Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (48 page)

“A shower will have to do.” She glanced ruefully over her shoulder at the tiny bathrooms.

She was so bloodied, so brave—and she’d just saved his ass. “You can clean up at my place,” Mark heard himself say.

***

Mark drove Jessica to his house in Garden City, a twenty-minute drive from Belmont Park. She followed him down the hall, past his room crammed with exercise equipment and into the bathroom, squealing with delight when she spotted his Jacuzzi.

She can’t be hurt too badly, he told himself. But when he reached into the cabinet for the Epsom salts, he brushed her shoulder. She winced, and his guilt deepened. It was unbelievable she had the grit to hang on to a thousand-pound colt, but she’d definitely earned his gratitude. And respect.

“Soak as long as you want,” he said. “I’ll bring you a beer.”

Her lips curved in a teasing smile. “Maria said we weren’t allowed to drink on the job.”

“It’s okay when you’re employee of the week.” He lingered by the door, still puzzled by her heroics. “That was really brave. Was it because Assets belongs to your grandfather?”

“Actually I didn’t know what horse it was,” she admitted. “I’m just delighted it earned me a bath.”

She smiled, still utterly beautiful even after being bounced over gravel. The cuts probably weren’t too deep, although her chin had clearly taken the brunt of the gravel. Some pebbles were embedded.

“Hold still.” He stepped forward and cupped her face. Reached in his pocket and pulled out his jackknife.

Her eyes widened and she tried to jerk away, but he smiled and opened the tweezers. “I’ll be gentle,” he said, and carefully extracted the tiny pebbles.

She didn’t squeak, didn’t twitch. He stared down, still cupping her upturned face. She had beautiful brown eyes fringed with dark lashes and even devoid of makeup, her skin was velvety soft, lips slightly parted—

Shit
. He dropped his hand. “Enjoy your bath.” He quickly backed away and retreated to the kitchen.

When he returned with a chilled Corona, jets pounded along with the sound of muted singing. He paused. Had never had a woman in his Jacuzzi who he hadn’t undressed first, and he wasn’t at all sure of the etiquette. She was probably submerged in bubbles anyway. Images rifled through his head, and the thought of foam clinging to her dripping body made his knock much crisper than intended.

No answer.

He rapped again, inched the door open and thrust the beer around the corner. The singing stopped. Water sloshed. Warm drops splashed his fingers as she accepted the cold bottle.

“Thank you, boss,” she called, pushing the door shut. “I’m really enjoying this. Sure hope another horse escapes tomorrow.”

He returned to the den, smiling but slightly disappointed he hadn’t caught a peek. He pulled out his phone, took a fortifying sip of beer and began his calls. This was the part of the job he liked least, but owners expected regular updates. Ironically, the cheapest horses usually had the most demanding owners while a few, such as Boone, didn’t like to be bothered with any details. Of course, rich owners were hard to find and harder to keep.

Boone had a reputation for flipping trainers when he thought a horse wasn’t performing well, but at least he didn’t call every day with ridiculous suggestions. In fact, sometimes he didn’t call for weeks. Mark tilted his beer and took another contemplative swallow. Boone might be immersed in some demanding business project, but it was odd the man hadn’t showed more interest in Jessica’s progress. She certainly had a lot more backbone than Mark had expected.

Unease pricked him as he thought of Boone’s naked granddaughter washing away the dirt and blood in his tub. Fortunately she hadn’t been badly hurt, but he’d have to keep closer tabs on her. He hadn’t realized mice had scared her out of the tack room and into Buddy’s stall.

Good thing it was a horse she was sleeping with. Her grandfather definitely wouldn’t approve of relations within the track community. Boone viewed backstretch workers as third-class citizens, definitely not good enough for a high-society heiress.

And Buddy. That horse surprised him almost as much as Jessica. The gelding was a nine-year-old who competed in the lowest claiming ranks. Hell, he hadn’t won a race in two years, but something had injected him with renewed vigor.

Mark dragged a hand over his jaw. Women and horses. They fooled you every time.

He was finishing the last of his calls when Jessica padded down the hall. He twisted, relieved the scrapes on her face were superficial and she was restored to normal. Actually better than normal.

His breath thickened, and he lowered the phone from his ear. Forgot to check if she was limping. Forgot he was talking to Buddy’s irritating owner. For that moment, he could only think of sex. Hard, hot sex with Jessica spread-eagled beneath him.

He didn’t understand why he was so aroused. Yeah, she was gorgeous, but he’d had plenty of good-looking women. Maybe it was her hair—that glorious caramel color that reminded him of his first horse. She usually kept it in a ponytail, but now it tumbled over her shoulders, and errant tendrils corkscrewed around her face.

Or maybe it was the way her shirt scooped over those beautiful breasts. Or possibly it was because she’d been naked in his tub, and an image had been planted in his horny brain.

Didn’t matter but as she paused in the hall outside his bedroom, for one wild, crazy, hopeful moment he prayed she’d make a right turn and climb into his bed. His mouth dried, his gaze hung on her lips. She stiffened.

“Let’s go for dinner after Buddy’s race.” The voice on the phone tugged at him.

He pressed the phone back to his ear, unable to make up an excuse while his mind was so absorbed with sexual possibilities. “Dinner on Friday’s good,” he muttered, still eyeing Jessica. “Yeah, the track is absolutely safe. No foul play. The man drowned.”

He flipped the phone shut, watching as Jessica flushed and retreated toward the front entrance. Couldn’t drag his eyes off the way her hips moved—subtle, slinky, sexy. It would be stupid to bring her here again. Best to drive her back now, even though they had another full hour before feeding and he’d originally planned to buy her supper.

But Jesus, she was hot. She was gutsy. She was Boone’s granddaughter.

He slapped the papers in his briefcase and jerked to his feet, resolving to finish his calls when his brain was working better. He’d already agreed to have dinner with Buddy’s owners—a couple he usually avoided—and his fragile business couldn’t afford any more mindless mistakes.

Chapter Five

The next morning, Jessica gingerly groomed Buddy, trying not to jolt her throbbing shoulder. She’d managed to clean his stall too, even though Mark had said someone else would do it. Her scrapes were also healing although compared to previous ski wrecks, her ‘snag and drag,’ as Maria dubbed it, had been relatively benign.

However, her status had skyrocketed, and other grooms and hot walkers now included her in their ribald teasing. If a little pain resulted in Mark’s goodwill—and therefore the barn’s acceptance—she was more than happy to be dragged behind the occasional runaway horse.

“Hey, kid. Will you teach me how to do those fancy braids?” Maria asked, watching as Jessica wrapped Buddy’s legs. “By the way, who taught you to wrap?”

“Mark,” Jessica said, standing back to admire her bandaging job. She’d chosen a royal purple today and was delighted with how the richness contrasted with Buddy’s inky coat.

“Damn good job, considering last week you didn’t know how to lead a horse. I think Buddy perks up around you. I hope some of his energy rubs off on Missy this afternoon. You coming over to watch her race?”

“Yes. Mark wants Dino to show me everything a groom does so I can help with Buddy in the paddock tomorrow.”

A laugh bubbled behind them, and they both wheeled as a tiny blonde strutted down the aisle.

“Mark Russell around?” the lady asked a passing groom who jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

Jessica forgot about her bandages and peered over the door. She’d never seen anyone so tiny yet so perfectly proportioned. She also recognized an athlete when she saw one, and this lady exuded confidence and grace.

“Is that an exercise rider?” she whispered, eying the whip jutting from the blonde’s back pocket.

“Jockey,” Maria said. “Apprentice jock. Emma Rae MacDonald. Tacks one hundred and four pounds.”

Jessica studied Emma Rae with open envy. The riders who galloped every morning were always cocky, but this lady was far more self-assured and looked like someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

“Good morning, Mark,” Emma Rae called. “Saw the bullet your Buddy horse had yesterday. Wanted to remind you I still have my bug.”

Mark gave an enigmatic smile. His arms were crossed, but he didn’t walk away.

“What on earth is she talking about?” Jessica whispered, edging to the side of the stall so she could better hear the conversation.

“Emma Rae wants to ride Buddy because he had the fastest work yesterday,” Maria said. “That’s called a bullet. Apprentices get a five-pound weight allowance. That’s a bug, and you’d understand why if you ever bothered to study a race program.”

Jessica didn’t understand why Maria was so irritated. Racetrack slang was confusing, and her brain was already stuffed with new terms. But when Mark nodded and he and Emma Rae headed down the aisle, smiling like conspirators, she felt rather irritated too.

“Mark’s a sucker for a pretty face. He can’t say no,” Maria said. “Bet he gives her the ride.”

“She sure is tiny.” Jessica gave a mournful sigh and glanced down at her own size nine feet. If Mark preferred tiny, she had no hope, no hope at all.

Fifteen minutes later, Mark reappeared in front of Buddy’s stall with the smiling jockey strutting at his side.

“Wow, what a nicely turned out horse.” Emma Rae smiled at Jessica. “Are you his groom? You’ve done a fantastic job.”

Jessica’s chest swelled from a rare compliment, and she decided Emma Rae was undoubtedly an excellent jockey.

“Think your guy would like a girl on him?” Emma Rae added.

Jessica glanced at Mark then realized the jockey was talking about Buddy. Her cheeks flamed. “Where’s his regular rider?” she asked, fumbling with Buddy’s hay net.

“Out with a broken leg,” Mark said. “Come to my office, Emma Rae. You too, Jessica, once you finish up.”

She grabbed Buddy’s late morning grain, diligently measured his twelve different herbs, vitamins and minerals, topped up his water bucket and raked the aisle. By the time she rushed to Mark’s office, Emma Rae had gone and Mark jotted notations on a huge wall sheet.

“Just a sec,” he said. She watched as he wrote an S by Buddy. She guessed G was for the horses that galloped, J for jogged, W for worked but the S by Buddy worried her.

“S isn’t sick, Jessica,” he said, studying her expression. “It just means he walked the shedrow.”

“I knew that.”

The smile he gave her was both amused and perceptive so she shut up. He knew when she was trying a little too hard, yet always seemed to combine the right amount of encouragement along with his ironclad rules. He made her want to work harder. It was strange Maria and some of the other women were intimidated by him. He would have made a great coach, although in a sense that’s what he already was—a coach to horses and people.

“How are your hands today?” he asked.

She started to shrug off his question, but the idea of another hot bath in his luxurious Jacuzzi was rather appealing. “Really sore. Could do with some more soaking in Epsom salts.”

“Lots of buckets around for that.” He continued to insert dates and times on his training sheet. “I’m wondering if you’re healthy enough to lead Buddy over for paddock work later.”

She had no idea what paddock work was but certainly didn’t want anyone else to lead Buddy. “Sure,” she said. “I can wear gloves.”

His approving nod more than compensated for the lack of a bath invite. He really had the most amazing smile, and she liked how his jaw softened as he scooped a huge hairball off his chair.

“Here.” He shoved the gray pile of fur into her bewildered hands. “He’s neutered, seven months old and already a good hunter. There’s a bag of cat food in the feed room. He’ll keep your mice away.”

She yanked her gaze off Mark’s mouth and glanced down. The kitten had a splash of white on his nose, dark stripes on his tail and snuggled into her arms as though completely confident of her care. The little guy probably didn’t realize she knew nothing about cats, that she’d never had a pet of her own. Boarding schools, summer camps and later the ski circuit had made animals impossible.

She stared at the purring kitten—silent, terrified, ecstatic. “He’s all mine? R-really?” Her voice quavered. “What’s his name?”

“Whatever you want. He’s your cat.”

The kitten lifted his paw and placed it on her chest. A lump balled in her throat. Wow! This was definitely the nicest, most thoughtful present she’d ever received. Ever.

“Th-thank you.” She tried to work out the proper words, but her emotions were too shaky, and her eyes itched—and damn, she was going to cry. She looked at Mark, saw his gentle smile and jerked her head back down. Cradling the precious bundle, she turned and fled before he spotted the telltale sheen of her tears.

***

Buddy pranced beside Jessica, ears pricked and elegant neck bowed. He was definitely the most beautiful horse on the track, but now he also looked the wildest. She’d put his halter over the race bridle, just as she’d been told, but he chomped at the bit. She even saw white flecks of saliva.

“This visit will help him be calmer tomorrow?” She glanced dubiously at Mark, who rode beside her on Ghost.

“Not calmer, just ready. Every horse is different. Buddy is a smart fellow, and he likes to see the paddock before his race. I school some horses so they can’t anticipate when they’re running. With Buddy, it’s best if he knows. You’re the groom,” Mark added, “and Buddy trusts you. If you’re going to lead him over for his race tomorrow, you need to know what he’s like when he’s revved. Think you can handle him?”