Backstretch Baby (26 page)

“I talked to Scott about an hour ago,” she said. “He and Megan are coming Sunday to watch Stinger race. They’ll bring Joey too.”

“Did you tell him about Camila?”

“No,” she said. “I wanted to reassure him that it would be good for Joey here. That the place and people are fine.”

She twisted. But Rick’s face was shadowed, and it was too dark to see his expression.

“And I made a big mistake that you need to know,” she said. “When he asked where Joey would sleep, I mentioned the RV. So he knows all about it. And he’s a stickler about following rules. So we have to get rid of it before Sunday.”

She clasped her hands tighter. “If not, probably the best thing is to scratch Stinger. Then I can drive down Sunday night and pick up Joey, and Scott will have no reason to drive here.”

Rick remained silent, his face still shadowed. It was hard to tell if he was speechless at her blunder or simply concerned about his job. But when he spoke he sounded only incredulous, not angry. “You’d scratch your horse?” he asked. “After all the hard work? When your job’s on the line?”

“But Scott will check your expense account.” She wrung her hands in dismay. “And your job’s on the line too.”

“Sweetheart.” He wrapped his warm palms over her hands, stilling their twitching. “I appreciate your concern. But I bought that RV. Belinda arranged it because she’s the office assistant and a whiz with details. Other than that, it has nothing to do with the company.”

She blinked, utterly stunned. Almost everyone who worked at the track was broke. She’d assumed he shared the same financial challenges.

“I’ve been living in some skuzzy places,” he went on. “This was a chance to clean up and be normal. And I wanted that RV here. For us.”

“But it’s so much money.”

“I can afford it.”

“Then you should be sleeping in it.” She shook her head, aghast at how she’d expropriated his property. “I thought Scott was paying, so that made it okay for me to use. And I’ve been hogging everything. The kitchen, the shower, the magnetic bed.”

“Actually,” he said, “I was rather hoping you’d consider sharing that again.” He skimmed a finger over her collarbone.

In actual fact, he was the one who’d chosen to leave their bed, but it didn’t seem ladylike to remind him. And since he was always such a gentleman, she should act with some decorum. But already the skim of his finger was making her insides quiver. She’d never realized that spot was so sensitive. Of course, she’d never known her feet were so sensitive either.

He looked down at her and even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel the force of his desire. Darts of excitement charged her body. But he just stood there, so cool. She forced what she hoped passed as a long-suffering sigh.

“I guess we could negotiate something,” she said. “After all, it
is
your RV.”

“True,” he said, and though the word was gruff, his tone was tender.

His finger trailed along the top of her shirt, skimming and looping above the swell of her breasts, dipping, but not quite touching. And she wanted to step forward, wanted him to wrap that hand around her, and make them both forget everything except how well their bodies fit.

He didn’t say anything though, just seemed engrossed with mapping the bare section of her skin. One distracted finger, and already her breasts were tightening, but he was totally in the wrong spot, and she wanted to stand on her tiptoes and encourage him to pay better attention.

“So, I guess it’s your RV,” she prompted, wishing he wouldn’t just stand there. In another second, she’d be pulling off her shirt and rubbing against him like the orange cat he seemed to have adopted.

“I own it, yes,” he said, spending another frustrating moment examining the angle of her collar bone.

“And you need to shower and make coffee and stuff,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“Then maybe we could share,” she said. “Make some sort of arrangement.”

“I’ll deal on the kitchen and shower,” he said. “Even the chocolate and coffee. But not the master bedroom.” He looked down at her then, his eyes glittering. “Please, sweetheart, not that.”

His voice was so taut she realized she’d mistaken his dawdling for lack of interest. And that he didn’t intend to move until he was invited in, even though he must know how easily he could make her melt.

She inched closer, feeling his pulsing heat, the bulge of his arousal. And she gave thanks that their incredible sexual attraction wasn’t one-sided.

But she tilted her head, pretending it required some degree of thought. “You want the master bedroom?” She gave an aggrieved huff. “But my sunglasses are already in that room. I can’t just
move
them.”

“Of course not,” he said. “If your sunglasses are there, you’ll have to stay.” He sobered. “We’ll work it out, Eve. Whatever it takes.”

He was obviously talking about more than sharing the master bedroom, and it was also clear he thought it would be a considerable challenge.

But when he scooped her up and carried her toward the RV, she could feel the urgency in his body, his unusual clumsiness as he fumbled for the door. And it was clear he was just as hungry as she was.

And for tonight, there was no need to worry about anything else.

Rick curved a hand around Eve’s bare hip, wishing dawn hadn’t come so quickly. It was still dark, but the horses were impatient for their breakfast, and he suspected it was Stinger who was slamming the wall.

“I heard a car,” she whispered, her voice groggy. “Was that a guard driving Ashley?”

“Yes,” he said. “Everything’s under control. Try to sleep a bit more.”

“I hope that isn’t Tizzy kicking. They can hurt themselves. And he’s racing today…”

Her voice trailed off, her breathing deepening. He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss against her soft cheek. They hadn’t had much sleep last night, but he felt amazingly rested. Optimistic. Even happy.

It was an unusual feeling, this contentment that filled his chest but conversely lightened his arms, his legs, his entire body. He hadn’t experienced it in a long time. Didn’t expect to ever feel it again. His therapists said he should never have been a cop. But he liked people, liked helping. He just couldn’t handle the pervasive sense of worthlessness every time he lost someone. Especially the innocent.

He nuzzled her neck, hoping she’d wake up and help him block those darker thoughts. He didn’t want to churn up any ugliness. He was at Riverview Racetrack where life was refreshingly simple. Here, horses ruled, and drugs were the biggest crime. Camila’s death was tragic but surely an aberration.

However, an insidious fear kept creeping into his psyche, taunting that he couldn’t keep Eve safe. That he was missing something. And he couldn’t shut off the voice.

He still had no clear picture of Victoria. She definitely had the queen bee syndrome, and she’d been causing trouble for Eve—something he’d never forgive—but sending Marcus after a woman Eve barely knew seemed a quantum leap.

And it was troubling there was surprisingly little chatter about Marcus. Generally there were warning signs, hushed whispers. However, the most Rick had gleaned about the man was that he was a big talker with a weakness for gambling. Sure, he liked the women. But no one had stepped forward with any stories of brutality. The people who’d complained to Liam in the past had refused to file reports and drifted on to other tracks or already left the States. So, like Victoria, Marcus remained a shadowy figure. But a man who didn’t seem to pose a danger to Eve. And someone Rick could deal with.

His gaze shot toward the shadowed hallway. Soon there’d be a kid sleeping in the spare bedroom. And he could deal with that too.

But the thought made his forehead prickle and a cold sweat rose on his brow. Moments later, the dampness spread to his neck and back, soaking the pillow and leaving his skin tight and itchy.

I can do this.

But his heart was pounding, his chest turning tight, and he just wanted to flip Eve onto her back and find some sweet oblivion.

He gulped, remaining rigid, trying to control his body, his scrambling thoughts. Possibly he should check out Victoria, see what made her tick. It was never smart to rely on secondhand reports. Scott planned to send an investigator to Santa Anita but if Rick went up, there’d be no need for an additional man.

Yes, Sunday might be an excellent time to drive to Santa Anita. He could meet the woman, figure out her thought process, and what she was capable of. It would only take a few days, maybe a week… And by then Eve’s kid would be gone.

The docs called that avoidance. To him, it was survival.

“What’s wrong?” Eve’s breath fanned his chest. “You’re squeezing my ribs.”

“Sorry.” He forced his arms to loosen. “I’m just thinking of Tizzy’s race,” he said quickly. “What’s your schedule today?”

“Take Tizzy and Miguel over to the paddock. Let them see it one more time. Gallop the rest. Stinger will have a quarter mile blowout, just to stretch his legs before the race tomorrow.”

She spoke casually about the gallops but he knew they were demanding. And he’d kept her up most of the night. Add in all the emotional turmoil and there was no doubt she was exhausted. This was a big weekend too, a last chance for everyone to keep their jobs. And all he was thinking about was how he could keep her in bed for another half hour…and the easiest way to avoid her kid.

“I’ll clean the tack after I do the stalls,” he said, fighting his utter sense of worthlessness. “And tidy up outside. Any race day superstitions I should know about?”

“Like all night sex before a race?” she asked, her teasing words ended in a yawn.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to wish away his erection. She was obviously sleepy but he needed her, so badly. Even he was surprised at the depth of his desire. The sound of her voice, the way her lips moved, the sexy sounds she made when he was moving deep inside her. It made him want to howl at the moon, leap tall buildings and carry her off to a remote cave. All at the same time.

But she was a fit and vibrant woman. Perhaps it was always like this for her, the complete and utter wanting.

“Is it usually good luck?” he asked, keeping his voice light, as if her answer didn’t matter so very much. “All night sex, before a race?”

“Let me think.” She tilted her head, waiting a beat before smiling and putting him out of his misery. “No, dude. This is the first time I’ve ever done that.”

“Good.” And a rush of masculine pleasure loosened the tightness in his chest until his breathing felt almost normal again.

He lowered his head, capturing her mouth, loving the feel of her lips, their shape and taste, how her tongue mated so perfectly with his. And how her very presence blew away his fears.

“So,” he said, raising his head a notch, “if Tizzy wins today, we’ll have to duplicate this. Every night.”

She gave a throaty laugh, wiggling from his arms and clearly ready to turn her attention to the horses. “Even you have to sleep some time,” she said.

It wasn’t quite the response he wanted. Actually he didn’t know what he wanted, except that he didn’t want their time here to end. With Eve, he felt whole again. He even slept better, that is, when they weren’t making love. No more thrashing or night sweats or staring at the ceiling, waiting for the start of another gray day.

Sure, he’d had a tiny little panic attack at the thought of her kid pattering down the hall. But that hadn’t lasted long. Her presence had washed it away. She and the backstretch community were good for him.

This was a different world, a place where obsessions revolved around the horses, with long hours, backbreaking work and unpredictable pay. As consuming as a love affair that delivered grief one day, ecstasy the next. But it was a life he wanted to embrace.

“How much longer are you here?” he asked, rising and groping on the floor for his scattering of clothes. “Twenty-two more days?”

“Twenty-one. But only if Tizzy and Stinger run well.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure they do.” But for a moment, he fumbled with his shirt, because while he could use his unique skills to keep Eve safe, the other elements were beyond his control.

And it was rather unsettling that their happiness depended on two erratic Thoroughbreds. And one small boy.

*

Eight hours later, Rick was still on edge. Tizzy didn’t act like the other horses in the race. He walked around the saddling enclosure, his head so low his nose almost touched Miguel’s arm, unaffected by the buzzing crowd thronging the paddock or the colorful pageantry.

Loudspeakers blared, spectators pointed, cameras clicked. All the other horses pranced and one gray horse with white lather on his neck kicked out so forcefully the people by the rail scrambled away. But Tizzy remained oblivious.

Rick glanced at Ashley. “Think he’s tired? Or sick? Maybe he hurt his legs kicking the stall?”

Ashley shook her head, not even glancing up from her race form. “Miguel has two bum knees,” she said. “Tizzy knows that, so he’s walking slow. He’s a very obliging horse, especially when there’s no rider.”

“Great he’s so obliging,” Rick said. “But does that mean he’s going to oblige the other horses by letting them pass?”

“That’s always the question.” Ashley finally looked up, but she didn’t seem surprised by Tizzy’s behavior. Her attention locked on the flashing tote board. “We’ve boxed him with the number two and eight horse,” she said. “His times are better than the others. But he might have lost his mojo.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t,” Ashley said. “Not until the race.”

He grimaced. Tizzy and Miguel acted like they were out for a sightseeing tour, not twenty minutes away from a very critical race. A race that Jackson was insisting Tizzy win.

Granted, they both looked good. Miguel was unusually spiffy in his new shirt, and Tizzy’s coat was so shiny it reflected the sun. But they were definitely the odd pair in the paddock. At one point Miguel stumbled and Tizzy came to a full stop, as if waiting for the old groom to regain his feet.