Maria banged the lid shut on the bin and tilted her head in open appraisal. “You’re taller than most women around here. But Tricky Dick usually has something.”
Must be a cross dresser, Jessica thought, nodding eagerly. Five weeks ago she would have been appalled at the idea of buying secondhand clothes, but as she propelled Maria out the door, all she said was, “Let’s go see Dick.”
***
Tricky Dick’s dorm was in the west end of the backside, an area Jessica hadn’t yet explored.
“If my bike was fixed, we could’ve ridden double,” she said, conscious of Maria’s labored breathing.
“I gotta lose weight.” Maria patted her rounded stomach. “But then, Mark might fire me. He has no restraint around women.”
“He’s restrained around me,” Jessica said, hating the wistfulness that crept into her voice.
“I expect he already has another woman. That scrawny Trish was the last I know of.” Maria’s voice faded as she ducked beneath a sagging clothesline.
“Trish sure is tiny,” Jessica said, skirting a dripping cotton shirt. “Guess Mark likes his girlfriends small?”
“Yup,” Maria said. “According to Dino, that’s why he prefers big women on staff. So he doesn’t mix them up.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced back at Jessica. “Although he must not like tall, skinny women either because he hired you.”
Jessica blinked. She’d never been called skinny before. She smoothed her shirt, wondering if she’d lost any weight. But all her clothes felt the same, even her jeans, and, for sure, she’d never get any shorter. So if Mark had a preference for petite girlfriends, she was definitely out of luck.
She remained glumly silent as Maria pointed to a second-floor apartment. They clunked up the wooden stairs, and Maria rapped on a panel door.
A slender man with a hooked nose cracked the door open.
“This girl needs a nice dress, Dick,” Maria said. “Can you help?”
“Come back Saturday. I’m busy arranging racks.” He pointed over his shoulder at the mass of clothes behind him.
Jessica peered in, straining to see. “Oh, my. What beautiful things you have. Is that Dior?”
“Yes, an original.” Approval brightened Dick’s long face, and he waved them inside and slammed the door. “Okay, but be quick. What do you need?”
Maria gestured at Jessica. “She has to go out with fancy owners tonight and only has jeans.”
“I see.” He cocked his head and studied Jessica objectively. “Tall. Thirty-six inch bust. Good hips. Drop your pants. Let’s see your legs. Quickly.”
Jessica stared.
“Come on. Hurry.” Maria shot an anxious look at Dick.
Apparently, Tricky Dick’s time wasn’t to be wasted. Jessica unzipped her jeans, raising her head as she stepped out, conscious of her ugly knee and daring him to comment on any swelling.
“Tiny waist. My, yes!” Dick cooed, clapping his hands. “And I have just the dress to show off those gorgeous legs.”
He swept into another room and moments later emerged cradling a tiny black sheath. “Slip it on. I’ll be back with the perfect shoes.”
Jessica glanced down, relieved he hadn’t commented on her swollen knee. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. It hadn’t hurt lately even though she hadn’t seen her doctor since she’d moved to the track. She’d skipped the regular treatments her grandfather had insisted upon, since it was much too difficult to travel to the doctor’s office.
“Hurry,” Maria urged.
Jessica stripped and pulled on the dress, a Nina Ricci she confirmed after a peek at the label. “Where does he get all these gorgeous clothes?” she whispered.
“Donations,” Maria said. “He resells on the Internet and gives all the profits to Anna House. He’s a groom but spends his spare time fundraising. Lives somewhere else in the winter.”
“What is Anna House? The money from Lefty’s bike was for that too.”
Maria smiled as she helped Jessica with the zipper. “It’s our childcare center, named after Mr. Eugene Melnyk’s daughter. He donated a lot of money to start it up. And now that my English is good, I can volunteer there. Oh, my!” She stopped talking for a second, her eyes widening. “You’re beautiful!”
“Is it okay?” Jessica twisted, looking for a mirror.
Dick appeared in the doorway, jerked to a stop and let out a low wolf whistle. His eyes narrowed. Based on their very male gleam, Jessica decided she looked just fine.
“I’ll take it,” she said. “How much?” She knew it would be costly, but her coffee can had money, and she needed this dress.
Dick shook his head and shoved a pair of black stilettos in her hands. “My clothes are expensive. But track workers are welcome to borrow if they make a donation to Anna House and return the outfit clean and undamaged. Everyone needs to dress up sometime.” He waved his hand. “Now, change and go. I’m behind in my cataloguing.”
Despite his impatience, Dick’s generosity was staggering. Jessica paused. The entire backstretch was supportive, more like an extended family than co-workers, and the urge to contribute swelled. She’d never volunteered before, thought it was something people did if they were bored or lonely, but maybe that wasn’t true. After all, Mark helped his staff with English lessons, and he was the busiest person she knew.
“Maybe I could help with the cataloguing?” she asked, half expecting Dick to turn her down.
“That’d be nice,” he said. “Tomorrow at eleven.”
Her eyes widened in dismay. That was her nap time. But he studied her with open cynicism, as though expecting an excuse, as though aware she really was a selfish person.
“See you then,” she said, surprising Dick—and herself.
Chapter Eleven
Mark grabbed his dinner jacket and strode from the office into the barn. Some feed and bedding still had to be ordered, but it was unlikely Jessica had anything suitable to wear and they’d need to detour for some hasty shopping. No doubt she had an elaborate wardrobe somewhere, but her fancy clothes certainly weren’t at the track.
He checked the stalls as he passed, ensuring every animal was tucked in for the night, an ingrained habit developed from a lifetime of caring for horses. The sweet smell of good hay, the munching of contented animals, the serenity of a well-kept barn always filled him with satisfaction.
Assets stretched his neck out, clicking his teeth and pretending to bite. Mark stopped and opened the door, pushing the colt’s head away until he behaved. Unfazed, the horse pulled at Mark’s hand, eager for attention, just a bored colt eager to play.
“Play all you want—just keep winning,” Mark said as he scratched Assets’ jaw. He liked the colt’s attitude. Assets was brash, precocious and fast. If he ran in the Breeders’ Cup as he had in the preps, no one would catch him. Even the sheikh’s powerful entry was thought to be running for second.
The colt quit trying to grab Mark’s sleeve and stared regally down the aisle, looking every inch a champ. Only nine months earlier, he’d been green and undeveloped but now exceeded everyone’s expectations, and he’d earned big praise for Mark’s training program.
“Three more weeks,” he said, giving Assets a final pat before checking his watch and reluctantly leaving the stall. Sophie and Devin had reserved a table for eight, not much time if Jessica needed something to wear. She’d mentioned Maria might help dig up a dress, but he guessed that was wishful thinking.
Bump. He rapped on her door, puzzled by the banging sound coming from her room. A vacancy had opened in one of the dorms, luxurious accommodations compared to the tack room, but she’d turned it down; he suspected it was because she wanted to stay close to Buddy.
Still…he glanced down the long aisle, noting the isolation. She’d lasted much longer than either he or her grandfather had expected. Boone was oddly quiet when Mark reported how well she was doing but, heck, the man must be proud of her. Even Mark was proud of her. She’d learned so much—
She fl
ung the door open. “Oh, good. Can you help me with my bike? I’ve been whacking it with the hammer but the seat’s still twisted.”
His breath oozed in admiration, and he could only stare. It seemed she’d stepped from a sexy magazine—chestnut hair swept elegantly to the side, eyes dark and mysterious beneath the makeup, full and luscious lips—
“Please, Mark,” she said, misreading his silence. “It will only take a sec.”
He tore his gaze from her mouth and stared dumbly at Lefty’s bike, propped between her legs. Jean-clad legs. Still, no restaurant would refuse her entrance. No maitre d’ could possibly look beyond that stunning face.
“The seat’s twisted.” His voice sounded rough.
“That’s right.” She thrust a rusty hammer in his hand. “It’s been busted since that kid tried to steal it. Remember, I told you and Dino all about it.”
He kept his attention on the bike, but goddammit, she was gorgeous. He vaguely remembered her talking about some kid, but his brain often stalled around Jessica. He wiped his warm neck and stared numbly at the seat. “I doubt anyone would want this wreck,” he mumbled, tossing the useless hammer on the cot. She was standing so close, he could see her bare toes, toes with happy purple-painted nails, peeking out from the bottom of her frayed jeans.
“But he did try to steal it,” she said. “That’s how the seat broke. Can you fix it?”
Anything for you, sweetheart, he thought as he wrapped his hands around the seat, trying to twist it back into position. But it only shifted an inch. Definitely stuck. He flipped the bike upside down.
“That’s the trouble.” He pried a black phone from beneath the coils. “Your cell was blocking it.”
“That’s not mine. My phone is pink. And the kid stole it.” She grabbed her bike and straddled the seat. “That one must be Lefty’s.”
Mark pressed the power button, but the display remained dark. “No one knew Lefty’s relatives. Maybe it lists some contacts. I’ll hunt around for a charger and let the police know.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket, watching as she bounced on the seat, clearly delighted with her bike’s restoration. He’d never seen her with makeup or fancy hair, but now it was easy to imagine her entrenched in high society. She should be lounging in a Jaguar, not perched on a decrepit bike in a dusty horse barn.
“Ready?” he asked, more curtly then he intended.
“Yes. Thanks for fixing it.” She scrambled off and propped the bike against the wall. “I just have to slip my dress on. No, Kato!” Her eyes widened as sharp needles stabbed his ankle.
“Christ!” Mark jumped, shaking his leg before realizing what it was, then bent down and gently unhooked the beast from his pants. “This kitten turned into a guard cat.”
“Sorry.” She laughed and scooped up the cat, dipping her face in his gray hair. “Kato just has a thing about attacking ankles, but he’s really quite cuddly. He sleeps with me every night.”
“Lucky cat.”
Her eyes widened at his impulsive comment but she didn’t step back. Her mouth, that delicious mouth with the pouty lower lip, thickened. He swallowed but couldn’t pull his gaze away, couldn’t stop staring at the delicate curve of her neck, the sweep of her chest, the way Kato’s indolent paw rested on her breast. Christ, now his own hand twitched.
Kato twisted and leaped to the floor. Mark gulped and stepped back, anchoring himself against the door and resolutely locking his gaze on her forehead. “You found a dress to wear then?” It was a struggle to push the words past his dry throat.
“Yes. I just have to slip it on.”
He nodded, backed out and shut the door. Jammed his hands in his pockets, annoyed at his reaction. Wished she’d leave the track then wished she wouldn’t. Fucking impossible situation.
A car idled outside, its brake lights casting an eerie red glow over the shedrow. Welcoming the distraction, he strode to the end of the aisle, but the vehicle powered away in a cloud of gas fumes. He swore, resenting that his horses had to breathe the mess.
Probably another reporter. In spite of the tight security, visitor flow had tripled and with a Breeders’ Cup favorite, it would only get worse. Tomorrow he’d hire a full-time guard to keep the gawkers away, to ensure his staff and horses weren’t disturbed.
Down the aisle, a door closed. One good thing about Jessica was that she dressed fast. Actually there were many good things about her. He pivoted and his hands, still crammed in his pocket, fisted at the sight. His first thought was that a model had been dropped into the middle of his shedrow, and it was fortunate his staff wasn’t around to be distracted. And then he simply stopped thinking and just stared.
Her dress was black and molded to her curves, showcasing shapely legs that didn’t seem to stop. Creamy shoulders, no straps. Generous breasts strained at the fabric as though eager to escape, as though eager for his hands to free them.
“This just gets worse and worse,” he muttered.
She didn’t pretend not to understand, just gave him a teasing smile and patted the black jacket slung over her arm. “If I’m too hot for you, boss, I can always add the jacket.”
“Best slip it on, sweetheart,” he said, no longer trying to hide his slow perusal. “At least give me time to adjust.”
***
Dinner dragged. Ever since Jessica removed her jacket, Devin’s gaze had been riveted to her chest; it was a struggle to concentrate on Sophie’s prattle. That man was a rude lout, Mark thought, as Devin passed Jessica the salt, practically drooling as he peered down her dress.
Sophie squeezed Mark’s fingers, reclaiming his attention. He forced another nod, unable to garner much interest in her mind-numbing chatter.
“And we are so pleased to have you for our trainer. Penny Bremner, she’s the president of our society, told us you had a horse running in the Breeders’ Cup. When she heard you trained our dear horse, Bobby, she decided she must come and watch his next race.”
“I thought you agreed to retire Buddy.” Mark laid down his fork, using the maneuver as an excuse to escape her clinging fingers.
“Oh, but he ran so well today, and I do want my friends to see him win.”
Mark folded his napkin, appetite lost. He nodded at the hovering waiter to remove his plate. “The horse can’t keep going,” he said. “Buddy’s running on guts alone. He’s had fifty-six starts. Let’s just be grateful for what he’s accomplished and do the right thing.”
“Oh, pooh.” She flicked her hand in dismissal. “One little race won’t hurt. Not with a trainer like you. One more race, and then maybe we’ll sell him as a riding horse.”
Jessica’s arm brushed Mark’s wrist as she leaned forward. “How much do you want for him?”
Mark shot her a warning look before turning his attention back to Sophie. “The best way isn’t to sell but to place them with an adoption facility. They can retrain and take the time to find a suitable home. It ensures a good future.”
“But if we can make money selling, I’d rather do that.” Sophie’s voice rose. “I don’t want to just give him away.”
“How much do you want for him?” Jessica repeated.
Mark’s mouth tightened as she leaned past him, ignoring his signal to back off. Damn. Now she had Sophie thinking money instead of a simple retirement.
“You really like my horse,” Sophie said, looking at Jessica for the first time that evening. “How much, I wonder?”
Jessica’s gaze flickered, and Mark saw the panic in her eyes as she realized her mistake. “I just want him to have a good home.” She shrugged and fingered her wine glass, but the damage was done.
“You’d probably get a thousand, maybe two, off the track,” Mark said reluctantly. “Buddy doesn’t have the movement for dressage, but he might make a nice hunter.”
“So you’re saying his value as a racehorse is zero.” Sophie’s lips compressed. “Okay. I’ll sell him to your groom for two thousand dollars, but only after one more race.”
&nb
sp; “Then I’m sorry,” Mark said. “But I won’t train Buddy. You can move him to a different barn tomorrow.”
He ignored Jessica’s gasp but felt her hand tighten around his knee in a desperate plea. Sophie plopped two sugar cubes into her coffee and stared with stony eyes.
He crossed his arms and leaned back, equally inflexible. Jessica’s hand rested on his leg, but she remained silent as though aware they were in the middle of negotiations. Her fingers edged up his thigh, but he concentrated on holding Sophie’s stare.
“I don’t want to move Buddy to another trainer, but I promised my ladies’ group a day at the races,” Sophie said. “Surely you can agree to one more race?”
“Not fair to the horse.” Mark shook his head, trying to ignore the sensual movement of Jessica’s hand. Buddy had seemed a little stiff after the race. No obvious pain or swelling, just a shortness of stride. Nothing the track vet would notice. Still, it worried him. And it would be nice if the horse retired on a win. No, he wasn’t budging on this call.
Jessica’s fingers drifted, tracing a circle on his thigh, and his thoughts scattered. Just an inch to the left, he willed. He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to grab her wrist and place her hand in a more satisfying position. The little minx. Sophie wasn’t the only one deep into negotiations.
“One more race and I promise to sell him. Two thousand dollars,” Sophie said, “no matter how he runs.”
Mark remained motionless, caught between the two women. He wanted to tell Sophie to shove her last race. Wanted to tell her to consider the horse. But most of all he wanted attention for his throbbing erection.
“All right,” he finally said, blowing out a shattered sigh. “I’ll train him. One more race.” However, resentment thickened his words, and the knowledge that he’d been swayed for the wrong reason made him ball his napkin in disgust.
***
Jessica bounced at the front of the walkway as they waited for the valet to deliver Mark’s car, her euphoria only slightly tarnished by the fact that she didn’t have two thousand dollars. Asking her grandfather for a loan wasn’t an option. He’d claim it breached their agreement and use it as an excuse to drag her into his company.
Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) Page 43