Backstretch Baby (8 page)

“Is it okay?” Juanita asked.

And then Eve was able to move. She shot forward, clasping Juanita with arms that shook.

 “
Perfecto,”
she said, her throat impossibly thick.
“Muchas gracias.”
She hugged each woman in turn, the delight on their faces almost matching her own gratitude.

Even Camila cracked a rare smile. “I collected the blue reins,” she said.

“Now maybe you’ll be able to ride your horses today,” Juanita said, her eyes hopeful. “Then you can stay and race at our track.”

Eve gave an excited nod, already fingering the mixture of leather and nylon. She’d piece together a bridle now, then groom and saddle the first horse. Miguel could rouse Ashley, and they could tack up the others while she rode. Her barn was back in business.

The women smiled and drifted away, heading back to work as silently as they’d appeared. But they seemed to carry themselves a little taller, their shoulders a little more square.

And even though she was eager to assemble a bridle, her fingers shook far too much to manage any buckles. She sat at the table long after the last woman disappeared, simply savoring their unexpected gift and blinking back her grateful tears.

Rick parked his motorcycle by a tired Honda Civic, its red roof bleached from too many years in the sun. He pulled off his gloves and helmet, placing them on his seat, all the while absorbing every detail of the little horse barn.

According to Scott Taylor’s file, the barn was leased to the racetrack by a disinterested farmer. It was well built but different from typical shedrows, the building more square than long, with only one aisle and a single entrance.

A chain link fence ran behind the barn, disappearing into a tall stand of trees. The fence looked solid, with three strands of imposing barbed wire stretched along the top. The barn was a considerable hike from the other shedrows though, as well as the dorms. Certainly at night it would be vulnerable, and its isolation probably made it unpopular for the guards to patrol.

No doubt though, the horses loved this spot. There was plenty of grass for grazing along with an enclosed sandpit where they could be turned out for a roll. Further back, a stately oak tree shaded a second unfenced pile of sand. An empty hammock drifted in the morning breeze, and two picnic tables were strewn with pieces of tack. But it was strangely quiet. Birds chirped and a curious bay horse stuck his head out the barn window. Other than that, there was no movement.

Rick’s mouth flattened with disapproval. This woman didn’t seem very committed. Race barns were always hectic in the morning. It was odd that a man like Scott Taylor would tolerate incompetence, although having a relative as a trainer explained a lot. Perhaps the bridles hadn’t really been stolen, and it was simply an excuse not to gallop.

He dragged a hand over his jaw, trying to calculate a low-level trainer’s salary. Usually it was a base price per horse with approximately ten percent of the winnings. Definitely purse money was a keystone of earnings, so it was critical to have your horses racing—and finishing in the money. But horses didn’t run well if they weren’t exercised.

He shook his head with fresh irritation. This wasn’t just laziness. Running horses that weren’t in shape was abusive. And he had to stay here for a month.
Damn you, Scott.

Not only was this a dead boring assignment but it would be hard to hide his aversion. And he needed to stay busy. Needed to keep his body and mind tired. If it weren’t for his intent to track down the little rider from last night, he’d quit Scott Taylor’s agency right now.

He strode into the barn, hot and irritated. At least the building was shaded. Each stall had a window, and there was a pleasant breeze. He pulled in a breath, his steps slowing as he absorbed the coolness, the primal smells, the refreshing company of animals.

He gave an appreciative sniff. It had been a decade since he’d moved to LA, and the smell of hay and horse surprised him with its welcome, like an old friend he hadn’t realized he missed. Two horses poked their heads over their stall doors—a friendly gray and a big-headed chestnut who flattened his ears in warning.

He avoided the aggressive chestnut and checked the gray’s stall. The water bucket was full but manure soiled the straw. He grimaced and walked down the aisle, calling out a greeting.

However, the barn was devoid of humans. There was no tack or feed in sight, although two doors at the far end were padlocked. Next to the locked doors was an empty stall that contained a rickety card table and a green army cot. No obvious drugs or alcohol. A container of vitamins sat on the table alongside a wrinkled condition book that listed upcoming races.

He picked up the container of vitamins and checked the label. They were clearly vitamins—prenatal, if the label could be believed. He returned it to the table and stepped back into the aisle.

The gray tossed his head and pawed, eager to escape his stall.

Rick paused to pat the horse. “Wish I could help you, buddy… His words trailed off in a rush of sympathy when he spotted the ragged cut on the horse’s back. It was pink and puckered. The wound was healing now but it must have been painful. Stabled horses didn’t generally receive that type of injury. Maybe it had been an ill-fitting saddle. Something any competent trainer would notice long before such damage.

He scratched the gray’s jaw a little harder. If he ever had the privilege to own a racehorse again, he’d never entrust it to someone like Scott’s trainer. Little wonder the woman was being robbed. There was no staff around, at a time when every other barn bustled.

He walked outside, kicked the chair out from the wall and sat.

Five days—he’d give Scott until Saturday. He’d tighten up this barn, track down the bridle thieves, and then insist on returning to the streets for some real work. He didn’t want to be stuck babysitting, and he certainly didn’t need a vacation. He had no desire to rejoin polite society. Didn’t mean there was anything wrong with his head.

The highlight here would be going to the races on Saturday and meeting up with his intriguing night rider. She was the only appeal. It had been awhile since he’d been so interested in a woman. Maybe he’d stay until Monday before splitting. Because the air last night had definitely been crackling.

An orange cat rubbed against his boot, then jumped up and settled on his lap. He stiffened, then realized it wasn’t necessary to shoo it away. Mad Dog wasn’t around, looking for cats to toss to his pit bulls.

The cat started purring even before he dragged a finger over its ragged ear. Behind him, horses contentedly chewed hay. It was rather peaceful. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a chore to take some time off. A few days though, not much. Just to have a little break when there was no need to worry about a knife sliding between his ribs. But he’d call Scott tonight, make sure the man understood there was no way he was staying past Monday.

He stretched out his legs and leaned back, taking care not to jostle the cat. The poor thing was just looking for a safe place to sleep. And he could certainly provide that.

The thud of hooves jerked Rick awake. He straightened in the chair, surprised he’d napped. He hadn’t even noticed when the cat left.

He was even more shocked by the gaudy bridle on the approaching horse. Part nylon, part leather, in colors ranging from faded blue to bright green. With a neon pink brow band.

He leaned forward and adjusted his sunglasses.

“A little blinding, right?” The rider laughed, a tinkling familiar laugh. “Everyone on the track was snickering, but the outriders had no real reason to kick me off.” She glanced at his motorcycle. “I’m glad to see you—thanks for the diversion last night. But this is only Tuesday…?”

Rick rose, blinking. He was accustomed to thinking fast on his feet. His life often depended on it. But his usual smoothness seemed to have vanished. He hadn’t expected to see
her
until Saturday. In the daylight, her attractiveness was even more apparent. Not a traditional beauty but rather exotic, with flashing dark eyes, a sexy mouth and interesting curves that couldn’t be concealed by the protective vest.

But it was her aura that was most compelling. Fire and light. She sat her horse with regal authority, and if he’d met her in a gang clubhouse he’d be moving very carefully right now.

He cleared the huskiness from his throat. “You ride for Scott Taylor’s trainer?”

“No,” she said, still smiling. “I’m the trainer. At least at this track.”

Her genuine smile, totally absent of reservation, turned his mind to mush. He had the weird compulsion to look for a mirror and check his appearance. In his experience, women were either looking for drugs, thrills or no-strings sex. Their smiles were tight and scared, or else blatant come-ons. But she was definitely unafraid. And regrettably, she didn’t look ready to hop off her horse and unbuckle his belt. She just acted like he was normal.

“You’re Eve Lewis?” he asked. “Not a rider, but Scott’s trainer?”

“That’s what I said.” She frowned, as if disappointed in his mental acuity. She glanced once again at his motorcycle, her lively eyes flashing with intelligence. “Oh, I see. You’re not even a real biker. You’re Rick, Scott’s man. Megan said he was sending someone, even though I told them not to. Well, as you can see…” She gestured at her colorful bridle. “You’re not needed.”

She unfastened her helmet with an authoritative click. “I’m really sorry you came all this way. But it’s best if you go back to LA.”

A half hour ago, returning to the streets was exactly what he’d wanted. But her quick dismissal irked him. And left him oddly disappointed.

“I can’t leave yet,” he said. “The agency pulled a lot of strings to arrange a groom’s license. They want me to stay and stop the thefts.”

“We’re careful to lock the doors now. So there’s no longer a problem. And I don’t want to waste Scott’s time, or yours.”

“But there must be other things that need…doing.” He gave a suggestive smile that generally worked on women. “I can even be a real biker if that’s what you want.”

She looked down at him, her expression cool. In fact, it felt like he’d been totally dismissed. Clearly he’d misread their rapport from last night.

“I’m sure Scott has more important cases,” she said.

He shook his head, realizing he needed to change his approach. “No.” He made a glum face. “This is the only job he offered. And I’d hate to be fired before I’m even a year with the company.”

“Is Scott worried about his horse?”

Rick gave a swift nod, although Scott hadn’t been at all concerned about his horse—only about Eve. “I’m supposed to watch him gallop,” Rick said. “Then report back.” He kept his face carefully solemn. Hell, he didn’t even know the horse’s name.

“All right.” She gave a resigned shrug. “I’ll take Stinger out next so you can see him. I was hoping Ashley and Miguel would be back by now.” She twisted in the saddle, checking the pathway.

“Are they your barn help?” he asked. So it was the staff who were slacking, not her. The realization made him feel better, although he didn’t know why. Only that he wanted to jump over himself to help. And maybe earn another one of her beautiful smiles.

“I didn’t expect to have a bridle today,” she said, “so I gave Ashley a few hours off. Miguel walked over to the dorms to find her.”

“I can cool that horse out,” Rick said, “while you tack up Stinger.”

“You can handle a Thoroughbred?”

“Yes.” He stepped forward and reached for the reins, waiting for her to dismount.

She shot another reluctant look down the path, her posture not quite so rigid. But there was a wariness in her voice, something that hadn’t been there last night.

Didn’t matter though. His quip about losing his job had moved her. Obviously, she was too kind-hearted to chase him off the property. And from the look of the patchwork bridle, she was definitely struggling.

So he intended to stay and provide a little help, whether she wanted it or not. And if, in the process, he could bring her around to a more receptive way of thinking, that would be a definite bonus.

Eve tightened the girth, keeping a wary eye on Stinger’s teeth. Some horses play nipped when they were saddled, but he did nothing in play. It was ironic he was the fastest horse Scott and Megan had ever owned. He certainly wasn’t much fun.

And she was a little distracted this morning, a little too aware of the man outside.

Scott’s man.

She blew out a regretful sigh. He was a big, good-looking guy and she appreciated his easygoing manner, but she couldn’t have him hanging around and reporting her struggles back to Scott and Megan. Lately they’d been taking Joey way too much, then sending him home with shoes and toys and Disney passes, as if she weren’t capable of providing for her own son. As if she were too broke to afford a babysitter. Too busy with work.

Something twisted in her chest. She had to get these horses racing, make a little money and hang on to her job. Then she’d be able to make a better life for Joey. Now that she had a bridle, nothing was holding her back. But she certainly couldn’t tolerate a spy in the barn. No way. Even if he was a dangerously attractive one.

“Be good,” she said to Stinger, tying him to a ring in the stall. “I’ll be back with your bridle.”

She dodged his sneaky kick, left the stall and stepped outside.

Rick was walking Bristol around the dirt ring. It was evident he’d handled a horse before. He’d shed his leather jacket and no longer resembled an intimidating gang member. With his jeans and T-shirt, he looked like a horseman, albeit with a rebel’s shaggy hair. No wonder Scott had hired him. An investigator who could change his appearance to fit his surroundings must be very useful.

But there was something in his walk that drew attention. Not a swagger exactly, simply the impression that he possessed more than his fair share of confidence. His shirt hinted of hardcore muscles and he moved like an athlete although she doubted he’d acquired that fitness level in any gym. The gray ink extending below his sleeves certainly wasn’t the product of any sophisticated tattoo parlor. She knew the look of prison ink.