by Nora Roberts
took another long, careful study. “But I don’t think so. Lipsky would’ve gotten one peep at you through the judas hole and barricaded himself in for the duration. Do you mind if I go down and talk to your men now?”
“No, I don’t mind.” Gabe stayed where he was; Rossi knew the way. He closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing one vertebra at a time.
* * *
He gave Rossi an hour before he went down to the barn himself. The atmosphere was charged with the combination of excitement and dread that blooms around death. Men stopped their gossiping and instantly looked busy when Gabe appeared.
He found Jamison in conference with Matt over the injured colt.
“The inflammation’s down,” Matt was saying. “It’s healing well. Go to changing the dressing once a day, using the same antiseptic.”
“He’s going to scar.”
Matt nodded, eyeing the long healing slice along the flank. “More than likely.”
“Goddamned shame.” Jamison picked up the syringe to bathe the wound. “Prime-looking horse like this.”
“It’ll add to his prestige,” Gabe commented, moving up to take the colt’s halter himself. He ran his knuckles down Double’s cheek, as a man might caress a woman. The colt responded by butting his hand, playful as a puppy. “Battle scars,” he murmured. “It won’t affect his time, or his ambition. How soon can we put a rider up on him?”
“Don’t be in a hurry.” Matt jerked aside as the colt swung his head and aimed for his shoulder, no longer a puppy but nine hundred pounds of temperament. The teeth missed by an inch or so. “This one’s always testing me. Like to take a chunk out of me, would you, fella?” He gave the colt a good-natured slap on the neck when he was sure Gabe had tightened his grip. “He’ll run in Kentucky for you, Gabe. If I was a betting man, I’d put money on him myself.”
Gabe accepted Matt’s diagnosis, then turned to his trainer. “Jamie?”
“I’ve been laying out a new training schedule for him. It’ll either work, or it won’t.”
“That’ll have to do, then. Did Rossi talk to you?”
Jamison’s eyes turned grim as he completed the new dressing. “Yeah. He was down here, asking his questions. Got everybody all stirred up. Peterson figures it was a mob hit. Kip thinks it was a woman. Lynette didn’t take to that and took some skin off his nose. They’ve been arguing over it, with the boys taking sides.”
“Nobody thinks it was suicide?”
Jamison shot Gabe a look and stepped out of the box. “Nobody that knew him.”
“He could have gotten his hands on some acepromazine,” Matt reminded Jamison. “He’d have known what it would do. Surely he had to know the authorities would catch up with him eventually.”
“A man like Lipsky could have lost himself at a hundred tracks.” Jamison looked back at the colt. He was dressing the wound himself, as penance for his part in it. “I should have fired him months ago. Everything might’ve been different then.” And Mick might have been alive.
“That part’s done,” Gabe said. “But it’s not over. Whoever gave Lipsky that last drink is part of it.”
“I’ll tell you what I told Rossi.” Matt scratched his chin as they headed outside. “It had to be someone who knows horses, and who had access to veterinary supplies.” He smiled wanly. “Which doesn’t narrow it down too much.”
“It includes all of us.” Gabe watched Matt’s jaw go slack. “And several hundred others. Thanks for stopping by.”
Matt swallowed nervously. “No problem. I’ll check on the colt in a couple of days. I, um, think I’ll drop by Three Willows.”
“Oh.” Eyeing Matt, Gabe took out a cigar and lit it casually. “Is there a problem over there?”
“No, no. I just . . . Well.”
Gabe’s smile came easily. Most of the tension drained away. “She’s a pleasure to look at, isn’t she?”
Matt flushed, a curse of pale skin. “It isn’t a hardship. Channing told me he thinks she might stay around awhile.” He’d done his best to pump Channing for details, but the young man was either very discreet or very dense when it came to his stepsister.
“Oh, I think she’ll stay awhile.” Gabe was going to make certain of that. “And you look all you want.” He swung an arm over Matt’s shoulder as he walked Matt to his truck. “A saint couldn’t blame you for it. But watch where you touch, Doc.”
As Matt fumbled for a response, Gabe opened the truck door for him. “Mine,” he said simply.
“You—” He broke off, flushed crimson. “I didn’t realize. Kelsey never . . . I never—”
“If I thought you had, I’d have to hurt you.” Gabe’s smile was friendly, even sympathetic, but the warning was clear. “Give Kelsey my best when you see her.”
“Sure.” Scurrying to leave, Matt scrambled into the truck. “But you know, maybe I should just get back. I’ve got a pile of paperwork.”
“Then I’ll let you get to it.” Gabe stepped back, grinning as he watched the truck zip up the long lane.
“You scared the boy white.” Jamison thumbed out one of his favored cherry Life Savers.
“Just saving him some trouble down the road.”
“That may be.” Studying the last of Matt’s dust, Jamison let the cool, slick flavor dissolve on his tongue. “Does she know you’ve put your brand on her?”
Gabe chuffed out smoke, remembering, with fondness, her reaction to his very deliberate public kiss. “She’s a bright woman.”
“Bright women are the ones who give a man the most trouble.”
“I haven’t had any trouble in a long time.” And he hadn’t known just how much he’d wanted some. “I might just drive over myself, and see if I can stir some up.” The distraction would do him good, he decided, and he turned to look at his trainer.
He’d been focused on the colt in the barn, and on Matt. Now he could see the lines of weariness, the shadowed eyes. “You look beat, Jamie.”
He’d been sleeping poorly, and he’d found it harder yet to choke down a decent meal since Mick’s murder.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“One thing you can get off of it is any responsibility for what happened to Mick.” When Jamison merely looked away, Gabe tossed down his cigar and ground it out. The expression in Jamison’s eyes only churned up his own feelings of guilt. “Okay, you used poor judgment in keeping him on. I used it in firing him in front of the men. You want to consider that the trigger, fine. But it wasn’t the finger that pulled it.”
“I see him—Mick—every time I close my eyes.” Jamison’s voice was low, strained. “The way he must have looked when Lipsky and the colt got done with him. It should never have happened, Gabe.” He let out a sigh. There was no answer for that. He knew there was none. “The Derby’s in three and a half weeks. That colt’s got to be ready, and it’s my job to make him so. But I look at him, and I think how proud Mick was to be grooming him.”
Saying nothing, Gabe looked out over the hills. His hills. The Derby was more than a race. More even than a goal. It was the Holy Grail he’d been chasing all of his life.
Now, after a lifetime of struggle, and five years of concentrated effort, it was nearly within reach. Maybe it would be empty when he finally grasped it, but he had to know.
“The colt’s got to run, Jamie. If you can’t work with him, I’ll pass him to Duke.” Duke Boyd, the assistant trainer, was competent. They both knew it. But he didn’t have that extra flair Jamison had been born with. “One way or another, he’ll be ready for Churchill Downs.”
“I’ll do my job,” Jamison said, and rubbed his tired eyes.
“I need your heart in it.”
Jamison dropped his hands. “You’ll have it, goddammit. And my soul as well.”
He turned away and stalked back to the barn.
Kelsey knew she wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the horse. But intellect had nothing to do with it. She was as fascinated with the new wobbly-legged foal as she w
as with the older colts—and had been kicked only once in return for her affection.
Perhaps because she’d taken that philosophically, and had hauled herself up and brushed herself off, Moses began to increase her training.
He liked her style, the way she responded to the horses. And what was more important, he liked the way they responded to her.
Still, he was pleased when he saw she was as much nerves as eagerness when he took her to the yearling stable. He’d consulted with the yearling manager, and between them, they’d culled out this particular filly, a bold little chestnut, weighing in at a trim seven hundred and fifty pounds.
The light was gold, almost liquid with dawn. It poured onto the filly’s coat, inflamed it. Eyes dazzled, Kelsey stood just inside the box. She was sure she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful in her life.
“She’s got spirit,” Moses said as he worked with a handler to calm her as she was saddled. “And she’s got heart. That’s why Naomi called her Honor. Naomi’s Honor.”
As if responding to her name, the filly butted Moses, hard. The vibration sang up his shoulder. He gave a firm jerk on the shortened reins, and continued.
“You’ll be the first weight she’s had on her back. Now, don’t go thinking she’s sweet and eager to please. She’s used to having her freedom. We can’t know what to expect. She’s a lot stronger than you.” He glanced back at Kelsey, as if dismissing her slight frame in the padded jacket and hat. “So you have to be smarter.” He stroked a hand over the yearling, neck to withers. “And kinder.”
That was why he’d chosen Kelsey. No one could work successfully with yearlings without kindness.
The stall was quiet. Moses spoke so softly they might have been in church. He clucked to the yearling, then to Kelsey, signaling her to move in and make her connection.
Her heart was thudding, so loud and hard in her throat she was sure it would spook the yearling. But her hands were gentle, her movements slow. She spoke barely above a whisper, watching Honor’s ears prick to the sound of her voice.
“You’re so pretty. So pretty, Honor. I can’t wait to ride you. We’re going to be friends, you and I.”
The yearling snorted, reserving judgment. Her ears laid back when Moses slipped the bridle over her head.
“Easy now,” Kelsey murmured. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Before long, you’ll be a queen around here. I bet that feels strange, doesn’t it?” She continued to soothe while Moses tightened the saddle. “You should try panty hose. I’ll lay odds they’re more uncomfortable than this little saddle.”
The light changed subtly, warmed.
“I’m going to give you a leg up,” Moses told her. “Remember what I said to do?”
“Yes.” She had to take a deep, clearing breath. “I don’t sit in the saddle yet. The bellying comes first.”
“That’s right. Remember, it’s an announcement. You’re telling her this is what she’s here for. Slow now. And remember where the door is if you need to get out quick.”
The idea of that had Kelsey taking one more breath before she put her knee, and her welfare, in Moses’s hands.
The yearling shied, surprised, annoyed as Kelsey draped herself over the saddle. Kelsey felt the agitated movement under her and refused to think about being sprawled over several hundred pounds of irritated horse. She followed Moses’s instructions and her own instincts, easing herself up and around, shifting her weight to saddle and stirrups.
Honor danced, kicking out with a hind leg, trying to shift to get a good clean shot at Moses. Instinctively, Kelsey leaned forward, spoke softly, firmly in the yearling’s ear.
“Stop that. You don’t want everyone to think you’re common.”
It wasn’t magic. The voice and the tone didn’t immediately calm her. But after a few more arrogant maneuvers, the yearling settled.
“She likes me,” Kelsey announced.
“She’s thinking about how to shake you off her back.”
“No.” Kelsey grinned down at Moses. “She likes me.”
“We’ll see.” He made Kelsey sit until he was satisfied. “All right. Let’s get to work.”
This, as Moses explained, was kindergarten. Kelsey would simply sit in the saddle while the handler walked Honor on the yearling track, the high walls preventing both of them from being distracted from the job at hand.
Once the yearling had become accustomed to a rider’s weight, she would be turned loose by the handler. And Kelsey would guide her.
They’d learn together.
“How did she do?” Naomi asked when she joined him.
“Like you’d expect. She’s got plenty of Chadwick in her.” Moses put a hand over hers, squeezed briefly in one of his rare displays of public affection. “I thought you’d come down and watch for yourself.”
“I was too nervous.” She watched Kelsey control the yearling with a light tug on the reins. “She’s been here a month, Moses. She hasn’t said anything about leaving.” Naomi hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. “With everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks, I keep waiting for her to pack up and go.”
“You’re not looking close enough, Naomi.” He smiled a little when Kelsey forgot the training and leaned forward to press her face into the yearling’s mane. “She’s not going anywhere.”
At Moses’s signal, Kelsey straightened, then walked the yearling sedately over. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” The pride that welled up in Naomi was almost frightening. She lifted a hand to stroke the yearling, and let her fingertips brush against Kelsey’s. “You look wonderful together.”
“I feel wonderful.” After Moses had fed Honor a carrot as a reward, Kelsey held out a hand. “Don’t I deserve one?”
“I guess you do, at that.”
She accepted one and bit in. “Now that I’ve stopped being terrified, I can enjoy it.” After patting Honor on the neck, she tried not to gloat. “Can I work her tomorrow, Moses?”
“And the day after,” he said. “She’s your responsibility now.”
“Really?” She wanted to leap off and kiss him, but settled for beaming at him. “I won’t let you down.”
“You do, and I’ll dock your pay.”
Now she grinned. “I’m not getting paid.”
“You’ve been on the payroll for two weeks.” He had the satisfaction of seeing her jaw drop. “You get your first check on Friday.”
“But it isn’t necessary. I’m just—”
“You do the work, you get the pay.” He said it firmly. He was, after all, in charge of this particular matter. “Of course, you’re starting at the bottom. That’s about where you started, isn’t it, Naomi?”
“Rock bottom,” she replied with a grimace. “My father insisted I earn every penny of my salary, paltry as it was. The idea was, when it all came to be mine, I’d appreciate it more. He was right.”
Kelsey considered. It was probably best, more of a business arrangement. “How paltry?”
“You should probably clear about two hundred a week,” Moses told her.
She lifted a brow. “When do I get a raise?”
With a laugh, Naomi stepped closer. “He’d have appreciated you.” Gently, she skimmed her fingertips over the yearling’s throat. “She likes you.”
Kelsey sent Moses a smug smile. “That’s what I said.”
“I missed twenty-three birthdays.” Naomi’s tone shifted Kelsey’s attention back. And now her eyes were wary. “Twenty-three Christmases. A lot to make up for.” Steadying herself, she looked up and met her daughter’s eyes. “I’d like to start, if you’ll let me. Will you take her?”
“Take her?” Staggered, Kelsey stared. “Honor? You want to give her to me?”
“I’d like you to accept her. No strings. I realize it might be a bit awkward to keep a horse in an apartment”—she struggled to keep her voice light—“but she can stay here as long as you like. Moses can work with her, if that’s what you want. But she’
d be yours, if you’ll take her.”
Swamped with emotion, Kelsey dismounted, slowly. Her palms grew damp on the reins, and she felt the warm breath of the yearling across the nape of her neck.
“I’d love to take her. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I have to get back. I have a lunch meeting.”
Kelsey took a step forward, then stopped, suddenly pushing the reins into Moses’s hand. She had to dash to catch up with Naomi’s long strides. She laid a tentative hand on Naomi’s shoulder, and did what came more simply, more naturally than she’d imagined. She kissed her.
“Thank you,” she said again, but the rest of the words slid down her throat when Naomi embraced her, held her hard.
And where, Kelsey thought as she felt the urgency, the need