And now he was even more attractive. And more elusive. With homes across the world, Dante Acosta could pitch up anywhere.
Face it, the gulf between them was a mile wide.
Jess threw herself back into chatting with as many of their visitors as she could. Her reaction to seeing Dante again was an overreaction.
Tell that to her heart. Tell that to her body. Tell her stubborn mind, that doggedly refused to accept it. Making her excuses to the smiling guests, she moved on. What better way to take her mind off Dante Acosta than to get stuck into some fortune-telling, Jess concluded wryly as she headed back to the house to change into Skylar’s costume.
Perhaps she could tell her own fortune. Although surely that could easily be predicted. Dante Acosta could, and probably would, disappear from her life again as swiftly as he had recently appeared.
The ground was hard with frost and the views between the field and the farmhouse far-reaching and mesmerising. Jess stopped briefly to admire them, and to chat silently to her mother, as she so often did. Her mother had been dead for more than five years but her presence remained constant in Jess’s heart.
She reviewed the promises she’d made—to complete her studies, to look after her father and make sure he kept the farm. Generations of farming ran through her father’s blood. He’d have no purpose in life and nowhere to live, her mother had impressed upon her, so these were sacred vows as far as Jess was concerned.
She had never cried at the loss of her mother, Jess realised as the wind whipped her face, prompting her to move on. Her father had cried enough for both of them, but Jess had bottled up her grief deep inside because her father’s tears had solved nothing. They hadn’t brought her mother back or sent the bank packing. She had to save him, as she’d promised, and so she mourned silently and dealt firmly with the bank. So far she’d managed to stave off repossession of the farm, but for how long? A good sale today might postpone the inevitable, but it wouldn’t solve the problem, which meant there was a possibility they might have to sell off some of the land.
Jess’s mood lifted when she turned to see how many people were grouped around her father. He looked as happy as she’d ever seen him, dispensing advice and answering questions. Jim Slatehome was back! People in the horse world who mattered were hanging on his every word.
But there was no sign of Dante. Had he lost interest? There was no time to dwell. She had to prepare to tell fortunes.
* * *
When Jess came downstairs after changing into Skylar’s colourful costume of voluminous, ankle-length skirt strewn with bells and a heavy fringed shawl to wrap around her shoulders, Dante and her father were sitting in the kitchen. The way the two men fell silent the moment she walked in made her instantly suspicious. What were they up to?
Dante’s incredulous stare made her self-conscious. She doubted he’d seen many women with scarves and bells tied around their hair, dressed in shapeless clothes that looked as if they belonged in a jumble sale—which was actually where she’d found them. Even in jeans and workmanlike boots, he managed to look like a king amongst men. But her father seemed happy enough and what else mattered?
‘I’m doubly glad I came,’ Dante murmured, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.
‘And we’re extremely glad you could find time to come to our event, aren’t we, Dad?’ she responded politely through gritted teeth.
Her father was definitely hiding something. She knew that guilty look. And she had only succeeded in sounding ridiculous, like Eliza Doolittle trying to please Professor Higgins, when Dante deserved no such consideration with that smirk on his face. ‘It’s nice to see you again,’ she added, aiming for casual.
‘Nice?’ Dante queried in a deep, husky tone that ran tremors through every part of her. Why wasn’t her father helping out? Why must she deal with this man on her own?
‘Is the apron to protect you from the kittens?’ Dante asked straight-faced.
His comment launched her back to the past and the first time they’d met, when Jess had been caring for a litter of kittens. One of them had chosen the precise moment Dante walked into the stables to pee down her front.
‘It’s part of my costume,’ she said primly.
When she’d almost lost hope that her father might find some way to ease the tension between Jess and Dante he sprang back to life. ‘Come on,’ he urged, standing up. ‘I’ll escort you to the fortune-telling tent. I might even be one of your first clients.’
‘Do you read tea leaves?’ Dante enquired, still holding back on that laugh.
‘Jess is a dab hand with a crystal ball,’ her father explained, oblivious to the war of hard stares currently being exchanged between Jess and Dante. ‘She’s great at telling fortunes. You should try her.’
‘I might do that,’ Dante murmured with a long look at Jess.
He infuriated her but melted her from the inside out too, which was inconvenient. Dante Acosta was a storming force of nature that commanded her attention whether she wanted him to or not.
* * *
Jess stalked ahead of her father to the fortune-telling tent. She was annoyed with her wilful body for responding so enthusiastically to Dante. Her nipples had tightened into taut, cheeky buds, while her lips felt swollen and her breasts felt heavy. And that was the least of it.
The sky was clouding over but in spite of the rapidly worsening weather there was a long line waiting for Jess outside Skylar’s tent. There was nothing like a bit of supernatural hocus pocus to put the seal of success on a day out like this. Jess’s father really believed she’d got a gift, while her mother had dubbed her Skylar years ago, saying Jess should have a magic name to go with her gift. Jess had always suspected that this was just her mother’s way of putting steel in the spine of a painfully shy child.
It must have worked, she concluded, thinking back ten years to when she’d launched herself at the most eligible bachelor on the planet.
Ten years on, was she running away from him?
She glanced over her shoulder before ducking inside the tent. No one was following. Dante was as disinterested in her now as he had been then. It was time to forget him and get on with the job.
* * *
For the first time ever he was having trouble concentrating as he struck a deal with Jess’s father. Jess remained on his mind as he wove his way through the crowd to discover what his future held.
Okay, he was a cynic when it came to telling fortunes, but that didn’t stop him wanting to see Jess. Ten years back, he’d been twenty-two and dismissive of potential mates unless they satisfied his demanding criteria. Jess with her paint-free face, scraped-back hair and clothes smelling of cat pee, not to mention the mouth on her like a paint-stripper, had been as far from his ideal as it was possible to get.
Until she kissed him.
That had been one big surpri
se, and a kick to his senses, reminding him not to overlook something when it was right under his nose.
The long line in front of Skylar’s tent stopped him in his tracks. He wasn’t a man to queue.
With that kiss he’d had the good sense to curtail ten years ago nagging at his mind, he wasn’t a man to wait either. No longer a naïve teen, Jess was a beautiful and intriguing woman. Shapely and soft on the outside, the intrigue came from the will of steel that blazed from her eyes.
That same determination had enabled her to save the farm. According to his team, Jess had no funds other than her meagre savings. She’d stripped these bare to put on this show and save her father. Using persuasion, and bartering her physiotherapy services where necessary, she had managed to recruit practically every member of the village to ensure today’s success. The result was this confidence-boosting exercise for Jim Slatehome that should put him firmly back on the map.
He stopped in front of the small, gaudily decorated tent. A large banner hung from the turret, declaring boldly: Skylar Slates—fortune-teller to the stars! His cynical smile was back. He guessed he qualified. Now his only problem was how to crash the line.
Retracing his steps, he bought a pack of water from a stall. ‘I can handle it,’ he snapped at the woman behind the counter when she gazed at his stick. Clamping the unwieldy bundle beneath one arm, he stabbed his stick into the ground and set his sights on his goal.
‘Water for the fortune-teller,’ he announced as he approached the ever-lengthening line in front of Skylar’s tent. ‘To keep her voice running smoothly,’ he explained, mustering every bit of his rusty charm. The throng parted like the Red Sea to allow the unfortunate man with his lurching gait to move through them with his awkward burden. He vowed on the spot that this would be the one and only time that he viewed his injury as a benefit.