Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (84 page)

Radcliff nodded. “All right.” He nodded, straightened in the cart and sped after his new horses.

“Did you tell him not to run Assets in blinkers?” Dino’s voice tightened with resentment as he watched Radcliff’s receding cart.

“Guess I forgot,” Mark said, glancing at his employees who stood in a solid ring by the barn door. “Call a staff meeting. Gotta figure a way to get through this. Carlos and Maria might need a loan. They were depending on Breeders’ Cup bonuses. So were some of the hots and riders.”

“Don’t know if we can swing it.” Dino shook his head. “The account is damn low.”

“We’ll make it work. I’m going to set up a new schedule too, so everyone gets a day off.”

He gripped his phone as he headed towards his office. Owners rarely switched trainers five days before a Grade 1 race and even more rarely before the Breeders’ Cup. In a few hours the media would call, eager to hear the dirt. But he had a few hours of relative peace, and he needed to regroup.

He walked in, closed the door and stared at the gap on the wall above his desk. That hole wouldn’t be filled this year, maybe never. A trainer could wait a long time for a horse like Assets. “God damn you, Boone!” He kicked his chair, watching as it flipped upside down and crashed against the desk.

“Fire her, or I’ll take my horses,” Boone had said. He hadn’t been bluffing.

Mark dropped his head in his hands. He didn’t think Jessica had anything to do with the horses moving, but she’d looked so bruised this morning, she probably wouldn’t have tried to stop her grandfather. He knew she wouldn’t have picked Radcliff as their trainer. That had been Mark’s last-ditch negotiation.

He swore again.

How could she doubt how he felt? He’d shown her in every possible way, bent every single rule. He’d always feared she was attracted to him because he was the boss, and granted, that had made him a little edgy. Food and shelter ranked high on anybody’s list, and Jessica was a pragmatic woman. But it was impossible to run around the barn holding her hand every minute.

And this morning she’d walked away, just like Boone’s horses. No doubt winging her way to Europe or wherever it was they skied. At least she finally escaped her grandfather’s sticky web.

He ripped out Boone’s contact sheet, balled it up and tossed it into his wastebasket. Time to move on. The Boone family left a sour taste in his mouth, and he had a racing business to keep afloat.

He groaned as the phone buzzed insistently. Radcliff had probably called the media, delighted to spread the juicy news. But the display showed Kurt MacKinnon.

Mark slowly opened the phone.

“Your friend belongs to an Emirati group,” Kurt said, “who believe the UAE rulers are apostates violating Islamic law. A small timer, name of Josef Haddad.”

Mark blew out a sigh. “Why is he here?”

“No idea. Maybe he thinks your horse is owned by the sheikh,” Kurt said. “Need some help? Want me fly up?”

“Not necessary.”

“I have some people I can call.” Kurt sounded concerned. “They’ll keep anything safe.”

“Thanks…” Mark cleared his throat. “But it’s no longer my problem. Owner pulled all his horses half an hour ago.”

“Jesus, what an asshole! Who got ’em?”

“Radcliff.”

“Your horse run in blinkers?”

“No.”

“Good. Radcliff sticks them on all his two-year-olds. Your ex-owner just lost the Breeders’ Cup.” Kurt’s chuckle was deep and wicked, and Mark could picture him relaxed in his chair, feet propped on his desk, sucking on a coffee. “Tough to lose a horse like that,” Kurt added. “But I saw the colt at the sale and didn’t bother to bid. You spotted him, turned him into a racehorse. You can do it again.”

“I need money though,” Mark said wryly. “Is there a reward on this Haddad fellow?”

“Jesus, don’t go near him.” Kurt’s voice hardened. “And in an hour some of our intel people will be calling you with a shitload of questions. Sorry, buddy, couldn’t stop them. Not when they learned Haddad’s name.” He chuckled. “At least without a big horse, you now have some spare time.”

“Always a bright side,” Mark said.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dick adjusted the top of his hospital gown. His hand lingered over the angry purple line on his neck, and he made a rueful face.

“The scar’s not so bad,” Jessica said. “It gives you a rugged look.”

“My dear, that is not a look I ascribe to.”

No, that was more Mark’s look, she thought. That dark stubble before he shaved, the way his jaw set when he was annoyed, how his muscles rippled when he was all sweaty—

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re thinking of him again.”

“I am not.” She filled Dick’s water glass, eager for something to do. “Now that I’ve left the track, I hardly think of him at all.” Except when she was awake. She turned away from Dick’s knowing smile and stared out the window.

Saturday morning, Breeders’ Cup day. Traffic was only moderate but probably jammed at the track. Tomorrow she’d call her grandfather and ask some tough questions. Then drop by the track and congratulate Mark. She had no doubt Assets would win. She’d also tell Mark he’d been right about her knee and thank him for everything. Pay back his money and apologize for leaving because he had put Cathy’s horse in Buddy’s stall.

Maybe they could keep seeing each other even though she was unemployed and homeless and impulsive, and he could pick from any number of successful women. Confident women like Cathy or Emma Rae. Or maybe he’d already decided she was simply too much trouble.

Her hand trembled, and she tugged the curtain back, hoping the sliver of sun would warm her thoughts.

She should be happy. She was healthy and could do anything she wanted. Didn’t have to worry about pleasing her grandfather any more—or for that matter, Mark. Dick had it way worse. He was stuck in a hospital bed, and his well-wishers had trickled down to a grand total of one.

“It’s a different world, isn’t it?” She glanced over her shoulder at Dick. “The backside. It’s tough and transient and everyone forgets you in a heartbeat. Why do people do it?”

“Some because that’s all they can do,” Dick said. “Others because they can’t not do it.”

“You must be in the second category?”

“You tell me. But every winter my boss moves his stable to Florida, and I stay in New York and fundraise. And every spring I end up at the track. The horses get in your blood until it’s not even a choice. And my dear, if you can’t be happy with a man who thrives on strange hours and stranger owners and is maybe thinking of a horse instead of you, then you better keep running.”

“I’m not running. And it’s only been five days.” She wheeled from the window. “Besides, he wouldn’t keep me on as a groom.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you as a groom. Oh, don’t glower so.” Dick patted the bed. “Come sit down. The television is hooked up, and we have a perfect view of the Breeder’s Cup. We can criticize the clothes, pick out the ugliest hat and you can point out all the rich folk so I can hit them up for a donation.”

***

“Damn clean in here.” Dino stepped into Mark’s office, squeezing past a cardboard box bulging with tattered condition books, stained liniment bottles and two cracked helmets.

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Found another bottle of rum in the filing cabinet too. Maybe Dutch will want to celebrate later.”

“Don’t know. Those California sprinters look tough.”

“They are. But just having a horse running in the Cup…” He shrugged and poured Dino a coffee.

Dino settled back in his chair and flipped open
The Racing Form
. “You going over to watch?”

“Nope. Found the little TV when I cleaned up. I’ll watch from here.”

Dino nodded, sipping coffee and scanning
The Form
. “Assets is down to even money,” he said. “Sheikh’s horse is four to one. I’m thinking it’s a good day to bet against the favorite. Oh, and here’s another picture of you and Radcliff. Nice shot of you, but Radcliff looks shifty.” He grinned. “No wonder. This is written by that pretty little reporter who felt so sorry for you.”

Mark drank his coffee while Dino poked fun at the articles, clearly trying to make him smile. Seven more hours and it would be over. Seven more excruciating hours.

“More ‘no comments’ from you,” Dino said, his eyes hidden by his hat. “Oh, but this is a good quote from Boone. ‘Trainer just wanted to fuck my granddaughter.’”

Mark half rose, then sank back while Dino chuckled. Mark scowled and propped his boots on the desk, not appreciating the joke. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Dino grinned and tossed
The Form
aside. “Can’t help it. You’ve always been so focused. I never dreamed you’d toss it all for a woman. That’s my job.” He sobered. “Any regrets? Now that the big dance is here, and Radcliff has your horse?”

“Nope.”

“Think Assets will win?” Dino asked.

Mark shook his head, already aching for the cocky colt who was going to have his heart broken today. He didn’t want to see it, wanted Assets to run well, but the colt was feeling too good, had drawn the inside post and was bound to go with the speed horse in the four hole.

“If Radcliff runs him in blinkers, they’ll run that first quarter in just over twenty-two and burn out by the eighth pole. Radcliff is using that hotshot jockey from California, and the long stretch will kill them. Damn shame.”

“Stop. You’re making me cry.” Dino snorted. “So that’s two races the sheikh will win today. Looks like the Classic is his too, now that Spud’s horse is out. Did they get the necropsy report back on that horse?”

“Haven’t heard, but security is beefed up. It’s tighter than a drum now.”

Dino drained his coffee and stretched. “I’m off to lay some bets. See if I can make enough money to get me through the winter.” He paused, fingering one of five cell phones strewn on Mark’s desk. “This looks like my old phone.”

“Nope, that one was Lefty’s. But if you have a charger, plug it in. No one knows his next of kin. Maybe I can find someone to notify. Do something useful today.”

***

Dick tied his Keeneland scarf with an elaborate flair and posed in front of the disapproving nurse. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re well enough to go home.” The nurse gave a disapproving sniff. “There’s way too much of a party atmosphere in this room.”

“I’m leaving your fine establishment tomorrow.” Dick opened an oblong box and offered her a chocolate. “And the Breeders’ Cup only comes once a year. It’s sold out, but Jessica and I plan to enjoy it on television.”

“What’s the Breeders’ Cup?” the nurse asked, biting into the chocolate. “Is that like the Kentucky Derby?”

“No, Breeder’s Cup is two days in the fall when the best Thoroughbreds from all over the world meet in a lot of different races. Two-year-old races, turf races, dirt races, sprints. The Derby is one race on the first Saturday in May. It’s only for three-year olds.”

“Which race has the most money?” the nurse asked, eying the TV speculatively.

“Today’s biggest race is four million, way more than the Derby. The owner gets most of it, but winning trainers and jockeys get ten percent. Of course, what it does for their reputation is priceless.”

“Do you have a horse running?” She studied the chocolates before picking another one from the box.

“No, but Jessica touched a Breeders’ Cup horse once. Let me tell you about that. It was a cloudy day in September—”

“Some other time.” The nurse glanced toward the door, checking her escape route, grabbed a third chocolate and fled.

Dick gave a satisfied grin. “And that’s how you get rid of the nurses, Jessica. Bore them to tears, and they won’t be back for hours. It’s safe now. Shut the door and crack the peach schnapps.”

“Is this a traditional Breeders Cup drink?” Jessica asked, pulling out the smuggled bottles and mixing a generous measure of peach schnapps, orange juice and ice. “Glad it’s not rum.” Her stomach still lurched at the thought of rum, although this Fuzzy Navel drink smelled delicious. “Sorry I couldn’t find a
Racing Form
,” she added. “I got off the bus twice to check some stores, but no one had any left.”

“It’s all right.” Dick raised a sardonic eyebrow. “It’s doubtful the hospital has off-track betting, and I already know I’m cheering for the Irish boys and their adorable accents. Except, of course, your man’s horse. I do hope Ambling Assets wins the Juvenile.”

My man. I wish
. Jessica’s skin pricked with anticipation. In an hour or so, she’d see Mark. Sure, it was only on TV, but she was going to see him. She couldn’t imagine being in the shedrow now. Mark and Dino and Carlos and Squeaky must be out of their minds trying to hide their nervousness from the colt.

She wondered if Assets knew he was going to race. Buddy had always known. The change in routine, the tension of the handlers and, of course, once Assets left for the assembly barn the media would be all over him. Carlos and Mark would have to walk over, circled by cameras and microphones and questions.

“When is the Juvenile?” She rose and dragged out a more comfortable chair, not wanting to see the pretty face that now filled the small screen.

“Second race, right after the fillies,” Dick said, his gaze on the TV. “Wow, look at the ESPN lady and her stylish outfit. Now that is fetching.”

“Don’t you think the color washes her out?” Jessica asked. “Especially with such bleached blond hair?”

“Meow,” Dick said with a knowing smirk.

She slammed more ice in her glass, turning her head from Cathy Wright and her truly gorgeous appearance.

Coverage switched back to a retired jockey flanked by two solemn-sounding men, and Jessica sank back in her chair. “Who usually interviews the winners?” she asked. “I hope it’s the jockey. He has more interesting stuff to say than Cathy.”

“Yes, he’s good at providing color. But Ms. Wright’s job is to find the provocative questions.” Dick openly leered. “My, she certainly is provocative.”

Jessica tossed an ice cube at him. “I like the retired jockey best. He’s much more interesting.”