“Evanston, Wyoming isn’t the most lively place.”
“Oh.” Cassie blushed slightly. “I’ve read a lot of novels. It’s pleasant enough. Say, don’t you have a place to belong? Or is the track your home?”
The deeply tanned trainer laughed. “Actually, I have a ranch in eastern Utah. During the racing season here at the Downs, I may spend a week or two up here at a time.”
“What about the running of the ranch?”
“Others can handle that while I’m away,” he said, turning to walk away. “Well, guess I best be getting about my business.”
Cassie was left with her mouth ajar wondering why he’d walked off so abruptly. His questions were more personal than hers. Maybe he’d stay away from her from now on.
She shut down the hotwalker and went to get Hope. She was here to race a horse. And that was it.
Still, the man intrigued her...against her better judgment. Was it his looks? Was it the sparks that seemed to always fly between them? Maybe she was she just bored.
- o -
Clint eased into his truck to head toward his motel. He would be eating alone again and then going over pedigrees or reading a novel. There were those connected with the track who partied hard every night. He wasn’t one of them. Apparently neither was the red-head.
What would she have done if he’d invited her to dinner? He pressed his lips together tightly. No doubt she would have given him a tongue lashing. Damn, she was a hard woman to get close to.
She had piqued his curiosity. It certainly was unusual to see a woman haul a horse halfway across the country to race. And a damn pretty woman at that. She had to have a lot of guts. He’d give her that.
He was looking forward to the big race. And he was looking forward to seeing how the big city tigress would handle victory or defeat.
He turned his truck toward Evanston. What would she do if he showed up at the café next to her motel around dinner time? It hadn’t been difficult to obtain that information from a secretary in the track office; they needed to know where folks stayed in town in case there was an emergency at the track.
He’d stay away from her, though he liked the way she blushed every time she got her dander up. Which seemed quite often. Would she have as much fire in bed?
CHAPTER TWO
By Saturday, the dark haired cowboy hadn’t pestered her for days. She’d often felt more than seen his brooding gaze around the stable area. A few times she’d returned a nod of greeting, but no further words had been exchanged. She figured her world was safer for that.
With only Hope to care for, she had far too much idle time. Her motel room was small to begin with; now it felt like a cell. How many novels could she read?
The sights of Evanston had taken about half a day to explore. The old railroad station was quaint. Initially, seeing live buffalo was exciting, but they so seldom moved she’d decided watching them for any length of time wasn’t much more appealing than watching grass grow. A couple hole-in-the-wall restaurants had proven to be excellent hangouts for observing local culture. But if she hung out in them long she’d be fat.
At least there would be horse racing later in the day. That would give her something to do. Then Hope would run in the featured race tomorrow. And then she’d sit on her hands for a week for Hope to soak up the benefits of altitude. Not fun.
But this morning she could feel the anticipation and excitement of race day. There was a stirring on shedrow that was the same at any track on race day. Trainers and grooms were more alert, eager and anxious. The early morning hours dragged for some. For others there never seemed adequate time for last minute adjustments. There was a lot of well wishing. But everyone wanted to win, and few would.
After exercising Hope, mucking the stall, and brushing her, Cassie did a last check of the hay and water before tidying up the work area. It was already mid-morning. She’d have to hurry back to the hotel to get changed for a day at the races. She looked forward to being a spectator and fan for a change. Wyoming Downs wasn’t Hawthorne or Arlington Park, but it was horse racing.
- o -
Clint grimaced at the redhead striding rapidly toward her truck. He stepped around his own truck to confront her. “I see you continue to mess things up for us.”
Cassie scrunched to a halt. Her glare could’ve killed lesser men. “Now what the hell did I do to earn your praise? Well, get on with it,” she sputtered. “As self-appointed guardian of Wyoming Downs, what do you want now?”
“You can pull in your claws, lady. I’m not going to bite your head off.”
“It’s hard to tell.” She folded her arms across her abdomen and waited.
Two flashy magpies landed ten feet away in the middle of the dirt road, pecking at unseen things.
Clint sighed. Why did he want to confront this delightful filly who seemed more likely to be found in a board room than at a horse track? She irritated him, that was why. It was pure and simple. Coming in here like she belonged. She annoyed him the way she carried herself.
Never, as far as he knew, had she asked for help or about how she might better fit in. No. She was too damn proud and combative. Always coiled like a rattler, she was ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Well, truthfully—he smiled inwardly—he did have something to do with her shaking those rattles.
Keeping his face expressionless, Clint said, “Well, just wanted you to know that I don’t like it when my regular jock switches from my horse to anyone else’s, especially yours.”
“Oh.” Cassie clearly wan’t trying to hide her smile. “Do you own him? I asked around to see who was the best jockey at the meet, and then asked him if he wanted to ride for me.”
“Did he ever look at the horse, or was he merely taken with the filly’s bewitching big city owner?” Clint caught Cassie’s wrist before her hand collided with his chin.
“Damn, you are a feisty one. I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t try to get the best rider.” Feeling the tension ease from her, he released her hand. “Actually, I’m more angry with the jock than with you. Thought he had more loyalty than that. Guess that’s another reason they call ‘em pinheads.”
Cassie laughed. “I don’t expect they like being referred to by such an endearing name.”
“Yeah.” Her throaty laugh spurred him on. It was good to hear the woman laugh. “Well, I imagine they have some precious endearments, as you call them, for trainers and owners, especially those of the female gender.”
Cassie nodded. “You’re probably right about that.”
Clint shoved his hands in his pockets and looked toward the Uinta Mountains. Maybe he had been riding her too hard. Why? Others had shipped in horses from the east and west. He usually ignored them by taking care of his own business.
How could he ignore the auburn ponytail, the green eyes, and the cockiness of the woman from Chicago? He’d been behaving like an overzealous idiot, and he knew it. He should walk away and be done with her.
“There’s a rodeo in town this weekend.” His words betrayed him. “Don’t suppose you’ve ever seen one. I’d be willing to escort you, if you’d like to go.”
Clint winced at the shock registering in the woman’s eyes.
“You got to be kidding,” she said, “or brain dead.”
Damn, there she goes again. Clint recoiled from her venom.
“I’ve seen more rodeos than I care to remember. We raised rodeo horses along with thoroughbreds and a few quarter horses when I was a kid. If the road didn’t lead to a second rate track, it went to a fourth rate broken down rodeo. No thanks, Mr. Galahad. I don’t want to go to a damn rodeo. And if I did, I wouldn’t need you along to protect me.”
Clint nodded and spun on his heel. He tried to amble nonchalantly toward his pickup.
What the hell got into him to ever ask her about the rodeo? What the hell got into her? She’d swat away an olive branch if he held one out to her. Well, no matter, he would be going back to eastern Utah come Monday.
Ms. Hig
h and Mighty could cool her heels in Evanston until hell froze over for all he cared.
- o -
By the start of the Saturday afternoon races, Cassie sat in the grandstands dressed in a clean pair of jeans, a new blouse, boots and her Cubs hat and watched as people of all stripes and ages cheered on their favorite horses and jockeys. Clearly, racing at the Downs was a family affair; there were almost as many kids as adults. Gifts were raffled away after every other race. Barbecued beef simmered in a large pit area at the end of the stands. A country western band entertained before the races began and would return for more at the conclusion of the last race. The mood of the place was not unlike a Midwest county fair.
The afternoon proved entertaining and a decent change of pace from reading in her motel room. Cassie won a little money betting thoroughbreds; she stayed away from wagering on the quarter horses. Bumper cars on legs, her dad called them. They often ran any which way but straight, and she found it impossible to handicap them, so she didn’t.
Between the sixth and seventh race she went downstairs to use the ladies room and to fill up again on popcorn and pop. Hurriedly rounding the corner leading to the ramp back to her seat, she caught herself just before barreling into the wide back of Clint Travers.
She recoiled. Her stomach tightened and her blood pressure rose. A tall blonde dressed in tight black shorts and a white blouse knotted to show off plenty of midriff hung all over Travers’ muscled shoulders. The two of them might as well be making out in public. Didn’t they know there were little kids about? Cassie swore she saw the blonde’s red lips slobbering across the back of his neck.
“Excuse me, lady! I’d like to get by and see another race yet today,” said a large man behind her juggling hot dogs and drinks.
“Oh. Excuse me,” Cassie whispered, reddening. She turned quickly to escape any more accusing eyes.
- o -
She wasn’t quite quick enough. Clint Travers turned to see what the commotion was behind him and groaned when he witnessed Cassie O’Hanlon dashing down the ramp scattering popcorn all over the concrete floor. Damn, she had a butt that’d drive men crazy.
Very carefully he reached behind him to remove Gretchen’s arms from around his neck. He knew she’d had too much to drink while sitting in the hot sun. “Come on,” he said patiently, “let’s see if we can find your husband. He’s got to be around here somewhere. I’ve got other things to tend to and other places to be.”
After finally depositing the woman with his friend, Clint retraced his steps. He looked everywhere but could not locate the woman from Chicago. Giving up, he figured she’d gone back to her motel. Wyoming racing probably didn’t measure up to her standards.
- o -
Cassie jammed the gears in her truck in her effort to get out of the Downs parking lot before anyone else could notice her. What the hell did she care if he had women draped all over him? Mr. Know-It-All probably had drooling women lined up like so many widgets.
What a spectacle she’d made of herself! She was supposed to be a sophisticated Chicago social worker. Whenever she was around Clint Travers, which was far too often, she felt like a klutz. Somehow he did it to her on purpose.
Well, she certainly hadn’t come to Wyoming to get involved with a man. And never would she find such an arrogant philanderer attractive or appealing.
Pulling to a stop in front of her motel, Cassie rested her head against the seat. “Who am I kidding?” she grumbled. “Travers is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever come across. He exudes sexuality.”
What would it feel like to run her fingers through his shaggy black hair? Would his touch be rough or gentle? Why did she act like some half-baked adolescent whenever she got near him? She wanted to go home. Damn Dad and his dreams.
Cassie dozed off in her truck dreaming of a dark haired cowboy coming to the aid of his fair skinned cowgirl. With one arm, he hoisted her up to ride in front of him. Together they rode off toward the setting sun.
It was race day. It might as well have been Judgment Day.
In the post parade, Hope was up on her toes, full of vigor, certainly more eager to run than in her previous races. Checking the odds board, Cassie grudgingly acknowledged that Travers had been right. Her filly had been bet down to even money. She didn’t bother going to the betting windows. No horse, not even her own, deserved such short odds. Too many things could go wrong in horse racing: stumbling out of the gate, a bad step, blocked by other horses and so on. No, even odds were not justified.
Sitting alone in the grandstand area designated for owners and trainers, Cassie worked at calming her gnawing stomach. A couple acquaintances wished her horse a safe trip. Most folks ignored her for the interloper she was.
The California horse looked good, but didn’t appear nearly as classy as Hope. And its breeding was second or third rank. But that horse had proven it could win—more than she could say for Hope, or for herself.
She took a deep breath trying to steady her nerves. She glanced down at her twisted program. When working with a troubled kid, she was long on patience.
Waiting for a horse race was quite different. Everything was in the hands of the jockey now. She’d given him instructions in the paddock and then hurried to her seat.
She saw a familiar brown Stetson near the rail. From that vantage point, Clint Travers was watching the horses load into the gate. Cassie scowled. Maybe she displayed even less patience with that man.
“They’re all in,” the track announcer said. Then the clang of the gate opening penetrated the stillness. Cassie watched her filly break cleanly and move immediately to the front. The California horse broke well but couldn’t keep up with the pace Hope set.
It seemed too easy. The horse who had struggled to compete at Arlington led by six lengths on the back turn. She crossed the finish line ten lengths ahead of the second place horse.
“My god, is she that good?” Cassie mumbled, hurrying down the stairs toward the track. With a beaming smile, she attached the lead rope to Hope’s bridle and led the victorious filly into the winner’s circle. She was handed a small trophy and a red and white blanket was placed across Hope’s withers. She felt the eyes of the crowd: the pleasure of bettors who made the right choice, the awe of some horse people, and the resentment of others.
- o -
Clint prided himself on not being the jealous type. Still, he hated being bested by this woman. But then his horse had struggled to finish a badly beaten fourth. Damn, the woman looked stunning, almost radiant when she was overjoyed. Her crisp white blouse contrasted with the blue Cubs cap and that damn sexy ponytail poking out of it. Blue jeans seemed molded to her tight rear. Was he the only one who noticed? Or did every man there have his tongue hanging out? Most maddening was the fact that Ms. O’Hanlon seemed totally unaware of him and of her own sexual allure.
He’d offer his congratulations. It was only the polite thing to do. She might think him a chump, but he didn’t want her to believe he was a sore loser.
- o -
After stopping at the test barn where winning horses provided a urine sample to be certain no illegal drugs had been used, bathing Hope, walking her, and placing her back in the stall for a much deserved rest, Cassie stood back with a smile of satisfaction watching her father’s dream eat a victory dinner. She couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago and see how the filly would do against stiffer competition.
She sensed his presence before he spoke.
“Congratulations, Ms. O’Hanlon. There was no doubt about that victory. Of course there never was any doubt.”
Cassie nodded. She wasn’t even going to let her nemesis break her festive mood. “I didn’t think she would win by that much. I just hoped she’d win. For her sake.”
“Don’t know what went on back east, but this filly’s got real potential. This lady blew that California horse away.” There was a trace of awe in his voice. “So what do you plan to do with her now? Don’t expect you’ll hang around here long.”
“We’ll enter her in an allowance race,” she volunteered, “two weeks from now. We’ll keep her here for about a week and then haul her back. Dad wants the altitude edge.”
“Clever move. It should give her an edge, but from what I saw today, she shouldn’t need it.”
Cassie said nothing. That was the longest unruffled conversation she’d had with the ubiquitous trainer.
Suddenly, he turned away from Hope and faced Cassie directly, peering sharply into her eyes. She took a halting step backwards. She hadn’t said anything to earn his ire. Then she saw his eyes soften as he began to speak.
“On behalf of the jockey colony, I want to thank you for donating your portion of the purse to the local jockey insurance emergency fund…. That was very thoughtful.”
Cassie’s eyes misted and she grunted, “Being here was never about money.” Without saying another word, she stormed off toward her truck.
Kicking at the rising dust-devils, Cassie wanted to throttle herself. Why did she feel so vulnerable when Clint Travers tried to be nice? She’d been more comfortable, more in control when the galoot angered her.
Back in her hotel room, Cassie spoke haltingly to her father. “She won, Dad. Just like you said she would…by ten lengths, going away. Can you believe it? I never saw her look so good on race day…Thanks. Yeah, now I get to twiddle my thumbs for a week…Yes, it does feel good to win. I can hardly wait until the next one…No, I said six months. No more than that. Take care, Dad. Love yah. Bye.” Cassie tapped the off button on her cell phone, pleased with her father’s glee and unspoken pride.
Too keyed up with winning to sleep, she grabbed her jacket and headed for the rodeo grounds. It was something to do.
Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) Page 3