MAYBE BABY Read online

  MAYBE BABY

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  Maybe Baby

  Andrea Smith

  Published by Meatball Taster Publishing at Smashwords.

  Text copyright © 2012. All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  CHAPTER ONE

  I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, capturing a stray lock of brown hair that had escaped from my ponytail. Angrily, I twisted it behind my ear for

  about the bazillionith time today.

  (Damn it was hot!)

  It was only two o’clock; I had two more hours of this hot and muggy heat. Sweeping my broom the length of the stall, I studied the pile of dirt, errant manure and chunks of straw that reeked of horse urine. I was thinking of the nice, cold shower that awaited me back at my cottage when my shift was over. I loved horses but some ventilation would be nice on hot, muggy days like this. June in southern Virginia could be brutal.

  Just then Luke Winslow came into the horse barn, leading Ariel, the gray dapple mare behind him, taking off his wide-brimmed straw hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Luke was tall, blond and leanly built. He had strawberry blond hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his rosy cheeks. He looked like the all-American, apple pie kind of guy. I had seen Luke after a few beers and quite frankly, he could be terribly irritating and pushy.

  “Hey, Tylar, looks like you could use a beer about now,” he remarked, bringing Ariel to a halt outside the stall I was sweeping.

  I glanced in his direction briefly, keeping the broom whisking away. The college hands liked to party after hours.

  “Sounds tempting, Luke. All I can think about now is finishing up here and getting a cold shower back at my place. My shift ends at four.”

  “Oh, that’s right, well I get off at three… I got a keg

  at the cottage. Some of the others are coming over later. We’re going to have a bonfire, why don’t you stop by, it is Friday, you know!”

  “I’ll see. Maybe. Is Jenna going to be there?”

  He smiled wickedly.

  “Sure thing. You know Jenna. She doesn’t miss

  a chance for free beer, guys, and partying. You can hold your own with Jenna though,” he winked.

  Just then Ariel decided to lift her tail and relieve her bowels with a nice, fresh pile on the floor I had just immaculately swept.

  “Oops, sorry about that, “Luke laughed.

  “Damn, Luke! Move on, please. I may stop by later.”

  He flashed me a grin, pulling on Ariel’s harness and clicking his tongue as she finished her business.

  “It’s cottage #8 on the end,” he called out as he led

  the horse down to her stall.

  “Hope to see you later.”

  “We’ll see,” I called out after him.

  The truth being I was the new kid on staff; the youngest at twenty years old, soon to turn twenty-one. The others had worked at Sinclair Stables on weekends and summers since high school. Now in college and one even in grad school, they came back to work summers and pay for college. They enjoyed the benefits of being able to live in the cottages which were only offered for full-time help.

  Some of them were locals but craved the independence and freedom of not having to live at home with parents who still imposed curfews.

  I was not a local having been born and raised in Kentucky and now attended nearby Virginia Intermont College. My major was equine studies. My love of horses had led me to the decision to pursue it as a career. My dream was to work with quarter horses and warm bloods, eventually in areas of breeding science.

  I was an only child. My parents divorced when I was only a year old. I didn’t remember my father. According to my mother he walked out on us when I was a baby to take up with a ‘big city whore.’ My mom frequently reminded me of this. I knew that my dad had sent checks for me over the years.

  They had financed mom’s boob job, a tummy tuck and a mini face lift.

  Thankfully Mom couldn’t touch the money that was in my trust for college tuition. It became active when I turned eighteen; I was the only one authorized to withdraw funds, much to her chagrin. She worked part-time as a secretary in a law firm; the same law firm that handled my trust.

  I had given my eight year old Jeep to Mom after she laid a guilt trip on me when the child support payments from my dad stopped the July right after high school graduation.

  Apparently, Mom had been making the lease payments on the new Mustang she drove with the support money. When the support stopped, the car had to be returned to the leasing agency. She had cried all night over not having her ‘sexy little Stang’ to drive.

  I had attended a local college my freshman year, but living at home wasn’t working out well. Mom was constantly encouraging me to find a nice guy and move in with him and forget college. I figured my being at home had put a cramp in her style.

  Mom was only forty-one years old and still had the looks to land plenty of guys. I had felt uncomfortable living with her after high school with the parade of men she constantly had in and out of her life.

  I had transferred to V.I.C. my sophomore year in Bristol, Virginia. Moving away from Mom and her constant parade of relationships had been a relief.

  A loud snort and whinny coming from outside the stall I was preparing to clean brought my attention back to the present. It was Derringer, the most beautiful black Lipizzaner I had ever seen. He was skittish and spirited; a high maintenance piece of horse flesh no doubt. He intimidated most of the other help here. In the few weeks here, I had reached out to this beautiful, reckless horse. His temperament suggested he was missing something or someone.

  “Easy, boy,” I murmured, unlatching the gate to his stall.

  I entered slowly, reaching into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out a plastic bag of cut carrots. Emptying the bag into my left hand, I offered them to Derringer. He snorted loudly, backing up two steps but then slowly lowered his large, beautiful head, nuzzling the carrots with his nose. Soon he had emptied my hand of the carrots, chomping slowly as
I rubbed his sleek, shiny neck.

  “You want me to brush you, Derringer?”

  “Huh pretty boy?”

  I reached up and grabbed his reins and brush from the hook on the wall. He was already bridled so I hooked his reins to the bridle, and led him out of the stall into the main gangway. He started pulling from side to side as I looped his reins to the post outside.

  “Easy, easy, now, boy. You like this, remember?”

  He whinnied, moving his hind quarters almost in a dancing motion. I had to giggle. He was a show-off if nothing else; perhaps he had been trained in dressage. That would definitely make this summer interesting with the competitions coming up.

  I hooked my hand under the leather strap on top of the brush, and started brushing through his black, shiny coat on his massive neck. This was definitely progress. Derringer patiently allowed me to brush his full coat, top to bottom. I had to stand on a wooden stool to reach the top of the horse’s back as he was a little over sixteen hands in height. I was just finishing up on his center back over his hind quarters when one of the barn cats came bolting into the barn, the neighbor’s dog Rusty was barking and chasing closely behind.

  Rusty had jumped the Monroe’s fence again. He loved to antagonize the barn cats whenever possible. Rusty spent more time on Sinclair land than he did at his own home. He was a spirited Springer Spaniel, who was presently enjoying a game of tag with a gray cat, who was feral at best. From outside of the stable, I heard a man’s voice calling for Rusty, but the dog was now in hot pursuit.

  I chuckled at the chase, standing on my tip-toes reaching with my brush trying to finish up grooming Derringer’s back. Before I knew it, the cat leapt up onto the top of the horse’s rear flank digging all four sets of claws into his hide for traction. The cat moved towards the front of the horse in an effort to flee Rusty by escaping through the wooden slats of the stall. Sharp feline claws dug into Derringer’s hide with each step.

  Derringer whinnied loudly, starting to buck his hind legs. (Holy Shit!) I felt myself losing my balance as the wooden stool started to tip. I tried to brace myself against the moving horse which was impossible. I felt the stool tip out from under me, my arms flailed wildly about trying to grab anything to break the fall.

  Just as I was about to careen downward toward the concrete floor, I felt a pair of strong arms fold around my waist. I was grabbed and lifted up just as Derringer reared up on his hind legs. Rusty continued barking, managing to avoid the horses legs. A sharp male voice rang out, very close to my ears.

  “Rusty! Heal! Heal Now!”

  The dog immediately stopped and silenced. Poor Rusty bowed his head and hunkered down to a belly crawl, exiting the barn in shame. This all happened in a split second. I was quickly lifted out of harm’s way then set back down abruptly.

  I could see the back of my rescuer. He was tall, with thick, burnished brown hair. He moved quickly and lithely over to Derringer who was still agitated and moving nervously. My rescuer grabbed the horse’s reins, gently steadying his head, and his voice was now silky and calm.

  “Easy, Derringer. Easy boy,” he coaxed, gently stroking his neck.

  The horse quieted immediately as he was led back into his stall. It was obvious to me that this man knew something about horses, or at the least, something about Derringer.

  When my rescuer turned to face me, I had to make a concerted effort to keep my mouth from dropping open. I had never seen such a magnificent looking man. I could tell that he was older than me, possibly late twenties; I was in awe of his presence. He exuded power and sexuality all in one. Not that I had any experience with either.

  His eyes were a piercing sapphire blue, with dark, long lashes. He had beautiful skin and just enough five o’clock shadow to pull it off. He had a chin dimple that begged to be kissed; his lips were full and sensual. As I continued to gaze at them, they slowly broke into a grin. Another dimple appeared on his cheek, giving him both a boyish and rakish flavor.

  (Oh my God).

  I could feel the flush rising across my cheeks. It was obvious I had been staring. I lowered my eyes to seek composure which I soon realized was a mistake. My gaze fell across his muscular arms and broad shoulders then went lower still to his flat belly, narrow hips, and muscular thighs.

  His tight jeans did little to hide the rather nice size bulge

  he had going on in the crotch area.

  (What the hell am I doing?)

  My cheeks blazed scarlet as I quickly averted my gaze back to safer ground. I was busted. I heard the soft chuckle from in front of me. My head snapped up to meet his amused gaze.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, grinning showing his straight, perfect teeth.

  His grin was slightly crooked, which just made him that much more attractive and sexy.

  “Yes, fine,” I stammered, my eyes locking with his. Wow, he was really disarming. He had to be 6’1 or 6’2. His hair was thick. I could tell his haircuts didn’t come cheap. He looked as if he had walked off of a magazine cover; I definitely wanted a subscription.

  (Where is this coming from?)

  “I’m sorry.” I blushed. “Thank you, Mr --?”

  “Sinclair,” he answered, “Trey Sinclair.”

  "Oh . . ."

  I shifted nervously on one foot. He cocked an eyebrow at me, somehow knowing that I had some knowledge of him.

  Apparently some scandal lurked in his past according to rumor. Jenna had mentioned him a couple of times. She always acted as if she had the inside scoop on everything at Sinclair Stables. I recalled her mentioning that he was a high powered attorney somewhere out of town now. Whenever his parents traveled he was left in charge. Jenna claimed he had shares in the family business. She said she dreamed of ‘doing him’ one day soon.

  “And you are?” he asked, his eyes now boldly perusing me.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I blushed under his perusal.

  I wiped my sweaty right hand on my jeans and offered it to him for a handshake.

  “I’m Tylar Preston. I recently started working for the Sinclair’s – I mean your family.”

  He took my proffered hand into his and my stomach did a flip-flop at the feel of his touch. His hand was warm with long, lean figures and well manicured nails. His handshake was strong and firm. My pulse quickened with his touch. How could an absolute stranger generate this reaction in me? This was new and unfamiliar.

  “Tylar,” he repeated, “kind of a different name for a girl, isn’t it?”

  His smile disarmed me only briefly.

  “Trey,” I replied, smiling coyly, “kind of a French name for a boy isn’t it?

  He threw his head back, flashing his dimple and perfect white teeth, and laughed good-naturedly.

  (I am definitely loving that dimple.) ’

  “Touché’ mademoiselle,” he countered in his smooth and silky tone.

  He still had my hand enclosed in his. He lifted it slowly to his beautiful sensual lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles. His eyes never left mine. I melted beneath his gaze. I felt as if I was on fire.

  I quickly pulled it back to me, fearful that he might feel my trembling, afraid of sparking further amusement. I felt my crimson blush. I absolutely hated that about myself. Hopefully, he would attribute it to the heat and humidity of the barn.

  “I’m sorry about the neighbor’s dog getting in here and spooking Derringer,” he said, his eyes continuing to flicker over me leisurely.

  “I have said something to the Monroe’s time and time again. As I was preparing to leave, I saw him bolting after that cat, heading for the stables. I hate to imagine what injury might have befallen you had I not grabbed you in time.”

  My skin was still tingling from his touch; I was rubbing my arm totally driven to distraction by his smooth and silky voice and his penetrating gaze. He smiled at me again, carefully studying my face. Why were his eyes boring into me? I was totally uncomfortable under his scrutiny. I couldn’t find any words to continue a discussion. He d
idn’t seem ready to leave though.

  “How is it that you are able to get Derringer out for grooming?”

  I relaxed a bit. His question suspended my momentary anxiety at being in the presence of such a handsome yet intimidating man.

  “It hasn’t been real easy,” I admitted. “Frankly, no one else wants to mess with him and I like the challenge of getting him to trust me. We’re friends now. I bribe him with carrots, rub him, and talk to him. I really want to work at building a rapport with him. Eventually I plan on exercising him over in the arena at the ‘Belle. It appears as if he has had dressage training.”

  I saw Trey’s eyes darken. His whole expression changed before my eyes.

  “Derringer is my horse. No one mounts him except me, do you understand that, Ms. Preston?” he hissed.

  (Holy Shit!)

  I was totally taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. His blue eyes were ablaze as he looked at me for some type of confirmation.

  “Yes, sir,” I responded shakily. “It’s just that such a beautiful horse like Derringer – well it just seems to me that to do otherwise is neglectful. I am being paid to help with the horses among other things here. No one here has given me specific instructions regarding your horse.”

  “I just gave you specific instructions, Ms. Preston. You may feed, brush and clean his stall, but that is where it starts and that is where it ends. I will take care of the rest. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, Mr. Sinclair. Perfectly.”

  Our eyes locked. Some emotion crossed over his face in that moment, but I could not place what it was. Probably just a rich, spoiled kid that grew up into a rich, spoiled man and still didn’t like to share.

  (Whatever.)

  I turned, latching the gate to Derringer’s stall. Not glancing at him whatsoever, I picked up my broom and headed down to the other end of the barn. I could feel those blue eyes blazing into my back as I walked to the tack room, slamming the door behind me. I brushed the floor of the tack room with a vengeance, cursing at him in my mind. (Pompous ass. Piss on you Trey Sinclair!)