“Really?” Mark jerked around. “Jessica did this?”
“Yeah, the clothes are up on the website two weeks early, thanks to her.”
Mark shook his head and moved down the narrow hall, past a room stuffed with boxes and into another room, clearly the bedroom. “Does Dick usually keep his drawers upside down?” he asked.
“No.” Mary scowled and pushed past him. “Must be those damn cops. They always leave a mess. I’ll straighten it up before Dick returns in the spring. He spends winters upstate.”
“Jessica will want to help,” Mark said. “I’ll send her by late tomorrow morning.”
“Great.” Mary’s shoulders relaxed with relief. “She can pick the key up from me. As long as you don’t think she’ll mind?”
“She’ll consider it a pleasure.” And an opportunity, he thought wryly. After talking with Jessica’s grandfather, it was clear she’d need a few more clothes.
He returned to his office, bone weary, unsure if he needed coffee or sleep. Opened the door and saw Jessica ensconced in his chair, boots propped on the desk and a telltale peppermint bulge in her left cheek. She dropped her feet to the floor with a thud.
“I was breaking down the vet bill for each horse,” she said defensively, “and needed a bigger work space.”
“It’s okay, stay there. I’m going to have a nap.” He scanned her work and couldn’t resist giving her ponytail a playful tug. “Looks good.”
A thirty-minute nap wouldn’t hurt. He stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes, oddly enjoying her presence—the click of the calculator, the rustle of paper—and fleetingly wondered if he could persuade her to join him. But the moral dilemma that would involve, considering his no-sex rule, was far too weighty. He fell asleep before completely analyzing the thought.
When he woke, the blackened room felt empty, and it was obvious he’d overslept. Appalled, he leaped from the cot. Six-thirty! Christ. Carlos would be forever feeding supper and checking bandages. He rushed to the entrance of the shedrow, but Carlos looked relaxed, lounging by the front door, talking to the night guard.
“Hi, boss,” he said. “We’re all fed. Jessica said you’d want to wrap Assets. Everyone else is finished and looking good, though. Some heat in the gray filly, but her leg’s a lot better.”
“Good.” Mark nodded, relieved, but still shocked he’d slept so long. “I’ll wrap Assets now. Where’s Jessica?”
“In her room, I think.” Carlos frowned. “Her face is messed up. Heard she fell off Ghost. He’s probably too much horse for a beginner.”
His voice held a note of disapproval, but Mark let it go. He wasn’t feeling very good about it either.
He slipped into Assets’ stall and ran his hands down the colt’s legs. Tight and cold. So far, the horse had never taken a lame step. He wrapped quickly, ensuring the bandages were firm and tendons evenly supported, then secured the door.
Further down the aisle, Buddy stuck his head out, watching with hopeful eyes. Mark slowed and gave the gelding a quick pat, wryly studying his curly mane. The horse was immaculate, but Jessica was forever experimenting with braids and colors, and Mark endured endless ribbing from other trainers. He impulsively slipped Buddy a peppermint, hoping the alert chestnut in the next stall wouldn’t hear the crunching, then turned and headed to her room.
Knocked. No answer. Tried the door and was happy but slightly annoyed to discover it unlocked. She lay on the cot, breathing deep and even, dark lashes fanning her cheeks. He’d anticipated Kato’s rush but still wasn’t fast enough, and sharp claws pinched his leg.
He picked up the cat, cradling him until he settled and when Kato started to purr, put him down by his food dish. He turned and gently shook Jessica’s shoulder.
“Mark?” she mumbled, not opening her eyes.
“Yes. Thanks for letting me sleep, sweetie. You hungry?”
“Yes, but I’m too tired to get up.”
“Move over,” he said. He edged in beside her, wrapping her in his arms as he sucked in her floral smell, the same smell Buddy had. “Do you use a horse shampoo,” he whispered, “or does Buddy use people shampoo?” He freed her hair from the ponytail, stroking the silky strands, liking the way it cascaded over her shoulders.
“Neither. It’s the conditioner.”
She sounded more awake. Probably alert enough to hear her grandfather’s request but hopefully not alert enough to realize the prick hadn’t wanted to talk to her. Again. “I’m meeting your grandfather at Keeneland,” he said, sliding his hand through her hair and rubbing her neck. “We’re looking at some horses. He wants you to come.”
Her eyes cracked open. “What’s he up to?”
“I don’t know,” Mark admitted. It was strange Boone didn’t ever talk to her on the phone but suddenly wanted her to attend a sale in Kentucky.
Her nose wrinkled. “I only have two weeks to go. Maybe he has some plan to make me quit. Or something he thinks will make you fire me. You did promise you wouldn’t fire me though, right?”
“I did. And I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
She sighed and relaxed in his arms. “Guess I’m okay then. When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. We’ll be gone two nights. Friday is the sale. Dinner with your grandfather is that night.”
“Oh, no.” Her dismayed sigh fanned his throat. “I can’t go. I don’t have clothes for that.”
“You can borrow something from Dick. I told Mary you’d be happy to come by his apartment and help clean up.”
She laughed, a bubbling sound that was contagious, and he stopped worrying about the depressing hock X-ray, the unorthodox media interview and all the calls from whining owners. He stopped thinking about the fugitive kid and the strange events that seemed to be plaguing the track.
“And you promised that as further punishment,” she asked, still laughing, “or because you knew I’d need some nice clothes?”
“A little bit of both,” he said as he found her mouth in the gloom. He only intended an affectionate gesture, but her taste, her feel, the familiar way her lips parted were too arousing, and he shelved the list of things he had to finish before they flew to Keeneland.
He slipped his hand under her shirt, stroking her breast, molding her against him. She felt so right, so perfect. The urge to yank down her pants and lose himself in her was almost overwhelming.
No wonder his father had kept a double bed in his tack room for frequent fucking.
He jerked back as though drenched with cold water. “I have to stay away from you at the track,” he said. “No one can know.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t want you acting like your dad.”
He stiffened, surprised she could read him so well. She lay unmoving, but her voice was flippant, the way it always turned when she tried to hide her hurt. And he didn’t want her hurt.“This is where I work,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “and having sex here is too frivolous.”
Apparently he didn’t pick his words well enough. She jackknifed to a sitting position, her eyes stormy. “Frivolous? Our relationship is frivolous?”
“Of course not. That isn’t what I meant. Want me order you a pizza?” He rose from the cot, suddenly eager to escape. “I have a meeting in Queens, but the guard can bring it down.”
She was still glaring and there was really nothing to say, so he backed out the door, exhaling with relief when she remained mute on the cot. It was always best to escape before they started dissecting words and relationships. He’d always been careless with women. Training was too demanding a job to even consider a high-maintenance relationship. And Jessica was as high maintenance as they come.
She rose and slammed the door in his face, the lock clicking with a finality that made him smile. Yes, she left him drained but also thoroughly entertained, and it was great she was going to be around for another two weeks. He only wanted the best for her, and hopefully she’d find a suitable career, something that didn’t hinge on her grandfath
er’s approval.
After she left, he might hire that curly-haired guy, Jim. The barn needed a tougher groom, one who could handle colts, since Breeders’ Cup exposure was already bringing more horses. Stakes horses. His staff would earn bigger bonuses, and lives would all get a little easier. Maybe he could even hire a fulltime office manager.
Maybe Jessica?
No. He shook his head as he walked down the aisle, automatically checking each stall. She’d master the job in a week and end up hating it. And him. She was too mercurial, the type who needed a challenge, needed to be her own boss.
The guard jerked to his feet, pretending he hadn’t been sitting for the past twenty minutes.
“Can you see the back door from here?” Mark asked.
“No.” The man shuffled sideways and crossed his arms. “I’d prefer to shut the back door for security reasons, but Jessica insists the horses need fresh air.”
“She’s absolutely right,” Mark said. “So you’ll have to make regular rounds. The horse I’m most concerned about is in stall twenty-four.” He opened his wallet and flipped through his bills. “I’m going to order a pizza. When it comes, track security will call and send the driver through. Make sure Jessica gets it.” He noticed the guard’s empty cookie container and added, “You hungry? I was planning to order a medium but can make it a large.”
The guard lowered his arms, relaxing enough to smile. “I appreciate that, Mr. Russell, but I always bring a lunch so a medium pizza is probably big enough. I doubt the little jockey eats much.”
“What jockey is that?” Mark asked, scanning his phone for the pizza number.
“Jessica’s boyfriend. The one who sleeps here.”
“Oh, right. Jessica’s boyfriend.” He stared at his screen, his thumb pausing in midair before tapping in the phone number. “What’s that guy’s name again?”
“Didn’t meet him, but I saw them coming from the shower together.” The guard chuckled. “Good thing he rides. He’ll never make a singer.”
A jockey boyfriend? How the hell had he missed that? Mark felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach but paused a moment, his mind scrambling as the lady on the phone repeated her request for his order. “Small pizza with the works,” he finally said. Thought a moment. “And can you add anchovies and lots and lots of jalapenos.”
Chapter Twenty
Jessica finished dressing, bubbling with anticipation as she tugged on her boots. Keeneland Day! She didn’t know anything about the place, other than it was a quality racetrack in Kentucky, but there was bound to be lots of good food. And a hotel with a big tub and a real bed.
She grabbed her water bottle and took another gulp, hoping to soothe her ragged throat. Mark had thoughtfully arranged for her supper last night, but the pizza he’d ordered had been horrible. It had smelled delicious though, and she’d been hungry. However, she hated anchovies and thought he knew that.
Unfortunately, fish juice had leaked all over the cheese. Plus, she hadn’t found the jalapenos until it was too late—but by then her stomach was screaming for food, and she couldn’t resist.
Big mistake. She hadn’t put the leftovers outside for the boy, figuring he’d pull better food from the dumpster. The salt must have made her eyes swell, because her face felt tight and puffy. She grabbed her shampoo—she’d left her conditioner in Buddy’s grooming kit—and rushed to the bathroom for her morning shower.
She glanced in the cracked mirror, saw her swollen face and yelped. Her eye was bluish black and scary, the ugliest shiner she’d ever seen, uglier than the bruised boxers on television. Groaning, she jerked away from the mirror and into the shower, trying not to cry as water sluiced over her face. She looked so ugly, so battered, so utterly repulsive.
She yanked her clothes on, hair still dripping, and bolted to Mark’s office. Irritation darkened his face when the door burst open, but she was gratified when his expression turned to horror.
“See. I knew it,” she wailed “I can’t go to Keeneland like this.”
He just stared, his upper lip twitching.
“Don’t you dare laugh.” She crossed the room and smacked his shoulder. “I’m going to miss out seeing all those beautiful horses. The hotel. And my grandfather. All because of that crazy horse you made me ride.” Her words trailed off to a miserable choke.
“Hey.” He rose from the chair. “It’s not that bad.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could crawl into a hole, but he tilted her chin and gently traced her face. “We’ll put a little poultice here and draw out the swelling. Doc just dropped off some new stuff. And if that doesn’t work, sunglasses.” His voice tapered off. “Really big sunglasses.”
She choked on a hysterical sob.
“Makeup too,” he added quickly. “A lot can be accomplished with makeup.”
“I don’t know.” She opened her eyes and groaned. “Finally seeing Gramps and pretending I’m doing well when I look so…ugly.”
“You’ll never be ugly, and you’re doing very well. I’ve told him that many times.”
“Do you talk to him much? I know he’s really busy.” She hated the wistful note that crept into her voice. She’d always been good at pretending indifference when her mom sent her away, but sympathy flashed in Mark’s face and she knew he wasn’t as easily fooled.
Rap, rap. They both turned and looked at the door as Carlos stuck his head in. “First set is almost ready, boss. Just need your opinion on some legs.” He flinched when he saw Jessica’s face. “Dios mio!”
“Switch Assets to the second set,” Mark said. “I’ll be a bit longer here.”
“Don’t think you should do that, boss,” Carlos said, still staring at her with such a look of dismay it would have been comical if it wasn’t such a disaster. He tossed a section of The NewYork Times on the desk. “I expect there’ll be lots of media around later. One of the trainers brought you a bouquet of dandelions. Another left chocolates. They’re all laughing.”
Mark scanned the paper then cursed. “Jess, we’ll put the poultice on after the first set.” He dropped the paper and rushed out with Carlos, leaving her alone to read the article:
At six feet three inches and two hundred and twenty-six pounds, Mark Russell doesn’t gallop many horses, preferring to oversee his stable of forty runners from the back of a Texas-bred quarter horse. With both a racing and rodeo background, as well as an astounding win rate of twenty-seven percent, Mark heads into the Breeders’ Cup with the unquestionable Juvenile favorite.
Ambling Assets, a two-year-old colt by Barkeeper out of an Asset Man mare, is not fashionably bred but is undefeated in five lifetime starts and has an affinity for the Belmont strip, attested by his recent half-mile bullet. Capable of stalking, this speedy colt has been pointed to the Breeders Cup and is one of only three contenders coming off a six-week layoff.
“I don’t want him to do too much,” Mark explained when interviewed outside his barn yesterday. “He’s learning to relax and tuck in behind horses. He’s a good-looking fellow who always tries, the kind of horse who’s easy to have around.”
Easy to have around, indeed. “Who do you like?” is a common expression at the track. But with a dynamic trainer and an upstart colt leading the Breeders’ Cup charge, it has also revived interest in the human element. At the track kitchen, Mark Russell’s name topped the vote for “Bachelor of the Backstretch,” and if his deft touch with horses reflects his popularity with the ladies, Markomania is just beginning.
Good grief. Jessica dumped the paper back on the desk. She’d been right about that reporter. Tina was incapable of writing a sensible piece. She hadn’t included a picture of Assets; instead she’d used the one of Ghost, along with a completely inaccurate caption, ‘Russell Rescues Inattentive Groom.’
Tina didn’t mention that Jessica had hung on to Ghost for almost a minute while the horse threw his freak-out fit. The picture only showed Mark pushing her back as he grabbed the reins.
J
essica bent closer, tracing a finger over his ripped arm. Awesome muscles, nice flex. Not a bad picture really.
She squeezed her eyes in misery. Going away for a two-day trip with the Bachelor of the Backstretch, and she looked like a Cyclops. She peered out the window. It was still dark, but figures bustled amidst giggles and gruff laughter. Everyone was having a good time teasing Mark. He’d worked hard for his success and had earned their respect.
He was the most decent man she knew.
Sighing, she squared her shoulders, resolving to table her vanity and join the festivities. Her boss had hit the big time, and it was only fair she step outside and cheer him on.
***
Jessica slipped Buddy a carrot, feeling the soft velvet of his muzzle as he gently lifted it from her hand. Never pushy, always a gentleman. She loved gazing into his liquid eyes, so kind and accepting, a reflection of his kind nature.
She stepped closer and ran a hand over his sleek neck, across his muscled shoulder, down his forearm. His knee was flat and clean. The swelling she’d reported to Mark last week had disappeared, and she inspected each leg, knowing them as well now as she did her own.
One old splint on his right cannon bone, a wind puff on his right fetlock, some scar tissue on his front heels. Inconsequential blemishes, Mark had said. Nothing to worry about.
She edged around Buddy’s hindquarters and ran a hand through his silky tail, ostensibly checking for tangles but really just enjoying his company. He sounded so content when he chewed his hay, when he dunked it in his water and sloshed it around, the way it stuck out of his mouth when he turned and looked at her with those dark, soulful eyes.
He never worried about anything but the present, and it was refreshing sharing his stall. In another week she’d own him.
“Last set. Let’s go,” Carlos called to the riders in the aisle.
Mark stopped by Buddy’s stall, holding goggles, a can of gooey yellow stuff and a bottle of something that smelled like turpentine. “Come on. I’ll put this on your face now. You can stay in my office until it’s time to wash it off.” He turned and watched the line of horses as they filed out. “Don’t be too tight on her face, Aaron,” he called. “You’re pissing her off.” He turned back to Jessica. “This will bring the swelling down.”
Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) Page 55