Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (21 page)

“Goddamn.” His voice trailed off to a croak as she tightened again, and he couldn't remain still any longer. He slid his hands around her hips and thrust. She flinched, and he stopped, guessing she was sore, but seconds later she squirmed in encouragement, her breasts beautifully accessible. And all his.

He sighed in appreciation and drove upward, holding her hips, rocking her against him. Her fingers pinched his shoulders, and she whimpered. She's going to come again, he thought. Her sounds rose to a crescendo and he palmed her buttocks, holding her in place as her walls shuddered spasmodically around his grateful cock.

She collapsed on him, boneless.

“Damn,” he said. “You’re a fast learner. Little Joey was a fool.”

She nipped his chest in rebuke but he liked the feel of her teeth—liked everything about her—and he chuckled as he adjusted her in the crook of his arms. “You're quite a woman, honey,” he said, pushing back a lock of hair and gently kissed her forehead.

She lifted her head, eyes radiant, and the emotion that spilled across her face was unmistakable. Damn! He squeezed his eyes shut. So much for simple, uncomplicated sex.

The tip of her finger twirled around some chest hair, tickling as it settled on a faded scar. “What’s this mark? Looks like a bullet hole.”

He had a good hunting story he used in situations like this, but he was reluctant to shovel out any more lies. Not to her. “A shooting incident,” he said, his voice creaky as an abandoned swing.

He felt her interest but kept his eyes closed. “It must have hurt,” was all she said. Her hand skimmed over the tattoo on his left arm. “Kind of a scary tat. You ride a bike?”

“Used to,” he mumbled, thinking of the scum gangs and the things he’d done. The things he’d ridden. Anything to keep his cover.

He grabbed her hand, feeling dirty and exposed. Vulnerable. But her warm lips continued exploring, and he didn’t want to stop that, not when they drifted down his ribs. She reached a knife scar, propped herself up on an elbow and stared in concern. “You need to take better care of yourself, Kurt. Or else find nicer friends. How did you get all the scars?”

He opened his eyes but kept his face impassive. Personal questions were okay when he stuck to the script but for some reason he couldn’t lie to her, and that was a dangerous thing.

“Guess you don't feel like talking,” she added. Her words were steady, but the hurt in her voice was unmistakable, and he felt like a shit.

He stared at a hawk circling in the darkening sky, wishing he could escape so easily. Knew he had to shut her up before he blew everything. “Why would I feel like talking when there’s a naked woman on top of me?” he finally said. He forced a chuckle and even brushed her nipple with a lazy finger. “A naked, willing woman.”

She flinched and even to him, the words sounded crude.

“And you always accommodate willing women?”

“Always,” he lied.

“I see.” Her voice was small with just a hint of a quaver, but she rallied well. “Well, it's late. We better get out of here before the sun drops.” She disentangled herself and pulled away.

Perfect, just what he wanted. But he felt mean and hollow with an empty hole where his heart should be.

“I’ll get the horses.” He yanked his clothes on and strode across the meadow, not wanting to look at her pinched face any longer.

It had to be done. Her feelings might be a little hurt, but even his relaxed code couldn't justify a relationship with someone so fresh and innocent. Not while he was in undercover mode.

He stalked along the path. It had been a mistake to have sex; the kicker of it was he liked her, liked her a lot. He glanced over his shoulder, his steps slowing as he blew out a regretful sigh. Maybe he should admit what was going on. Let her decide if she wanted to spend time with him.

He cursed and thrust aside that option. No, he couldn’t let anyone in again. Julie was too honest, too easy to read. She'd slip up with her friends. Sandra was nobody’s fool, and neither was Bixton. His cover would be blown in half a day. And someone at that track was involved in Connor's murder.

He bent down and unbuckled Cisco’s hobbles. The horse must have sensed his frustration and followed dutifully, not even trying to snatch grass when they detoured for Dusty.

He led the horses back to the campsite and silently saddled. Julie was snuffing out the smoking fire and didn't look up. Had probably already written him off as a fuck-head.

The realization made him yank the cinch so tight Cisco flatted his ears, indignant at the treatment, but Kurt flipped his stirrup down and scowled. No way around it. He had to keep his hands off Julie. See her at the track but keep it professional.

Exactly what she’d wanted in the first place, and his guilt grew.

He didn’t like the feeling and was determined to control it. Besides, keeping his distance wouldn’t be a problem. He already had everything she knew about Connor. He didn’t need her anymore. The knowledge didn’t make him feel a bit better, and he cursed as he led the horses toward her.

The side of her neck was reddened, and her lower lip looked swollen. He blew out a regretful sigh. “Julie—”

“You must be hungry,” she said, cutting him off. “Seems we missed lunch.” She tossed a granola bar across the chasm that separated them.

He pocketed the food and tied on the saddlebags. They mounted and silently headed down the trail. He edged up beside her, but she raked him with such a contemptuous stare that he pulled Cisco behind and fell in line.

A flinty wind chilled his neck as they rounded the ridge. He turned and glanced over Cisco’s rump. The sunshine had drained from the day, and the grassy spot where they’d lain was now shadowed. He sucked in an achy breath, knowing he was giving up something precious yet absolutely certain nothing could be done about it.

Kurt glanced across the cab of the truck, watching as Julie fought to stay awake. They'd talked in monosyllables since loading the horses but for the last half hour, silence had replaced their stilted conversation. Now her eyelids drooped until another bump on the road jerked them open again.

She was clearly exhausted. And before dawn, less than seven hours away, she'd be galloping exuberant horses. He couldn’t ignore her struggle and reached out, pulling her closer. “Just sleep,” he said. “I can find the way to your place.” She argued of course, but he tugged her against his lap, and she fell asleep mid-sentence.

He automatically stroked her hair, disentangling a stubborn blue petal, then wrapped both hands around the steering wheel. He shouldn’t be touching her like that, not when he couldn’t give her the honesty she deserved. But his hand kept drifting back to her hair, her neck, and he finally gave up and let it remain. It didn't matter. She was asleep. But tomorrow, for both their sakes, he'd be much more disciplined.

It was dark when his headlights panned the driveway of the West’s ranch. He eased to a stop. Julie jerked upright, stared for a moment then scooted to her side of the truck, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“Relax. I'll get Dusty,” he said.

He lowered the ramp and backed off her horse. She stepped from the truck, and a growling dog shot from the dark, spooking the horse.

“It’s okay, Blue,” she said but the dog continued growling as he shouldered his way between her and Kurt. “That’s odd. He met you earlier. Usually he only growls at strangers.”

“Guess he doesn't trust me,” Kurt said.

He shut his mouth, but the words hung in the brittle silence. She stared at him for a second then gave her dog an approving pat. Took Dusty’s lead and walked catlike toward the pasture, seemingly unhampered by the darkness, her tiny silhouette flanked by the larger shadows of dog and horse.

Kurt followed, closing the gate as she slipped the halter off Dusty. The sorrel trotted into the dark, ground thudding beneath his anxious hooves as he searched for his pasture mates.

“Want a coffee for the drive back?” she asked. He guessed by the sound of her voice that she’d just stifled another yawn.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks for everything, Julie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to add that it had been one of the best days of his life, but their camaraderie had chilled like the night. She probably would have misunderstood anyway. So he remained silent, watching until she and Blue reached the house, and the screen door slammed.

He blew out a sigh, climbed in his truck and headed toward the city.

His mood was pissy when he reached the track, and he circled the parking lot, scanning the vehicles with his headlights. Otto's pickup wasn't there. A shame. He would have enjoyed a late-night altercation.

Martin had already prepared Cisco’s stall and feed, and the App dived into his food. Kurt checked Lazer and Ace then wearily unhooked the trailer. Another day with little to show. Now that Julie had sunk his shoe theory, they had nothing on Otto but a break and enter.

Heavy with frustration and another emotion he didn’t want to analyze, he drove back to the motel. Detoured to the front desk to pick up a new room key.

“Good evening, sir.” The night clerk sounded much too cheery. “Your room is cleaned and the lock repaired. There’s also a message from the police.”

He passed Kurt a pink slip and a new key card. Kurt folded the message and checked his own phone as he followed the walkway to his room. An update from his racing assistant. Four calls from Archer.

Damn, he'd completely forgotten to send his report. It was late and there was a two-hour time difference, but he pressed Archer’s number.

Archer yawned, his voice crusty. “We haven’t heard from you in forty-eight hours, and your damn phone was off. What do you have?”

“Not much,” Kurt said. “But I still think Otto Laing is good for it. He lied about meeting Connor. Had a temper tantrum when I claimed his horse.”

“What horse?”

“The horse that was on the trailer Connor followed.” Kurt locked his door and did a quick inspection of the room. Television, mirror, clock—everything was replaced. Otto’s visit was like a bad dream.

“What do you mean? Claimed it?” Archer sounded wide awake now. “Can you do that?”

“If it's a claiming race. The trailer was clean, so I'm checking out the animal. Owning her was the only way to get a good look…she was cheap.”

“My idea of a cheap horse is vastly different from yours,” Archer said. “And I don’t recall giving authorization.”

“Maybe you’ll remember once you wake up.”

Archer cursed, but curiosity overrode his annoyance. “So what did you find?” he asked. “Drugs?”

“Nothing yet. The vet was scheduled to run some tests today. The results will be called directly to you.”

“What about the other one? The jockey? She was the last one to see Connor,” Archer said. “You pushing her?”

Kurt’s chest squeezed. “She’s not involved,” he said. “She just happened to be around that night. It has to be Otto. But he’s only the muscle. Get some surveillance on him, and we might flush out his partner.”

Archer turned silent, and Kurt paced a crooked circle.

“We need reasonable grounds,” Archer finally said. “And the girl is still a suspect. There’s a three-hour time gap when no one saw her.”

“She thinks of nothing but horses, lives in the country and doesn’t even like Otto,” Kurt said.

“Even so—”

“Get some surveillance.” Kurt paced again, eager to divert Archer. “Quick as you can.”

“It’ll take twenty-four hours to get something in place. You know that.” The groggy murmur of Archer’s wife sounded in the background.

“Fine, but alert the border guys. Otto spoke about another trip to Montana. We can nail him when he crosses into Canada. Tell them to tranquilize any horse he's hauling. Check mouth, ass, feet, everywhere.”

“Okay.” Archer said. “But watch your back.”

“Sure.” Kurt disconnected, tossing his phone on the bed. He'd been so hot for Julie, he’d forgotten that she was a suspect, at least in Archer’s mind. Another good reason to keep his distance.

He yanked off his boots and tossed them against the wall. Tomorrow wasn’t shaping up to be a very fun day.

Chapter Nineteen

Streaks of red bruised the eastern ridge when Kurt rushed into the barn. Forecasting this high-altitude weather was a skill he hadn't yet mastered but it smelled like rain, and he wanted to get his horses on the track before it turned into a mud hole.

“Good morning,” he said to Martin who was diligently scrubbing water buckets. Sandra had Okie in the aisle, making some sort of tack adjustment, but he was disappointed Julie wasn’t waiting by Lazer’s stall.

He looked at Sandra. “How did Lazer feel yesterday?”

“Like a train. He dragged my horse around the track, and Okie’s no featherweight. Might have to raise my ponying fee.”

“Forget it,” Kurt said. “There shouldn’t be any charge if your horse had a free ride.”

She laughed. “No freebies, ever. I might bet your horse though. He's feeling wicked. Did you decide on a jockey yet?”

“Julie’s riding him.” Speculation sharpened Sandra’s face, so he turned and addressed Martin. “Did you feed all the horses?”

“Julie’s riding Lazer!” Sandra squealed. “She must be ecstatic. Did you decide that at the bar?”

“No.” Kurt shook his head, aware Julie would hate any innuendo that a personal relationship had landed her a horse. “It was decided after I saw her ride two good races. And after consultation with the owner.”

“
The Racing Form
lists you as the owner,” Sandra said.

Kurt’s mouth twitched. “
The Form
is correct.”

Sandra grinned and started whistling, a catchy tune, but one he couldn’t identify.

“I fed the horses and cleaned all three stalls,” Martin said, his wary gaze shooting from Kurt to Sandra and back to Kurt again.

“Good,” Kurt said. “Run a brush over them. I’ll see if I can find Julie. We’re already running late.”

Julie stood in the stirrups and eased her mount to a trot. Her heart slammed against her ribs when she spotted Kurt leaning against the rail, talking to the bay’s trainer.