Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (89 page)

“It wasn’t even a tough choice.” He stroked her cheek, letting her see the emotion glittering in his eyes. “I love you, Jessica Boone.”

My God. He loved her, and he could say it. In his barn too, quite loudly. Definitely loud enough to reach Jim, who ostensibly swept the end of the spotless aisle but now craned his neck trying to see. “Good,” was all she could manage.

“If that’s all you needed to know,” he said, “I’d have taken out an ad in
The Racing Form
. Please don’t run away again.”

“Never.” Her voice bubbled and she gripped his shoulders, so lightheaded she thought she might float into the aisle. “And you won’t have to choose again either. My devious grandfather gave me Assets. Belle and Rocky too.”

“Really? No tricks?” His eyes narrowed. “You got their papers? It’s all legal?”

“Definitely legal. I own them.” She smiled. “But that only means you’ll have to be extra nice to me.”

“Promise.” His smile turned rueful. “But first I have to finish my meeting with my second favorite owner. Then we’ll go to my place, and tomorrow I want to see your famous horse farm. Maria too, who you lured away with such an outrageous salary.” However, his eyes twinkled with approval. “The lawyer says Abdul’s adoption won’t be a problem now.You really are something—” He dipped his head, muffling his words with a deep kiss, a hungry kiss, taut with longing and love.

“The sheikh saw you,” he murmured, lifting his mouth, his breathing ragged. “So he’ll understand why I have to rush the meeting. But I can’t make him wait any longer. It’s just not done.”

“Hurry then, so we can go home.” She trembled with wanting, unable to resist pressing into his warm chest, then stepped back, groaning. Somehow his mouth, his hands, his mere presence pushed away coherent thought. “Oh, no. I can’t stay tonight. Harry’s with me.”

“Harry?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Harry from barn seventy-two. Recently retired.”

“No problem.” He grinned and tugged her closer, tenderly dragging his mouth over her forehead. “Old Harry can have a sleepover in my barn. Tomorrow we’ll take Buddy and Harry to your place. Then bring Assets back. Work out some kind of commute.” He sobered, cupping her head in his hands. “I know you’re busy, but I do need to see Assets’ owner. Every day if possible. Is that okay?”

Every day. Her heart thumped with joy. It would be easy to rearrange her schedule, but she couldn’t stop smiling because already he was thinking of Assets. No mention of Belle or Rocky.

Still, once in a while something came along that simply captured your soul. And maybe in a month or two, when she wasn’t so annoyed with her grandfather, she’d thank Gramps for finding her this wonderful man.

“It’s all absolutely perfect,” she said, snuggling into his chest, home at last.

And behind her, Buddy lifted his muzzle from the hay and blew warm breath lovingly down the back of her neck.

***

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks for your staunch support, interest and enthusiasm—Barb Snarby, Becky Mason, Patricia Thomas, Virginia Janes, Anne MacFarlane, Chelsea Thornton, Julianne MacLean, Judith James, Pamela Callow, Donna Alward, Lauren Tutty and Cathy McDonald. You ladies rock.

Fillies and Females

By

Bev Pettersen

Copyright 2011 Bev Pettersen

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or a portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people and horses, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art design by Pat Ryan Graphics

Editors: Pat Thomas & Rhonda Helms

Photo Credit: Horsephotos.com

Dedication

To my son, Hans, who provided computer support and jokes when desperately needed.

Chapter One

Becky pushed the empty wheelchair through the crowded owner’s box and wished, once again, she were invisible. She kept her face carefully neutral, trying to hide her discomfort.

Accompanying her employer to the track wasn’t her usual duty but the weekend nurse was sick, and Martha would have been devastated if she hadn’t been able to attend this long-anticipated horse race. Not that there was anything wrong with horses—Becky quite liked them—but the people who thronged these glamorous affairs made her edgy.

All the usual society types attended. Few would refuse an invitation to watch the Lone Star Derby from a swanky skybox stocked with an array of food and liquor as well as Martha’s illustrious friends. However, some of them weren’t very friendly. Becky gripped the rubber handles just as a lady with molded cheekbones and an equally molded dress stepped sideways, cutting off her path and forcing the chair to bump the wall.

“Hurry, Becky. Over here!” Martha Conrad called, her voice shrill with impatience.

“Do you want to switch chairs?” Becky asked, once she finally maneuvered the wheelchair to Martha’s side.

“No, I just want my binoculars. You packed them, didn’t you?”

Becky gave a reassuring nod and unzipped the side pocket on the back of the wheelchair.

“This is so nerve-wracking.” Martha clutched at her neck, fretfully fingering a striking string of pearls. “I wish Malcolm were here.”

Her thin chest flailed and Becky edged closer, her own hands tightening with concern. Martha had been devoted to her husband and was reluctant to sell the race stable after his sudden death. But maintaining the operation was stressful, even with excellent staff, and doctors had warned the excitement was dangerous for her weakened heart.

“There’s our colt now.” Martha’s voice steadied, her words even carrying a familiar hint of sarcasm. “Look, Ted. Hunter’s the horse with number one on the saddle cloth.”

Martha’s nephew glanced at the string of horses with such indifference, Becky wondered why he’d bothered to come. Maybe like her, Ted was uncomfortable with crowds, although in his case it seemed based on apathy rather than insecurity. His reaction didn’t bother Martha one bit, since scores of enthusiastic guests were already murmuring their admiration.

Martha’s horse, Code Hunter, seemed to know he was being scrutinized. He arched his neck and strutted like a rock star. Becky edged closer to the balcony, fascinated by the horse—his confidence, his bearing, his legitimate blue blood. Malcolm Conrad had spent twenty years developing Thoroughbreds with both speed and stamina, and Hunter was the result of his breeding program. In four starts the colt was unbeaten and if race odds were any indication, he’d win again today.

“An impressive animal.” Ted glanced down at Martha. “But he should be, considering the money Uncle Malcolm wasted.”

Disapproval edged his voice and Becky averted her head, pretending absorption with the post parade. His tone bothered her, but she’d learned it was safer to remain silent.

Silence also made it easier to observe others and when she peeked back at Ted, his taut eagerness surprised her—boredom or disapproval were his usual expressions. He’d been visiting Martha more frequently since Malcolm’s death and his pale blue eyes, so devoid of emotion, always made her uneasy. He resembled a detached businessman rather than what one would expect of Martha’s sole heir.

A lady giggled, and Becky’s thoughts scattered as new energy zapped the skybox.
He’s here
.

“Oh, gracious. My trainer has arrived. Over here, Dino!” Martha waved, abruptly the picture of health, and her seventy-four-year-old voice bubbled with fresh excitement.

The crowd parted as Dino Anders strolled through the middle of the room. He didn’t wear his usual cowboy hat, and his hair was dark and windswept. A sports jacket was slung over his shoulder, and a crisp white shirt emphasized his tanned face and easy smile.

Becky gulped. He was movie star gorgeous, and in a moment he’d be beside her. She studied the tips of her thick-soled shoes, hoping this time she could control her blush, control her squeak. Maybe this time his friendly attempts at conversation wouldn’t make her freeze.

But it wasn’t only her. Even worldly Martha wasn’t immune to the Dino effect. “How’s my lipstick, dear?” she whispered.

“It’s good.” Becky grabbed a tissue and blotted a corner of Martha’s lined mouth. “Now it’s even better.”

Martha gave Becky a conspiratorial wink, cupping her mouth so Ted wouldn’t hear. “I may be old but I’m not dead.”

A moment later, Dino’s deep voice sounded beside them. “Hello, Martha. You’re looking very elegant today.”

Martha giggled as he leaned down and kissed her rouged cheek. “I assume there will be a win picture with Hunter,” she said. “Can you promise me a trip to the winner’s circle?”

Dino straightened, his smiling brown eyes studying the horses warming up on the track. “Can’t guarantee it, but Hunter’s training great. Should run well.”

“Of course, if he doesn’t,” Ted said, edging closer, “it’s obvious the stables should be sold.” He gave Martha’s shoulder a solicitous pat. “Racing was Uncle Malcolm’s passion, not yours. It’s crazy to chase his dream at the expense of your health.”

Becky blinked in dismay. It was no secret Ted wanted Martha to sell but this was the first time he’d stated his opinion in public, and it was thoughtless of him to be so blunt. She sensed Dino’s similar disapproval, could feel his pulsing resentment even though he stood several feet away.

However, Dino’s easy shrug revealed nothing. “Then let’s hope Hunter wins today,” he said, “so nothing needs to be sold. You’re nervous, Betty. Have you made a big bet?”

It took several seconds before she realized Dino was talking to her. She looked into his teasing eyes—they reminded her of warm caramel with gold flecks. And the way he smiled. He never remembered her name, yet always smiled with such warmth it made her knees wobble. No wonder the other nurses all clamored to escort Martha to the races.

She paused, moistening her mouth so it wouldn’t squeak. “My name’s Becky,” she finally said, “and I don’t bet.” She forced herself to hold his gaze, to smile, to keep her head up like Martha advised, but it no longer mattered. A brunette with bold eyes and bright lipstick swooped in from the other side and grabbed his arm.

Dino turned to the lady and tilted his head, listening as she asked him about race strategy.

“Since Martha’s horse drew the rail,” he said, “our jockey will take Hunter out quick, grab the lead and hopefully hold off the closers. With any luck, we’ll all meet in the winner’s circle.” His voice rippled with lazy amusement. “That’s the plan anyway.”

He sounded relaxed, unconcerned that a horse he trained was running in the biggest three-year-old race in Texas. Didn’t seem to notice he was the center of attention, especially with the women, although even the men eyed him with expressions ranging from admiration to envy.

He’d easily blown off Ted’s rude comment, and she sensed nothing now but the fascinating whiff of leather, soap and virile male. God, she wished she could be so comfortable.

She stared through the spotless glass panel, nails pressed into her palms, while the horses circled the gate. Dino was too close for her to really relax, but she had no more worries. His greetings were always unfailingly polite, but her replies never came quickly enough. He wouldn’t speak to her again today, not with the lipstick lady hanging on his arm. At least she could retreat into silence and enjoy the race. No one in this group ever talked to her—no one except Martha and Dino.

Chatter softened as the horses disappeared behind the starting gate. Guests pressed closer to the balcony, attention shifting from their drinks to the track. Hunter’s jockey wore the bright silks of Conrad Racing Stable, a vivid yellow with a black diamond, and horse and rider were easy to spot. An assistant starter led them into their slot.

Soon
. The race would start soon. The air crackled with expectation, and she leaned forward, forgetting her shyness, caught up in the emotion.

“He’s in the gate,” Dino said, his big body motionless.

Martha reached up and clutched Becky’s hand. Ted gestured at a waiter.

Two horses left to load. Anticipation pricked the air, and the raucous crowd at the rail stilled. Becky bent closer to Martha but kept her gaze fixed on the one hole, praying Hunter would break clean.
Gate to wire, please
. If the race were too close, it would be stressful for Martha. Already she could feel the trembling of Martha’s hand, the tissue-thin skin of her fingers.

Even Becky’s heart pounded. She bent down, pretending to adjust the pillow behind Martha’s shoulders but really just wanted to be close. If she was this nervous, how was Martha feeling? This couldn’t be good, and it was the type of situation the doctors warned to avoid. “Deep breaths,” Becky whispered, trying to hide her concern. “Hunter will do fine.”