Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (52 page)

“Gassy Cathy.” Dino’s chuckle turned wicked. “Cathy didn’t know much about horses, but she was damn pretty, so of course Charlie hired her. When Mark’s favorite horse got loose in the feed, it was Cathy’s watch. Unfortunately, she was busy banging Charlie, and it sounded like she’d eaten beans that night. So that’s why Mark has a Three-F rule. Fat, forty and flatulent. Those kind of women are safe to have in the barn because they’re not so attractive to us—”

“What?” Jessica swung around in disbelief. “You’re kidding! That’s the Three-F rule? Do you really think you’ll lose your minds if a pretty woman is around?”

“Well, I dunno. Let’s see.” His head swooped as he tried to nuzzle her neck.

She twisted out of reach, still sputtering. She’d always placed a premium on physical beauty, knew you didn’t have to follow rules quite so closely if you were pretty and receptive to a little flirting. Now she was attracted to a man who didn’t want her around simply because of those very qualities.

And she was attracted to Mark. When he walked in the shedrow at exactly four-thirty every morning, her heart lurched. But what kind of oversexed moron didn’t trust himself around women?

“Aw, Jessica.” Dino stumbled after her, his voice thick with that husky timbre a man always had when he wanted sex. “We’re both single adults. You could at least give me a chance here.”

His clumsy attention wasn’t welcome. However, she knew better than to piss off the assistant trainer so she edged silently into the dark, jogging to the right until his voice faded. She left the turf course and crossed back onto the dirt. The barns glowed a cozy welcome, and shadows drifted along shedrows as grooms checked their horses.

Home.

She slipped into the back of the barn with a weary sigh. Ten p.m. Incredible she now considered this hour so very late. Buddy was probably dozing, but she headed around the corner to his stall.

Movement flashed.
Whoosh
. Something metal rammed into her stomach, cutting off her surprised grunt. She hit the floor, flailing at the handlebars shoved in her gut as she stared into a panicked face. A familiar face. The kid from the track!

He scrambled up and dashed into the darkness leaving her sprawled beneath her twisted bike.

She rose more slowly, cursing under her breath, but the nimble kid had vanished. She turned back and yanked the bike upright, groaning at the damage. One broken spoke and a misshapen seat. Other than that, much the same—as battered as ever. She’d noticed the boy on her first day when he was slinking around the yard sale, and it was obvious he really wanted the bike. But he was a bit of a fool not to steal a newer one.

She grabbed the seat, trying to twist it back into position, but it was stuck, and she was too drained to rouse the required effort. Sighing, she left the bike in the aisle and turned toward Buddy, wanting to console herself with his solid presence.

He must have heard the ruckus. His head poked over the door, curious eyes heavy with sleep, and he stood obligingly while she buried her face in his neck. His warm breath tickled as he nuzzled at her pocket, searching for the peppermint she’d taken from the bar. But he waited patiently until she peeled off the cellophane wrapper.

“These are a different kind, fellow, but tomorrow is your big race. I’ll get more then.”

His velvety muzzle, now neatly trimmed, tickled her hand as he accepted the mint, and he pushed at her pocket, looking for more. She scratched him under the jaw until he forgot about treats and tilted his head, grunting in bliss.

She did a quick stall check. Hay, water and feed tub licked clean. However, anxiety pricked her when she eyed his flimsy legs. She’d never considered how small a horse’s legs were, never thought about the stress they faced, the weight they carried. Until now. When it was his turn to race.

No wonder Maria had been tense. She sighed and headed for her room, tired but afraid she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.

The white-faced chestnut in the stall on Buddy’s right stuck his head out and nickered, hopeful for a treat too.

“I’ll give you one tomorrow,” she promised as she walked past. The chestnut kicked the wall in annoyance, and she flinched with guilt. Mark had told her not to give Buddy treats in front of the other horses, and now she understood why.

The chestnut kicked again, harder this time. Assets shoved his head over the door, ears pricked as he surveyed the aisle.

Her steps slowed. She didn’t know much about the chestnut, but Assets was the barn’s big horse. Every employee in Mark’s barn was focused on helping the colt peak for the Breeders’ Cup. If he hurt himself kicking the walls, all because of a silly peppermint, the entire staff would hate her.

Assets stared down the aisle, not deigning to look at her, as though aware of his elite status. He was fed first, galloped first, washed first, and the idea that another horse had received a treat must have been ludicrous. He snorted at the chestnut, shaking his head in displeasure, and turned away from the stall front.

She’d been holding her breath, but now it escaped in a relieved sigh. From now on, she’d feed Buddy unwrapped peppermints so the other horses didn’t hear the cellophane. And she’d definitely go in the stall, as Mark had instructed.

She trudged down the aisle, collecting her bike on the way, and jammed it in her room. Her space was cramped, but she couldn’t leave the bike outside anymore. Not with that kid lurking. First her phone then the bike. That pesky little kid really coveted her stuff.

“Kato,” she called, checking for the cat. No doubt he watched from under the bed, wondering why she disturbed him with the clunking bike. She turned out the light and leaped onto the cot before he could bite her ankles. The lumpy mattress sagged in the middle but usually didn’t keep her awake. Tonight though, tired as she was, sleep wouldn’t come.

Images of Buddy’s race dogged her, persistent and dreadful: Buddy refusing to go into the gate, Buddy bucking off his jockey, Buddy jumping over the rail. The race had her stomach in knots, bothering her more than any of her own competitions. In skiing, she had control. With Buddy, she had nothing. Nothing but braids.

She flipped her pillow, trying to redirect her thoughts. Mark’s scowl when he wanted her to get cracking was oddly reassuring. But then the scowl shifted to his sexy smile, which was much too stimulating, and she was wide awake again.

The night sounds were distracting too. Horses thumped in their stalls, wind whistled on the roof, and just when she was about to give up on sleep, Kato emerged and curled against her chest. His contented purr was a tonic. She stroked his soft hair and let exhaustion push her into oblivion.

Chapter Eight

For the fourth time that morning, Jessica dropped a bucket, and the irritating clang of the metal handle made everyone scowl. She scooped it up, swallowed her nerves and wished the day would crawl faster. Post time was one, Buddy was in the third race, but it was only nine-thirty. It didn’t help that she was tired, a bit hung over and that Dino was still mad she’d walked alone into the ‘dark infield.’

“I was supposed to see you home safely,” he’d complained. But the track had to be the safest place on earth. There was always someone in each barn, guards at all the gates, and since the sheikh’s big horses arrived, security had intensified. Granted, she didn’t know Spanish and often didn’t know what some people were saying, but the vibes they gave off were always friendly.

Just yesterday she’d raced two guys to the track kitchen, beating them soundly. Lefty’s old bike could really move when pushed, and their shouts of approval had made her feel like an elite athlete again. She wasn’t riding her bike now though, not until the seat was straightened. Mark had been so busy this morning, she hadn’t dared ask for help or bother him with a report about a sticky-fingered little boy.

She straightened Buddy’s twice-cleaned race bridle and blew out another sigh.

“Nervous?”

She spun around and saw Mark studying her with his knowing smile, his hair ruffled as though he’d been running his hand through it.

She forced a shrug. “Not so much.”

He always knew what she was thinking or maybe he heard the crack in her voice. “Come with me,” he said gently.

She followed him into his office, where he left the door open and poured two cups of coffee.

“Milk?”

She nodded and took the chair he kicked out for her. This was the first time she’d been in his office on a social visit, the first time he’d ever offered her coffee. Usually he was scolding her for something, or she was nagging him for perks for Buddy. But today his office was a relaxing place. He had his desk set up so he could keep an eye on the wash rack, something she hadn’t realized when she’d used triple the amount of shampoo for Buddy’s bath.

The linoleum floor was cracked, but the wall was freshly painted and crammed with race pictures, except for an obvious gap in the middle. She relaxed with her coffee, enjoying the undemanding quiet. One of the many things she liked about Mark was that he was comfortable with silence. Comfortable with waiting.

“I’m amazed you’re always so calm,” she finally confessed, leaning forward and resting her mug on his desk. “I had awful dreams last night.”

He raised a brow. “The one where the horse shows up in gaudy braids?”

“Are you asking me not to braid?” She grinned, feeling more relaxed than she had all morning.

He took a slow sip of coffee, studying her over the cup. “You know I don’t like the braids,” he drawled, “but do what you want. Something has given the old guy energy. Just be careful in the paddock. He can get pushy. I was thinking of asking Maria to help.”

“No,” she said quickly. Buddy was her horse. “Please,” she added, “I’d like to be the groom in the paddock, the one who wears that little apron and leads him back after the race.”

His amused smile made her entire body tingle. “It’s called a bib, Jessica.” His expression turned serious as he leaned forward. “Look, don’t expect miracles today. And remember betting is always risky. Be happy if Buddy runs in the money.”

“In the money?” she asked. “Is that first to sixth place?”

“For betters, it’s first to third. But for us, payout is top six. The purse is nine thousand dollars, so if Buddy runs fifth—and that would be a good result for him—his percentage is five. Trainers get ten percent of the purse, and I give a percentage of that to the groom and hot walker.”

She quickly calculated his payoff. Hard way to make a living. Now she understood why he’d been so disappointed when Maria’s filly was nosed out for second.

He settled back in his chair. “That’s why everyone wants the quality horses and at least one big owner. Being a public trainer means you spend as much time with horses and owners, but money is much tighter. And Jessica,” he added, his astute blue eyes studying her face, “I’m recommending to Buddy’s owners that this be his last race. He has a chance to go out sound and make a nice riding horse for someone. That means he’ll likely be leaving tomorrow.”

Her shocked jerk sloshed coffee on her thumb. Tomorrow! She didn’t want Buddy to retire until after she left. There probably wasn’t another horse in the barn that was quiet enough for her to handle. More importantly, Buddy had been a gentle and patient teacher. When she was lonely, she brushed him for hours. And though her room was now mouse free, she still napped in his stall.

A lump tangled in her throat. She averted her eyes, staring at the wall above Mark’s head. She felt his concern but couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid his empathy might shatter her composure. A garbage truck rumbled down the road, stopping to empty a clanking bin, and the smell of diesel drifted into the doorway. She coughed and swiped her eyes, pretending the smell bothered her.

“I guess a nice horse like Buddy deserves a second chance,” she said.

“Atta girl.” But the approval in his voice made her throat spasm.

“You have lots of win pictures,” she managed, keeping her eyes fixed on the wall.

He seemed to know she was struggling. Shoving aside his charts, he rose and introduced her to the important horses in his life, adding colorful tales about various tracks and personalities. His stories were like a tonic, and soon she was nodding and feeling much better.

“Is that your dad holding the gray horse?” She pointed at a rugged man in a cowboy hat. Same crisp blue eyes and chiseled face, although she detected a weakness in the man’s jaw that Mark didn’t have.

“Yeah. The horse is Scrappy Cat, his first Grade 1 winner.”

Mark’s voice had hardened, so she quickly changed the subject. “Why is this space empty?” she asked.

Silence.

He looked down at her, studying her face as though uncertain what to say. Finally he traced the spot with a slow finger. “Reserved for a Breeders’ Cup win. I really think your grandfather’s colt can do it, Jess. It’ll be the first time I ever had an entry.”

It was also the first time he’d called her Jess, she realized, as she stared up at him. So close she could smell his aftershave, could smell the potent combination of leather, horse and male. She was tall but he was so much taller, so much bigger.

She automatically swayed forward, her lips parting with invitation, and somehow his mouth covered hers and she was pulled against his hard body. He tasted of coffee, virility and hunger—and, man, could he kiss. She clung to his ridged back, weak and off-balanced from what he was doing to her mouth.

A car honked, and he abruptly lifted his head. Dropped his arms and stepped back. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he said.

“No big deal.” She crossed her arms, hiding her hurt. She’d more than enjoyed it; he was an excellent kisser. Mind-blowing, in fact. But she’d never had anyone pull away with such obvious regret. Clearly he hadn’t found her as appealing. Or maybe he was so accustomed to women, he’d grown impervious. Too bad, because she was definitely affected.

Still, she didn’t want to be considered another fawning female, not like that persistent Trish. The floor still rocked slightly, but she was determined not to grab the desk for support. “It’s race day.” She forced a negligent shrug, her balance almost back to normal. “We needed a diversion.”