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

by Hannah Hooton

Frankie reached out and rubbed his arm in sympathy. She didn’t know what else to do.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom. I wish I’d known so I could’ve given you more support. Instead, you’ve had to shoulder this whole thing on your own.’

  ‘I have had Joey,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Oh, yeah. If it makes any difference, I’m glad it’s him. I think he’s lovely.’

  Tom smiled bashfully.

  ‘He is, I know.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And maybe you’re right about the guys in the weighing room. Maybe I’ve overthought this. Maybe I’ve become paranoid. I’ve got to come out at some point.’

  ‘And I’ll be there to back you up when you do.’

  Tom leaned over and gave Frankie a rare kiss on the cheek and a hug which said he really appreciated it.

  Chapter 44

  With the pressure of her Grand National date relieved and the direction of Tom’s affections resolved, it felt as if the wind was whooshing Frankie faster through the remaining weeks of the season. March’s Cheltenham Festival began with a bang for Aspen Valley with Rhys winning the Champion Hurdle on Dexter and notching up three other placings on the first day. Frankie watched the following two days on the television in the yard’s office, a stone in her stomach yearning to be one of those jockeys onscreen to lift a victory flag over her shoulders as they were led into the winner’s enclosure.

  As she watched a fellow amateur jockey punch the air in a victory salute after sealing victory in the Kim Muir Chase, a kindling of regret crackled inside her.

  ‘Weren’t you meant to ride Peace Offering in that race?’ Billy said, as they strolled back out into the yard.

  ‘Yeah. That went down the pan when I gave up the National ride on him though.’

  Billy tutted in sympathy. He kept step with her as they headed over to the feed room to finish off evening stables.

  ‘But it’s not all bad,’ she continued. ‘Jack’s given me the ride on Bold Phoenix tomorrow. I think he’s let me ride as a consolatory gesture. He never really wanted me to ride Peace Offering in the National.’

  ‘Ah, well, don’t take it personally. Rhys is the best. I mean, look at him back there,’ he said, tossing a thumb in the direction they’d just come from. ‘He’s got the pink armband on for being leading rider and he’s still got Virtuoso in the Gold Cup tomorrow.’

  Frankie’s grin was less forced as she swelled with pride.

  ‘I’ll never hear the end of it. I hope Virtuoso’s back to his old self.’

  ‘Sure he is. Those blood tests he had after the Ascot Chase came back normal. With the sun shining like it is, the ground is going to be perfect for the old boy.’

  ‘I hope Bold Phoenix likes it too,’ she replied, her thoughts straying back to her own task ahead. She picked up a couple of freshly prepared feed buckets and waited for Billy to find his.

  ‘Pah,’ he said with a fob of his hand. ‘He’ll be cool. How did Donnie take being sidelined? It would’ve been him aboard originally, wasn’t it?’

  Frankie shifted in her boots.

  ‘I don’t know. I have won on Bold Phoenix before. But he probably wasn’t too chuffed all the same. I haven’t really spoken to him lately. Then again, we’re not exactly favourite for the race so he might not be missing out on anything.’

  They wandered back into the yard to be greeted by its impatient and hungry residents.

  ‘I’ve heard a rumour,’ Billy said, lowering his voice and sidling a couple inches closer to her. ‘You know your friend, Tom?’

  Frankie bit back a smile. She could see where this was heading.

  ‘Yes, I know him.’

  ‘Well, I heard that—and this is only a rumour, like—but I heard that he’s gay.’

  She laughed at Billy’s uncertain expression. Tom had “come out” about a week ago, and while the whispers on the grapevine hadn’t been especially audible, there had been a definite hum. Billy was the first person to ask her, in fact.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said.

  Billy stopped in his tracks and nearly tipped out one of his buckets.

  ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘I’ve got nothing against queers or anything, but bloody hell, he’s been hiding this for how long?’

  ‘He’s twenty-eight.’

  ‘Poor guy.’

  ‘He’s happier now that he doesn’t have to hide it anymore. He’s just worried about how the weighing room are going to take it.’

  Billy shook his head sadly.

  ‘Poor guy,’ he said again. ‘Anyway, good luck tomorrow, Frankie. We’ll be cheering you on.’

  ‘Thanks, Billy. Appreciate it.’

  Frankie carried on down the concourse, the first few butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Tomorrow, Billy wouldn’t be the only one cheering. It was Gold Cup Day. That meant seventy thousand others would be cheering too. Oh, how she prayed she wouldn’t fuck up in front of seventy thousand onlookers.

  *

  Rhys, who had been staying in a Cheltenham hotel for the past few days, greeted Frankie with a kiss when she arrived at the racecourse early the next morning.

  ‘Ready for the masses?’

  ‘No,’ she shuddered, watching keen spectators already trickling onto the misty infield. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Okay,’ he shrugged. ‘Are your parents coming to watch you?’

  She nodded. Despite their strained relationship, Doug was still loyal enough to attend her Festival debut.

  ‘Yeah. I just hope I don’t disappoint them like I did at New Year.’ An icy thought occurred to her. ‘Is your dad going to be here?’

  ‘So he says.’

  Already nauseous with nerves, Frankie’s stomach gave an uneasy lurch. Rhys hadn’t mentioned before that he’d spoken to his father. What else had they talked about? She studied Rhys’s face. Black circles beneath his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep, but that was nothing new. Rhys hardly ever slept anyway. With the excitement of Cheltenham all around him she doubted whether he’d managed eight hours’ rest this entire week.

  ‘Did you tell him about us?’ she ventured.

  Rhys stopped and regarded her studiously.

  ‘Do you want him to know about us?’

  Frankie broke eye contact and shrugged, tunnelling her fists deeper into her coat pockets to ward off the chilly wind. It was so cold her fingernails felt like they were becoming detached.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘It’s not like he needs to know or anything.’

  She carried on walking and Rhys limped to catch up.

  ‘You’re right, I haven’t told him,’ he said. ‘But it’s not because I’m ashamed of us or anything. It’s because I prefer to keep my affairs private from him.’

  Frankie masked her breath of relief.

  ‘Affairs?’ she teased. ‘That’s what this is?’

  ‘You know it’s not.’

  Despite his words, Frankie couldn’t help reaching for more reassurance.

  ‘But he’s got to find out sooner or later. What if he doesn’t like me?’

  ‘What? You mean how your father doesn’t like me?’

  She grimaced.

  ‘Sorry. And don’t mind my dad. It–it’s nothing personal.’

  Rhys chuckled. He spun her round and tipping her backwards in his arms, gave her a sultry look.

  ‘Frankie, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’

  She giggled beneath his kiss.

  ‘Oh, Rhett,’ she whispered dramatically.

  Rhys cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Not quite. But we’ve the same initials.’

  *

  As the hours slipped by, Frankie felt more and more like a pressure cooker about to explode. Dressed in Bold Phoenix’s yellow racing colours, she watched the run-up to the Gold Cup from the confines of the weighing room on the mounted television. It was still another half hour before her race, but she hadn’t been able to resist donning her silks. Just to be doing something. At least with the Gold Cup about to begin, she had something to distrac
t her.

  The minutes passed agonisingly slowly. Tom walked past, busy setting up silks and saddles ready for his jockeys in the next race. He winked at her as he passed.

  Frankie’s gaze left him to settle on Donnie McFarland making his way over to her. Without a ride in the next, courtesy of Jack’s last minute jockey change, he was showered and dressed in a white towel around his waist. It might have just been her imagination, but he looked to give Tom a wide berth.

  Frankie ground her teeth. She turned her attention back to the screen. The horses were milling around at the start, gradually forming two rows. Her stomach clenched in anticipation. Her eyes never left Rhys on Virtuoso, even when Donnie plonked himself down beside her.

  ‘I see you’re all dressed up for your party,’ he said.

  Frankie glanced at him, distracted.

  ‘Not much else to do.’

  ‘It’s more than some of us.’

  Frankie scowled as she recognised the trace of bitterness in his tone. Tom appeared from behind them to watch the race and Frankie noticed Donnie pull his towel more securely over his legs. She heard Tom sigh and walk away.

  Onscreen, Virtuoso was acting mulish. Rhys flapped his legs and flicked his whip as they lost their position in the front line of horses.

  Nerves frayed and her defences up, Frankie turned on her fellow jockey.

  ‘What’s your problem, Donnie? For God’s sake, he’s gay, not a pervert.’

  Donnie gave her a sour look.

  ‘A gay valet?’ he scoffed. ‘I’d say Peeping Tom’s had plenty opportunity to perve.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You can’t be serious,’ she laughed. ‘Not everybody is as interested in your body as you are, you know.’

  Donnie leant over in a conspiratorial fashion.

  ‘Frankie, the guy’s gay,’ he hissed. ‘He’s been helping me get dressed for years. How can he not have been perving?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You don’t have a problem bearing all in front of me.’

  ‘You’re different.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘Do you have any idea how much guts it took for him to come out?’

  ‘Goddamn pansy,’ muttered Donnie.

  Frankie exhaled in exasperation and turned back to the television. The horses were trotting towards the tape with purpose now, yet the Aspen Valley contender was baulking. She winced. The tiny figure of the starter on his rostrum waved the horses away to take another turn. One of the handlers ran forward and tugged at Virtuoso’s bridle.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ she said, to no one in particular.

  ‘You can lead a horse to water…’ Donnie murmured.

  With the runners lined up again, the starter called them forward once more. The handler at Virtuoso’s head pulled the bridle like he was heaving a cart up a hill. Rhys let his whip fall on his horse’s flank. Virtuoso switched his tail. Panic began to swirl in Frankie’s stomach. This was not looking good for the Gold Cup winner of two seasons ago.

  How much patience would the starter show? The starter shouted at the other runners to slow and the disgruntled jockeys pulled up in a ragged line before the orange tape. Virtuoso’s handler was almost running on the spot.

  From the microphone positioned somewhere close by, she could hear him and Rhys growling and shouting at Virtuoso. Rhys gave him another smack, this one more demanding. The horse bounded forward, nearly sending the handler sprawling. Seizing the moment, the starter released them. The runners bounded forward. All except one. Rhys’s desperate growls were drowned out by the customary roar of the Cheltenham crowd. But Virtuoso was having none of it. He slowed to a walk before digging in his toes again and locking his knees. He didn’t care how humiliated his jockey looked flapping on his back. He was going nowhere.

  Frankie groaned. As the camera swept along the running rail to keep pace with the rest of the field, Rhys on an immobile Virtuoso disappeared from shot. She slumped in her chair, all interest in the race evaporated. Forgetting for a moment that she was annoyed with Donnie, she glanced at him to see his reaction. He looked just as nonplussed. He met her look of disbelief with a crooked eyebrow.

  ‘Like I said, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.’

  ‘But–but, that’s Virtuoso we’re talking about,’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s one of the best chasers around! He’s meant to like Cheltenham. Hell, most of his wins have come here.’

  Donnie shrugged.

  ‘Guess it’s an early bath for your man.’

  Frankie moaned in pity.

  ‘Oh, God. Poor Rhys.’

  Donnie gave a mirthless snort and shook his head.

  ‘Damn, he really has done his job well.’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she said. ‘You could see him doing everything to get that mule to move.’

  Donnie leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his bare chest. Frankie didn’t like the sneery smile on his twisted face.

  ‘Frankie, you’re so naive,’ he chuckled.

  ‘What are you talking about? Are you implying Rhys made Virtuoso refuse to start like that? If so, then you and I have been watching different races.’

  ‘God, maybe it’s not naivety, maybe it’s stupidity.’

  ‘Hey!’ Frankie glared at him. ‘What the hell’s your problem? Are you having a go because Jack is letting me ride Bold Phoenix in the next?’

  Donnie didn’t contradict her.

  ‘If I’d had a bit more warning, maybe I could’ve done Rhys’s trick and seduced it back off you.’

  Swallowing became impossible. Frankie stared at him, not breathing. She could hear the blood pumping through her body like a death drum. Her tongue stuck to her palate as she tried to speak.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Come on, Frankie. It’s so obvious. Do you really believe that Rhys bedded you because he fancied you? He hated your guts! You stole his National ride, for God’s sake! That’s like the Holy Grail to him. Do you really think he was just going to say “Oh, go on then, you have it”?’

  Frankie shook her head and got to her shaky legs to back away.

  ‘That’s not true.’

  Donnie raised his eyes to the ceiling before giving her a look of disdain.

  ‘Yes, Frankie, it is true. I was there. Remember? At the Christmas party? You came over practically gagging for it. Rhys saw his opportunity to get his ride back…and get another into the bargain,’ he added with an evil twinkle.

  Heat washed over Frankie’s face. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think. Fear curled around her body until it held her in a vice-like grip. She’d never realised how isolating the feeling of betrayal was.

  ‘He wouldn’t—Rhys wouldn’t do that,’ she stammered. ‘Not to me.’

  Donnie raised a challenging eyebrow then nodded to the open doorway. Rhys, looking thunderous after his void ride, limped into the room with his saddle over his arm.

  ‘Might just as well have stayed in here with you guys,’ he muttered, dumping his saddle on the bench. ‘Bloody Virtuoso figures he just wanted to go for a look at the countryside rather than contest the Gold Cup. Fucking animal.’

  When neither Frankie nor Donnie replied, he looked up.

  ‘What’s up with you two?’ he said.

  Frankie felt numb, her legs, her arms, her brain seemed to have switched to some sort of survival mode. She couldn’t answer him.

  Rhys narrowed his eyes, his dark eyes switching from her to Donnie and back again.

  ‘What—’

  ‘Rhys, is it true?’ Her words were strangled.

  ‘Is what true?’

  ‘Did you—did you—’ She moistened her lips, summoning the courage to ask the question. ‘Did you seduce me to get the ride on Peace Offering?’

  In desperation, she watched his face for his reaction, a reaction that would ease the panic rising inside her.

  A pause.

  ‘No, of course not,’
Rhys said.

  She sucked in her breath, gulping in air to fill her lungs. His words sounded genuine, but his expression was all wrong. He was glaring at Donnie. And that pause…Frankie staggered backwards. The expression on his face during that pause had said a thousand words. And they weren’t the words which were uttered from his mouth.

  Chapter 45

  Rhys had lied.

  Frankie’s body was numb as Bold Phoenix jogged onto Cheltenham’s centre stage. She heard the amassed crowd like she was underwater. Her mind swirled. Rhys wasn’t whom he’d claimed to be. Yet she’d felt like she had learned so much about herself through being with him. If he was a fraud, did that mean she wasn’t whom she thought she was either? Bold Phoenix broke into canter and she automatically rose in her stirrups. She shook her head to clear it. There she’d been, asking herself—seriously questioning herself as a mature adult—if she was in love with Rhys. But that Rhys hadn’t existed. It’d all been for show. An act.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ The words fell from her lips and were swept away by the wind. They remained the only response in her mind though. Thinking in coherent sentences was impossible. ‘I–I can’t believe it.’

  Down at the start, Bold Phoenix slowed on his own accord to join the other horses circling. Frankie looked at them without actually seeing them. The usual ball of trepidation before a race was strangely absent. She had no idea what Jack might have said in the parade ring. She couldn’t even remember him saying anything at all.

  The runners were called forward. With no instruction from his rider, Bold Phoenix happily followed at the rear.

  Rhys had lied.

  Like a genie from a lamp, the loving boyfriend in whose arms she’d spent so much of the season, had vanished in a puff of smoke. Frankie became more aware of the race when her horse launched into a gallop. How long was this race? How many jumps were there? Was it a hurdles race or a steeplechase? Who was she riding again?

  She looked down, her brain taking a sabbatical before matching her yellow sleeves to the chestnut neck. Bold Phoenix, that was who she was on. Was this how people felt after an accident when you saw them wrapped in foil with a “Have I left the oven on” expression on their faces? Was this full-blown shock, which numbed the brain to protect it from the psychological trauma of the event? She’d only once felt like this before. When she’d been told Seth was dead. Was this so dissimilar? She’d lost someone close to her, someone, she dared say it, she loved?