a point here, Doc?” The second voice came from behind her. This drawl was deeper, colder. A far cry from Jesse’s droll, good-natured teasing.
When Haley turned to face her accuser, his look was contemptuous, colder than his tone, leaving no room for misinterpretation of the unspoken insult. Though she tried not to react, it took all her strength to not respond in kind. Gleaning composure from lessons learned, refusing to be intimidated or provoked, her reply was unruffled. “I’m here at your request, Mr. Cade. Beyond that, I have no point to make.”
“Ah.” Jackson Cade’s smile was mocking as his gaze lingered over the slight décolletage of her gown, reminding her that it afforded a glimpse of the tilt of her breasts and the shadowed cleft between them. As mocking, as disparaging, his gaze traveled with exquisite thoroughness down the length of her slim, dark skirt to linger pointedly on scuffed boots. As if to satisfy himself his message had been understood, he glanced at her hands and found them clenched within leather gloves.
“Then we’re to believe you always make barn calls dressed like the Duchess of Belle Terre?” he murmured. “Or better still, that with a few paltry concessions to this call, we should understand you’re slumming by coming to River Trace?”
The remark stung, as he’d intended. But Haley was determined to not allow him the satisfaction of seeing her react. “We both know I’ve never made a visit here. We both know why. I’ve never come to River Trace because you never wanted me here.
“Tonight, I came as I was. From the tone of your call and the sound of your horse, I felt it merited speed more than proper dress. Lincoln isn’t here. In fact, as you well knew when you stooped to summoning me, he isn’t even in the lowcountry. So, Mr. Horse Breeder par excellence, you would be wise to remember beggars can’t be choosers.” With a quick breath, she continued with false detachment, “Dressed to suit your personal code or not, unless I miss my guess, I’m all you have.”
Jesse Lee smothered a strangled sound Haley could have sworn was a chuckle, yet she would not look away from Jackson Cade’s narrowed stare to interpret it. Keeping his gaze, one that would have been gorgeous were it not so hard and cold, she drew herself to her tallest. A mistake, she realized as he abandoned the duel to let his attention sweep over the lifted thrust of her breasts as thoroughly as he had before.
Haley endured the ordeal by gathering her composure more closely around her, refusing this insufferable man the satisfaction of the blush that threatened. He’d called for help. The situation was unquestionably grave, yet he wasted precious time with this uncharacteristic, chauvinistic performance.
Uncharacteristic because Jackson Cade was known as a man who loved most women. Tall, short, fat, skinny, old, young, ugly or pretty, he loved them. Some without reservation. Others—ambitious, motivated career women such as she—he treated temperately, courteously, but from a coolly guarded distance.
That he cared little for her sort was patently clear. Yet even at his coolest he was, without fail, ever gallant, ever pleasant, ever respectful. Without fail, to all but the inexplicable pariah, Haley Garrett. For whom he reserved a special hostility. A vitriolic antipathy she didn’t understand, escalating with each inadvertent encounter.
Even now, perversely, for reasons only he knew, in his dislike the need to humiliate her was stronger than his desperation. Which made no sense, for added to the legend was his even greater love of horses. Jackson Cade of River Trace was a breeder of some of the world’s finest stock. One who spared neither time nor expense to insure their excellent care.
Despite an unmistakable distrust of his brother’s partner in their veterinary practice, his attitude was senseless in the extreme. Haley couldn’t begin to comprehend his motives or to fathom their origin. But, since it was doubtful he could ever address her in genial terms, much less explain her sins, she’d given up trying to understand this contrary, cantankerous Cade weeks ago.
Indeed, if it were only this frustrating man, she would turn on her booted heel, leaving River Trace in the dust and Jackson Cade to reap the consequences of his unbridled arrogance.
But the problem wasn’t just the enigmatic Jackson Cade. There was the horse and its strange malady. In the midst of this standoff, troubled sounds had begun to drift from a distant stall. Proving, as Haley feared, the embattled quiet had been only the respite of overwhelming fatigue.
Because she couldn’t turn her back on any hurting creature, she put resentment and quelled anger aside in favor of ethical prudence and compassion. “If it will make you feel better, I apologize for my costume, Mr. Cade. I was attending a dinner following a concert,” she explained. “When you called, I considered the situation an emergency. I still do. If you’ll let me, I’d like to help. To do that, I need to examine the horse while it’s quiet. Which, from the sounds I’m hearing, won’t be long.”
Jackson Cade, whom she knew from his brothers had been trained from childhood to behave in a gentlemanly manner, had the grace to look ashamed of his behavior. But only for a single moment, for in the next he was covering the faltering of his dislike with a brusque gesture and a mocking bow. “Be my guest, Duchess. The problem with Dancer has stymied the best of us.”
“So,” Haley snapped with rare impatience, “as a last resort you decided to give me a shot at diagnosing.”
“Something like that.”
When he straightened from a sweeping bow worthy of a Knight of the Round Table, his blue gaze only vaguely mocking, eyes as blue waited for his. Ambushing him. Catching him off guard. In that naked glimpse Haley saw beyond the anger to hurt and fear. Jackson Cade was half mindless with worry because he cared so very much. His horses were more than a business. More than dollar signs. And like it or not, like her or not, Haley Garrett was truly his last resort.
“In that case,” she responded, still keeping his gaze, “I’d best make this good, hadn’t I?”
Turning away, she addressed the older man, who waited with an oddly pleased and knowing expression. But Haley couldn’t be concerned with any more peculiar masculine behavior. “Jesse, if you would go with me to Dancer’s stall…”
“I’ll go.” Jackson stepped closer. Even as the shortest of the Cades, he towered over her only a fraction less than a foot.
“No.” He was so close, so imposing, she had to steel herself against the urge to step back. “Thank you, but no,” she said in rephrase, hoping to avoid another confrontation. “I need a cool head. You’re too emotionally involved to think clearly.”
“This is my land, Dancer’s my horse, Doctor Garrett.” Eyes that could smile and warm female hearts were arctic blue.
“Your horse but my patient, Mr. Cade,” Haley reminded him without returning his heavy-handed sarcasm. Without looking away from his piercing glare, she asked quietly, “Ready, Jesse?”
“Never readier.” The slender cowhand pushed away from the wall where he’d leaned to watch the show. Now he was all business. “The hands took the other horses to pasture. Dancer’s fit was catching. Part of what you heard over the phone was them, wild and getting wilder, though they didn’t see what Dancer was imagining.”
“A concert, you say?” Jesse changed subjects adroitly. Tossing the question over his shoulder, he led Haley down a corridor intersecting the main part of the barn. “I ’spose that means you had a date. A good-looking filly like you, dressed in pretty finery, be a shame if you didn’t.”
Whether there had or had not been a date or an escort was none of
