Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (75 page)

A moment later, Mark slipped in behind her. “What’s this all about?” He spoke so gently she was ashamed she’d tried to take advantage. “Isn’t your grandfather helping you with that dog business?”

“He doesn’t want to,” she said, “and I know now I’d rather work with horses.”

“Then do it.”

She turned beneath the pulsing water and hugged him. “So you’ll keep me on?”

He stiffened, and her heart dropped as she felt his arm muscles tighten. “Please, Mark,” she said. “I’ll do all the things everyone else hates. Paperwork, buckets, rake, clean leather, anything.”

He seemed to pull away even though he didn’t move. “You need to do what you want, Jessica. Not what your grandfather or I want.” He spoke in that infuriatingly reasonable trainer’s voice, and her shoulders slumped.

She choked back the agonizing lump in her throat and forced a flippant laugh. “Just checking to see what I was worth. Wondered if my performance last night was inspired enough.”

His expression turned stony and she grabbed the shampoo, hating her words even as she spoke them. “Turn around, big guy, and I’ll wash your back. I love muscles in my men, and you have a few more than the last ones.” He stood completely still, arms at his side, so she reached up and soaped his chest, ignoring the taut cords visible in his neck. “I sure don’t want any of my lovers to ever say Jessica Boone left a job unfinished,” she added gaily.

“Enough.” He pushed her hand away, so forcefully the shampoo container tumbled to their feet, careening for a moment around the side of the slippery tub. Somehow she managed to paste a brittle smile on her face while suds sluiced down his ridged stomach and dripped on their bare toes.

“Time to get to the airport anyway.” He slid the door open and grabbed a towel, leaving her alone in the shower.

Where there was no longer any need to hide her pain.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“The game’s up, girl. Mark knows everything.”

Jessica froze, her grip on the molasses slipping as she stared at Maria. She didn’t think Mark knew about her feelings. How could he? “What do you mean?” she squeaked.

“While you were away, Buddy wouldn’t eat his grain, so I had to tell Dino he needed triple the brown sugar and molasses. I’m sure Mark knows by now.”

“Oh,” Jessica managed. “Yes, he does know.” She remembered how Mark had chuckled when he told her. Not mad at all. But that had been last night in the hotel room, when everything had been perfect. Things weren’t so perfect today. They’d been back for seven hours, and she hadn’t seen him since he’d dropped her off at the barn.

“How were those owners Mark wanted you to entertain?” Maria shuddered with revulsion. “What an awful job.”

Jessica stared at the brown container of molasses, silent for a moment. Maria had an aversion to all owners except for her recent acceptance of the New Jersey ladies, and Jessica didn’t want to admit that the uncaring owner was really her grandfather.

Maria didn’t know Jessica’s last name was Boone. On the backside, names didn’t matter. Worth was measured by how you performed—and clearly both Mark and her grandfather found her wanting.

“They were all pricks.” She spoke with such feeling even Maria gaped.

“Jessica.” Mark’s crisp voice sounded from the doorway. “See me in my office.”

Maria blanched as he turned away. “Maybe he didn’t hear you,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s about the molasses. Just tell him I told you the wrong amount.”

“Oh, Maria.” Jessica’s lower lip quivered. “You’re the best friend I ever had, but I don’t think this is about molasses.”

She fed Buddy his regular grain and defiantly added the extra molasses and three carrots before trudging to Mark’s office. He hadn’t spoken much on the flight home, and she knew she’d hurt him, but all she had left was her pride. Which she intended to keep.

Setting her shoulders, she opened the door and walked in.

He leaned over his desk, studying the screen on his laptop. “Mary e-mailed three pictures.” He motioned her over. “Recognize any of them?”

She glanced at the screen, and a chill attached to the back of her neck. “That’s him.” She pointed. “The man with the mean eyes.”

“All right. I’ll e-mail it to a friend at the police station. Find out if he has a name.” He reached in his top drawer and slapped a thick envelope in her hand. “Here’s the two grand for Buddy. He’ll race in nine days.”

She stared at the kiss-off money, even considered tossing it back, but Buddy shouldn’t be a pawn. Somehow she’d pay Mark back. She raised her head and forced a cool smile, ignoring the fact that her insides were shriveling. It wasn’t even necessary to pretend. He was still engrossed in his computer. She left with her head held unnaturally high, and Buddy’s precious purchase money clutched in her hand.

***

“More coffee?” the guard asked as he reached for his steel thermos.

“Better not,” Jessica said. “I probably shouldn’t have had that first cup. But how about another cookie?” She hadn’t quite forgiven Terry for telling Mark about her visitor in the shower, but he was pleasant company and his chocolate chip cookies were delicious.

“Here.” Terry passed her the container of cookies. “And do whatever you want at night. Nothing will go in my report. Take one for your boyfriend too.”

“Thanks, Terry.” She pulled out two cookies loaded with chocolate chips. “I’ll buy some muffins for us tomorrow night.”

Buddy stuck his head over the stall, ears pricked, seeming to suspect she carried something tasty. She slipped the cookies in her jacket pocket and waggled her empty hands. “Go eat your hay, Buddy. Look, no treats.”

She checked over her shoulder. Already Terry was just a large shadow by the front door, and she guessed she’d be indistinguishable at the far end of the aisle. She eased out the back entrance, grabbed the bucket hanging on a bridle hook and added the precious cookies to her food cache.

The kid had to be getting it; the food was always gone in the morning. But she never saw the boy, no matter how long she lingered. It was apparent she’d destroyed his trust ever since Mark had flushed the boy from his hiding place, the day she’d fallen off Ghost.

She tried to quell her concern, but October nights were chilly and soon, she wouldn’t be here to help rustle food. She leaned against the doorway, staring at the gloomy sky as her thoughts circled back to Mark. Two thousand dollars. Buddy would be hers in just over a week.

She jumped, banging her elbow against the rough wall as something slipped from the darkness—the kid—moving so easily she’d mistaken him for a shadow. His wary eyes stared past her, searching for the guard, nervous as any feral animal. She nodded a welcome, slipped the bucket off the hook, turned and walked to her room. Didn’t let herself look back. Acted as though his presence was unimportant.

She left the door open. A second later the boy edged in and dropped cross-legged by the bucket. He gobbled the cookies first then a chicken sandwich, dribbling crumbs down the front of his dirty shirt.

A horse blanket was stuffed under her cot, and she pulled it out and spread it by the bike. His teeth flashed in a trusting smile. Her gut wrenched because she had to call the guard—had to betray this boy. It was clear he needed much more than she could provide.

He pointed at her old stooping bag, still filled with unsorted betting tickets, then thumbed his chest in a clear offer to help.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, aching inside. So young, and already he knew nothing was free.

But he scrambled to his feet and spread some tickets on the cot, clearly determined to work for his food. She watched him for a moment, hating the thought of turning him over to Terry. Surely Maria could talk to him. Figure out the best way to help.

She pointed at her watch and motioned she’d be back. He nodded, barely looking up as his nimble fingers stacked the stubs according to race, obviously remembering her previous instructions.

The barn phone was at the end of the aisle, close to the guard, so close she was afraid he’d hear. But she hurried down and punched Maria’s number, guessing from the huskiness of her voice that she’d been sleeping.

“Can you come?” Jessica whispered. “He’s in my room now.” She hung up and glanced at Terry who shuffled his feet and studied the floor, as though suspecting a
ménage et trois
. She gave him a mischievous grin. “I wonder if I could have a third cookie?”

***

Maria shook her head. “You’re wrong. This boy doesn’t speak Spanish. I don’t know a word he’s saying, but he sure is cute. Maybe he can draw something.” She picked up a pencil and paper and sketched her apartment. Tapped her chest and held it up.

The boy’s wide eyes locked on Maria, and he nodded, seeming to find her gentle face reassuring. He took the pencil, held it awkwardly in his fist, and began to draw.

Jessica leaned forward, watching as a picture slowly took shape.

“A playground,” Maria said.

“No, look. There are little heads. It’s a plane.” Jessica gave the boy an encouraging pat on the back. “Good drawing.”

Maria frowned. “I still think it looks like a playground.”

Jessica pushed the paper back in front of him. “Draw something else.” But his attention had jumped to Maria, and he reached up and shyly touched her cheek, distracted by something he saw in her face. Jessica sighed and pulled out the third cookie, waved it in the air and pointed at the paper.

“You’re not supposed to use bribes,” Maria scolded but they both leaned forward, craning to see as the boy eyed the cookie and started sketching again.

“It’s just a horse shoe and a bunch of flowers,” Maria said. “With a skinny tree,” she added as he finished with two lines. “He’s definitely not an artist.”

“One more picture,” Jessica said.

She hid her disappointment as a crude horse emerged. The picture wasn’t detailed enough to identify the animal. In fact, it was hardly recognizable as a horse with an ugly head, knobby knees and a big hump. “Oh, it’s a camel,” she said. “Someone said the man was from the Middle East. Obviously this kid is too.”

They both stared at the boy.

“Definitely not many camels around here,” Maria finally said. “Better give him the cookie.”

The boy snuggled into Maria’s lap and stuffed the cookie into his mouth. He definitely liked Maria. Of course, if he was from the Middle East, her coloring would be more familiar. That had to be the reason, Jessica decided with a pang.

She flipped through Mark’s magazines, searching for an old article, then dropped the page on the floor in front of the boy. His eyes widened, and he shrank against Maria’s chest.

“What did you show him?” Maria snapped as she stroked the boy’s head with a protective hand. Jessica passed her the picture—a line of colorful camels with tiny figures crouched on their backs, surging through the desert sand. “I read about this last month,” she said. “Camel racing is popular in the Emirates, where they use little boys as jockeys. Some of the bigger tracks switched to robots, but apparently kids are still recruited.”

“What do you mean, recruited?” Maria puffed like a mother hen and tightened her arms around the boy, making soothing noises deep in her throat.

“Sold, kidnapped or otherwise persuaded,” Jessica said dryly. “Unless you think maybe he’s the sheikh’s son and got mixed up with his horses.”

They both looked at the boy’s dirty face.

“He doesn’t look much like royalty,” Maria said.

Jessica flipped through another issue of
Thoroughbred Times
and found a picture of a sheikh in traditional dress. “Here’s something. See what he does when he sees that.” She passed over the magazine. The kid had really attached himself to Maria, she noted with another twinge. Young as he was, he must have sensed Jessica could barely look after herself. She brushed away her sense of loss and focused on his reaction.

He glanced at the sheikh but nothing. Not a flicker of recognition.

“I don’t think we should tell anyone. Not yet.” Maria shoved a strand of lank hair off his forehead. “I could keep him in my apartment for a while. Clean him up, feed him. Teach him some English.”

Jessica sighed. “We have to tell Mark. He’ll be furious if we don’t. He thinks the boy can help find the guy who stabbed Dick.”

“But how can he do that?” Maria asked. “He doesn’t speak English. Or Spanish. He’s just a little boy who’ll be lost in the system. I already know it doesn’t work well for this type of kid.” Her voice heated. “They might send him back to race camels.”

Jessica’s head hurt, and she rubbed the throbbing ache in her temple.

“There’s a guy from Pakistan who does acupuncture for horses, barn eighty-nine.” Maria’s voice turned persuasive. “I’ll get him to talk to the kid. And you’d be helping Mark too. He doesn’t have time for all this extra stuff. But we gotta figure out his name.” She turned to the boy and thumped her chest. “Maria.” Then pointed at Jessica and said her name. After a few repetitions, she pointed to the boy.

“Abdul,” he said.

“Abdul? That’s your name?” Maria grinned. “He’s so smart,” she said over her shoulder to Jessica. “Come on. This isn’t like you. You’re usually the last one to worry about rules.”

Jessica’s head pounded with increased pain, and she tugged on her lower lip. “That was before I saw Mark mad,” she said.

***

Mark’s first set of horses filed from the barn with exercise riders up, most led by their grooms. Predawn was his preferred hour. The track was smoothly harrowed. It was too dark to worry about reporters and what they would or wouldn’t write, and the horses looked elegant, almost mysterious. It seemed he gained a better sense of them, that he was more attuned to their feel rather than relying on sight alone.

Buddy definitely felt good and gave an exuberant buck as soon as he exited the shedrow.

“Jessica!” he called. “Lead Buddy today.”

She appeared with a lead line, said something to Slim that made the rider laugh, and slipped on the line. Buddy lowered his head in cooperation. Probably the horse had bucked so Jessica would walk beside him. Slim had also brightened. The jaunty exercise rider was always happiest when a pretty girl was around.