“I’m sure you did.” With an impatient curse, Alex scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the barn to a low bench.
She might have protested, if she hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of his arms cradling her body. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. But before she could start to like the feeling too much, Alex dropped her to her feet, causing her knees to buckle slightly.
“Sit,” he ordered.
Holly twisted to see the damage done to her favorite coat, hoping to hide the flush that had warmed her cheeks. But standing on one foot, she almost lost her balance again. Alex grabbed the collar of her coat to steady her, then slipped it off her shoulders and tossed it over a nearby stall door. He shrugged out of his own jacket and held it out to her.
When Holly pushed her arms into the sleeves she could still feel the heat from his body in the folds of fabric. His scent drifted up around her, a mix of soap and fresh air and horses, a welcome relief from her previous parfum and a reminder of the time spent in his arms. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Now, sit,” Alex said. He knelt down in front of her and gently removed her ruined shoe. The mess had seeped through her panty hose and stuck in between her toes. He circled her calf with his hands, then slowly ran his palms toward her ankle. But the imagined caress ended abruptly when he tore through the nylon at her calf. She sucked in a sharp breath as he skimmed her stocking down along her leg and bared her foot. “You should have worn those boots.”
“I told you animals hate me,” she reminded him, a bit breathlessly.
“I’m sure Scirocco had this all planned. He’s grown to be quite a curmudgeon in his retirement and, in truth, has a real talent for torturing our female guests.” With that, he pushed to his feet and disappeared into a small alcove nearby. She heard water running, then leaned back against the barn wall.
“They say horse poop is the best beauty treatment for the skin.”
She glanced to her right and saw Alex’s father peeking out from a nearby stall. Though he’d introduced himself the previous night, they hadn’t shared but a few words. But Holly already knew she’d found a friend in Jed Marrin. The man had a devilish sense of humor and an easygoing manner that his son seemed to lack.
“You know, Miss Bennett, you’re the first woman we’ve had at this farm in two years. And I don’t mind saying, you’re a far sight nicer to look at than these old nags.”
“Thank you, Mr. Marrin.”
He winked. “You can call me Jed if I can call you Holly.”
“All right, Jed.”
He nodded to her foot. “Around here we call that a Stony Creek pedicure.”
A small giggle slipped from her throat and Holly stretched her leg out in front of her, turning it from side to side. “Once I tell all my friends in the city, I’m sure you’ll be able to package some of this stuff and make a million.”
“Well, we got plenty of inventory,” he said. “And I account for all of it, it seems.”
Alex returned with a bucket of soapy water, a first-aid kit, and the pair of boots she’d refused just minutes before. “Except for that little item you missed in front of Scirocco’s stall,” he said. He gave his father an irritated look and the old man winked at Holly again, then went back to his work in the stall. Holly watched him until she felt Alex’s hands cup her foot. Slowly he placed it in the bucket of warm water and began to rub.
Holly gulped nervously, wonderful sensations surging up her leg. She’d never considered the foot an erogenous zone, but with her pounding heart and her swimming head, Holly knew she’d be forced to revise her opinion. What Alex Marrin was doing to her toes was simply sinful! Biting back a moan of pleasure, she scrambled for a topic of conversation.
“How long have you lived here—on the farm?” she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.
“My whole life,” Alex said, moving his hands up to her ankle. “My great-grandfather owned this place before he turned it over to my grandfather, who turned it over to my father, who turned it over to me. It’s been in the family since the early 1900s. There used to be lots of breeders and boarders in the area, but now, we’re one of the last. Most of the thoroughbreds are raised south of the Mason-Dixon line.”
He took her foot from the bucket and dried it with a rough towel, then slipped her foot into the rubber boot. She kicked off her other shoe and the second boot followed the first.
“Now that we’ve tended to your bruised pride, let’s see about that finger.” Alex took her left hand and gently examined her finger. He pulled a bandanna from his jeans and wrapped her wound. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got antiseptic and bandages here.”
“Shouldn’t I get a shot?” she asked.
He sent a withering glare Scirocco’s way. “Don’t worry, he’s not rabid.”
He bent over her finger, his clumsy attempts to render first aid undeniably charming. Holly smiled inwardly. It felt good to have a man worry over her, even a man as indifferent and aloof as Alex Marrin. Maybe getting bitten by a horse and sitting in horse manure wasn’t such a bad trade-off for his attentions.
He carefully washed her finger with a soapy rag, then doused it with antiseptic. A bandage followed. “There,” he said. “All better.” Alex pressed his lips to her fingertip.
Holly blinked in surprise and when he glanced up, she could see he was similarly startled by his own action.
“I—I’m sorry,” Alex stammered, suddenly flustered. “I’m so used to fixing Eric’s cuts and scrapes, it’s force of habit.”
She smiled and withdrew her hand. “It does feel better.” Holly drew a shaky breath.
He nodded, his jaw suddenly tight, his eyes distant. Alex cleared his throat, clearly uneasy in her presence. “Well, I should really get back to work,” he murmured. “The house is empty. You can look around, get your bearings. Make yourself a decent breakfast.”
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving Holly still wrapped in his coat, her finger still throbbing and her leg still tingling from his touch. She clomped toward the door in the oversized boots, wondering if there’d ever come a time when she’d understand Alex Marrin. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter. She was here to do a job and nothing Alex did or said—including kissing her fingers or massaging her feet—would change her life in the least.
3
“SHE’S A PRETTY LITTLE thing. And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Every time I turn around, you’re touchin’ her or starin’ at her. Last night at supper you almost tripped all over yourself helping to clear the table. You never do that when I cook.”
“Maybe if you cooked as good as she does, I would,” Alex murmured, not loud enough to reach his father two stalls away. He turned his focus back to the dandy brush he was smoothing over the coat of his favorite mare, Opal. Never mind that he’d been brushing the same spot for nearly ten minutes, caught up in an idle contemplation of the beautiful woman who’d suddenly barged into his home and his life.
How many times that day had he been tempted to wander back to the house, to casually search for a hot cup of coffee or quick snack with the real purpose of seeing her again? According to Jed, she’d spent the entire day yesterday with a tape measure and notepad in hand, scribbling down ideas. And when Jed had begun dinner preparations, she’d swooped down and changed his menu plan,