Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (4 page)

‘I’ve got two pounds and sixty seven pence,’ Billy said, spilling his change into Frankie’s waiting palm.

‘Here’s three fifty,’ Jack added to the pool. ‘Pippa?’

Pippa looked embarrassed as she turned over her empty purse.

‘I—er… just remembered. I gave all my loose change to the charity worker on the way to the pub earlier.’

They sat in compounded silence for a moment.

‘Come on!’ Emmie screamed at last. ‘Someone must have some more money! Or break down the boom! This baby is coming NOW!’

Frankie gasped as an idea popped into her head.

‘The ashtray! I always keep change in there! Here we are.’

With a handful of silver and copper, Frankie painstakingly fed the meter, aware that like the last grains of sand in an hour glass, time was fast running out.

At last, the meter disgorged a ticket and they were allowed through. She pulled up in one of the last available parking spaces with a jerk of the handbrake. After helping Jack, Pippa and Billy out of the back, she approached Emmie’s door in trepidation. Emmie held out her sweaty palm to be helped up.

Frankie tugged.

Emmie didn’t budge.

‘Oh no,’ Frankie muttered, pulling harder. ‘Er, folks, I might need some help here.’ She turned to the others standing behind her. Jack was cricking his neck back into place. ‘Emmie’s stuck.’

‘Oh God, here comes another!’ Emmie yelled. ‘Fucking hell! What the hell is this baby doing in there? Ooooh! Ooooooooh!’

Billy and Pippa took up the case, each grabbing an arm.

‘Okay, on five,’ Billy said. ‘Onnnnnne…twoooooo…threeeeee—’

‘Billy, for fuck’s sake!’
Emmie screamed. ‘Just get me out of here!’

Twisting, pulling, grunting and puffing, Emmie suddenly popped out of the footwell. Billy staggered as she collapsed on him.

‘Ooh, there they go,’ she wailed, looking down.

Frankie, closing the door behind her, followed her gaze and saw the girl’s legs shiny with liquid beneath the street lighting. Feeling guilty, she gave a sigh of relief that it hadn’t happened thirty seconds earlier.

*

In the face of everyone’s semi-panic, the receptionist inside the maternity unit was amazingly calm. Frankie supposed if she threw a wobbly every time
a labouring woman staggered in, she probably wouldn’t be that suited to the job. With Emmie and Billy ushered through to the birthing suite, Frankie took a seat beside Pippa in the stark blue bubble-like foyer. Jack continued to pace up and down.

*

Long minutes ticked by with the silence interjected by muffled groans and wails and frantic buzzers being pressed like an overenthusiastic quiz panel. Four more mothers-to-be tottered in and were led into the torture house. Frankie grimaced and swore that she was never going to have children.

‘I wonder if that’s Emmie,’ Pippa said, concerned etched across her face
as a particularly wretched groan pierced the walls.

‘Poor kid,’ Jack muttered. He fixed Pippa with stern blue eyes and held up a finger. ‘All that oohing and
aahing you were doing over Emmie’s bump and the baby clothes? Do not get any ideas, okay? I’m not putting you through this.’

Pippa gave him a loving smile and reached out her hand to give his a squeeze. A
nother blood-curdling scream breached the walls and Jack swayed.

‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ he said and strode out into the night.

Frankie and Pippa sat in silence for a time, both listening to the activity from beyond, both accompanied by their own thoughts. With every scream, Frankie became more and more certain she would never become a mother. She was sure Pippa must be feeling the same.

‘He’ll come round to the idea eventually,’ Pippa broke the silence.

Frankie looked at her in disbelief.

‘You mean you still want to have children after sitting here
for an hour listening to all that racket?’

Pippa nodded.

‘Not right now, I’ll give you that. But when the time is right. I think Jack will be an amazing father.’

‘He seems very protective,’ she said cautiously.
‘Of you, naturally. But of Emmie too, and well, isn’t she just an employee?’

Pippa smiled.

‘You’ll find out soon enough that Jack has a rotten temper but he is very fair—you can ask any of the Aspen Valley staff. He might chew their ear off occasionally, but they’ll all admit that they probably deserved it at the time. And when they find themselves in a jam, Jack is right behind them.’

Frankie nodded in agreement.

‘He’s been very fair to me. There’s not that many trainers who’ll take on a female jockey.’ She grinned, reliving the moment when Jack had offered her the job. ‘It feels like a fairy tale that not only have I been given a chance, but I’ve been given the chance by one of the top trainers in the country.’

‘Have you always wanted to be a jockey?’

‘I guess so,’ Frankie replied with a shrug. ‘My dad used to be a jockey and my brother was as well. It seemed the natural thing to do. Do you ride?’

Pippa laughed.

‘No. I haven’t sat on a horse since I was about six and that was at Brighton Beach.’ She flashed Frankie a proud smile. ‘I do have a horse though that Jack trains. Peace Offering.’

Frankie forgot how to breathe. She stared at a beaming Pippa.

‘You own Peace Offering?’ she gasped.

Pippa swelled with pride.

‘Yes. Have you heard of him?’

‘Of course I’ve heard of him! He nearly won the Grand National last season but got brought down by a loose horse while leading at the last.’

‘He’s favourite for the next one too,’ Pippa grinned.

Frankie could feel her heart thumping inside her chest.
The Grand National
. Sitting next to the favourite’s owner, this was the closest she had ever been to it. She could almost taste it. From riding claimers for a trainer going out of business last month to now working for the yard who boasted the Grand National favourite, Frankie marvelled at the huge leap she’d taken towards her ambition.

Pippa smiled at
Frankie’s awe and patted her hand.

‘Someone once told me that you don’t become a jockey without wanting to win the Grand National. Is it the same for you?’

Frankie thought about the question for a moment. Her reasons for wanting to win the National weren’t exactly straight forward. They went deeper than just ambition.

‘I t
hink although we all have a common goal,’ she began hesitantly, ‘we all have different reasons for wanting to win it. For me, it’s not about personal conquest, about being the best—or in my case, the first lady—jockey. My father rode in the National a few times during his career, but he never won it and I know it bugged him long after his retirement that he never quite reached his goal.’ She looked up at Pippa who was listening with interest. ‘I’d love to win the National for him.’
Or even just get a ride in the National
, she added silently. Anything to make him proud.

Pippa’s eyes sparkled and she blinked rapidly.

‘That’s a lovely reason. Did you know the only reason Peace Offering ran in it last season was to fulfil my uncle—his late owner’s—wish? Jack didn’t think he had a hope in hell.’

‘He’ll have changed his tune since then,’ Frankie grinned. ‘He’ll ha
ve a strong chance this season—’ A stab of jealousy punctured her dreams. ‘—Especially with Rhys Bradford back on board.’

Pippa gave a mirthless laugh.

‘Yes,’ she replied drily. ‘If Peace Offering were to win the National, then it’d all be down to Rhys’s blinding talent.’

Frankie laughed, but cautiously.
Was he really that much of a bastard? Despite exaggerating massively to Jack earlier at the Golden Miller about their fall, he’d otherwise been courteous and amicable towards Pippa.

Frankie was trying to decide whether
her boss’s fiancée and Rhys had a history when the door to the birthing suite was flung open. It bounced off the wall and hit the entrant sideways.

Franki
e and Pippa popped up from their seats like toast.

B
illy stood immobile, only his Golden Miller napkin rising and falling with his heaving chest. His cheeks were wet with tears.

‘Billy?’ Pippa prompted gently. ‘Is Emmie okay?’

His lower lip trembled then his face crumpled. Pippa rushed to his side and hugged him. Jack entered from outside with a whoosh of the automatic doors.

‘What’s happened, Billy?’ he said.

Billy looked at his boss with weak watery eyes. Frankie held her breath.

‘Emmie–Emmie–
Emmie’s had a baby,’ he gulped.

As far as first impressions went, Aspen Valley Stables was up there with the best of them, thought Frankie come Monday morning. Snuggled at the base of a wide rolling hillside, the red brick stables were sheltered from the blustery southwest winds.

Not so much from the rain though,
she thought, turning her collar up against the misty drizzle. She was greeted by the ricocheting sounds of horses banging their stable doors, keen to get out and stretch their muscles on the gallops. It seemed her enthusiasm to start her new job had made her early. There was relatively few staff wandering around.

Passing along the E-shaped yard, Frankie stopped outside the opposing row of offices and knocked on the Reception door. The windows were dark and she listened dubiously.

‘Frankie!’

The welcoming voice didn’t come from within but from behind
. Jack advanced from further down the yard. A nervous flutter pre-empted her greeting.

‘Morning,’ he said as he reached her.
‘Ready to rock and roll?’

Frankie filled her lungs with damp straw-scented air and smiled.

‘I think so. After Friday night I’d say I was ready for anything.’

‘Tell me about it. Thank God you were there. Both mother and son are doing well, you’ll be glad to know. Although Billy, I’m not so sure about. He’s too afraid to hold baby Sam in case he drops him.’

Frankie laughed, remembering Billy’s awkwardness during Friday’s escapade.

‘I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it soon.’

Jack looked doubtful.

‘I’m not, but he’s got a few weeks to practice at any rate. I’ve given him some leave. Actually, the baby arriving at the same time as you has worked out quite well.’ Motioning for her to follow, he set off across the yard. ‘Someone’s got to look after Billy’s horses while he’s gone and you need some to keep you busy.’ He pointed to a row of five stables directly opposite the offices. ‘These are going to be you
r charges. Only two of them are Billy’s—June’s got the rest. Your other three are pretty new so I thought it would be good for you all to learn the ropes together.’

Frankie’s heart began to thud that little bit harder as he
spoke. She, Frankie Cooper, would be in charge of five of Aspen Valley’s racehorses. Aspen Valley, three-time National Hunt champions from the last five years! They stopped at the first stable. No horse came to greet them and she peered into the darkened box to see its occupant. A silhouette-like figure watched them from the back.

‘Ta’ Qali, a newbie like yourself.’

When Jack didn’t follow up his initial introduction with anything else, Frankie was gripped in a sudden panic. Should she have heard of Ta’ Qali? Was he some multiple Grade One winner and Cheltenham favourite?

Trying to appear knowledgeable, she nodded and murmured an indistinct approval. When she ventured a look at Jack, she noticed him frown. Thankfully, it wasn’t directed at her. Instead he was regarding the horse.
He held out his hand and clicked his tongue. Ta’ Qali took a hesitant couple of steps forward and exhaled noisily as the smell of Jack’s hand reached his nostrils.

‘A bit shy, is he?’ Frankie asked.

‘Head shy, yes. We’re still trying to figure him out. He’s just been retired from racing on the flat. We picked him up at the sales.’

The gelding at last ventured forward into the light of day, his long ears flicking like insect a
ntennas. He was black as an oil spill except for a small sprinkling of white hairs on the bridge of his Roman nose, like someone had knocked over the salt cellar. Running a practiced eye over his large nobbly head, long thin neck and sway back, Frankie hesitated to voice her immediate question.

‘Can he jump?’ He had to have something going for him because it certainly wasn’t looks.

‘Well, he did when I rattled the bucket behind him.’ Jack smiled grimly. ‘He’s a full-brother to Sequella, the Goodwood and Doncaster Cups winner.’

Frankie did a double-take.

‘This is a full-brother to Sequella?’ she said, incredulous.

‘Not exactly identical, I know. Didn’t show much of her talent on the flat either, but he’s got the breeding. I just hope he improves
as he matures.’

Fran
kie put out her hand to stroke Ta’ Qali’s nose. With a start, he threw up his head and backed away into the security of his stable. Jack shook his head again.

‘We’ll see. I bought him out of my own pocket. I have to find him an owner before the season’s out otherwise we’re stuffed.’

Frankie shifted from one foot to the other, unsure whether she was included in this conversation anymore.

‘
Sorry—
stuffed
?’ she prompted.

For a moment, he looked at her blankly then gestured to Ta’ Qali’s reclusive figure.

‘Well, he’s no good on the flat. If he doesn’t take to jumping then I don’t know what to do with him. Look at him, he’s not exactly going to win any showing classes nor can he be described as a reliable hack because of his nerves.’

Frankie was sure he wasn’t implying he would send the horse to the knackers, but a small ball
of apprehension gathered in her stomach on Ta’ Qali’s behalf. Her belief that, like every human, every horse had a calling in life, probably wouldn’t be received with much enthusiasm so she kept quiet.

‘Next up.
This is Twain, one of Billy’s lot…’

*

An hour later, Frankie finished her last stable. She removed her cap and wiped the sweat from her brow. Turning back to the horse tied to the wall, she patted the mare’s steel grey shoulder. She’d managed to muck out her other four boxes without having to resort to securing the occupant, but Blue Jean Baby was so restless Frankie had been forced to take defensive action.

‘There you go,’ she
murmured, slipping off the head collar.

The mare shook her head, which quickly became a whole body shake. The shudder unbalanced her and
she flung out a foreleg to stop herself falling over. Frankie shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t have to tie you up if you could just stand quietly and not knock the wheelbarrow over.’

The mare
gazed at her with Bambi eyes.

‘Don’t look at me like that. Twice you knocked it over,’ Frankie reprimanded her. ‘And it took me twice as long to do your stable since you walked your crap all over the place. What sort of a lady are you?’

‘The box-walking type,’ a voice said from the stable door.

A young woman, probably only a few years older than
she, smiled at Frankie. She held out her hand.

‘Hi, I’m June. You must be Frankie.’

Frankie stepped around the wheelbarrow and shook her hand.

‘Yes.
Nice to meet you.’

‘I see you’re discovering the charms of Dory here,’ June grinned. ‘Walks every last dung ball into shreds then tries to help by tipping what you’ve already collected back out of the wheelbarrow.’

Frankie gave a small uncertain laugh. Had she just spent the past half hour mucking out the wrong horse?

‘Um, I thought her name was Blue Jean Baby?’

‘Yup. But it’s such a mouthful. Dory’s her stable name. We took her hurdling last season. Jumped superbly on her first two starts then completely forgot how the game was played next time out. She’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer but she’s kind.’

‘So Dory as in
Finding Nemo
Dory?’

‘Yeah.
Word of the wise: she’s a bit excitable in her work so we usually put her on the horse-walker for twenty minutes beforehand when her box is being mucked out. That way, you kill two birds with one stone instead of her killing the both of you.’

‘Thanks, I’ll remember that.’

June winked at her.

‘And keep an eye out when she’s in the paddock. She likes taking herself off on little adventures.
Doesn’t always remember the way back.’

That earlier feeling of exhilaration at caring for Aspen Valley horses was swiftly losing its appeal.

‘Crikey, she sounds high maintenance,’ she said.

The stable lass shrugged.

‘Just being a mare.’

A rise in voices outside saw Blue Jean Baby
aka Dory push past Frankie to see what the fuss was about. A group of lads and lasses had gathered around a corkboard on the wall between the office and the tack room. Sheets of paper attached to the board were ruffled by a gust of damp wind and one of the lads studying it put out a hand to flatten them. Frankie turned to June questioningly.

‘The work list,’ June explained. ‘Best go see who we’ve got.’

With a quick smile, she left Frankie to finish up.

‘I wonder if I’ll be riding you, you crazy woman,’ Frankie said to Dory.

The prospect was too much for one jittery mare to take. She spun round and tipped the wheelbarrow over once more.

*

By the time Frankie had reloaded the dirty bedding and deposited it in the muck heap round the back, the corkboard was deserted. Three sheets listed a table of contents of lot numbers, work riders and horses with the occasional alteration. Written in hand down the bottom of the list was herself: Francesca Cooper. Frankie grimaced. She hated the full version of her name. Why her parents had even called her that, she didn’t know. It was so girly and besides, she’d always been called Frankie. Alongside her name in lot order were Twain, Dory, Foxtail Lily, Aztec Gold and Ta’ Qali.

‘Not liking what you see?’ a voice behind her spoke up.

Frankie didn’t have to turn around to recognise the owner of the silken tone. She ignored Rhys, aware though that her heart rate had stepped up a beat.

‘Not until I turn around,’ she replied over her shoulder.

She couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure Rhys almost laughed. Well, maybe laugh was too expressive a term, ‘harrumphed’.

‘Touché
. What have you got?’

Frankie felt the overpowering yet completely pointless need to show off to him.

‘A Festival winner in Foxtail Lily and a full-brother to a Goodwood and Doncaster Cup winner; I think I’ve got a pretty good deal.’

Rhys stepped into her line of sight next to her and peered at the list, his brows knitted together. His collar was turned up against the drizzle, but apart from that he seemed unaware of the weather. Raindrops swept over his cheekbones into the hollows of his gaunt cheeks before riding along the hard line of his jaw and gathering at his chin to take the final plunge to earth.

‘Who’s your Cup full-brother?’ he asked, curiosity stamping out the arrogance in his voice.

‘Ta’ Qali. His sister was Sequella.’

Rhys looked at her in disbelief.

‘That thing?’ he said, pointing towards Ta’ Qali’s stable.

Frankie squared her feet and crossed her arms.

‘Yes.’ She might not have known Ta’ Qali all that long but no one, especially Rhys Bradford, was going to get away with insulting any of her charges.

Rhys threw back his head and laughed. Frankie glared at him.

‘I’m sorry but his dam must have cheated,’ he chuckled before heading over to the tack room. His walk was offset by a slight limp. ‘Good luck with your “good deals”,’ he
flung over his shoulder.

Frankie bit her lip and watched him disappear through the doorway. Her heart was still thudding. It’s just because every time you’ve met him there’s been some drama or other, she told herself sternly. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that you find those black eyes so compelling or that he has features so flawlessly defined you just want to stroke them. P
ut those features on a nicer person, then she might be tempted, but while they belonged to Rhys Bradford? No way.

Would those unsettling looks he gives you have the same effect if the person was kinder, t
he voice in her head questioned? Would that delicately pouting mouth be so captivating if it wasn’t always set in that mocking smirk?

‘Oh, shut up,’ Frankie muttered. With a sigh, she con
centrated once more on the corkboard. Who was he riding anyway that made him ridicule her horses?

‘
Ah, okay.’ She felt a fraction less bumptious of her defence. Rhys only had three rides this morning: Romano, a high-class handicap chaser, Virtuoso, a previous Cheltenham Gold Cup winner, and Dexter, another Festival winner. Foxtail Lily’s success in the Champion Bumper five years ago hadn’t gone down as one of racing’s most historical moments, so in comparison, yes, Frankie supposed Rhys did have a reasonable excuse for looking smug.

*

Jogging along the track aboard Twain towards the main gallop, Frankie forgot about the rain. In front of her, beside her, behind her the famous red anoraks of Aspen Valley Stables burst through the gloom.

Wait until I tell Dad about this, she marvelled. The ceaseless chatter of a dozen riders filled her ears, interrupted
only by equine snorts and clarion whinnies. A thin mist draped across the hillside making the all-weather track disappear into the sky. As they neared the gate that led onto the gallop, Frankie studied the leader. Unlike the others, Rhys rode alone, silent, uncommunicative and to make him even more glaringly estranged he wore a black jacket instead of red.