Backstretch Baby (18 page)

She blinked. He wasn’t a biker at all, but a cop. It was amazing she hadn’t picked that up. Generally she had a radar for police, and it usually sent her bolting in the opposite direction. But Rick didn’t walk or talk or think like a cop.

“But you have prison tattoos,” she said slowly. And then she groaned. “Now I understand. You don’t have a record at all. The tattoos are just for show.”

She must have sounded disappointed, because his voice strengthened with amusement. “Sorry,” he said. “No record.”

A squirrel scolded from a nearby tree, but their eyes remained locked, neither of them speaking while she struggled with the implications. He was a cop. She was sleeping with a cop. She rolled that thought around for a moment, trying to absorb it, wondering if her lip was curling with distaste.

“I never thought I’d hook up with a cop,” she finally said.

“Ex.” His eyes twinkled.

“I suppose that’s okay then. At least it was undercover, no uniform.” Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t wear a uniform, did you?”

“Well, yes, I did.” He chuckled. “But only for the first two years. Sorry, sweetheart.”

“At least you don’t wear a uniform now,” she said, trying not to smile, but it was hard not to feel happy when he called her sweetheart. It didn’t sound like a casual term of endearment either, but something he sincerely meant.

Besides, he’d probably been a good policeman. That was definitely a safer job than working undercover and dealing with the constant fear of having your throat slit. Her heart kicked with empathy.

“It must have been terrifying living with criminals,” she said. “Wondering if this is the day you might get caught. Worrying that someone you know could say hello. And accidentally give you away.”

“I was pretty deep,” he said. “Didn’t run into many acquaintances.”

“So you lived with outlaws. Laughed and talked and made friends.” A lump clogged the back of her throat. “And then you had to turn them in. That must have been hard.”

“It wasn’t too bad. Most of them were murderers.” He shrugged, but she could feel the muscles cording in his arms.

“But not all of them,” she said. “And I know that must have hurt a kind person like you.”

He stared down at her, and for a moment he let her see everything in those dark eyes. The regret, the anguish. The way a muscle spasmed on the corner of his jaw. “It did,” he admitted.

He looked away, abruptly engrossed with the scolding squirrel. Then he pressed her head against his shirt, his fingers splaying beneath her hair, and it was clear the talking was over.

Her heart ached for his obvious ambivalence, but it was significant he’d even confided about his work. And for now, that was enough.

Rick turned at the crest of the hill and studied the scene below—the barn, the RV, Eve’s car. If he had his binoculars, he’d probably be able to spot the orange cat sunning itself beside the barn.

“What a great view,” Eve said. “You can see everything from here… Her voice trailed off and it was clear her quick mind understood the implications. “So that’s how they always knew when we were gone,” she added glumly.

He gave her slim hip a comforting squeeze and checked the other side of the hill. It was a beautiful property and clearly had once been a well-loved farm. A driveway led to a sturdy farmhouse with a sweeping verandah, then curved down the hill to a dirt road. Obviously the track had leased the barn but didn’t want the house, and had separated them with a chain link fence.

But someone had visited recently. The long browning grass was flattened by tire tracks. The vehicle had parked below the crest of the hill, above the farmhouse but out of sight for anyone in Eve’s barn.

He studied the squashed grass. Not wide enough for a tractor or farm vehicle. And there were several larger areas where the vehicle had parked, and then turned. Something glinted in the sun. He bent and pulled a bottle cap from the tangle of grass.

“Someone was cocky enough to enjoy a beer while they were watching you,” he said, studying the cap. “A Corona. Probably not teenagers. They’re more inclined to toss the bottles. Let’s see if we can find anything else.”

He tucked her arm beneath his and they walked along the grass, checking the ridge. Insects droned and butterflies fluttered, but there was no other sign of people. Whoever had parked here had been very careful, which was puzzling in itself.

If Victoria had begged or bribed an acquaintance to cause trouble, he would have expected a more rushed job, something they did when they weren’t working at the track. Yet the person, or people here, had been very patient. And judging from the grass, they’d been here many times.

“I hope they wasted three weeks of their life sitting here,” Eve said. She wrinkled her nose like she did when she was disgusted, but it was clear she was a little spooked.

“No one’s been in the barn since I arrived,” he said, cupping her arm a little tighter. “So it’s more of a nuisance than anything else.”

But even as he rushed to reassure her, something didn’t sit right. It felt like he was missing a link. Maybe he wouldn’t fix the hole in the fence. That way he could sneak up the hill and catch the creep.

He didn’t want her worrying. She had enough problems dealing with the horses and her wimpy boss. Scott had already warned it was critical that Eve’s horses run well this weekend.

“Is Tizzy ready to race?” he asked, steering her away from the bruised grass. “It looked like he galloped well today.”

She gave a grateful nod, as if aware he was changing the subject but happy to do so. She’d sent Tizzy for gate training, and everyone had been all smiles afterwards. It was interesting that she thought the horse would try harder with a female jockey, but it made sense. If he were a horse, he’d prefer a woman rider too.

“Miguel’s our secret weapon,” Eve said. “He’s going to rub Tizzy tonight. We’ve tried different masseuses and chiropractors, but it’s Miguel who always gets results. His massage might add an inch to Tizzy’s stride. And if that happens…” She shrugged but her face glowed with anticipation.

“I’m surprised your boss doesn’t hold Miguel in higher esteem.”

“Jackson won’t admit it,” she said. “He prefers to think it’s his training that makes a difference. But I ride in the morning, and it’s always apparent when Miguel has been rubbing a horse. He’s too arthritic to give many massages and he’s busy with all his other duties. But Dex and Dani—Tizzy’s owners, they think Miguel makes a difference too.” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s going to be a great race. Especially if you win the tournament tonight and Tizzy gets to wear a normal bridle.”

“Then let’s hope Tizzy and I both win.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, amused his worries now revolved around massages and tossing a beer cap. And he was happy about that. Life at the track was utterly absorbing, leaving no time to brood about past mistakes. His head was too crammed with horses.

Or maybe it was filled with the woman by his side. Now that he’d told her about his work, he felt lighter, as if he finally had the chance to start fresh. He hadn’t been truly open with anybody since leaving the Police Academy.

He glanced down the hill at the empty picnic tables. A red bucket sat in the middle of the sand pit, but thankfully the women and children were gone. It was safe to return.

“Getting hungry?” he asked, swinging Eve around and nuzzling her neck. “Let’s go back and order supper. Woody recommended pizza, but warned me not to eat or drink anything after five.”

She laughed, fitting into his chest as if she’d been built for him. “Woody’s sure serious about winning. There’ll be a lot of teams though. You’ll have to keep your eye out for someone who drinks Corona and knows Victoria.”

“I’ll be keeping my eye out for a lot of things,” he said, “but I do plan on winning you that gift certificate.”

“Good. And I’ll cheer you on. But shouldn’t we check the farmhouse first? Just in case my tack’s there?”

He could already see the house was deserted. The grass around the building was undisturbed, the doors and windows boarded and dust covered the steps. But if she wanted to explore around the house, then he was all for it. In fact, he was all for anything that made her happy.

“Sure.” He obligingly veered to the left. “Seems like the house is still solid. Even the roof looks good. That verandah could hold a lot of people.”

“It’s a beautiful property but my favorite part is the field.” She blew out a wistful sigh. “Joey would love it here. We don’t have a yard where we live.”

His chest tightened. What the hell? A boyfriend? But he kept his voice level, his eyes studiously fixed on the house. “Who’s Joey?”

He felt her look at him, felt her pretty smile, but he just stared at the house, feeling like somewhere an axe was flying through the air, heading toward his back.

“Joey’s my son.”

“Oh,” he said, staring at the house like a roofer counting nails. But his mouth turned bone dry and the front of his head began to throb, and he couldn’t manage another word.

“That’s how I know Scott and Megan,” she went on. “Joey’s father was Megan’s brother. We all met at jockey school. I assumed you knew. That it was in my file.”

“Nope,” he said, still staring blankly at the shingles.

“That’s nice Scott took out my personal info,” she said happily. “At first I was resentful he sent you. Afraid they wanted to apply for joint custody. Especially since I’ve been struggling lately. That’s the real reason I didn’t want you around.”

She went on to talk about heroin and bad cops and how Joey was named after his dad and that it wasn’t surprising he’d wanted a pony since both she and his father loved horses. But the pain in his forehead drowned out her voice, and his jaw clamped so tightly his teeth hurt. And the middle of his chest felt gutted, as if someone had carved a hole then yanked out his beating heart with both hands.

Because this was worse than a boyfriend. This was…impossible.

“Joey’s fine,” Eve’s mother said. “I don’t think you should talk to him though because he’ll just start missing you again. But he’s excited about spending the weekend with Megan and Scott.”

“Great.” Eve gripped her phone a little tighter and edged away from the picnic table. “How’s everything else? How’s your knee?”

Her mother complained for another ten minutes about her aching leg, the doctor’s outrageous prices, and how the tenants in the adjacent apartment made too much noise. By the time Eve cut the connection, her stomach was churning. Her mother did her best. But Joey needed a younger, more positive caregiver.

If only she had some of Tizzy’s purse money right now. Lately though, Tizzy had been unreliable. And everyone knew banking on winning only brought bad luck. It wasn’t fair to raise doubts with her staff but she needed to talk to someone. Needed to reassure herself that Tizzy really would run better with all the changes she’d made.

Jackson was the head trainer. He’d understand her nerves, the constant second guessing. She checked the time then pressed his number. Victoria answered his phone in the morning but hopefully Eve could reach Jackson when he was doing night rounds. It’d been three days since she had talked to him, and either Victoria didn’t pass on her messages or else he’d chosen not to respond.

Jackson answered on the fourth ring. “Yup,” he said.

Eve sighed with relief. “I’m so glad to have reached you.”

“Yeah, well, hurry and talk. Got a vet waiting.”

“Sure,” she said quickly. “Just want to let you know Tizzy’s entered in the seventh on Saturday, an allowance race. Julie West is riding.”

“Sounds good,” he said grudgingly. “Surprised she agreed to ride him. His record this year sucks.”

“She worked him from the gate today and loved him. He likes her too. I really think he goes better for a female rider. Dex and Dani think that’s possible too.”

“Don’t talk to the owners,” Jackson said. “That’s Victoria’s job now.”

“But they’re my friends. And Tizzy’s their only racehorse. They want to stay involved, have fun—”

“Don’t talk to the owners,” he snapped. “Can’t you follow orders?”

“Of course I can.” She swallowed back her hurt. This conversation wasn’t going the way she hoped. Jackson was the experienced horseman and she had so many questions. Should she wrap Tizzy’s hind legs? Run him in blinkers? Switch his shoes to ones with a rounder toe? Mainly she wanted reassurance, to talk to someone who understood a trainer’s constant angst.

“I won’t call them,” she said, clearing her throat. “But they’ll want to watch Tizzy’s race. Are you sure Victoria will let them know he’s entered?”

“Of course she will. And not making owner calls will save you time. You’re struggling enough.” His voice turned accusatory. “Just get those horses running. Don’t worry so much about little cuts and bruises. They’re not pets.”

“I just want to make sure they’re healthy. We had a few problems but everything’s good now. Ashley and Miguel are working hard.” She hesitated. “Victoria picked a race for Stinger. I don’t agree with the distance though. It’s over a mile and he’s never run that far. I’ve been trying to get more air into him but…”

“Good.” Jackson grunted. “Run him long. Just get him in a race on Sunday. Make me some money.” His voice lowered. “It’s getting tight here. I had a couple owners move—”

A woman’s authoritative voice sounded in the background, and he muttered an unintelligible oath. Seconds later, his words turned crisp, and it was clear Victoria was within earshot.

“Remember not to let Ashley in the paddock,” Jackson went on. “It doesn’t look good to have a pregnant groom handling a horse.”

“But you said Miguel’s too old to be around the public.”

“Then maybe it’s time they both look for another job. We’re not running a charity.”

He cut the connection without asking anything more about Tizzy or Stinger or even about Banjo’s sore back.

She shoved the phone back in her pocket, stiff with despair. First Rick was acting weird. Then she wasn’t allowed to talk to her son. And now Jackson was sounding more and more like Victoria.