Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (124 page)

A car purred outside and he crossed to the window. Distinctive Mercedes headlights. One driver, no passengers. Good. Becky had said Martha wasn’t planning to come, but he hadn’t been sure. While he hoped she was feeling okay, he preferred Becky to himself.

He slipped his phone and wallet in his pocket, tossed the jacket over his shoulder and stepped outside. She waved and he waved back, unable to contain his foolish grin. She was unaffected and sweet. And if the restaurant wouldn’t let them in with jeans, they’d find another spot. Didn’t matter—

The smile slid from his face as she stepped out.

Oh, Christ, a princess. That’s what she was, a golden princess. The sleek dress molded to her curves, making it impossible to see where the material stopped and her skin started—somewhere on her chest, just below a magnificent pearl necklace that set off the dress to perfection. He dragged his eyes off the swell of her breasts and checked out the generous length of leg.

Gulped. Couldn’t stop staring.

The dress wasn’t really short, slightly above her knees, but her legs had stretched, especially with those strappy, sparkly shoes. The type of fuck-me shoes Laura had always worn when she went out—dressed, perfumed and primed to flirt with anyone in pants.

He’d never noticed before but Becky looked an awful lot like his ex-wife.

She paused by the fender of the car. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing.” He yanked on his jacket, his movements jerky. “But I have to stop by the barn. Probably have to come back early and check on Echo. Going to be a long night.”

Hurt blanched her face, and he closed his mouth. Didn’t want to be a jerk, but Christ, he could see it now. She looked exactly like Laura—Laura who’d wanted to dine and dance, stay up late every night—the hell with horses, racing and working. The hell with wedding vows.

“You look nice,” he added stiffly. “Maybe we’ll have time to squeeze in a few dances after dinner.”

“I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Neither am I.” The tightness in his jaw loosened a notch, and he pulled open his truck door. Grimaced when he saw the horse brush, the sweaty riding helmet, the hair on the leather seat. Laura had always hated his truck. “Maybe we should take your fancy car instead.” He couldn’t quite hide the edge in his voice.

“It’s not my car. It’s Martha’s. And hair wipes off.” She waited, seemed unfazed by the condition of his truck, merely puzzled as she waited for him to step back so she could climb in.

“Just a sec,” he said. “I have a blanket in the back, brand new. Won it last week.”

She smiled and suddenly looked kissable, but Laura had never liked her makeup messed, so he grabbed the blanket and folded it over the seat. “There. Hop in.” He helped her up, circled to the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The diesel engine roared to life, overly loud in the still night—something else that had always bothered Laura. She’d hated going out in the truck, had always wanted a sleek car.

He glanced sideways, waiting for a comment, but Becky didn’t say a word. She’s not Laura, he reminded himself. They didn’t even look that similar, not really, although when Becky was dressed up she looked high-maintenance, exactly the kind of woman he’d sworn to avoid.

And here he was, taking her out for a formal dinner when he should be thinking of Echo—watching race video, checking weather forecasts, calculating the speed on the inside and figuring out jock instructions. And he should have reminded Shane to double bed the stall for Echo tomorrow, and they really should switch the stall-walking gelding with Chippy. Echo would be calmer if she were beside a confident horse like Chippy.

But no, on the eve of the most important race of his career, he was driving to a restaurant forty miles away and sliding into a relationship he didn’t need or want. Making the same damn mistakes all over again, with someone who would be impossible to avoid. Someone he needed to get along with. He must be nuts.

“I’m going to be really busy tomorrow,” he said, “and over the next few weeks.” He switched from CD to radio, hoping to catch a weather forecast. “Be moving to my place soon.” He glanced sideways, checking her reaction, but she seemed unfazed by his announcement. “Depending on when Slim moves, we’ll probably put the new manager in my guesthouse,” he added.

“Makes sense,” she said.

Obviously she didn’t understand what he was saying, and he snapped off the twanging radio, irritated with the singer and the song. “You could always come out to my ranch and visit once in a while, but I know you want to stay close to Martha.”

“Yes, it would be inconvenient.”

Inconvenient. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “It’s not that far,” he said perversely. “A couple hundred miles.”

“You’re pretty sure you’ll get your ranch back?”

“The way Echo looked this morning, she’ll win if I can just get her to the starting gate.” And he’d be pocketing his bonus four days later. Malcolm had set up an excellent accounting system, and Conrad employees were always promptly paid.

“I really hope you get it,” her voice softened with concern, “but racing is so unpredictable.”

He impulsively reached over and squeezed her hand. “She’ll win. Trainers know these things.” Plus, it helped that the filly’s speed figures were the highest, that she had a veteran jockey, an excellent post position and was training like a tiger. Lately she’d been super aggressive. Almost pulled Tracey’s arms off this morning. Even the track handicapper had her tagged at even money.

But it had been a long time since someone had genuinely cared on his account; he liked the feeling. He also liked the feel of her hand in his, so soft and trusting. Reminded him of Laura when they first met, when she’d seemed so sweetly interested in racing, so supportive of his job.

Women often pretended.

He released her hand and punched another station on the radio. Different song, same irritation. Christ, he hoped Becky didn’t want to stay out late. It was probably just the big race tomorrow, but he was feeling itchy and the prospect of driving forty minutes to sit in a snotty restaurant suddenly had no appeal.

He glanced sideways as they whipped past the brightly illuminated barn. “Damn!” He jerked the truck to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” She twisted in her seat.

“Should only be the night lights on. Echo needs her sleep.” He clicked open his door. “I’ll be right back. Cody doesn’t know the routine like Slim.”

He stepped from the truck and walked down the aisle, automatically checking each horse. Echo’s eyes were wide and welcoming, but the watchman’s chair by her stall was conspicuously vacant—empty except for a greasy bag and a crinkled Playboy magazine.

“Goddammit, Cody!” he hollered.

A muffled noise leaked from the back, and he stalked down the aisle and around the corner. Paused in front of the washroom.

“In here, boss.” Cody’s voice was weak and plaintive.

The door was slightly ajar. Cody was down on his knees, hands splayed around the bowl, head jammed over the toilet. “Got the flu or something,” he said, leaning forward and puking.

Dino averted his head and backed up several steps. “When did it start?”

“About an hour ago,” Cody managed between groans. “Feels like a knife slicing my gut.”

“Maybe it’s those ribs. How old were they?”

“Three, four days,” Cody said. “Never eating meat again. I want to die.”

Dino blew out a sigh. “Guess we should go to the hospital.”

“No, I’ll be okay.” Cody leaned further over the bowl, his voice muffled. “Just give me this fucking toilet.”

“Oh, Cody.” Becky’s soft voice swept them. “I’ll get you some water.”

Cody glanced up, his eyes wet. “You’re an angel. Look like one too,” he added before twisting and tightening his grip around the bowl.

Dino squeezed the bridge of his nose as Becky and her beautiful dress disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t look annoyed, didn’t seem worried a piece of hay might stick to her clothes. Laura would never enter a barn when she was gussied up, had always been pissed when plans were disrupted by horses.

Becky reappeared, carrying a bottle of water and a blanket. Crouched over Cody and checked his vitals. Rose and whispered to Dino, “Looks like food poisoning. If it gets any worse, we better take him to the hospital.”

Dino dragged a hand over his jaw. “The problem is—” He stared at the door to the aisle, not wanting to see her annoyance when he cancelled dinner. “I can’t leave Echo alone, not before the big race. Not while Slim is around.”

“Of course you can’t.”

She sounded so matter of fact, he jerked around, searching for signs of sarcasm, but she brushed past, intent on looking after Cody. Didn’t seem annoyed, frustrated or even disappointed that their night was a bust. She wrapped a blanket around Cody’s shivering shoulders and twisted the cap off a water bottle. Something she said made Cody laugh. A weak chuckle, but nevertheless the kid now seemed to think he might live.

She closed both doors and rejoined Dino. “He just wants to be alone,” she whispered.

“Maybe we can go out tomorrow night.” He forced some enthusiasm as they walked around the corner and back toward the stalls. Tomorrow would be hectic. He had to haul Echo home, meet with Slim and find a new manager. And there were thirty other horses at Lone Star that he hadn’t watched gallop today. Shane had assured him everything was fine, but he liked to see his horses on the track, not compensate with a phone report.

“Doesn’t matter.” She fingered her pearl necklace, noticed his gaze and gave a wan smile. “I can’t stop touching this. Martha gave it to me. Promises it will bring us luck tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. The necklace looked identical to the one Martha often wore to the races. Malcolm had once told him it cost more than a stakes horse. “Loaned it, you mean?” He propped his hip against the wall, his voice casual.

“No, she insists I keep it. It’s her copy of the original.” Her face flickered with regret. “She’s trying to give me a lot of things. Seems to be organizing everything. Like she’s getting ready, you know...” Becky shrugged and averted her head.

“Hey, don’t worry. There’s nothing you can do.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Martha has always known exactly what she wants. The Lone Star season is over soon, and if she’s ready to check out—”

“Check out!” Becky jerked from his touch. “How callous. Life isn’t just about racing. It’s not just about your bonus.”

“I meant check into a retirement home. Not check out permanently.” He shoved his hands in his pocket, trying to choose his words more carefully. “But she doesn’t have any reason to stay in that huge house. Her goal was always Malcolm’s—to leave some sort of legacy. For him. If Echo wins tomorrow, the filly remains undefeated. The race isn’t a graded stakes, but it’s still a win. And it’s clear Martha lost her bounce when Malcolm died. She likes people around, likes to have them look up to her. She’d have all that in a retirement home, without the stress.”

Becky jammed her hands on her hips. “But she
has
people around. And she loves her horses. She’s excited about the race, even talking about a victory dinner with Slim and Stephanie and everyone.”

“Stephanie’s in a lot of pain, and Slim won’t be around.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Slim’s allowed to live here. Didn’t I tell you what Martha wants?”

Dino blew out a sigh. “Slim was drunk again this afternoon. Made some nasty confessions. He’s bitter about Jill. I don’t want to upset Martha, but I’ll get all the facts tomorrow once he’s sober. We may have to notify the police.”

“I know he’s unstable, but can’t we have a guard and let him stay?” She sank down on a bale of hay. “Martha wants him to have that choice.”

The quaver in her voice wrenched at his chest but he stepped back, folding his arms. “He let Lyric loose, sponged Hunter, walked Echo into the ground, and almost killed Steph.” His anger hardened as he thought of Slim’s rambling admissions. “All because of some misguided resentment. You think he deserves a break?”

“I guess we all make sacrifices when we love someone,” she said. “But you wouldn’t know that. It’s always about you and the horses.”

Oh yeah, here it comes. Another dig about horses, just like Laura, all over again. He spun around and stalked back down the aisle, around the corner and banged on the bathroom door. “How you doing in there, Cody?” He cracked the door open and glanced in. “Any better?”

“Nothing left to throw up.” Cody’s voice was slightly stronger. “But I don’t want to move.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll have a security guard by tomorrow.”

“Looks like I’ll be hugging the toilet all night, boss. Sorry to screw up your night.”

“No problem. I can go out any night.” But not with Becky. Once he moved home, she wouldn’t be convenient. And he liked convenient. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to make her happy. She craved security, not a long-distance relationship.

He walked back down the aisle, watching as she scratched Lyric’s jaw. Weird how the mare didn’t try to nip, never even put her ears back when Becky was around. The two made an attractive pair; Lyric had the most elegant head and Becky was simply stunning. Stunning and probably starving.

“Sorry.” He pulled out his phone, his voice more curt than he intended. “But I have to cancel our dinner reservation. What about tomorrow night instead?”

“Not a good time.” She didn’t look up, her attention on Lyric. “I’ll want to celebrate Echo’s win with Martha, the win you’re pretty much guaranteeing.”

He ignored her tone and punched in the restaurant’s number. “All right. How about Sunday then?”

“Carol’s on vacation so I’ll be busy the whole week.”

“The whole week? You can’t get one night off?” He snapped the phone shut, surprised by his dismay. “What about some morning then? I’ll find a quiet gelding and we can go for a ride.”

“It’s not dinner though.” She shrugged and his gaze was pulled to her chest. Always a mystery how those low-cut dresses stayed in place. They seemed unstable, as if a sudden laugh or cough might send breasts tumbling. He’d never actually seen that happen, but it was always a possibility, a dream actually. He blew out a wistful sigh.