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Lois rolled her eyes. She’d had the devil of a time persuading the girl out of the jeans and checked shirt she’d been wearing this morning, and into the stylish black pants and matching cropped jacket she now had on. This minor miracle had only been achieved by her firmly telling Courtney that the members’ section at Randwick had a dress code that definitely didn’t allow jeans.
As for that revolting checked shirt… Lois shuddered at the memory.
Lois had learnt many years ago that, in the city, appearance was everything. Just because you were a horse trainer it didn’t mean you had to look like one. Lois spent an absolute fortune on her vibrant but stylish clothes, and the expenditure was worth every penny. The press photographers snapped her all the time, and the media were always seeking her opinion on the chances of her horses, possibly because she looked better on TV than most of the male trainers. She talked better, too. And smiled a lot. Lois believed that acting bright and always sounding positive brought her more coverage and more clients than the actual success of her horses.
‘You look fantastic in black,’ she complimented Courtney. ‘Much better than I ever did.’ Actually, black hadn’t been her colour since she’d had her hair blonded last year. It looked great on Hilary’s daughter, however, with her olive skin, black hair and almost black eyes. If the girl had agreed to some red lipstick and to leaving that gorgeous hair of hers down, she’d have been simply stunning. But, when Lois had suggested both this morning, Courtney had bluntly stated that she looked like a clown in make-up and simply couldn’t stand her hair around her face.
Lois had argued her case but the girl was adamant. Clearly, she was as opinionated and strong-willed as her mother. Lois had put her foot down, however, when Courtney had gone to scoop her gorgeous black curls back up into that awful rubber band, and had insisted that if her hair had to be off her face, it should be anchored more attractively at the nape of her neck with a gold clip.
Courtney had finally shrugged and given in, as though it didn’t really matter either way. Lois could only conclude that Hilary’s daughter had no idea of the uniquely exotic beauty she possessed, and which would have more than one wealthy man slavering at her feet if only she knew what to do with it.
Still, what could one expect? Teaching her daughter to make the most of her striking looks would not have been high on Hilary’s agenda. Such a stupid, warped old woman. Why hate men when they ran the world?
Tonight, over dinner, she would try to explain to Courtney that when a woman did business in a man’s world, she did it as much with her body as her brain. If Courtney wanted to save Crosswinds, then she would hopefully listen to reason.
If not, then it would be up to herself to rescue the darned place single-handed, Lois decided pragmatically. No way was she going to sit back and let that wonderful old property pass into other hands. Crosswinds had the best staying brood mares in Australia. All they needed was the right sire, and a whole crop of champion colts and fillies would be in the making. And she would be right there, willing and eager to train every single one of the little darlings!
Courtney wasn’t enjoying her trip to the races as much as she’d thought she would. Her mind was still on Crosswinds and her money problems.
‘Do you think we might meet someone here today, Lois?’ she asked tautly.
‘Someone to bail Crosswinds out, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Possibly. Though this isn’t all that major a race meeting. Not too many of the seriously rich here today. Look, darling, take my advice and don’t go worrying about Crosswinds this afternoon. Just relax and enjoy yourself. Tonight, after dinner, I’ll sit down and make a list of likely candidates, then tomorrow I’ll ring around and issue some invitations.’
‘What kind of invitations?’
‘Dinner. Drinks. Whatever suits each man in question.’
‘You don’t know any suitably rich women?’ Rich women liked racehorses too, Courtney had been thinking. And there would be less chance of a woman partner wanting to interfere with the management of Crosswinds. She just didn’t trust a man not to try to poke his bib in.
Lois looked just a tad exasperated. ‘Lord, darling, no woman is going to want to be your partner. You’re far too good-looking. No, no, no, some filthy rich old bloke is our best bet. Trust me. By the end of the week, we’ll come up with just the right person. I have every confid— Oh, good God, it’s Jack Falconer. And he said he definitely wasn’t going to be here today!’
Courtney followed the direction of Lois’s disgruntled gaze and encountered a man standing at the railing of the saddling enclosure, alternately studying the race book in his hands, then the horses being led around the parade ring. A pair of expensive-looking binoculars were hooked around his neck. He was tall, with a strongly masculine profile and close-cropped dark hair.
Courtney’s eyebrows lifted. She’d always fancied macho-looking men, and this one was certainly that, despite his sleek, city-smooth clothes. He was somewhere in his early thirties, she guessed. Though she couldn’t be certain from this distance. He could have been older.
His being older wouldn’t have made him any less attractive to Courtney. She liked older men.
‘Who’s Jack Falconer?’ she asked, intrigued by Lois’s reaction to seeing him.
‘What? Oh…one of my owners.’
‘Rich?’
‘Used to be. Not so rich any more.’
‘What happened?’
‘He chose the wrong business partner. The mongrel embezzled a good chunk of their clients’ money and did a flit to Paraguay or Bolivia, or wherever. Jack nobly made restitution himself, though legally he didn’t have to, and it almost sent him to the wall. He lost just about everything, including his live-in lady. The rotten cow dumped him and married a politician old enough to be her father. Rolling in dough, of course. Jack pretended he wasn’t shattered but he clearly was. He was besotted with his darling Katrina. He only bought a share in a racehorse in the first place because she loved coming to the races and mingling with the rich and famous.’
‘She sounds awful. Whatever did he see in her?’
Lois laughed. ‘When you see her, you’ll know the answer to that. And you’ll see her today. Her new hubby is presenting the trophy in the main race of the day. That’s why I was so taken aback to see Jack here. Because his… Oh, darn, he’s spotted me. I’ll fill you in later.’
Lois plastered a high-voltage beam on her face and stepped off the veranda of the members’ stand into the warm winter sunshine. Courtney followed, more intrigued than ever by the man walking towards Lois. Full frontal and up closer, he was even more attractive, with the sort of deep-set blue eyes that Courtney adored.
No grey in his dark brown hair that she could see, so her guess of early thirties remained. As did her initial impression that he was really built. With his suit jacket flapping open and his tie blown back over his right shoulder, there was no hiding the way his broad chest was stretching the material of his pale blue shirt.
Yet there was no question of fat, or flab. That telling area around his waistline against which his binoculars kept bouncing as he walked showed no hint of a soft underbelly, or of being held in. His stomach looked flat and rock-hard, just the way Courtney liked them.
He was even taller than she’d first thought on seeing him standing alone in the distance. Six four at least. A big man all round.
Courtney adored big men.
The three of them met on the grass, with Courtney hanging back slightly. All the better to observe him from…
‘Jack, darling…’ Lois presented her cheek to him for a kiss. ‘How lovely to see you.’
‘Hello, Lois.’ He smiled with a slightly crooked smile as he bent to give her a peck. ‘You’re looking lovely today. There again, you always look lovely.’
‘You’re such a flatterer,’ she said coyly, and Courtney tried not to laugh. But the woman was a riot. As rough as guts around the stables, but here, at the races, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
‘Now, what are you doing here, Jack?’ Lois went on sweetly. ‘When I contacted you this week, you said you definitely wouldn’t be. What changed your mind? The glorious weather?’
He seemed drily amused by her none too subtle probing. ‘No, after we talked I remembered you always said that the first time you put Big Brutus over a bit of distance, he’d win.’
‘He will too,’ Lois replied. ‘I’m very confident.’
Recognition of the horse’s name dragged Courtney’s attention away from ogling Jack Falconer. Big Brutus was one of Four-Leaf Clover’s first crop and the ugliest colt her mother had ever bred. Hence his name. He’d been one of the yearlings she’d refused to sell for peanuts, subsequently leasing him to Lois. He’d been a total dud at two years old, not much better at three, and had turned four this very day, still with only a few minor placings.
But he was bred to stay all day.
Courtney scrambled through her race book to find the race Big Brutus was entered in. There it was. A handicap over twenty-four-hundred metres, with prize money of…
‘Wow!’ she exclaimed. ‘First place pays a hundred thousand smackeroos. My cut would be what, Lois?’
Those piercing blue eyes swung her way. ‘I beg your pardon? God, don’t tell me you’re Big Brutus’s jockey. Tell me she’s not the jockey, Lois.’
‘She’s not the jockey,’ Lois said with a wry smile on her face. ‘But if she was, you’d have one of the best riders in the country on your horse.’
‘That may be, but I’ve never had much luck betting on female jockeys.’
Courtney bristled in defence of her sex. And irritation at herself for once again being attracted to a male chauvinist. Would she never find a man who looked as she liked them to look, yet believed God created man and woman equal?
‘When a race is lost,’ she said frostily, ‘it’s mostly the horse’s fault. Or the trainer’s. Or the owner’s. Not the jockey, be she female or otherwise.’
‘I don’t see how it can be the owner’s fault,’ he argued back.
‘Some owners insist on seeing their horses run in races far above their talents. And other owners insist their horses not run up to their ability at all!’
‘Courtney,’ Lois whispered under her breath.
‘No, no, let her finish,’ Jack insisted. ‘Do go on, Ms…er…?’
‘Cross,’ she announced.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ he said, smiling.
Courtney would have liked to wipe that smirk off his face with more than her tongue. But she hadn’t physically brawled with a member of the opposite sex since she was thirteen, and didn’t think the lawns at Royal Randwick Racecourse was the place to begin again.
‘Aside from the horse having a lousy trainer or a crooked owner,’ she continued tartly, ‘the main reason female jockeys don’t ride all that many winners is that they are rarely offered the best rides in races, and when they are their male counterparts make sure none of the breaks go their way. It’s a sad fact of life that the male sex do not appreciate women taking them on in fields they’ve always considered their own private turf.’
‘Possibly. But you must concede that pound for pound male jockeys are stronger. Take you, for instance. If you were a jockey, quite a few pounds of your riding weight would be wasted on your very nice but less than useful breasts. Strength-wise, that is,’ he added ruefully.
‘Actually, no, that’s not the case,’ she countered without batting an eye. It wasn’t the first time Courtney had heard that old argument. It had whiskers on it. ‘If I were riding professionally, I’d have to strip off at least twenty pounds and my boobs would shrink from their present cup C to a flat-chested double A. Add five hundred push-ups a day, and I’d be every bit as strong as any male jockey. Being female is not the point here. It’s a matter of talent and opportunity. A woman jockey can have all the talent in the world, but rarely gets the opportunities.’
He smiled. ‘I give up. You win.’
‘Thank you,’ she said crisply, but didn’t smile back. She was still smarting inside for finding him so attractive, and wasn’t about to be won over by one smarmy little smile.
Getting the message that he was on the outer, he turned to Lois. ‘So explain the mystery to me, Lois? Why is Ms Cross, here, entitled to a share of Big Brutus’s prize money?’
‘Courtney’s mother bred Big Brutus. I leased him as a yearling, then syndicated him out to you and your partner.’
‘Oh, I see. Sorry,’ he directed at Courtney with another winning smile. ‘And sorry about the jockey bit. I was only stirring. I don’t know about your riding talents, but your debating skills are excellent. You wouldn’t be a budding lady-lawyer by any chance?’
His charm was undeniable, and Courtney struggled to stay angry with him.
‘Courtney is a horse breeder, too,’ Lois answered for her. ‘The Crosses have been breeding thoroughbreds for generations.’
‘You don’t look like a horse breeder,’ he said, and those sexy blue eyes raked over her from top to toe.
Courtney’s heart lurched upwards, then did a swallow dive down into her stomach.
Wow, she thought a bit dazedly. This guy is dynamite.
‘Since Lois isn’t going to introduce me properly,’ he said, ‘then I will. Jack Falconer…’ And he held out his hand.
It was a big hand, naturally. He was a big man.
Reaching out, she slid her own relatively small hand against his huge palm, curling her thumb around half of his and squeezing firmly.
‘Courtney Cross,’ she replied, steadfastly ignoring her madly galloping heart.
‘Delighted.’ And he squeezed even more firmly back.
She felt it all the way down to her toes.
Courtney simply could not understand how any woman with an active libido could prefer some aging politician to this gorgeous hunk of male flesh.
The only possible answer was money.
Okay, so he’d fallen on hard times. But not through any fault of his own, according to Lois.
Courtney wondered how he could afford Big Brutus’s training fees. Lois didn’t come cheap.
‘And what is it you do for a crust, Jack?’ she asked, not subscribing to the theory that you never asked personal questions on first acquaintance. How else were you going to find out what you wanted to know?
‘I used to be a financial consultant,’ he said happily enough. ‘Or an investment broker, if you prefer that label. At the moment, I’m a gentleman of leisure.’
‘You mean you’re unemployed.’
‘Courtney!’ Lois broke in. ‘For heaven’s sake.’
‘It’s perfectly all right, Lois,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t mind. If by unemployed you mean I don’t work for wages, then you’re absolutely right. I am unemployed in that sense. But I’m not broke. And I’m not on the dole. Currently, I am a man of independent means.’
Which meant he was looking for work and living on his savings.
‘Would you two excuse me for a few minutes?’ Lois interrupted. ‘I’ve just spotted the owners of my horse in the second race. Jack, darling, look after Courtney for me, will you? Take her inside, up into the bar overlooking the track. Get her a drink. I’ll find you when I’m finished down here.’
Courtney was not displeased at being left alone with the dishy Jack. But, as Lois walked off, he looked momentarily disconcerted.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said straight away.
His eyes cleared of the cloud that had momentarily muddied them to a bleak grey. ‘Why should I mind?’
‘Maybe you want to go place a bet on the first race,’ she said. ‘Or maybe you have other friends here that you feel you should be getting back to.’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘What about the other part-owner of Big Brutus?’
‘He’s in Bolivia. I now own all of Big Brutus.’
‘Oh! I didn’t realise Lois meant that partner. I wasn’t listening properly.’ She’d been too busy ogling Jack. ‘Owning a racehorse all by yourself is very expensive, you know. Can you afford it?’
‘I will be able to, after today. Lois is confident Big Brutus is going to win.’
‘Lois is always confident her horses are going to win, especially when there’s a cup or a prize at stake.’
Jack smiled a lazy smile. ‘She is, isn’t she?’
‘Still, often enough she’s right. She does love those trophies. My mother thought her quite wonderful.’
‘Thought?’
Courtney swallowed. ‘My mum passed away recently.’ It still hurt, but the urge to cry whenever she thought about, or talked of her mother was gradually lessening. In a dozen years or so, she might actually get over losing her mentor, and champion.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said gently. ‘Had she been ill? She couldn’t have been very old. Unless you’re the youngest in the family.’
‘Actually, she was quite old. Seventy. I was her only child, born when she was forty-five.’
‘Goodness. And your father?’
‘My father is not a part of my life,’ she said with an indifferent shrug. ‘I never knew him, you see, and Mum rarely spoke of him, except in general and not very flattering terms. But gossip put him a good deal younger than her. A gypsy seducer, I gleaned from my classmates at school. And others over the years.’
‘Ah. Good old gossip. It never lets the truth get in the way of a good story. He was possibly a very nice man.’
Somehow, Courtney doubted that. A very nice man would not have made her mother so bitter. But his absence had never hurt her. She’d rather relished the freedom of not having some male hand controlling her up-bringing. People said her mother had let her run wild. That wasn’t entirely true. The wildness, Courtney believed, she’d been born with.
‘But let’s not dwell on sadness,’ Jack said, hooking his right arm through her left. ‘Let’s go and have that drink Lois suggested.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ Courtney agreed, delighted to have the company of this very stimulating man.
The table he steered her to in the upstairs bar had a perfect view of the track. She could see the horses trotting out for the first race. But she didn’t watch them for long. Her eyes were all on Jack as he went over to get the drinks himself rather than wait to be served at the table.
‘Will you be going back into the investment business again?’ was her first question when he returned with two glasses of champagne.
‘Possibly.’
‘I might be in need of an investment broker soon,’ she said.
‘Why would that be?’ Jack asked, frowning.
‘To find me a silent partner. For my stud farm. Not that I like the idea. Unfortunately, it’s a necessity.’
‘You have a money problem?’
Courtney rolled her eyes. ‘Do I have a money problem?’
‘Tell me about it.’
Courtney could see no reason why she shouldn’t tell him. If Lois didn’t come through with someone, she just might give him a call. Besides, she fancied him rotten and there was interest in his eyes.
So she told him. Everything. All her mother’s mistakes and misfortunes over the last few years. Even the amount of money she now owed and needed to find.
‘Lois thinks she’ll find some suitably mega-rich businessman from amongst her wealthy racing contacts,’ she finished up. ‘And she probably will, knowing Lois. But I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to take on a partner who’s mad about racing and who might develop some private fantasies about becoming a hands-on breeder himself. I’d prefer someone who just looks on this as a financial deal.’
‘Fair enough. Have you told Lois that?’
‘I’ve only just starting thinking that way. It’s difficult to think straight when you’re desperate.’
‘Never be desperate, Courtney. Being desperate is the way to disaster. People know when you’re desperate and take advantage of you. Always be cool. Never show fear. I’m sure you’d be very good at that.’
Courtney was impressed. It was the sort of advice her mother would have given her.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘There’s no need to panic. The bank hasn’t actually foreclosed as yet. So what do you suggest I do?’ she asked.
‘Take your time in finding just the right person. If the bank hasn’t sent out any warning or threatening letters, then desperation hour has not yet arrived. Don’t rush into anything. Scout around. I could give you the names of some very good investment brokerages here in Sydney. Ring them up and go see them.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘How long have you got?’
‘I really have to get back to Crosswinds as quickly as I can. It’s foaling time and I’m short-staffed. My accountant says this is more important, but he just doesn’t understand.’
‘It would take at least a week to line up appointments and do the rounds,’ Jack said.
‘Would you help me? I mean…a personal introduction would be much better than my just ringing up these people out of the blue.’
He seemed a little taken aback by her request.
‘You did say you were a gentleman of leisure,’ Courtney pointed out with a decidedly flirtatious smile.
He smiled back, if a little ruefully. ‘You have a hide, Ms Cross. Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Several people, actually.’
‘I’m not surprised. But, okay, I guess I could do worse things with my time than squire a beautiful young woman around town. Have you been down to Sydney before? Or is this your first visit?’
‘Lord, no, I’ve been lots of times over the years. And frankly I’m always happy to get home to Crosswinds.’
‘You don’t like the city?’
‘Can’t say that I do. What you see is not always what you get.’
‘So young to be a cynic.’
‘Is there a right age to see through hypocrisy?’
‘I guess not…’ He looked thoughtfully down into his champagne for a few moments before glancing back up. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again with no words coming out. His blue eyes grew arctic-cold, then colder still, his gaze fixed on something beyond Courtney’s shoulder.
Female intuition warned her that only one person could cause this reaction. The treacherous Katrina. The woman who’d ditched him and married another man; the woman Lois said he was still besotted with.
But that didn’t look like love glittering in Jack’s chilling blue eyes. It was more like hate. Hate, and the need for vengeance.
CHAPTER THREE
WHAT kind of woman, Courtney puzzled as she sat there, could inspire such strong emotions in a man like Jack Falconer?
If Courtney had been alone, she’d have simply spun round in her chair and taken a good, long, hard look. But this situation called for a bit more subtlety, despite the fact that subtlety was not her strong suit.
She improvised. ‘I need to go to the loo. I won’t be long.’ Standing up, she turned and pretended to search the room for the ladies’ whilst zeroing in on the direction of Jack’s piercing gaze.
And there she was, standing by the bar, clinging to the arm of a white-haired gentleman whose suit jacket was struggling to remain done up over his portly stomach.
Courtney had no doubts it was Katrina.
Lois had said she would understand Jack’s infatuation once Courtney saw her. And she did.
Katrina would have given any supermodel in the world a run for her money. She had everything they had, and possibly more. The height. The figure. The face. The hair. Definitely the clothes.
She was wearing a superbly cut calf-length cream woollen dress which hugged her stream-lined body, revealing every flowing but delectable curve. Her hair, which was a similar cream colour, was worn up in a rather severe French pleat which served to emphasise the perfection of her classically beautiful face. Gold and diamond earrings winked in her lobes. Her neck was bare, perhaps because she didn’t want to distract any man’s eyes from its elegant length, and the impressive cleavage the dress’s deep V-neckline put on display.
Courtney couldn’t see the colour of her eyes from that distance but she could certainly see the colour of her mouth. A rich blood-red.