“This is very sweet of you.”
“So I can take it?” I ask with a sweet smile. She nods, holding her finger up over her lips like it’s our little secret. Dinner is served.
CHAPTER NINE
PAIGE
One of the best things about this job is I can wear anything I want. I could probably stay in my pajamas all day. So even though I’m doing a little work on the computer today, I’m dressed in a simple white tank top and cutoff jeans. With a baby around, messes are frequent, and they usually end up on me, so simple is best.
Catrine walks into the office. I would never say she was waddling, but let’s just say her gait is looking more and more cumbersome. She glances over at Finn asleep in his playpen. “Slade called. There’s some problem with Whiskey. I’m going to walk to the stables.”
“I’ll go,” I say. “You should be taking it easy.”
“Slade said the same thing,” she says. “But I . . .”
Getting to my feet, I say, “I love that horse. I’m going.”
“Thanks. I’ll watch Finn,” she says, sitting down on the sofa.
Ten to one, she’s napping right along with Finn when I get back. Throwing on some boots, I head straight for the stables, seeing a group of men all huddled together, seemingly in some deep discussion. They look like they are plotting an international coup, concerned looks on their faces, rigid postures. The stables are usually relaxing, a place to unwind and escape. Whatever is going on here is the complete opposite of that.
Clay turns, seeing me coming, and starts for me, holding his hands up.
“Is Whiskey alright?” I ask, feeling a lump in my throat. I know nothing about horses, but remember some old stories where they shot horses who got sick or injured. I won’t let that happen.
“He’s fine,” Clay says as I march right past him, needing to see for myself.
The sea of men part, and Slade’s blue eyes land on me. Correction, they pierce right through me. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting me. Well, tough.
Ignoring him, I walk over to Whiskey’s stable. His ears are flicking back and forth, his front hoof clawing at the dirt. Something has him upset. I start to reach for him when Slade’s hand lands on my forearm. “Don’t. He may bite.”
“You’re upsetting him,” I say. “All these people.”
“You know horses now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I know this one.”
Keeping his eyes on me, he motions with his hand, and everyone starts to scatter. “You, too,” I say to Slade.
“Not a chance.”
Rolling my eyes, I take a deep breath and reach toward Whiskey. His head whips side to side, his hoof pawing the dirt. I just wait. Waiting is a gift, a gift we don’t give each other enough. Waiting to hold the door open for someone. Waiting for the perfect moment to kiss someone for the first time. Oftentimes, we hurry these moments. We hurry through our lives. But today, for Whiskey, I wait.
After a few minutes, he steps toward me, placing his head under my hand, and I give him a nice rub. “Hey, boy.”
“Are all men putty in your hands?” Slade asks with a grin.
I laugh a little. “I think my charms only work on Whiskey.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says, his eyes narrowing on Clay, who’s watching me.
My heart starts to pound, my knees go weak. “I wouldn’t do anything to screw up my job here,” I say quickly. “Clay is just a friend.”
Slade’s magnetic blue eyes shift back to me. “Why are you here? I told Catrine there was no need to come out here.”
“She was worried, and she’s so uncomfortably pregnant, she didn’t need to trudge all the way out here in the mud and dirt. Besides, I love Whiskey. Finn and I come see him every day.”
His eyes shift back to Clay. “I didn’t know that.”
“Nothing to know,” I say. “Is Whiskey alright? He’s not sick or anything?”
“No.” Slade starts to pat him with me, his long fingers slipping under Whiskey’s mane. “He should be a happy guy. We’re breeding him with a thoroughbred mare today. Instead, he got aggressive.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like her,” I say jokingly.
He doesn’t chuckle. Instead, he just looks down at me. “Or maybe he likes it rough.”
Unable to tell if he’s serious or making a joke, I swallow hard. Turning my face to Whiskey, I say, “What’s the problem? I’m sure I can help.”
“Whiskey is a prized stallion. Other breeders want foals with him. They pay big money.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“You’re kidding?”
His head shakes. “Breeding fees for some stallions can go as high as two or three hundred thousand.”
“I had no idea.”
“Told you. You were charging too little,” Slade whispers. “You and Whiskey are in the same profession.”
He can take me out of the slums and give me a respectable job, but he’ll always think of me as a whore. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, focusing the pain there, then reach for the latch on the stable.
“What are you doing?” Slade asks, grabbing my waist.
I glance down at his hands on me, and he quickly moves them. “Taking him for a walk.” I turn my eyes to him. “He’ll do what he needs to do. He just needs some time to come to terms with it.”
CHAPTER TEN
SLADE
With my arms folded across my chest, I watch Paige. She must’ve walked Whiskey around the pond three or four times already. He looks more settled, relaxed. She did in twenty minutes what my stable guys haven’t been able to do all morning. I can see her lips moving and wonder what on earth she’s saying to my horse. He probably knows more about her than I do.
I’ve been asked a dozen times how much longer by my colleagues, but I simply brush them aside. The truth is, I have no idea. I’ve left my gigolo horse in the hands of my prostitute maid. Who the hell has any idea what’s going to happen?
And I’m not the only one interested. My stable hand, Clay, hasn’t stopped watching her, either. She looked downright petrified when I pointed it out, like I’d fire her on the spot. So despite the fact that I’ve been a total asshole to her since she started, she still wants this job. I can’t stay away from my own house forever. I hired her, for God’s sake, so why am I avoiding her?
“Clay,” I call out.
He walks to me, glancing back and forth between where Paige is walking Whiskey and me. “Yes, sir?”
“You like working here?” I ask without looking at him.
“Yes, sir.”
Turning my eyes to him, all I say is, “Good.”
Message received.
He stands there for a moment, and I turn my eyes back to Paige and Whiskey rounding the curve of the pond. I don’t have to say anything else. The threat is more than implied. I catch Paige’s eyes and step toward her. She motions in the direction of the riding ring.
He’s ready.
*
Watching two horses go at it takes about as long as taking a piss. The whole courting, mating ritual is only a little over a minute, so slightly longer than a piss. Too bad that relationships between men and women aren’t so straightforward. And Whiskey was a professional. Everyone is busy congratulating each other, which is slightly absurd considering we all just stood around and watched horse porn. Well, everyone but Paige.