Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (11 page)

Now though, Kurt wanted to concentrate on Julie and her jockeying skills, or lack thereof.

He staked out a spot at the paddock and studied Skipper Jack as the gelding ambled around the walking ring. The bay was rangier than most sprinters and wore a breast collar. He had a Roman nose and probably was a fighter—the horse did have a stubborn look—but his performance had tanked over the last few years.

Color flashed, and riders filed from the jockeys’ room, vibrant in the owners’ racing silks. Kurt had seen a few jockeys at morning gallops but most were unfamiliar, and he used his program to match names with faces. Julie was one of the last riders to appear, distinctly feminine in fitted nylon pants and green silks.

A chestnut stopped for a tack adjustment, blocking his view. He edged sideways, trying to see Julie receive her riding instructions. She looked tense. So did the bay’s trainer. The solemn man stroked the tips of his moustache, unable to keep his hands still. Only Skippy seemed relaxed. The horse ambled around the walking ring, his nose so low it almost dragged in the dirt.

Kurt checked the board. At sixteen to one, Skippy and Julie weren't getting much respect, and the crowd had made Bixton’s horse the overwhelming favorite.

“Riders up!” the paddock judge called.

Kurt climbed the grandstand, high enough that he could see over the infield. So far tonight, he liked the way Bixton rode as well as another fellow named Allan. He’d probably use one of those guys, but it would be interesting to see how Julie handled herself under pressure. Putting her on Lazer was fine in theory, but he still had huge reservations about using her in an actual race. Christ, he didn’t want her to get hurt.

She hadn’t even won at a decent track, and he wasn't going to use a jockey who might endanger other horses and riders, no matter how hard she worked in the morning. His gaze drifted back to the green silks. It seemed her first challenge was to wake up her horse for the post parade.

His mouth twitched at the strange sight. While the other runners danced and pranced, Skippy plodded, not even needing the company of an escort pony. Skippy turned his head once, surveyed the crowd and blinked, as though surprised to see so many people.

“Look at the horse the girl is riding,” a perfumed lady in front of Kurt said. “I think he missed his retirement party.”

Kurt checked his program. Skippy was seven years old but ambled like he was twenty-seven, and pity overrode his amusement. It was hard for a rider to look good on a poor horse. Without a lucky break or benefactor, many talented jockeys floundered in obscurity.

Tired, worn-out horses might be all Julie rode for a few seasons, and by the look of Skippy, she didn't have much chance despite her comment about finishing on the board. Still, Kurt couldn’t quite shake the image of her jaunty thumbs-up. She had encouraged Sandra to bet on Skippy too, so she must have reason to believe the old horse would finish in the money.

Kurt raised his binoculars, studying Skippy as the horse plodded past. Julie was making no effort to rev him up, but she should know what type of warm-up suited him best—hell, she galloped the old guy every morning. And horses did run for her. He’d witnessed that firsthand with Lazer.

He yanked his program out and rechecked the gelding’s form. Skippy usually broke well. Perhaps the seasoned horse was saving everything for the race. And maybe he was underestimating both Julie and Skippy.

He slid his hand in his pocket and fingered some bills. The old gelding might be worth a show bet. Skippy would pay loyal backers well. No wonder Sandra had rushed from the barn to slap her money down.

The board flashed a warning, two minutes to post. He sighed and stretched back in his seat. Either he’d be shut out at the windows or get the bet down and miss the start of the race. And he had promised Julie he’d watch her ride before choosing a jockey.

A simple promise to watch.

He had to keep it. She might not be able to race worth a damn, but it would be fun to watch her on the old horse, and Kurt suddenly had a good feeling about it all.

He raised his binoculars and fumbled for a second, surprised by his clumsy fingers. Strange to have pre-race jitters. He didn’t even train Skippy. But as the horses mingled around the gate, waves banded in his chest and his breath shortened.

He stared through the glasses, watching the gate crew load the horses. Legs appeared below the bottom bar. Color flickered, and two front feet disappeared. A whirl of motion then the hooves reappeared, and the rearing horse stood square again. The crowd murmured. The horses were in.

An expectant hush blanketed the stands. Kurt’s breathing grew shallow as he strained to see. The gates sprung, the horses charged out and Julie’s veteran was right there, holding his own with the youngsters. That old horse had fooled everyone.

They ran in a bunch, a tight knot of bobbing horses identifiable only by the bright silks. But when the pack entered the turn they stretched out. Bixton was third, two wide, but galloping fluidly. Julie had Skippy galloping fifth along the rail; her horse didn't look at all sleepy now.

They swept around the turn. It was a soft pace, and Bixton easily grabbed the lead. Kurt found Julie's bobbing green silks, tight on the inside, stalking the leaders, her horse comfortably in hand.

At the half-mile pole, the horses in the back edged up. Julie, snug on the rail, had no place to go. Skippy was passed in a wave, boxed in and pushed back to seventh.

“Let’s see what you do now, sweetie,” Kurt murmured, pressing the binoculars closer to his face.

Off the backstretch, a blinkered horse in front of Julie drifted wide, and she muscled Skippy into the opening. Skippy scudded forward, splitting horses and finding running room.

“Go, baby!” Kurt dropped his binoculars and leaped to his feet, ignoring the curious glance from the woman in front of him.

Now there were only two horses in front of Julie. Bixton still led when they hit the top of the stretch, but he was chased by a fast-closing gray. Skippy loomed two lengths back, gamely battling to catch them both.

Bixton went to his stick, whacking rhythmically, pleading for every drop of energy. But his mount was tired, and the gray edged past. So did Skippy.

What a gallant horse! Kurt watched the old gelding strain for the wire. Julie waved her stick twice but didn't touch him. No one watching the horse could ever doubt his effort. They swept across the finish line, the gray first, Skippy a length back and Bixton clinging to third.

Kurt cheered with the crowd, his admiration keeping him on his feet. Julie had managed to bring a long shot up for second. Skippy wasn't the fastest runner in the field or the most talented, but the old horse was ratable and had tons of courage. She’d given him a good trip too, saving ground on the rail and not bullying him down the stretch. Not surprising the horse ran his heart out for her.

Kurt zigzagged down the steps and dodged a slew of muttering people to join Adam who leaned over the rail, cheering as Julie trotted Skippy back.

The horse was filthy. Dirt smeared his head and chest, but there was a bounce in his step, and he preened for the crowd, obviously energized by the attention. Julie pulled her saddle off, gave the smiling trainer an exuberant handshake and bounced to the scales.

“Thanks for cutting me off back there, Jules.”

Bixton's drawl was unmistakable. Kurt stiffened as the jockey strutted up behind Julie and tapped her on the shoulder with his whip. However, she turned, white teeth shining through her muddy face. They walked away together, seemingly the best of buddies.

“Damn good race,” Adam said. “Did you have any money on it?”

Kurt jerked his gaze off the two jockeys. “Yeah. But nothing I can cash.”

“Too bad.” Adam smugly brandished his own tickets. “Julie will be thrilled with that race. First time she’s ever finished ahead of Bixton.”

“Are they good friends?” Kurt asked, staring at the results illuminated on the giant board, trying to pretend he wasn’t at all interested in Adam’s answer.

“Yeah, real good friends,” Adam said, “but that doesn’t mean Bixton likes to lose. He wants the riding title again this year.”

Kurt waited, hoping for more, but Adam’s head dipped over his
Racing Form
. Real good friends? What did that mean?

He glanced over his shoulder as Julie paused and passed her goggles to a wide-eyed fan. The young girl had braces and a horse photo on her shirt, and she clutched the souvenir in delight, ecstatic with the gift.

Bixton stopped and waited for Julie to precede him into the jockeys’ room. The guy was still smiling, cocky as ever despite riding the beaten favorite. Kurt wondered if they sat together between races or if Julie stayed in the female section. The door closed, and they were gone.

“Have you named a jockey for your big horse yet?” Adam asked.

“Not yet,” Kurt said, turning his attention back to Adam. “But I’ll know by the end of the night.”

“If you don’t use Julie, Bixton is by far the best rider around.” Adam shook his head with grudging respect. “He came up from Montana and was Alberta’s Jockey of the Year. Now, Alberta isn’t the bellybutton of racing, but you can't win awards like that without a shitload of talent.”

“So he and Otto are both Americans?” Kurt leaned closer to Adam. “Do they travel together?”

“No, Bixton’s been here for three years. Otto just showed up last spring. What do you think of the three horse?”

Kurt studied the form above Adam’s tapping finger. The three horse had speed but usually burned out on the front end. “Looks okay if his rider can rate him,” he said. “Probably impossible for the jock to do though.”

“Exactly what I thought.” Adam scribbled something and flipped to the next race. “I’m not betting Julie in the seventh,” he said as he gnawed the tip of his pencil. “Otto’s mare doesn’t have a hope in hell. Not unless he slips her some potent drugs.”

“That would be stupid, with all the testing,” Kurt said, watching Adam's face.

“I never said Otto was smart.” Adam spoke without lifting his head from
The Form
. “Think I’ll put the three horse over the five.”

Kurt glanced at the man’s program, watching as Adam agonized over every selection. Julie’s father was very serious about his handicapping. Cryptic marks and circles slashed each page, but his bets were modest and placed in the spirit of fun.

Unlike Otto’s.

Kurt pushed himself away from the rail. “I’m going back to the barn to grab a halter.”

Adam just grunted, engrossed with comparing information in
The Racing Form
to that shown in the track program.

Kurt strolled along the path, passing horses being led over for the sixth race. The handlers’ faces were taut, as though headed into battle, a stark contrast to the relaxed expressions of trainers leading runners back. He saw Skippy and the horse’s dour trainer walking in front of him, so he lengthened his stride.

“Your horse ran a nice race,” Kurt said as he moved alongside. “You sure had him ready.”

“Thanks.” A smile edged beneath the man’s moustache. “I thought the race would suit, and the West girl gave him a good trip.”

“She sure did.” Kurt nodded his agreement and veered off onto the path to G barn. He was still twenty feet from the door when he heard scuffling, a curse, the crack of leather. He eased inside, taut with curiosity.

Otto blocked the aisle, his hand twisted around Country Girl’s tender lip as he rammed a ring bit in her mouth. He mashed her ears with the crownpiece and the mare reared. Her shoes scraped the concrete as she desperately scrambled for a foothold.

“Fuck!” Otto grabbed her left ear and twisted, forcing her head back down. His breath escaped in a series of grunts as he buckled the throatlatch then lashed a chain beneath her upper lip, where it clanged against her teeth.

Kurt winced. “Ever tried asking her politely?” he said.

Otto jerked around. The mare saw his inattention and struck with her right foreleg but Otto leaped sideways, yanking retribution with the chain.

Kurt jammed his hands in his pockets and forced himself to remain silent. The mare wouldn't have to put up with Otto’s brutish attention much longer. She just had to make it through the next thirty minutes.

“Get me that fucking Sandra,” Otto growled. “She can lead the bitch over.”

“She's on her way.” Kurt didn’t budge from the doorway.

The desperate mare lunged sideways. Otto yanked her back and wrestled her outside, glowering at Kurt as he passed.

Thud, thud
. The rhythmic beat of a trotting horse grew louder. Probably Sandra. Kurt hoped she didn’t mention he had paid her to pick up Country Girl. Otto had no reason to suspect there was a claim on his horse, but still, it had been a risk. Kurt edged closer to the door, straining to hear.

“Want me to lead her over for you, Otto?” Sandra’s holler carried into the barn.

“Yeah, but I ain’t paying you.”

“Let me slip my lead on, and you can take your chain,” Sandra said. “Easy, girl.”

Kurt heard the scramble of hooves and another curse. Dust billowed through the doorway and he stepped back, covering his nose, trying not to sneeze.

“Fucking bitch,” Otto muttered. “She bit me.”

“Serves you right,” Sandra said.

The knot between Kurt’s shoulders eased. Sandra seemed to believe he was only trying to help Julie when he’d paid for an escort. She didn’t realize he’d dropped a claim on Otto’s rebellious mare. Their voices faded, and Kurt headed down the aisle to grab a halter.

The door of Country Girl’s stall was open, and he poked his head in. Filthy, dark and depressing. Poor horse. It hadn’t been cleaned since Kurt’s night visit, and the manure had compacted in dense layers.

He closed the door on the stinking stall, hoping to keep the odor contained, then continued down the aisle. Jerked to a stop. The door to Otto’s tack room was ajar and definitely unlocked.

A rare opportunity.

He checked the aisle. Two people whooped with laughter as they sponged a horse. A stable hand pushed a heavily laden wheelbarrow while humming off-key to blaring music. No one watched. Everyone was absorbed with their own activities.