Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (47 page)

“It doesn’t look new.” He waved a thick ticket book. “And horses don’t like bikes that go faster than them.”

It took her five minutes to convince him to forego a fine, but her relief fizzled when she rounded the corner and saw the farrier’s truck had already arrived. She leaned her bike against the wall and cautiously entered the barn. Her boss was holding Buddy in the aisle while a stocky man in a leather apron studied the gelding’s left hoof.

Mark glanced up, his expression inscrutable. “Glad you finally showed up. We were just discussing his shoes. If it rains, we’ll go with a raised toe. But if it’s nice, the inner rims might be best. What do you think?”

She glanced at the bewildering array of shoes, remembering her coach’s headaches when faced with wax choices and volatile weather conditions. “I think I’m late,” she said humbly, “and I’m truly sorry. I could hold Buddy while you ponder the weather, but maybe it would be best if I went to the kitchen and bought you a coffee?”

“I do appreciate a coffee while I’m pondering.” He smiled then, a slow, deep grin that made her pulse kick, and she felt like she was back on her bike again.

She pedaled to the kitchen but couldn’t resist stopping to chat with Maria. By the time she returned to the barn, Buddy was back in his stall and Mark stood in front of the shedrow, studying the looming clouds. She braked to a stop, balancing the coffee in her left hand, quite proud of her riding prowess.

“Borrowed a bike?” His gaze drifted over the bike as he accepted the warm cup.

“Bought it,” she said.

His mouth thinned, and a tiny wrinkle appeared between his eyes. “I see.” He snapped the plastic tab off his lid. “Does that mean you intend to work here a lot longer than a week?”

“Of course,” she said. “What made you think it was only a week?”

His dismay was so obvious, her throat tightened. Clearly, he didn’t want her around either, and he’d obviously been duped by her grandfather. She bent down and pretended to adjust the chain, fighting her sense of worthlessness.

“Need help with that?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, keeping her head averted so Mark wouldn’t see her face. “The chain’s just a bit loose.”

He stepped closer, reached down and traced the deep scratches on the bike’s frame. “This must be old Lefty’s,” he said.

“Yes.” She glanced up, surprised by the obvious regret in his voice. “Lefty’s name is carved all over it.”

“Guess it’s good someone’s using it,” Mark said. “Come on inside. I’ll teach you how to wrap Buddy. You might as well learn to bandage since you’ll be here a bit longer than I expected.”

He softened his words with one of his gorgeous smiles, and suddenly she didn’t feel quite so unwanted. She propped the bike against the wall and eagerly followed him. “Where did Lefty go?”

Mark glanced back and shrugged, but his eyes shadowed. “Police say he drowned.”

She jerked to a stop. “You mean that was the guy in the infield? The one Maria and her friends spoke about. The guy they found just before I came?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh.” Her voice squeaked and she rubbed her arms, trying to ward off the sudden chill. However, she couldn’t stop the goose bumps shivering down her spine and found it undeniably creepy she now rode a dead man’s bike.

Chapter Four

Mark drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, frowning at the line of glowing brake lights while he waited his turn to inch through the track gate.

“Morning, sir. Sorry for the delay.” The guard leaned over his window. “New security procedures. Gotta check your trunk.”

Mark stifled his groan, pulled the lever to open the trunk and checked the dashboard clock again. Four thirty seven a.m. Already seven minutes late. He’d scheduled Assets for an early-morning work, trying to avoid the press. The colt had two more works before Breeders’ Cup. Afterwards Assets would have some time off, and hopefully next spring Mark would have his first Derby contender. Holy shit, who would have believed it—the Kentucky Derby.

His fingers clamped the wheel as he tried to rein in his thoughts. Horses were fragile and unpredictable. Planning too far ahead always invited heartache. Best to take one race at a time… Still, things were looking damn good.

The guard jotted on his clipboard, nodded, and Mark eased his vehicle onto the grounds. The arrival of Middle East owners added complications, but at least the increased security kept everyone’s horses safe.

“Did they all eat up?” he asked Dino as he strolled into the barn, only twelve minutes behind schedule.

“Feed tubs clean as a whistle. Assets is ready to go and climbing the walls.”

“Let’s get him ready,” Mark said. “The less attention, the better.”

His exercise riders called out perfunctory greetings, but Mark’s focus remained on the colt as the groom brushed and saddled the horse. This was a critical workout, one of the fast gallops scheduled to help a horse peak. Assets would be working four furlongs today, and his performance would prove whether or not he was ready to compete in next month’s Breeders’ Cup.

Mark checked the board, remembering he’d scheduled one other work—Buddy, the cheap claiming horse who’d left the track yesterday because of his missing shoe. Buddy and Jessica. He blew out a sigh as he glanced down the aisle, hoping she had her horse ready. It was damn difficult dealing with the granddaughter of his most influential owner.

“Here’s your horse,” Dino said as he led up Ghost, Mark’s stable pony.

Mark swung into the saddle, eager to make up for lost time. “I’m going to pony Assets over now. Get him started while it’s still dark. You can bring over the rest of the set.”

***

The work was perfect, a trainer’s dream. Assets had galloped aggressively, scorching around the track and leaving no doubt he was primed for a big race.

“What’d you get him in?” Mark asked the clocker.

“A shade over forty-seven,” the gray-haired man called back.

Four furlongs in forty-seven seconds. Excellent. Mark smiled as he checked his own stopwatch and headed to the gap. He’d call Boone tonight and report Assets was ready for the world stage. The colt’s work should be a bullet, the fastest work of the day.

Someone hooted, and Mark stopped thinking of bullets as chuckles erupted along the rail. Mist still blanketed the track, but Dino’s cowboy hat was discernible as he escorted four shapes onto the track.

More guffaws.

“What’s up, Mark!” Someone chuckled. “Getting ready for a parade?”

Hooves thudded as Mark’s string of horses emerged from the mist. He finally saw them, saw Buddy and understood why everyone snickered. Goddammit! Garish purple plaits adorned the horse’s mane and tail. Buddy looked like a circus horse, and he felt like a fool.

He clamped his jaw, trying to blank his expression, trying to pretend he wasn’t just as shocked.

“I feel like an idiot up here, boss,” Slim said as he tugged his helmet over his forehead and guided Buddy further from the railbirds. “And this horse stinks like flowers.”

Mark scowled and looked at Dino. “Couldn’t you have stopped her?”

But Dino was leaning on the rail, laughing, and even the unflappable Ghost snorted. Meanwhile Jessica stood at the gap, beaming like a proud parent, oblivious to the furor.

“Get the work in,” Mark said to Slim. “Then get Buddy off the track while it’s still dark.”

“It’s getting light, and photographers are already here.” Slim’s scowl deepened. “This is damn embarrassing. I don’t want to ride this horse anymore.”

“You’ll ride as assigned,” Mark snapped. He straightened in the saddle, trying to concentrate, trying to control his frustration. For ten years he’d struggled to establish his fledgling stable, and now that girl was making him look like his father—an undisciplined failure who’d let women lead him around by the dick. And it wasn’t just him who felt like an idiot.

The poor rider. The poor horse.

His gaze narrowed on Buddy. Despite the silly braids, the gelding strutted around the track, pushing at the bit and looking like a stakes winner as Slim warmed him up. Mark had never seen the horse so on the muscle.

When Slim moved Buddy to the quarter pole and loosened the reins, Buddy sizzled around the track, galloping out another furlong before Slim could pull him up. Christ, the horse actually looked good.

Mark shot Dino a glance.

“Unbelievable.” Dino shook his head. “I never thought that horse could run a lick.”

They watched silently as Slim turned Buddy and trotted back to Mark. “Maybe the braids aren’t so bad,” Slim said, looking slightly bemused.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Buddy still strutted like a hero, and railbirds still buzzed about the purple-braided horse.

“Nice work,” someone said.

Mark nodded, hiding his shock, then turned Ghost and followed the set off the track. A photographer stepped forward, pushed past Assets and snapped a picture of Buddy. Maybe the braids were okay, he told himself. Anything that lessened attention on Assets had to be a good thing. He felt Jessica’s gaze but couldn’t look at her, only wheeled Ghost and rode back onto the track.

It was ten a.m. when his last set finished. He stopped Ghost in front of the shedrow and stared down at Dino.

“What happened out there?” Dino’s forehead wrinkled.

“Well, we got the bullet,” Mark said, patting Ghost and dismounting from his hard-working horse.

“Not surprising,” Dino said. “Assets ran well, and not many older horses worked four furlongs today.”

“One older horse did.” Mark shook his head at the unsettling development. “Buddy had the fastest work,” he added.

Dino’s eyes widened. His mouth opened but no words came out, and Mark was reassured that his capable assistant was just as stunned. The usual chatter sounded from the shedrow, but the two men only stared.

“Maybe Buddy liked those funny braids,” Dino finally said. “
She
slept in his stall last night too. Worried about mice in her room. Guess any male would be energized after sleeping with someone like that.”

Mark flipped his stirrup over the horn and tugged on the cinch. “I planned to call Buddy’s owners and suggest they retire the old fellow. Horse deserves to go out while he’s still sound.”

“Kind of screws up that call, doesn’t it,” Dino said.

“Kind of does.” Mark passed his reins to Dino. “Get Carlos to look after Ghost. Doc is dropping by to scope Assets. I’ll have him pull blood from Buddy too. Something’s damn weird.”

He leaned against the wall of his shedrow, watching as horses were walked, aisles raked and bandages hung to dry. The same daily activity, the same order. But somehow his stable didn’t feel orderly; it felt off kilter.

A Ford truck pulled up. Doc Walker hopped out, dropped his tailgate and assembled his tray of needles. “Never saw so much security.” He tilted his watch, frowning at the time. “Heard there’s a high alert because of that Saudi sheikh who just arrived.”

“Not Saudi. The sheikh’s from Dubai,” Mark said as he approached the tailgate.

“Whatever.” Doc shrugged. “He’s causing a stir. Apparently he has ten bodyguards. I saw some of them at the quarantine barn. Tough-looking men.”

“Got two horses to scope and want some blood pulled from an old claimer,” Mark said, disinterested in the sheikh and his level of security. He glanced up the road, aware the media were wandering around, digging for stories. A vet’s truck parked in front of his shedrow could cause rumors and worse, scare owners.

“Whoa, that’s a sight.” Doc shielded his eyes as he studied Buddy’s purple braids.

“Horse loves them though.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “He had a bullet work today.”

“I’m talking about the girl leading him,” Doc said.

Mark’s mouth tightened as he reluctantly studied Jessica. She was bathing Buddy, but there was more water on her than the horse. Enough to plaster her shirt to her chest and mold her pants to those endlessly long legs. When she reached up to rub Buddy’s back, her sleek curves twisted, her breasts—

Damn. Already his jeans tightened. He pivoted, impatient with his reaction, but it was obvious he and Doc weren’t the only ones distracted. Even Squeaky, his best hot walker, was sneaking peeks as he led Assets around the tow ring. The discipline of his shedrow was crumbling, and Mark didn’t like it. Not one bit.

A white limo sped past and gravel ricocheted against Doc’s truck in a staccato of noise that made Doc curse. Assets jerked sideways, twisting on his haunches. His lunge ripped the shank free from his preoccupied handler and the colt stilled, then wheeled and bolted down the road.

Fuck! Assets was loose. Mark leaped around the truck, knowing he’d be too late. But Jessica, with an athleticism that shocked him, dove sideways and grabbed the whipping line, snagging it with her fingers.

She hit the gravel, bouncing like a rag doll as the horse swerved to the left. The colt tilted his nose, fighting her weight, but she wrapped both hands around the lead, slowing him enough so Mark could intercept.

He grabbed Assets’ halter and yanked the spooked animal in a circle. His breath escaped in a hiss of relief as he glanced back. “You okay?”

She raised her head, slowly. His gut twisted at the bloody abrasions streaking her face. Squeaky rushed up, apologetic and red-faced, and Mark shoved the lead in his hands and rushed to Jessica’s side.

“Thank you,” he said simply as he smoothed a tangle of hair off her forehead. “Can you move your arms?”

“I’m fine. Nothing hurts too much. Sorry I let go of Buddy.” They both glanced at the barn, then looked at each other and grinned. Buddy lingered only ten feet away, gobbling grass by the vet’s truck, not a bit perturbed by his sudden freedom.

“Let’s see your hands.” Mark helped her up and inspected her scrapes, trying not to wince at the mangled skin. He shot a quick glance at her face, surprised she was so tough. Not a hint of a tear.

“Ouch. That looks sore,” Doc Walker said as he shuffled up. “Take some aspirin and soak in a warm tub of Epsom salts.”