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

by Hannah Hooton

  ‘Black Russian. I took that photo a couple of weeks before last year’s Christmas Hurdle.’

  Frankie remembered that Boxing Day meeting with clarity. She had watched it on television at home and along with thousands of others had witnessed Black Russian and Rhys leading the field only to fall at the last. Black Russian had been killed instantly and Rhys had been flung into the ground like a rag doll.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, giving him a regretful smile. ‘That was when you broke your leg, wasn’t it?’

  Rhys nodded.

  ‘For the second time, yes.’

  ‘Is that why you limp?’

  Rhys took another sip of his tea before answering.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Frankie hesitated, unsure whether continuing this vein of conversation was wise.

  ‘Does it still hurt?’ she ventured.

  ‘No.’ Rhys shook his head and placed his mug back on its coaster. He patted the seat next to him. ‘Come sit.’

  Again, Frankie hesitated. Rhys patted the seat again.

  ‘Come. I want to show you something. I’m not going to bite.’

  Frankie could think of much worse things than being bitten by Rhys. Once settled beside him, he stretched out his legs.

  ‘See?’ he said, pointing at his feet. ‘My right leg is about an inch shorter than my left.’

  Frankie leaned forward to look at his black socks more carefully. A gurgle of laughter escaped and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s not funny, not funny at all.’

  Rhys allowed a self-effacing smile.

  ‘At the time, maybe not. I broke it in three places. Hurt like a bastard. Then the doctors proceeded to put a full set of Meccano in to fix it. I was out of the saddle for nearly four months.’

  ‘God, that’s awful,’ Frankie said, staring at Rhys’s leg. She wondered if she would have the nerve to race ride again after such a horrific accident. ‘Do you ever get scared? Like, do you worry that you’ll fall and break it again knowing how sore it was last time?’

  Rhys gave another of his indifferent shrugs.

  ‘I was a bit nervous when I first got back up. But it’s perfectly healed now—well, almost if you discount the fact that if I stand on my left leg I’m five foot eleven and if I stand on my right I’m five ten. After four months off the circuit I just wanted to get back into it so bad, fear was secondary.’

  Frankie looked at Rhys with newfound respect.

  He fidgeted under her admiring gaze and gestured to her tea left idling.

  ‘Your tea’s there. Better drink it before it gets cold.’

  *

  They sat in silence, only Jasper’s toy-gnawing and occasional ear-scratching interrupting their thoughts.

  ‘Are you going to the Aspen Valley Christmas party?’ she asked.

  ‘Hmm. Maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘I’ve been told it’s quite the highlight of the season bar Cheltenham and Aintree.’

  ‘So I hear.’

  They lapsed into silence again. Frankie wondered what he was thinking. His tension was almost palpable. She daren’t look at him, especially in such intimate proximity. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘That night in the Golden Miller,’ he blurted, ‘after the Becher Chase…I–I’m sorry for the way I behaved.’

  Frankie stared at him. Had Rhys just apologised? To her? She opened and closed her mouth like a beached bass.

  ‘I’d been drinking and I don’t often drink—you can tell why. I’m not exactly the happiest of drunks.’

  ‘Ookaaay,’ Frankie said, her eyes still the size of saucers.

  ‘And that stuff I said about you being scared—well, it was your first time over the big fences and I guess you were allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to be scared anyway, never mind when facing Aintree for the first time.’

  Frankie was about to accept his stumbling apology when his last comment stopped her short.

  ‘I’m allowed to be scared?’ she repeated. ‘Why, because I’m a girl?’

  ‘What? No,’ Rhys said irritably as if this was the first time he’d noticed she was female. ‘I mean I understand if you are. Scared that is, not a girl.’ He gestured to her body, hastily averting his eyes from her chest.

  ‘Why would I be scared?’ she asked with caution.

  ‘Because maybe you associate falls, and perhaps even just riding, with danger.’

  ‘I–I don’t understand.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m not saying this very well,’ Rhys sighed. ‘I’m talking about Seth.’ He paused and Frankie stared at him in astonishment. ‘I’m just saying it’s okay if his accident scares you a bit when you’re riding.’

  ‘Seth?’ she echoed.

  ‘What happened to Seth was a freak accident. It could’ve happened any time, any place.’ Rhys at last managed to meet her gaze with a consolatory grimace.

  Frankie’s throat contracted.

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Well, because of–of…’ Rhys frowned. ‘Were you told what happened that day?’

  Frankie forced herself to relive the moment her parents had come into her bedroom and broken the news to her that Seth had been killed. She had been reading To Kill A Mocking Bird, her favourite book at the time. So unexpected had the news been, it had literally taken her breath away. No hints, no sense of foreboding. One moment he had been alive, the next he was dead. It was months before she was able to comprehend that he was never coming back.

  ‘They said he’d had a fall while working one of the horses and had hit his head.’

  ‘Do you want to know the full story?’ he asked gently.

  She looked at him, wide-eyed, feeling more scared now than she’d done before any race.

  ‘H–how would you know?’

  ‘I was there when it happened.’

  Frankie swallowed the swollen lump in her throat. Did she honestly want to know the intimate details of her brother’s death? Her parents had been so vague about his accident that every time she had probed for more, to understand what had happened, she had been made to feel like she was after the gory details. She didn’t blame them for that. They just didn’t want to go over such sensitive ground. And nowadays the accident was hardly ever referred to.

  Maybe it would be less upsetting if she just stayed ignorant. She didn’t know for sure if Seth’s accident had anything to do with her fears before racing, but mightn’t she be risking losing her nerve completely by hearing the whole story? On the other hand, here she was, five years on, with a first-hand witness offering to fill her in on those missing puzzle pieces she’d so often wondered about.

  She nodded.

  ‘I want to know, please.’

  *

  ‘It was the beginning of the season,’ Rhys began. ‘Most of the horses were still doing roadwork before going back into full training. We were taking a string out onto the back roads through Windale Forest. It was a sunny morning, but it had rained the night before so the roads were still wet. Seth was leading the string on Thunder Chief. We were riding two abreast. I was a couple of horses back.’ Rhys paused as he too relived the moment. ‘The roads were quiet and we were trotting. Seth was laughing up ahead. Then a muntjac deer jumped across the road. Came out of nowhere. The horse June was riding upsides Thunder Chief spooked and gave him an even bigger fright. He slipped on the road and went down. Seth didn’t stand a chance of throwing himself clear. It happened so fast. He hit his head and when I—when I…’ Rhys swallowed hard and took a deep breath. ‘When I felt for his pulse, he was already gone. It was so quick. I doubt whether he would even have realised what was happening.’

  Tears slipped down Frankie’s cheeks unchecked. She continued to stare at Rhys long after he’d finished. At last she knew. That niggling feeling of unanswered questions had finally abated and all thanks to the most unlikely source.

  Rhys twisted his mouth in regret when he saw her tears.
r />   ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.

  She gave a watery smile.

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she whispered.

  Rhys stared at the rug, back to his awkward manner and nodded briskly.

  ‘No problem.’

  He rose to his feet.

  ‘Would you like some dinner?’

  Frankie brushed her cheeks dry with the back of her hand and sniffed. She opened her mouth to refuse, but Rhys spoke first.

  ‘It’s not much, just some mushroom risotto, but you might as well have some. I’ve got to eat and I certainly can’t have my dinner while you sit there starving.’

  *

  An hour later, with low-cal, high-carb risotto put away, Frankie’s mobile beeped. She dug it out of her jeans pocket and opened a message from Tom.

  ‘It’s from Tom. He’s probably wondering where—oh, okay. Maybe not,’ she corrected herself as she read the text message. ‘His connecting train has been delayed. He’s not going to be home for another hour he says.’ She hazarded a look at Rhys to see how he was digesting the news. His face was expressionless. ‘Sorry.’

  Rhys transferred his dinner plate from his lap to the side table.

  ‘What sort of films do you enjoy?’ he asked.

  Frankie beamed with relief that he didn’t seem in too much of a hurry to kick her out. As long as it was a fairly modern film she wasn’t fussy.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve a pretty wide taste.’

  He got to his feet and limped over to the DVD cabinet.

  ‘What about On the Waterfront? Marlon Brando. Have you seen that?’

  Crikey, every time a coconut.

  She shook her head prompting him to pull out the DVD. He looked sheepish as he tapped the case against the palm of his hand.

  ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

  ‘Let’s watch it then,’ Frankie replied. She could survive this. On the Waterfront was a classic, after all. She pulled her feet up beneath her and made herself comfortable against the arm of the sofa.

  Rhys slotted in the DVD and switched on a side lamp before turning off the mains. In the semi-darkness, as the credits began to roll, he came and sat next to her.

  *

  Despite being mightily impressed by how attractive Marlon Brando had been in his younger years, Frankie felt her eyelids getting heavier as the film progressed. Lulled in and out of consciousness, she vaguely registered the words “I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody” and then the credits rolling once more before sleep overtook her completely. She murmured as a blanket was laid over her. She pulled it up to her neck and nestled down further into the sofa. She didn’t stir as Rhys switched off the light and crept out of the room.

  Chapter 20

  Frankie woke to a lungful of bad breath and a wet cheek. Jasper’s doleful brown eyes lit up when his morning kiss had the desired effect. Frankie groaned and pushed his nose out of her face. She rolled over onto her back. Then she froze. In the semi-darkness of dawn her eyes darted about her. The clink of cups and plates from the kitchen made her jump. She stared at Jasper again, still hovering over her.

  ‘Shit, Jasper,’ she whispered.

  Tunnelling under a blanket she hadn’t recalled wearing last night, she pulled out her mobile phone from her pocket. 5:40am. An envelope flashed in the corner of the screen. Frankie clicked on it. A message from Tom appeared.

  Where are you?

  ‘You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ she murmured.

  Giving Jasper another shove, she sat up and rummaged beneath the sofa for her shoes. She stood up and shivered, then on second thoughts wrapped the discarded blanket around her shoulders. A yellow light seeped through the lounge’s rear archway and Frankie followed it into the kitchen. Jasper trotted ahead like a proud host. Her heart began to pummel her chest when she heard Rhys greet the spaniel.

  ‘Did you wake her like I asked?’

  Frankie turned the corner, seeing Rhys, dressed in a black Adidas tracksuit, squatting down face-to-face with Jasper. His hair was tousled and his face still creased from sleep. A kettle rasped on the worktop behind him.

  ‘He did.’

  Rhys looked up at her cocooned in the blanket he’d laid over her the night before. Frankie gave an embarrassed smile and looked down at the floor tiles.

  ‘Sorry I fell asleep.’

  ‘I’m more upset you fell asleep during On the Waterfront. That film’s a classic.’ He straightened up. ‘Tea?’

  Frankie unsuccessfully tried to bite back a smile at Rhys’s offended expression and shook her head.

  ‘I’d better get home. I’ll be late for work otherwise.’

  Rhys nodded.

  ‘Are you riding at Wincanton this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes. Only the one though.’

  ‘Probably see you later then,’ he said.

  Frankie nodded. The kettle behind Rhys clicked off. Out of sight, it made his head look like it was steaming. He looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Well, thanks for letting me stay,’ she settled on a casual tone. ‘And sorry again.’

  He followed her out of the kitchen and to the front door. In the narrow entrance hall, Frankie couldn’t meet his eyes. Her lungs contracted and her blood decided to use her veins as an Autobahn. Rhys opened the door for her. Frankie stepped out onto the landing.

  ‘Frankie—’ he began, his tone urgent.

  Did she detect a note of desperation in it too?

  ‘Yes?’

  Rhys shifted from five-ten to five-eleven. He pointed vaguely at her body.

  ‘The blanket? Can I have it back?’

  Her face became the tollgate for her express-travelling blood. She could even feel her eyelids burning. She unwrapped herself and exchanged the blanket for her Aspen Valley anorak.

  *

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Tom’s tone was indignant when he answered Frankie’s knock on the front door. Frankie bustled in, keen to get out of the cold. She tried to pinch the slice of peanut-buttered toast which Tom was holding aloft, but he whipped it out of reach.

  ‘Rhys Bradford’s.’

  Tom’s jaw slackened. Frankie’s inner mischief demon rubbed its hands together. She snatched the toast from Tom and made a dash for the kitchen.

  ‘Rhys Bradford?’ Tom echoed behind her. ‘As in Rhys “I Hate the World and All Who Live In It” Bradford?’

  ‘The very same,’ she mumbled through a mouthful.

  Tom appeared at the kitchen doorway. Frankie offered him his half-eaten breakfast back and he took it like a post-traumatic shock victim. She delved into the laundry basket and extricated a clean pair of jeans.

  ‘You and Rhys?’

  Frankie shrugged.

  ‘Well, you know how I feel about him.’

  ‘Yes, but up until about ten days ago you were saying he hated your guts. You ran over his dog, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Not on purpose.’

  ‘How on earth did you… you know?’

  Frankie grinned and tried to bat the worst creases out of the jeans.

  ‘You really want all the intimate details?’

  Tom looked everywhere but at her.

  ‘No, but I do want to know how you got to a point where there are intimate details.’

  Frankie pretended to examine her nails. They were blunt and still dirty from yesterday’s work.

  ‘A scarlet woman never reveals her secret seduction techniques.’

  ‘Frankie! Are you being serious? You can’t be. You’ve had fewer pricks than a brand new dartboard. You’re not scarlet—you’re more of a–a rose pink when it comes to seduction.’

  Frankie wrinkled her nose.

  ‘I hate pink.’

  Tom held out his hands in exasperation.

  ‘Frankie, where were you all night?’

  She paused. It was worth stretching this out just to watch Tom’s expression, but she also wanted to find out how his meeting had gone with the Social Services advisor.

/>   ‘I was at Rhys’s,’ she said again then held up her hand when Tom rolled his eyes. ‘I was. I forgot my keys to the house and he walked by when I was sitting waiting for you to come home. He invited me round to his flat; we had dinner. Then he put on an old black and white movie and I fell asleep on the couch. The next thing I knew it was morning.’

  Tom still looked aghast.

  ‘He got you to watch an old movie?’

  ‘It was the only way I could get him to release me from the headlock.’

  Tom swallowed.

  ‘I worry about your sanity, you know.’

  Frankie gave him a loving smile and stole the last of his toast on her way to the bathroom.

  Chapter 21

  That evening’s Guides meeting ended on a good note for Frankie. She loved the Showtime Go For It challenge. Everyone had dressed up in costume, plastering each other in makeup before taking to the stage with dramatics and song. It was fun, but by the end she was exhausted. One of the last to step out through Helensvale Community Hall’s creaking door, she was surprised to see Cassa Preston, still dressed in her purple sequinned tutu, which Louise from Starfish Patrol had helped design, sitting on the bottom step of the hall. With just a leotard top for protection, Cassa’s gangly body was trembling with cold. She was trying to punch a number into her mobile phone, but her hands were shivering so much she kept having to start over.

  ‘Cassa?’ Frankie said, squatting down beside the girl and placing a gentle hand on her icy shoulder. ‘Is your mum picking you up?’

  Cassa shook her head.

  ‘She has to work the graveyard shift tonight at the hospital. She told me to call a taxi.’ Her breath fogged in front of her face, making her features appear even more dismal.

  ‘Do you live in town?’

  Cassa nodded.

  ‘South end of Helensvale.’

  Frankie looked at Cassa thoughtfully. Tonight, for the first time, she’d felt she was making progress with her. Dressed up in a slightly ridiculous outfit, Cassa had sparkled without her mother’s supervision and had joined in the singing and acting with gusto. Frankie remembered the first meeting Cassa had attended and how she’d said she wanted to be a singer, but had changed her mind when Mrs Preston had appeared. Frankie was intrigued.