They'd known each other too long and too well for Josh to miss the easy contentment in his friend's moves. A contentment, he thought, that had never quite been there before.
"This is the one, isn't it?"
Michael glanced over. He didn't need to explain, not to Josh. He only needed to say one word. "Yeah."
"If I know you, you want to make something big out of it."
He yearned to. "In my own time."
Josh took his, waiting while Michael fed the expectant mother, checked her hay-net, babied her. "Monterey Riding Academy? The owners are friends of the family."
"So?"
"They'll be at the club tonight. Kate was their accountant when she was with Bittle and Associates. They do a lot of buying and selling. So do their students."
Ambition, Michael admitted, was always a trap. "You're a slick son of a bitch, Harvard. You always were."
Josh merely grinned. "We all have our niche."
"Laura might not go for this little arrangement of yours."
"I can handle Laura," Josh said confidently, and checked his watch. "I've got enough time to slip by the shop and do just that before my last meeting today. The dance is at nine. I'll tell her you'll pick her up at eight-thirty—wearing a tie."
"If you don't make this worth my while, pal, I'll have to kick your ass." He brushed grain dust from his hands. "I won't enjoy it, but I'll have to do it."
"Understood." Satisfied with the outcome of his mission, Josh headed for the door. "Ah, you do know the way to the club, don't you?"
Appreciating the sarcasm, Michael tilted his head. "Maybe I will enjoy it after all."
She was furious, livid. And trapped. They'd ganged up on her, Laura fumed as she yanked the pearl gray Miska cocktail dress out of her closet. Josh and Margo and Kate, cornering her at Pretenses and all but presenting her with a fait accompli.
Michael Fury was escorting her to the country club dance. The arrangement would suit everyone. They wouldn't have to worry about her driving there and back alone or about her feeling awkward at an event designed for couples. Michael would gain an entree and make contacts in the horse world.
Oh, yeah, it suited everyone just fine. Everyone but herself.
It was humiliating, she thought as she jerked the zipper up. A thirty-year-old woman being fixed up by her big brother. Worse, now Michael knew that she was the pathetic divorcee who couldn't get her own date. As if she wanted one in the first place, or the last place, or any place at all, for that matter.
"Which I don't," she told the dog, who had come into her room to watch her every move with adoring eyes. "I don't even want to go to the damn country club tonight. I'm tired."
Sympathetically he wiggled his butt as she stormed over to the closet for shoes and a beaded jacket. She didn't need to hang on to a man's arm to feel complete. She didn't need to hang on to anything, anyone. Why couldn't she just crawl into bed and read a book, she wondered. Eat popcorn and watch an old movie on TV until she fell asleep with the set still on.
Why did she have to dress up, go out in public, and be Laura Templeton?
She stopped, sighed. Because she was Laura Templeton. That was something she couldn't forget. Laura Templeton had responsibilities, she had an image to maintain.
So, she told herself as she picked up her lipstick and applied it skillfully, she would maintain it. She would get through the evening, say the right things to the right people. She would be as polite and friendly to Michael as necessary. And when the whole blasted thing was over, she would fall facedown on her bed and forget it. Until the next time.
She checked her hair. God, she needed a trim. And when was she going to fit that in? She turned for her bag and watched in mild horror as the pup wet on her Aubusson. "Oh, Bongo!" He grinned up at her and sat in his own pee.
It was only a small rebellion, but Michael didn't wear a tie. He figured that with Laura Templeton at his side they wouldn't boot him out for wearing a black
"This is the one, isn't it?"
Michael glanced over. He didn't need to explain, not to Josh. He only needed to say one word. "Yeah."
"If I know you, you want to make something big out of it."
He yearned to. "In my own time."
Josh took his, waiting while Michael fed the expectant mother, checked her hay-net, babied her. "Monterey Riding Academy? The owners are friends of the family."
"So?"
"They'll be at the club tonight. Kate was their accountant when she was with Bittle and Associates. They do a lot of buying and selling. So do their students."
Ambition, Michael admitted, was always a trap. "You're a slick son of a bitch, Harvard. You always were."
Josh merely grinned. "We all have our niche."
"Laura might not go for this little arrangement of yours."
"I can handle Laura," Josh said confidently, and checked his watch. "I've got enough time to slip by the shop and do just that before my last meeting today. The dance is at nine. I'll tell her you'll pick her up at eight-thirty—wearing a tie."
"If you don't make this worth my while, pal, I'll have to kick your ass." He brushed grain dust from his hands. "I won't enjoy it, but I'll have to do it."
"Understood." Satisfied with the outcome of his mission, Josh headed for the door. "Ah, you do know the way to the club, don't you?"
Appreciating the sarcasm, Michael tilted his head. "Maybe I will enjoy it after all."
She was furious, livid. And trapped. They'd ganged up on her, Laura fumed as she yanked the pearl gray Miska cocktail dress out of her closet. Josh and Margo and Kate, cornering her at Pretenses and all but presenting her with a fait accompli.
Michael Fury was escorting her to the country club dance. The arrangement would suit everyone. They wouldn't have to worry about her driving there and back alone or about her feeling awkward at an event designed for couples. Michael would gain an entree and make contacts in the horse world.
Oh, yeah, it suited everyone just fine. Everyone but herself.
It was humiliating, she thought as she jerked the zipper up. A thirty-year-old woman being fixed up by her big brother. Worse, now Michael knew that she was the pathetic divorcee who couldn't get her own date. As if she wanted one in the first place, or the last place, or any place at all, for that matter.
"Which I don't," she told the dog, who had come into her room to watch her every move with adoring eyes. "I don't even want to go to the damn country club tonight. I'm tired."
Sympathetically he wiggled his butt as she stormed over to the closet for shoes and a beaded jacket. She didn't need to hang on to a man's arm to feel complete. She didn't need to hang on to anything, anyone. Why couldn't she just crawl into bed and read a book, she wondered. Eat popcorn and watch an old movie on TV until she fell asleep with the set still on.
Why did she have to dress up, go out in public, and be Laura Templeton?
She stopped, sighed. Because she was Laura Templeton. That was something she couldn't forget. Laura Templeton had responsibilities, she had an image to maintain.
So, she told herself as she picked up her lipstick and applied it skillfully, she would maintain it. She would get through the evening, say the right things to the right people. She would be as polite and friendly to Michael as necessary. And when the whole blasted thing was over, she would fall facedown on her bed and forget it. Until the next time.
She checked her hair. God, she needed a trim. And when was she going to fit that in? She turned for her bag and watched in mild horror as the pup wet on her Aubusson. "Oh, Bongo!" He grinned up at her and sat in his own pee.
It was only a small rebellion, but Michael didn't wear a tie. He figured that with Laura Templeton at his side they wouldn't boot him out for wearing a black
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