To Win Her Favor

by Tamera Alexander

  Cullen nodded. “And he didn’t act alone. I know that much.”

  “Men like that never do.”

  The thunderous look that came over Harding’s face made Cullen glad they weren’t enemies.

  “You have my solemn vow, McGrath. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “And I’ll gladly help you, sir.”

  Harding returned to his party and Cullen pulled his focus back, hearing the man in the tower starting to call for the horses by position.

  Cullen had hoped for the rail, but they’d drawn fifth place out of eight. So it would be a few minutes yet before they took the track.

  “You all right, sweetie?” he asked Kizzy, noting she’d grown quiet.

  The girl nodded, but said nothing.

  Cullen scanned the crowd, still thinking perhaps Ethan would show as he’d promised. But instead of seeing Ethan, he spotted the one man he wanted to see least of anyone in the world, and he was walking straight toward them.

  “McGrath!”

  Acting as though they weren’t merely acquaintances, but good friends, Stephen Drake extended a hand, which Cullen ignored.

  “I just came by to say may the best horse win.” Drake smiled, then placed a hand on Kizzy’s calf.

  The girl sucked in a breath.

  Drake peered up. “How are you, darlin’? Ready to ride?”

  Cullen jerked Drake’s hand away, shoving the man back in the process. “Don’t touch her!”

  But Kizzy was already shaking. And Drake was grinning.

  “Good luck, McGrath.” He laughed as he walked away. “You’re going to need it.”

  “Position three,” the man called from the tower. “Fortune, from Belle Meade Plantation. Take your place.”

  “Kizzy, are you all right?” Cullen peered up and searched Kizzy’s expression, but the girl wouldn’t look at him.

  She just kept reaching to pull down the hem of her trousers, her little hand shaking. And that’s when Cullen saw the deep welts encircling her thin calves. A repulsive thought hit him like a jab to the gut, quick and explosive, and white-hot anger flashed through him. Oh God, I’ll kill him . . .

  “Kizzy, listen to me. Whatever that man did to you—”

  She wouldn’t look at him.

  “Position four,” the man called from the tower. “Rose at Dawn, from Rosemont Hill. Take your place.”

  Cullen reached up and drew her down, mindful of the other owners and their jockeys and workers nearby, waiting to be called. Kizzy’s thin arms locked around his neck like a vise. Her whole body shook. His eyes watered, and he felt people staring.

  “Look at her,” a man said to his right. “She’s afraid.”

  “I told you girls weren’t fit to ride like this!”

  “What was he thinking? Putting a little girl on a blood horse!”

  “Kizzy,” he whispered against her ear. “Can you hear me?”

  Her shoulders started to tremble. But she nodded.

  “Listen to my voice, Kizzy, and only my voice.” He cradled the back of her head, the feeling of her arms around his neck so painfully familiar to him, and yet so distant. “I’ve got you, love. That man will never hurt you again. He will never come near you again. I’ll make certain of it.”

  Her tears were wet against his neck.

  “You’re safe now. You’re safe.” He whispered it over and over again.

  “Position five,” the man called out. “Bourbon Belle, from Linden Downs. Take your place.”

  Holding Belle by the harness and Kizzy in his arms, Cullen walked to the starting mark.

  Chapter

  FORTY-NINE

  Hearing the jeers from those around them and those coming from the packed stands, Cullen positioned Bourbon Belle on the starting mark. The thoroughbred pawed the dirt, antsy to run, but he held Belle’s harness tight.

  “Steady, girl,” he whispered. “Wait . . .

  “Aw . . . look at the little girl who’s—”

  Cullen pierced the jockey in position four with a look, and the young boy fell silent and turned his eyes back to the track.

  “Kizzy,” Cullen whispered, the girl’s death grip having loosened on his neck. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can walk off the field right now—you and me and Belle. And I won’t be the least bit angry with you. Neither will Mrs. McGrath. But I do need to tell you somethin’ . . .”

  Face buried in his shoulder, she gave a little nod.

  “There are moments in my life I wish I could go back and do again, but I can’t. Because once a moment is past, it’s past. There’s no gettin’ it back. And this is one of those moments for you. As hard as it is right now, as much as I wish we could stop it and start it all over again . . . we can’t. If you don’t do this now, Kizzy, you may not get another chance.”

  He nudged her gently with his shoulder, urging her to look at him.

  She drew back, her eyes puffy from crying. She looked past him to the crowd. “They’s sayin’ I can’t do it.” She looked back at him. “And I ain’t sure I can neither.”

  Cullen smiled. “If there’s anyone who can do this, Kizzy, it’s you. You and Belle were made for each other.”

  The girl gave him a weak smile then reached out to touch Belle. The horse tossed its head, resisting the restraint, but Cullen kept a firm grip on them both.

  He could only imagine what Maggie and Odessia were going through up in the stands, and he prayed for wisdom to know what to do. If he forced this child to race when she wasn’t ready, and she was injured, or worse . . .

  But he knew how courageous and strong she really was. And if she was ready and just didn’t know it, if she couldn’t see through the haze of fear and sadness right now, if she missed this chance to change not only the path of her life but that of her family—and in a far less impactful way, his and Maggie’s, and that of Linden Downs—he felt as though he’d be failing her if he didn’t help her see the opportunity for what it was.

  The jockey riding the thoroughbred in the sixth position took his place beside them, and Cullen heard the announcer calling for the seventh—and next to last—thoroughbred.

  “Sir, you must leave now,” Cullen heard behind him, and he turned and nodded to the field official.

  “Kizzy . . .” He looked her in the eyes as she sniffed and wiped her nose. “The best way to beat somebody is to show them who you are, and to succeed by doin’ what they say you can’t.”

  The little girl blinked, her dark eyes clearing.

  “So tell me, little one. Do we walk off the field together now? Or do you get in that saddle and show this crowd of people who you are and what you and Belle can do together?” He chucked her gently beneath the chin. “Either way, you’re a winner to me.”

  “What’s wrong?” Odessia whispered. “Why she off the horse, ma’am?”

  Standing along with everyone else, Maggie shook her head, barely able to force out the words. “I don’t know.” But the last five minutes had felt like the longest minutes of her life. Watching helpless as Kizzy had fallen into Cullen’s arms and then as he carried her onto the track.

  Wishing she could go to them, yet knowing she couldn’t, Maggie saw an official approach Cullen for a second time. The two men exchanged words, somewhat heated, judging by Cullen’s stance, and now, from what she could see at this distance, he was talking to Kizzy, and the girl was wiping her eyes.

  “Oh, no Lawd . . .”

  Maggie looked beside her at Odessia. “What’s wrong?”

  The woman’s chin shook, but the fierceness in her dark eyes told Maggie the emotion didn’t stem from tenderness. She trailed Odessia’s gaze down to the field, but still didn’t see what the woman was looking at.

  “Position eight,” the announcer called from the tower. “Dixieland, from Drake Estates. Take your place.”

  Spectators clapped in response, and from the field Stephen Drake turned and waved back toward the stands.

  Odessia bristled. “Th
at man be the devil himself,” she said in a voice so low Maggie could scarcely hear.

  Maggie looked from her, back to Drake, then to Kizzy. Realization crept in, then sank deep and hard. She swallowed. “The scars on her legs?”

  Odessia nodded. “He got a side to him, ma’am . . . More animal than man.”

  The bitter taste of bile rose in Maggie’s throat. “Did he—” But she couldn’t say it.

  Odessia turned and read the question in her eyes. “No, ma’am. My baby was lucky there, I guess.” Angry tears brimmed. “He didn’t want her to . . . visit with him in the shack like he did them other girls. He say she was too homely.” Her voice caught. “He liked to hurt her with the whip instead. Say he liked the way she cried. Ennis got us away from him just ’fore the war ended.” Odessia looked back toward the field. “Took my baby three years ’fore she could cry again with somebody seein’ her. She just held it all inside.”

  Loving the child even more now than she had before, Maggie looked back to see Kizzy throw her arms around Cullen’s neck again, and in a heartbeat she felt all the hope she’d had for today—and for the years of dreaming about this day—fall away.

  And yet the disappointment wasn’t as great as it would have been if Odessia hadn’t told her what she had just now.

  “I’s so sorry, Missus McGrath,” Odessia whispered beside her.

  Maggie turned to see Odessia’s head bowed. The woman was crying, and Maggie was surprised she wasn’t crying herself. No doubt she would. But at the moment she was too stunned.

  “It’s going to be all right, Odessia,” she heard herself saying, knowing the woman’s tears were due only in part to disappointment for her and Cullen, but also, if not more, for the loss of what this meant for the woman’s own family. “Odessia . . .” Maggie took hold of her hand, and Odessia’s closed tight around hers. “It truly is going to be—”

  Then Maggie heard Kizzy’s name, coming toward them like a wave from the far side of the field. Kiz-zy! Kiz-zy! Kiz-zy! And emotion balled tight at the base of her throat.

  Maggie lifted her head to see Kizzy astride Belle, and Cullen nowhere in sight.

  She searched the sidelines for him and found him looking up into the stands as though he were searching for her. She waved big, still clutching Odessia’s hand, and Cullen stilled and waved back. Then he smiled and gave her a smart little salute. Just like Papa.

  “She back on the horse, ma’am!” Odessia said, breathless. “She back on!”

  Maggie laughed, fledgling hope taking its first steps. “Yes, she is!”

  Odessia’s grip tightened. “If that child got this far and didn’t see it on through, I’d be hearin’ ’bout it ’til the day I die!”

  Maggie smiled.

  “Looka there, Missus McGrath.” Odessia pointed. “It be all the people from home, ma’am. From Linden Downs.”

  Maggie looked and, sure enough, she spotted Cletus and Onnie congregated with a sea of others at the end of the track, by the very last turn.

  Odessia started clapping and chanting her own daughter’s name along with them, and Maggie joined in.

  In the tall wooden tower on the track, a man waved a large red flag, and the din of voices and cheers from the stands gradually quieted even as the swell of Kizzy’s name rose in the distance.

  “Ladies and gentlemen”—the announcer’s voice could scarcely be heard over the hum of anticipation—“the horses are on their marks! Get set . . .”

  The gunshot sounded.

  The horses on the track bolted forward and Maggie watched, the emerging hope within her grappling for purchase as Belle quickly fell into sixth place, only two from last.

  Cheers rose from the spectators and drowned out Kizzy’s name as well as the pounding of hooves on the track. The horses hadn’t gone twelve lengths before Belle had fallen into seventh place. And no wonder . . .

  Maggie reached into her pocket for her father’s spyglass, telescoped it out, and seconds later had Kizzy in her view.

  She was crouched too low, and she was gripping the reins too tightly. The child was scared. And worse, Belle knew it.

  “Relax, Kizzy,” Maggie whispered, knowing the girl knew better. “Stand up a little more in the saddle.”

  Fortune, General Harding’s mare, already leading, pulled ahead another two lengths. Dixieland, in second, vied hard for first. And by the time the thoroughbreds came into the first curve, Belle was gaining, but still two lengths behind sixth place.

  The race was one and a half times around the track, but if Belle didn’t find her stride soon . . .

  “What’s wrong, Missus McGrath?” Odessia said beside her. “Why ain’t Belle and Kizzy goin’ fast like I seen ’em do?”

  “Kizzy’s scared. And Belle feels it. Belle won’t break loose until Kizzy lets her know it’s all right.”

  A third of the way around the track, and Belle looked like any other thoroughbred, running smooth as silk, dirt flying up behind her. But she simply wasn’t running like Belle.

  The cacophony of cheers rose all around them, everyone on their feet.

  “Come on, baby.” Odessia let out a moan. “You was born for this. Lawd, please, You gotta say it to her for me. Whisper it to her, Jesus. ’Cuz she can’t hear me right now.”

  Maggie lowered the spyglass and watched, heart in her stomach, as Fortune and Dixieland continued to battle for first, a good six lengths ahead of the others. To have come all this way . . .

  But it wasn’t all Kizzy’s fault, she reminded herself. Belle had been sick, after all, recovering from the poisoning.

  She squinted.

  In a flash, or so it seemed, Belle overtook the horse in sixth place, then was passing the fifth when the jockey edged over, trying to nudge Kizzy out. Kizzy stiffened and Belle’s pace slowed, making them even with fifth again.

  Maggie’s jaw firmed. “Don’t let him do that to you, Kizzy.”

  Belle pulled a length ahead, and Maggie raised her spyglass. Kizzy and Belle came into view, and Maggie’s heart filliped to life again.

  Kizzy’s form was perfect, crouched just as she’d been taught, steady as a rock, with the reins loose, her slender legs absorbing the motion. Beneath her, Bourbon Belle ate up the distance, the mare’s hooves crushing into the soil.

  Over halfway around the track, Fortune and Dixieland still fought for first, while Belle’s shoulders rippled with strength as the mare thundered into fourth place.

  Maggie lowered the glass, her breath quickening as memory gave her a taste of what Kizzy was experiencing in that moment—her heart thudding as the mare surrendered to what every instinct in the horse’s sleek-muscled body commanded it to do. To run. The wind in Kizzy’s face, the freedom that only riding like that could bring . . .

  “Let her fly, Kizzy,” Maggie whispered, then raised her voice along with everyone else’s, barely hearing herself above the fray. “Let her fly!”

  Hooves flashing, Belle pushed forward until she was tied neck and neck with Rose at Dawn, the mare in solid third since the race began. Making liberal use of the riding crop, the jockey riding Rose at Dawn whipped his horse repeatedly about the haunches.

  But when Maggie saw Kizzy flinch, her body went hot. “No!” she screamed, but her voice was lost amidst the shouts of others who had apparently seen the infraction too.

  Take charge, Kizzy. You know what to do.

  Maggie glanced ahead. Fortune and Dixieland had almost reached the starting point again, which meant only another half length of the track remained in the race. And Belle was still a good eight lengths behind them.

  Come on, Belle. You can do it, girl. There was still time.

  Maggie quickly searched for Cullen below and found him standing stock still, watching the track. Then the cheering that seconds before had been thunderous turned into a deafening roar, and she looked back to see Belle leaving Rose at Dawn behind on the final curve, her strides powerful and fluid, making the other mares look languid by comparison.

&nb
sp; Nerves taut, Maggie counted seven lengths between Belle and Fortune, who narrowly held the lead, Dixieland still fighting.

  Belle’s hooves seemed to barely touch the ground.

  Maggie held her breath. Five lengths separated the horses, then four, then three as Bourbon Belle—both beautiful and ferocious—closed the gap on the homestretch.

  Odessia’s hand crushed hers as in a blink Belle flew past Dixieland then overtook Fortune. Then left them both behind. Belle and Kizzy crossed the finish line in a blur, and the crowd erupted.

  But it was seeing Kizzy stretch her arms out wide and lift her face to the sky that brought Maggie’s laughter bubbling up, along with a flood of happy tears.

  Odessia, crying and laughing herself, turned to her. “What she doin’ out there, ma’am?”

  Maggie exhaled a shaky sigh, barely able to catch her breath. “She’s soaring, Odessia. Your daughter is soaring!”

  Chapter

  FIFTY

  On behalf of the Nashville Thoroughbred Society, it’s my honor to present you, Mr. Cullen McGrath, with this handsome silver cup.” General Harding transferred the trophy to Cullen, who straightaway shared it with Maggie beside him, her smile radiant. “And my personal congratulations on Bourbon Belle winning the inaugural Peyton Stakes.”

  Harding reached over to shake Cullen’s hand as applause rose from spectators still crowding the stands.

  “Congratulations, Mr. McGrath. That was a fine race.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Except for the last twenty seconds,” Harding added discreetly, glancing down the track toward the finish line.

  A slow smiled turned Cullen’s mouth. “Actually, the last twenty were among my favorite.”

  Harding laughed beneath his breath.

  Kizzy, all grins astride Bourbon Belle, seemed more subdued than usual, which wasn’t surprising considering all that had happened.

  Two men stepped forward with a garland of pink roses and draped the flowers across Kizzy’s lap. The floral blanket extended down Bourbon Belle’s sides, nearly touching the ground.

  General Harding addressed the crowd once again. “The roses are a gift from Mrs. Adelicia Acklen Cheatham, and were cultivated in her conservatory at the Belmont Estate here in Nashville.” Harding peered at the piece of paper in his hand. “According to the notes given me, this species of rose was actually grafted for and named on behalf of Mrs. Cheatham. It’s called the Adelicia Rose.”