Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3)

by Bev Pettersen

  “Here. Stick your shirt in the pocket.” He stopped the mare, reached over and buttoned the jacket, trying to ignore her sexy cleavage. “Now you don’t have to hold it shut. It’s dark anyway.” But his voice thickened because it wasn’t that dark, and there was something intimate and rather appealing about her being wrapped in his long jacket, smiling shyly as she awaited a boost.

  He slid his hand along her leg, grabbed her knee and lifted her up. “Hold onto the mane,” he said, impatient with his reaction. Thirty-two years old and he’d seen his share of bare skin. Besides, this lady was nothing like his usual girlfriends.

  Lyric tossed her head as though protesting a rider but jigged for only a moment then settled into a long, ground-sweeping walk.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, checking over his shoulder.

  “Oh, yes.” Her teeth flashed whitely. “This is lovely. Her back is nice and warm. And my feet don’t hurt anymore.”

  And that was the most he’d ever heard her say. Friendly darkness always made women relax, something he’d learned when he was thirteen and had charmed the pants off Annabelle Lewis. Not that he was going to make a move on Becky. No way. But she definitely had plenty of spunk beneath that reserved exterior. What made her tick? She obviously had some experience with horses.

  “Where did you learn to ride, Becky?”

  Her throaty laugh surprised him. “Camp. And now my name is Becky, not Betty?”

  He grinned in the direction of her flashing white teeth. “You’re definitely a Becky. Bettys don’t ride horses in the dark. With no shirt,” he added.

  “You have experience with that?”

  “Some,” he said candidly.

  She turned silent. He assumed his honesty had sent her retreating into her shell but when he glanced back her face was lifted, eyes squeezed shut, and she was doing something with her arms. Raising them to the sky?

  Her spontaneity was at such odds with her colorless appearance, he swallowed his chuckle and turned away, feeling like an intruder and not wanting to dampen her delight. She looked like a night pixie, and he completely understood her euphoria. It was always magical riding a good horse under the stars. Nothing could match it.

  He stared straight ahead, conscious of her every motion but afraid she’d stop if he looked back. Flat, easy walking. A fat moon smudged the horizon, and the only sound was the rhythmic crunch of Lyric’s hooves and Becky’s soft, feminine breathing.

  He didn’t know how long he walked before she broke the silence.

  “We used to sneak out and ride like this at camp. I think the counselors knew, but they never got mad.”

  “Your parents didn’t have horses?” he asked.

  “I didn’t have parents.” She spoke without pity, but there was a lifetime of sadness in her voice. “What about you? Always had animals?”

  “Yeah. Grew up on a small ranch. Lots of work. Always wanted brothers and sisters to help with the chores. The best time of my life though. I love that place.”

  “Your parents still live there?”

  “No, my ex does.” Unlike Becky, he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “Better hold onto the mane. A vehicle’s coming.”

  Headlights pierced the dark. Lyric tensed then stumbled, and he tightened his hold on the lead as the truck rumbled alongside.

  Slim lowered the window and stuck out his head. “You caught her. No problem?”

  “Nope,” Dino said. “How’d she get loose?”

  “Don’t know. Must have worked the latch free. I’ll add a snap. You know what she’s like.”

  “I know I don’t want any more incidents like this.” Dino spoke evenly, aware Becky was listening, all ears for Martha. The smell of diesel stained the air and Lyric pawed, impatient to keep moving. “We’ll talk back at the barn,” he added, tossing Slim his jangle of keys. “Ask Stephanie to pick up my truck. It’s parked by the highway.”

  “Close call then?” Slim asked, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Too close,” Dino said.

  Chapter Six

  Becky yawned, waiting while Dino bandaged Lyric’s legs. The wine, food and adventure left her sleepy, but she didn’t want the night to end. Riding a horse again had stoked her confidence, and it had been a treat walking under the stars, with only a beautiful horse and Dino’s deep voice for company.

  He was truly a nice man, she decided, as he wrapped the mare’s legs in thick, blue bandages. Definitely not as scary as she’d first thought. In fact, he was easy to talk to, almost as easy as Martha, and in the dark she’d been able to forget he was so darn good looking.

  Even without his hat he resembled a cowboy—or perhaps an outlaw—his hair a little too long. And the way those ripped arms worked over the mare’s legs, his shirt hugging the ridges, well…she wouldn’t have minded if the walk had lasted a few hours longer.

  “There you go, sweetie.”

  The affection in his voice made her jerk to attention. She blinked with shock, then realized he was talking to Lyric.

  “Come closer, Becky,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll show you how to wrap. Martha will probably ask if her horses are bandaged for their workouts.”

  She stepped closer, glad he couldn’t see her flush. Of course he wouldn’t call her sweetie; she knew that.

  “This is a standing wrap,” he went on. “I rubbed her legs. Slim will remove them in the morning. We want to support her tendons after the adventure. Tomorrow you’ll see five of Martha’s horses on the track. Three of them will have rundown tapes but they’ll be lower—see, down to here. They keep dirt from irritating the heels. What time are you coming?”

  “What time does it start?” She hoped he’d say late morning.

  “Training hours are six to ten. I usually take the young horses out first, but tomorrow I’ll hold off for you.”

  She forced a nod. Lone Star Park was a forty-five minute drive from the Conrad Stable and she’d only been on the backside once before, with Martha and Malcolm. It had been a daunting place, full of brash men and brasher horses.

  And this time she’d be alone. Fear wormed through her, and she fidgeted with a button on his too-large jacket, growing even more panicky when she realized her chest was exposed, almost to the top of her bra.

  “Come by barn sixteen. But be there by seven at the latest,” he said, seeming oblivious to the amount of skin she was showing. “There’s an owner’s pass in Martha’s car. It will get you into the lot. Are you cold?”

  His eyes narrowed on her jacket, his jacket actually, and she tugged it higher. She never showed cleavage, always covered herself to the neck.

  She stepped back, face hot with embarrassment, and pulled her wrinkled shirt from the pocket. “I’m fine. I’ll go put my shirt on and return your jacket.”

  “Don’t rush on my account. It looks much nicer on you.”

  She flushed but there was nothing threatening in his voice, just a simple statement, maybe even a compliment. He smiled, not even looking at her chest, and slowly her fingers uncurled.

  A truck roared outside, a door slammed, and they both turned. Seconds later, a bright blond head appeared in the aisle. Stephanie, but not dressed to ride. Tonight she wore black jeans and a scooped purple shirt that clung to her curves. She definitely wasn’t shy about showing cleavage.

  “Here’re your keys, Dino.” She tossed him a rattling key chain. “Looks like Lyric was lucky. We saw her tracks all over the median.” She raised an amused eyebrow at Becky’s clothes. “Guess Lyric wasn’t the only one who got lucky.”

  “Actually Becky used her shirt to catch Lyric,” Dino said. “And she may be working herself into a new job if my current staff can’t keep the horses safe.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry.” Stephanie’s smile faded. “I don’t think I left Lyric’s door unlatched, but I was in her stall. I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Sorry doesn’t help. There’ll be a staff meeting, Wednesday at two. You’ll also be seeing Becky around mor
e often. Martha isn’t well enough to watch the gallops, even on the training track, so she’s taking Martha’s place.”

  “I see.” Stephanie shot Becky another curious glance. “Are you coming down here tomorrow? I’m galloping five, including Hunter.”

  “No,” Becky said, “I’ll be at Lone Star tomorrow.”

  “So Martha’s real sick?” Stephanie tilted her head, eyes troubled.

  “Her heart is weak,” Becky admitted, “but she wants to keep the horses racing. Finish what Malcolm started.”

  “You could take a camera,” Stephanie said. “Show her video and stuff so she feels closer to the action. That might help.” She nodded at Becky’s grateful smile then turned to Dino. “I’ll wait for you at your place. You won’t be long, will you?”

  “No, Slim can drive Becky home. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Becky’s smile slipped a notch, and she scratched Lyric’s neck. She hadn’t expected Dino to drive her home. It had already been a wonderful evening, and he deserved the company of a gorgeous lady like Stephanie.

  However some of the magic faded from the night, and she was relieved only Lyric could see her forlorn face.

  Chapter Seven

  The screech of whinnying horses blasted through Becky’s bedroom, yanking her from a deep sleep. She groaned, jamming a pillow over her head.

  Martha thought it fitting that Becky use Malcolm’s shockingly loud alarm clock. “It gives the proper start to an exciting horse day,” she’d said. But the shrill horse calls were more jarring than any buzzer, and it didn’t feel like a good way to start any sort of day.

  Becky stumbled from the bed, found the relentless clock and flipped the switch. Five-thirty. Dino wanted her at the track by seven. Time for a quick shower and a check of the nurses’ rotation. She’d munch an apple in the car.

  Thirty minutes later and freshly woken by the shower, she poked her head in Martha’s bedroom. A sleepy-eyed nurse padded to the door. “Don’t worry,” the nurse whispered. “Deb is on days this month. Mrs. Conrad will be fine.”

  Becky nodded in relief. Deb was one of Martha’s favorites—or at least one she tolerated with minimal criticism. She backed from the bedroom, grabbed her camera and some fruit, and slipped into the Mercedes.

  The drive was mainly interstate, and she reached Lone Star in forty minutes, following directions already programmed into the GPS. The sharp-eyed guard in the security booth checked the owner’s tag dangling from the mirror and moments later she crunched onto the graveled lot of the backside.

  So far, so good. She cracked open the car door, her confidence stalling as she peered through the misty dawn. Rows of barns extended in orderly lines and a string of horses pranced along a walkway. A man with wet jeans led a dripping horse in circles. A boy whizzed past on a rusty bike, headset clamped to his ears and singing fearlessly.

  People and horses bustled in all directions. Even the animals seemed to know where they were going. She sucked in a resolute breath and grabbed her jacket, forcing herself to leave the cocoon of the car. Spring mornings were cool so she had an excuse to bundle up. She zipped the jacket to her neck.

  Mud squelched as she edged along the row of barns, checking the numbers posted at the end of each door. Two, five, six—at least she was going the right way. A horse and rider trotted past. She stepped back, unsure if the rider was too busy to give directions.

  “Buenos dias,” someone called and she jerked sideways but they weren’t talking to her. In fact, no one seemed concerned with her presence. Slowly the tightness in her shoulders eased.

  A man in a cowboy hat sauntered past with a steaming coffee and a friendly smile.

  “Can you point me in the direction of barn sixteen?” she asked, staring wistfully at his coffee.

  “Dino Anders’ barn? Sure.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Four down on your right. The one with the big green hammock.”

  “Thank you,” she said, continuing in the direction of his thumb jab and wondering where he had bought that big coffee.

  And there it was. Barn sixteen. Two horses circled on a mechanical contraption with protruding arms. A groom led another horse around a ring of sawdust. Bright flowerpots hung from hooks on the side of the barn, and an orange clothesline sagged with wet bandages. A wide hammock stretched invitingly between two trees. No sign of Dino.

  She slowed, not sure now where to go. But at that instant, Dino stepped outside, looking like an old friend in a strange land, and her heart thumped with relief.

  “Hi, Becky. Ten to seven. You’re on time.” He smiled with approval. “We’ve got five of Martha’s ready now so we can walk over to the gap.”

  “What’s the gap?” she asked, trying not to gawk, but his denim shirt clung to his broad shoulders and she didn’t want to look too closely at his lean hips, at the thick leather belt and rugged buckle. My God, he was sexy. It was surprising the girls here managed to do any work.

  “The gap is where the horses go on the track,” he said. “This way.”

  He’d already turned and headed along the road so she rushed after him. His stride was long, and he didn’t seem inclined to slow but his very purposefulness put her at ease. She was huffing when they reached the track. It was a lot of walking to watch a bunch of horses gallop.

  She glanced across the infield. From this side the clubhouse looked tiny, but the horses and people seemed bigger, more real. Like she’d slipped through a secret door and now peered through the back of a mirror.

  Horses pranced through a gap onto the oval and she was close enough to reach out and touch each gleaming coat. Emotions were palpable—the focus of the riders, the optimism as each handler released their horse, the concentration of the trainers. Several people lounged at the rail, many empty-handed but some with notebooks and cameras. The air on this side was even different, and the primal smell zapped her with bone-deep excitement.

  “Wow,” she breathed, sucking it all in.

  Dino glanced down. His eyes were shaded by his cowboy hat, but his smile was slow and understanding. Then he turned to his horses.

  He called out a change of instructions and she watched, transfixed, as fearless riders guided their charges around the oval. Some horses squealed and bucked when they first entered the track. Others trotted off in workmanlike fashion, and another tossed his head up and down as though his mouth hurt. Each horse acted differently, wrapped in their own personality. She was so enthralled she forgot her own nervousness, forgot her numbing attraction to Dino, forgot even to ask which horses were Martha’s.

  “That’s one of ours coming now,” Dino said. “I’m trying to teach him to run straight. He’s green and lugged out his last start.”

  The rider flagged the horse’s outside eye with his stick—it seemed the colt was running straight as an arrow. She turned and looked at Dino. “That looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

  “Not bad,” he said with a smile. “Now watch the chestnut. She’s been sticky about switching leads. Cost her a win last month.”

  Becky leaned over the rail, studying the chestnut and the beautiful symmetry of her slim legs. She hadn’t realized race riders worried about which leg was leading, but obviously horses stayed balanced and would run more efficiently if they could change leads on cue. “How does the jockey get a lead change?” she asked.

  “Weight shift,” Dino said. “Or sometimes a tap on the shoulder.”

  And there it was. The chestnut switched leads and ran the turn like a train, like a big, unstoppable express train. “This seems like a very good training day.” She tilted her head, smiling impulsively at Dino, unable to curb her enthusiasm.

  “Yeah, this is a pretty good day. But you never know with horses. Sometimes they regress. Hunter had been scorching around the track. I was positive he’d win Sunday.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Want to go the kitchen and grab breakfast?”

  “Definitely,” she said quickly. She hadn’t realized there was a restaurant on the bac
kside, but it was a sure bet they served something tastier than green tea and apples. Must have been where that man had bought his coffee. This day was getting better and better.

  They walked along the gravel road, past lines of sweaty horses and smiling grooms. Several people called out Spanish greetings, and it was clear Dino was well liked and not just by women. She swerved to avoid a puddle, and he casually looped his arm around her waist and steered her onto dry ground.

  “Watch your step,” he said, keeping his hand on her hip.

  She stared straight ahead, trying to act casual, trying to ignore the heat of his fingers but was so acutely aware of his touch she could barely breathe. And then they passed the puddle and he lowered his arm, and she really wished he had driven her home last night.

  “Did you get up early and drive in?” she asked, thinking of Stephanie.

  “Yeah. Usually when I train at Lone Star, I stay in my apartment, but there’s been a lot of upheaval since Malcolm died. Slim and I are still working things out. That’s the kitchen.”

  He gestured at a square building with a long walkway. Luxury cars and dented trucks were crammed, side-by-side, in a small parking lot. Dino opened the door, and she stepped past him into a room bursting with Stetsons, conversation and a sizzling grill.

  A dark-haired lady with a purple riding vest paused by the door. “It’s Monty’s birthday tonight. You coming by the bar?” She shot Becky a curious glance.

  “Yeah, Angie, I’ll be there.” Dino barely paused as he scooped up a tip sheet and angled into the food lineup. “What would you like?” he asked Becky.

  “Coffee, scrambled eggs and bacon, white toast, please.” She fumbled for her money, trying not to stare as Angie swung the door shut. The woman was gorgeous with a graceful neck and exotic eyes. If she were a foot taller, she’d be a candidate for a super model.

  Dino’s warm fingers covered her hand. “Put your money away. I’ve got it,” he said, his attention on a comment in the tip sheet. “Code Hunter throws a clunker that’s typical of stable,” he recited. He crumpled the sheet and tossed it into a waste bin. “Christ, don’t let Martha see that,” he added, still scowling. “Where will you be for Saturday’s race?”