed food, and she probably wouldn't go to the trouble with her bum foot.

  Face it, Kaharchek, he told himself. He was in no hurry to leave.

  "How about some lunch?" he said, turning to her refrigerator. "I bet there are great leftovers in here."

  Billie had to shake her head at the sight of Nick Kaharchek, renowned playboy and newspaper mogul, with his nose in her refrigerator. He was one of those people who never looked out of place. He'd seemed perfectly comfortable in the hospital, doing his best to reassure her and asking the doctor all the right questions so that Billie didn't have to try to concentrate in her state of discomfort. He was obviously a man who had no trouble taking control when the situation called for it; he was taking charge of her kitchen as though it were completely natural.

  "Help yourself," Billie said, wondering at the change in him. Was this the same man who'd been so aloof on the polo field? She studied him as he moved about the room with an ease that surprised her. "You know, you're much more mellow in a kitchen than you are on a horse. Do you always experience this change of personality when confronted with a refrigerator?"