Free Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance) by Carolyn McSparren Page A

over the wash-rack rail. He’d hardly be likely to scrub the room upstairs in riding britches and good boots.
    “Stop doing that! You’re going to give me a heart attack!” she said.
    “Sorry, lass. Now, what do you need help with?”
    Her soul? Her spirit? Her libido? She couldn’t tell him about those problems. “Nothing in particular. Just feeling generally overwhelmed. How’s the room upstairs coming?”
    “I’ve got that old mattress ready to toss down and throw away, but I may need a hand with the sofa. And then it’s a matter of a new mattress, new bedding and a good paint job on all the flat surfaces.”
    “You can’t accomplish that today. I’m not sure you should have to. Seems to be working out, having you upstairs from me. Although you certainly do not have to keep entertaining me at dinner and beyond. I know you have your own life to lead.”
    “Do I now?” He laughed. “And what would that be, and with whom? I’m a stranger in a strange land. You and the others here are the only people I know. I don’t spend my time hanging out at bars, whatever the reputation of the Scots may be. And I don’t gamble.”
    “From what I saw last night, it wouldn’t be fair to the casinos if you did.”
    “One thing I learned is never bet against the house. And never trust to luck. It doesn’t exist.”
    This last was said with a bitterness that startled Vic. “Life’s too short not to trust,” she said.
    “You’ll get your heart broken that way, Vic. And your spirit. It’s always the people you love who betray you.”
    Who betrayed you? she wondered. Your wife? Your brother? She made a mental note to call Marshall Dunn back the first chance she got to see if he’d be willing to tell her more about the mess with Jamey’s wife and brother. She already had an inkling. If the pair of them were off gallivanting in Jamey’s car in the south of France while he lay in a hospital bed with a damaged hand, chances were they were doing more than searching for a miraculous cure. And they’d paid dearly for their indiscretion.
    Was Jamey also now paying a price? Had their betrayal sent him off on his around-the-world quest? For what? Peace? Stability? Forgetfulness?
    Something drove him. And it wasn’t merely a midlife crisis.
     
    JAMEY WAS AMAZED at how often the telephone rang. Clients and contractors all wanted advice from Vic. She spent a good portion of her time answering questions, relaying information. She never seemed to sit down. Despite all that, she worked beside him pitchfork for pitchfork, grooming tool for grooming tool. And then while he rode, she continued to work. Too hard.
    Shortly before noon she came out of the office with the cordless telephone in her hand. “Angie Womack wants me to meet her for lunch. Will you be all right? There’s plenty of food in the fridge up at my house.”
    Yes. Jamey had been hoping for such an opportunity. He felt his heart speed up. “Absolutely.”
    “Take a break. And don’t ride anybody while I’m not here. It’s loony to ride alone. I don’t want to find you stomped to death or lying on the ground with a broken neck when I come back.”
    He nodded and smiled. A nod wasn’t actually a lie, surely.
    He watched her drive away and turn the corner before he sprinted back to the office and began to search the file cabinets for any information about the black stallion. He found what little there was in less than a minute. Vic kept neat files—or Albert did.
    From what Vic had told them, Albert would be considerably more suspicious than Vic was. She said he was extremely protective, and as a full partner, he had not only ValleyCrest’s reputation, but its financial standing to consider.
    Jamey scanned the documents—import papers, health certificates, veterinary statements, the lot. He pulled a piece of paper from the notepad on Vic’s desk and wrote down the name and address not only of the farmer who had sold the horse, but the agent who had acted