Backstretch Baby (29 page)

Juanita followed Eve into the RV. She sank down at the kitchen table, her hands folded in front of her. She waited until Eve shut the door, but when she spoke, her voice was low and determined.

“Camila’s sister needs this cash,” she said. “It was in Camila’s dorm. So it’s hers. And I’m going to send it to her.”

“Of course,” Eve said, deliberately casual as she poured some coffee. “Best to send it right away, before everything gets muddled.”

“But what if Ashley tells the guards?”

“We’ll have to send it quickly.” Eve paused. “Camila never mentioned this money, even when you were discussing raising funds for the hair business?”

“Nothing. Not a word.” Juanita’s face darkened, and it was obvious she felt somewhat betrayed by Camila’s surprising wealth. “I was packing up her things and found it hidden in a cracker box. Almost five thousand dollars.”

“Do you think it had something to do with Marcus?” Eve set a mug in front of Juanita. “Gambling maybe?”

“I don’t think she liked Marcus much,” Juanita said. “He’s full of big talk. And they always seemed to be arguing.” She shook her head and reached for the coffee mug.

Eve joined her, sitting down at the table and taking a little sip. She didn’t want caffeine, not this close to bedtime. But she needed to put Juanita at ease. When the woman first arrived at the barn, she’d been happy and excited. Now she just seemed pensive. Even secretive.

“If Camila did anything illegal,” Eve said, her voice gentle, “it won’t matter now. She can’t be arrested or deported. So there’s no reason to worry.”

“
Si.
” Juanita gave a weak nod. “And we’re still going ahead with our hair business. She’d like that. But we need more customers. Women are interested but not the men.”

“Rick might want a hair cut.”

“Good.” Juanita’s smile returned. “Tomorrow I’ll send over one of the girls.”

“But he wants the most experienced person. So it’s best if you cut it.” Eve’s fingers tightened around the handle of the mug. She didn’t want to break Juanita’s confidence, but Rick needed to know about this money. And she had no doubt that given twenty minutes with Juanita, he could humor her into providing a detailed list of every item in Camila’s room.

Besides, he wasn’t hung up on legalities, not like the starched collar guards. He’d be cool about sending it to Camila’s family, before it was caught up in a lengthy police investigation.

“We should send the money soon,” Eve said. “Before authorities find out.”

Juanita’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Someone else might already know about it,” Eve said. “Or maybe the money has something to do with Marcus. No doubt he’ll talk when the police catch him.”

Juanita turned her head, staring out the window over the sink. Daylight was waning, the sun staining the horizon with red. It was a pretty sight but even so, Juanita seemed unusually interested in the view.

“I was going to look for a drive to the post office next week,” she said, still staring out the window. “Tape up the box and mail the money with her clothes.”

“It’s safer to send money through a bank,” Eve said. “I can drive you after training on Monday. I’ll have Joey then. Maybe we can go to McDonalds afterwards.”

Juanita tapped her finger against her lip, watching as Rick strode past the window, shouldering a strip of heavy black rubber. The rubber was long and awkward, yet he carried it effortlessly.

Juanita leaned forward, waiting until he disappeared into the barn. “He keeps things safe,” she said slowly. “Your man.”

My man.
Eve nodded, filled with a warm glow. Rick liked to keep everything safe, animals and people. And now she wouldn’t have to worry about Stinger kicking the walls and hurting himself. Rick was also astute enough to stay away from the RV, realizing that Juanita wanted privacy.

“He is much liked,” Juanita went on. “But feared and respected too. No one would dare steal, not from him. Not even Marcus.” When she finally turned away from the window, her smile was back, as if she’d reached a difficult decision. “So I wish to keep the money here,” she added, “where it will be safe. And then I will cut his hair for free.”

Eve swallowed, moved by the woman’s trust. “Sure, we’ll keep Camila’s money here. But I’m sure he’ll want to pay for his cut.”

Despite Rick’s appearance, it was clear he had a well-padded bank account. And even though money wasn’t a challenge, his empathy for the workers was obvious. He understood that every dollar here was well earned.

“No,” Juanita said. “His haircut will be free.” She gave a knowing smile. “Because then I will have his picture on our posters. And the men will see it and they’ll all want haircuts, just like him. It’s just good business.”

Eve laughed but couldn’t argue with that logic. Whether it was Rick’s charisma or the tournament or simply because he knew how to make people feel good, he’d definitely made an impact. When she was galloping Stinger this morning, he’d watched from the rail alone.

But he hadn’t been alone for long. Within minutes, he’d been surrounded. And it wasn’t just the grooms who loved him. At one point his entourage had included a sportswriter and a security guard, as well as the feed man with the pesticide-free oats.

At the time, Eve had been riding beside Dana, the Pink Viper—the woman seemed to appear whenever Stinger turned fractious. Dana was tough and confident, and Eve quite liked her.

Dana had rolled her eyes at Rick and the cluster of people. ‘Popular guy,’ she said, and then she grimaced. ‘I was loaded that night. Looking for love. He said he was honored but couldn’t give me the attention I deserved because he was committed to another beautiful woman. Nicest rejection ever.’

‘I don’t suppose you get many rejections,’ Eve had said.

‘Not with this rack.’ Dana had stuck out her impressive breasts and they both laughed.

And then they’d gone on to talk about horses, and bullet works and Stinger’s street-punk attitude. Dana even agreed to pony him on race day, especially helpful since Stinger disliked other horses but was relatively accepting of Dana’s gelding, limiting his displeasure to the occasional nip.

Eve realized she’d been daydreaming and yanked her attention back to Juanita, not sure if she should blame her inattention on Rick, or Stinger, or maybe both.

“I’ll come right back with Camila’s box,” Juanita was saying. “And I’ll be here at five o’clock Monday morning to look after Joey.” She picked up the toy horse, smiling at its neigh. “This trailer is like a mansion. He’ll love it here. We’ll make sure of that.”

Gratitude warmed Eve’s chest. The early hours weren’t even a problem. Juanita already knew when a trainer was busy. And after morning gallops, Joey would have the chance to ride his first horse. She couldn’t wait to see his grin when he looked down from the top of Tizzy’s back. To be able to experience that special moment with him would be something she’d treasure forever.

There was little doubt that he’d love the track and want to stay here the rest of the meet. He certainly wouldn’t be much trouble. Sometimes he was mischievous but he was generally reasonable, a little reserved like her, but brave and athletic like his dad.

No, the trouble wouldn’t come from Joey. And the warmth in her chest was replaced with a chill of apprehension. Because while her son might want to stay, Scott and Megan could pose considerable resistance. And they were much harder to handle.

Rick padded from the washroom, his rumpled hair still damp from the shower. Eve’s eyelids had been drooping ever since Juanita left, but now his rampant masculinity prodded her awake. His jeans hung low on his lean hips and drops of water clung to his bare chest. He was battle scarred and magnificent, and she itched to touch him, even though seconds ago she’d been yawning.

He pulled a beer from the fridge and cocked an eyebrow.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” she said, still full from the barbecue. What she needed most was sleep. It was almost nine o’clock and she’d been up since five. Tomorrow would be an even longer day, with Stinger running in the eighth and Joey arriving. It was amazing Rick wasn’t exhausted too, especially since he’d been in the barn hanging rubber while she’d been sitting with Juanita.

He sat down at the table. His arm stretched behind her, carrying the heady smell of spicy soap and male skin. She noticed he’d left his beer in the fridge.

“No wonder you’re tired,” he said. “Most trainers are asleep by now. And you pull double duty as an exercise rider.”

She snuggled against his warm chest. “Juanita just left,” she said. “And I didn’t want to fall asleep before talking with you. Was there enough rubber to cover Stinger’s wall?”

“Enough to cover the back and both sides.”

His finger rubbed an achy spot at the base of her neck and her eyelids drooped again. But she couldn’t figure out how he had the energy to be so thoughtful. “Don’t you ever get tired? Or are you on some drugs I don’t know about?”

He didn’t answer and she tilted her head, checking his face.

“I’m used to small amounts of sleep,” he said slowly. “Generally I’m just starting work at this hour.”

That marked the first time he’d volunteered any information about his past, and curiosity replaced her tiredness. She knew he’d been involved with Scott in breaking up a mafia ring, and before that had infiltrated some sort of biker club. She’d assured herself it was merely a riding club, not the dreaded one percent. But sometimes there was a hardness in his eyes, a cold implacability, that made her suspect he was capable of a variety of things.

“The club you rode with,” she asked, “was it an outlaw club?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed, absorbing the ramifications. Obviously she couldn’t ask any more, but she couldn’t stop her mind from scrambling into overdrive, imagining the horrible things he’d been forced to do, simply to maintain his cover.

“I was a prospect,” he added. “Never patched in.”

She gave an involuntary sigh of distress and gripped his hand. A prospect had to constantly demonstrate his loyalty. Before being patched in, his face was circulated to every chapter. Some clubs also hired private investigators for background checks, and many had informants within the police force.

Scrutiny was intensive, the pressure overwhelming. And when an undercover agent was caught trying to infiltrate a biker gang, death wasn’t always quick. But it was usually the result.

She didn’t realize she was crying until his finger wiped her cheek.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m done with it. That was two years ago. And I was pulled before I was made. Don’t worry. There won’t be any repercussions.”

She shook her head, her throat too clogged to speak. It wasn’t fear about anyone finding them. It was imagining how he must have felt each time he parked his bike and walked into that clubhouse. The sheer terror of wondering if this would be the day they’d discover his true identity.

“I’m sorry.” She swiped at her eyes. “Everyone says a jockey’s job is dangerous but I can’t imagine what you must have gone through, how you felt.”

“It wasn’t too bad. I mostly served beer, ran errands. The president liked me so that helped.”

His voice was light but she wasn’t buying it. Before earning a patch, club members were brought in as prospects and faced a rigorous evaluation period. Dex said it could range from having a brother’s back to killing for the club. And like Boy Scouts, patches were awarded for a range of activities. Everything from gang bang to murder.

Her breathing was ragged, the only noise in the kitchen except for the sound of a dripping tap. She hadn’t turned it off properly after she rinsed Juanita’s mug. She kept her head against his shoulder, not looking at him or the sink, desperate to clear her mind of ugly images.

She tried thinking of something benign, picturing the water pooling at the end of the faucet, even counting the seconds before its weight sent it plopping to the bottom. But soon the dripping water would overflow…like the blood in the sink on
Sons of Anarchy
.

She shivered. It wasn’t that she lived in a pristine world. Far from it. One of her cousins had died in prison, and Joey’s father had some criminal history before he’d been murdered. However, the real biker gangs, the one percenters, were lethal. To be avoided at all costs. Their patches were an outlaw’s road map. Yet Rick had ridden with them, lived with them…been one of them.

And he’d just handed her confidential information. It couldn’t be a mistake. A man like him would have learned to measure his words, his actions, and be able to withstand intense scrutiny.

Yet he was so calm, sitting at the table, seemingly ready to field her questions. It had to mean he intended to stick around. Didn’t it?

She wasn’t sure how long the silence stretched. But his shoulder felt tense, and she was suddenly aware of his edge, like a taut wire. And it was obvious he wasn’t calm at all. He was simply waiting for her reaction. Anticipating emotion…maybe revulsion?

And she’d been so silent.

She reached for his hand, raised it to her mouth and kissed it. “If you tell me any more,” she said, “you’re either going to have to kill me or marry me.”

His breath escaped in a half-sigh, half-groan, and he pulled her to his chest, and then all she could hear was his pounding heart.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d think.” And then after a moment, he spoke again. “Riding with the club wasn’t too bad. Prep involved spending time in prison which meant a weekly piss test after release. That gave me a valid reason to refuse the drugs.”

She traced a finger along his tattooed arm, tracing the gray lines, then peered up at his hard jaw. “Were you ever asked to…kill someone?”

“Only once, but I had police pick him up in time.”

Her breath released in a slow exhale. He was a good man. If he’d ever had to murder someone just to gain the trust of a club, no doubt he’d be irrevocably scarred. But they could deal with this. She didn’t care about anything else, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask about other women. That was in his past. None of her business. Just like a horse with a troubled history, they could work through it.