Heat Wave (Riders Up)

by Adriana Kraft

  Maggie knew that had to be true. And she also knew that everyone at the table was reminding her that Harrington could not teach her how things were done at the track while sitting on a bale of hay in the barn. He might never be able to show her how to run a racing operation at the track.

  That information wasn’t new. So why had she turned so cold just now? Was she already too dependent on him?

  “But it must be awfully expensive racing up here,” Maggie protested, stoking her throat with rigid fingers.

  Both Clint and Cassie smiled. “We will only charge you our costs,” Cassie said. “There will be no trainer fees.”

  “What! Why would you do that? I’m no charity case,” Maggie fumed.

  “Now don’t get stubborn on us,” Cassie cooed. “We can afford to help out in this way. And we want too.”

  “But why would you? You hardly know me.”

  “There are lots of reasons,” Clint answered soberly. “We’ve struggled before, like you. It’s good to see a woman with grit and determination doing what she can to save a piece of her heritage for her family. Reminds me of another woman I know fairly well.” He flashed a smile at his wife.

  “And,” he added, nodding in Harrington’s direction, “it’s good to see someone give another human being a chance to prove himself. It’s simply the right thing to do. Don’t turn us down, Maggie Anderson. You don’t want to deal with my wife’s Irish temper.”

  Maggie gave him a weak smile and reached to cover her twitching cheek.

  “It’s good business, Maggie,” Harrington said softly. “For them, as well as for you. If you succeed, and I fully expect that you will, you’ll be back to buy more horses. If you get in over your head, you’ll risk losing the farm. And these folks will have one less buyer.”

  She didn’t know if his logic was correct, but Maggie knew when she was surrounded. As gracefully as possible, she lifted her orange juice glass and declared, “To the Anderson Racing Stable based in Chicago.” She paused, catching her breath and soaking up the warmth and hope of the three beaming faces regarding her intently. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I’m not at all certain what I’ve gotten myself into, but it’s too late to turn back now.”

  “That’s my girl,” Harrington murmured.

  Clint and Cassie swallowed, busying themselves by soaking up syrup with stray pieces of pancake and leaving Maggie to stare questioningly at Harrington, who seemed completely unaware that he’d vocalized what was so evidently on his mind.

  “They’re nearly ready to load,” Cassie said, looking toward the Arlington Park starting gate. “We just want the filly to run a clean race without injury.”

  Maggie nodded, listening intently. It wasn’t easy to do. There were so many distractions. The excitement of the crowd thrilled her. Everything was so colorful, from the jockey silks to the characters analyzing racing forms or peering through binoculars at the horses warming up.

  It didn’t matter to Maggie that she knew nothing about handicapping. She was here to learn about the business of horse racing. And Cassie Travers was a very astute instructor.

  Maggie’s temples throbbed with anticipation and apprehension. As they stood by the rail at the finish line, she knew they were in the process of buying a horse. There was no seller present; there would be no handshake between buyer and seller. Yet she was definitely buying a race horse.

  Twenty-five thousand dollars of her money lay in a box in the stewards’ office which would go to the owner of horse number three, Jill’s Pride, in the upcoming race. It was called claiming. The owner of the horse had entered the filly in a twenty-five thousand dollar claiming race, essentially saying if someone wanted to buy the horse for that price, he was willing to sell.

  Cassie thought the animal would make a good claim since she believed the current trainer had dropped Jill’s Pride out of the allowance ranks to pick up a relatively cheap win. The bettors thought so too—the filly was the current betting favorite. Yet there was also the possibility that something was physically wrong with the horse.

  Crossing her fingers and toes, Maggie thought time stood still while the horses entered the starting gate. She knew unless there was a competing claim, she’d own Jill’s Pride when she crossed the finish line. win or lose, or even if the horse dropped dead out of the starting gate. She didn’t want to think about that.

  Although the winning time for the sprint would only take about a minute and twelve seconds, for Maggie it might as well have been an hour and twelve minutes. Mercifully, the race came to an end with Jill’s Pride finishing a respectable second.

  Maggie followed Cassie to the track where she placed her lead rope on the horse and led her toward the barn area.

  “She won’t do her best until she can race around two turns, I know it,” Cassie said. Jill’s Pride pranced lively beside her new owner and trainer, as if she hadn’t even been in a race.

  “I think you’re going to like this one,” Cassie said, running her hand down the horse’s shoulder. “She’s got the spirit.”

  Maggie nodded, hoping she would soon be able to identify horses that had the spirit. She hugged herself, trying to comprehend fully the magnitude of the day, of the Chicago trip. There was no more questioning it—she was up to her ears in thoroughbred horseracing.

  If she had been seeking some adventure in her life, which she admitted she had been, then she had found it at the track. Horseracing was filled with emotion, from bitter disappointment to breathtaking elation.

  The pulse of the crowd stimulated her senses. The horses strutted around as if they knew they were among the most powerful athletes on the face of the earth. And those small people, the jockeys, moved about with tremendous pride. Cassie had told her that jockeys had tested out to be more in shape than any other group of athletes. Maggie didn’t doubt that.

  As they watched Jill’s Pride cool out on a hot walker, Cassie explained some of the workings of shedrow. Maggie paid close attention. She couldn’t wait until she could have daily hands-on experience. Looking at the filly, she said, “They sure are majestic looking creatures, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah,” Cassie responded, grinning at Maggie. “They can quickly get in your blood, can’t they? Though being involved with race horses can be almost as nerve racking as a love affair.”

  “So, Harrington raced horses here?”

  “Sure. Here, and at Hawthorne in the city. When we raced at Hawthorne, his string was usually stabled down the same row but in the next barn. I often thought he was too close for comfort.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes clouded. If it hadn’t been for his misfortune, she would never have met him. Nor would she have met the Travers. And she wouldn’t be standing here, a neophyte horse owner. And she wouldn’t be pulling her hair out trying to decide what to do about Harrington.

  Observing Maggie’s faraway look, Cassie’s features softened. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

  “What? What do you mean?” Immediately on guard, Maggie wished her face wasn’t so damn expressive.

  “Harrington is coming to mean more to you than a way to learn how to handle race horses.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Maggie stammered, bending to remove bits of straw from her slacks.

  “It’s okay. I don’t intend to pry. Give yourself time. He’s a good man, who, with your help, is overcoming a lot of pain.”

  Maggie stared at her trembling fingers. Could it really be happening? It had been so long since she’d felt anything for a man, she couldn’t trust her memory or her emotions. What would he be like? She listened to her bones, but they were silent.

  Oh my God, she groaned to herself. Here she was away from her children, spending money like it had no end, fantasizing about things she had no business imagining.

  He’s a good man. How good?

  With the sun lingering on the western horizon, Maggie leaned against the rail fence contemplating the next day’s trip back to Iowa. She was looking forward to going home. An
d it had been a fruitful trip.

  Maggie glanced quickly over at Harrington, standing beside her. What was he was thinking? Was he as satisfied as she was?

  The two yearlings and a couple two-year-olds in the next paddock would provide him with the raw materials he needed for teaching her about training race horses. A four year old gelding and a six year old mare needing rest from their racing campaigns grazed in the paddock closest to the Travers barn. The six horses would be loaded into the trailer early the next morning.

  What would the kids think of the horses? She’d talked to them daily. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, maybe too much. Wait until they got back with the horses—then the work would really begin for everyone.

  Maggie closed her eyes, asking herself for the millionth time whether she’d gone certifiably crazy. What if she failed? She couldn’t fail. She wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  Besides, she had Harrington. Right. He was a top-notch trainer. How long would he stay with her if the Chicago stewards lifted their ban against him? Likely not any longer than it would take him to pack his bags.

  “You’ve done very well, Maggie.” Harrington broke into her reverie. “A good dozen horses to start with. I’m looking forward to working with the young ones. They have nice racing pedigrees and are well conformed and should do you proud. We can spruce up the gelding and the mare some before sending them back to the track. I expect the horses Cassie’s training for you will do well here on the Chicago circuit. They’ll have off days and poor racing luck, but they are good looking contenders.

  “And that regal looking black mare grazing to your left, she’ll be an excellent foundation broodmare, if you want her.”

  “Is she for sale? She’s gorgeous.” As if in response, the mare lifted her head and broke into a trot, showing off an elegant stride. “She’s so fluid. There’s something about her that’s more striking than any of the other horses we’ve seen.”

  “You’re developing a good eye,” Harrington praised. “That’s class you’re seeing. That mare is well bred and was an excellent runner. The question is whether her offspring will be. Chances are good. You don’t have to make a decision about buying her until the fall. For five thousand, Clint will give you first choice before he sells her to anyone else. That money will be ten percent of the purchase price if you decide to buy. She’d be a super broodmare for you.”

  Maggie beamed. “For that price, she’d better be. But if her offspring take after their mama, they’ll be first rate. Sounds like you think she’s worth the initial investment.”

  Harrington nodded.

  Taking a deep breath, Maggie scrunched her toes together. “Let’s do it. I believe in destiny.” She turned and spoke directly to the mare. “Our paths crossed for a purpose. We’ll make a good home for you come fall, young woman.” The mare pricked her ears forward, listening intently.

  “Ed, do you know her name?”

  “Midnight Dancer. She has some Northern Dancer in her bloodlines, and she’s as dark as midnight on a clear, moonless night.”

  “That she is. We’ll call her Dancer for short. She’s as graceful as the most accomplished ballerina. It’s a lovely name, and fitting too.”

  Harrington shrugged. “Guess so, if you’re into names.”

  “Come on, Ed,” she cajoled, “she’s a creature of beauty. You can see that. She deserves a name worthy of her heritage and presence.”

  “Yeah,” Harrington agreed. “I just didn’t know you were such a romantic. Remember, I’ve warned you about getting too attached to your horses.”

  “I know. I know. A horse can die from eating a poisonous plant, from twisting in its stall, from heat exhaustion, seemingly from crossing its eyes.” Maggie sighed heavily, clasping her arms across her breasts. “Sometimes I think all of this is too big to get my head around. Four months ago, I hadn’t even heard about horse racing. Now, I’ve read more than I ever imagined was written on the subject. I’ve gone to a track for the first time. I own nearly a dozen thoroughbreds. We’ve selected a fantastic foundation broodmare. I’ve got Cassie and Clint working for me here in Chicago. And I’ve got you. It’s almost too much for an Iowa country girl.”

  She turned to face him, holding his gaze steadily.

  “Damn, woman, you have the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen,” Ed mumbled, keeping his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

  A brief smile tugged at the corners of Maggie’s mouth. “Looks may be deceiving. Maybe you should find out for yourself.” Standing on tiptoes, she leaned into him, offering her parted lips.

  “Oh, shit.” Ed’s hands leaped out of hiding to pull her against his body. He settled his mouth atop hers.

  Behind closed eyelids, Maggie luxuriated in their delicious kiss. She traced his lips and invaded his mouth. She warmed to the sensations of his hands roaming her back and buttocks. Clasping his taut shoulder muscles, she marveled at his firmness. She could feel his arousal pressed against her pelvis. Even her fantasies were not this good. Her brain turned to soup. Her body tingled all over. His tongue played with hers. They shared an intimate game of oral tag.

  And then he pulled away abruptly. Ed glared at his hands as if they had betrayed him.

  “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’ll never happen again. You can count on that.”

  Maggie gasped at the terror in his eyes. She started to sputter a response, “But…”

  Ed spun on his heel and moved rapidly toward the barn. Only the horses heard her protest.

  Breathless, slouching against the fence for much-needed support, Maggie let the tears flow. What was wrong with her? She had seduced her hired man. He’d wanted her, but had more restraint that she did. Thank God for that.

  How far would she have gone? She had kids. She was a widow. She had a farm to save.

  But why couldn’t she have a life too? Why did she have to deny her emotions—yes, even her sexual needs?

  God, she loved the way he’d crushed her to his hard body. She thought she’d been well loved before, but never had she felt so desperately, passionately needed. She had been a source of new life for him, yet he walked away from her without even glancing back.

  For how long? Once a bubbling spring burst above ground, it was next to impossible to push it back underground. And she wasn’t entirely convinced they should try the impossible.

  - o -

  Ed was much less ambivalent.

  “Son of a bitch. You damn fool,” he harangued at himself, pacing back and forth in the barn driveway where he’d found a badly needed retreat. “What do you expect from that woman?” He slammed a fist into an empty stall door. He pulled back in pain. Hell, she should fire him on the spot.

  She’d picked him out of the gutter, and he’d nearly taken advantage of her excitement about buying race horses.

  He closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose. A headache threatened to make a bad evening worse.

  Maybe she did feel some attraction to him. God knew he couldn’t understand why. But if so, it was only how the rescuer felt for the person being rescued. He’d even heard stories of female volunteers falling in love with prison inmates.

  Maybe she’d been too long without a man. But when it was time for her to get involved romantically, Maggie Anderson needed a real man, not some empty shell she’d collected outside a Des Moines flophouse.

  Ed crouched down on his haunches. He tried to catch his breath. Damn, never had a more delicious taste crossed his lips. All her curves seemed to fit so naturally. Even now his heart skipped several beats. She’d tasted like crushed mulberries. It was her tongue that had entered his mouth seeking, exploring. And he’d suckled it like it was the only life force available to him. He could still smell her lavender scent and feel her quivering body. Where would it have ended if he hadn’t walked away? Run away was more accurate.

  He’d have to be extra careful, for both of them. Surely, giving her time to think would help her see the futility of wh
at she’d begun. They had no future together—not romantically.

  And to think they had nearly jeopardized their chance of building a racing stable. He had an opportunity to reconstruct a career. She had a shot at saving her precious land. None of that would happen if they succumbed to raging hormones like a couple starry-eyed teenagers.

  There would be no more kissing those delightfully kissable lips. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He wouldn’t.

  The next morning, Ed felt like he was caught in the jaws of a vise, only the vise was the sides of Maggie’s truck cab. He drove while Maggie sat far away on the passenger side. That single kiss hung heavily between them.

  He didn’t know how to repair that fiasco. And he couldn’t quite get rid of the enticing taste of mulberries.

  He toyed briefly with the idea of quitting, but quickly thought better of that. He desperately needed the job. No way was he going to slip back into a place like the Resting Arms.

  He checked the side-view mirrors to see how the trailer was riding. Everything looked fine. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Maggie glowering straight ahead. So much for everything looking fine.

  Now, because of him, she was very committed to the business of horse racing. She had just spent thousands of dollars refurbishing the barn and purchasing some damn good horses. He’d feel like a heel to pull out on her now. But he’d feel even worse if he let himself get involved with her personally. The only thing that could come from that was suffering, and he’d had enough suffering to last two life times.

  - o -

  Equally stiff, Maggie resolved not to give up on the man beside her; he might not be a flaming romantic, but he was what she wanted. She’d come to that conclusion during a night of tossing and turning. She couldn’t quite forget the promise of his body pressed against hers. Moreover, she didn’t want to forget.

  While she had not set out to find a man, she’d found one. Her bones were humming a lyrical, romantic tune. That kiss had been as hot as a branding iron. She hoped it was as effective on him as it was on her.