Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (10 page)

Frankie stiffened. Even before he stepped into the glow of the street lamp, she already recognised Rhys. She edged backwards, careful not to make a sound. But such was her
unfamiliarity with putting the bins out, she forgot about the abandoned flowerpots lined up against the gate. Frankie registered ice cold water as she stepped in one of the pots before she crashed to the floor. Rhys stopped in his tracks. Frankie dived for cover behind the wheelie bins.

Heart thumping, she peeped through the gap between them. Rhys was looking her way. She whipped out of sight again and sat with her back against the bin, uncomfortably aware of cold water now seeping through her jeans. How, she wondered, could her life have been so pleasantly Rhys Bradford-free for twenty-three whole years yet now he was on her radar wherever she bloody went?

Peace Offering broke into a lethargic canter and Frankie flapped her legs against his ribs. She was finding the thrill of riding the Grand National favourite slowly being sweated out of her. With the Becher Chase, the stage for her mount’s seasonal reappearance, less than a fortnight away, the Aspen Valley team were working hard on getting their performer fit. Jack quizzed Frankie more thoroughly about the feel she got from each ride on him than he did about any of her other horses and he checked him over after each gallop. Frankie wondered if this special attention was because Peace Offering was the Grand National favourite or because Peace Offering belonged to his future wife. Maybe it was a bit of both. All she knew was that Virtuoso, their antepost favourite to win another Cheltenham Gold Cup, barely got a look in.

‘Come on, you lazy bugger,’ she muttered as Peace Offering threatened to slow to a trot.

‘Keep him up to his work, Frankie!’ Jack yelled from the middle of the schooling paddock.

Uncomfortably aware of Rhys watching from the fence Frankie o
bediently kicked again and slapped the horse’s bay neck. Peace Offering flicked his ears and carried his head awkwardly. Around the paddock’s outside lane, they approached the first schooling fence. Peace Offering was lagging so badly they were practically beneath the fence before he took off. He scraped through the brush and only another slap from Frankie on the other side stopped him from breaking into a trot.

Frankie gritted her teeth, aware that the rest of the small string was being held up because of them.

‘Come on, wake up!’ She booted him forward, hearing the swish of Peace Offering’s tail lashing the moist air. The next fence beckoned. ‘A big one this time, come on. Give it some air.’ She thrust with her hips, shovelled with her shoulders, scrubbed with her fists. Peace Offering grudgingly lengthened his stride, but still decided to put a short one in before take-off.

Jack called them over once the exercise was finished. Frankie couldn’t quite meet his eyes as they halted beside him. The trainer’s damp jacket collar was rucked up around his neck and his nose was red with cold. Without a word, he parted Peace Offering’s lips to
inspect his gums. He felt the horse’s pulse under his elbow for a few seconds then stood back and looked up at Frankie.

‘Did it feel as bad as it looked?’

Frankie looked down at her gloved hands and nodded. There was no point in lying.

‘Maybe he’s just having an off-day,’ Jack muttered. ‘Horses get them just as much as we do.’

Frankie didn’t like to say Peace Offering was having more of an off-month than day. If he was a person, his employers would be sending him off to the company shrink to talk through his problems.

‘I’ll get the vet to come out and check him over,’ Jack continued. ‘He might be running a temperature. Maybe he’s picked up a low-grade virus or something.’

‘Maybe,’ Frankie agreed. ‘Or he might be finding it hard to get fit this season.’

Jack sighed.

‘He’s still only nine though. Granted, he’ll be ten in the New Year, but it’s not like he’s some old codger.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets and frowned at Peace Offering. The horse tossed his head and watched the rest of his string walk away from the paddock. ‘We’ll see what Warnock has to say first. Who have you got next?’

‘Ta’ Qali.’

‘Good. I want to see how he goes. I want to give him a run when we go up to Aintree.’

Frankie’s foot slipped out of the stirrup. She stared at Jack.

‘On Becher Chase Saturday?’

‘Well, he won’t be in the Becher Chase obviously. There’s a good novice hurdle the same day.’

Frankie tried not to show her doubt. She was quickly falling in love with Ta’ Qali. He might have a terrible stable manner, but he was an angel to ride. Having said that, he was still only learning the ropes.

‘Ta’ Qali’s a smart horse, Frankie. You and
him have been coming along great in the school. He’s ready to run.’

Frankie gulped. She
didn’t like to question Jack…

‘But at Aintree?’ she said, her voice shrinking.

Jack gave her a grim smile.

‘I know. Not ideal. There are some easier races at Uttoxeter the same day. But you, Rhys and Donnie will have a full day already. Running him in the novice hurdle at Aintree is the only way Rhys will get to ride him.’

Frankie’s heart took on water. She knew it shouldn’t, but she’d dared to hope that since Ta’ Qali was her responsibility at home that it would remain so at the races too. The reality was that Rhys—and Donnie, for that matter—would get first choice for every ride in the stable regardless of who looked after it. Unless she beat him at poker again, that is.

She chanced a look at Rhys, standing slack-hipped with his arms resting on the fence. Dark eyes, indistinguishable beneath his brows, regarded her right back. Frankie quickly dropped her gaze.

‘Right, get this boy back to his stable,’ Jack said, giving Peace Offering a resigned pat. ‘Standing around in the cold won’t be doing him any good if he’s under the weather.’

His words ran through her head as she walked Peace Offering through the mist and back to the stables alone. She tried to tell herself he was right. He was a training genius, after all. He must be right. Frankie didn’t know why she couldn’t completely believe him though. No matter how many excu
ses she and Jack came up with—viruses, fitness, off-days—she knew it was something else. Something quite simple really. Something which only a rider can distinguish by the feel they get when astride. It wasn’t anything complicated or life-threatening—

Catching Rhys’
s eye, she gulped. His lithe body exuded a predatory stillness. His watchful eyes followed her passage past him. Very subtly he tilted his head, his manner curious. A shiver stole over Frankie. That barely perceptible movement warned her he had more than an inkling of what was going through her mind.

Bonnie Tyler was cut short partial-eclipse of the heart in the car park of Helensvale Community Centre where Frankie helped out with the local Girl Guides group. Cursing as she nearly turned her ankle in a shadowed pothole, Frankie stumbled in the dark towards the gothic wooden entrance doors. She winced as the the door gave its best haunted house impression when she pushed it open. The shift and shuffle of two dozen starched uniforms turned to watch her late arrival and she raised her hand in a quick apology. She hurried across the parquet flooring to take her seat beside Victoria, a fellow Guider in Charge. Satisfied that she wasn’t anyone more exciting, the semi-circle of girls turned back to the woman addressing them.

‘You’re late,’ Victoria hissed. ‘What kind of example are you setting?’

‘I know,’ Frankie whispered into her shoulder. ‘What have I missed?’

‘Just Mrs Vickers from the council talking about careers advice.
She makes shifting paperwork sound like Disneyland. Lying cow.’

‘Well, we don’t want to dash their dreams just yet.’

‘Where’ve you been anyway?’

‘Got held up at work Oh, look sharp, Queen Bee’s giving us the eagle eye.’

Frankie and Victoria straightened in their plastic chairs as Bronwyn, the matriarch of Guides in Charge frowned in their direction. The end of Mrs Vickers’ speech was received with polite applause from the Guides apart from Harriet and Mischa who were too busy plaiting each other’s hair. Bronwyn got up and thanked Mrs Vickers for sharing her knowledge.

‘Now girls, if you’ll get into your patrols, we’ll start on tonight’s Go
For It activities: the GFI Top Job!’

The small community hall was filled with girlish chatter and giggles as they all grouped together. Frankie noticed an unfamiliar girl standing uncertainly at the back. She was tall for her age, which Frankie estimated to be no more than thirteen, with lank brown hair and round shoulders.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked Victoria, careful not to point.

‘New girl.
Cassa Preston. Just moved here from Norfolk with her mum. Parents were in a sticky divorce. Mum’s a nurse, father’s a doctor.’

‘Looks like
Cassa’s the casualty.’

‘I’ve put her in Starfish Patrol. Her mum’s here as well acting as a helper.’ Victoria motioned to a woman with coifed blonde hair talking with Bronwyn.

‘Right. I’ll go see to Cassa then.’

Frankie approached the girl with a welcoming smile. The poor thing looked like she’d just stepped into a snake pit.

‘Cassa?’

Cassa gulped and nodded.

‘Hi, I’m Frankie. It’s great that you’re able to join us. Have you been to Guides before?’

‘Not really,’ she said, looking at her feet.

‘Okay. Well, I bet you’re going to have lots of fun here. Have you heard of Go For Its before? They’re like badges except bigger.’

Cassa mumbled something inaudible. Frankie put her hand on Cassa’s hunched shoulder.

‘The Go For It we’re starting tonight is Top Job so we all get to discuss what we want to do in the future and do lots of fun activities. Come meet the rest of your patrol. You’re in Starfish and the other girls are really nice so you don’t need to be nervous.’

Cassa attempted a smile and let Frankie steer her towards a huddle of five girls aged between ten and fourteen.

‘Hi Frankie!’ they chorused.

‘I saw you sneak in late,’ one said, triggering giggles from the others.

‘Thanks for that, Harriet. I do like your hair in plaits. Did your mum do them for you?’

Harriett blushed to her roots and the patrol snorted.

‘Let’s get started. Everyone, this is Cassa. Cassa, this is Harriet, Mischa, Louise, Charlotte and Tammy.’

Cassa gave an awkward wave and seemed to shrink even further into her uniform.

The patrol sat down and waited for Frankie to read out their first activity. Frankie flicked through the sheets she had hastily printed off before coming out tonight.

‘Okay, first of all, what do you guys want to be when you leave school?’

Eleven-year-old Charlotte’s hand shot up.

‘A vampire,’ she said, beaming at Frankie.

Frankie narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if she was being serious or not.

‘You can’t be a vampire, Charlotte,’ Mischa said.

Frankie smiled at the wizened knowledge of their oldest patrol member. ‘How are you going to make any money? Being a vampire isn’t a
career
, silly. It’s a fact of life.’

Frankie rethought her judgement of Mischa.

‘Charlotte, vampires aren’t real,’ she said.

Charlotte’s lower lip sagged like a pink slug.

‘I want to be a vampire.’

‘But—
’ Frankie hesitated when she saw Charlotte’s lip quiver. ‘Okay, we’ll let it slide for now. Who else?’

‘I want to be a chef,’ Harriet piped up.

Thank God, an achievable career prospect.

‘Lovely, Harriet! Do you like cooking?’

Harriet scrunched up her nose.

‘It’s okay, I guess. I want to be a TV chef like Gino.’

Frankie felt a twinge of embarrassment that this was Cassa’s introduction to the apparently delusional Helensvale Girl Guides group.

‘Fine.
Louise?’

Louise transferred a boiled sweet from one cheek pouch to the other.

‘A fashion designer.’

‘That sounds exciting. Why?’

‘Because clothes are so expensive in the shops. If I designed my own then I can get a discount on them when Mum and I go shopping at Debenhams.’

Frankie considered pointing out the obvious flaw in Louise’s grand plan, but decided at ten years of
age, Louise was entitled to keep her theory.

‘Okay. Tammy?’

‘A lawyer.’

‘Any particular reason?’
Frankie was almost too scared to ask.

‘Because I can help put criminals in jail.’

Hurrah! Frankie rejoiced silently, a plausible career with justifiable reasons.

‘Mischa?’

Mischa Banks batted her striking blue eyes and addressed the other girls as if she was bestowing them with a rare pearl of wisdom.

‘I’m going to be a journalist so I can tell tales and get paid for it.’

‘Very impressive,’ Frankie said, unsurprised. ‘Cassa?’

Cassa licked her lips and scanned the parquet floor for cracks.

‘I’d like to be a singer.’ She looked up to check everyone’s reaction. Frankie watched her focus on something over her shoulder, saw the panic suddenly fill the girl’s eyes. ‘Or a nurse. I want to be a nurse.’

Frankie screwed round in her chair to see what could cause this sudden change in career path. Cassa’s coifed mother was smiling down at them.

‘Hello, Mrs Preston, I’m Frankie.’

‘Hello, Frankie.
Nice to meet you. You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m still learning everyone’s names.’ Mrs Preston squatted down beside their patrol. ‘I see you girls don’t have a leader to help you so I thought I’d come over and see how I might help. What you would like to be when you grow up, Frankie?’

Frankie blinked. The rest of Starfish Patrol sniggered. Mrs Preston looked genuine enough.

‘A jockey I guess.’

‘A jockey?’
Mrs Preston said with a gasp. ‘But that’s a boy’s sport and so dangerous.’

Frankie looked at the patrol. They were all grinning at her with the exception of Cassa who looked like she wanted the crack she’d found in the floor to swallow her up. The temptation to string Mrs Preston on was overridden by pity at Cassa’s embarrassment.

‘Sorry, Mrs Preston, I’m really a Guide in Charge here. My day job is actually riding racehorses.’

From her squatting position, Mrs Preston steadied herself with her hand on the floor.

‘How old are you, Frankie?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Twenty-three? Good grief! I’m terribly sorry. You–you just look so young.’

‘That’s all right. People always make that mistake.’

Mrs Preston straightened up, looking embarrassed.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Cassa, are you enjoying yourself?’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Cassa replied obediently.

‘Good. Well, cheerio.’

‘How’s the new job going, Frankie?’ Tammy, the future lawyer, asked once Mrs Preston had made her hasty departure.

‘Good, thanks, Tammy. I’ve got five beautiful horses to look after every day.’ Frankie thought back to her very productive morning
schooling Ta’ Qali over his first baby hurdles. The poor thing hadn’t known what to make of the jumps at first, but after half an hour had been bouncing over the two combinations like a flea.

Charlotte’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘Do you get vampire horses?’

‘No, Charlotte.’ Frankie made a mental note to write to the author of that
Twilight
series and ask her to put in large print, preferably capital letters, at the front of the book that ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS. She referred to her activities sheets again and read aloud their first task. ‘Right. “You are in a hot air balloon which has flown off course. You see a deserted island up ahead but you are low on fuel and too heavy to make it. Bearing in mind...”’ Frankie frowned at the paper. Crikey, who wrote this stuff? ‘“...Bearing in mind the careers each of you have chosen and the challenges you are going to be faced with on the island, which two people do you throw out of the balloon and why?”’

The girls chewed their lips as they weighed up who they would murder first. Mischa turned to Cassa in grave seriousness.

‘Are you a singer or a nurse?’

Cassa darted a look around to see if her mother was in sight.

‘A singer.’

‘Then I’d throw Cassa and Louise out,’ Mischa concluded.

Cassa looked horrified at the thought of being thrown out of a hot air balloon. Louise looked insulted.

‘Why would you keep a vampire over a fashion designer?’ she said.

‘Is there a Debenhams on the island?’ Mischa asked Frankie.

‘I doubt it, Mischa. There’s just you guys living rough until rescue comes.’

‘And we don’t know when that’ll be?’

‘No.’

‘Then I’m definitely keeping the vampire.’

Charlotte beamed. Frankie decided to play along with the fantasy for a while longer.

‘Aren’t you worried she’ll eat you?’ she said.

The girls gave Frankie a long-suffering adults-are-so-dim look.

‘Vampires don’t eat you. They just drink your blood.’

‘They still kill you though.’

‘Only bad vampires do,’ Mischa explained. ‘Charlotte will be a good one. And she can talk telepathically to Edward Cullen so he can come rescue us sooner.’

That was it, Frankie would definitely be writing to Stephanie Meyer. She couldn’t believe they were having
a serious careers discussions involving vampires.

‘And the others which you’ve chosen to keep?’ she prompted.

‘Well, I’m not going to be thrown out because I’ll have to write the newspaper story about how we survived—well, how most of us did, anyway. Harriet will have to cook for us and Tammy will have to stay so that once we’re rescued we can use her to sue the hot air balloon company.’

Frankie had to admit she had a point with the last one.