Читать книгу Bittersweet - Laura Browning - Страница 5

Chapter 2

Chris watched as the tiny woman vet reversed the clinic’s pickup truck and drove away until her taillights had all but disappeared. Where the hell did he know her from? Had Jim brought her around to introduce her? Maybe that was the case and it had just slipped his mind, but that scenario didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t have forgotten her, not with her attitude and looks. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t place what. With a shake of his head, he strode back to check on Bart one more time before closing for the night.

He would have rather had Jim, but on a weekend night, he couldn’t afford to be choosy no matter how much business his farm brought the clinic. He was a lot more comfortable with the clinic’s senior vet. Hell, he’d known the guy since he was a kid. Jim was almost a surrogate dad. To be fair, though, Barlow had done a good job.

Chris stopped in front of the stallion’s stall. He had fired the groom responsible for the stallion’s accident. Had it been the first time Rafael had been involved in something, he might have been a bit more understanding, but the man did not pay attention to the horses the way he needed to. Most of the animals in this barn were worth five or six figures, and he couldn’t afford carelessness. Staying in town this weekend instead of flying out to watch some of his horses had turned out to be a wise decision. Bart was the best stallion on the place, and Chris had high hopes for what he would contribute to the future of the farm.

The stallion munched hay. At the sound of Chris’s approach, the big horse raised his head, pinned his ears and tossed his muzzle as if to say “Back off, I’m not in the mood.”

Chris chuckled and turned off the light switch next to the stall. After closing the barn for the night, he walked the quarter mile along the narrow gravel drive to his house. Fincastle Farm had been there for two hundred years, and the large stone house in which he lived was the oldest building on the farm. It contained part of the original log structure, but had been added onto over the generations. His mother had never cared for the house, though, so his father built her a more modern home even deeper on the property. Chris often saw those lights from the veranda of his house.

After grabbing a beer from the refrigerator in his study, he returned to the veranda and settled in one of the rocking chairs there. He lit a cigarette and sighed as he leaned back, studying the glowing ember while he let his thoughts wander. He had needed a break. That’s why he was home. After showing all winter in Florida, Chris had decided to spend the spring and summer working with the younger horses on the farm and leave the showing to his assistant trainer and a couple of talented younger riders. On top of that, there was Bess, his favorite mare. After two years, she had finally settled late last breeding season and was due to foal any time.

Those excellent reasons aside, the truth was he was tired of the constant travel. After years of competing, the showgrounds looked alike. Even the people he met blurred in his mind. Now here he sat, thirty years old and alone.

There were always plenty of people on the show circuit to stroke an ego or anything else a person desired, but he’d discovered how shallow such a lifestyle was last year when he caught his girlfriend screwing one of the grooms right in the tack room. He had kicked them both out then gone to a friend’s party to get as plastered as possible. He didn’t remember much of the night except that he awoke in a spare bedroom the next morning with no clothes on and one hell of a hangover.

Something had had to change. He had quit the hard partying and started watching some of the people on the circuit he had always admired, like Nelson and Wynter Anderson. They seemed so normal. He envied them. The more he thought about it, though, his parents managed a similar relationship. His father had showed years ago, but they maintained a normal life, picking and choosing when they would travel, and doing it as a family. And why the fuck was he thinking about that now? The pretty vet and her baby? He stubbed his cigarette. No, the answer was a whole lot simpler.

His mother was nagging him to start his own family. The thing was, Chris had started to consider it too, until the incident with Sydney last year. He shook his head. He’d come close to asking her to marry him, but not for any of the right reasons. He understood that now.

Since then, he hadn’t dated. Hell, he hadn’t even been with a woman. His absence and abstinence were no doubt fodder for the show circuit gossips, but he was beyond caring. If and when he got married, he would do it for the right reasons and to the right woman. Let them think he pined after Sydney. If those thoughts kept the groupies out of his hair, so much the better.

A sudden vision of Dr. Barlow popped into his head, her cap of sable curls bent forward as she looked at the baby nursing at her breast. The feeling stabbed him right in the gut. Chris shook his head. Now why did he keep thinking of that irritating little vet? She had a chip on her shoulder where her work was concerned. That was what bothered him about most of the women large animal vets he encountered. They were often militant and irritating.

He finished the beer and headed inside. The phone rang as he stepped from the kitchen into the study–his private line.

“Christopher. It’s your mother.”

He smiled. As if she needed to announce herself. “Hi, Mom, what can I do for you?”

“Your father is leaving to go on his fishing trip on the Santee-Cooper. I’d like you to attend early Mass with me.”

Chris sighed. He wanted to be on the farm when Dr. Barlow came to recheck Bart, but he supposed she wouldn’t arrive that soon. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Six-thirty will be fine.”

“I’ll be there.”

“On time?” his mother prompted.

“I’ll be there, Mom.”

He was a couple of minutes late the next morning. Other than a pointed glance at her watch, his mother had the good grace not to say anything. Chris hid a smile as he held the door for her. He supposed he owed her silence in part to the fact that he had put on a coat and tie. He’d long ago given up the argument that no one dressed for Mass anymore. As far as his mother was concerned, church was a dress-up occasion, period.

They arrived early, as always. His mother was a stickler for punctuality. As Chris pulled his vintage BMW into the parking lot, few other cars occupied spaces. What surprised him was the Redfield Clinic truck parked there.

As they stepped inside the church, Chris found himself glancing around until he spotted the short, dark curls of Dr. Barlow near the front of the church. Without waiting, he guided his mother to a pew a couple of rows behind the vet. Why, he wasn’t sure. Curiosity? He had a hard time envisioning the irritating munchkin he’d met last night attending Mass like a good Catholic.

His mother gave him an odd look, but made no remark as she genuflected and sat. The handle of the baby carrier next to Dr. Barlow was just visible over the back of the pew. She must have Becca with her. He wondered where Mr. Dr. Barlow was. His mouth twisted. If there even was a husband. Plenty of women these days were single moms, but the thought disturbed him in some odd way.

The baby fussed. Chris watched as Dr. Barlow’s head turned. In profile, long, sooty lashes dropped over blue eyes set below arched brows. A too-straight nose and full lips now cooing to her daughter completed the picture. As the baby continued to fidget, she lifted her from the carrier and rocked her. The girl rested her head on her mama’s shoulder and gazed around her with those big blue-gray eyes.

His mother stilled before glancing sidelong at him. “What a beautiful child,” she whispered, “like an angel with golden hair and those beautiful eyes.”

Chris grunted. No way would he have agreed with his mother, even though he thought the same thing. She was getting bad enough about dropping hints concerning his single, childless status. The last thing she needed was encouragement from him.

The service began. As they stood, he found himself studying Dr. Barlow, not the priest. No figure-concealing coveralls this morning. Instead, some sort of blue-flowered dress hugged her tiny form until it flared below her hips. Beneath the short skirt, a slender length of tanned leg drew his gaze. She continued to sway back and forth as she held Becca. Her hips and derriere mesmerized him. God, did she need to advertise the wares quite so much?

His mother jabbed him in the ribs. “Sing!” she hissed. Her sharp eyes hadn’t missed where his gaze was fastened. Damn. He did not need to give her additional fuel for her time-to-settle-down-and-raise-a-family speeches.

He noticed the vet didn’t receive communion. Of course, neither did he. It had been ages since he had gone to confession. As the service ended, Dr. Barlow put Becca in the baby carrier and packed everything she’d brought in. She saw him at long last when she stood to leave. As her blue eyes locked with his, he again felt a fleeting sense of deja vu. She nodded, but didn’t smile. In fact, she appeared to be doing her best to ignore his existence.

Not an encouraging start. Now where had that come from? He didn’t want to start anything, particularly with some hard-nosed, militant woman vet who already had a kid and no daddy in sight. If she was like most women he encountered, she’d have to play “who da daddy be?” anyway. He would at least be polite enough to introduce her to his mother. But in the end, his mother beat him to it.

As Dr. Barlow approached them, his mother spoke. “What a beautiful daughter you have.”

The vet smiled, her hesitation obvious. Chris had a fleeting memory of the sounds of a party, and her smile…only softer somehow. What a joke. Anyone less soft than Dr. Barlow he had yet to meet. She oozed independence and capability.

“Thank you.” Her tone was polite but not encouraging.

His mother, however, was not taking the hint, and that in itself was unusual. In most cases, she was reserved with newcomers. “Are you new to the area? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at Mass before. My name is Liz Stevenson. This is my son, Chris.”

“Anna Barlow,” his veterinarian supplied as she held out her hand. “This is my daughter, Rebecca…Becca, for short. I’ve met your son already.”

At his mother’s arched brow, Chris stepped in. “This is Dr. Barlow, Mom. She was at Fincastle last night to stitch Bart.”

Anna. Now he knew her first name. He followed his mother and Anna, pausing to shake the priest’s hand. The two women continued to talk, which surprised Chris. His mother was no snob, but didn’t go out of her way to entertain people new to the area, especially when she’d received as little encouragement as she had from Anna Barlow. “Why don’t you come join us for breakfast since you were coming to the farm today anyway?” his mother asked, surprising him even more. “I’ll be happy to watch Becca while you and Chris take a look at his stud.”

“I can’t. I’m on call,” Anna said, “but thank you for the invitation.”

Chris tore his gaze away from the view of the back of her slender neck and shoulders, left bare by the wide neckline of her dress.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he heard himself saying. “It will make things much easier if you can recheck the horse without worrying about a baby.”

Anna glared at him, and he realized he’d said something wrong. As he tried to work out what had pissed her off, she surprised him.

“All right. Thank you.” Her acceptance was reluctant, at best. She followed them to the house. Chris kept an eye on her in the rearview mirror.

“She seems like an enchanting young woman.” His mother was studying him like she was cramming for a final, which made him nervous.

“Huh?” Was she crazy? Anna Barlow might be some serious eye candy now he’d seen her in something other than figure-hiding coveralls, but she was irritating and cold. In fact, he considered it a miracle she’d gotten close enough to a man to conceive a child.

“Dr. Barlow, Christopher. Keep your mind in the here and now, please. You’ve been distracted ever since we walked inside church.”

He listened as his mother continued to talk about the veterinarian. She had learned an amazing amount of information just walking along the church aisle. Barlow must have felt as though she was in the middle of the Inquisition, and somehow that made Chris grin with satisfaction. The grilling was no more than she deserved. Yes, she had always been a Catholic. No, she did not have a husband. At least his mother had the tact not to inquire if there had ever been a husband. Yes, Becca was her only child. No, she did not have family close by. Yes, they were settling into the area well.

“I don’t see how such a tiny girl deals with a large animal practice,” his mother added as she finished relating her tale.

This was something Chris felt he could comment on.

“She did well with Bart last night, Mom.” The admission was grudging, but he had to be fair. She had done a great job with the often obstreperous stallion.

When they arrived at his parents’ house, Chris helped his mother from the car. He had already called ahead to warn the housekeeper they would have a guest for breakfast. His mother waited on the front steps of the large white antebellum-style home while she sent a reluctant Chris to help Dr. Barlow.

As he approached, she was leaned across the backseat of the truck to unsnap the carseat, leaving him a wonderful view of her backside, from the dress pulled across her buttocks to the length of thigh visible to him. Down boy. The last thing he needed was to go lusting after the irritating doctor, nor did he want to come off as if he was a teenager who had no control over his body’s responses, but he was having one hell of a time doing that. He adjusted his half-hard cock before she straightened.

“May I carry the baby for you?” he inquired.

She spun on him with a fierce look. “No!” With obvious effort, she tried to soften her harsh response. “I can get everything. I…uh.” She hesitated before she rushed on. “I nurse her around this time. Is there someplace I can do that?”

Chris took in her stiff expression and defensive stance. Damn! All he’d done was try to help. Trying to remember the manners his mother had drilled into him, he smiled, his lips tight. “Follow me.”

She needed to nurse. Great! Just what his aching dick needed, something to draw his attention to her bustline. For a small woman, she was generously endowed, and he’d done his best to ignore that part of her since the glimpse last night of one creamy globe. He spun away, afraid she might notice the response he had a hard time quelling, and led the way along the wide front porch to a shady area around the corner. With no windows and rich with honeysuckle vines, the porch offered almost complete privacy. Two rocking chairs stood with a small table between them.

“This is beautiful,” Anna said, as if it had been pulled from her. The surprise in her deep blue eyes was evident.

“It’s one of my mother’s favorite spots.”

She set the carseat on the table and lifted Becca. The baby kicked her legs and made smacking noises with her mouth. Did the kid know what was coming? He smiled at the errant vision that entered his head, making him wonder if the same technique would work for him. God, Stevenson, that was wrong on so many levels.

He looked at Anna’s dress, swallowed and focused on the baby before he asked, “Do you need anything? A blanket or a towel?”

A faint blush stained her cheeks. “No, we’re fine.”

He nodded. “Come in the door behind you when you’re ready.”

Anna glanced at it, and once again her chin jutted. “Thank you, Mr. Stevenson.” Her grudging admission made him wonder what he’d done to get on her bad side. They had met only last night.

After telling his mother where their guest was, Chris drove to his own house to change clothes, which was an excuse, and he knew it. What he wanted to do was put some distance between himself and the good doctor. Her dark hair and deep blue eyes were playing havoc with him. And there was that sense of familiarity. He couldn’t shake the feeling he knew her from somewhere. But he had sense enough to know he needed to stay away from her.

Militant career woman, single mother. He didn’t want to touch the scenario with a ten foot pole. If and when he settled down, he’d prefer to start his family the traditional way, with some careful planning as to when any children would enter the picture.

With relief, he stripped off the coat and tie and exchanged his dress slacks and loafers for jeans and paddock boots to save time later. He wanted to get to the barn without delay to begin working the green jumper prospects he planned to bring along this winter. Twenty minutes later, he returned to his parents’ home.

Thinking their guest had already joined his mother in the sitting room, he strode around the corner of the porch and skidded to a halt. She was curled in the rocker, asleep. Becca was nestled in the woman’s arms as she continued to suckle, her tiny hand kneading the rounded globe of her mother’s breast. The sight blew his hard-won detachment to hell. Chris took the picture in at a glance, also noting the faint shadows beneath the sooty lashes veiling Dr. Anna Barlow’s eyes. Her mouth had softened in sleep, and her curly head rested against the back of the rocker.

He recognized the stab of lust tearing through him, but there was another feeling. One he didn’t want to put a name to. This was not the irritating, militant “I am woman” vet he had met last night. This woman was vulnerable in a way he hadn’t imagined and didn’t want to see.

His first instinct was to beat a hasty retreat, but that was impossible. She would already be embarrassed for having fallen asleep, so he couldn’t leave her here.

“Dr. Barlow?” he murmured, averting his eyes from the nursing baby.

“Hmm. Chris?”

Chris? She used his name as if she knew him. Her eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine shock.

He turned away and muttered, “I didn’t realize you were still here. I’m sorry.”

He heard rustling movements as she put her clothing in place.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I fell asleep. I had a colic call in the middle of the night. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

His smile was strained as he turned to her again. “Not a problem. I understand having horses and losing sleep. It must be even harder for a veterinarian.” He bent to retrieve the baby’s carrier seat. “Let me give you a hand gettin’ this stuff inside. This is worse than packing for the show circuit. You almost need a trailer to lug it around.” Jesus. Shut the fuck up, Stevenson.

He was relieved when she smiled and handed him the bulging diaper bag. After helping her carry everything inside, he showed her where to change the baby’s diaper before he retreated to the sitting room. His mother was seated in her favorite chair near the fireplace, reading the local paper. He had watched the familiar scene often over the years. Usually his dad was there too, and his parents argued good-naturedly over who got which section first. He smiled.

“Dr. Barlow needed to change the baby. She’ll be here in a moment, Mother. Would you like me to let Cook know we’re ready to eat?” He wanted to get this over with, get Dr. Anna Barlow to look at his stud, then get her and her baby off Fincastle so he could regain his equilibrium and detachment. They made him nervous.

His mother set the paper in her lap. “Yes, please. The poor girl looks exhausted.”

“I’m sure she can take care of herself,” he said, trying to shut off the momentary stab of concern he’d felt for her.

His mother’s polite inquisition continued through breakfast, making Chris begin to wonder if she had decided to take the job of finding him a wife into her own hands. If that was her thinking, she was way off base with Anna Barlow. Not his type. He preferred his women blond and tall, like Sydney. Bitterness rose like bile.

He studied Anna once more, as she talked with his mother. She wore little makeup, he noticed, if any. Many people found his mother intimidating, but Anna chatted with her as if they’d known each other for years instead of a couple hours. There were two topics, though, about which Anna seemed to reveal nothing: any specific mention of her family, or any real details about her daughter other than the usual baby conversations. Whenever his mother probed too close, a wall of reserve went up at least a mile thick.

“Thank you for inviting me to share breakfast with you,” he heard Anna remark. Chris brought his attention to what was said as she turned to look at him. “I should check on your stallion and get on my way.”

His mother leaned forward and put her hand on Anna’s arm. “Why don’t you leave Becca here while the two of you go to the barn,” his mother suggested. “I’ll be happy to keep an eye on her.”

“She can get fussy…” Anna began, her tone hesitant, even cautious. Chris wondered at her reluctance to let the infant out of her sight.

His mother smiled at the younger woman. “I can handle that. This might be the closest I get to having a grandbaby since Chris doesn’t seem to be doing much in that area.”

He stepped forward when he saw Anna falter as she bent to pick up Becca. She waved him away and stood with the baby’s car carrier.

“I’ve got it,” she snapped. She seemed pale, he thought, studying her through narrowed eyes. Was it something his mother said? Or was Anna Barlow teetering on the edge of exhaustion?