Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (16 page)

Frankie sat in the salon chair wearing an apron while Vanessa tugged through her newly washed hair with a comb. With her fringe scraped back, Frankie watched her mother in the mirror critically examining her split ends. Their eyes met.

‘Let’s do something a bit more daring,’ Vanessa said with a twinkle in her eye.

‘How daring?’

‘Well, your fringe is so long now, it’s not even a fringe
. It’s just a–a—’

Frankie waited for her mother to find a kind way to insult her.

‘A mess?’ she suggested.

‘Yes,’ Vanessa said, inspired. ‘And we need to take off at least two inches to get rid of these split ends, so why not take it a bit shorter? Have a bob with bangs.’

‘A bob?’ Frankie said, horrified at the thought of all of her hair being chopped off.

‘
Not a short short bob. Just about here above the shoulders.’ Vanessa held up the serpent of wet hair. ‘See what lovely shoulders and neck you have. You’ll look divine.’

Frankie chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. She did want to look good, to make an impression tonight
at the Aspen Valley Christmas party. She airily bypassed the image of Rhys which sprung into her head, but in the end couldn’t deny it; it was
him
she wanted to impress.

She imagined herself sauntering into
the yard—she was still a bit hazy as to where exactly on the premises the party was being held—and her gaze locking with Rhys’s. She would smile coyly and become immediately distracted by other people wanting to be in her company. Rhys would limp over—no, she scrapped that fantasy—Rhys would
walk
over, pass her a glass of champagne. He would smile that crooked smile that lifted only one side of his mouth, a dimple indenting his cheek and say—

‘Darling, I really do feel you should use a better conditioner for your hair.’

Frankie blinked back to the present as Vanessa interrupted her daydream.

‘Hmm?’

‘What conditioner do you use?’

‘I don’t use conditioner.’

‘There you go then.’

‘Come on, Mum. I’m a
jockey, I’ve got bigger things to worry about than what hair products to use. Besides, I wear a helmet all the time.’

Vanessa sighed dramatically.

‘That’s no excuse. Jockey or no jockey, every woman should take care of herself.’

‘God, you make me sound like a bag lady.’

‘That’s unfair on bag ladies,’ Vanessa said, waggling some scissors at her in the mirror. ‘Given the chance I’m sure they would take more care of their appearance.’

Frankie surr
endered. She supposed an extra ten minutes a day applying some moisturiser and pampering her hair wouldn’t hurt. At the back of her mind, she concluded Rhys would probably never notice her if she didn’t put in some effort.

‘I do want to look good,’ she said.

Vanessa eyes twinkled and she snapped the pair of scissors together.

‘I am going to make you look drop dead gorgeous.’

Humming along to Rod Stewart, Vanessa got to work, measuring, snipping, sliding her fingers through Frankie’s blonde split ends. Frankie watched her work, feeling a stab of panic every now and then when a long lick of hair would spill into her lap. A question kneeled on her tongue, begging to be asked. Frankie waited until Vanessa had put the scissors down before attempting it. She didn’t want a Captain Spock like Susan Beckett.

‘Mum, why didn’t Dad get to ride Crowbar in the National?’

Vanessa paused and looked at her in the mirror. She secured a wad of Frankie’s hair onto her crown with a clip and shrugged.

‘I can’t remember. It was all such a long time ago.’

Frankie wasn’t convinced.

‘How come Alan Bradford got the ride? Is that why Dad hates the Bradfords so much?’

‘I don’t know, Frankie. They were rivals. Maybe that’s why they didn’t get on.’

‘But Dad’s still friends with other ex-jockeys.’

Vanessa stopped snipping and looked at Frankie, resigned.

‘Your father and Alan Bradford didn’t see eye-to-eye, that’s all. It happens.’

‘But what caused it? Dad gets so sensitive whenever I even mention the name Bradford. It had to have been more than just simple jockey rivalry.’

‘Frankie, honey.
All of that happened nearly thirty years ago. It’s in the past, don’t go digging it up now. What went on was between your father and Alan Bradford.’

Frankie recalled Rhys’s outburst on the way to the vets.

‘He doesn’t sound like a very nice person,’ she said. ‘I don’t think Rhys gets on with his dad either.’

‘Really?’
Vanessa said airily. ‘Are you and Rhys friends, dear?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied in complete honesty. ‘We get on better than we used to, I suppose. He wasn’
t terribly pleased when Pippa gave me the ride on Peace Offering or when I ran over his dog.’

Standing
square behind her, Vanessa pulled Frankie’s hair through her fingers, measuring its lengths.

‘But now he’s forgiven you?’

Frankie shrugged, causing Vanessa to remeasure the lengths.

‘He must have. I stayed the nig
ht at his place the other day—ow,’ she complained as Vanessa pulled her hair.

‘Sorry. Are you an
d Rhys Bradford, um, you know—
dating
?’

Frankie sighed.
Oh, if only.

‘No. I got locked out of the house and Tom was in London so he let me sleep on his sofa.’

‘That was very nice of him,’ Vanessa said, the words sounding like they were being strangled from her.

‘Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?’
Frankie said, almost proud of Rhys. She contemplated whether she could confide in her mother. Although Tom knew about her crush, he wasn’t very helpful when it came to building on it. On the other hand she wasn’t sure if her mother would approve, even after saying everything was in the past. ‘I like him,’ she said at last.

Vanessa spun her round in the chair so she could work on Frankie’
s fringe and pumped the chair higher. Once she’d finished, she looked her daughter in the eye. Frankie hadn’t seen her so solemn before.

‘I thought you might,’
Vanessa finally said with a sigh.

‘Why?’

‘Well, you were a bit in awe of him when you first started working with him, weren’t you? He’s a stylish rider and he’s good-looking. I suppose I’d worry if you didn’t fancy him.’ Her usual joviality was back and Frankie grinned.

‘He is sexy, isn’t he?’

‘I’m not saying anything more.’ Vanessa leaned forward and snipped the last stray strands of her fringe away. She gave her daughter a mischievous smile. ‘But jockeys are the best shag you’ll ever have.’

‘
Ew, Mum!’ Frankie squealed. ‘Too much information!’

Vanessa stood up straight, looking smug.

‘Just saying.’ She spun Frankie round again and looked at her in the mirror. ‘Is he going to be there tonight?’

‘I don’t know. I hope so,’ she added sheepishly.

‘Well, we are going to make you irresistible.’

‘Don’t you disapprove?’

‘Would it make any difference?’

Frankie pulled a doubtful face.

‘Maybe.’

‘Frankie, it’s your life. I’m not going to tell you how to live it. And if he’s as nice as you say he is then why would I want to stop you? Now, a
few highlights here then we can shape your eyebrows now that we can see them. Rhys Bradford won’t know what hit him.’

‘I don’t want to look like I’ve made too much effort,’ Frankie said in a sudden panic. ‘It’s only a staff Christmas party.’

‘A party’s a party, my dear.’

‘So I
’ve been told. Pippa’s organised the whole thing. She did last year’s party and apparently it was a blast.’

‘Remember to drink lots of water if you’re going to be drinking booze.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘And rem
ember to use protection if you—’

‘
Okay, Mum! I
am
twenty-three. I have learnt these things.’

Vanessa unhooked the hairdryer from beside the mirror and looked at Frankie in mock horror.

‘What? You mean you’re not a virgin?’

‘Mum, please.’

‘Okay, okay. Sorry. So I know about David Grenton,’ she said, naming Frankie’s boyfriend from her teens.

‘Actually David was number two,’ Frankie said with a sly grin.

Vanessa switched on the dryer and began to pull Frankie’s hair down in an inward curl around her shoulders with a round-brush.

‘Scandalous!’ she said, raising her voice above the roar.
‘And to think a daughter of mine could be such a Jezebel.’

Frankie grinned.

‘May I remind you that you are currently “grooming” me for such a deed?’

Vanessa winked at her.

Frankie pulled into Aspen Valley’,s car park at a quarter to nine that evening. Stepping out into the drizzle, she wished she’d worn something more suited to the weather. Instead, she had to rely on just a High Street rip-off of one of Victoria Beckham’s dresses and a pashmina shawl to keep the cold and rain at bay.

She followed the sound of booming music along the muddy walkway between the hay barn and the indoor school to the latter’s wide entrance at the far end. She realised her fantasy earlier was way off the mark as soon as she stepped o
ver the threshold. The air was warm and musty with the mixed scents of horses, sand and perfumes. The vast building was lit by coloured lights whizzing across the tin ceiling. It seemed the whole of Aspen Valley’s fifty odd staff and their partners were inside, sitting on jumps and barrels stacked at the sides. At the far end a DJ was nodding to the beat of a dance track behind a barricade of music equipment, and tables on either side bore punch bowls and crates of drinks. Even though she felt overdressed and her hair still didn’t feel quite her own yet, she noticed most of the girls had also made an effort to don a more feminine look. Two of the seasonal workers from Poland were necking in the shadows beside the doorway while others danced in a clearing in the middle of the school.

She
looked around frantically for a face comfortably familiar for her to approach without seeming weird. No, it was too dark. Making a conscious effort to stand up straight, she walked across to the one of the drinks tables. Alcohol was always a good place to start when feeling self-conscious.

She helped herself to a plastic cup of punch and feeling less conspicuous with a drink in her hand, turned to survey the other attendees.
Rhys was nowhere to be seen and her excitement sunk a level. She recognised June standing not far away in conversation with three other lasses. She hesitated. Her eyes left that group to seek out other allies. At last, she saw Pippa sitting on a jump along the far wall, chatting with Billy and a slimmer-looking Emmie.

*

‘Hey, Frankie!’ Pippa cried above the music as she came within earshot. ‘Come join us. You remember Emmie, don’t you?’

‘Hi,’ said Frankie, still feeling a little shy. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Urgh, you know, sleepless nights, lots of puke and dirty nappies,’ Emmie shrugged. ‘Mum’s babysitting tonight and giving us the night off.’

Pippa patted the pole next to her.

‘Come sit, Frankie. I like your hair. Have you had it cut or have I just never noticed?’

Frankie gratefully sat down so she didn’t feel
so like a freak show in front of a seated audience.

‘I just had it done. My mum’s a hairdresser.’

‘Wow,’ said Emmie. ‘She’s good. You look like a royal.’

‘Speaking of which,’ Pippa said. ‘We were just talking about whether his lordship
, Sir Bradford, is going to grace us with his presence. Donnie’s just arrived.’

Frankie felt like pointing out that a lordship and a knighthood were two completely different things
and neither necessarily constituted royalty, but then again she also wanted to know if Rhys was going to attend.

‘Did he say he was coming?’ she asked.

‘Jack didn’t hold out much hope,’ Pippa replied. ‘He didn’t come to the last one.’

‘In his defence he was holed up in hospital with a smashed up leg,’ Billy piped up.

‘Oh, yes. I forgot about that.’

‘Where’s Jack?’ Frankie asked.

Holding her WKD aloft, Pippa pointed into the throngs of people.

‘Over there talking to Donnie. Have you seen Donnie’s girlfriend? She’s stunning. Ye
t Donnie looks like he got into a fight with an angry tractor. He must have a great sense of humour or something.’

‘I think “something”,’ Frankie grinned.
‘Or to be more precise probably ten inches of something.’

Pippa gasped and she and Emmie stared at her, wide-eyed. Billy looked horrified.

‘Ten inches? Are you serious?’ Pippa squeaked. ‘How do you know? Did you and Donnie have a thing?’

‘No, but sadly we do sometimes have to share the same sauna at the races.’

‘I don’t know if I’d call that particularly sad—oh, hello,’ Pippa interrupted herself, focussing on the doorway. ‘I don’t suppose you know what his measurements are?’

Frankie followed her gaze.

Rhys stood in the doorway, looking much like Frankie had felt when she’d first arrived. Dressed in dark jeans and a black dinner shirt undone a couple of buttons, he scanned the indoor school. Frankie’s mouth watered.

‘No,’ she said, answering Pippa’s question beneath her breath. ‘But I would love to find out.’

As the night barrelled on, Frankie became less conscious of Rhys standing on the sidelines in company with Donnie. Buoyed by alcohol and the general cheery atmosphere, she laughed as Billy pulled her round the sandy dance floor and tried to match his Gangnam style moves. Any reservations she had about her own dance skills were put to bed by Billy’s own inept rhythm. Hanging onto each other as the song ended, they stumbled back to Pippa and Emmie and collapsed in a heap of giggles onto the jump.

‘Having a good time?’ Pippa yelled in her ear.

‘Great time!’ she yelled back. ‘You?’

‘Brilliant.
Seems everyone’s enjoying themselves.’

‘Cheers to that,’ Frankie said, r
aising her cup of punch to tap against Pippa’s.

Pippa cheered and whooped as Jack was dragged onto centre stage by inebriated stable lasses to dance to a sixties track. Frankie clapped with everyone else, laughing at her boss’
s reluctance. Not for the first time that night, her gaze drifted over to Rhys. Coloured lights lit up his face and she saw a small smile on his face as he too watched Jack.

Pippa nudged Frankie with alcohol-induced forced.

‘Why do you reckon he even came?’ she said, nodding in the jockey’s direction.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He hasn’t danced once all night. He’s just stood there drinking poxy orange juice.’

‘He doesn’t drink,’ Frankie replied. ‘And he’s probably riding tomorrow at Chepstow.’

‘Bleurgh,’ Pippa said, fobbing a hand in his direction and nearly falling off the jump. ‘Party pooper.’

A hazy wall of defensiveness rose in Frankie.

‘Maybe he’s just shy. Nobody’s exactly dragged him onto the floor like they have Jack.’

Pippa looked at her, eyes not quite focussing.

‘I bet,’ she said, swinging her drink up and pointing at Frankie, ‘he wouldn’t dance even if the Duckegg of Chambrish asked him to.’

Frankie licked her lips in contemplation and glanced over at Rhys ag
ain. Alcohol lent her courage—or stupidity, but that word had ceased to exist after three strong doses of punch.

‘How much?’

Pippa flung her head back and tried to focus on Frankie.

‘Kate’s
here?’

Frankie grinned.

‘No. I mean how much if I got him to dance with me?’

Pippa’s
head lolled from side to side as her brain tried to process what Frankie was saying.

‘Ten quid—
no, twen’y!’

‘You’re on.’ Frankie downed the last swallow of her drink and handed an open-mouthed Pippa the empty cup.

*

Walking not quite as steadily as before around the outskirts of the school, she approached Rhys. She wiped the sweat from her palms on her dress and tossed her new hairstyle back. Donnie was first to spot her advance. He said something in
Rhys’s ear. Frankie gulped as Rhys turned to watch her as well. She suddenly felt very sober and not quite as confident as she had on the other side of the arena. Donnie grinned at her sudden faltering steps. Rhys just watched her, not smiling, but thankfully not sneering either. Frankie’s eyes whipped around, trying to find a get out clause. There was none. She gulped again. She was beyond the point of no return.

‘Hello, Frankie,’ Donnie said as she drew to a stop before them.

‘Hello, Donnie. Hello, Rhys,’ she said politely.

‘Frankie,’ Rhys greeted her with a nod.

They stared at each other. Frankie didn’t know what to say—well, she did, but didn’t have the guts to say it just yet. She licked her lips and tried to smile.

‘Having
fun?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, not bad
.’

Adrenalin whizzed through her body as the moment of truth arrived. Donnie’s
grinning face was not helping matters. In the ultraviolet light, it looked like he’d swallowed a piano. Frankie felt about fifteen as she focussed solely on Rhys.

‘Would…would you like to d–
dance?’

The lights played off
Rhys’s face. Was she imagining it or did she see a trace of pity in his eyes? Oh God, he was going to turn her down. How would she survive the walk of shame back to Pippa and the others?

Donnie
said something in Rhys’s ear, shielding his mouth so she couldn’t lip-read. Frankie wished he would go away. Rhys’s gaze flickered away from Frankie to look levelly at Donnie. She held her breath as he returned his focus back to her. The corner of his mouth twitched.

‘Sure.
Why not?’

Frankie staggered backwards. In a daze she let Rhys take her hand, his touch warm on her palm, and allowed herself to be led to the
makeshift dance floor. Open mouths and wide unfocussing eyes followed their passage. Frankie didn’t blame them, she was working hard on not adopting the same expression. Rhys stopped in the middle of the floor and bridged his right arm for Frankie to step into his personal space. Rhys’s eyes glinted.

‘You realise everyone’s watching,’ he murmured in her ear.

Frankie was having difficulty computing the fact Rhys’s hands were on her body, never mind what everyone else was doing.

‘Are they?’ she said, gazing unseeingly over his shoulder.

Michael Bublé saw this as a good time to sing
Save the Last Dance For Me
.

‘Shall we really give them something to watch then?’ he said, swaying
demurely from side to side.

‘What?’ She didn’t have time to think what he might mean by it though.

Rhys deftly swung her round and brought her spinning back into his arms. Frankie stared, saucer-eyed at him. Following his lead, she stepped back three steps then forward.

‘My God!
You can dance!’ she said, looking down and watching his snaking hips and flicking feet.

Rhys
’s eyebrows rose and he treated her to a sexy smile.

‘My mother would make me take lessons when
ever I visited her in Spain. Can you cha-cha?’

Frankie shook her head.

‘Want to learn?’

Frankie nodded.

‘Let’s just do the basic steps then. Left foot behind the right—no, left, you wally.’

Frankie snorted. She tried again and lost her balance. Only
Rhys’s arms supporting her saved her from falling over.

‘Oh God, I’ve got my work cut out for me here,’ he groaned, making her laugh. ‘Now, listen to the music. Can you hear that triple beat?’

Frankie listened.

‘
Yeeeaaahhhh,’ she said dubiously.

‘Now step on the spot like this.’
Rhys’s hips snaked as he shifted his weight to the beat. Frankie’s mouth fell open. Rhys had metamorphosed into Johnny Castle. ‘Now you try it.’

Frankie stepped like a wooden soldier. Rhys grinned.

‘Bend your knees. Let your hips absorb the movement,’ he said. ‘Yes, that’s better. Right, left, right. Now you’ve got it.’

Frankie giggled uncontrollably as she jigged up and down on the spot.

‘Okay. Now let’s try a step. It’s the same as before on one, step back on two, stay the same on three—no, don’t step back on three. Try it again. Listen to the beat in the music. One, two, three. And again, one, two, three. Ow! Don’t step forward on three. Just step in place. Look at me, don’t look down.’

As Frankie gradually found her rhythm, she felt like she’d been transported into
Dirty Dancing
. Any minute now, Billy was going to whip out a
Time Of Your Life
vinyl.

‘Good. Now step forward in the same way starting with your
right, step in place on four and five. Let it carry you forward again for six, seven, eight and one. Don’t look down.’

Frankie had difficulty in tearing her eyes from
Rhys’s grinding groin.

‘You can dance,’ she said again faintly.

Rhys laughed for the first time.

‘So will you after I’m through with you. You ready
to go again? One, two, three…’

Something about the rhythm
, the beat, the way Rhys’s body taunted hers into following his lead, made Frankie feel sexy and dare she say it,
womanly
. With a deft flick of his wrist, he spun her round and catching her, dipped her backwards. Frankie squealed with glee. Others around them cheered and clapped. Frankie forgot that moments ago she’d been as nervous as hell. Holding his hand in a looped arc, she rocked back and forth, following, backing-up, teasing and twirling. She’d never thought she’d ever learn to dance. But here she was doing it, and doing it with
Rhys
, no less.