Getting Lucky

  Dedication

  To Amye,

  Because of your spirit, your strength, and your heart.

  I love you, lady.

  Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt from Talking Dirty

  About the Author

  Also by Jennifer Seasons

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  “BE PREPARED TO use the ladies.” Her sister pointed at her chest.

  Shannon Charlemagne released a groan and bit her tongue, her patience already on the verge of deserting her. Her sister’s rather unhelpful suggestion about her breasts at this particular moment had that patience packing its bags and furiously scribbling a Dear John letter on a sticky note.

  The crap her family put her through.

  Pushing away from the hood of the rental car she’d been sitting on, Shannon glanced at the entrance to a horse ranch in the mountains outside Fortune, Colorado, and sighed heavily. Where would she be without her patience? It was her armor, her protection. Losing it would be worse than being thrown to a bunch of wild jackals with bacon-wrapped sausages strung around her head like a Christmas wreath. And with the insanity she was about to fling herself into, she needed it more than ever. Not for the first time, she wondered how she’d been roped into such a stupid situation.

  Oh, that’s right, because she could never really put her foot down and say no when it mattered.

  If she had a dime for every time her family obligated her to something against her will, she’d be richer than Oprah and living it up on Martinique with a French cabana boy named Pierre.

  Sometimes she really wished she were part of a nice, average, normal family. One where there weren’t so many expectations to live up to the legacy that was her family birthright. So much pressure to conform. She was a Charlemagne—the oldest and most prestigious family in all of American horseracing. The most renowned and well-respected family in the industry.

  Yeah, it was like that. She was one of those Charlemagnes.

  Which ultimately meant that, as much as she balked (which wasn’t as much as she’d prefer, granted), deep down she was a good girl who was loyal to a fault and never went against her father. No matter how overbearing and authoritative he might be. She understood her duties and responsibilities to the Charlemagne name.

  Didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

  Sighing again, Shannon pushed back a clump of her light auburn hair that had fallen loose from the braid she’d hastily made that morning and resigned herself to her ill-conceived fate. Her father had asked her to do this. Good idea or bad, it didn’t matter. He’d said it was important for the family—crucial even.

  And that’s why, even though she disagreed with pretty much every aspect of his request, she was currently standing on a gravel road in the Colorado mountains about to do something not entirely on the up-and-up. She and her sister were squinting against the brilliant afternoon sun as they gave the plan one last run-through before she set off alone into the great unknown.

  Still, there were limits to what she was willing to do, family or not.

  “Why does everything always have to be about sex with you?” Shannon asked. She pointed a finger at her breasts, giving her sister a slight frown. “You know these ladies only come out for very special occasions. They’re highly selective. And this, shall we say, undercover job I’m about to partake in, certainly doesn’t qualify.”

  “Does too,” Colleen scoffed. “Your boobs come out far too infrequently, if you ask my opinion,” her sister added, somehow managing simultaneously to sound both affronted and amused. Colleen didn’t usually wait for anyone to ask her thoughts. She just spoke her mind. Whether or not her opinion was wanted was, often, a toss-up.

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because I’m practically a doctor? As an upcoming graduate of Harvard Medical School, it’s my almost-professional opinion that you don’t have nearly enough sex.”

  Shannon laughed outright at that. There her little sister went saying crazy things again. “Thank you so much for caring about my love life and well-being, but I think I’ll be fine.”

  Humor shimmered in her sister’s hazel eyes as she tipped her head toward the huge Pine Creek Ranch sign that hung suspended from wooden beams arching over the entrance. Her blond hair brushed across her freckled cheeks as she said, “I wouldn’t be so hasty in keeping those girls on the shelf if I were you . . . I saw Sean Muldoon in person.”

  “When?”

  “During the races in Kentucky this past May with his Triple Crown winner, Something Unexpected. This guy that Dad is sending you to spy on is full-on Irish—with the accent to prove it—and downright sexy. He’s like an Irish Dove bar—you know just by looking at him that he’s dark, smooth, and addictive. He moves with this loose, long-limbed gate and has an easy smile, but there’s something almost dangerous about him just bubbling under the surface. It’s seriously potent.” Colleen fanned herself and grinned. “It’s too bad I’m such a blabbermouth, because I’d dig up the goods on him, all right.”

  Shannon remained silent and waited for it. It had to be coming.

  “Of course, I’d see if Muldoon was as fast to the finish line as his racehorses are while I was at it, if you know what I mean.” Her sister finished with an overly dramatic eyebrow wiggle and wink.

  And there it was. Right on schedule. That’s one of the things she loved most about her only sibling—she was reliable. If there was ever an opening for a crude comment to be slipped in, you could bet she was all over it.

  That’s what she said, Shannon thought.

  Crap! Damn it, now Colleen had her doing it too. Figured.

  “Let’s go through this one last time,” Shannon said briskly. “I’m supposed to find this Sean Muldoon and tell him I’m responding to his ad for the stable manager position and convince him to hire me.” She stared down the long gravel lane beyond the ranch’s entrance as it lazily rounded a bend and disappeared into a sea of aspen, spruce, and pine in the distance.

  Into Sean Muldoon’s ranch.

  She’d learned from her father that Pine Creek sat on about one hundred acres, though it was hard to tell at the moment from the thick grove of trees that flanked each side of the single-lane road. It looked more like the entrance to a state forest, not a sprawling horse ranch.

  But, as Shannon knew better than most, looks were most often deceiving. Nervously swiping her hands down the thighs of her worn denim jeans, she continued reviewing the plan that their father had designed, hoping that repeating everything would help her focus.

  Colleen opened her mouth and started to say, “That’s why you should—”

  Shannon held her hand up like a crossing guard. “I know, use the ladies. I get it.” She probably could if she wanted to, honestly. They weren’t bad. A quick glance downward confirmed that claim. Not bad at all. A little on the small side, but so what? What she lacked up top she made up for on the bottom with an ample and curvy derriere.

  Depending on the day, that was either a blessing or a curse.

  However, given that s
he was a professional equestrian and spent half her life bouncing around on a horse (with skill and grace, of course), having the extra padding was more often a bonus than not. Her butt was like a car’s suspension system—it absorbed the shock and made the impact of jumping her horse feel like the smooth ride of a Rolls Royce. Not that she was going to upstage big-butted celebrities or anything, but it wouldn’t be a runaway victory if they did compare backsides. Only she had earned hers the cheap and easy way: genetic inheritance.

  Colleen cleared her throat. “Dad’s gut is saying that either Muldoon or one of his trainers is doping the Thoroughbreds with steroids before the races.” Her sister’s eyes flickered and unfocused briefly, like she was recalling a memory. “I’ve seen them run. They’ve got rockets for hooves, Shan.”

  No wonder all of the company’s clients had bailed on their breeding program over the past few years. Shannon knew they were down to a teeny-tiny trickle, and if she didn’t find a way to reverse that fast, then they were going to go bankrupt and lose the farm. And it was the only thing of material value they had left. Over the years her father had sold off everything else. All the jewels, cars—everything. It hadn’t escaped her notice that the walls of her childhood home were now mostly bare, when priceless Monet originals and the like had once hung there.

  Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened to all the family’s money. Where were all their millions disappearing to? It didn’t make sense. Not in the least. But pondering that made Shannon’s stomach go tight and queasy, so she stopped. With effort she grappled with her thoughts and redirected them to the immediate problem at hand.

  Shannon glanced at a stand of early June aspens swaying in the gentle breeze and smiled softly. The leaves were such a tender shade of green against the white of the bark; there wasn’t anything like them back home in Saratoga Springs, New York, which was too bad because they were beautiful. The leaves danced on the wind like gypsies around a campfire.

  “It’s beautiful here.” She couldn’t help admitting it. Even the sunshine on her face felt amazing. “It’s such a gorgeous day, isn’t it? If this guy doesn’t hire me, I’ll hike back down to the entrance here and meet you. I’ll text you once I know if I got the job.”

  Colleen shifted and crossed her arms, her voice oddly neutral when she replied, “Of course. I was planning to wait.”

  Shannon narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious of her sister’s tone. “Did Dad tell you to leave me here anyway?” It would be so like him to force his will on her even from two thousand miles away. No way did she want to be stranded out in the wilds of the Colorado Rockies with no transportation. It was something like seven miles back into town. Not exactly a leisurely afternoon stroll in the park.

  “I’m sorry, Shan, but I have to. You know how Dad is. In his mind, you’ll work harder to secure the job if you don’t have any backup waiting for you. He called it ‘added incentive.’ ” Sympathy and understanding shone in her eyes. They both knew all too well what that meant. “I wish I could stay here to make sure it all goes well, but I can’t. My orders are to head straight back to the hotel and call Dad to receive instructions. Before you ask, I have no idea what he has planned for me.”

  Instinctively Shannon’s back went up. Callum Charlemagne was so very fond of his orders. How else best to rule the kingdom, right?

  Feeling that old tension settle between her shoulder blades, Shannon began to pace. Some things just never changed, no matter how old she was. His penchant for bullying made her as angry today as it had when she was a teenager.

  Colleen placed a hand on her arm, gently stopping her midstride. “He loves us, Shannon. In his way, the best he can. And he legitimately needs your help.” Her fingers gripped tightly for a brief moment and then released, her expression suddenly pensive. “This time we all do.”

  That simple truth took the fire out of Shannon. They all needed her to step up. Her family was the majority shareholder in the company, but for how much longer, no one knew. They’d had to borrow against the stock, and there was no money to repay the loan since they had so few clients generating cash flow.

  No income, no majority control of the company—no farm.

  Why? Because her family farm was owned by the company. And without the security of owning 51 percent of the stock, they could be booted off the place without a moment’s notice. In every way, they and the business—their very future—would be at the whim of the company.

  It still grated, knowing that truth. Not only had the business been in the Charlemagne line for generations, the farm was home. It held all their best memories—like how every Christmas her mother made homemade cinnamon rolls with cream cheese frosting for breakfast and everyone sat in front of the fireplace with their newly opened gifts and chowed down. They all got to eat with their fingers. It was heaven.

  And in all actuality, it was the one time of year that her parents really and truly relaxed. They laughed and smiled, and seemed to leave the bad stuff behind—or at least alone. The rest of the year the stress of simply being a Charlemagne and managing everything that entailed wore them down. Christmas was their time to breathe.

  It had been tough growing up with parents who were too busy maintaining the family name to spend any quality time with their children, but she’d had Colleen. As much as her sister made her sometimes want to wash her mouth out with soap and sit her down with a wholesome Hallmark made-for-TV movie to cleanse her corrupted brain, she was thankful every single day for her.

  It helped telling herself that dissecting cadavers during medical school had warped her lovely sister’s mind, so having it permanently in the gutter wasn’t her fault.

  She was joking.

  Mostly.

  Taking a big breath to help soothe her quivering stomach, she gave her sister’s hand a quick squeeze. “You’re right. I know you are. I just get so frustrated with him sometimes, you know?”

  Colleen pulled her in for a swift all-business hug, the time for emotion clearly behind them. “I know. But hey, think of this adventure as fodder you can use later to write that Great American Novel you’ve always dreamed about.”

  A snort escaped Shannon. “Clearly you’re delusional if you think I want to write a novel, much less have the capability,” she couldn’t help teasing.

  Colleen rolled her eyes and gave Shannon’s arm a playful shove. “See what I get for being sympathetic? Sarcasm. I get sarcasm and derision from my only and most beloved sibling.” Her expression remained serious for a moment, but Shannon knew it was about to crack. Seconds later a grin split her deceptively wholesome face and she laughed. “Thank God I’m rarely sympathetic, or else that might hurt.”

  Shannon laughed at that. Sensitivity wasn’t the youngest Charlemagne’s strong suit. Not by a long shot. It was one of the things that made her so incredibly strong. And it was one of the main reasons she was at the top of her class at Harvard. She was the most goal-oriented person Shannon had ever known. Colleen didn’t let pesky things like emotions get in the way of her achieving her dreams.

  If only she could say the same for herself.

  At that moment a very large semitruck rounded the bend in the highway behind them and lumbered past, its trailer swaying from the constant turns along the tight mountain roads. When the flannel-clad driver spotted the two of them on the side of the road, he blared his horn and made a highly inappropriate hand gesture out the window toward them. It seemed that she and her sister were being invited to take a little lap nap with him.

  “In your dreams, jerk!” Colleen yelled to the retreating semitruck, making a hand gesture of her own, and then gave Shannon an incredulous look. “Can you believe that guy?” Shannon shrugged and started to talk, but Colleen cut her off by exclaiming, “Like I’d ever do that with a guy who wore flannel!”

  Her sister sounded so offended that Shannon couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that let loose. “Heaven forbid!”

  Colleen leveled her with a stare and said flatly, �
�It was plaid, Shannon. Plaid.”

  Trying to wrangle her laughter but finding the effort futile, she gave into the giggle fit and braced herself against the rental car for support. It occurred to her the laughter might be misplaced nerves and that she was really just an anxiety-ridden mess over the duplicitous mission she was about embark upon.

  But then again, maybe not. The look of horror on her sister’s face at the thought of sleeping with a guy who wore plaid flannel was outright hilarious. And priceless. Turns out, there actually was one thing in this world that could make the unflappable Colleen Charlemagne flappable.

  “What about this Sean Muldoon?” Shannon asked her sister after the giggles had subsided and she could speak again. “You said he’s pretty hot. Would you do him if he wore plaid flannel?”

  Colleen appeared to contemplate the question, but only made a little hum in her throat. “Dad’s waiting, Shan. Why don’t you get this show on the road and find out for yourself?”

  Sighing at the twinge of guilt that told her she was indeed procrastinating and they both knew it, Shannon took one more calming breath and then grabbed her small duffle bag from the backseat. Everything she needed was in there. Much as she didn’t like the truth, it was time to do this thing.

  Suddenly swamped with anxiety, she spun to her sister. “I can do this, right?”

  Receiving a fierce hug in response, Shannon squared her shoulders and settled the duffle bag strap more comfortably across her body. She glanced down the long lane again and felt her insides shiver. She could do this. No big thing.

  All that was at stake was everything.

  Chapter Two

  IF SEAN MULDOON had to look at one more Excel spreadsheet today, he was going to punch something. Hard. And probably more than once. Technology wasn’t his thing. Not by a long shot. Even computers with software designed to help a person crunch numbers into tidy, organized little rows were enough to give him a migraine.

  He wasn’t made for this shite.

  For a guy who’d grown up on the backstreets of Dublin, Ireland—where bare knuckles were the universal language—the enormous increase in computer work was paramount to torture. It hadn’t been so bad before his boy Something Unexpected had won the Triple Crown last year. But ever since then, it had increasingly felt like a full-time job.