by Stacy Hoff
He smiled slowly. “So what? My father already thinks something similar. I’m either too stubborn or stupid to follow his advice.” He laughed. “Or both.”
Ryder felt her heart grow heavy. “It’s even worse that your father thinks less of you than he does me.”
“I respect my father, but he’s narcissistic. He thinks the only way to success is to follow directly in his footprints. It kills him when I trail blaze. He thinks I set myself up for failure. But I love a good challenge. Who wants to live life in someone else’s shadow?”
Ryder stayed quiet. How ironic. I’d love to live in my father’s shadow. Follow along in his footprints. Live up to the name he gave me. Her gaze dropped to the floor. He tried so hard to back me. Our dream was the same. It’s so sad to have to let that dream go . . .
“Are you all right, Ry? You’re shivering and the color’s gone from your face.” He gestured to the cappuccino cups he’d laid out on the countertop. “Maybe you should drink yours. It’ll warm you up.” When she didn’t move, he picked up the mug that was closest to him. “I’ll demo it for you. Show you it’s not vile.” He took a long sip. “Fantastic, if I do say so myself. Remember I only buy my coffee machines from Italy. Life is too short for sub-standard.”
The rich and fragrant aroma of coffee filled the air. It was tantalizing but she declined. “I’m too tensed up for caffeine. Jake, I don’t want to be the cause of a rift between you and your father. Any more than I already am.”
He held the cup in his hands, obviously mulling over her statement. “There’s already a rift between us. I don’t like being told what I can and cannot do. I also don’t like him going behind my back. He never should have called you. He’s always been dogmatic, but meddling into my affairs, and yours, was crossing the line.”
“It’s not only your father who doubts my ability.” She watched Jake put the cup to his lips again, envious his stomach wasn’t too sour to drink it.
“I’ve been stuck my whole life listening to my father,” he said. “But what’s your excuse? I’m surprised you’d listen to him or a guy like Barney Smythe. Barney came right out and told you that women can’t be jockeys, and you listened to him. Still do.”
“That’s not fair. It’s just that I . . .”
Jake placed the cup back on the countertop. “It’s just what, Ryder? That he’s right? Right because you had an accident, so you have to toss away your whole career? Men have accidents all the time. No one tells them they can’t ride. It’s the jockey who’s supposed to decide when to retire.”
“Okay, I decided, and I’m telling you my career is through.” Her eyes were starting to water and sting. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”
“Talking this out is the only way to resolve it.”
“It’s resolved.”
“Really? Glad you’ve agreed to be my jockey. Excellent!”
She narrowed her eyes, swiping away the wetness in a corner. “You know what I meant.”
“Yes, I do. You meant our discussion is over. But I’m not ready to let the topic drop. What are you so afraid of?”
“Can’t you let it go?”
“Sure. After you answer me.”
“I’m afraid of failing! Of having my best efforts fall short. To want something so badly, only to be horribly disappointed.” Her voice broke. “Okay? Are you happy now?” The tears ran down her face. Her nose ran. She gave a loud sniff and angrily wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Do you know what it is to be the daughter of a world famous jockey? Not the son, but the daughter?”
He stood silently as he watched her. After a moment, he placed his hand on hers but she snatched it back.
“You never saw all the pity people gave him.” Her voice sounded far away, almost as if she were talking to herself. “People couldn’t believe the irony that he had only one child, and it had to be a girl. They would shake their head sadly with a look that said what a waste.” She gulped down the saliva pooling in her throat. “It would have been hard enough if I were a boy, always trying to prove I was worthy to follow a legend. Imagine what I had to endure being a girl trying to follow in his footsteps.”
She fiddled with the cappuccino cup in front of her but didn’t pick it up. “My father really put himself out on a limb by backing me. Risking his own reputation to help mine. And after he did all that, even fighting with people who had been some of the same owners he’d jockeyed for, what did I do? I went ahead and messed it all up, that’s what.”
Jake took back her hand and held it in his. His skin felt soft, smooth, and very warm. It was strangely comfortable, as if a second skin. “Everybody makes mistakes, Ry.”
“Ry is what my dad called me. Lenny won’t use it, he thinks it sounds corny.” She let out a tight laugh. “Mindy, however, loves it. Especially because it gets under Lenny’s skin.”
“She likes to torment him, doesn’t she?” His lips twisted in amusement.
She smiled, grateful for the tiny reprieve from a heavy topic. “Yeah. Lenny’s so dour, he’s a perfect set-up for Mindy’s devilish streak. The more aggravated with her he gets, the more she’s determined to roast his goose. But she’s a good person. She teases, but it’s never malicious. Her humor is just a little bit off.”
“How so?”
“Like with my nickname. She bought me a loaf of rye bread one birthday. Put it in a box as if it were a real gift, wrapped it up and everything. She said the expression on my face when I opened it was priceless.” Remembering the day, Ryder let out a slow smile. “I’m sure it was. But later on that night she took me out to a lovely restaurant for dinner and gave me an actual gift. It was a cute top I had been eyeing in a little boutique. I had forgotten I told her I liked it when we went window-shopping a few weeks before.”
“At least Mindy’s gifts are useful. Rye bread. A condom . . .”
Ryder laughed. “Yeah, that’s Mindy for you.”
“You seem to like her a lot.”
“She’s great. Mindy was there for me when my dad died. I took the news badly and retreated into myself for a while. She constantly did her best to pull me out of my funk. Dragged me out of the stables to make sure I stayed social. Even if it was simply getting a bite to eat with her.” Ryder sniffed hard. “Her patience in dealing with me was fantastic. Dealing with a depressed person isn’t easy. I mean, my mother was there for me, but she was in the same boat. Lenny, too. He’s been a part of my family since before I was born. I know he loves me. He loved my dad, too. Lenny is the strong, silent type though. Not the kind of person who you talk about your feelings with. He’s stoic, believing people should power through adversity. I admire him for that. And Mindy, too. She didn’t have to put up with me at all.”
She felt heat rise up to her cheeks. Is he going to think I’m some sort of depressed socially-deficient freak now?
Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to judge his reaction. Her breathing became lighter when she didn’t find him looking put-off. On the contrary, his expression was open, his eyes round with concern. “I understand why you think so much of her. Tell me, does she think you should go back to jockeying?”
Ryder paused, her tongue leaden. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Because she views my dad’s death differently than I do.”
Jake’s brow furrowed. “I don’t follow what you’re saying.”
“My father died from an unexpected heart attack. Mindy says I should believe what the doctors said about him having a congenital heart defect. But I don’t think they’re right. The real cause was all the stress he had from racing.”
“You believe stress from being a jockey killed your father?”
She nodded. “Not only from his being on the track.” She raked a hand through her hair. “From watching my fall. My failed race was the last one my father saw—he died a
month later.”
“I don’t believe your fall is what inadvertently killed your father, Ry. I’m sure watching you race made him proud.”
How could he have been proud? Even though he loved her unconditionally. There must have been a part of him that had wondered why she couldn’t live up to both of their names. The belief she let down the man she admired most was a pain sharper than any of the severe cuts that had ripped her up. The one scar that time would not heal.
“Maybe you should listen to both of us,” Jake added. “Like Mindy, I care about you. I wouldn’t steer you wrong, either.” He pulled her against him and kissed her, light but firm on the mouth. “Have faith in me, Ry. Better still, have faith in yourself.”
A flood of emotions washed over her. A tidal wave of force.
Of all the ones that came crashing down, which emotions should she react to first? The emotional intimacy? The physical intimacy?
“It’s funny,” she murmured against his mouth. “Hearing my nickname come from your lips. It makes me feel like . . .”
“I really care for you? I do.” He slipped his hands around her and picked her up. One arm supporting her upper body, one arm under her knees.
She yelped. “Oh! Where are we going?”
“A place where I can best show you how much I care.”
“Hmmm, your bedroom. I’ve already been there.”
“Nope. Back to your place so you can pack.”
She struggled to get down from his arms. “Pack? Where are we going? No matter who rides Handsome Dancer, we’ve still got his race lined up.”
“We’re taking a fast trip to Saratoga. We’ll be back in time. Can Lenny run everything by himself while you’re gone?”
She nodded, speechless.
“Good. Then I’m going to inspire you to get back in the saddle. No matter what it takes.”
Chapter 12
Jake marveled at how an almost five-hour road trip to Saratoga seemed to take only half an hour. The time flew by, and not only because his Ferrari was flagrantly disregarding the Taconic Parkway’s posted speed limits. It was the conversation with Ryder that had made the time pass so pleasurably. They laughed while he drove and snacked at diners that had clearly seen better days. Areas to pull off the road were limited so the selections had not been good. One rest stop offered nothing but ice cream. He’d been only too happy to share the cone of mint chocolate chip that she had stared at with envy. Not that he hadn’t teased her about it.
“Go buy your own,” he’d barked, pretending to shield the cone from her as if he were a running back with a football.
“I don’t want my own. I want some of yours.”
He’d arched an eyebrow at her. “You want to lick something that’s mine? Sorry, you’ll have to wait until tonight.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Very funny. I’m trying to keep my jockey’s figure intact. If I eat a whole ice cream cone the track’s 126 pound weight limit will be blown for sure.”
Suddenly Jake was not laughing anymore. “You mean you are going to jockey?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Please?”
He tilted the ice cream to her and let her eat it until she handed it back. Absently he licked around the cone to catch an errant drip. The movement prevented him from breaking out into a full-blown grin. At least she was considering it.
An hour had passed. With any luck, she hadn’t yet changed her mind. It would be his job for the next twenty-four hours to make sure he drove her all the way to “Yes Town.” Not just for jockeying, either, but for her desire to be with him. The more time he spent with the woman, the more he wanted her. Even a would-be boring car ride seemed like a thrilling amusement park ride when he was with her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed casual conversation so much.
It was almost a shame they had reached their first destination. “Ah, the racetrack. Finally. You can see the edge of Saratoga’s course here on the left. I’m sure you’re familiar with it,” he commented cheerfully.
“Sure, but why is your right turn signal on?” she asked, confusion apparent in her voice.
“Because we’re not going to the racetrack. Since the season up here doesn’t start for another three weeks, why bother? Our first stop is actually right here,” he said, pulling around a building with a horse statue out front. Big glass windows showed jockey silks from all the Triple Crown winners of the past.
“The National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame? What a fabulous choice,” she remarked with enthusiasm.
“Glad you like my idea. There’s an exhibit I want you to see.” He drove his Ferrari around the back of the building and parked. “Ever been here before?” he asked as they entered.
“Once. When I was younger. They had a plaque installed in their Hall of Fame with my father’s name on it.” Her voice trailed off. “I haven’t been back since. Too many reminders of him, you know?”
He reached for her hand and she took it, giving him a shaky grin. “I love this idea. Thank you. I’m really touched you took me here in honor of my dad.”
“To be honest, that’s only part of the reason I took you here. It’s another exhibit I want us to focus on.”
He led her first to the Hall of Fame where they paused to read her father’s plaque. Then viewed his jockey silks high up in a display case. Jake withdrew his smart phone and took a picture of her standing underneath her father’s attire. She posed with a toothy, if somewhat sad, grin.
Then they meandered past the mannequins demonstrating a jockey’s life. Some were of jockeys being weighed. Others demonstrated life in a jockey’s room.
They wandered around all the trophy cups. And then past all the paintings showing the most famous horses that ever lived.
When they got to the next room Jake chirped cheerfully, “Here it is.”
He watched Ryder walk up and her eyes widen at the display. Women Jockeys in History. “One day,” he promised, “this display will feature you.”
He felt her fingers tighten around his. Jake squeezed right back.
“Thank you so much for taking me to the museum,” Ryder said later when they were back in his Ferrari.
“We’ll have a great time in downtown Saratoga Springs, too,” he promised.
Downtown Saratoga was a Victorian-era main street interspersed with modern day touches. Gingerbread architecture adorned historic brick buildings. The town was truly a step out of time.
Throngs of people walked the sidewalks. Women wearing pearls and diamonds, clearly wealthy horse owners, were mixed in with tie-dye wearing Gerry Garcia wannabes. Somehow, everybody seemed to belong.
On the streets, new Ferraris, like Jake’s, were parked next to Volvos manufactured twenty years ago. Decked out Harley Davidsons, bicycles, and even adult tricycles were scattered throughout. Once in a while an antique car could be spotted.
Dozens of street musicians played, some of their tunes clashing from playing in close proximity. Fresh flowers were everywhere, planted in urns on the street or in baskets hanging from restaurant pergolas. Decorative racetrack furlong posts and jockey statues stood in front of stores like silent sentries. Life-sized sculptures of thoroughbred horses were colorfully painted in unique, often funny designs. People stopped to marvel at one horse sculpture in particular. Titled “I’m Too Little To Ride,” the horse was painted with brightly colored rainbows and ice cream cones.
“This place is bustling,” she marveled.
“Yeah, and it’s not even high season yet. Wait until August when things really heat up. I’m sure the good restaurants are already booked up for dinner the night of the Travers.”
They spent time wandering around the boutiques, bookstores and independent coffee houses. She periodically stopped to admire jewelry and clo
thing.
“Planning on buying anything today?” Jake eventually asked. “Some of these items would be very pretty on you.”
When he said words like that she felt her heart warm and her cheeks flush. “Thanks. No purchases yet though. I love window shopping but nothing’s truly caught my eye.”
“Let me know when it does so I can weigh in. If you’ll let me.”
Wow. A man who doesn’t mind when his girlfriend shops.
The thought made her stiffen. Am I his girlfriend? Not sure she wanted the answer, she smiled wanly and moved on. Until they came across a hat boutique, Hat Sational.
“Oh my Lord,” she practically squealed, grabbing Jake by the hand and dragging him in. “Derby hats. They’re beautiful.”
The tiny store had hundreds of handmade hats. Some graced mannequins, others hung from hat-racks. Each was spectacularly adorned. They donned colorful ribbons, bows, butterflies, feathers, gauze, or lace. Some were small, some had brims that were wide enough to cover three people.
“See something you like?” asked a dignified lady wearing a white derby hat trimmed with pink ribbon and turquoise feathers. Tacked onto her brim was a life-sized ladybug.
“I like everything in here,” Ryder gushed.
Jake laughed. “Same goes for me. Although my date’s level of enthusiasm is hard to duplicate.”
The saleswoman smiled. “I’m glad you appreciate quality. What kind of hat are you looking for?”
“The one you’re wearing is beautiful. The detail is outstanding. How much is it?”
“Two thousand dollars. Without the additional New York State sales tax, of course. Would you like to see which colors we have available?”