Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3)

by Bev Pettersen

  “Then we should go faster,” Becky said.

  “Okay.” He grinned. “You want to race Hank and I up that hill? Winner gets first pick of the granola bars.”

  “Do you have any with chocolate?”

  “One chocolate and one with oats and bran,” he said, not wanting to admit he’d stopped at three gas stations looking for chocolate.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is Hank a racehorse or a pony horse?”

  Her competitive instincts made him grin. “Hank raced a long time ago but only in cheap claimers. Now he just escorts other horses. A horse like Lyric should have no problem beating him.”

  “All right, let’s race.”

  She grinned and charged off, trying to sneak a head start. Hank immediately leaped forward, but Dino checked him, making sure Lyric had a good lead. He didn’t want Becky galloping too fast—it was clear she wanted to win. The girl was as competitive as any jockey. She just didn’t know it.

  Hank pulled at the bit, protesting Dino’s hold, but the gelding was used to restraint and soon settled into a slow gallop, still ten feet behind Lyric as they topped the hill. Becky wasn’t a race rider and he could have passed her any time. But when he saw her sparkling face, he was glad he’d let her win. She turned Lyric in a triumphant lap, her cheeks flushed with victory.

  “We won!” she called. “Now let’s see those bars.” She scoffed at the first one he held up. “That looks like the health bars Martha eats. Lyric might like it though.”

  The second granola bar made her smile, and he flipped it to her. “The chocolate is a little melted, but it should be okay. You can have a beer back at my place and wash away the crumbs.” He didn’t know where his impulsive invitation came from—he had plenty of work to do back at Lone Star—but when she tugged at her lower lip, it was clear she was gathering some sort of excuse. “I want to enter Echo in an allowance race next weekend,” he added quickly. “We can check the condition book.”

  She tilted her head, still tugging at her lip. “But Martha said Echo was one of her best horses. Doesn’t that mean she should run in stakes races?”

  “Generally, but the Lone Star meet closes in two weeks. She needs a race now, and this is the only distance that fits.”

  He didn’t know why she looked so skeptical. Malcolm would have understood. It was hard dealing with absentee owners, but his win percentage hovered at nineteen percent and he needed to push it to twenty if he were going to earn his end-of-meet bonus. And, of course, Echo did need the race. Frowning, he adjusted his hat. “Are you sure Martha won’t meet with me and go over some of these details?”

  “Positive. She’s not supposed to have any stress. All she said was to keep you and Slim happy and not let either of you quit.”

  Her glum sigh improved his mood. She was trying hard, learning fast and had helped with Slim. “I see,” he said. “Well, it would make me happy if you’d join me for a beer, but I won’t quit if you don’t.”

  “You aren’t annoyed about Stephanie? Now that she’s…out of bounds?” Her voice trailed off as though embarrassed, but she was adjusting her reins and it was hard to see her face.

  “Stephanie already was out of bounds,” he said dryly. “She has a boyfriend. Someone she referred to as having potential for permanence.”

  Becky lifted her head, her eyes curious. “But isn’t that what everyone wants? Permanence? Someone to love?”

  “God, no.” His legs tightened involuntarily, causing Hank to skitter sideways. “And love isn’t permanent. Not like land. Not like this.” He gestured at the estate below, much bigger than his tiny ranch, but he’d ridden up here with Malcolm and it was impossible not to share the man’s pride of ownership. The blue lake, white fences and immaculate buildings were all connected by a network of roads that led to the top-notch training oval. The first thing he’d do once he bought back his ranch would be to install a training surface with similar footing as Conrad’s.

  A white van spit dust as it headed past the lake, jarring him from his reverie and onto more pressing problems. “Looks like Martha’s surveyors are back,” he said.

  “What surveyors?”

  “Guy said he was surveying for a golf course. Martha didn’t say anything?” He studied Becky’s face, but she looked genuinely bewildered. And since Martha told Becky everything… he twisted in the saddle, eyes narrowing as he studied the vehicle. “After we put the horses away, we’re going to drive over and ask who signed that work order. Then I’m going to coax you into joining me for a beer.”

  “Thanks for the invitation, but it’s way too early to start drinking.”

  “Not for me,” he said.

  ***

  Becky relaxed in the oversized chair, watching as Dino filled her glass with another cold beer. “That will be my last,” she said regretfully. “Martha wakes from her nap at three.”

  He checked the kitchen clock. “Then you have another two hours.”

  “I can’t show up drunk.”

  He cocked an amused eyebrow. “Are you drunk?”

  “No, not really. Just relaxed.” She stretched her legs on the footstool and glanced out the window of his guesthouse. White rails followed the dark oval and the infield resembled a sea of green just beginning to brown beneath the scorching sun. It looked much like Lone Star except it lacked a grandstand. And, of course, it was completely private. “This is really nice. You can watch the horses gallop without even going outside.”

  “Malcolm used to do that,” Dino admitted. “He’d often sit in this room. No one would even know he was watching. A very shrewd man.”

  Becky cradled her beer glass, wondering if Dino was also very shrewd. She wanted to ask about his contract, but Slim had made it sound dirty. Still, it seemed simple enough to ask about the bonus terms. Dino was always open, always forthright, but maybe the beer gave her false courage.

  Besides, Martha had asked her to sort Malcolm’s papers, so it might be easier to wait and check Dino’s contract on her own. Slim’s accusations were probably just the spiteful ramblings of a disgruntled employee. On the other hand, Slim had said Dino would scratch and then enter Echo in an easier race—and that’s exactly what he’d done.

  She set down her beer, suddenly uneasy. “May I use your bathroom, please?”

  “Down the hall.” Dino gestured over his shoulder. “Second door on the right.”

  The bathroom was amazingly clean with fluffy oversized towels, a spotless mirror that she tried to avoid looking at, and four kinds of body lotion. She debated between peppermint hand lotion and aloe. Went with the peppermint and left the bathroom, still rubbing her hands as she sucked in the minty smell.

  “Nice bathroom,” she said. “Spotless. And you’ve got some real girly stuff in there.” She couldn’t stop her teasing grin as she settled back into the chair.

  “That stuff was left a while ago.” He shrugged. “And someone comes and cleans the place once a week. Slim’s guesthouse is the same but his view is of the barn, not the track. He likes to keep an eye on the driveway entrance.”

  Her grin flattened at his casual reference to old girlfriends, but she worked for Martha and she was supposed to do her job, not brood over a relationship-challenged trainer. She shoved her thoughts back on track. “If Slim had been home, he would have questioned those surveyors,” she said. “They probably drove past his house.”

  Instead the van had vanished by the time they unsaddled. She intended to ask Martha if she’d ordered any survey work. Both Dino and Slim clearly suspected the estate was going on the block, although it seemed more likely that roads were being widened, and Martha had simply forgotten to mention it.

  She scooped up the Lone Star condition book. “So Echo will run in the allowance race next Friday?”

  “What I recommend,” Dino said.

  “Is that the best thing? For the horse and for Martha?”

  “Absolutely. But this time I’m going to haul Echo myself. I’ll stay here Thursday night. You and Slim can
travel with me.”

  Becky blew out a sigh, imagining Slim’s resentment when she announced Dino was taking over all the trailoring, not just for Hunter.

  He reached over and gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Slim. He’s not being rude to my riding buddy, is he?”

  His empathy made her breath stall. Or maybe it was his touch which somehow sizzled through the fabric of her jeans, heating her skin and affecting her breathing. But when his eyes settled on her mouth, anticipation rolled over her in waves. This man oozed pheromones.

  “Is he?” Dino repeated.

  “No.” The word came out in a croak. She doubted he even heard, but she didn’t want to shake her head and risk jostling his warm hand from her knee. “No,” she repeated, with only a slight quaver. “Everything’s fine.”

  He lifted his hand, and her breathing returned to normal. “Good,” he said. “Then I’ll meet with Slim tomorrow morning and see you both on Thursday night. Want to go for dinner later?”

  His touch must have wrecked her hearing because she thought he’d just asked her out. She stared at him, certain he must hear the erratic hammering of her heart.

  “Maybe Martha would like to come too,” he added.

  Her heart steadied. Clearly he was looking for a chance to talk with Martha and gain advantage in his skirmish with Slim.

  “Actually we’re both busy tonight.” She forced a gay note in her voice. “Ted’s coming for dinner. It’s been planned for a week, and Martha can’t avoid him any longer. So that’s what we’re doing tonight, Ted, Martha, me…” She was babbling and clamped her mouth shut, but he’d already risen and was gathering the beer cans.

  “No problem,” he said. “Another time.”

  Clearly no problem for him. It wouldn’t take him more than two minutes to find another date. But as she walked to the door, she couldn’t help but wish she was free, that she was the lucky one joining him for dinner.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Becky tiptoed into the darkened room. “Is Martha still napping?” she whispered to the duty nurse.

  Deb closed her paperback, her expression solemn. “Yes. The naps are getting longer. She didn’t eat much lunch either. Couple spoonfuls of soup. Her nephew called and wanted to meet alone tonight, but Martha insisted you be there. They were on the phone awhile. I think the conversation sapped her strength.”

  Becky’s guilt surged. Since leaving the guesthouse, she’d been praying Martha wouldn’t want her at the family meeting so she’d be free for dinner with Dino. But it was clear Martha needed her now more than ever.

  She couldn’t let Ted bully his aunt. There was no reason Martha shouldn’t remain in her home, if that was her wish. The horses pricked her interest and fulfilling Malcolm’s dream was a reason to live. It was thoughtless of Ted to rip that away. She glanced at Martha, whose still form looked vulnerably small in the big bed. Martha had an imperious aura when awake, but asleep she looked almost wasted.

  “Call me on my cell when she wakes,” Becky whispered as she gathered Lyric’s errant pictures. “I’ll be in Malcolm’s office filing race photos.”

  She eased from the room, back down the long hall and pushed open the heavy door to Malcolm’s study. Paused for a moment, feeling like an intruder. The masculine desk and austere mahogany panels were overpowering, but on the far side of his desk a display of horse pictures decorated the walls, drawing her like a magnet.

  Faces beamed from the winner’s circle, chronicling Malcolm’s passion for racing. Martha was in every picture, but a more robust version, with rosy cheeks and upright shoulders. The caliber of races won increased over the twenty-year period and while most of the pictures on the left side of the office were claiming or allowance, the races above Malcolm’s desk were all stakes. Even the frames were more opulent.

  She edged closer. Several pictures included people she’d seen at Martha’s skybox as well as a relaxed Slim. He held a dark gray horse with a black mane and tail, but the mare’s elegant head was unmistakable. The jockey perched on Lyric’s back smiled at the camera. ‘Jill Barrett and Lyric’s Gamble’ the caption read.

  Becky studied the vibrant young jockey, a girl capable of guiding a twelve-hundred pound horse at blistering speed. There was little resemblance between the jockey and the pasty-faced woman she’d spotted in Slim’s creased picture. No wonder the man was miserable.

  She checked the date. This was probably the last race Jill and Lyric had ever won. The mare had been retired three years ago, just before Becky had come to work for Martha, although there had obviously been one more race—the fateful one that had destroyed Jill’s life and sent Lyric into retirement.

  A shiver chilled her neck, and she jerked away from the wall. She’d never considered the possibility of accidents but remembered the grim ambulance that followed the riders during each race. Clearly those safety precautions weren’t just for show.

  She moved to the files, determined to replace Lyric’s photos and escape this melancholy room. Martha had said the horse files were kept in the second cabinet, and she pulled open the sliding drawer, relieved to find everything neatly organized. Each horse had a file bulging with bloodline details. Cryptic scrawls in the margins noted weaknesses and strengths, along with comments such as ‘more endurance,’ ‘better bone,’ ‘too fragile.’

  She scanned the notes, interested in spite of her intention to leave. She hadn’t realized the breeding business was this complicated or that the family tree was so thoroughly examined. Not only the horse’s race record but entire generations were analyzed, along with conformation and attitude. In one instant, Malcolm had banned a stakes-winning mare from the breeding shed because she was prone to stumble.

  Understandable. Becky remembered her own fear when Lyric had tripped. Brave, foolhardy jockeys. It would be horrible to go down with a herd of thundering horses hot on your heels.

  Like Jill.

  She shook her head and flipped through the folders, hunting for Lyric’s file. Checked the names again but found nothing. Maybe retired horses were kept in a different section? But the next cabinet only contained books on equine herbs and vitamins. Nothing about Lyric. Martha had said there was a complete file, packed with pictures and race clippings.

  Reluctantly she moved to Malcolm’s imposing desk and tugged on the top drawer. It rolled open, revealing an assortment of pens and paperclips, a wrinkled race program and a bag of white peppermints. He’d probably filled his pockets before he drove to the barn. She shoved the heavy drawer shut on a wave of sadness.

  The second drawer contained only invoices, all marked ‘paid’ and initialed JEM. Must be the housekeeper, Jocelyn, who looked after the accounts. Becky shuffled through the papers, even kneeling on the floor and peering behind the drawer, wondering if Lyric’s file was stuck in the back.

  “What are you doing?”

  Becky jumped, slamming her elbow against the desk, startled by the disapproving lady planted in the doorway. “Hi, Jocelyn,” she said. “Martha wanted me to replace some horse pictures. I’m trying to find the file.”

  The housekeeper swung the door open and stalked into the office. “As far as I know, all the horse folders are in the shelves. There may be something in the bottom desk drawer but that’s always locked.” Disapproval swept her long face. “Martha never gave me the key.”

  Becky tugged at the brass handle, but the lower drawer didn’t budge. “Guess I’ll get the key and come back.”

  “If you remove anything, note it on the sheet. Ted asked that nothing be taken unless it’s signed out.”

  Becky’s hands curved with resentment. “That’s rather presumptuous.”

  “No, it’s good he’s looking after things.” Jocelyn’s mouth tightened. “He’s Martha’s only relative and with her moving to a retirement home, someone has to take charge.”

  “But Martha hasn’t decided that yet, and she has excellent care here. Who said she was moving soon?”

  “It o
nly makes sense. Don’t be so selfish.” Jocelyn tilted her head, appraising her for a moment before turning and sweeping from the room.

  Becky sank into the soft leather chair. Maybe she was being selfish, and Martha would be happier with more chances to socialize. Where she’d be with people her own age, people she could watch television with and sip sweet tea. Perhaps enjoy a game of cards or even Bingo.

  No. Becky shuddered at the thought. Martha would hate it. She was a bit of a snob and preferred to choose her own company. Liked to be queen of the manor, someone who could dispense favors, not receive them. Lately she was happiest talking about Malcolm’s horses or simply watching the animals in the fields. No nursing home, however luxurious, could provide that.

  Her cell buzzed, and she flipped it open.

  “Martha’s awake now.” Deb’s voice sounded strained. “And she wants you.”

  Becky scrambled from Malcolm’s chair. “I’ll be there in two minutes.” She grabbed Lyric’s pictures, closed the office door and rushed through the foyer, down the hall and into Martha’s bedroom.

  “About time.” Martha twisted in her chair. “I’ve been waiting for ages. And I need my hair fixed for dinner.” Her frown deepened. “Exactly when are you going to get a proper cut? What’s the sense of new clothes if you don’t show your face?”

  Becky nodded at Deb who smiled with relief and eased from the room. “I’ve had my hair like this since I was thirteen,” Becky said.

  “Obviously,” Martha said, still glaring at Becky’s offending hair. “Don’t you remember that Ted’s coming?”

  “Of course. I heard he called earlier.”

  “He seems to think you’ve developed too much sass so your presence at dinner isn’t necessary. But I insisted you be there.” Martha’s lips pursed. “I do enjoy teasing that boy.”

  “He’s not really a boy,” Becky said. “He must be at least fifty.”

  “All men are boys until they get married. Women help them mature. Poor Ted was never interested in anything but making money, although Malcolm said he’s a complete failure at that.”