Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (44 page)

His eyes narrowed. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. She slipped a hand behind her back and crossed her fingers, trying to hide her desperation. She didn’t have a friend at any bank, didn’t have any other options, only knew she had to escape her grandfather’s relentless control.

He waited another full minute, staring at her over steepled fingers, but she held his gaze.

“Here’s the deal then,” he finally said, his voice thoughtful. “You’ll work at Belmont racetrack. No credit cards, no money except what you can earn. If you last until the end of the fall meet, I’ll finance your dog kennel. If you quit or are fired, you’ll live here and work at Boone. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” She triumphantly thumped the picture of her and a rather nasty gray pony back on the shelf, scrambling to remember everything she knew about Belmont Park.

The venerable New York track was in Queens, about a two-hour drive. Gramps had become interested in racing ten years ago when she’d been sixteen and immersed in the ski circuit. She’d accompanied him once to the races, and the dinner had been delicious, the hats elegant and the attentive men chatty and helpful. She frowned, trying to remember the horse barns, but their table had been high in the clubhouse, behind a spotless sheet of glass.

Didn’t matter. She’d see the animals soon enough, and at least she’d be working outside. The job shouldn’t be too difficult. All her old magazines had said horses were much easier to handle than ponies.

She pumped her grandfather’s hand to cement the deal, ignoring her twinge of unease at his smug smile.

***

Mark pulled out the desk drawer and flipped through his owner listings. Edward T. Boone. Time to call the man. He hated giving owners bad news, but at least Belle’s prognosis was good, and maybe Boone wouldn’t want many details. Incompetence was something Mark didn’t tolerate, but he couldn’t lie. It was a relief Trish was gone and his female staff were now all steady women—older, committed women.

Boone’s voice, curt and brusque, answered the phone on the second ring. Mark took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Owners paid the bills; they deserved the unvarnished truth.

“Good morning, Edward. Your filly, Belle, had a bout of colic,” Mark said. “We sent her to the clinic, but she’s okay. Didn’t need surgery. We just received the final clear. They’ll watch her for a few days.” He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for Boone to ask the cause.

“What’s the bottom line?” Boone asked.

“Bottom line?” Mark cracked open his eyelids. “Your horse is fine, but she’ll miss the stakes race next week.” Regret thickened his words. Belle had been training perfectly, almost as well as Boone’s colt, and would have been a key contender.

“But I have the company box reserved.” Boone’s voice hardened with impatience. “Clients flying in to watch. She has to run.”

“Sorry. She can’t.”

Mark sensed the scowl on Boone’s patrician face, could feel his displeasure radiating through the phone, but remained silent. He’d only met Boone eleven months ago, and it was clear the man craved control. However, Belle’s health was Mark’s first priority, and he refused to run a horse that wasn’t ready, no matter how many people Boone had invited for dinner. Unfortunately a trainer also had to please his owners, and Boone’s silence was ominous.

“You don’t want clients watching a poor race. Seeing a subpar result,” Mark added, sensing that angle might sway Boone much more than Belle’s welfare.

“Definitely not.” Boone gave a disgruntled sigh. “Okay. Maybe she shouldn’t run. But I do need a favor.”

“Sure.” Mark swallowed, trying to ignore the distaste souring his mouth. The man hadn’t even asked the cause of Belle’s colic. To Boone, it was always the bottom line, and the hell with the horse. Owners could be strange and ruthless people. Shaking his head, Mark propped his boots on the corner of his desk and tucked the phone against his shoulder, already thinking of Belle and the best feeding program for colic recovery.

“My granddaughter needs a job,” Boone said. “Needs to see what grunt work is all about. She won’t last a week on the backstretch but should learn plenty. And the experience will straighten her out. Force her into a real career.”

A real career
. Mark’s hand tightened around the phone at the man’s blatant condescension, but his voice remained level. “And you want me to do the straightening?”

“Yes,” Boone said. “She’ll be safe with you, and she’s experienced with horses. Had lessons at summer camp.”

Mark jerked forward so abruptly his boots slammed the floor. A greenie! Just what his barn needed. “Not a good idea. The backside is a different world. Hard, physical,” he paused as an image of the body bag crossed his mind. “Even dangerous.”

“Oh, I don’t expect her to last longer than a week. Don’t want her to.” But Boone’s chuckle lacked humor, and Mark understood why the man was reputed to be a cutthroat negotiator. “I just want her eyes opened. Want her to see the opportunities she’s passing up. She’ll quit and be working for me long before Breeders’ Cup rolls around.”

The wily bastard. Just the mention of Breeders’ Cup made Mark’s stomach kick. Finally he trained a horse fast enough to compete—Boone’s colt, Ambling Assets, was his big hope. Good enough to run. Good enough to win.

But owners could move their horses to different trainers at any time, and Boone’s reference to Breeders’ Cup wasn’t an accident. It was a threat. A girl for a horse. A no-brainer.

Mark paused but knew what his decision was long before he spoke. “Sure,” he said. “Send her by Monday morning.”

Chapter Two

The security guard refused to let her through the formidable chain link gate. Jessica gestured at her departing cab, but the driver roared away in a backwash of dust and gas fumes.

She sighed and peered through the mesh, studying the activity around the rows of buildings beyond the guardhouse. Several horses circled on contraptions resembling merry-go-rounds, and figures bustled between barns. However, no one bothered to look her way. The backside was much different from the public side. It was foreign, unfriendly and dauntingly big.

She plunked her leather bag on the ground, reached in her pocket and pulled out the creased paper with her grandfather’s brief instructions: Mark Russell, barn forty-eight. The numbers on these barns were in the twenties. There must be another entrance.

She gave the guard a scornful eye roll before turning away to follow the walkway edging the outer wall. Too high to climb and even if she managed, the six strands of spiked wire along the top looked effective. These people were anal about security.

Her right knee throbbed after five minutes of walking but she trudged beside the wall, ignoring the honks of passing traffic, determined to find another gate. Gramps wanted her to fail, expected her to, but there was no way she’d be coerced into joining Boone. Barn work would be a cinch compared to working for her grandfather. She wouldn’t let him control her life like he had her parents. She tightened her grip on the bag and continued walking, her steps as forceful as her thoughts.

A wiry man on an ancient bike vanished into a service entrance, and she squared her shoulders and followed. Maybe they weren’t as vigilant at this gate. But the slit-eyed guard glanced up from his inspection of a car’s trunk, dashing her hopes with his gesture to stop.

She didn’t have a phone number for this Russell fellow. Probably a deliberate oversight by her grandfather, hoping she might give up and slink home. Gramps was sneaky mean about getting his own way.

A man wearing a dark cowboy hat strolled past with an easy smile and an officious pass clipped to his jeans. He nodded at both the guard and Jessica as he sauntered through the gate. She slotted his type instantly—relaxed, friendly and receptive to women. “There you are!” she called, dashing forward. “A bit late.” Pouting, she placed her hand on his elbow. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

He hesitated but only for a second. “So sorry, darling.” With a mischievous grin, he looped his arm around her waist and tugged her close. “She’s with me, Jake,” he called as he escorted her past the guard and onto the grounds.

“Thank you,” she said after walking a safe distance. “You can let go of me now.”

His hand had already drifted along her hip, but he immediately lowered his arm and winked. “Shucks. I knew this was too good to last. Who you looking for, sweetheart?”

“Mark Russell.”

“Dammit, he always gets the gorgeous brunettes.” He grinned, his eyes sweeping her with such blatant appreciation, she smiled back. “I’m Dino, Mark’s assistant.” He sobered as his gaze drifted to her bulky bag. “But I’m sorry to say he won’t hire you.”

“Bet he will.”

“You’re on.” He stuck out his hand. “Beer and pizza. Loser buys.”

Dino was clearly a ladies’ man, but his easy charm was a salve to her soul. And he’d just made a sucker bet. She shook his hand without an ounce of guilt. Her grandfather had insisted she turn over all her credit cards so a free dinner would come in handy.

“It’s a bet,” she said. “Where’s Mark?”

Dino gestured over his shoulder. “He’s that big ugly guy watching us from the shedrow. The one who’s scowling.”

She adjusted her sunglasses and stared in the direction of Dino’s grin. The hard-muscled man framed in the doorway wasn’t scowling, but he didn’t look very welcoming either. And he definitely wasn’t ugly. His faded shirt and chinos fit his body flawlessly. She gulped and tried not to stare.

It wasn’t his powerful body or rugged face that was so compelling, but his distinct air of confidence. His very stillness as he watched made her fingers tighten around the handle of her bag. He didn’t look…easy.

She tossed her bag over her shoulder and sauntered toward him, hiding behind a composure she didn’t feel. “Hello, I’m Jessica Boone. Here to work.”

Only his gaze moved, his deep blue eyes studying her with calm objectivity. “Good morning,” he finally said.

His voice was slow and deep and sexy, and she stared at his chiseled mouth, trying to pin down his accent. He extended his hand and she automatically shook it, still absorbing his slight drawl, then realized her fingers clung much too long and dropped her arm in embarrassment.

He glanced over her head, apparently used to clinging females. “Thanks for showing her the way, Dino.”

“You’re hiring her?” Dino’s eyes widened. “But what about the Three-F rule?”

“Temporarily suspended,” Mark said with a humorless smile she didn’t understand. “Come with me, Jessica.”

Dino looked stunned and she shot him a teasing wink before following Mark into the barn, into the primal smell of leather, liniment and horses. She breathed through her mouth, needing a moment to adjust. Not exactly a distasteful smell, just overwhelmingly strong. Horses loomed everywhere, presenting an orderly row of heads as they stretched over stall guards.

Mark stopped so abruptly she almost bumped into him. He gestured into an airless room where a narrow cot occupied a third of the rough planked floor. “These are your sleeping quarters. The girl before you did some night watch and rubbed three.” His gaze flickered over her spotless boots and crisp jeans. “We’ll see how this works out. You might be better walking hots.”

He seemed to be speaking a different language, but she kept her mouth shut and tried to hide her jerk of dismay. Sleeping quarters was a euphemism. Her bedroom was just a stall converted from horse use to human, and she didn’t want to look too closely at the dark splotches staining the floor.

“Accommodations okay?” He reached over her head and lazily brushed a cobweb off the ceiling. They both watched as the transparent threads drifted through the air and landed on the middle of the cot.

“Perfect.” She forced brightness into her voice hoping he didn’t hear its quaver.

He gave a bland smile and stepped from the room. “Carlos,” he called, and a grim-faced man appeared like a well-trained butler. “This is Jessica. Have another groom, maybe Maria, show her around. See if she can do Trish’s job, but you’ll probably have to shuffle horses. Maybe put her on hots.”

Someone groaned and muttered ‘newbie’, and heat rushed to her face. Even the horses stared with fresh disdain.

Carlos gestured, and a dark-haired woman in a frayed jacket stepped forward. Carlos spoke in Spanish, a rapid fire of words that exposed a chipped front tooth, then turned and rushed after Mark.

“Come on, kid,” Maria said. “There’s one horse left to walk. Buddy, stall eight.” She passed Jessica a leather lead with a chain and clip on one end.

Jessica cautiously approached the imposing horse. Buddy had a jagged white stripe down the center of his black face and held his head so high she could barely attach the lead to his leather halter.

The woman shook her head and pushed forward. “I see you don’t know anything. You never want a horse to get loose so always run the chain through the left ring, over the nose, then on the right. The colts get the chain under the lip. Then you walk the horse until he’s cool. Be careful they don’t bite.
Comprendo
?”

Jessica gulped, noting that half of Maria’s right index finger was missing. “Where should I walk?” she asked humbly.

“The tow ring.” Maria pointed at the sand oval between the barns, where a stocky woman in a shapeless shirt led a gray horse.

“Let’s go, Buddy,” Jessica said. The horse just stared, ears pricked, eyes bright with interest. She tugged on the lead, but he refused to move. “Please,” she said, and Buddy lowered his head and followed.

Her confidence returned as the big animal followed her around the oval. It seemed easy work, and the September sun was pleasantly warm. Her knee ached a bit from the deep sawdust, but it wasn’t a hard job walking the obliging horse, and she relaxed enough to check out her surroundings.

Mark’s barn was neat and orderly with the initials MR on the side. Not much color though. The brown and white on the saddle pads was boringly bland, although freshly washed bandages draped the wall, providing accents of blue and green. A man in faded jeans dumped manure in a concrete pit behind the barn.