Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (70 page)

“Can you see the back door from here?” Mark asked.

“No.” The man shuffled sideways and crossed his arms. “I’d prefer to shut the back door for security reasons, but Jessica insists the horses need fresh air.”

“She’s absolutely right,” Mark said. “So you’ll have to make regular rounds. The horse I’m most concerned about is in stall twenty-four.” He opened his wallet and flipped through his bills. “I’m going to order a pizza. When it comes, track security will call and send the driver through. Make sure Jessica gets it.” He noticed the guard’s empty cookie container and added, “You hungry? I was planning to order a medium but can make it a large.”

The guard lowered his arms, relaxing enough to smile. “I appreciate that, Mr. Russell, but I always bring a lunch so a medium pizza is probably big enough. I doubt the little jockey eats much.”

“What jockey is that?” Mark asked, scanning his phone for the pizza number.

“Jessica’s boyfriend. The one who sleeps here.”

“Oh, right. Jessica’s boyfriend.” He stared at his screen, his thumb pausing in midair before tapping in the phone number. “What’s that guy’s name again?”

“Didn’t meet him, but I saw them coming from the shower together.” The guard chuckled. “Good thing he rides. He’ll never make a singer.”

A jockey boyfriend? How the hell had he missed that? Mark felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach but paused a moment, his mind scrambling as the lady on the phone repeated her request for his order. “Small pizza with the works,” he finally said. Thought a moment. “And can you add anchovies and lots and lots of jalapenos.”

Chapter Twenty

Jessica finished dressing, bubbling with anticipation as she tugged on her boots. Keeneland Day! She didn’t know anything about the place, other than it was a quality racetrack in Kentucky, but there was bound to be lots of good food. And a hotel with a big tub and a real bed.

She grabbed her water bottle and took another gulp, hoping to soothe her ragged throat. Mark had thoughtfully arranged for her supper last night, but the pizza he’d ordered had been horrible. It had smelled delicious though, and she’d been hungry. However, she hated anchovies and thought he knew that.

Unfortunately, fish juice had leaked all over the cheese. Plus, she hadn’t found the jalapenos until it was too late—but by then her stomach was screaming for food, and she couldn’t resist.

Big mistake. She hadn’t put the leftovers outside for the boy, figuring he’d pull better food from the dumpster. The salt must have made her eyes swell, because her face felt tight and puffy. She grabbed her shampoo—she’d left her conditioner in Buddy’s grooming kit—and rushed to the bathroom for her morning shower.

She glanced in the cracked mirror, saw her swollen face and yelped. Her eye was bluish black and scary, the ugliest shiner she’d ever seen, uglier than the bruised boxers on television. Groaning, she jerked away from the mirror and into the shower, trying not to cry as water sluiced over her face. She looked so ugly, so battered, so utterly repulsive.

She yanked her clothes on, hair still dripping, and bolted to Mark’s office. Irritation darkened his face when the door burst open, but she was gratified when his expression turned to horror.

“See. I knew it,” she wailed “I can’t go to Keeneland like this.”

He just stared, his upper lip twitching.

“Don’t you dare laugh.” She crossed the room and smacked his shoulder. “I’m going to miss out seeing all those beautiful horses. The hotel. And my grandfather. All because of that crazy horse you made me ride.” Her words trailed off to a miserable choke.

“Hey.” He rose from the chair. “It’s not that bad.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could crawl into a hole, but he tilted her chin and gently traced her face. “We’ll put a little poultice here and draw out the swelling. Doc just dropped off some new stuff. And if that doesn’t work, sunglasses.” His voice tapered off. “Really big sunglasses.”

She choked on a hysterical sob.

“Makeup too,” he added quickly. “A lot can be accomplished with makeup.”

“I don’t know.” She opened her eyes and groaned. “Finally seeing Gramps and pretending I’m doing well when I look so…ugly.”

“You’ll never be ugly, and you’re doing very well. I’ve told him that many times.”

“Do you talk to him much? I know he’s really busy.” She hated the wistful note that crept into her voice. She’d always been good at pretending indifference when her mom sent her away, but sympathy flashed in Mark’s face and she knew he wasn’t as easily fooled.

Rap, rap
. They both turned and looked at the door as Carlos stuck his head in. “First set is almost ready, boss. Just need your opinion on some legs.” He flinched when he saw Jessica’s face. “
Dios mio!
”

“Switch Assets to the second set,” Mark said. “I’ll be a bit longer here.”

“Don’t think you should do that, boss,” Carlos said, still staring at her with such a look of dismay it would have been comical if it wasn’t such a disaster. He tossed a section of
The NewYork Times
on the desk. “I expect there’ll be lots of media around later. One of the trainers brought you a bouquet of dandelions. Another left chocolates. They’re all laughing.”

Mark scanned the paper then cursed. “Jess, we’ll put the poultice on after the first set.” He dropped the paper and rushed out with Carlos, leaving her alone to read the article:

At six feet three inches and two hundred and twenty-six pounds, Mark Russell doesn’t gallop many horses, preferring to oversee his stable of forty runners from the back of a Texas-bred quarter horse. With both a racing and rodeo background, as well as an astounding win rate of twenty-seven percent, Mark heads into the Breeders’ Cup with the unquestionable Juvenile favorite.

Ambling Assets, a two-year-old colt by Barkeeper out of an Asset Man mare, is not fashionably bred but is undefeated in five lifetime starts and has an affinity for the Belmont strip, attested by his recent half-mile bullet. Capable of stalking, this speedy colt has been pointed to the Breeders Cup and is one of only three contenders coming off a six-week layoff.

“I don’t want him to do too much,” Mark explained when interviewed outside his barn yesterday. “He’s learning to relax and tuck in behind horses. He’s a good-looking fellow who always tries, the kind of horse who’s easy to have around.”

Easy to have around, indeed. “Who do you like?” is a common expression at the track. But with a dynamic trainer and an upstart colt leading the Breeders’ Cup charge, it has also revived interest in the human element. At the track kitchen, Mark Russell’s name topped the vote for “Bachelor of the Backstretch,” and if his deft touch with horses reflects his popularity with the ladies, Markomania is just beginning.

Good grief. Jessica dumped the paper back on the desk. She’d been right about that reporter. Tina was incapable of writing a sensible piece. She hadn’t included a picture of Assets; instead she’d used the one of Ghost, along with a completely inaccurate caption, ‘Russell Rescues Inattentive Groom.’

Tina didn’t mention that Jessica had hung on to Ghost for almost a minute while the horse threw his freak-out fit. The picture only showed Mark pushing her back as he grabbed the reins.

Jessica bent closer, tracing a finger over his ripped arm. Awesome muscles, nice flex. Not a bad picture really.

She squeezed her eyes in misery. Going away for a two-day trip with the Bachelor of the Backstretch, and she looked like a Cyclops. She peered out the window. It was still dark, but figures bustled amidst giggles and gruff laughter. Everyone was having a good time teasing Mark. He’d worked hard for his success and had earned their respect.

He was the most decent man she knew.

Sighing, she squared her shoulders, resolving to table her vanity and join the festivities. Her boss had hit the big time, and it was only fair she step outside and cheer him on.

***

Jessica slipped Buddy a carrot, feeling the soft velvet of his muzzle as he gently lifted it from her hand. Never pushy, always a gentleman. She loved gazing into his liquid eyes, so kind and accepting, a reflection of his kind nature.

She stepped closer and ran a hand over his sleek neck, across his muscled shoulder, down his forearm. His knee was flat and clean. The swelling she’d reported to Mark last week had disappeared, and she inspected each leg, knowing them as well now as she did her own.

One old splint on his right cannon bone, a wind puff on his right fetlock, some scar tissue on his front heels. Inconsequential blemishes, Mark had said. Nothing to worry about.

She edged around Buddy’s hindquarters and ran a hand through his silky tail, ostensibly checking for tangles but really just enjoying his company. He sounded so content when he chewed his hay, when he dunked it in his water and sloshed it around, the way it stuck out of his mouth when he turned and looked at her with those dark, soulful eyes.

He never worried about anything but the present, and it was refreshing sharing his stall. In another week she’d own him.

“Last set. Let’s go,” Carlos called to the riders in the aisle.

Mark stopped by Buddy’s stall, holding goggles, a can of gooey yellow stuff and a bottle of something that smelled like turpentine. “Come on. I’ll put this on your face now. You can stay in my office until it’s time to wash it off.” He turned and watched the line of horses as they filed out. “Don’t be too tight on her face, Aaron,” he called. “You’re pissing her off.” He turned back to Jessica. “This will bring the swelling down.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Go watch your horses. They need you, especially since you’ll be gone for a few days.”

“So you’re not going to the sale?” His face was expressionless, and she couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved.

“Oh, I’m going,” she said. “But you have more important things to do than rub goop on my face. Especially now that you’re a big hero,” she gave a teasing smile, “saving my life yesterday and all that.”

“We heroes do tend to be busy.” He spoke so solemnly she tossed a wet clump of Buddy’s hay at his chest. But then he chuckled and she felt his relief, knew his time was already spread much too thin. “Okay, Jess,” he said. “I’ll finish up and see you at noon. Don’t go to Dick’s without me.”

Two hours later, Mark finished with his last horse, and they drove to Dick’s apartment.

“How long will the teasing last?” Jessica twisted in the car seat, watching Mark’s face as the bearded trainer in barn fifty-three gave a sardonic wolf whistle.

“Probably be over by the time we return. When there’ll be an article about someone else.”

She nodded but was unconvinced. Mark was attractive, accessible and articulate. She guessed he was a beacon for the media and much more interesting than men like Radcliff. Personally she’d like to know more about Sheikh Khalif. His horses were here, along with his trainer, but she hadn’t seen anyone who looked remotely sheikh-like. He owned some of the best horses in the world but even so, his top two-year-old was only the second favorite. The news that experts considered her grandfather’s horse faster than the sheikh’s was somewhat staggering.

Curious, she turned toward Mark, forgetting about keeping her face straight so he couldn’t see her ugly eye. “You must be nervous about the Breeders’ Cup?”

“I just want to get Assets to the gate, healthy and happy,” he said. “And hope we’re lucky.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen your preparation. And how you train. I don’t think it has much to do with luck.”

“It always comes down to luck. And since you’re handing out compliments, you must be gunning for a raise.” He punched in a number, already distracted with his phone calls.

He didn’t think much of her, she realized with an ache. Her grandfather had saddled him with a novice, and Mark was simply making the best of it. Of course, Assets was his top horse so she was, in a way, a fringe owner. He had to be nice to her. And he’d never made any secret about the fact that he liked sex.

She tucked her knees against the seat, feeling small but determined to hide it.

“No, Dino,” Mark said, adjusting the speaker. “We’ll stay with the afternoon jog on the training track. Good for him mentally too. Is your knee sore?”

She looked over, realized he’d cut the phone connection and was talking to her again. “No, my knee’s great,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“I know you’re worried about that kid, but it’ll be better for him once he’s found. The night guard thought he heard something but didn’t see him when he checked outside.”

“It’s hard for the guard to watch both entrances,” she said.

“Guess you’d know that.” His voice sharpened, and he accelerated so abruptly her shoulders pressed against the seat. “Remember, it’s cause for dismissal if you have anyone overnight. Anyone.”

“I’m sorry. He only slept with me once, and I won’t let him stay again.” She craned her neck and gestured over her shoulder. “You just passed Dick’s place.”

Mark swore, jammed on the brakes and made an aggressive U-turn. The mini vacation would be good for him too, she decided. He must be distracted about something since he wasn’t the type to miss turnoffs.

“Want me to call when I’m finished?” she asked as he pulled his vehicle in front of Dick’s apartment.

“No, I’ll wait here. Figure out my entries. Be in later though. Maybe we can find the picture Dick snapped.”

She nodded and stepped from the car. Mark thought the picture was so important, but she didn’t see why it would make any difference. Dick had already shown it to everyone on the backside and, although a few people had seen the man around, no one knew his name or where he worked. Still, if Mark wanted it…

She stuck her head back in the car. “You know that Mary has the camera?”

“And?” He was already flipping through his worn condition book and didn’t look up.

“And, the picture of that man should be on her memory card,” she said.

He did look up then, smiling with such approval, her pulse jumped. “Clever girl,” he said. He snapped his briefcase shut and joined her as they climbed the steps to Mary’s apartment.