Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (69 page)

He was on the phone, boots on his desk as he discussed a knee x-ray. He didn’t look tired, but she guessed he must be exhausted. Dino had left a mound of paperwork; despite the number of calls Mark had made, though, the pile didn’t appear dented.

She turned her attention back to her letter writing, deciding the best way to handle the ridiculous marriage proposal was to explain that Mark was happily gay.

“You better not be causing me any trouble,” he warned as he closed the phone, his eyes narrowing on her mischievous smile. “And put the ice on the side of your eye. Tomorrow that’s where the swelling will be.” His phone chirped again, and he tucked it back under his ear.

A strange tightness did pull at her eyes. She adjusted the ice pack, guessing he was probably right. The swelling would be worse tomorrow. She sighed, but the changing timbre of his voice grabbed her attention—eager, excited, much different from his tone with the vet.

“Yeah, there’s a few I like. Hip 641, 665 and 689,” he said. “Three hundred should get us one of them.”

She bent over the paper, doodling energetically and pretending not to listen.

A wariness crept into Mark’s voice as he glanced in her direction. “Sure. I can meet you in Keeneland,” he said.

She finished her row of hearts then began a sketch of Buddy’s blazed head, careful to keep her head bent.

Mark’s voice lowered. “I think she’d like to talk to you…too busy? Okay…see you later.” His tone flattened as he swiveled his chair and cut the connection. Paper shuffled. She waited for him to say something, to announce he’d just talked with her grandfather, but that was the ticklish part about eavesdropping. You heard enough to make you curious, but could only ask questions in the most casual way.

Mark didn’t give her a chance to do that. Just shoved his chair back and rose. “Keep that ice over your eye,” was all he said when he strode from the office.

***

Mark turned away from the blood stain, preferring not to watch the gorging flies. Richard Maynard, or Tricky Dick as Jessica called him, had bled profusely, and darkened gravel now marked the spot.

The police officer continued removing yellow crime tape as he spoke. “We’ve made extensive inquiries, knocked on a lot of doors, but I’ll add your information to the file.”

And that file will be shelved, Mark guessed. He edged a few steps closer, trying to prick the cop’s interest. “There might be a picture of this guy in Dick’s apartment,” he said. “And maybe the boy knows something. Word around the track is that the kid accompanied this fellow up until a few weeks ago.”

“I’m sure someone will talk.” The officer tossed the tape in the back of his Buick. “That’s usually how we solve this type of mugging.”

“Sounds more like an attempted murder.” Mark’s gaze drifted to the feasting flies. “Look, if you guys are finished here, I’m going to clean up that blood. Kids play here all the time.”

“Go ahead. We’re finished.” The officer didn’t look at the grisly splotch, just slid in his car and rolled away.

Mark walked to the barn closest to the apartment complex. A groom with curly blond hair and a matching earring stood by a rack of bridles, squeezing soap from an oversized sponge. “Shocking, isn’t it?” The groom glanced past Mark at the receding police car. “Dick’s a good guy—eccentric maybe, but a good guy. Doesn’t sound like the cops have a clue.”

“Or that they’re looking for one,” Mark said grimly. “Got a bucket I can borrow? I want to dump some water on that blood spot.”

“Yeah, sure. Poor old Mary doesn’t want to see that. The knife cut Dick’s artery. Just missed the jugular. She clamped her hand over his neck and called 911.”

“Who’s Mary?” Mark asked as the groom filled four black rubber buckets and even topped them off with generous squirts of soap.

“Lives in the bottom apartment. Helps Dick with fundraising.”

“Think she has a key to Dick’s place?” Mark picked up two frothing buckets and walked back, accompanied by the helpful groom.

“I’m sure she does,” the groom said.

They sloshed water on the ground and watched the liquid dissipate in loopy veins through the gravel. The protesting flies rose in a dark buzz. “Hey, Mary!” the groom yelled, setting down his empty bucket. “Come on out.”

A curtain lifted. A moment later the door opened, and a small woman stepped outside. Short, broad shoulders, strong arms. Looked like an exercise rider.

“Got a key to Dick’s place?” the blond man asked.

“Who wants to know?” she asked, staring at Mark with wary eyes.

Mark stepped forward and introduced himself, and the woman’s thick shoulders relaxed. “Oh, okay. I’ve heard your name. Jessica works for you,” she said. “Yeah, sure, I have a key.”

“I’ll take these buckets back,” the groom said. “Good luck in the Juvenile.” He hesitated, then gave a hopeful smile. “If you’re ever hiring, I’m interested and experienced. Name’s Jim.”

“Grooms come and go,” Mark said, “so keep checking.” He turned to Mary. “Did the police borrow your key and check out the place?”

“Nope.” She shrugged. “But I heard someone up there early this morning. Maybe the cops got a key from housing. If you want to take a look, fine by me. But I’m coming with you.”

Mark followed her up the wooden steps. She turned the key to Dick’s apartment and shoved open the door.

“You first,” she said, stepping back. “I’m a little spooked about all this.”

He entered slowly, absorbing the endless racks of clothes, the stacked boxes. If there was a picture in this mini-warehouse, it seemed impossible to find.

“Your groom sorted most of this stuff,” Mary said. “Dick said she had the best eye for clothes he’s ever seen.”

“Really?” Mark jerked around. “Jessica did this?”

“Yeah, the clothes are up on the website two weeks early, thanks to her.”

Mark shook his head and moved down the narrow hall, past a room stuffed with boxes and into another room, clearly the bedroom. “Does Dick usually keep his drawers upside down?” he asked.

“No.” Mary scowled and pushed past him. “Must be those damn cops. They always leave a mess. I’ll straighten it up before Dick returns in the spring. He spends winters upstate.”

“Jessica will want to help,” Mark said. “I’ll send her by late tomorrow morning.”

“Great.” Mary’s shoulders relaxed with relief. “She can pick the key up from me. As long as you don’t think she’ll mind?”

“She’ll consider it a pleasure.” And an opportunity, he thought wryly. After talking with Jessica’s grandfather, it was clear she’d need a few more clothes.

He returned to his office, bone weary, unsure if he needed coffee or sleep. Opened the door and saw Jessica ensconced in his chair, boots propped on the desk and a telltale peppermint bulge in her left cheek. She dropped her feet to the floor with a thud.

“I was breaking down the vet bill for each horse,” she said defensively, “and needed a bigger work space.”

“It’s okay, stay there. I’m going to have a nap.” He scanned her work and couldn’t resist giving her ponytail a playful tug. “Looks good.”

A thirty-minute nap wouldn’t hurt. He stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes, oddly enjoying her presence—the click of the calculator, the rustle of paper—and fleetingly wondered if he could persuade her to join him. But the moral dilemma that would involve, considering his no-sex rule, was far too weighty. He fell asleep before completely analyzing the thought.

When he woke, the blackened room felt empty, and it was obvious he’d overslept. Appalled, he leaped from the cot. Six-thirty! Christ. Carlos would be forever feeding supper and checking bandages. He rushed to the entrance of the shedrow, but Carlos looked relaxed, lounging by the front door, talking to the night guard.

“Hi, boss,” he said. “We’re all fed. Jessica said you’d want to wrap Assets. Everyone else is finished and looking good, though. Some heat in the gray filly, but her leg’s a lot better.”

“Good.” Mark nodded, relieved, but still shocked he’d slept so long. “I’ll wrap Assets now. Where’s Jessica?”

“In her room, I think.” Carlos frowned. “Her face is messed up. Heard she fell off Ghost. He’s probably too much horse for a beginner.”

His voice held a note of disapproval, but Mark let it go. He wasn’t feeling very good about it either.

He slipped into Assets’ stall and ran his hands down the colt’s legs. Tight and cold. So far, the horse had never taken a lame step. He wrapped quickly, ensuring the bandages were firm and tendons evenly supported, then secured the door.

Further down the aisle, Buddy stuck his head out, watching with hopeful eyes. Mark slowed and gave the gelding a quick pat, wryly studying his curly mane. The horse was immaculate, but Jessica was forever experimenting with braids and colors, and Mark endured endless ribbing from other trainers. He impulsively slipped Buddy a peppermint, hoping the alert chestnut in the next stall wouldn’t hear the crunching, then turned and headed to her room.

Knocked. No answer. Tried the door and was happy but slightly annoyed to discover it unlocked. She lay on the cot, breathing deep and even, dark lashes fanning her cheeks. He’d anticipated Kato’s rush but still wasn’t fast enough, and sharp claws pinched his leg.

He picked up the cat, cradling him until he settled and when Kato started to purr, put him down by his food dish. He turned and gently shook Jessica’s shoulder.

“Mark?” she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

“Yes. Thanks for letting me sleep, sweetie. You hungry?”

“Yes, but I’m too tired to get up.”

“Move over,” he said. He edged in beside her, wrapping her in his arms as he sucked in her floral smell, the same smell Buddy had. “Do you use a horse shampoo,” he whispered, “or does Buddy use people shampoo?” He freed her hair from the ponytail, stroking the silky strands, liking the way it cascaded over her shoulders.

“Neither. It’s the conditioner.”

She sounded more awake. Probably alert enough to hear her grandfather’s request but hopefully not alert enough to realize the prick hadn’t wanted to talk to her. Again. “I’m meeting your grandfather at Keeneland,” he said, sliding his hand through her hair and rubbing her neck. “We’re looking at some horses. He wants you to come.”

Her eyes cracked open. “What’s he up to?”

“I don’t know,” Mark admitted. It was strange Boone didn’t ever talk to her on the phone but suddenly wanted her to attend a sale in Kentucky.

Her nose wrinkled. “I only have two weeks to go. Maybe he has some plan to make me quit. Or something he thinks will make you fire me. You did promise you wouldn’t fire me though, right?”

“I did. And I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

She sighed and relaxed in his arms. “Guess I’m okay then. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. We’ll be gone two nights. Friday is the sale. Dinner with your grandfather is that night.”

“Oh, no.” Her dismayed sigh fanned his throat. “I can’t go. I don’t have clothes for that.”

“You can borrow something from Dick. I told Mary you’d be happy to come by his apartment and help clean up.”

She laughed, a bubbling sound that was contagious, and he stopped worrying about the depressing hock X-ray, the unorthodox media interview and all the calls from whining owners. He stopped thinking about the fugitive kid and the strange events that seemed to be plaguing the track.

“And you promised that as further punishment,” she asked, still laughing, “or because you knew I’d need some nice clothes?”

“A little bit of both,” he said as he found her mouth in the gloom. He only intended an affectionate gesture, but her taste, her feel, the familiar way her lips parted were too arousing, and he shelved the list of things he had to finish before they flew to Keeneland.

He slipped his hand under her shirt, stroking her breast, molding her against him. She felt so right, so perfect. The urge to yank down her pants and lose himself in her was almost overwhelming.

No wonder his father had kept a double bed in his tack room for frequent fucking.

He jerked back as though drenched with cold water. “I have to stay away from you at the track,” he said. “No one can know.”

“Of course. We wouldn’t want you acting like your dad.”

He stiffened, surprised she could read him so well. She lay unmoving, but her voice was flippant, the way it always turned when she tried to hide her hurt. And he didn’t want her hurt.“This is where I work,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “and having sex here is too frivolous.”

Apparently he didn’t pick his words well enough. She jackknifed to a sitting position, her eyes stormy. “Frivolous? Our relationship is frivolous?”

“Of course not. That isn’t what I meant. Want me order you a pizza?” He rose from the cot, suddenly eager to escape. “I have a meeting in Queens, but the guard can bring it down.”

She was still glaring and there was really nothing to say, so he backed out the door, exhaling with relief when she remained mute on the cot. It was always best to escape before they started dissecting words and relationships. He’d always been careless with women. Training was too demanding a job to even consider a high-maintenance relationship. And Jessica was as high maintenance as they come.

She rose and slammed the door in his face, the lock clicking with a finality that made him smile. Yes, she left him drained but also thoroughly entertained, and it was great she was going to be around for another two weeks. He only wanted the best for her, and hopefully she’d find a suitable career, something that didn’t hinge on her grandfather’s approval.

After she left, he might hire that curly-haired guy, Jim. The barn needed a tougher groom, one who could handle colts, since Breeders’ Cup exposure was already bringing more horses. Stakes horses. His staff would earn bigger bonuses, and lives would all get a little easier. Maybe he could even hire a fulltime office manager.

Maybe Jessica?

No. He shook his head as he walked down the aisle, automatically checking each stall. She’d master the job in a week and end up hating it. And him. She was too mercurial, the type who needed a challenge, needed to be her own boss.

The guard jerked to his feet, pretending he hadn’t been sitting for the past twenty minutes.