Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (57 page)

***

Jessica smoothed her hair back and rapped on Tricky Dick’s apartment door. Footsteps thumped, and the door opened.

“Come in.” Dick gestured and stepped back. He wore a white high-collared shirt tucked into a black tutu belt, and his purple pants had no fly. “I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“That’s harsh.” She arched an eyebrow but actually appreciated his honesty.

He smiled, not unkindly. “Dear, I know the smell of money, and you’re not the sort to unpack boxes. So tell me, who designed my trousers?”

“Prada.”

“Very good. Now what about my paisley scarf?”

“Gucci, I think.”

“You’ll do.” He gave a satisfied nod. “I need each box unpacked and racked, separated by design. About half are unlabeled knock-offs. Those are the ones you need to identify. Mary from downstairs will take pictures later. Questions?”

“No coffee, no get-to-know-you chat?”

He made a rude gesture before swooping down the hall. “My phone list includes twenty society ladies, the most influential in New York, who need charities like Anna House to support. And I have to reach them before they send their money and clothes elsewhere. But if you perceive your coffee as critical, by all means, dear, go make one.”

“Maybe later,” she said, spotting a Veneta jean jacket that would be perfect for cool autumn mornings. She scooped it out of the box, fingering the jacket with admiration, then reluctantly hung it on the rack and dug back into the cartons.

She liked the job and worked fast. Enjoyed unfolding each garment and guessing the origin and where it would fit in Dick’s Catalogue of Fine Clothes. And when dust tickled her nose, she muffled her sneezes, aware he was on the phone, patiently explaining Anna House’s role and asking for support.

His voice was smooth, cultured and assured as he spoke of charity dinners and benefit auctions. And he was a master at name-dropping. She smiled, imagining the people he called. No doubt they pictured Dick as a member of their elite, living in a home like her grandfather’s, and that perception made a difference. She calculated Dick—he introduced himself as Richard—had a forty percent success rate, and it was fascinating to hear his spiel.

Time sped. At one point, Mary, a lady with bulging biceps, charged in carrying a camera and a tattered cardboard box. Jessica emptied the box on the floor, scattering an assortment of belts, cummerbunds and a plastic duck.

“We never know what’s in the boxes,” Mary said, rolling her eyes and rushing off.

Jessica rubbed a kink in her lower back as she mentally itemized the articles. Best to hang them all, she decided, so Mary would be able to take good pictures for the Internet. Kato might like the squeaky duck.

At some point Dick finished his phone work, so the apartment was quiet except for the clicking of her hangers and the shouts and laughter that filtered in from outside. Maybe Dick had gone to the kitchen to make coffee, she thought wistfully. They’d been working for at least three hours, and she still had the stooping thing to do with Maria.

However, when Dick reappeared, she gaped, thoughts of coffee forgotten. His neutered image had been replaced with an empowering Armani suit with a definite masculine look. She gave an admiring thumbs up. “You must be Richard now. Definitely not Tricky Dick.”

“It’s all about appearances, my dear,” he said, with a faint blush. “This one works best when I speak at the ladies’ luncheons.”

“Yes, I imagine you’re well-received,” she said dryly.

He ignored her smirk, adjusting his jacket as he stared down at the road separating the apartments. “Is that man waiting for you? When I first saw him behind you, I assumed he was a gardener, but his clothes are too clean. Odd he’s still there.”

“Who are you talking about?” She joined Dick by the window and studied the man slouched against a corner apartment. Beard, slit of a mouth and the same hostile expression she’d seen at the paddock. He had a garden rake in his hand, but he definitely was watching Dick’s door.

Flustered, she backed away from the window. A chill attached to the back of her neck. “I’ve only seen him once before. Is he part of the Mexican Mafia?”

Dick laughed. “Not unless they recruit from the Middle East.” He grabbed the camera Mary had left and snapped several pictures. “Did you buy anything from that guy? Do you have anything he wants?”

She shook her head. “Nothing like that. And the only good stuff I had was a bike and my phone, but his kid took care of that. Stole my money too. It took me twenty minutes to fill out the police report.”

Anger propelled her back to the window, and she pounded on the glass. The man’s eyes shifted from the door to her face, holding her gaze for an instant before he snaked around the corner and disappeared.

“My, my, you’re bold.” Dick chuckled and closed the window, carefully checking the lock. “Why don’t I drop you off at your place. Barn or apartment?”

“Barn, number forty-eight.”

“Ah, the esteemed Mark Russell’s stable.”

“You know him?” she asked as she pulled her boots on.

“Let’s just say he arouses my lust.”

“Mine too.” She gave a glum sigh.

Dick’s perceptive laugh made her feel much better, and she enjoyed their candid conversation on the drive back. The man was difficult to slot, so she stopped trying. He worked as a groom for the spring and fall meet but lived at his own house in the winter. Fundraising for Anna House seemed to be his main interest, and his selfless commitment left her awed and humbled.

He pulled his panel van in front of the shedrow with a flair appropriate for a limo. “You did an excellent job today, dear, and you’re welcome to borrow clothes for any future event.” He glanced at the barn’s drying rack. “I see you washed the dress. Hand washed, I presume.”

“Definitely,” Jessica assured him, glancing at the tiny dress now flapping between two immense horse blankets and a motley line of leg wraps. “Let me know when the next batch of clothes arrive. I enjoyed it.”

“As did I. Thank you for contributing.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “And I’ll make some inquiries about your mysterious admirer. I have his picture now. Do be careful. Don’t go walking in the dark.”

She nodded and slid from the van then watched as it rumbled down the road. She’d missed her nap and was bone tired, but the realization she’d contributed to a worthy cause made her warm with satisfaction. Maybe she wasn’t as useless as her grandfather believed. She bounced toward the entrance, jerking to a stop when she saw Mark and Dino.

“Wish I was the man who put that smile on your face.” Dino grinned and adjusted his cowboy hat, his gaze sweeping her with his usual admiration.

“Wish it was a man too,” she said, “but I was volunteering.” She glanced at Mark. This was the first time she’d been close to him since last night and her nerves jangled; it was difficult to forget that hard body. He wore a blue sports jacket that matched his eyes and if he was tired, it wasn’t apparent. “Thanks for letting me sleep in this morning,” she added.

Mark’s slow, deep smile made her stomach flutter. “You deserved some extra hours,” he said. “Besides, I need you this afternoon.”

“Okay,” she said calmly, but her heart jerked in her chest.

Dino chuckled. “You showed up at the wrong time, Jessica. Everyone else is hiding.”

“Because Mark was in a bad mood earlier?” she asked.

“Partly.” Dino shot Mark a told-you-so grin. “But mainly because there’s a TV crew coming. And a guy from some magazine who wants pictures of our very own illustrious trainer.”

“I see.” She tried to hide the wistful note in her voice, but for most of her life she’d been the one in the limelight, the one the media clamored to interview. She missed it. A white van with the
Sports Illustrated
logo on its side slowed, and she automatically smoothed her hair.

“You look fine,” Mark said. “They just want a couple of workers in the background.”

“I don’t like background,” she said mournfully, turning away from his perceptive smile.

A sandy-haired man wearing cargo pants and sporting a flamboyant moustache hopped from the passenger’s seat. Gary Timmons! She’d recognize him anywhere. She squared her shoulders. No doubt he’d want to ask her some questions too, maybe talk a bit about sports injuries and career changes. This would be cool after all; now Mark would see she was good for more than just background.

Gary had interviewed her several times before, once after a World Cup final. He’d also been the first to request an interview after her spectacular fall. She’d refused, of course, unable to accept her ski career was crushed, but now she was ready, eager even, to grant an interview.

Gary walked across the gravel, and she beamed her most welcoming smile. He reached past her and pumped Mark’s hand.

“Thanks for your time, Mark,” he said. “We just need a few pictures to go with the November article. Maybe we can get the girl to hold the horse.”

The girl?
Her smile slid away. Something wrenched deep in her chest.

“You okay with that, Jessica?” Mark asked, his gaze pinned on her face. “Keep Assets in the barn. He’ll stand better there.”

“Sure,” she mumbled, ducking her head in shame. Naturally Gary didn’t recognize her. She was a nobody now, her status drained away when she lost her position on the team. Ironically, when she was finally able to talk, nobody cared to listen.

She slunk down the aisle, feeling small, wounded and unwanted, while the three men laughed and chatted by the door. A horse nickered—it was Buddy, watching over the stall guard. She detoured, and he shoved his neck out, pressing his forehead against her chest in complete and absolute trust.

She stilled. It was the first time he’d ever done that. Usually he didn’t like his head constrained. Mark thought he’d probably had his ear twisted so would always be a little head shy. She slowly reached up and rubbed the inside of his left ear. A big quiver enveloped his entire body, but he kept his head against her chest. She was even able to press her lips against his satiny forehead. Wow. This was a complete breakthrough.

“We need that horse today, Jessica,” Dino called but the impatience in his voice didn’t dent her delight.

“I’ll be back later, Buddy,” she whispered. “And I promise to find you a good home with someone who’ll love you. Someone who will be gentle with your ears and feed you lots of peppermints.”

Smiling, she floated down the aisle to Assets’ stall. Hurdling down a mountain didn’t seem nearly as important as saving a grand old fellow like Buddy, and she’d be making some lucky person very happy in the process. She hummed as she slipped a chain through Assets’ halter and led him into the aisle. The colt jigged a bit, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She did notice Mark tensed when Assets rocked back on his legs and tried to rear.

“Good work,” he said as she snapped the colt’s nose, pushing him off balance and maneuvering him safely back to the floor.

Gary kept a cautious distance and eased around the restless horse, snapping pictures and moving quickly. “Feisty fellow,” he said. “Is this the horse everyone thinks will beat the sheikh’s runner?”

“He should give a good account of himself,” Mark said.

Gary grinned, motioning Mark to step closer to Assets. “You people are so superstitious. I did a Derby story last year, and the trainer wouldn’t mention the word winning. What’s up with that?”

Mark shrugged. “Too many things can happen to ever expect anything from a horse. You do your best. And hope.”

Gary flipped open a coiled notepad and checked his notes. “You’re thirty-one, one of the youngest trainers to ever have a favorite in the Breeders’ Cup. And you’re from Texas, certainly not the center of blue-blooded racing.” He glanced at Dino’s hat and gave a wry grin. “Everyone will be watching your horse on the last Saturday in October. Some hope you fail. How do you handle that kind of pressure?”

“Good assistant. Good staff,” Mark said, his mouth tight.

“Come on.” Gary waved his pad in frustration. “Give me something interesting. Something people will want to read.”

“At night, he sneaks into the barn and feeds Assets peppermints. And sometimes he croons to him. It actually sounds like baby talk.” Three heads twisted to stare at Jessica. “I hear him because I sleep right over there.” She pointed at her tack room.

“Perfect,” Gary said, scribbling furiously. “Anything else you can tell me, young lady?”

“The young lady’s leaving now,” Mark said as he lifted the shank from her hands. But though he was frowning, his eyes looked amused.

She smiled and retreated to her room, quite content to be dismissed, although it still irked that Gary hadn’t recognized her. It was nice to stretch out on her cot and ignore the cluster of voices. Mark’s training regimen was somewhat confusing anyway: all the talk about doing their best, good staff, slow progress. His method definitely worked, but it seemed to center around patience, just watch and wait for the horse to mature. So different from skiing where it had been push, push, push.

She punched her pillow and caught the lingering smell of Mark’s aftershave. Maybe he’d think of her when he smelled the pillow on his cot. The notion gave her some satisfaction since lately he’d dogged her thoughts with irritating persistence.

Something rustled, and she thumped the floor with her foot, scaring the mouse back into its hole. Kato generally wandered the backside during the day; he didn’t join her for naps, so she and the mice had reached a practical agreement. She wouldn’t scream if she didn’t see them, and she always made lots of noise so they’d have time to skedaddle.

Anyway, there was little hope she’d be able to grab a nap. Mark had three horses racing today, so their grooms would be returning soon and making all kinds of racket. She crossed her arms behind her head and studied the new lock gleaming on her door. Mark hadn’t skimped, she’d grant him that. No one would ever get past that massive deadbolt. It did seem rather pointless though; she had no money left to steal.

Hopefully stooping would replenish her Buddy Fund.
Stooping
. She liked how the word rolled over her tongue although it sounded like back-breaking work, and was unlikely to be listed in any career manual.