Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (102 page)

“No. I never heard much about Jill.”

He sighed and pressed Martha’s number. Something was bothering Slim, and the fact that he still wanted to run Echo was disturbing. A good horseman should never dismiss a horse’s lethargy. If Slim had personal problems, he needed to sort them out.

A polite voice answered the phone but advised Martha was unavailable, and Dino cut the connection. “Martha’s unavailable,” he said. “I should have let you call. Maybe you’d have been put through.”

“No. Martha told Jocelyn to always put your calls through if she’s awake. Unavailable means she’s sleeping.”

“Who’s Jocelyn?”

“The housekeeper. Been around forever.” Becky rolled her eyes. “You probably don’t remember
her
name either.”

Dino shifted on the chair. He never forgot a horse’s name but sometimes people names didn’t stick as well. “I couldn’t hear what you were saying earlier,” he muttered. “And no one ever said your name. I’m sorry for calling you Betty.”

“Pardon. I can’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry I called you Betty,” he repeated.

The muffled sound alerted him, and he glanced up and caught her laughing. Her eyes danced, her lips tilting in a mischievous smile. He leaned forward, absorbed by her mouth, knowing that if she had smiled at him like that before—just once—he never would have forgotten her name.

A rap sounded on the door.

“Come in,” he drawled.

Shane stuck his head in. “Vet’s here, boss. I can take Becky over to the grandstand if you want. Catch a few races before Chippy runs.”

Dino glanced at his watch, surprised it was almost post time. He still had a lot to do in the shedrow, and Becky would have more fun by the grandstand. But had Shane bothered her earlier?

Shane stepped further into the office and smiled at Becky. Her stylish jeans were much different than the baggy brown pants she usually wore. Trust Shane to notice a pretty girl. Dino had never worried about casual liaisons before but now he wondered if his old boss in New York had experienced the same irritation when he’d flirted with women.

“Becky’s here on business,” Dino said, shooting Shane a warning frown. “Conrad business.”

“And it will be my business to escort Ms. Becky to the races.” Shane tipped his cowboy hat with an exaggerated flourish, stepped forward and offered his arm.

Dino watched in amusement, remembering how she shied away from physical contact, much like a spooked horse. It had been days before he could even touch her elbow. Shane’s flirting might work on the backstretch girls but it wasn’t going to do anything for a cautious girl like Becky. She needed groundwork, a lot of trust, and certainly wasn’t ready to cuddle up to any guy. No doubt, she’d choose to stay in the office with him, and that was just fine. He didn’t mind making time. In fact, he was glad she was tagging around with him.

He leaned back in his chair, propped his boots on the desk and waited for her polite excuse. But she rose, linked an arm through Shane’s and his jaw dropped when the pair waltzed across his office floor and out the door.

Chapter Twelve

Becky propped her elbows on the rail as the gleaming horses entered the paddock for race one. This was way better than being stuck high up in an owner’s box. Here she could get close and really see the animals. It would be much easier to pick a winner.

The first horse was beautiful, a well-muscled bay with a white blaze and cocky attitude. Looked like a good bet.

But then number two pranced past, a compact chestnut chomping at the bit, clearly eager to run. He didn’t look like a horse anyone should bet against.

She flipped open her program. The race was short, only six furlongs, so maybe the second horse would be the better bet. But her interest leaped to number three when he strutted past, close enough to touch, a white-faced bay with rippling muscles and a haughty expression.

The horse had a groom on each side, and he wasn’t as nicely built as the first two but something about his eye grabbed her attention. Supreme confidence. That was it—the same look Dino had—as though he had no doubt everyone would love him. This horse wasn’t wasting any energy, unlike the chestnut. He strode past with a free-striding walk, his swishing black tail the only sign of impatience.

The crowd murmured as the number four horse jigged past, shaking his head and fighting his handler. Already a white lather coated his neck and glistened between his muscled hindquarters. Not a good sign. She grabbed her pen, preparing to draw a line through that entry, but paused when she saw his race history. Even though he was over-excited, he’d won or placed in his last five races. No way could she toss him.

“See any you like?” Shane asked.

“Every single one.” A frustrated sigh punctuated her words.

“Don’t decide anything yet. The favorites are eight and eleven, just walking in now.”

She rubbed her forehead. This was much easier when she only had to bet on Martha’s horse. Each runner here looked better than the last. It was impossible to pick only one.

“Guess it’s easiest to bet on the nicest name,” she said in dismay.

Shane chuckled. “That’s one method. But in the kitchen earlier we talked about the top four. So you already have it narrowed down on paper.”

“So you’re saying don’t look at the other horses?”

“I’m saying it’s best to focus on the four you know can win. Not the ones that catch your eye in the paddock.”

She nodded, grateful for the tip. Shane was a nice guy. His hat was almost as rakish as Dino’s, and he shared that cowboy charm. Her brain didn’t fog when he touched her though, so it was easier to think. When he grinned, his mouth looped in an endearing smile which she suspected drew a fair share of feminine attention.

She was amazed more single women didn’t come to the track. It was the perfect hangout with gorgeous horses and rugged men. What more could a girl want? And she was enjoying herself way more than on the occasions she’d been dragged to Martha’s elite skybox. Of course, the new clothes helped.

“Oh, no.” She glanced down in dismay. “I forgot to change and my clothes are still in Slim’s truck.”

Shane gave her a quick appraisal, followed by an approving wink. “I think you look just fine.”

“But Martha insisted I dress up in case we won. Guess it doesn’t matter now that Echo is scratched. I won’t have to go for a picture.” She turned, scanning the trainers in the saddling enclosure, sparked by an idea. “Maybe that’s another way to bet? Wouldn’t the trainer who expects to win be dressed the nicest?”

Shane’s chuckle drew the attention of the sun-glassed man standing on her right.

“That’s a new theory,” the stranger said. “I usually bet on speed, breeding and jockey-trainer percentages, but I go to the races a lot and have to admit I’ve never seen that trainer in a suit before.”

“That’s Old Spud.” Shane leaned forward, nodding. “You’re right. Spud doesn’t usually dress like that. I’m shocked he even owns a suit.”

Becky ran her finger down the program. The number six horse was a gray she and Shane had discounted earlier, but the fact that the trainer didn’t often dress up must mean something. She smiled at both Shane and the helpful stranger. “That’s my horse then. And I like his name, Liverpool Lou. Plus he’s gray and has that winning look.”

“Don’t know about the winning look,” Shane said. “He hasn’t won in six tries although he’s dropped in class and his breeding is top notch. I saw his dam run. Pretty good mare. She was a gray too.”

“Yeah, I remember that horse.” The man on her right shoved his mirrored sunglasses higher on his nose. “Won some black type races. I was here when she leaped the fallen horse and won from way back. Three jockeys went down that day.”

“Yeah. One of the jocks was Jill Barrett,” Shane said. “Damn shame.”

Becky glanced at the gray horse being saddled. So the gray’s mother had raced against Lyric. Had also been involved in Jill’s accident. Maybe even caused it. A chill ran down her neck and despite the warm sun, she shivered. Everything in the horse world seemed intertwined.

Shane turned from the stranger and lightly touched her shoulder. “Want to go up to Mrs. Conrad’s box or watch from the rail?”

“The rail,” she said quickly. She’d never had this much fun at the races. Everyone in this section was so nice.

The stranger with the sunglasses had been shuffled sideways by a stocky man in a striped shirt who gave an apologetic smile as he squeezed in beside her. “How’s the four horse look?” he asked. “My cousin said if the horse was calm in the paddock, he’d be a cinch to win.”

“He’s pretty lathered up,” she admitted.

The man sighed. “Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“You’re observant,” Shane said. “I don’t even remember the four horse.” They both looked across to where the saddled horses awaited their jockeys. “Let’s get our bets down and find a good spot to watch.”

The pari-mutuel line moved fast, and Becky made her bet and tucked her ticket into her back pocket. Six dollars to win on Liverpool Lou, the six horse. She’d never bet in her life, and although the minimum wager was two dollars and she was usually very prudent, six dollars on number six sounded lucky.

Shane pressed a plastic glass in her hand and gave a boyish grin. “I know your type is used to champagne but here in the cheap seats, we prefer beer.”

Her type?
She’d never been slotted as the champagne type, doubted many men even bothered to slot her, and she gave Shane a grateful smile before taking a sip. The beer was cold and foamy and surprisingly good. She hadn’t had a beer since she was sixteen, when one of the other foster kids had sneaked a case into the basement.

“The beer company is giving away souvenir hats so I grabbed you one. Thought it might fit if you stuck your hair out the hole in the back—you know, like girls do. But maybe you don’t like hats? Or the color?”

He looked so uncertain she quickly took the ball cap. The caption read ‘Cold Beer, Hot Fillies’ and she jammed her hair under the pink cap just like Stephanie did. “Thanks, Shane. It’s perfect.” She tilted her head, smiling and feeling unusually jaunty.

He stared for a long second. “You look real pretty,” he finally said. “Think I’ll grab us a couple more beer.”

Becky adjusted her hat, smiling as she watched him ease past a short lady with an oversized purse. A handsome cowboy had just told her she looked pretty. Yes, this was definitely a great place to hang out.

She tilted her head, letting the sun kiss her face, and resolved to bring Martha down to the rail once her health improved. Clearly, it was more fun here than perched in an owner’s box, isolated from the action. Easy to maneuver too.

The horses paraded past the grandstand and her number six horse remained cool, calm and confident. It seemed she’d picked well even though the gray’s odds were ten to one—much higher than the popular Conrad horses which were usually sent off as heavy favorites. Obviously not many bettors followed her dress-up theory.

She glanced around, searching for the gray’s trainer and his unusual suit. Jerked in surprise when she spotted Slim leaning on the rail, less than ten feet away. He had his phone clamped to his ear and didn’t notice her. “Nothing else I can do.” His voice rose. “Filly’s been scratched.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling like an eavesdropper but conversely straining to hear.

“Maybe she’s too tired,” Slim said. “Hard to judge. Didn’t expect the scratch.” His voice rose in agitation. “No way.”

Cursing, he snapped the phone shut. A teenager on her left shot a curious look at Slim but Becky kept her head averted and pretended to watch the horses warm up. Obviously he’d been talking to someone about Echo. Not Dino or Martha. He’d never talk to them in that tone.

“Big lineup,” Shane said, yanking back her attention. “Hats are all gone too.” He handed her another frothy beer. “Hey, Slim,” Shane called. “Did the vet scratch?”

Slim jerked around, staring at them for a moment. “Yeah.” His gaze flickered over Becky. “So there’s no sense hanging around here. I’m going to haul the horses home after the third race. Meet me at the shedrow then, Becky.”

“But the feature race is the seventh,” Shane said. “And the eighth race will be good too. A horse Dino once trained is the favorite. You two should stay for the afternoon. Let me buy you a beer, Slim.”

“Can’t,” Slim said. “Got horses to feed.”

“But whoever was going to feed when we planned to stay for Echo’s race can still feed,” she said impulsively. “So there’s no need to rush back.”

“That’s right.” Shane gave an enthusiastic nod.

Slim stared at Becky, ignoring Shane. “Unless Dino tells me to stay, I’m leaving after the third. So you best be ready.”

Becky flushed and took another sip of beer, wishing Slim wasn’t quite so difficult. It seemed a shame to leave after three races, although if Martha didn’t have any horses running, there was no real reason to stay.

Shane gave her a commiserating look and rolled his eyes. She dipped her face in the beer, hiding her expression. However the cold beer tickled her nose, and she could feel a giggle bubbling in her chest. And then she did laugh—partly at Shane, partly at Slim, but mainly because it was a great day at the track.

***

Dino watched Red lead a strutting Chippy into the saddling enclosure to join the horses entered in race three. Red nodded approvingly. “Chippy’s on the muscle today, boss. He dragged me over here.”

“Good.” Dino rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease his tension. A win in a claiming race wouldn’t compensate for Echo’s scratch but might help Martha’s outlook, enough to keep her stable intact a bit longer.

Still troubled, he scanned the spectators ringing the paddock, searching for Chippy’s owner—owner’s rep actually. But Becky and Shane weren’t in sight. Maybe they’d decided to watch from Martha’s box, or maybe Becky didn’t really care about watching a low-level claimer.

He turned back, greeting the valet as Red guided Chippy into his slot to be saddled. Chippy pawed when Dino placed the saddle on his back, always a good sign for this particular gelding. Chippy didn’t have much speed but never lost for lack of try.