Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (12 page)

He slipped into Otto's tack room.

A snarl of equipment hung off hooks fashioned from crude nails. An X-shaped chain complete with leg bands jangled under his curious fingers. Draped next to it were a homemade war bridle and a casting harness.

He blew out a sympathetic breath for Otto's horses. The devices were useful tools in an expert’s hands, but he doubted Otto had much finesse. With Otto, it was merely cruel.

A dented steel box squatted in the corner. Kurt tugged at the padlock. Locked. But with time and the right instrument, he could open it. A faded army blanket was folded on a chair and littered with pocket castoffs: a mixture of American and Canadian coins, a clump of wrinkled betting tickets and an empty tin of chewing tobacco. Nothing illegal. Nothing murderous.

He blew out a sigh and headed back to the paddock, telling himself it didn’t matter. Soon he’d own Otto’s horse. Soon he’d have answers.

Chapter Twelve

Sandra slouched on her horse in a cozy huddle with the other pony people. The escort horses stood outside the paddock, heads down, tails swishing, looking as relaxed as their riders.

Kurt paused by Sandra. “Guess you persuaded Otto’s mare to make the walk over. Any problems?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, but that mare is sure scared.” Sandra turned in the saddle and gestured at the paddock. “She used a lot of energy and is completely lathered. Julie won’t have much horse left for the race.” Sandra flicked her ponytail off her shoulder and grimaced. “Too bad I already laid my bets.”

“The mare might not win any money,” Kurt said, “but the crowd loves her.” He walked over to the saddling enclosure where onlookers squeezed around the rail, gaping with morbid interest at the rebellious mare.

An official tried to check her tattoo, but when he reached for her mouth, she lashed out with a protective leg. He dodged in time, but his clipboard hit the dirt.

Otto yanked the mare’s nose sideways, grabbing her left ear. The official sidled back to the subdued horse and flipped her upper lip. He checked his list, nodded and moved on to the next horse.

Kurt’s eyes narrowed as he watched the identification process. Every racehorse had a unique tattoo so unless the official was part of the conspiracy, Otto couldn't be substituting ringers. Probably her real value was for legitimizing Otto’s border crossings between Canada and the States.

But what the hell was he moving?

Kurt was still pondering the smuggling concept when Julie's valet appeared with saddle and cloth draped over an arm. The mare trembled, her body slick with sweat, but she was locked in place by Otto’s ear twist. The valet laid the saddlecloth on her back, followed with the tiny saddle then gingerly reached around to buckle the undergirth.

The man standing to Kurt's left chuckled. “The guy with the seven horse will have trouble now. He doesn’t have much help, and when he lets go of her ear that mare will explode. She's a death trap.”

Kurt edged forward, watching as the valet stepped around the mare and quickly tightened the second girth. Too quickly? The image of a slipping saddle and Julie vanishing beneath a horde of hooves made his gut wrench.

The paddock judge bellowed, “Riders up!” and Kurt sucked in a breath, wishing the race were over. Judging by the mare's panicked appearance, Julie was about to have the ride of her life.

Otto released his twist on Country Girl's ear. She leaped from the enclosure like a scalded cat. The crowd chortled when she snapped out with both legs and seesawed in the air.

Otto yanked at the reins, using brute force to pull her to the ground, and someone stepped up and boosted Julie into the gyrating saddle. The mare arched her back and crow-hopped, putting the crowd in another titter.

Kurt’s mouth compressed as he jammed his hands in his pockets. Idiots. Didn’t they know how dangerous this was?

“Ride 'em, cowgirl!” someone yelled, and cold beer sloshed his arm as two men joined their plastic glasses in a clumsy toast.

“I’d like to ride
her
,” the second man said. “Can’t see her face but the body’s prime.”

Something pulsed in Kurt’s head, but he turned slowly, deliberately, raking them with a scowl perfected from nine years' of police work. The two drinkers averted their heads. Turned silent.

He dismissed them and dropped his completed claim in the box, then watched the horses as they paraded from the ring toward the patient group of escort riders. Sandra slipped her lead around the mare, took control from Otto and ushered Country Girl and Julie onto the track.

The mare kicked at Otto in a last show of defiance then quit bouncing and shoved her nose into Okie's mane, as though relieved to see a barn mate. Except for her washy appearance, nothing indicated she was the unruly animal who had entertained the paddock crowd.

Kurt slipped through the spectators to a spot in front of the grandstand but kept his gaze on Country Girl. Had the mare’s behavior sparked Connor’s interest? She nursed an uncommon hatred for Otto but Connor had never been much of a horse enthusiast. It was unlikely he’d picked up on her odd behavior.

Kurt blew out a sigh, reluctant to admit he might be guilty of tunnel vision and that perhaps the investigation was off target. The results of a vet check could even shift his focus. He wanted the mare to incriminate Otto, would feel no remorse about nailing such a man, but he needed evidence.

Julie's yellow silks broke away from the parade of horses as she cantered Country Girl past the grandstand. There was a slight hitch in the mare’s gait, but no scratches were announced. She'd made it past the track vet.

“Julie’s going off at big odds,” Adam said as he joined Kurt. “Maybe I should bet on her after all.” But his voice had a ragged edge, and his furrowed gaze hung on the moving spot of yellow, tiny now against the stretch of brown dirt.

Kurt scanned his program. Country Girl’s form wasn’t much worse than the bunch she raced against—fillies and mares, non-winners of three—but her erratic behavior would trouble even the most optimistic of bettors. She still had to face the pressure of the starting gate, normal race jostling as well as the boisterous Friday-night crowd. Otto had the mare cranked so tight she was a bomb waiting to explode.

He swallowed, trying to ease his dry throat, and his gaze shot to the ambulance. It always followed the riders, was usually a reassuring presence, but tonight the sight of the familiar orange and white vehicle only increased his edginess.

“Otto's horse isn't that bad.” Adam pulled off his Stetson and a drop of sweat slid along his forehead. “The race is only a sprint. Those bush horses are tough. All she has to do is stay on her feet. Just get home safe. With her rider. All she has to do.” He wiped his glistening brow and clumsily readjusted his hat.

“Let’s watch from the grandstand,” Kurt said, unable to resist the compulsion to view the race from a proven spot. His superstitions always kicked in when he was helpless to affect the outcome. Both Julie and Skippy had come home safely when he watched from section twelve, row eighteen.

They climbed the concrete stairs. Adam turned and checked over his shoulder every second step. By the time they reached Kurt's spot, high in the grandstand, the man’s brow dripped with sweat, and he once again readjusted his hat.

“Julie has the outside hole. She'll have to boot and scoot.” Adam’s voice cracked. “Or she’ll be hung out to dry on the turn. Damn, I hope that mare will run the hook. One of Otto’s horses crashed through the rail last year. Charged through, never slowed a step. Jock’s still in a wheelchair.”

Jesus, man, be quiet
. “At least the mare won’t have to stand in the gate long,” Kurt said through clenched teeth. “That’s the last thing she needs.” Adam’s face blanched so he quickly added, “But she seems to have the mare settled now. Settled real good.”

Julie’s yellow silks disappeared into the last slot, and the gate crew slammed the door.

“She’s in,” Adam said, echoing the announcer’s words.

The doors burst open.

“Look at that mare blast out,” Adam said. “She’s going to get the rail. Atta girl, Julie!”

“Nice,” Kurt said as Julie coolly took possession of the rail, riding as though she had complete faith in her mount. Riding as though her horse was completely sound.

Fear skidded through Kurt but he shoved it back, afraid the thought of a fall might cause a jinx. He concentrated on the churning mass of horses, picturing every one of them with four good legs, four sound legs, and willing them all to come home safely.

A chestnut filly charged up and joined Julie on the lead.

“She’s second by a neck. Keep that horse outside. Make them work for it, Julie!” Adam hollered and jumped and punched his fist.

“Here they come now,” Kurt said as horses switched positions along the backstretch. “Bixton is four wide, but shit, he’s got her. Look at that move.” Bixton was wide on the turn but his chestnut filly cruised past Julie and easily grabbed the lead.

“Julie’s still third. Hang in there,” Adam said.

At the top of the stretch, Country Girl slogged it out for third, while Bixton’s horse drew away from them all.

“Shit, they’re coming in a wave. Hang on, baby!” Kurt hollered, not sure if he was calling to Julie or the mare.

Julie switched her whip to the right hand and waved it by Country Girl’s eye. The brave mare responded, crossing the finish line and clinging to third by a neck.

Kurt’s knees were weak, and he glanced at Adam. “That mare’s gutsy. Just like your daughter. She's good, Adam—real good. Hard to watch though.”

Adam tilted his hat and wiped his brow, a weary gesture that spoke volumes. “This can't be good for my heart.”

“No, it can't be,” Kurt said. His own breathing was still ragged. He’d never been so nervous, not even with his first-time starters. He wasn't used to trainers like Otto, pseudo trainers with ill-prepared horses. And riders like Julie, forced to take all the risks.

They trudged down the steps to the rail and waited for the horses. Adam reached in his pocket and hauled out his ticket. Stared at it for an incredulous moment then chuckled, the tension in his face turning to triumph as he brandished the betting stub. “Look at this. I forgot all about the triactor. Hell, that’ll pay good. Did you make any money?”

“Haven’t cashed a ticket all night,” Kurt said. The loudspeakers crackled, announcing that Country Girl had been claimed, and he wryly tapped the halter slung over his shoulder. “But I did claim a horse.”

“Otto’s mare? But why? Wouldn’t the horse Bixton rode be a better claim?”

Kurt didn’t like the curious gleam in Adam’s eyes but merely shrugged and turned toward the group of pony riders milling on the other side of the rail.

“Hey, Sandra,” he called. “Can you lead my new horse back?”

“Yeah, sure. I just heard the claim.” She edged Okie closer to the rail, her voice turning reproachful. “Now I know why you hired an escort. You could have told me the truth. It's not like anyone else wanted that mare, and I’m always very discreet. Just don’t expect Otto to be happy.”

The tote board flashed the payouts. She glanced up, and happiness carved her face. “Oh, God,” she breathed, her smile widening. “Color me rich.”

Kurt chuckled, enjoying her win as though it were his own. The numbers on the board were huge; Julie was going to be a very popular rider with long-shot bettors. He vaulted over the rail, leaving Sandra and Adam gleefully comparing their winnings. They both had the triactor, and the money was juicy.

Several trainers had already picked up their horses, but Otto was still rooted, holding Country Girl while Julie dismounted. His face strobed from pale to purple when he spotted the halter slung over Kurt’s shoulder

“You bastard!” His hammy fist jabbed the air, and tendons corded on his neck. “What the hell do you want with my horse?”

“Watch your language,” a voice said as a racing official slipped a red claiming tag on the mare. “Take this horse to the paddock and remove the bridle. Ownership has legally changed.”

Otto glowered but stopped talking and yanked at the mare, barely giving Julie time to pull off her saddle. The mare was too exhausted to protest and teetered after Otto, flanks heaving, nostrils pitted with red.

Relief clogged Kurt's throat as he watched the plucky mare struggle to walk. Julie had been lucky. Otto hadn't cared enough to get Country Girl in shape. He’d thrown her in a sprint, hoping the animal would gut it out. This time it had worked.

Kurt turned to follow Otto and the spent mare but Julie's hand stopped him, gentle on his arm.

“That was good of you to claim Otto's horse,” she said. Grime streaked her face but her eyes sparkled, and she’d never looked so beautiful. “She’s too much of a fighter to get along with Otto. He'd have killed her. It was a nice thing you did.”

Her approval pierced him, releasing a groundswell of guilt. If she knew the reason behind the claim, she wouldn’t be looking at him with such warmth.

“I’m not here to save abused horses, Julie.” His voice was gruff. “It was purely a business decision.”

“A business decision. Sure,” she said, her eyes luminous, “I know you worried about the mare. You were always watching her.”

She smiled then, a brilliant smile, and for a moment he felt like a giant. But he was really just a fraud and when he tried to smile back, the skin on his face felt so tight it cramped his mouth. “You're right,” he managed. “I was worried about her. But I'd rather talk about your riding. May I buy you dinner later?”

Her eyes widened in dismay.

“And we can talk about Lazer,” he added, determined not to let her brush him off any longer.

“All right.” she said slowly. “We're all going to Champs afterwards. It’s only a few blocks away.”

An official yelled for her to weigh out. She gave Kurt a cautious smile before hurrying to the scales. He crossed his arms and watched her go, fighting his self-loathing. He'd always intended to use Lazer as bait, and his personal regard for Julie didn’t change a thing. He needed private time with her, time away from the track, and socializing with her was the quickest way. If she thought he was a nice guy, that really wasn’t his fault.