Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (53 page)

He dragged a hand through his hair, something she’d noticed he did when stressed, and that disarming gesture made her feel slightly better.

“Nothing to apologize for,” she added. “It was just a little kiss.”

“Didn’t feel so little to me,” he said.

But his grim tone and the implacable way he walked her to the door, made her wonder why he considered a hot kiss such a very bad thing.

Chapter Nine

Mark shoved his hands in his pockets, hiding his restlessness as he awaited the arrival of My Best Buddy. Seven horses already circled the walking ring—Radcliff’s runner included. Mark ignored the man’s perpetual sneer and instead studied Radcliff’s horse, a bay with a distinctive blaze, four white feet and red blinkers.

The bay was the favorite, and deservingly so. He’d been in the money his last five starts. Radcliff’s weakness was his tendency to work a horse hard before a race. The media influenced him, and he loved to notch bullet works. It was unimaginable that Buddy would beat the bay, but maybe another in the field could.

Mark glanced hopefully at the number one horse, the second favorite. The sleek chestnut had speed and with the rail, he might lead gate to wire. “Good luck, Jim,” he called to the chestnut’s trainer.

“Yoohoo, Mark!” A woman’s voice, too loud and too shrill, sliced the muted murmur of the crowd.

He barely winced, pasting on a smile before turning to greet Buddy’s owners. Sophie and Devin Green were social climbers, using horses to chisel their way in, and how they came to own a gentle soul like Buddy was one of life’s many ironies.

“Where’s our Bobby horse?” Sophie asked.

Mark didn’t bother to correct her. She never remembered Buddy’s name. “Coming now,” he said, hiding his relief as Jessica finally appeared at the entrance to the paddock.

She swept in like a movie star, last to arrive, her head held as high as Buddy’s. And Buddy looked good too, so good for a moment Mark forgot his dismal record. The old gelding obviously blossomed from the attention Jessica lavished, and her confidence was infectious. Today Buddy simply exuded class.

The crowd hushed as Jessica and the purple-braided horse paraded around the walking ring. Even the towel sticking from her pocket was bright purple. Only she would color coordinate the groom’s rag.

Buddy’s owners turned silent for a moment. “Is that
my
horse?” Sophie finally asked.

Mark nodded, smiling as he watched the odd pair. Jessica and Buddy seemed to have stepped from another venue—a horse show or fashion runway maybe—and they strutted around like they owned the track. The other horses wilted, as though intimidated by Buddy’s brashness.

The valet waited with the saddle, and Mark gestured at Jessica. She nodded and turned Buddy into the five hole. Now that she was close, he spotted her tension, the tightness of her mouth, the way she always raised her chin when she was frightened but bravely rallying for battle.

“Try to relax,” he whispered. “He’ll do okay.”

She jiggled the bit, keeping the horse’s attention as Mark adjusted the saddlecloth. “I’m not worried about Buddy,” she said, “but I didn’t get my bet down. And he’s going to win today.”

“He looks good—great, in fact. But this is a tough race.” Mark tightened the overgirth. “And he hasn’t won in a very long time.”

“Today he will.”

The conviction in her voice made Mark study Buddy with fresh eyes. Buddy’s neck seemed thicker, his muscles more defined. Odd, but he seemed to swell when he was braided. It gave him attitude.

“Can’t believe you’re actually running that nag,” a voice said behind them.

Mark didn’t turn. He knew Radcliff was saddling in the slot next to him, had felt the trainer’s hostile glares.

“Christ, even your dad raced better horses, and they were all dog food,” Radcliff said. “Every one I claimed was sent to the meat packer.”

Jessica’s cheeks flagged with anger.

“Hear someone whining, Jessica?” Mark asked, keeping his voice calm, afraid any outburst would upset Buddy, or worse, attract the steward.

She gave a dismissive shrug. “Just some old guy making excuses.” She turned to Radcliff. “Put your glasses on, Pops, so you can watch the purple-braided horse. He’ll be the one leading the way.”

Mark chuckled, glad she was in his corner. Her grandfather had mentioned she’d done some competitive skiing and, no doubt, she could talk smack with the best of them. Now Radcliff was the one red-faced with fury. The man was sensitive about his age, and somehow she’d guessed it. However, it wasn’t wise to bait the vindictive Radcliffe—Mark felt a jolt of unease.

“Just ignore Radcliff, and tell Buddy to beat his horse,” he murmured, only half joking. Buddy seemed willing to do anything Jessica asked. Usually he was a rascal to saddle, but today he stood like a statue.

“I will.” Jessica lowered her voice. “But only if you promise to tell me what’s going on between you and him.”

“Deal,” Mark said. “But only if Buddy wins.” He never spoke about his father, except to Dino, but it was a safe promise. Buddy had little chance of beating Radcliff’s horse.

A line of colorful riders marched from the jockey room with Emma Rae leading the way, her shoulders squared with purpose. “How do you want me to ride this guy?” she asked Mark, flicking her stick against her shiny black boot.

“He likes to stalk so keep him close. He’s honest. If he’s not running at the end, there’s nothing left in the tank. Just take care of him.”

Mark checked that Sophie and Devin were out of earshot. They wanted to win at any cost and wouldn’t like his riding instructions. But Buddy was a grand old winner in his day; he always tried hard and deserved to go out sound. As an apprentice, Emma Rae was more likely to listen to instructions than the more experienced jocks, and her weight concession would help Buddy over Belmont’s long, tiring stretch.

“Riders up!” the paddock judge bellowed.

“Watch out for the gray,” Mark said as he legged Emma Rae into the saddle. “They might try to box you.”

Emma Rae knotted her reins and scowled at Radcliff’s jockey. “Yeah, that’s a mean sonofabitch riding for Radcliff. Prick almost pushed my horse through the rail last week.”

Jessica blanched at the idea someone might deliberately try to hurt Buddy, but she acted like a pro. She calmly led Emma Rae and Buddy through the tunnel to the track. No one would guess this was the first time she’d ever led a horse over.

She said something that made Emma Rae laugh, and Buddy tossed his head and looked pleased. The horse was really on the muscle now, prancing, neck arched, and some of the spectators pointed and checked their programs. It was obvious Jessica made Buddy feel special, and racing was as much about attitude as speed. When he was younger, he’d been the star of someone’s shedrow, and Jessica’s pampering clearly left him revitalized.

The trumpet sounded, and a familiar thrill slammed Mark as the post parade began. Jessica’s face glowed with a shared excitement.

“Come watch the race in my box,” he said impulsively. He handed her a twenty-dollar win ticket. “This will save you a trip to the windows.”

“Thanks.” She scanned the stub, her eyes sparkling. “So you think he’ll win?”

“On paper he looks outclassed but—”

“But they’re not racing on paper,” she said. “And I can’t believe how my stomach is flipping.”

“Yeah, I can.” He grinned. “My stomach does that too.” He took her elbow, guiding her through the flowing crowd. This would work out great. Jessica was an excellent conversationalist and would be the perfect buffer against Sophie and Devin, self-centered idiots whose company always left him frazzled. Sophie was a pain in the ass and the way she’d flirted at their last dinner, in her husband’s presence, had made both men edgy.

“Jessica, these are Buddy’s owners, Sophie and Devin Greene,” he said as they entered the box. “Jessica is Buddy’s groom, and the reason he looks so dashing today.”

Devin shook hands with Jessica, his guarded look fading. Few men would look at someone else’s wife when they had a stunner like Jessica by their side. He gave Mark an approving nod, loosened his tie and turned his attention back to his drink.

Sophie’s lips, however, flattened in a line of disapproval as she studied Jessica’s casual clothes and the purple rag protruding from her back pocket. Jessica was either unaware or uncaring. She seemed absorbed in watching Buddy warm up, although it was difficult to tell. More went on in her intelligent head than he’d originally thought.

Probably she didn’t care. She was one of his few staff members who wasn’t intimidated by his scowl. Not because she didn’t notice; it just didn’t matter. Maybe since she was part of the wealthy Boone family, she possessed a sense of self-worth that was unaffected by clothes or setting or company.

“Mark’s box has the best view,” Sophie said. “Is this the first time you’ve been in the expensive seats?” Her tone was so patronizing, Mark’s mouth tightened. If Sophie knew Jessica’s last name, she’d be fawning over Jessica instead of talking down to her.

“Yes, it’s my first time in this box,” Jessica said carefully. “And it’s my first time to ever watch a horse I’ve groomed myself. You have an excellent eye for animals. Buddy is wonderful.”

Sophie preened at the compliment. “Yes, I definitely can pick them. But that horse is getting old, and Mark suggests retirement.” Her preening faded to a moue of discontent. “It’s embarrassing to see him lose all the time. I can’t invite my friends to the races anymore.”

“How horrible for you,” Jessica said, but her voice had an edge, and Mark gave her shoulder a warning squeeze. “I’m sure if Mark wants you to retire him that would be best,” she added.

He loosened his grip but left his arm slung over the back of her chair. Just in case she got testy again. Just in case Sophie made any more slurs about her beloved Buddy.

The runners were approaching the starting gate now, and Buddy was the bright light of the bunch. Even Sophie recognized him. Jessica leaned forward, clasping her hands as an assistant starter reached up and led him into the gate.

“He’s in,” Sophie said.

“Five to load,” the announcer said.

Radcliff’s horse balked and had to be circled but again refused to load.

“That’s not fair.” Jessica twisted in her seat. “Buddy has to wait in the gate, thinking it’s going to open, and Radcliff hasn’t taught his horse to load.”

“Radcliff may not even have seen the horse run before today,” Mark said. “He trains at a lot of tracks.”

“You shouldn’t defend him,” she said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can see Buddy’s head, and he’s standing quietly.”

“Maybe he’s napping,” Sophie said, adjusting her binoculars.

Mark ignored Sophie’s commentary. Jessica was tight as a fuse. He remembered watching his first horse run, an exhilarating but terrifying moment, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She shot him a grateful look and squeezed back, gripping his fingers like a lifeline.

“They’re putting a blindfold on that horse. He’s in now,” Sophie said.

Sophie’s husband said nothing, merely clinked the ice cubes in his glass and stared across the empty infield. Clearly, horse ownership was his wife’s idea. Once Buddy was gone, Mark would no longer be their trainer. He heaved a sigh of relief and checked the tote board.

Bettors liked Radcliff’s horse, making him the two to one favorite. Buddy, in spite of his flashy braids or maybe because of them, was going off at eighteen to one. But Buddy didn’t know he was a long shot. Jessica’s loving care had him believing he was, once again, king of the shedrow.

Could be an interesting race.

He watched Jessica’s face, understanding her tension, knowing how hard it was to pass a horse over to the jockey, knowing there was nothing else you could do, knowing she had an intensely kissable mouth—

“They’re off!” the announcer called.

Mark’s attention jumped back to the race, and he leaped to his feet as the gates smacked open. The five horse bumped Buddy when he lunged from the gate but Buddy fought back, grabbing ground like a linebacker. His sharp break put him near the front, sandwiched between a horse on the rail and Radcliff’s speedy gray horse on his outside.

Mark was conscious of Jessica tugging his fingers as the horses charged down the backstretch. Buddy was fourth, just off the rail, and galloping fluidly. “Way to go, Emma,” Mark murmured, checking the fractions. First quarter in twenty-three and a half seconds. Perfect.

Jessica leaned forward, straining to see the horses as they entered the turn. Both Sophie and Devin had rudely shifted sideways, completely blocking her view. Mark squeezed against his chair and pulled her in front of him. She was wiggly though, jumping and shouting as the horses rounded the turn with Buddy running a strong fourth.

“He can’t get through!” she yelled, gripping his arm.

She was fresh and sweet and so engrossed with the horse, he gave her an impulsive squeeze. For Jessica, it wasn’t about training percentages or money or prestige. She wanted it for Buddy.

And the horse seemed to share her desire. He looked like he had a ton of run left, but the gray had boxed him in and there was nowhere to go. Just give him an opening, Mark willed. For Jessica, for Emma Rae, for Buddy. And at the eighth pole, the front runner lugged out, and Buddy scudded through the opening like a purple missile.

Emma was really riding, pushing on his neck, urging him home. He drew alongside the leader, a blinkered bay. But on the outside, Radcliff’s gray closed rapidly and it was now a three-horse race.

Jessica jumped up and down, pumping her arms, and even Sophie and Devin hollered. The old gelding was putting on quite a show. A third with this bunch of horses was quite an accomplishment.

“Go, boy,” Mark said. “Just beat the gray.”

But Buddy wanted to beat them all. He flattened his ears and dug deep, surging across the wire with a last gutsy effort, a winner by half a length.

Jessica turned, face radiant, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He dipped his head and kissed her, forgetting the crowd, the horse, the win. Her breasts brushed his chest, and he instinctively tugged her closer, didn’t want to let go—