Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2)

by Hannah Hooton

  ‘They used an awful lot of pine to build this place,’ Frankie remarked as they approached the vacant bar.

  ‘Pine-fully so,’ Tom replied. ‘Would you like a pine or a half-pine of lager?’

  Frankie snorted.

  ‘I think I’ll settle for a Pine-a Colada, thanks.’

  Once Tom had placed their order with Joey, the smiling barman, they leaned their backs against the bar in comfortable silence.

  ‘I know this place is new and everything, but why do you reckon it’s so quiet in here tonight?’ Frankie said.

  Tom gestured towards a poster on the wall.

  ‘Poker night. Whereas the Plough, I believe, is having a pool tournament tonight.’

  ‘Don’t tell Mum. She’ll be down here in a flash.’

  ‘A flash or a flush?’

  Frankie laughed.

  ‘God, you’re full of those homophobe things tonight.’

  Tom stared at her.

  ‘Full of what?’

  ‘Homophobes—no, hang on, that’s not the right word. Homo– words that sound the same but mean different things.’

  ‘Homophones I think you mean.’ Tom cleared his throat and scowled at his feet.

  ‘Frankie, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you—’

  ‘Hey, Tom!’

  The pair looked round as his name was called. Donnie McFarland, Aspen Valley’s second jockey, raised a hand in greeting while trying to gather up four drinks. ‘Care to join us for some poker? We could use another player at our table.’

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t play cards.’ He gave Frankie a mischievous grin. ‘But Frankie here does.’

  ‘You play poker, Frankie?’ Donnie asked, somewhat sceptically.

  ‘What were you going to tell me?’

  ‘It can wait.’ He held up a finger when she opened her mouth to object. ‘Honestly. Now’s not the best time.’

  She hesitated again, this time looking at Donnie’s dubious expression. Her fortnightly game of Texas Hold ’Em with her mother was hardly hardcore enough to take on a table full of whisky-fuelled testosterone.

  ‘I don’t know—’

  ‘Go on, Frankie,’ urged Tom. ‘You’re always saying you want to be treated as an equal.’

  Rhys’s sexist remarks from that morning flitted through her mind. Squaring her shoulders, she beamed at Donnie.

  ‘Sure I do.’

  *

  While Tom remained behind waiting for their cocktails, Frankie followed Donnie round to the poker tables.

  ‘Look who I found lurking by the bar, lads! Frankie’s come to join us for some cards.’

  Frankie’s breath caught in her throat. Lounging in his chair, his dark hair curling over his forehead, Rhys looked up in surprise.

  Feeling conspicuous, Frankie wrung her hands then suddenly aware of the image she was projecting, she whipped them down by her sides. Stay cool, she told herself.

  ‘Hello, Rhys,’ she said.

  ‘Frankie,’ he nodded in solemn greeting. He looked her up and down. ‘No need to stand to attention. Take a seat.’ Hooking his foot around the chair leg, he pushed it out for her to sit down.

  Frankie swallowed and took her place next to him. Where was Tom? She could really do with his moral support right now. Craning her neck to see over the restaurant-bar partition, she could see him chatting to a bored-looking Joey.

  Rhys shuffled the cards as Donnie counted out some chips for her.

  ‘I take it you know how to play Hold ’Em?’ Rhys asked, raising a flyaway eyebrow.

  Frankie smiled sweetly and wiped the sweat from her palms onto her jeans beneath the table.

  ‘You bet.’

  Rhys gave a half smile (either that or he had wind).

  ‘Oh, I do.’

  Frankie tried not to admire his long strong fingers and toned forearm as he deftly dealt the cards to her, Donnie and the two other men at the table. She was about to pick up her cards when she noticed the others only bend theirs to peek at them. Damn, she hated it when they did that. She could never remember what her cards were if they were always faced down. She took a quick look. Okay, maybe this time it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t get far with a two of spades and seven of diamonds anyway.

  *

  Three hands, two folds and a failed bluff later Frankie was regretting her decision to play. With Rhys to her left, she was very aware of him methodically collecting the pot on each occasion. Each time he reached forward to take his winnings the scent of seductive cologne tickled her nostrils. This was not conducive to her game concentration.

  As Donnie dealt the next hand, Frankie’s heart gave a flutter when she bent her cards back. Two queens! Much the best hand she’d had so far. She glanced up to see how the rest of the table were receiving their cards. The man sitting opposite her, named Carl, pushed out his lower lip sceptically. The other man, Richard, looked preoccupied with snuffling into his handkerchief. On her right, Donnie was smiling coyly. She looked at Rhys. His deadpan expression altered a fraction as he raised an eyebrow at her.

  When the betting reached Donnie, he raised the stakes. The crooked smile was still there but Frankie noticed his foot wasn’t tapping like it had on the two other occasions he’d had good hands. She decided to take a chance. She re-raised. One by one, each of the players matched her bet. She didn’t know whether to be glad or not yet. The first three community cards were turned over and Frankie held her breath. Two threes and a five, giving her two pair. It wasn’t the strongest hand but it had potential. Her focus turned to Rhys once more. Was it because she felt he was her most likely opposition or was it because she was finding some bizarre satisfaction in being allowed to study him without coming across as a weirdo? Rhys’s eyes, black as coal pits, flitted over each of the players as he made his own assessments. The shadows beneath them and the cheekbones one could base-jump off made him attractive in a haunted-by-demons kind of way. Considering he was a jump jockey, his nose was surprisingly straight in comparison to Donnie’s mangled features. His eyes came to rest on her and Frankie felt like she’d been zapped by a live wire.

  ‘Frankie, are you still playing this round?’ he asked.

  Her attention snapped back to the game, realising that they were waiting on her. Embarrassed, she pushed forward her raised bet.

  The fourth community card was turned, revealing a six of clubs. Frankie felt her throat contract and she tried not to swallow. Her two pair was looking vulnerable now. She decided there was nothing for it and raised again. Rhys considered her for a moment then pushed his cards forward in defeat. Frankie felt the world caving in on her as Donnie raised his bet, calling her bluff. She bet again and waited for the fifth and final community card to be turned.

  Yes!

  She tried to keep the quiet thrill in her stomach under control as the bland features of the queen of hearts looked up at them. A full house! It wasn’t the strongest of hands, but it certainly wasn’t the weakest. Richard folded, leaving Donnie and Carl to match her bet. With a smile bordering on a smirk, Frankie revealed her hand once the pot was accumulated.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Donnie muttered and threw down a straight. Carl’s three of a kind came nowhere close.

  ‘Frankie wins with a full house, queens full of threes,’ Rhys announced. He gathered the cards and offered them to her. ‘And your turn to deal.’

  Frankie could almost hear her adrenalin humming as she took the pack. Although her hand had won on merit at the last card, she had bluffed her way through most of that hand. And by the glint of amusement in Rhys’s eyes, he knew it.

  *

  Tom’s arrival coincided with the dealing of the next hand. He drew up a chair and sat just behind Frankie, softly humming Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler. Frankie peeked at her cards. Eight of diamonds and nine of diamonds. Her pulse quickened and her skin tingled with warmth. Another potentially good hand.

  By the first three community cards, Frankie’s heart rate was bordering on critical. Already Ca
rl and Richard had folded. And with a ten and a queen amongst the first four community cards both bearing the diamond stamp, she knew she was in a good position. Tom had stopped humming behind her and she wondered if his face might give her game away. She daren’t look to check. Both Rhys and Donnie raised their bets. Frankie followed suit. The fifth and final community card was turned and Frankie’s heart lurched. She concentrated on keeping her breathing steady as the desired jack of diamonds smirked back at her. There, she had it! Just about the strongest hand in poker. Frankie couldn’t remember the last time she’d drawn a straight flush.

  She looked at Rhys. He was regarding her thoughtfully. Frankie raised a challenging eyebrow at him. The only thing that could beat her now was if he held a royal flush. She barely noticed when Donnie folded. She was only aware of Rhys’s eyes boring into hers as he raised the stakes. She took a deep breath and pushed all her chips forward.

  ‘All in,’ she announced.

  A ripple of respect flowed from the folded players as they waited for Rhys’s response.

  ‘I’ll match that,’ he murmured. A dangerous twinkle sparked in his eyes. ‘Actually, I’ll raise that. If it’s all right with you, Donnie, I’ll stake my next first choice ride when we’re in the same race.’

  Donnie shrugged.

  ‘Fine by me,’ he said.

  For a moment, Frankie’s confidence wavered. What if he did have the king and ace of diamonds needed to complete a royal flush? Oh, well, it was too late to back out now. And what had she lost—a bit of pride and thirty quid?

  ‘I don’t have anything else to offer,’ she said. ‘I can’t very well offer you a third string ride.’

  A small smile curved Rhys’s lips.

  ‘Consider it a bonus, being the new kid and all that.’

  Frankie’s jaw went slack. He was either the best bluffer in town or he must definitely have a royal flush. She shrugged.

  ‘Okay then.’ She turned over her cards. ‘A straight flush.’

  Rhys’s expression flickered in doubt for the first time that evening. He looked at Frankie with an intensity that could put airport security out of work. He flipped over his cards, giving them a cursory glance before looking back at her. Frankie tore her eyes away to look at his cards. A pair of kings, which when combined with the community cards would have given him four of a kind. No wonder he had been so confident. He must have thought she was bluffing her way through as she’d done in the previous round.

  ‘Ah, mate,’ Donnie said. ‘You’re screwed.’

  Frankie gulped. If only her mother could see her now! She would be so proud! Frankie couldn’t contain the grin which spread across her face. Rhys leaned back in his chair, arms folded, making her wonder if he would honour his ‘bonus’ bet. Then a flicker of a smile tugged at his mouth. He withdrew his wallet from his pocket, extracted a scrap of paper and picked up a worn-down pencil already on the table. Then he began to write.

  “I, Rhys Bradford, do solemnly swear to surrender my next first choice ride to Frankie Cooper...”

  Chapter 6

  Frankie’s first ride for Aspen Valley coincided with Exeter Racecourse’s curtain raiser meeting of the season. She had three rides on the card: Aztec Gold in a three mile steeplechase, Asante in a novice hurdle, and Dust Storm—her poker game ‘bonus’—in the feature race. With the early October sun bathing the undulating course, she jogged the last two hundred metres of the home stretch, dressed in a thick tracksuit, in an attempt to burn off the extra two pounds she was over.

  Feeling like she’d run a marathon, she ducked under the running rail and made her way past the barren grandstand, where only the bookmakers setting up their stands and the busy ground staff were in attendance. Her throbbing pulse had more to do with her ride aboard Aztec Gold in three hours’ time than her exertions though. She’d taken a quick peak at the racecard when she’d arrived and had felt a full body flush when she’d seen her name alongside Jack Carmichael’s. It made her wonder if she’d ever get over working for the king of National Hunt. She knew she wasn’t expected to win today, but just by association her forecast odds had shortened into joint fourth favouritism. Naturally, Rhys, riding South of Jericho, was the clear favourite.

  She wondered, as she climbed the steps to the weighing room, how he would treat her in this rematch now that they were on the same side, so to speak. Greeting the valets and stewards she recognised, she stepped onto the scales, tensing as she waited for the needle to swing round and settle.

  ‘Urgh. Bloody hell,’ she groaned. Despite the energetic run around the course and skipping two meals, she was still one pound over Aztec Gold’s featherweight.

  ‘Looks like it’s the sauna for you,’ Tom said with a wide grin as he passed. Frankie tried to bat him across the head, but he held up the saddles in his arms for protection. He knew how much Frankie detested the sauna. Not only was it energy-sapping but it was also full of naked men. Frankie tried to look on the bright side. They were fit naked men, but naked, nonetheless. Racing might be changing to accommodate female jockeys, but they hadn’t gone so far as to give them separate saunas yet.

  *

  Neither had they done much in the way of changing rooms, she mused a few moments later. Trying to pull off her sweater and leaning against the bench, she managed to crack her elbow against the opposite wall.

  Finally, feeling ever so slightly vulnerable in just a towel, she hazarded her way to the sauna door. With any luck there wouldn’t be anyone in there. It was still early, after all.

  The first thing that hit her was the hot steam, punching the air out of her lungs. The next was the sudden hush in conversation, like a radio had been turned off. Frankie gulped. Six cocks—no, six jocks looked in her direction. Frankie focused hard on looking at their faces. Evan Townsend, Mick Farrelly, Tony O’Hare, Gary Hudson, Donnie McFarland—crikey, usually one would have to subscribe to see things like that—and Rhys Bradford. Frankie faltered. Rhys looked horrified at her entrance and swifter than lightning—Rhys lightning—he’d whipped a towel over his crotch. The ill-concealed discomfort on his face as his haste made him unnecessarily forceful almost made Frankie laugh. Then she realised a woman walking in on a group of naked men and bursting out laughing might not be received with much enthusiasm. Averting her eyes, she hurried over to a space, now just as keenly aware of her own state of undress.

  Paranoia and claustrophobia set in. At this rate she’d have lost that wretched pound in thirty seconds. Glancing up beneath her fringe, she noticed Rhys was still the only one to have made an effort to cover up. Where to focus her eyes? Everywhere she looked seemed unnatural. She stared up at the ceiling. Yet still, even if she didn’t look at Rhys directly, she was still aware of his toned chest and its sprinkling of black hair, his abdominal muscles disappearing beneath the towel to his groin and the single track of hair from his navel.

  She frowned. This is ridiculous, she scolded herself. There’s nothing in this room that you haven’t seen before—with the exception of perhaps Donnie’s donger. You are an adult, not some silly teenager.

  ‘This is a nice surprise, Frankie,’ said Donnie, making no attempt at modesty. ‘Early bird catches the worm, eh?’

  Frankie forced a cool smile onto her lips.

  ‘No worms worth catching in here,’ she replied.

  To her relief, this was met with raucous laughter. Though she dared not look, she thought it might have even raised a smile from Rhys. With the tension somewhat eased, the conversation she had interrupted resumed.

  ‘And so I say yes,’ Welshman, Evan, went on with his story. ‘Of course I can look after him for the holidays. He’s only fifteen, my nephew. I know some good films the likes of he would enjoy and what have you. Maybe show him the local arcade. So I leave him watching Toy Story to go racing at Newton Abbott. When I come home he’s on the couch with a girl! At it like rabbits, I tell you! I mean, what do you say to that?’

  From the corner Frankie was most aware of, Rhys spoke up.<
br />
  ‘How about “have you got any tips”?’

  Again, the sauna reverberated with laughter. Even Frankie managed a giggle. She looked at Rhys, impressed that he possessed anything remotely resembling wit. As his compatriots roared, a smile tugged at his mouth, his humour more introverted.

  *

  Two hours later, his manner was decidedly reversed as, lining up for the start of the three-mile chase, he bullied his way to the front. Frankie sat astride Aztec Gold, two pounds lighter. The cool breeze had a refreshing effect after her dreaded sauna experience and the weak sun bounced off her psychedelic jockey silks. She felt as if a My Little Pony had thrown up over her. The familiar clench of fear knotted her stomach muscles. Eighteen fences between her and the finish line. Eighteen opportunities to mess up. It wasn’t the falling that scared her. It was the split second prior to falling when you knew the inevitable was going to happen.

  The field pressed together and jogged towards the start. Frankie found herself being pushed back in the hustle for position. With a snap, the tape whipped back and the horses plunged forward. Frankie hardly had a moment to assess their position before the first of two plain fences was upon them. The early leaders crashed through the top of the jump. In a fluent leap Aztec Gold was over and galloping towards the next. With one such confident jump behind, the thrill which fear had obliterated moments earlier, swelled inside Frankie.

  Veering to the right in search of the perfect stride, Aztec Gold bounced over the next like a seasoned hurdler. Riding high in her stirrups, Frankie watched South of Jericho, Rhys’s mount, swing the field round the bend. Quickly upon them was the first open ditch. Aztec Gold took off half a stride early. The fear returned. Frankie flung herself forward so as not to impede her mount. Aztec Gold reached over the fence. She breathed a sigh of relief when they touched down safely.