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Having arrived at his destination, he rested his cane against the canvas wall and, drawing the flap aside, he ducked his head and walked in.
‘Excuse me,’ Jess rapped with the paint-stripping look he remembered so well. ‘I’ll call you in when I’m free.’
‘Oh, no, no, please,’ the woman seated at the table opposite Jess insisted, getting up to make way for him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Jess demanded, shooting emerald fire his way.
He would have known those flashing eyes anywhere, and those lips that formed a perfect Cupid’s bow of possibility. The urge to taste the creamy perfection of Jess’s rain-washed skin and rasp his stubble against its soft perfection was overwhelming right now. But he had business to transact. ‘I’m here to cross your palm with silver and your lips with a bottle of water,’ he explained.
‘You’re asking me to tell your fortune?’ she asked with surprise.
Having put the bottles down, he delved in his pocket for some coins to toss on the table, but his casual air was halted by a bolt of pain.
‘You’d better sit down,’ she said. ‘Where’s your cane?’
‘Thank you for reminding me.’
The look she gave him told him she understood what it must have cost him to come here today with his cane, in front of all these people. And yet what was pride when there was a deal to be done? They measured each other for a few moments and then she reached out to take his hand. Full marks to Jess, he conceded, for retaining her composure, and remembering that he might save the farm. She had guts, and to spare, he reflected.
‘Are you sure you want this?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,’ he assured her, while his senses prompted him to take her somewhere where they could be alone. ‘Why does that surprise you?’
‘I can’t believe Señor Acosta is incapable of predicting his own future.’
‘Oh, but I can.’ He held Jess’s gaze locked in his and was rewarded when she blushed deeply.
‘You crashed the line,’ she scolded.
‘I did,’ he agreed with a shrug. How beautiful she was, even with what looked like a piece of Christmas tinsel wrapped around her head. Her hair glowed like fire in the soft light of a lamp, over which she’d draped a piece of red chiffon, while her eyes were deep pools of unfathomable green.
‘Stop staring at me. I’m supposed to be reading you, not the other way around.’
‘Then get on with it,’ he suggested.
She reached across and rattled an old biscuit tin that had an opening cut in the top. ‘Put your money in here—those pieces of silver,’ she reminded him.
‘Of course...’
He added a few more coins to those he’d already tossed down on the table. She still held out the tin. ‘A twenty should do it,’ she prompted bluntly.
‘Twenty?’ He pulled his head back with surprise.
‘Can’t you afford it?’
Her lips curved in the first real smile he’d seen and her eyes danced with laughter. That was the Jess he remembered from the stable ten years ago—feisty and free to speak her mind, rather than constrained by the fact that he might be her father’s last hope when it came to saving the farm. He preferred this Jess.
‘Every penny goes directly to charity,’ she explained. ‘Nothing I take in this tent will be kept for the farm.’
‘Then you can have all my cash.’ Levering himself to his feet, he reached into his back pocket to bring out a wad of notes. He fed them into her tin. ‘This had better be worth it,’ he warned.
But fortune-telling wasn’t on Jess’s mind now. ‘Your leg,’ she said with concern. ‘You really must agree to treatment. Please don’t be stubborn if the appropriate therapy is offered to you, or you could be left with a permanent limp.’
‘Did you see that in your crystal ball?’ he demanded edgily as he sat down again.
‘I don’t need a crystal ball to see that. I’m a fully qualified physiotherapist, more than used to dealing with injuries like yours. Which is why I can tell you with authority that you can’t afford to leave this any longer,’ she added before he could get a word in.
‘Well, thank you for your advice, Skylar,’ he gritted out, ‘but that’s not what I’m paying you for. What can you see in that crystal ball...if anything?’
‘A very difficult man,’ she fired back.
They glared at each other, and for a good few moments fire flashed between them. Just like ten years ago, it seemed they were destined to strike sparks off each other whenever they met.
‘You’ll have to be quiet or I can’t concentrate,’ she said.
‘That’s the best line I’ve heard yet,’ he muttered as he settled back in his seat.
But Jess did appear to compose herself, before dipping her head and cupping her hands around the ball. His groin tightened at the sight of slender fingers caressing the inanimate object. This was ridiculous. He’d never reacted like this.
Then Jess looked up and made things ten times worse. Her green eyes flayed him before she even spoke, and then she exploded, ‘No way!’ Pushing the crystal ball away, she snapped, ‘This session is at an end.’
‘I’m sorry?’ he queried dryly. ‘Did I miss something, only you don’t seem to have told me anything yet.’
Standing up, she stared pointedly at the exit. ‘There are people waiting outside. Thank you for your contribution, but—’
‘But get lost?’ he suggested. ‘Is that any way to treat a prospective buyer?’
‘If you’d seen what I’ve seen, you’d be begging to go.’
‘All that money and I don’t get a second chance?’
‘Believe me. You don’t want a second chance,’ Jess assured him.
He felt a frisson of something as he stared at her, but dismissed it out of hand. No one could foretell the future. This was all an act.
‘I can tell you one thing,’ she said. ‘Like your namesake The Wolf, you should shed your old winter coat, to be ready for spring and changes.’
‘Claptrap.’
‘Is it?’ she challenged, eyes flashing fire as they refocused on his face. ‘Or are you afraid to face what lies ahead?’
‘Frightened?’ he queried with a short, humourless laugh. ‘Are we talking about therapy for my leg?’
‘Might be. You must accept treatment before it’s too late.’
‘Is that what you do?’ He gestured around the tent. ‘Offer advice under the guise of fortune-telling?’
Jess sighed softly. ‘Is that so terrible? Sometimes it’s the only way people will hear and take in what they need to. I don’t mean any harm.’
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he agreed grimly. ‘But, thank you very much, my siblings have arranged something for me, so you don’t need to worry about my leg.’
‘That’s good news,’ she said.
He grunted. ‘Don’t keep your other mugs waiting.’
‘Let’s hope they’re politer than you.’
But Jess said this with a smile and a genuinely concerned look, which made it hard to remain angry for long. The most annoying teen had grown into a most annoying, hot as hell woman.
CHAPTER THREE
SO JESS WAS unmarried and unattached. Why that should please him, he couldn’t say. After all, it wasn’t as though he was interested in a relationship with her. Still, his conversation with her father when he returned to the farmhouse hadn’t been solely confined to business, and Jim Slatehome had confided that Jess was single. Jim was proud of his daughter, and eager to talk about what she’d achieved. ‘Without anyone’s help,’ he told Dante. ‘I just feel sometimes that I’m holding her back. Jess has a big heart. She should share it with a family of her own.’
He fell silent, and the pause was only broken by the crackle of the fire and an old clock ticking on the mant
elpiece. And then Jess walked in.
Her father visibly brightened. ‘Come and join us,’ he said, pulling out a chair.
‘When I’ve showered and changed,’ she promised.
Without sparing him a glance, she gathered up the mud-soaked hem of her skirt and dashed upstairs.
She didn’t take long to return. Still glowing from the shower, she radiated energy and purpose, and even in a pair of old jeans, scrappy slippers and a nondescript top she was beautiful. She’d made no attempt to impress, which was probably what impressed him most of all.
‘Talks between you two go well?’ she prompted with seeming unconcern, but there was an edge of tension in her voice.
‘Extremely well,’ her father enthused, which only succeeded in making Jess pale.
‘Well?’ she pressed. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what you’ve decided? Are you buying the horses, Dante?’
