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

by Hannah Hooton

  The first fence registered when she saw the front runners rising over it. Five lengths off the pace, Bold Phoenix took the jump in his own time. Frankie didn’t notice the gap begin to widen. Neither did she notice the next three fences nor the hollering crowds when they passed the grandstands.

  Rhys had lied.

  What a fool she’d been! She cringed as she recalled how blissfully happy she’d been. All that time he’d probably been laughing at her. Had he been keeping Donnie updated with his progress? Had they chuckled at her gullibility? Despite the fresh wind blowing in her face as the field rounded the far turn, her cheeks burned with humiliation.

  She was jolted back to her race when Bold Phoenix cat-jumped over the water and dragged his hindlegs. In a daze she looked up. Apart from a horse pulling up on the wide outside, the rest of the field were a good ten lengths clear. The skeletal trees bordering the course scratched the slate sky. Distractedly, she pushed her mount on and Bold Phoenix quickened his stride.

  Rhys had lied.

  Had he though? Or had she created a fantasy? She thought she’d gone into the relationship with her eyes wide open, yet she might just as well have been wearing Ta’ Qali’s sheepskin noseband over them.

  As the ground ahead rose up the side of the hill, a faller brought Frankie’s mind sharply back to the job. She switched wide to avoid the crumpled heap of silks on the landing side. The rest of the field had reached the top of the hill and were now picking up speed on the descent. They were pulling further and further clear.

  Rhys had lied.

  Frankie frowned to herself. That could well have been her on the floor back there. She had to concentrate. She clucked in Bold Phoenix’s ear and once again, he responded to her urging. Hell, she was three quarters of the way through her first Cheltenham Festival ride and she’d taken absolutely nothing of it in. Rhys’s bombshell had completely decimated every scrap of enjoyment, all the nerves, all the adrenalin. Not only had he managed to seduce her Grand National ride off her, but he was about to ruin her Festival debut too.

  ‘Bastard,’ she muttered.

  She gave Bold Phoenix an unnecessarily violent kick over the next open ditch on the downhill slope. He pitched on landing. She pushed herself back in the saddle to counterbalance his momentum. The chestnut found a footing. The cheering of the crowds drifted over to her on the wind. She had heard that the cheers at Cheltenham were like nowhere else on earth. They made the hairs on people’s arms stand on end. And here she was, lagging fifteen lengths behind the field, about to let Rhys steal this opportunity away from her as well?

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ she growled.

  She kicked Bold Phoenix on, letting caution depart on the south-westerly. Filled with a fury completely foreign to her, Frankie felt no fear. She urged her mount towards the third from home. Her blood boiled in a cauldron of anger. Bold Phoenix spring-heeled the jump. The leaders were now just ten lengths clear. They galloped flat out around the long turn into the home straight, the noise of the crowd building. Frankie imagined her parents somewhere in that pebbledash of yelling punters. Her father! A new rage flooded her face. She’d turned her back on him, had shouted him down every time he’d warned her that Rhys was bad news. And all the while, he had been right! How could Rhys allow her to ruin her relationship with her father? A wave of guilt mixed uncomfortably with her anger. She’d let him down so many times in the past. Discovering he’d been right about Rhys was just the icing. How could he ever look at her again without thinking she had been the child that was a constant disappointment? Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

  Rhys had lied.

  She looked ahead. The field were coming back to them and a blob of red in the distance marked the Finish lollipop.

  ‘Come on, Phoenix!’ she shouted. ‘Come on! You bastard, Rhys! I’m not going to let you take this away from me too!’

  Her renewed urgings surprised Bold Phoenix into running faster than he’d ever done before. The second last fence loomed. He took confidence from his determined rider and hurdled it like it was a practice jump at home.

  The roar of the grandstand hit them in a wave of jubilant sound. They could have been shouting for any one of the ten runners in front—River Train, the favourite was leading—but at that moment, Frankie felt they were all for her. Bold Phoenix was gaining, galloping like he’d just joined the race. They picked them off, tenth, ninth, eighth, seventh. They took the last in joint fifth position. Just the infamous Cheltenham run-in opposed the horses.

  ‘Come on, Phoenix!’ Frankie shouted, the roar in her tone emanating from somewhere deep deep within. She ducked her head between her shoulders and shoved forward for all she was worth. ‘We are going to do this! Come on!’

  Bold Phoenix stretched out his neck, straining his legs to run faster, to reach further. They passed the fourth then third horses in a flash of muddied silks and chestnut and blonde manes. The horizon bobbed as she raised her head. Two horses up ahead, to her left. River Train leading. A heaving black mass of tweed and corduroy to her right. A hundred yards to that lollipop.

  Frankie pushed. Frankie shoved. Frankie’s blood boiled at the thought of Rhys. Bold Phoenix could go no faster. Rocking back and forth in her saddle, Frankie glimpsed the front two horses slowing, the lactic acid burning in their muscles too unbearable to see out the Cheltenham hill.

  ‘Come on! We can do this!’

  Bold Phoenix dug deep. With an extra spurt, he quickened. Three, four, five strides; they drew level. Six, seven, eight; they galloped in sync. Nine, ten…Exhaustion overruled his willingness to please. Frankie closed her eyes. She rested her face against his mane and wrapped her arms around his neck, bobbing on his back as he changed down into a rattling trot. She looked back down the course at an upside down world. There behind them was that red lollipop. There also behind them was River Train. They’d done it. Frankie slumped.

  But Rhys had still lied.

  *

  A hammering on the front door roused Frankie from her daze. She lay on her bed looking up at the ceiling. What little comfort the darkness afforded was jarred out of her as a second hammering sounded. She heard Tom descending the stairs.

  ‘Don’t answer it, Tom,’ she called.

  His footsteps stilled.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘Okay, then.’ He sounded uncertain. Nevertheless, his footsteps returned to his bedroom.

  ‘Frankie!’ Rhys shouted from outside.

  She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound of his voice.

  ‘Frankie, let me in!’

  She wrenched the pillow from beneath her head and blocked her ears with it.

  ‘Come on, Frankie! It’s me, Rhys!’

  Like a match to kindling, rage erupted inside her. She flung the pillow aside and flew to the window. Struggling with the latch for a moment in her haste, she shoved it wide and leaned out.

  ‘I know it’s you, goddammit! And that is exactly why I’m ignoring you!’

  Rhys stepped back from the front door’s overhang to look up at her. The security light lit the anguish on his face.

  ‘Frankie—’

  ‘Just go away!’

  ‘If you could just let me explain.’

  Frankie’s hands trembled on the window frame and she sucked in a lungful of cold air to keep her voice from going the same way.

  ‘What is there to explain, Rhys? Don’t tell me that Donnie was lying. I could see that he wasn’t.’

  ‘I wasn’t—’

  ‘Did you or did you not sleep with me at the Christmas party just to get the ride on Peace Offering?’ A new iciness crept into her tone.

  Rhys lifted his hands and let them fall in exasperation.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  The knife that had been wedged in her heart for the past four hours twisted deeper.

  ‘Then there’s nothing to explain, Rhys!’ she screamed. ‘Just fuck off! I don’t want to see you again. D
ad was right about you–you are just like your father!’

  Rhys stepped back as if she’d physically assaulted him.

  ‘Don’t!’ he yelled in reply. ‘Don’t you ever say that! I’m nothing like my father!’

  ‘Yes, you are. You’re a lying, cheating son of a bitch. Dad said right from the start not to trust you.’ She bit her lip and her voice quavered. ‘I turned my back on him for you. I trusted you—’

  ‘I never asked you to turn your back on your dad.’

  Frankie gripped the window frame until her fingertips hurt. She felt like hurling herself out of the window and punching Rhys.

  ‘You never what?’ she said. ‘Of course you bloody did! You–you seduced me. Dad told me you were up to no good, that the Bradfords never change, but I didn’t listen to him.’ She laughed in ridicule at herself. ‘The fool that I am, I actually believed that you wanted to be with me because of who I am, not for what I could give you.’

  ‘I hate my father,’ he said deliberately. ‘I am not my father.’

  Frankie shook her head, watching Rhys clench his fists by his sides. A wild hysterical laugh gathered inside her. He might have more layers to him than an onion in Antarctica but she still knew how to hurt him.

  ‘Take a good look in the mirror, Rhys,’ she spat. ‘A good look. Because from where I’m standing, you are exactly like your father.’

  She slammed the window closed, making the photo frame on her bedside table fall flat.

  ‘Frankie?’ Rhys’s voice was muffled but still clear. ‘Frankie!’

  ‘Go away!’ she shrieked. She picked up the photograph. With the glow of the outside light shining through the window, she didn’t see Seth leading the string of horses though. All she saw was the black-jacketed figure in the background. She flung the photo at the wall, but screamed in frustration when the shattering glass did nothing to assuage her anger.

  ‘Goddammit!’ Rhys yelled from below. ‘Stupid fucking—RRRR!’ The wheelie bins parked out the front received the brunt of his frustration.

  Frankie stood in the middle of her room, shaking. Her trembling breaths filled the void. She listened for Rhys to cut through her heart again, but there was only silence. A few seconds later, the security light, with no movement to trigger it, clicked off.

  A gentle tap on the door made her jump.

  Tom peeped in.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.’

  Frankie sat down on her bed with a bump.

  ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.’

  ‘Hey, don’t be,’ he said, joining her on the bed and putting his arm around her.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder, the fight drained from her. A thick painful ball of tears swelled at the back of her throat.

  ‘Tom, I’ve been such a fool.’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘Yes, I have. I’ve never felt so…so humiliated before. All those months, I was merrily under the impression I had a boyfriend who loved me for me. And now, now I find out he was lying the whole time. He was probably laughing at me behind my back, just like Donnie was, thinking how gullible I was and congratulating himself on making me give him the National ride.’ Frankie choked on a sob and Tom squeezed her closer to him.

  ‘Ah, sweetheart. I know, I know. But it wasn’t just you he fooled. He had us all going.’

  ‘Except Dad,’ she sniffed. ‘Oh God, how am I going to tell him? Do you think he’ll forgive me for being such a bitch towards him?’

  ‘Of course he will. And you haven’t been a bitch. You were just defending Rhys. If anything, I’d be more concerned for Rhys’s safety than anything else because your dad is going to kill him.’

  Chapter 46

  Frankie had never felt less like going to work than the next morning. When everyone met her with cheery congratulations for riding her first Cheltenham winner, another surge of resentment towards Rhys rose within her. Not only had he taken away her chance for a National winner, but he’d ruined her enjoyment of Bold Phoenix’s triumph. Cheltenham winners were supposed to be celebrated for the great achievement they were, yet for Frankie it was like drinking a chocolate milkshake that didn’t have any chocolate in it.

  Jack met her outside her row of stables with a pat on her back and a rare smile.

  ‘I know I said it yesterday, but I’m going to say it again,’ he said. ‘That was a bloody fantastic ride you gave old Bold Phoenix.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘And thanks for letting me ride.’

  Jack shrugged.

  ‘It was the least I could do considering—’ He stopped mid-sentence and looked down at his feet.

  An uneasy feeling began to form in her stomach. Had Jack been in on Rhys’s connivery?

  ‘Considering what?’

  ‘Well, considering you were going to ride Peace Offering in his National trial but lost out.’

  ‘Did you know what Rhys was doing all along?’

  Jack held up his hands and took a step backward.

  ‘Whoa, Frankie. I heard you and Rhys split up, but that’s as far as my knowledge of your relationship goes. I don’t want to know who’s to blame, who’s the bad guy in all this. Okay?’

  Frankie nodded reluctantly and half-hid her embarrassment by receiving Blue Jean Baby’s head-butt greeting with a pat.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry.’

  ‘So am I. I’ll do my best to give both of you space away from each other. Rhys can go back to riding out just a couple of times a week, but I’ll be honest. I’m not going to do this forever. Whatever differences you and Rhys have, sooner or later you’re going to have to put it behind you if you two are going to work alongside one another.’

  Frankie tried to imagine working with Rhys a year from now. She failed, but she could see Jack’s reasoning. She nodded again.

  ‘Okay, I know. Thanks for understanding.’ She fiddled with the grotty lead rope in her hands, feeling uncomfortable having this type of conversation with her boss. ‘How’s Virtuoso?’ she asked.

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘Finished.’

  ‘For the season, you mean?’

  ‘Nah. We decided to retire him after yesterday’s debacle.’

  For a moment, Frankie was jolted out of her own mournful world.

  ‘Seriously? Just like that?’

  Blue Jean Baby stuck her nose forward and Jack stroked her mindlessly.

  ‘He’s been telling us for a while. We couldn’t figure out why he ran so lethargic in February then when he refused to start yesterday, he made it clear. He’s had enough. He doesn’t want to do it anymore.’

  ‘But he’s got so much talent,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Yeah, three King Georges and a Gold Cup aren’t to be sniffed at. But come on, Frankie. You know horses. People think we force them to race, whip them into submission, but the simple truth is when they don’t want to do it anymore, they’ll just stop. Virtuoso’s an eleven year old now. He probably would’ve raced for only two more seasons at the most anyway.’

  ‘So what’s going to happen to him now?’

  ‘We’ll think of something. Eventing maybe. Or show jumping. Who knows?’

  Frankie gnawed her lip in regret.

  ‘It’s a shame. All that ability, all that promise and now it’s gone to waste.’

  Jack gave her a sympathetic look.

  ‘It hasn’t gone to waste, Frankie. Just remember the good times.’

  The tone of his voice made her look up abruptly. Something in his expression told her he wasn’t talking about Virtuoso anymore. How could she remember the good times when they had all been a farce? She took a deep breath and gave him a brave smile.

  ‘Sure.’

  Jack patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

  ‘Right. Let’s get a move on. You’re due at Newton Abbott later and I’m off to Kempton and we’ve still got horses to work.’

  *

  Sunday lunch at her parents was rescheduled to dinnertime the next day after a ful
l book of rides at Ffos Las. Frankie steeled herself as she walked in the door. She knew she must apologise to her father, but just the thought of Rhys’s deception made her want to cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of Doug.

  He greeted her with wide arms and an even wider grin on his face.

  ‘Hello, honey. How’s my favourite Festival-winning daughter?’

  A rush of pride warmed her blood. At last. She’d made him proud.

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ she said as a matter of habit. She hugged him tight.

  ‘Darling!’ Vanessa said, appearing from the hall. ‘I didn’t hear you come in. Congratulations!’

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied, transferring her hug to her mother.

  ‘Where did you disappear to after the race though? We wanted to congratulate you.’

  ‘She was probably at the Festival after-party. Am I right?’

  Frankie looked down at her trainers.

  ‘No, I went home. I was tired,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ chortled Doug. ‘Bold Phoenix certainly made you work for your money. An inspired ride though, beautifully timed. Such a clever girl!’

  Hearing Doug’s praise made Frankie’s cheeks burn more. If he was this proud over a Cheltenham winner—and not even one of the more prestigious Festival races—then how proud would he have been if she’d kept the ride on Peace Offering and ridden him to victory?

  She twisted her fingers together, summoning the courage to apologise.

  ‘Can we sit down?’ she said.

  Doug laughed and waved her over to the sofa.

  ‘You can’t still be that tired.’

  ‘No, not quite. There’s something else I need to tell you,’ she said, sinking into the sofa and dumping her handbag at her feet.

  Hearing the seriousness in her tone, her parents both sat and looked at her with concern.

  ‘What is it, darling?’ Vanessa said gently.

  ‘I owe Dad an apology—both of you, really.’