Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (86 page)

Jessica staggered against the bed frame, struggling to absorb Cathy’s words. Mark was hurt.
Oh, God. Please, please, please let him be all right. Please, just let him live. Please, God. Let him live
.

“Where will they take him?” she finally managed, her voice small and scared and shaky.

“Not sure. Maybe North Shore. The jockeys prefer that hospital.”

“Is that where they took Emma Rae?” she asked. “The same place where we sent the flowers?”

“Yes.” Dick pulled his chair closer, and they stared at the television. Horses were running and one was winning, but she had no idea who it was or even what race it was. She just wanted to see Cathy. She’d know from Cathy’s expression if Mark were alive. She dropped her head in her hands and cried.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Front page news. Aren’t you the hero.” Dino grinned and tossed two newspapers onto the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed.

“How did Dutch do?” Mark winced as he reached for the sports page.

“Eighth, but he had a good time. We drank all your rum, by the way.”

“Good. Who won the Classic?”

“The runner from Canada. Total surprise. Haddad picked the wrong horse to poison for that race.”

“Did Assets come back okay?” Mark asked as he scanned the Breeders’ Cup results.

“Heard he did. But we’ve been pretty busy. Had to put up a ‘No Media’ sign, or we wouldn’t have been able to get anything done.” Dino dragged a chair closer to the bed. His voice lowered as he glanced toward the door. “So I guess the sheikh is grateful. What did he say?”

“He said ‘thanks.’”

“That’s it? Come on. You saved his life. And there’s a crazy-eyed man standing outside checking visitors. Either he thought I was another assassin, or the sheikh left a cash reward in your closet that he’s guarding.”

“Nope, he only left a guard.” Mark grinned. “But he did promise to send me some horses.”

“Really?” Dino’s face brightened, and he pumped his fist. “This is almost worth it then. Wonder what he’ll send.”

“Probably two-year-olds.”

“Hot damn.” Dino bounced a circle around the room. “Cathy dubbed you the best two-year-old trainer in North America. People believe everything they hear on television.”

“Make sure her name is on that visitors’ list.” Mark coughed, trying not to grimace at the pain radiating from his wound.

Dino leaned forward, his eyes concerned. “What happened to your voice? It’s all hoarse.”

Mark glanced warily at the door. “Either the anesthetic or that damn bodyguard when he was trying to choke me. Move slow around him, Dino. He’s the one I got by, and he didn’t like it. Almost killed me. Has hands like meat hooks.”

“But why’s he checking visitors?”

“Sheikh’s orders. He asked me not to talk to the media.” Mark shrugged. “Haddad is dead and the other guy’s in custody, so I expect interest will disappear quick enough.” He flipped the paper in frustration. “Did you get all the horses out today?”

“Yeah, but barely. The backside’s swarming, and cops cordoned off the area around the lake. Now they think Haddad killed Lefty because he saw them bury the gun and snapped some pictures. Poor old Lefty. He was probably pumping that bike like crazy, trying to get away.”

“Yeah, he stuck the phone under the seat. Jessica was lucky. Haddad thought she had Lefty’s phone.” Mark pretended a renewed interest in the paper but could make no sense of the words. He had told Jessica he’d wait—that day sitting on the grass—and maybe, just maybe, she was still around. “Did you see her with Boone yesterday?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

“Who? Jessica?”

“Well, of course, Jessica.” He jerked his head up in time to spot Dino’s knowing smile.

“No, she wasn’t with Boone. But she told Maria she’d call her.” Dino sobered. “Guess she flew the coop.”

“Yeah, maybe she went to Europe. She’s a skier, you know.” Mark continued to stare blankly at the paper.

“Well, she wasn’t with Boone,” Dino repeated. “When you getting out?”

“Need another operation to tighten some ligaments. The bullet’s out though. You okay running things?”

“Sure am. I’m loving it.” Dino winked. “Tomorrow I’m going to make everyone call me ‘boss.’ Might have to start my own stable.”

“Just make sure you put rundown bandages on that gray filly. She’s hard on herself. And get some bar shoes on Trooper. And I’m a little worried about that knee…” Mark sucked in a breath and quit talking. Dino knew exactly what to do. Besides, his throat hurt, and he didn’t want to think anymore about shoes and knees and Jessica.

***

“Just one more minute,” Jessica said, staring at the computer screen.

“This is a women’s shelter,” the clerk snapped, “not your personal office.”

Jessica ignored her, desperate to find some race news. “
In a bizarre twist, Mark Russell, who only days earlier saw his champion runner whisked to another stable, saved the life of a sheikh and is now hailed as a hero. Mark is recovering at North Shore University Hospital and is expected to be able to return to the track within weeks
.”

He was going to be fine!
Thank you, God
. She glanced at her watch, shaky with relief. North Shore. A half-hour bus ride. She’d promised Dick she would help him move to his home upstate, but first she had to see Mark. She grabbed her bag, thanked the clerk for the week’s accommodations and rushed out.

Forty minutes later Jessica was in the hospital lobby, surrounded by anxious eyes and strained faces. She weaved through the crowd, making her way to the reception desk. “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you tell me the number of Mark Russell’s room?”

The lady checked her records, then glanced up, shaking her head. “Sorry. His room is closed to visitors.”

“But can you tell me how he’s doing?” Jessica asked.

“No, I’m sorry. Check with his family.”

“But I am family. I just flew in from Texas.” She added a slight drawl, lifted her leather bag and rested it against the counter.

“Well,” the receptionist said, her face softening in sympathy, “I can’t give the room number, but you’re welcome to report to the desk on the fifth floor.”

“Thanks.” Jessica eagerly wheeled around.

However, the nurse on the fifth floor was much tougher. “You’ll have to show me some identification,” she said, barely looking up from her mound of forms.

Jessica pulled out her driver’s license. “I’m married, so of course my brother and I have different last names.”

“I see. Well, I’ll have the attending doctor speak to you when she arrives.” The nurse slapped the documents on her desk. “That will be in three hours. And you’ll have to show something that proves you’re related.”

“But I don’t want to speak to the doctor. I just need to see my brother.”

“Look,” the nurse said, devoid of humor. “We’re very busy, and these media stunts only make our job more difficult. You’re the third person to claim they’re Mr. Russell’s sister. It didn’t work yesterday, and it’s not going to work today.”

“I’m not actually media.” Jessica’s hands shook as she replaced her driver’s license and fumbled for her track credentials. “Look, I’m really his groom. And we have a horse that is sick, and only Mark knows what to do, so please, just let me see him for a minute. I h-have to see him.” She didn’t plan to cry, even though it would have been a nice touch, but her voice cracked, and the tears pricking her eyes were utterly genuine.

“What’s wrong with the horse?” the nurse asked, her voice slightly less chilly.

“I’m sorry. He w-was the best horse.” Jessica rubbed her eyes, trying not to think of Buddy. “And Mark tried to look after him, tried to look after everyone, and now he’s in the hospital. He had such a raw deal.” She swiped at her cheeks, wishing she could stop crying.

The nurse leaned back in the chair, confusion lining her brow. “I can see you’re upset,” she finally said, “and I’m a horse lover too.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mr. Russell is in room five nineteen. Visitors are restricted, but you can check with the man at the door. He’s very…strict.”

“Thank you so much.” Jessica picked up her bag and hurried down the rust-colored hall, past the patient room with the murmuring TV and into the smell of disinfectant, drugs and toast. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know why she felt so weepy. She prayed a heartfelt apology would be enough. Her urgency increased until she was running.

A man with a thick neck unfolded from the wall, blocking her way. His chin was bruised, and a scar notched the right side of his cheek.

“Yes?” He spoke with a slight accent.

“I’m here to see Mark.” She squared her shoulders and forced a tremulous smile. “Please,” she added politely.

“Name?” He didn’t smile back, just looked at his sheet.

“Jessica.” She paused, reluctant to say Boone. But maybe this sullen man didn’t follow horse racing. “Jessica Boone. I work for Mark.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“You can’t go in.”

“Are you sure my name isn’t there?” She stretched past him, trying to scan the short list.

“I’ve only been given one lady’s name,” he said. “And it’s not yours.”

“I can see that. But if you would just ask him, I’m sure, well I hope—”

“No.”

“He’s going to be released in a few weeks. Could you just ask him, please?” Her gaze flickered to the closed door. Five nineteen. Only a few feet, and she was fast. She could make a dash.

The man seemed to guess her thoughts; he grabbed the top of her arm with his huge hands and propelled her toward the elevator. “Go,” he growled. “Don’t come back.”

He pushed her then, so abruptly she stumbled into the wall and smashed her elbow. She struggled to regain her balance, shocked by his aggressiveness. He stared at her with cold eyes, and she held his gaze for a moment—purely out of stubbornness—then turned away in defeat.

She’d never been treated so roughly, but the fact Mark didn’t care enough to even put her name on his list scared her much more than any over-zealous guard.

***

“Do you want the clothes racks set up here or in the den?” Jessica rubbed her arms, unable to completely shake the memory of the aggressive guard, and glanced into the big room. Dick’s winter home was spacious and creatively furnished, but the house had been vacant since spring, and the stale air only heightened its forlorn feel.

“Leave the racks for tomorrow.” Dick waved a benevolent hand. “We moved enough today.”

“We?”

“Mainly you,” he said cheerfully, “but I did make some calls.”

“There’s no reason a neck injury should stop you from lifting. Tomorrow I’ll do the phone work.”

“You’re in a bitchy mood, my dear. I may rethink you living here. Thought you’d be happier after Maria said Mark was recovering nicely.”

Jessica sank into an overstuffed chair, centered the clipboard on her lap and blew out a sigh. “He didn’t have my name on the visitors’ list. Seven days, and he forgot me. Now it’s all about Cathy.”

“You’re so quick to assume rejection. Maybe it wasn’t a good time to see him.”

“It’s always a good time to see him.” She clicked the end of her pen.

“So you can beg for a job? Offer yourself as his roomie?” The scorn in Dick’s voice made her wince.

“What’s wrong with living with him?” she muttered.

“Not a thing. And maybe he’d be happy with that. But you wouldn’t. He’s the hotshot trainer, getting hotter every day, and he makes me and countless others drool.”

“And?”

“And he found the life that completes him. You need to find yours.”

She forced a flippant smile, resenting the truth in Dick’s words. “You just want me to stay and work for you.”

“Yes, well, that too. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to work the phones.” He opened the window, and a crisp autumn breeze freshened the room. “But you have to ask for clothes, not donations for horse retirement.”

“I don’t know anything about horse retirement.”

“You know enough, and you’re always talking about it. More importantly, you feel it. All you need is to set up a charitable foundation. Find some prominent directors. You already have the connections. Just do it.”

She leaned back and let the wind cool her face. When she’d first walked into Dick’s house, she’d felt foggy, unable to stop sneezing, but now her brain had cleared. She could picture clubhouse faces. People she knew, people with money who enjoyed watching their animals run and who might be grateful for a way to give back to the industry.

Some of them were on the
Forbes 500
list. Jessica knew one dynamic lady, Doris Rogers, whose style and opinions carried immeasurable weight. If she could convince Doris that helping racehorses was a worthy cause, her peers would rush to help. And the retired jockey who had covered the Breeders’ Cup would be an excellent director. He was a good speaker with established connections. And she could invite a vet and other professionals to join.

She leaned forward, clicking her pen with growing enthusiasm. There would be much to learn. Much to do. But it seemed logical that if the horses were retrained, it would widen the adoption scope. Some people considered Thoroughbreds flighty, but Buddy had been much quieter than Mark’s quarter horse, Ghost. And Thoroughbreds were certainly athletic.

There were probably many existing organizations happy to give advice, like The Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation. And she could talk to the Finger Lakes people and the Ferdinand group. One of Mark’s magazines had detailed how Ferdinand, a Kentucky Derby winner, had ended his life in a Japanese meat factory. The sad story still left her sick.

She straightened her clipboard and began jotting names, ideas and plans and, for the first time in a week, stopped agonizing about Mark.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“The April auction raised over two hundred thousand, and Joe Wood is matching it, bless his heart.” Doris sounded as gracious on the phone as she did in person. “Our next event is the celebrity dinner. Julie Krone has agreed to be the emcee. We also have the little Pony Club girl coming. Her horse never won a race, but oh my, he certainly can jump. This winter has been so much fun, dear,” Doris added. “Thanks for letting me get involved. How are you making out in the country?”