Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (131 page)

He answered with a sense of resignation. A call from a steward was generally a pain in the ass but they were vital for enforcing Racing Commission rules.

“Dino Anders?” a vaguely familiar voice said.

“Yeah.”

“This is Brandon Emeneau.” The man cleared his throat. “I’m calling to advise of a drug violation. Echo Beach tested positive for Winstrol. She’ll be disqualified from her most recent win. We’re also handing down a twenty-five-hundred dollar fine and a six-month suspension. You have the right to file an appeal within three days.”

Dino rose so fast his chair slammed the wall. “You’re fucking kidding!”

“Sorry,” the steward said. “I’m not.”

***

“That slop is appalling.” Martha knocked the spoon away, spilling chicken soup over Becky’s wrist. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

The nurse checked the gauge, frowning. “Mrs. Conrad, your blood pressure is very high. Try to relax.”

“If I relaxed any more, I’d be dead. For goodness sakes, I just want to go home.”

“Your nephew is here,” the nurse’s tone turned soothing, “talking to the doctor about that very thing. Meanwhile, I’ll try to find a different meal.” She gave Becky a tight smile and swept from the room.

“Where’s the food your young man left?” Martha asked. “I bet those nurses ate it. Dino said it was in their fridge.”

Yes. But he’d brought chicken fried steak. Hardly the best food for Martha. “I’ll check out the restaurant across the street,” Becky said soothingly. “What would you like?”

“Never mind.” Martha shook her head in irritation. “Call Dino and tell him to bring me some fresh peaches. Ripe ones. I don’t like them hard.”

“I’ll get them for you,” Becky said. “No need to call him.”

“He’s my trainer. Call him now.”

Becky crossed her arms. Buying peaches was hardly in Dino’s job description and besides, he hadn’t called her all day. Obviously she’d spooked him with her rash admission of love. “I don’t want to call him,” she said.

Martha settled against her pillow, scowling. “You two need to sort this out, and I prefer it happen while I’m still breathing.”

“Sort what out?”

“Just because a room is dark doesn’t mean I can’t hear. Besides, I warned you not to fall in love.” Martha sniffed. “He obviously cares for you, but can you be happy with a man who puts his career first?”

Becky crossed the room and stared blindly out the window as honking traffic bottlenecked at the busy intersection below.
Maybe
.

“You wouldn’t, dear,” Martha went on, as though reading her mind. “You have so much love to give. You deserve it in return.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Becky’s knuckles whitened around the window sill. “He’s moving anyway.”

“What about you? It’s not much of a life, stuck in a lonely house with a cranky old woman. But I like people around, and I’m too selfish to give you up.”

“Oh, Martha.” Becky circled the bed and kissed her lined cheek. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Maybe I’ll try to live to a bit longer then,” Martha said.

They both turned at the sound of measured footsteps. The doctor entered, followed by a solemn-faced Ted.

“Well, Mrs. Conrad,” the doctor said, “I hear you own many exciting racehorses.”

“That’s correct. My husband bred them.”

“Not the usual hobby for my patients. What about knitting? That’s excellent for arthritic fingers.”

Ted’s head bobbed in agreement, but Becky crossed her arms. “She doesn’t knit, and she doesn’t watch races either, Doctor. So the excitement can be kept to a manageable level.”

“Oh, so it’s not stressful then? I thought it was.” He frowned at Ted. “Fine. Well, a calm environment is what you need. And of course, anything you enjoy is beneficial. There are several excellent retirement homes that could be considered. In the meantime, we’ll get your blood pressure down to an acceptable level.”

“When can I go home?” Martha asked.

“If all goes well, by the end of the week.”

Wonderful, Becky thought. This doctor was sensible. A calm environment with horses. They could do that. She peeked at Ted, knowing he’d be displeased. However, his expression surprised her. Not anger or frustration but something very much like satisfaction.

***

Ted politely pulled out a chair in the hospital cafeteria, waiting for Becky to sit.
Maybe I’ve misjudged him?
She lowered herself on the seat. He was arrogant, selfish and unpleasant, but today he seemed to care about Martha’s health. Seemed content with the doctor’s suggestions.

It was ridiculous to harbor an aversion. Even though his eyes were the same color as Creepy Craig’s, she’d never had the sense that he viewed her as a woman. He was almost asexual—unlike Dino, who exuded such raw masculinity it made her reel.

Dino would be happy to hear the news. He’d be able to race Hunter and Echo on the circuit, so would have two good stakes horses. Even though his ranch was in the south, he’d have to call and report race results, maybe visit every six weeks when he picked up horses.

Every six weeks
. Her heart cracked.

“As long as there’s no stress,” Ted said.

She forced her thoughts off Dino, trying to concentrate on the conversation. “That’s right,” she said. “As long as Martha doesn’t attend the races, there’s not much associated stress. She really wants to continue for Malcolm.”

“Yes, good old Malcolm.” Ted’s voice hardened. “This is entirely his fault.”

“What do you mean?”

Ted gave a negligible shrug, but his expression hardened. “As her executor, I wonder if Martha’s signed a living will. Perhaps that’s why she’s making noises about seeing her lawyer.”

Becky inched her chair back, suddenly needing more breathing room. “Martha doesn’t ‘make noises.’ Her lawyer is coming on Thursday.”

“That’s quick.” His nostrils flared.

“You’re the one who keeps reminding her she’s fragile. Guess she wants to make sure everything is finalized.”

“Do you know what changes she’s making?” He studied her over steepled fingers. “I’m confident you’re too ethical to accept a horse. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Becky nodded. Much as she would love to keep Lyric, she couldn’t afford to own the cantankerous mare. Lyric was a high-maintenance horse and not the safest animal to handle. Still, you couldn’t choose the horses you fell in love with—much like men.

“And of course Martha should respect Malcolm’s wishes,” Ted added. “After all,
he
never wanted to give you a horse.”

Becky squeezed her eyes shut, gathering her patience. Now she realized what this meeting was about. Ted hated losing a few bucks from a billion dollar estate. It must have been Martha’s little joke about giving away Lyric that had spurred this private conversation. What an ass.

“And of course you’ll return the necklace,” Ted went on.

Her hand swept to her bare neck. The necklace was in her suitcase, but she wanted to keep it, along with the memories. “It’s just a copy, Ted,” she said wearily. “The real one is in Martha’s jewelry box. I’ll pay you for the cost if that makes you happy.”

“It’s not a copy. I asked Jocelyn for all the bills over the last three months. Martha never had a copy made. And someone like you shouldn’t waltz away with a family heirloom.”

Becky gulped. She’d been wearing Martha’s prized necklace in the barn? Frolicking in the hay? At the track? She might have lost it. The clasp could have broken; someone could have ripped it off her neck. Her pulse pounded so furiously the wave of dizziness left her unbalanced.

Ted mistook her silence. “If you refuse, I’ll have Martha declared incompetent.”

“She’s not incompetent!”

“But she’d hate the scandal. The stress alone might kill her. And we don’t want that, do we?” He patted her hand and rose. “Don’t worry. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

She jerked back, revolted by his touch, but he’d already turned away and headed for the door. Greed. The man was consumed with it. He had a wonderful aunt to share his life with, yet chose to count down her days on a calendar. How sick.

Well, she’d certainly return the necklace, but she was also going to make sure Martha lived another decade. No stress, no troubles, only love and smiles. And if Ted made Martha’s blood pressure leap, she’d keep him away too.

She rummaged through her purse, searching for her phone. She needed someone to talk to and despite Dino’s preoccupation with his own affairs, he was always the voice of reason.

Ring, ring, ring
. She checked her watch. Two p.m. He could be at his apartment, could be at Conrad’s. Could be anywhere. She hadn’t talked to him today, not since he left the hospital room early this morning…not since she’d admitted she loved him.

“Yeah,” he finally answered after seven rings.

“Hi.” Her relief was so great, her voice cracked. “It’s Becky.”

“I know.”

Of course he knew. Her number would be displayed, but she’d hoped for a warmer reception. He sounded gruff, grumpy, slurred.

“When are you coming?” She glanced around the cafeteria as people streamed in and out, pushing trays and looking solemn. She wished he were here now.

“I’m not.”

She paused. “You’re not coming to the hospital today?”

“How’s Martha?” he asked abruptly.

“She’s doing well. And there’s some good news. Looks like she’ll keep all the horses, at least until the fall. So you’ll have the stakes horses to race at Retama. Isn’t that great!”

He was silent for so long, her fingers twisted, digging her nails painfully into her palm. Silence wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.

“Have to see her…explain.”

“Explain what?” she asked.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” The phone went dead.

She blinked in disbelief. Had he hung up? Yes, definitely a dial tone. She closed her phone, dropped it in her purse, struggled to act normal. But something pricked at the back of her eyes and rapid swallowing didn’t stop the convulsive tightening of her throat.

What had she done? Obviously he was spooked. Wasn’t even visiting the hospital. And there was so much to tell—about Martha, about Ted, about the horses.

She dropped her head in her hands, regretting those impulsive words whispered in the dark. Wished she could pull them back, wished he wasn’t quite so selfish, but most of all wished she didn’t feel so achingly alone.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dino pried his eyes open, squinting at the harsh sun slanting through the window. Goddammit. He was lying on the clammy kitchen floor. His head hurt and his boots were still on. He shuffled to his feet, groaning, and averted his gaze from the two empty whiskey bottles.

Didn’t want to think about yesterday.
Fuck, fuck, fuck
. Disqualified for steroids. No win, no bonus, no ranch. Couldn’t even train with a six-month suspension.

He’d appeal. Had to try. If he could prove Slim had been a disgruntled employee, the Racing Commission might reverse the ruling. There’d already been a sponging incident. Any idiot should know a trainer wouldn’t sponge his own horse. Unfortunately the legal process was lengthy, and there was no way Laura would wait for him to raise the money. His home was history.

He shuffled to the shower, still cursing. Stood under hot, pulsing water until his head marginally cleared and coherent thought returned. Slim had to have been responsible but why? Maybe Becky would have some insight. She was observant and smart. Loyal as hell.

Plenty of witnesses would testify Slim had been acting weird. No solid proof of sabotage—eating carrots slowly wouldn’t count, but surely there was enough for a workable defense. It wouldn’t help get his ranch though. He flexed his knuckles, fighting the urge to drive his fist through the wall.
Unbefuckinglievable
.

He yanked on some clean clothes and powered up his laptop. Scanned the recent rulings, stewards’ decisions and appeal process. Fucking depressing that they could strip away his livelihood,
bang
, just like that. And the repercussions to employees, to staff, to owners.

Aw shit, Martha. He squeezed his eyes shut then checked his watch. Seven a.m. He’d have to break the news to her. Call Shane. Explain to his staff. Hopefully Stephanie was in the barn. If not, he’d call on the way to the hospital. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a rush of shame and wishing his brain were clearer.

Considering Martha’s fragile state, it might be best to follow Becky’s need-to-know policy and keep the drug charge secret. Save her some heartache. Best to talk to Becky first. She’d know what was best.

He exited the Racing Commission website with its onerous list of sanctions, penalties and fines and flipped to the surveillance cam. Stephanie wasn’t in the aisle, and the only activity was Lyric nosing at her stall lock, trying to figure a way to escape. He didn’t want to wait for Stephanie. His career was crashing and the only person he needed to see—the only person he wanted—was Becky.

***

“You look tired this morning. I should send you home for a good night’s sleep, but it’s nice to have you here. Besides, I’ve always been rather selfish.”

Becky forced a smile, cutting the peach into bite-sized pieces. Dino was the selfish one, and her despair welled. If only she didn’t love him, if only she hadn’t told him she loved him…if only he cared. She glanced at Martha, guiltily realizing she hadn’t been listening.

“I never really worried about people, not like Malcolm. At least I helped cement his legacy. Do you think that’s enough?” Martha’s voice turned pensive, and her gaze settled on her bible.

“Oh, Martha. You’re a wonderful lady. You don’t have to suddenly worry about pleasing God.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re young and healthy.” Martha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to run off with Dino and leave me, are you? Remember your promise?”

“He doesn’t want me anyway.” Becky’s voice sounded oddly tight.

“I’m sorry, dear. Very sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. He only worries about himself.” Becky firmed her voice. “He’s a good trainer but definitely not someone I could ever love.”