Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (49 page)

She nodded, somewhat reassured. Buddy looked rank, prancing and pushing at the bit, but he wasn’t uncontrollable. He didn’t drag her around like some of Maria’s animals. Maybe that was why Mark hired so many big women, so they could better anchor excited horses.

They followed the rim of the oval, veering onto a walkway that looped past green grass and stately horse statues. Colorful trees already dropped leaves and the huge paddock was empty, its loneliness punctuated by rattling trash cans as workers prepared for the afternoon crowd.

“That’s the saddling enclosure. Buddy’s drawn the five hole.” Mark pointed to a wall of open stalls. “Watch the paddock procedure this afternoon so you’ll know what to do tomorrow.”

“Will you be around today?” she asked, instantly regretting the question, afraid she sounded like an infatuated teenager. “In case I have questions,” she added quickly.

“I’ve got two horses running so I’ll be busy with owners. But Dino will be here.”

“My God, Russell!” A man’s harsh voice erupted behind them, shattering the tranquility. “You’re sure scraping the barrel running that nag.”

Mark’s smile flattened, and he turned to face the sneering man. Jessica recognized the golf cart man but not his hostility. He’d been very nice the other day when she’d borrowed the lead line—
aw, crap
. She averted her head, remembering she’d forgotten to return it.

“This horse can beat anything you have,” Mark said, his voice curiously flat, his lips scarcely moving.

The man blew out a derisive snort, and Jessica felt his gaze settle on the back of her neck.

“Times must be tough when your groom has to beg for my equipment.” His laugh was ugly.

Jessica edged around Buddy who had relaxed and now soaked up the autumn sun, resting a hind foot and happily oblivious to the slurs.

“Jessica?” Mark’s voice had a dangerous edge. “Did you borrow anything from this man?”

“Just the leadie thing.” She peeked around Buddy’s shoulder. “I planned to return it this afternoon.”

Mark leaned across Ghost’s neck, whipped the shank off Buddy and tossed it over the rail. “Take this one,” he snapped.

“I see you’re scraping the barrel for grooms too,” the man said as he grabbed the shank. “Making the same mistakes your father did. And obviously for the same reasons.” He snickered and walked away, but the nasty sound left a stain over the paddock.

Jessica scraped her toe in the dirt, not daring to look up. She didn’t understand the comment about Mark’s father, but it was true she wasn’t much of a groom. Sure, she was getting better, but it was a slow process.

“Guess I’ll just walk Buddy around,” she said miserably, hating that she’d embarrassed Mark in front of that sour old man. “Maybe lead him in that little room below the number four.”

“It’s called a slot, or hole, or stall,” Mark said. “The leadie thing is called a shank or a lead. And I’m sorry about what happened. His problem is with me. I hate it when he takes it out on my people.”

Relief jerked her head up. Mark was scowling at the man’s back but he wasn’t mad—at least not with her. Warmth spread through her chest. She squared her shoulders; the idea of being one of Mark’s people, a member of his team, instilled her with a sense of belonging.

“I want to beat that asshole tomorrow,” Mark said. “Maybe if Buddy’s feeling really, really good…” But his expression turned rueful as he looked at the horse. Buddy seemed to be snoozing now. Both eyelids drooped, and his slack bottom lip hung like a Clydesdale’s.

Jessica jigged the bridle, trying to prod Buddy awake. “Maybe he’s dreaming of his race strategy,” she said hopefully.

“Generally the jockey tells the horse what to do,” Mark said.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “I know that.” But his understanding wink made her giggle and even Buddy jerked awake, throwing his head up and looking around as though wondering what he’d missed.

They both laughed then, so spontaneously the white-haired man stopped and turned, raking them both with his malevolent glare.

Chapter Six

Maria fiddled with Missy’s bridle, wiping imaginary specks of dirt and adjusting and re-adjusting each buckle. Jessica had never seen her friend so frazzled.

“Wait until Buddy races tomorrow,” Maria said, gnawing at her lower lip. “You’ll understand then. I just pray I can lead Missy back after her race.”

Jessica swelled with indignation. “I’m sure Mark will let you lead her back. Why wouldn’t he? You’re her groom.”

“Oh, kid. You’re so green, it cuts me up. It really does.” But Maria didn’t say anything more, just wiped her shiny brow and continued to recheck every stitch of tack.

The barn speakers crackled, warning runners of the next race.

“Okay, Maria,” Dino called. “Take the filly to the assembly barn. Mark will meet you in the paddock.” He sighed. “Jessica, put down the killer kitten and come with me.”

Jessica gave Kato one last pat and shut him in her tack room. The cat had a naughty habit of attacking humans, but Mark was a powerful protector, and no one dared complain about his gift. And Mark was right. Kato’s presence cleared her room of mice.

She shoved
The Racing Form
in her hip pocket and rushed after Dino. She’d spent hours poring over the information in
The Form
, asking questions until all but the most tolerant had lost patience. But now she understood the glut of information, the cryptic abbreviations, and felt betting would be tremendous fun.

They followed the line of horses being led over by their grooms. The animals radiated vitality, prancing and eager to strut their stuff, but the handlers looked apprehensive. Several carried buckets, and almost all of them had rags stuck in their back pocket for last-minute nose wipes.

“Some of the grooms look worried,” she said.

Dino shrugged and adjusted his cowboy hat. “This is a claiming race. Grooms develop the closest bond, and they know there’s a chance they won’t lead their horse home. Any trainer can claim them.”

Jessica jerked to a stop. “So that’s what Maria meant. That’s horrible! Why do they even have races like that?”

“It’s an easy way to keep races fair. If a horse wins at that level, trainers risk losing them. Or else they can choose to move them up in class and compete against better horses.” Dino glanced at her, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t fall in love at the track, Jessica.”

“I know. Horses are business. Mark says that too.” But her voice wobbled. “What kind of race does Buddy run in?”

“Claiming. But no worries. He hasn’t won in a while, and he’s nine years old. There are much better claims in his race. Mark is pushing the owners to retire him.”

She blew out a breath, her concern about Buddy easing as they approached the busy paddock, so different from the serene spot she’d visited earlier that morning. Now the air buzzed. A smiling lady with high cheekbones and ruby lipstick conducted an interview, and a man rushed past with a huge camera perched on his shoulder. Spectators clumped around the rail as horses gathered in the walking ring for the first race.

The excitement made her own breath quicken and she pressed closer, eager to see the runners. She’d already chosen a consistent bay as the likely winner, but doubt filled her when she spotted the horse. He was too nervous, neck frothy with sweat, and his handler seemed unnecessarily rough. She skimmed her fingers along the program and found her second pick, number four. That horse was a beautiful chestnut with a wide forehead and a businesslike attitude.

“How do you bet?” she asked Dino, deciding to put her paltry money on number four, the horse with the good attitude.

“You’re supposed to be watching what the grooms do so you can look after Buddy tomorrow.”

“I already know,” she said. “Lead him over from the barn, walk him around until the valet brings the saddle and then hold him for Mark to saddle. Keep him calm, and make sure he knows he’s special.”

Dino chuckled. “I’ve never heard it simplified quite like that, but I suppose you’re right. Who you betting?”

“The four horse.”

Dino’s smile flattened as he glanced at his program. “Not a bad choice, but I can’t back that sonofabitch.” The distaste in his normally carefree voice was startling.

Jessica flipped open
The Racing Form
and noted the horse’s connections: Paul G. Radcliff was listed as the trainer. She glanced across the rail, studying the knot of people gathered around the four horse. “Is Radcliff the older guy in the nice Hugo Boss suit?” she asked, unable to hide her own aversion.

“Don’t know if his suit is all that nice, but yeah, he’s the bossy prick with the white hair.”

“I met him this morning when I was with Mark and Buddy.” She didn’t want to admit she’d borrowed a lead shank from the man. “I don’t think Mark likes him much either,” she added, hoping Dino would keep talking.

“He definitely doesn’t,” Dino said. “We all raced in Texas when Mark’s dad was alive. Charlie liked the women. Not entirely his fault—he couldn’t keep them away with a stick. But Radcliff’s wife was one of Charlie’s buckle bunnies, and Radcliff retaliated by claiming Charlie’s horses.

“Mark hated seeing his father with all the women,” Dino added, shaking his head. “Left Texas when his mom died. Couldn’t escape Radcliff though. That man has stables all over the country. Unfortunately, he also holds a grudge.”

Jessica sighed, regretting how her ignorance had placed Mark in a tough position. At the time, it hadn’t seemed such a big deal to borrow the lead shank. If only she’d known. If only she’d returned it. Yet Mark had been annoyed at Radcliff; he hadn’t even given her a lecture. No wonder his people were so loyal.

She sighed and turned away, not wanting to brood about Radcliff any longer. She was learning. She’d do better. A bearded man slouched in the corner and stared at her with a face so expressionless, so devoid of emotion it made her skin crawl. He jerked his gaze away, but the boy beside him kept staring until the man grabbed the kid’s shoulder.

The bearded guy was a stranger, but she definitely remembered the child from last week’s yard sale. Same black T-shirt and dirty jeans, same pinched expression. He’d stood at the end of the tables and stared at Lefty’s bike. Her bike now.

“Who is that guy?” she asked.

The man yanked the boy’s shoulder, and they edged back into the flowing crowd.

“Can’t see,” Dino said, following her stare. “Maybe one of the Mexican Mafia. There’s a large Latin American group on the backside.”

“But they don’t do anything really bad, do they?” She rubbed her arms, inexplicably chilled.

Dino chuckled, his attention back on the horses. “They don’t just write graffiti. Stay away from them, and you’ll be fine. Mark’s barn is known to be clean. No one should bother you.”

“Riders up!” a thick-jowled man in a red jacket yelled, and trainers legged the jockeys into their saddles.

“If you’re going to bet, do it now,” Dino said as the horses filed under the tunnel to the track. “I’m meeting Mark by the finish line.”

“I’m not betting this race.” She turned away from the rail and the spot where she’d last seen the spooky man. No way was she putting her precious money on Radcliff’s horse. Besides, she hadn’t seen Mark for hours, and the prospect of watching the race with him was way more appealing than waiting in a long betting line. “I thought Mark was hanging out with owners today?” she asked.

“He is, but he’s free the first race and wants to see how the horses handle the track. The inside seems cuppy. Not good, because Maria’s filly runs best on the rail. Racing is tough,” Dino added. “Even if you’re a top trainer like Mark, with a twenty percent win rate, it still means you lose eighty percent of your races. But owners and betters expect a win every time you send a horse to the gate. Come on.”

He weaved through the throng with Jessica sticking to his heels. She spotted Mark by the finish line, and her steps slowed as her throat turned dry. He looked gorgeous, dressed in a sports jacket and tie, strikingly handsome even in the crowd. She smoothed her own shirt, feeling at a disadvantage, although earlier today she’d considered clean jeans and loose hair the ultimate fashion statement.

Mark barely looked at her. “How’s Maria and the filly?” he asked, his gaze pinned on the parading horses.

“Fine.” Both Dino and Jessica spoke at the same time, their voices rushed.

Mark wheeled, eyes narrowing. “Okay, what do I need to know?”

Jessica pretended an interest in her program; Dino began an animated conversation with the man on his right. Mark’s warm fingers covered her hand, forcing her to look up. “What’s wrong with Missy?” he asked.

He looked so worried, she impulsively squeezed his hand. “The horse is fine,” she said. “But Maria wanted to learn to braid and we got a little carried away, matching colors with the owners’ pretty silks. Dino was annoyed when he saw the braids, but it was too late to take them out.”

Mark groaned, but it seemed more in resignation than anger. At least, she hoped. His warm hand lingered over hers, and the resultant tingle made her brain stall. He scanned a box in the clubhouse where two ladies with pink scarves gave exuberant waves.

“Their colors are pink, purple and white,” Mark said, waving back. “Does that mean…?”

Jessica nodded, somewhat abashed. The braids had looked a little bright, even to her, and Mark preferred woodsy colors. However, Maria had been so excited.

Luckily Mark released her hand so her head didn’t feel quite so wooly, although her fingers still tingled and her chest was kicking like it did before a ski race.

“I can’t believe Maria went along with you,” Mark said. “The owners will love it though. Hell, maybe the filly will too.” He dragged a hand through his hair and looked at the track. “Did you bet anything?”

“No. But I think the four horse will win.”

“Radcliff’s horse? Christ, I hope not,” he said as the horses entered the gate.

The crowd hushed. Someone jostled her, trying to squeeze into the prime spot by the rail, but Mark’s arm quickly circled her hip, defending their space. He smelled so good, an enticing mix of spice and leather. She fought a crazy impulse to snuggle into his chest.