Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (94 page)

Chapter Seven

The screech of whinnying horses blasted through Becky’s bedroom, yanking her from a deep sleep. She groaned, jamming a pillow over her head.

Martha thought it fitting that Becky use Malcolm’s shockingly loud alarm clock. “It gives the proper start to an exciting horse day,” she’d said. But the shrill horse calls were more jarring than any buzzer, and it didn’t feel like a good way to start any sort of day.

Becky stumbled from the bed, found the relentless clock and flipped the switch. Five-thirty. Dino wanted her at the track by seven. Time for a quick shower and a check of the nurses’ rotation. She’d munch an apple in the car.

Thirty minutes later and freshly woken by the shower, she poked her head in Martha’s bedroom. A sleepy-eyed nurse padded to the door. “Don’t worry,” the nurse whispered. “Deb is on days this month. Mrs. Conrad will be fine.”

Becky nodded in relief. Deb was one of Martha’s favorites—or at least one she tolerated with minimal criticism. She backed from the bedroom, grabbed her camera and some fruit, and slipped into the Mercedes.

The drive was mainly interstate, and she reached Lone Star in forty minutes, following directions already programmed into the GPS. The sharp-eyed guard in the security booth checked the owner’s tag dangling from the mirror and moments later she crunched onto the graveled lot of the backside.

So far, so good. She cracked open the car door, her confidence stalling as she peered through the misty dawn. Rows of barns extended in orderly lines and a string of horses pranced along a walkway. A man with wet jeans led a dripping horse in circles. A boy whizzed past on a rusty bike, headset clamped to his ears and singing fearlessly.

People and horses bustled in all directions. Even the animals seemed to know where they were going. She sucked in a resolute breath and grabbed her jacket, forcing herself to leave the cocoon of the car. Spring mornings were cool so she had an excuse to bundle up. She zipped the jacket to her neck.

Mud squelched as she edged along the row of barns, checking the numbers posted at the end of each door. Two, five, six—at least she was going the right way. A horse and rider trotted past. She stepped back, unsure if the rider was too busy to give directions.

“
Buenos dias
,” someone called and she jerked sideways but they weren’t talking to her. In fact, no one seemed concerned with her presence. Slowly the tightness in her shoulders eased.

A man in a cowboy hat sauntered past with a steaming coffee and a friendly smile.

“Can you point me in the direction of barn sixteen?” she asked, staring wistfully at his coffee.

“Dino Anders’ barn? Sure.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Four down on your right. The one with the big green hammock.”

“Thank you,” she said, continuing in the direction of his thumb jab and wondering where he had bought that big coffee.

And there it was. Barn sixteen. Two horses circled on a mechanical contraption with protruding arms. A groom led another horse around a ring of sawdust. Bright flowerpots hung from hooks on the side of the barn, and an orange clothesline sagged with wet bandages. A wide hammock stretched invitingly between two trees. No sign of Dino.

She slowed, not sure now where to go. But at that instant, Dino stepped outside, looking like an old friend in a strange land, and her heart thumped with relief.

“Hi, Becky. Ten to seven. You’re on time.” He smiled with approval. “We’ve got five of Martha’s ready now so we can walk over to the gap.”

“What’s the gap?” she asked, trying not to gawk, but his denim shirt clung to his broad shoulders and she didn’t want to look too closely at his lean hips, at the thick leather belt and rugged buckle. My God, he was sexy. It was surprising the girls here managed to do any work.

“The gap is where the horses go on the track,” he said. “This way.”

He’d already turned and headed along the road so she rushed after him. His stride was long, and he didn’t seem inclined to slow but his very purposefulness put her at ease. She was huffing when they reached the track. It was a lot of walking to watch a bunch of horses gallop.

She glanced across the infield. From this side the clubhouse looked tiny, but the horses and people seemed bigger, more real. Like she’d slipped through a secret door and now peered through the back of a mirror.

Horses pranced through a gap onto the oval and she was close enough to reach out and touch each gleaming coat. Emotions were palpable—the focus of the riders, the optimism as each handler released their horse, the concentration of the trainers. Several people lounged at the rail, many empty-handed but some with notebooks and cameras. The air on this side was even different, and the primal smell zapped her with bone-deep excitement.

“Wow,” she breathed, sucking it all in.

Dino glanced down. His eyes were shaded by his cowboy hat, but his smile was slow and understanding. Then he turned to his horses.

He called out a change of instructions and she watched, transfixed, as fearless riders guided their charges around the oval. Some horses squealed and bucked when they first entered the track. Others trotted off in workmanlike fashion, and another tossed his head up and down as though his mouth hurt. Each horse acted differently, wrapped in their own personality. She was so enthralled she forgot her own nervousness, forgot her numbing attraction to Dino, forgot even to ask which horses were Martha’s.

“That’s one of ours coming now,” Dino said. “I’m trying to teach him to run straight. He’s green and lugged out his last start.”

The rider flagged the horse’s outside eye with his stick—it seemed the colt was running straight as an arrow. She turned and looked at Dino. “That looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“Not bad,” he said with a smile. “Now watch the chestnut. She’s been sticky about switching leads. Cost her a win last month.”

Becky leaned over the rail, studying the chestnut and the beautiful symmetry of her slim legs. She hadn’t realized race riders worried about which leg was leading, but obviously horses stayed balanced and would run more efficiently if they could change leads on cue. “How does the jockey get a lead change?” she asked.

“Weight shift,” Dino said. “Or sometimes a tap on the shoulder.”

And there it was. The chestnut switched leads and ran the turn like a train, like a big, unstoppable express train. “This seems like a very good training day.” She tilted her head, smiling impulsively at Dino, unable to curb her enthusiasm.

“Yeah, this is a pretty good day. But you never know with horses. Sometimes they regress. Hunter had been scorching around the track. I was positive he’d win Sunday.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Want to go the kitchen and grab breakfast?”

“Definitely,” she said quickly. She hadn’t realized there was a restaurant on the backside, but it was a sure bet they served something tastier than green tea and apples. Must have been where that man had bought his coffee. This day was getting better and better.

They walked along the gravel road, past lines of sweaty horses and smiling grooms. Several people called out Spanish greetings, and it was clear Dino was well liked and not just by women. She swerved to avoid a puddle, and he casually looped his arm around her waist and steered her onto dry ground.

“Watch your step,” he said, keeping his hand on her hip.

She stared straight ahead, trying to act casual, trying to ignore the heat of his fingers but was so acutely aware of his touch she could barely breathe. And then they passed the puddle and he lowered his arm, and she really wished he had driven her home last night.

“Did you get up early and drive in?” she asked, thinking of Stephanie.

“Yeah. Usually when I train at Lone Star, I stay in my apartment, but there’s been a lot of upheaval since Malcolm died. Slim and I are still working things out. That’s the kitchen.”

He gestured at a square building with a long walkway. Luxury cars and dented trucks  were crammed, side-by-side, in a small parking lot. Dino opened the door, and she stepped past him into a room bursting with Stetsons, conversation and a sizzling grill.

A dark-haired lady with a purple riding vest paused by the door. “It’s Monty’s birthday tonight. You coming by the bar?” She shot Becky a curious glance.

“Yeah, Angie, I’ll be there.” Dino barely paused as he scooped up a tip sheet and angled into the food lineup. “What would you like?” he asked Becky.

“Coffee, scrambled eggs and bacon, white toast, please.” She fumbled for her money, trying not to stare as Angie swung the door shut. The woman was gorgeous with a graceful neck and exotic eyes. If she were a foot taller, she’d be a candidate for a super model.

Dino’s warm fingers covered her hand. “Put your money away. I’ve got it,” he said, his attention on a comment in the tip sheet. “Code Hunter throws a clunker that’s typical of stable,” he recited. He crumpled the sheet and tossed it into a waste bin. “Christ, don’t let Martha see that,” he added, still scowling. “Where will you be for Saturday’s race?”

Becky’s face flamed. He didn’t realize he was still holding her hand, but his touch made her skin tingle. “Don’t I have to sit in the owner’s box?” she asked.

“Not if you don’t want to.” He dropped his hand, turned his attention to the cook and rattled off a slew of Spanish. Said something that made the cook laugh, then turned back to her. “You can watch from the rail with me. I only go up to the box for Martha.”

“Okay.” Her chest warmed with relief. She wouldn’t have to listen to stiff conversation by status-conscious people; she’d be able to get close to the horses. And she’d be with Dino. Suddenly Saturday seemed a very long wait.

“The rail it is then,” he said. “And if we win, it’s easier to walk to the winner’s circle.”

She nodded happily, not even trying to flatten her smile. “How many of Martha’s horses are running?”

“Two. Echo, the filly you saw galloping yesterday, is in the feature race. There’s also a cheaper allowance horse running. Not a homebred.” Someone called a greeting and he waved, then glanced back at her. “We’ll haul in the morning of the race. Echo gets worked up when she’s away, and Malcolm always wanted her to sleep at home.”

“I can understand that,” she said. “Sleeping in a strange place would make me edgy too.”

“Luckily some girls don’t mind.” He grinned as he passed the cashier some crumpled bills.

There was no doubt what he meant, and she waited for a jolt of discomfort. Surprisingly it didn’t come. Her mind felt sharp too, not tangled with anxiety. Odd. Sexual innuendoes by men who looked and talked like Dino usually turned her into a mute rock.

She placed some napkins on the tray, waiting while he talked with the cashier. He was nice to everyone. Really nice too, no cheesy smile or fake interest. He actually wanted that cashier to have a nice day.

He carried the tray to a table. She quickly added some milk to her coffee and followed. After a childhood of bare necessities, she’d always appreciated food, and everything here smelled wonderful. Probably had been a year since she’d enjoyed a big breakfast—Martha was on such a strict diet that green tea and dark bread were standard fare.

She sat down, taking a moment to savor her heaping plate—the fluffy eggs, crisp bacon and toast soaked in butter. White bread too, not a grain in sight.

Dino generously laced his eggs with salsa. “Nice to see you know how to eat. I usually feel like a pig around women.”

“I hear you are,” she said, then froze in horror, shocked by her impulsive words. She, who was never impulsive.
Please, God. Maybe he didn’t hear me
.

But he stopped dumping salsa on his eggs and his eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, pretending absorption in the packet of strawberry jam. “Want any jam?”

“What did you say?” he repeated.

His voice lowered and she shot a quick look at his face. He wore his tough look now, the one that had made Ted quail, and she wanted to sink through the floor.

“I believe you called me a pig,” he said softly. “I’d like to know what you mean.”

Her chest tightened but oddly the wave of panic she’d expected didn’t come. He wouldn’t hurt her, and it wasn’t just because they were in a public place. She still felt comfortable with him even though she’d obviously annoyed him. But how could she admit she was bothered by Stephanie, Angie, and even the spike-haired woman at the next table who eyed him like he was an item on the menu?

“I’m really sorry.” She took a nervous sip of coffee. “Actually what I meant was that I’m a food pig and I can’t wait to eat.” She picked up her toast, unable to meet his eyes. “Gosh, this looks good. It’s been a while since I had a real breakfast.”

“Martha’s rich as Croesus and doesn’t feed you?”

She nodded eagerly, glad they were on a safer topic. “I live in her house. It’s only fair I eat and drink the same food.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I doubt Martha drinks a bottle of wine every night.”

“I only drank a lot because Ted was there,” she admitted. “He makes me nervous.”

“But I don’t? And
I’m
the pig?”

She blew out a sigh. He was a smart guy and obviously wasn’t easily distracted. “Well, there are all kinds,” she said, her mind scrambling.

“Like what?” His hand covered hers.

She wiggled in the chair but at least he was smiling again, as though amused by her discomfort. Unfortunately the touch of his hand sent her senses blasting into overdrive.

“Before you eat, let’s hear it,” he added. “What kind of pig am I?”

He’d tilted forward. She stared at his beautiful mouth but couldn’t formulate any words, and her pulse pounded so erratically beneath his thumb, he had to feel it. “A woman pig,” she squeaked.

He stared at her for a long moment. His thumb stroked the back of her wrist and she was certain he wasn’t even aware of it. He followed her gaze, quickly released her hand and leaned back. “I like women,” he said. “Doesn’t make me a pig.” He didn’t seem annoyed or even fazed; if anything, he looked confused.

“Guess the definition depends on numbers. Like did you sleep with more than one woman in the past month?” She smiled, surprised she was able to tease. “Maybe more than two?”