Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too by Nancy Martin Page A

it, and I prayed he couldn’t divine that I’d been kissing Michael just an hour ago. I felt a rush of shame.
    I should have enjoyed the moment. After all, Richard had all the right qualifications to make a woman’s knees go weak. I closed my eyes and thought it would be a relief to feel something for another man. As Richard’s arms tightened around me, I tried to make it happen. Around us, the night whispered, and Richard’s gentle, nibbling kiss coaxed me to forget, to start anew.
    But I found myself wondering in which pocket I put my house keys, if there might be one more can of soup in the pantry, and did I have a new book to take into the bathtub with me tonight?—all thoughts that should have been swept aside by passion. Which made me feel doubly guilty for having climaxed in Michael’s arms in a phone booth.
    Before Richard could sense my mind had wandered off like a bored toddler in search of excitement, a colossal snort resounded five feet away.
    I yelped, and Richard cursed.
    Mr. Twinkles stepped out of the darkness, his tail swishing and his ears laid flat against his long neck. Emma’s horse snorted again and shook his head threateningly at Richard. The white blaze on his nose flashed in the starlight. Richard and I leaped apart.
    â€œDammit! This horse is an escape artist!”
    Richard sagged against the car. “I think I just had a heart attack.”
    I made a grab for the nylon halter on the horse’s head, and Mr. Twinkles graciously allowed me to do so. Then he jammed his nose against my body and gave me an affectionate shove. I held on, patting his sleek neck to settle him down. “I’m sorry, Richard. This is Emma’s latest project, Mr. Twinkles. He’s supposed to jump fences, and I think Emma has taught him too well.”
    â€œYou keep him here at the farm?”
    â€œOnly when Emma can’t afford to board him at a respectable place.” I rubbed Mr. Twinkles between his now curious ears. “Which is most of the time. Now that he knows how to get out of the paddock, he spends most of his time hanging around my back porch, looking for treats.”
    Mr. Twinkles weighed twelve tons for all I knew, but he was surprisingly nimble on his feet. He spun around lightly, presenting his daunting hindquarters to Richard, who scrambled over the hood of the car to avoid getting kicked to the moon.
    â€œJesus! Is he dangerous?”
    â€œI haven’t a clue.” I felt guilty for making light of the situation when Richard was clearly shaken. “I’m sorry. Would you like to pet him? Make friends?”
    â€œNo,” said Richard from a safe distance. “I’m from Manhattan, Nora. I don’t do horses.”
    â€œHe’s just an overgrown pet, really. He can be very sweet.” I patted the horse’s neck.
    Richard reached the driver’s door and opened it. “I’ll pass. I’d better be going, anyway. Unless you need help—uh—putting him in the barn?”
    â€œI can manage.”
    Richard promised to phone in the morning. As he drove away, Mr. Twinkles seemed very pleased to have me to himself. While I waved to Richard, the horse lovingly snuffled my pockets for a bedtime snack and hit pay dirt in my handbag. I unwrapped a peppermint as we walked over to the paddock, and when he was once again standing on the right side of the paddock fence, I presented him with the candy. Positive reinforcement. While he crunched it, I gave him a stern lecture, closed the gate and said good night.
    I let myself into the kitchen and flipped the light switch, which caused a disconcerting crackle behind the walls and a flicker in the chandelier before light finally filled the cavernous old room. The refrigerator—only twenty years old—hummed with modern efficiency in the middle of an otherwise rustic kitchen that featured a collection of antique cookware hanging overhead and a stone floor that had