Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (56 page)

“I’m going to sleep in the office,” he said. “In four hours we’ll have to get up.”

Something rustled in the fallen leaves, startling them both. But it was only Kato who scampered from beneath the trees, wrapping himself around her ankles and greeting them with a plaintive yowl.

“You rascal.” She scooped him up. “I thought I locked you in my room.”

“You did.” Mark turned and stalked into the barn.

Yawning, she and Kato followed him down the aisle. The rich food and alcohol, combined with their intense bout of kissing, had left her drained. Her shoes, so jaunty and energizing earlier, pinched her feet, and the prospect of kicking them off and slipping into bed was wonderfully appealing.

Her gaze drifted to Mark. He looked different now, focused and remote as he checked each horse. Inconceivable that only thirty minutes ago, his mouth had been on her breast…it had been rather nice.

“Damn!”

He stopped so abruptly, she rushed up with Kato curled in her arms. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Quiet.” He backed her up, his hands on her elbows as he pressed her against the rough boards. “Wait here.”

He walked to the end of the aisle and vanished around the corner. She hesitated, but he was out of sight and curiosity egged her forward. She inched to the spot where he’d first stopped.

“Oh, God.” She dropped Kato on the ground and stared at the destruction.

Her door was smashed. Her tiny room—her home—in shambles.

She entered slowly, bursting with indignation. Her clothes were scattered, the cot flipped. Even Lefty’s bike was wrecked, with five broken spokes and a slashed seat. Worse, her coffee can of hard-earned money—Buddy’s money—was overturned and empty.

“I’m going to kill that kid!”

Mark appeared in the doorway, his face alight with relief. “The horses are all fine.”

She sank to her knees, overcome with a sense of violation. It was great the horses were fine, but his priorities were very clear, and it only highlighted her insignificance.

“Much taken?” he asked as he tried to straighten Lefty’s mangled bike.

“All my money.” She fought her despair as she scooped a bra from the floor and tossed it into her duffle bag.

“I’m sorry.” He gave up on the bike and urged her to her feet. “Come on, it’s late. Nothing can be done now.”

“But this is my room. Where I sleep.” She shivered in revulsion. “And that kid touched everything.”

“What kid?”

“That kid. You know, the same kid. He was here before, trying to steal my bike.”

“Okay. I’ll call track security.” He gently pushed a strand of hair off her face. “But I don’t think a kid could have broken the door. It had to be someone bigger. They ripped the room up looking for money. Good thing you weren’t here.”

She shivered, unnerved, realizing she might have met the intruder if she hadn’t been with Mark. He was standing so close, his eyes dark with concern and another emotion she couldn’t read, and she had to fight the impulse to burrow into his safe chest.

Safe, with a man whose driving concern were horses.

Her tiredness was making her melancholy. And fearful. She stepped back, irritated with herself. “Would you help me straighten the cot so I can go to sleep?” she asked. “I’ll clean up in the morning.”

He shook his head, slipping his arm over her hip, and guiding her past the battered door. “I’ll stay here and talk to security. It’s time they take this seriously. You can sleep in my office tonight.”

She tried to argue, but he shushed her, and she was much too tired to bicker. Besides, after spending weeks in a cramped tack room, his office would be like the Ritz. She might even be able to sleep in. “Do owners’ dinners count as overtime?” She limped beside him, trying to keep up in her ridiculously high shoes. “Maybe count for an extra half-hour of sleep?”

“This kind of night does.”

“
This
, meaning the break-in? Or
this
, meaning the kind of night where the boss embarrasses the employee in his car?”

He brushed a finger gently over her cheek. “Maybe a little of both,” he said.

Chapter Twelve

Mark yawned, stretching in his office chair. His mind felt like mush, and he knew he hadn’t been sharp for the morning gallops. He scowled when Dino dropped another stack of invoices on his cluttered desk.

“Add thirty dollars to Buddy’s invoice,” he said, scannning the farrier’s bill. “Horse lost a shoe and had an extra visit.”

“Right.” Dino’s voice muffled as he bent over the calculator and made the adjustment. “Guess that’ll finish up Buddy. You have a new horse for his stall?”

“Not yet. Buddy’s racing one more time.” Mark gulped his coffee, hoping it would flush away his guilt.

Dino lifted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Thought you wanted to retire that horse? Thought you could persuade Sophie of almost anything.”

Mark yanked his side drawer open and rummaged for a stapler. It seemed Miss Jessica Boone was also adept at persuasion. Last night, he’d been thinking with his dick, a damn poor way to make decisions. Clearly it wasn’t just his dad who suffered from impaired judgment whenever he got close to a pretty woman. “Where’s the stapler?” He slammed the drawer in frustration and shuffled the mounds of paper.

Dino picked up the stapler and slapped it in Mark’s hand with a knowing grin. “Did Sophie get to you last night? She’s not a bad-looking woman. Just give her what she wants. Take her out and bang her.”

“Great way to lose horses,” Mark said. “Clients don’t like trainers banging their wives.”
Or their granddaughters either
.

He absently picked up a beanie bag, squeezing the paperweight in his hand. It was round and firm, yet soft, much like Jessica’s breasts. His gaze drifted to the cot where the imprint of her head was still visible. He realized he was still squeezing the bag and tossed it on the filing cabinet with a disgusted snort.

Dino had moved to the doorway to sip his coffee and watched as the last set of horses were bathed. “Why is she so hot?” he asked. “Obvious reasons, of course, but probably it’s her spirit.”

No need to ask who Dino was referring to, and Mark resisted the urge to join him. It was always fun watching Jessica bathe Buddy; invariably more water ended up on her than the horse. Usually he placed Buddy in the first set so it was cold when she washed him—cold enough that she wore a vest—but today he’d deliberately scheduled Buddy last so she’d have more time to sleep.

“Does she have her vest on?” he asked, trying to concentrate on the list of upcoming races.

“No, just the long-sleeved purple shirt. Not the high one with the buttons, the one with the low neck.”

“Jesus, Dino. You know all her clothes?”

“Most of them,” Dino said unapologetically. “I’m single now, and I like women. Unfortunately, she’s not into casual sex.”

“How do you know that?” Mark’s voice sharpened.

“I tried, walking her home one night. She was no fun at all.”

Satisfaction warmed Mark, satisfaction and a curious relief. He crossed his arms behind his head and tilted in his chair. She’d been fun with him, lots of fun. Course, last night she’d been drinking. And last night she’d wanted something.

“Leave the employees alone,” he said, sharper than he’d intended.

Dino twisted, raised a curious eyebrow and stared at him over his mug. “Just not in the barns, right? Not at the track?”

“Not anywhere with Boone’s granddaughter,” Mark said.

“Okay.” Dino gave a good-natured shrug. “But you can’t keep the other guys away. Lately more men hang around our shedrow than sit in the kitchen.”

Mark scraped his chair back, brushed past Dino and strode to the wash pit. It didn’t help that the feed man lounged against his truck, watching Jessica with rapt attention.

“Buddy’s finished,” he said to Jessica. “Take him inside.”

He scanned her shirt. Not really transparent, but her clothes were somewhat inappropriate. Tight, clingy stuff that was fine on the streets, maybe fine on other women, but not on her. It wasn’t anything specific. He couldn’t even yell at her for breaking the dress code. Clothes just couldn’t hide that gorgeous body.

She wrinkled her nose, bent over and placed a hand on Buddy’s chest. The back of her jeans tightened, hugging her curves, and her T-shirt lifted, revealing a full half inch of creamy skin. “No, Buddy’s still warm. I better walk him a bit longer,” she was saying. Arguing with him. Probably thinking she could do whatever she wanted just because he had the hots for her.

“Get the horse inside. Now,” he snapped. He wheeled and stalked into the shedrow. Could hear Dino’s chuckle, felt Jessica’s hurt bewilderment but didn’t turn around.

He wasn’t like his father. Just because she had a pair of beautiful breasts that she’d let him handle last night didn’t mean she could waltz around the barn doing whatever she wanted.

“Is that horse wrapped yet?” he yelled at Carlos, aware several grooms were looking at him. Assets wheeled in his stall, agitated by the unusual noise.
Perfect
. Let’s get the colt all excited so he’ll run like shit in the Breeders’ Cup—the Breeders’ Cup, when millions of people are watching, and a trainer’s ability is on display.

But the shedrow was a mess, and he couldn’t shut up.

“Maria, the aisle is filthy. Who left this helmet on the ground!” He kept walking, circling the shedrow, whipping his barn into shape. Everyone was slacking. Two of the race bridles hadn’t even been hung properly.

Dino caught up to him, still grinning. “Three more weeks of this. Christ, we’ll all have ulcers.”

Mark sighed and blew out a rueful sigh, knowing he’d been unfair. “Tell me again why I want a Breeder’s Cup runner?”

“Not just a runner. You got the favorite. Everyone’s watching you, boss.”

“Fuck off, Dino.”

***

“I need money.” Jessica buried the metal scoop in the oat bin then diligently measured Buddy’s rations. She’d learned that horses had notoriously weak digestive systems; it didn’t take much to start stomach cramps, and the ensuing colic could be fatal. “Quite a bit of money,” she added. “The shithead who broke in last night cleaned me out.”

Maria didn’t ask a single question, just dug some crumpled bills from her back pocket. “Here’s twenty-four bucks.”

Jessica’s throat tightened, and she turned away for a moment, blinking rapidly. Maria was so generous, so quick to share everything she owned. Like many at the track, she lived for the moment and didn’t give a hoot about last names, background or education. So poor yet so happy.

And she was too, Jessica realized. In fact, track life was so absorbing she hadn’t thought about skiing in weeks. Maybe she’d never been committed. After her dad died, her mother had shipped her off to private school. Skiing had turned into an outlet, a way to get attention by excelling. Coaches and teammates had become her surrogate family, and she hadn’t wanted to give them up, despite the manipulations of her grandfather.

And now she had new family which included a wonderful horse and a wonderful friend. Her eyes itched, and she kept her head averted, pressing at the molasses pump until dark sweetness drenched Buddy’s feed. The rascal wouldn’t eat his glucosamine or MSM if it wasn’t covered in molasses and sprinkled liberally with brown sugar.

“I’ll have another fifty-five dollars when Mark pays my bonus,” Maria added, misinterpreting her silence. “You can have that too.”

Jessica impulsively dropped her bucket and enfolded Maria in a grateful hug. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had,” she said, swallowing the persistent lump in her throat, “but unfortunately I need a lot of money. Two thousand dollars. Enough to buy Buddy.”

“Oh, no.” Maria stepped back, eyes wide with dismay. “You can’t fall in love with the horses! They’ll break your heart, every time. And how can you afford to keep him?”

“I can’t, but Mark said there are adoption farms that will find a nice home. A place where he won’t have to race anymore.” Her voice cracked. “I can talk to them too and tell them how much Buddy loves molasses.”

“But two thousand dollars? That’s so much money.” Maria leaned against the bin, her eyes dark with worry. “I suppose we could try stooping.”

“Stooping?”

“You know, checking betting tickets that people throw away. The clubhouse is the best place. Good stoopers can make a bit of money. The trick is to memorize the race results so you can sift through them faster.”

“Is it legal?” Jessica asked.

“It’s not illegal, although security doesn’t like it. We’ll be careful though. We can head over there after you get back from Dick’s.”

Jessica grimaced and checked her watch. Almost eleven. Too bad her bike was wrecked. It was a long walk to Dick’s although her knee felt amazingly good, so good she could probably run. Mark had even commented that she no longer limped. Weird, she felt better than when her doctor treated her. It’d be great if Dick had some real running shoes, and she could burn off the calories from last night’s feast.

Last night. She didn’t want to dwell on
all
the events. The most important thing was she could buy Buddy. She wasn’t going to brood about her busted bike or ransacked bedroom or stolen money. Or how Mark’s kisses made her toes curl.

Her breasts tightened just thinking of him. She’d barely talked to him this morning. Everyone had scrambled, trying to avoid his foul mood—everyone but Dino who seemed to find it amusing. Yet Mark had been thoughtful enough to let her sleep late, and spending a night in his quiet office had been like staying at a five star hotel. When she’d finally wakened, the second set was on the track and the door to her tack room already repaired. He’d scheduled Buddy for the last set of the morning so she had more time to sleep.

“You have a dreamy look on your face. Horse or a man?” Maria asked.

“Horse,” Jessica said, shoving thoughts of Mark firmly from her head. Besides, Dick expected her to show up to work, not to be daydreaming about her gorgeous, slave-driving boss who possessed a surprising core of kindness.