Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 13

13

Alexander

A Week Later

W hatever Ace had stuck with me like the plague. I don't remember ever being so ill, even as a child. It's been a week. Yesterday, I hoped I could get back to working and sweat the remaining bug out of me, but I only lasted two hours. Then, I felt like death was upon me. I could barely stand, so I finally caved and returned to my bedroom to rest.

Phoebe's been beyond amazing, taking care of the kids and me. Every day, they surprise me with get-well cards or pictures they've drawn, paper flowers, and other crafts. She's taken on more than her nanny duties, like our laundry and all the cooking. I feel bad that she's having to carry the load, and I keep apologizing, but she always just waves me off.

I'm not used to feeling helpless like this. When I woke up today feeling energetic, relief hit me. Plus, it's race day. I haven't forgotten about our bet or the time we spent alone on the ATV.

The scent of pancakes and bacon wafts through the air. My stomach growls. It's the first time I've been hungry all week.

I get out of bed, quickly get dressed, and join the others in the kitchen.

Ace exclaims, "Dad, you're up!"

"Are you better now?" Wilder asks.

Phoebe flips a pancake and turns her head. Her beautiful smile forms on her lips. "You look a lot better."

"I feel a lot better." I pour myself a cup of coffee and ask, "You need a refill?"

She glances at her mug and then says, "I'm good. But I still don't know how you drink that black."

I grunt. "Real men drink black coffee."

Amusement fills her expression. "Men all have the same taste buds?"

I chuckle. "Real men do." I take another sip, and the hot liquid slides into my stomach.

She asks, "You want some breakfast?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'm starving."

"Good. You must be feeling better, then?" She picks up a plate and adds bacon, eggs, and pancakes. She hands it to me.

"Thanks. And I do feel normal again." I set the plate on the table and point, adding, "Please, sit down and eat. You've been doing everything all week."

She fills another plate and hands it to me, smiling. "Okay."

I pull the chair out, and she sits. I take the one next to her.

Wilder questions, "Dad, are we going to do anything cool tonight?"

"Aunt Evelyn is coming over with the girls. You're going to stay in the main house tonight."

"Why are we staying there?" Ace questions.

"Phoebe and I are going to the races," I tell them.

She asks, "We're still going?"

"Yeah, I feel great. Why not? Unless you're not up for it," I challenge.

She smirks. "Don't worry, I won't disappoint. But don't cry when I win."

"What are you winning, Phoebe?" Ace asks.

She glances at me.

I tell the boys, "We both have different ideas on what horse is going to win."

"Ooh, who are you going to bet on?" Wilder asks, turning to Phoebe.

"Um...uh..."

I interject, realizing that she doesn't know any of the horses' names. "Boys, which one do you think Phoebe will bet on?"

Wilder and Ace cry out at the same time, "Sweetie Pie!"

I jerk my head back. "Sweetie Pie? Why would you think Sweetie Pie will win?"

"Duh. She's going to take it all tonight!" Ace proclaims.

Wilder agrees. "Yeah, she's been running really well. She's beaten Tycoon all week."

"No way," I state, not believing it. I always bet on Tycoon. He's our golden goose, winning more races than I can count. I've trained Sweetie Pie the same way I trained Tycoon, but she's still young and never beat him before.

"Dad, Sweetie Pie is going to win," Ace confidently asserts.

"You think so, huh?" I ask, taking a bite of the pancakes. The buttery syrup bursts on my tongue, and I groan. "This tastes so good."

"That's because you've barely eaten this last week," Phoebe acknowledges.

"Maybe you're just a good cook," I offer and then wink.

She laughs. "Maybe I've picked up some talent from Georgia."

"Ah. Now, that would be every man's dream. A woman who could cook like Georgia and do art like you," I tease.

Red sprawls up her neck and into her cheeks, and I realize what I just said. I quickly add, "Figuratively speaking."

"Right." She takes a sip of coffee and turns toward the boys. "So, Sweetie Pie gets my bet!"

"Yes!" Wilder shouts, pumping his fist in the air.

"Tycoon's going down tonight!" Ace exclaims.

I chuckle. "Easy there. You've always loved Tycoon."

"But Sweetie Pie's going to win," Ace insists.

"Yep. No doubt," Wilder claims, and shoves another forkful of food in his mouth.

"Well, I think Tycoon will prove all of you wrong," I declare, confident in his abilities. I dip bacon in my egg yolk, then bite half the strip.

The boys get up, take their plates to the sink, and wash them.

I lean closer to Phoebe. "What have you done to my sons?"

Her lips twitch. She whispers, "They earn gold stars."

"Ah. And what are they earning now?"

She shrugs, confessing, "I told them it's a surprise." She glances at the boys, then murmurs, "I have to figure it out." Her hot breath hits my ear, and zings fly down my spine.

She sits back, puts her finger over her lips, and smiles.

The room lights up. My heart pounds harder in my chest. I don't know what's happening to me, but anytime she's come into my bedroom this week, I've felt something in my gut. I don't know what it is. I'm trying to push it away. After all, she is my kids' nanny and way younger than me.

My deceased wife and I were the same age. But Phoebe's ten years younger than me.

I'm sure she thinks I'm too old for her.

We probably have nothing in common.

Why am I even thinking these thoughts?

Jesus, I need to get a grip.

I rise, put my plate in the soapy water, then grab my cowboy hat off the hook. I put it on, announcing, "Time for work."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay today?" Phoebe asks, her face filled with concern.

"Yep. Just be ready to leave around five tonight. Okay?"

She gives me a tiny salute. "Aye, aye, sir."

I chuckle and go outside. I take a deep breath, breathing in the fresh air.

It's a true November day. The air's crisp, but the sun's out. The wind has picked up, but I welcome it. I spent so much time in my bedroom this week I thought the walls would close in around me.

Within minutes, I throw myself into my duties, trying to catch up on things I got behind on. Then, I spend several hours at the corral, running the horses with my brothers.

Mason states, "You bounced back quickly compared to yesterday."

"I feel a lot better."

"Well, it looks like you were in good hands." His lips twist.

My gut flips. Phoebe's face appears in my mind, and my blood heats. I reprimand, "Don't get any ideas."

He chuckles and then starts shouting at one of the trainers. "You're not leaning in! Come on, you know better than this!"

The day goes by quickly but also slowly. I'm excited to go to the races tonight. I tell myself it's only because of the thrill of seeing my horses compete, but it's a lie. I can't wait to spend more time alone with Phoebe. It's nice when it's just us.

Us.

The thought of Phoebe and I together shocks me. I don't know why I'm thinking any of these thoughts. I continue to remind myself that she's my kids' nanny and it's just a friendly bet.

I chuckle, thinking about how badly I want to paint the house. As I lay in bed all week, I couldn't help but stare at the tan walls, wishing they had some color. I kept telling myself it was because I was stuck inside, but everything looked as blah as I felt.

When four thirty arrives, I grab a handful of a dozen flowers from the garden and then go into the house. I put them in a vase and make my way down the hall.

Phoebe steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body. The D and A inked on her chest appear shiny on her damp skin.

My pulse beats between my ears.

She glances at the flowers. "Those are beautiful."

"They're for you."

Her eyes widen. "Oh?"

My anxiety tightens in my chest, and I'm suddenly speechless. My gaze darts back to her tattoo.

She cautiously asks, "They're really for me?"

Why didn't I think about what to say to her?

I tear my gaze off her chest.

She stares at me in question.

I nod. "Yes. I thought you might want some color in your room."

She grins and takes them from me. "Thank you. They're beautiful."

I glance back at her tattoo, blurting out, "Are you ever going to tell me what that says?"

She stifles a laugh. "Nope. I told you there wouldn't be any mystery, then."

I shake my head but smile, half annoyed, half amused. I add, "Okay, I have to shower. We can leave a little early, if you're going to be ready?"

"Sure. I only need another five minutes. I just have to put my clothes on."

Or you can take that towel off.

Ugh! Why am I thinking these things?

"Sounds good. I won't take too long." I scoot past her and go into my bedroom. I take a shower, put on a spray of cologne, which I normally don't do when I'm working, and then freeze.

Why am I acting like I'm going on a date?

This is a date.

No, it's not.

I go into my closet and put on a pair of jeans I only wear when I go to nicer places. I tuck my T-shirt in and secure my belt buckle. When I finish, I step out into the family room and stop short.

Phoebe's on the phone. She states, "I'm not talking about this anymore."

I quietly step back into the hallway and press my back against the wall. I shouldn't eavesdrop on her conversation, but I can't help myself.

Her voice grows more frustrated. "I've gone over this with you. You're just not listening to me."

Mr. Douchebag.

What's it going to take for her to realize that boy isn't worth a second of her time? She's way out of his league.

My gut flips. I hate she's still talking to him.

Why is she still talking to him?

I cautiously peek past the wall.

She puts her hand on her neck as she stares out the window. She declares, "I'm busy. I'll talk to you later." She hangs up and sighs.

I pull my head back, my heart beating faster. I wait ten seconds, then call out, "All set?" as I step into the family room.

She spins to face me and forces a smile. "Yep."

"Is something wrong?" I ask, moving closer.

She smiles bigger and shakes her head. "No, everything's great. I can't wait to go, and I can't wait to beat you."

I chuckle. "Alrighty, then. Let's get out of here." I go to the door and open it. I motion for her to go through, stating, "Ladies first."

Her smile stays on her face as she walks outside. I put my hand on her lower back and lead her to the car, opening her door.

She gets in, and I close the door.

I round the hood and then slide into the driver's seat. I start the truck. Country music blares from the speakers.

"Whoa." I turn the volume down. "Sorry about that."

She giggles. "It's okay."

"Do you know who was in my truck last?" I question.

She hesitates, then cringes. "I think Jagger. He had to move it for some reason."

"Huh," I say. I make a mental note to talk to my brother. Jagger likes to take my truck out for no reason, and I always yell at him whenever he does.

During the entire ride, nerves dance in my belly. We make small talk until we get to the track. I get out of the truck, go around to open her door, and grab her hand as soon as she steps out. I steer her toward the betting area and tease, "Are you sure you want Sweetie Pie? I feel kind of bad that I'm going to beat you and demolish all your dreams in an instant."

"Oh no you're not. That's my horse, and I'm sticking with her."

"Fair enough."

I release her hand and pull out my billfold. I already know there's two grand in it. I slap it down in front of the bookie, saying, "One thousand on Tycoon and one thousand on Sweetie Pie."

Phoebe shifts next to me. She looks uncomfortable.

I murmur in her ear, "Stop worrying about the money. It's fine."

She releases an anxious breath. She slowly tilts her head up, her mouth only inches from mine. She breathes, "Okay."

"Let's have fun," I order, locking eyes with her.

She lifts her chin and straightens her shoulders. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. You'll learn that someday." I wink.

She laughs. The bookie gives us our tickets, and I hand her the one for Sweetie Pie, instructing, "Hold on to this. If you lose it and a miracle happens and you win—which you won't because Tycoon's going to—you'll need this to cash in."

She rolls her eyes. "You're so overly confident, but cockiness won't make your horse go faster."

"We'll see about that. I know my horses. Although, I am intrigued that both my boys think Sweetie Pie will win," I admit.

Tycoon doesn't always put everything out during practices, but I'm okay with it. He saves it for race days. I'm sure he's an adrenaline junkie. And I taught him to know his role, so I'm not worried about it.

Phoebe asks, "Do you have a color in mind?"

"Color?" I question.

"Yeah. For your room."

"Nope. I'm not good with colors. I told you you're the creative one. That'll be up to you."

"Really? So I have free rein when I win?"

"Yeah, you would have free rein." I lean closer to her. "But remember, my horse is winning, not yours."

"We'll see about that." She beams up at me.

I grab her hand again and lead her through the racetrack to the box my family owns. Inside, there's a full spread of food, including appetizers, main courses, desserts, and a full bar.

I question, "What do you want to drink?"

"A beer's fine," she says.

"You always drink beer? Nothing else?" I ask.

She ponders the question and then admits, "No. I normally get martinis or cosmos or margaritas. Lance doesn't like me to drink beer."

I tense. "Seriously?"

She cringes. "Did I just admit that out loud? I don't think I've ever thought about that."

"So you realize that's really messed up?" I ask.

She waits a minute, then confesses, "Yeah, it is."

"So what does Phoebe want?"

She glances at the full bar, then back at me. "I just want a beer."

I chuckle. "Okay, then beer it is."

I get us two bottles, then lead her to the large window that looks out over the track. I hold my bottle out. "May the best horse win."

"That'll be Sweetie Pie," she chimes, clinking my beer with hers.

"Don't be so sure of yourself."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not. But this is fun. Especially since it's not my money I'm losing, although I still feel bad about it."

"Don't."

"Still... It feels a bit wrong to risk your hard-earned cash. Not that I'm going to lose," she corrects herself.

I grunt, take a mouthful of my beer, swallow, then say, "No more talk about the money. Okay?"

She exhales deeply. "Okay."

I start pointing things out to her since she's never been to the track. I explain how things work and then the announcer says it's time for the race.

The horses line up.

"Oh, this is so exciting," Phoebe says, leaning closer and tapping her hand on her thigh.

I grab it, taunting, "You aren't a little nervous that you made the wrong bet, are you?"

She smirks. "No. Eat Sweetie Pie's dust, Alexander."

I chuckle, then release her hand, and the buzzer sounds. The horses take off.

We step closer to the glass. The horses fly around the track. The crowd's shouts grow louder.

I'm used to these races, but tonight, everything is different. Tycoon's running well, but Sweetie Pie's just behind him. Since they're both Cartright horses, that makes me happy, but I'm not used to being surprised at races. Like I said, I usually only take calculated risks when I'm gambling. Plus, I know my horses well.

But as fast as the race is, it becomes clear Ace and Wilder have a great eye for assessing the horses. Sweetie Pie and Tycoon suddenly are neck and neck.

Phoebe shouts, "Come on, Sweetie Pie! Let's go!"

I tear my eyes off the track, watching her excitement and joy, and it makes me happy.

"Come on, come on, come on! There you go! A little bit farther!" she urges.

I glance back and blurt out, "Tycoon, move it," all of a sudden worried he might not win.

Sweetie Pie and Tycoon take the last turn, continuing the pace, leaving other horses eating their dust. About five feet in front of the finish line, Sweetie Pie makes a tiny break, crossing the line a horsehead before Tycoon.

"Yes! Oh my gosh! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Phoebe shouts, clapping. Then she surprises me by jumping up and throwing her arms around me, squealing, "She won!"

I slide my arm around her, grip her ass cheek, and plant my other palm on the back of her head. Before she can get out of the way or I can think better about it, I press my lips to hers.