Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3)

by Bev Pettersen

  “He was napping. Jocelyn let me in the back door.” Ted shrugged, eying the narrow ledge by Lyric’s bucket. “Had to do it that way. He was a tough man. He wouldn’t have gone easy.”

  No, he wouldn’t. And neither would she.

  She slipped her hand in her pocket, fingering the knife Stephanie had given her, the tiny jackknife barely sharp enough to cut mane. It was so little. Ted was so tall. She stifled a sob, knowing there’d only be one chance, knowing she was fighting for her life—for Martha’s life.

  She backed against Lyric’s flank, trying to control her trembles. Felt cold, awkward. It was hard to imagine fighting when she could barely stand. Lyric flattened her ears, and her breath leaked out in a ragged groan. The cranky horse beside her wasn’t any help.

  She slid the knife from her pocket, opening it with stiff fingers, trying not to fumble, trying to control her terror as Ted balanced the needle on the ledge.

  It’s not wide enough. The needle will fall in the straw. Please, God, make it fall. I don’t want to die. I haven’t apologized to Dino yet.

  But the needle didn’t fall.

  He turned to her, eyes grim. She rushed around Lyric’s rump, past the mare’s irritated tail swish, racing for the door. He lunged like a snake, his cruel fingers biting her arm.

  She stuck him with her knife.

  “Bitch!” He stepped back against the wall, staring at the prick of red on his hand.

  Lyric’s ears shot forward, eyeing the open door. Becky’s hope flared. She’d vaulted on Lyric’s back once before. Maybe, just maybe, she could do it again.

  Gulping for air, she charged forward, grabbed mane and tried to scramble onto the mare’s back. Nearly made it but her right leg couldn’t quite swing over. Shit. She wasn’t going to make it. Lyric was simply too big.

  God, please.

  She clung to Lyric’s side, consumed with despair. For her, for Martha, for Dino, her legs thumping futilely against the mare’s flank.

  Ted chuckled.

  Thump! Lyric kicked out with both feet, cutting off his laugh. Her abrupt kick thrust Becky forward and onto her neck. She hesitated, giving Becky time to straddle her back then bolted through the open door.

  Lyric’s hooves clacked as she charged down the aisle, past wide-eyed horses staring from their stalls. She slipped once on the concrete, but gamely kept her feet. And then crisp night air slammed Becky’s face.

  Lyric swerved, heading toward the dark field. Becky squealed and slid sideways. She grabbed another hunk of blowing mane, not daring to look back. She couldn’t fall off. Ted would be following, would hear the hooves and know their direction.

  But Lyric’s back was slippery—she bit back another cry as the mare leaped a ditch and then she simply blanked her mind and concentrated on riding.

  Slowly she adapted to the horse’s rhythm and Lyric’s gallop didn’t feel quite so frenzied, or the night so black. Maybe her eyes were accustomed to the dark. Please stay dark. Please, so he can’t see us. But they were in an open field. Lyric was a beacon of white and already her arms and legs ached. If Lyric bucked or shied, she’d be on the ground. A sitting target.

  “Good girl,” she muttered, but wind pushed the words in her face. If Lyric would run up the hill, they could hide in the trees. And it would be easier to stay on going up the hill. Yes, they could do that. She stared at the dark ridge, willing Lyric to gallop in that direction.

  But Lyric, ever perverse, veered to the right. Toward open ground and the rocky river. Oh, God, she’d never stay on over rough ground.

  “No,” she pleaded.

  A vehicle roared behind her, and she whimpered in panic. She had to get the horse to change direction. She unwrapped a hand from her death grip on the mane and flashed it past Lyric’s right eye, trying to flag her to the left. But Becky’s balance was too precarious, and she slipped and had to grab mane again.

  All right then. She set her jaw, staring through Lyric’s pointed ears. Her only chance was to stay on the horse and make it past the river. Dino had said the riverbed was rocky. If it were too rough for a horse, surely it would be impassable for Ted’s car?

  We’ll be okay, she thought, drawing comfort from the powerful horse beneath her. At least a renegade like Lyric wouldn’t swing back to the barn. She actually seemed to be enjoying this unorthodox gallop. Her stride had steadied too, making it easier to balance, although Becky had no illusions about her riding ability. If the mare stumbled…

  But Lyric wasn’t going to stumble. She blocked any more thought of tripping, desperate to believe. Lyric hadn’t faltered once since that slip in the aisle. She even seemed to be taking special care, and they were almost to the river. Almost safe.

  Headlights cut the night, slashing the ground in front of them. She whimpered with fresh fear. Lyric’s stride shortened, jerking her forward, and Becky’s face smashed against the top of the horse’s head. Pain ripped through her nose, and her breathing turned ragged.

  They hit the rocky riverbed with a clatter of hooves. The water sprayed, numbingly cold. She slipped sideways but clung to Lyric’s mane, desperately wrapping her legs around the mare’s wet barrel. Lyric scrambled over a rock, leaped from the river to the opposite shore.

  Becky’s fragile grip snapped. She slammed into rock-hard ground.

  Impossible to breathe. Her chest was on fire, mouth open, throat banded tight. Someone whimpered and she realized it was her. Then her breath returned in quick, aching gasps.

  Oh, Christ. The engine had stopped, too close, lights blinding. She tried to crawl but there were no trees. Nowhere to go. She pressed into the grass, praying Ted wouldn’t see her.

  He was running. Feet pounded as he moved closer. Splash! Must be crossing the water now. Moving fast, very fast. She groped frantically for a rock but her nails only dug into dirt. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. Or maybe she could blind him and then scratch his face. Do enough, at least, that Martha would suspect.

  Warm breath snuffled against the back of her neck and she flinched. Shit. Lyric! White Lyric, marking her spot.

  Becky muffled her frustrated sob as Lyric’s muzzle pressed against her neck. Damn, crazy mare. Of all the nights for Lyric to demonstrate loyalty.

  “Becky!”

  Dino? Oh, God, it was Dino. Relief slammed her and she slumped against the ground, limp as a noodle. His frantic hands were on her. But he cursed and let go way too soon.

  “Easy, Lyric,” he said. “It’s okay.”

  Typical, he was already checking the mare. But that was good. She could wait. Besides, Lyric deserved it. She swiped her nose, trying to see Dino, trying to see past Lyric’s white bulk, but the mare wouldn’t stand still.

  “You okay, Becky?”

  “Fine.” But her voice cracked and she wanted him close. He’d dropped his arms so fast, almost as though he couldn’t stand her touch. Clearly he hadn’t forgiven her for the unfair accusations. She propped herself up on a painful elbow. “I’m so sorry about what I said. The things I thought. Martha told me about your idea for a rehab center.”

  She swiped at her nose again but couldn’t see through the gloom. He seemed to be on the opposite side of Lyric but wasn’t speaking. At least he’d come. But maybe he didn’t even know about Ted? Maybe Ted was out there now, watching, sneaking around with that horrible needle. She twisted, frantically scanning the darkness.

  “We have to look out for T-Ted. And Jocelyn. He tried to kill me. The way they k-killed Malcolm.” She thought she was calm, but her voice shook and she crossed her arms, trying to control her shivers. “It was scary.”

  But Dino didn’t move any closer, just continued circling on the other side of Lyric. Didn’t rush to offer comfort. Even though she’d almost been killed.

  She hiccupped, drawing her arms tighter around her chest while her breath leaked in a sob. “Lyric’s fine. She helped me get away. I think she kicked Ted.”

  Becky stared at the shuffling pair. Dino didn’t usually take that long to che
ck a horse. Clearly, he wasn’t going to help her stand. All right then. She’d do it herself. She cautiously stretched her arms, her legs.

  “Don’t move!” His voice was strangely hoarse.

  He did sound worried, and she knew she shouldn’t be jealous over a horse. He would always have his priorities, but she accepted that. She loved him anyway. “Lyric galloped over the rocks pretty fast but didn’t stumble once,” she said with a burst of pride. “She really helped me, even though it was by accident. I fell off on my own.”

  Dino grunted. She pushed herself to one knee, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. Even if he no longer cared, it would be nice if he’d wrap her in his arms, let her absorb some of his wonderful warmth. Maybe even lend his jacket. She peered hopefully through the gloom, trying to see if he even wore a jacket, but he remained on the other side of Lyric, even though they’d now shuffled a complete circle.

  It seemed like ages since he’d driven up, yet he still hadn’t bothered to come close. She thought he’d be a teensy bit worried, especially since he’d filled his bathroom with her shampoo. It had to mean he liked her a little. And she’d almost been killed. The memory of Ted’s expression as he held the syringe tore a sob from her throat. She struggled to her feet, glanced over her shoulder, unable to control her convulsive shivers.

  “Wait, Becky! Don’t move. ”

  “I’m okay. Just c-cold.”

  “Goddammit, Lyric! I’m not going to hurt her.” Dino’s voice thickened with frustration and an emotion Becky couldn’t place.

  She balanced on shaky legs and understanding dawned. Lyric was keeping Dino away, ears flattened as she circled protectively around her fallen rider. “Wow,” she whispered. “That is very cool.”

  “Maybe try walking toward me, honey. She already bit me twice.”

  “She bit you?” Becky couldn’t flatten her smile. She’d seen mares protect their foals but had never expected behavior like this. Not from Lyric, not from the horse everyone called a bitch.

  “Control your horse please, honey.” Dino’s voice thickened with frustration.

  Still stunned, she grabbed a handful of grass and clucked. Lyric swung around, snatched the grass from her hand, and finally Dino’s warm arms wrapped around her. She could feel his pounding heart, inhale his smell—savor his cocoon of warmness. Oh God, she really was safe.

  His sure hands moved over her, calmly, gently, in stark contrast to his rough voice. “Did that fucker hurt you?”

  “No, we got away in time.” She jerked in horror. “But we have to hurry. He might go after Martha. And Jocelyn is helping him.”

  “I know, honey. They’re not going anywhere. I had my…moment with him. He said you stabbed him and a horse broke his ribs.” Dino’s voice hardened as he inspected his knuckles. “He was quite cooperative when I finished. The police are picking them up.”

  “He had a needle—”

  “I know. Jocelyn said you wanted to meet me at the hospital. But I checked the nanny cam. Figured he’d been paying Slim. Came as fast as I could.”

  “He’s crazy. He killed Malcolm.” Shivering, she buried her head in Dino’s shirt. God, he felt so warm. She never wanted to move, ever.

  “Don’t know how you got away—” His voice caught. “But thank God you did. Jesus, honey.” He dipped his head in her hair, his arms so tight they hurt.

  “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again,” she whispered. “Wouldn’t have a chance to apologize. I heard what you did for Slim. For Jill. And I’m sorry you won’t get your ranch back. You’re not selfish at all. I was just telling myself that so I wouldn’t love you.”

  His big body stiffened as he studied her face. “And how did that work?” he drawled, his lazy voice at odds with the tension in his arms.

  “Not very well,” she admitted.

  His smile started in his eyes then swept across his face and then she couldn’t see any more because his mouth covered hers, kissing her like she’d never been kissed before, spilling out his emotion, his heart, his soul. He finally raised his head a notch. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

  Joy sputtered through her chest. She could only stare as emotion clogged her throat.

  “And I intend to spend a lifetime proving it,” he added, his voice husky. “Of course, I realize I’ll have to share you with two others, but that’s all right.”

  She tilted her head, studying his face, stripped of words. Martha and Dino were more than enough for any woman, and it was hard to comprehend this wonderful gift of love. A home, two people to love, so much more than she’d ever dreamed. More than she deserved. But share with two others?

  Warm breath tickled the back of her neck, and she glanced over her shoulder. Understood then, the reason for his wry chuckle. Despite being free, Lyric hadn’t wandered. Hadn’t even tried to graze. She remained less than a foot away, a white sentry in the night, eyes wide and luminous as she watched over Becky.

  ***

  Read Chapter One of BEV PETTERSEN’s next novel.

  THOROUGHBREDS AND TRAILER TRASH

  It wasn’t really stealing. But Jenna fought a stab of guilt as she grabbed a bag of vitamins along with some horse dewormer. Wally had given permission—and a tiny pony didn’t need much—but her compensation package was growing increasingly murky.

  Her phone buzzed, a familiar Philadelphia number, and she silenced her conscience, loaded the precious supplements into her backpack and flipped open the phone. “Hi, Em,” she said. “How are classes?”

  “Great,” Emily said. “Other than biology, the spring semester should be a cinch. But I need more money. When are you getting paid?”

  “Today, I hope.” Jenna kept her voice level, careful to hide her worry. “I’ll transfer it as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks, sis. How’s Peanut?”

  “His hair is still falling out but good vitamins help.” Jenna dropped a guilty glance on her backpack. “You should have seen him trot—”

  “That’s great. Give him a pat for me.” Laughter bubbled in the background and Emily’s words drifted. “Gotta go.”

  “Wait. When are you coming home?” But a harsh beep replaced her sister’s voice, and Jenna closed her phone with a sigh. Be nice if Em would visit some weekend, although college courses were understandably consuming.

  Wally Turner, manager of Three Brooks Equine Center, poked his balding head into the feed room, drawing back her attention. His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Take some of that hoof supplement too. Consider it Sunday’s pay. And drop by my office. You can pick up the rest of your overtime in cash.”

  She nodded with relief. Working for horse products was great, but with an ailing pony and Em away at school, cash was critical. “I’ll be right along,” she said. “This room is overdue for a cleaning.”

  “No worries. It’s another week before they take over.” But his smile looked strained, and it was clear he was worried. Little wonder. The Center had just gone through a messy buyout, and incoming owners had a history of ruthlessly culling management.

  She swept the concrete floor, dumped the spoiled grain and debris into an overflowing trash bin, then detoured to pick up her pay. Thank God for Wally.

  His door was closed when she arrived, his voice droning unintelligibly through the thin office wall. A shut door signaled stay out—Wally was anal about that—so she dropped her bulging pack on the floor and flexed her stiff shoulder.

  Other than a hang-up about privacy, Wally was generally easy-going and it would be no problem to leave work early, send Em the money and still have time to massage Peanut. Of course, that was assuming her shoulder held up. Massage was physical work, doubly hard since she was trying to learn a more traditional technique. She’d borrowed a new library book on equine therapy, but was stuck on page thirty-eight and so far hadn’t learned much. Her mom had taught her far more than anything ever printed in a book.

  The aisle door slammed and a workman stalked in, dented hard hat clamped under
his arm. The construction crew had been working non-stop, rushing to build a storage shed for the new owners, and occasionally they ducked into the air-conditioned Center to grab a drink from the pop machine. But this man didn’t stop for a drink.

  His stride was long and forceful. Metal-toed boots pounded the concrete then quieted on the rubber mats. Sweat-stained shirt, eyes as dark as his hair, and heading this way. She straightened, ready to defend her spot in line.

  “Wally Turner in there?” Impatience roughened his words, and he barely looked at her. A bit of a surprise. Men were usually a sucker for long legs and blond hair, and often just a smile was enough to extricate her from a tight spot. A smile wasn’t going to work with this man though. Clearly he liked to bulldoze.

  “Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “But I’m also waiting—”

  His scowl jerked from Wally’s door to her face, cutting off her words with the force of his displeasure. The female exercise riders had been detouring past the construction site all week, smiling and flirting with the crew, but it was doubtful they’d sent many jokes this guy’s way. There was something hard about him, the same ruthless element that had emanated from her father’s cellmates.

  He dismissed her as though inconsequential, the muscles in his arm bunching as he reached for the door. However, she was accustomed to fighting for every little scrap and had certainly faced tougher men.

  Lifting her chin, she squeezed between him and the door. “Sorry. You’ll have to wait your turn.”

  The scowl deepened as he loomed above her, his annoyance mixed with the smell of freshly cut lumber, something piney that was actually quite pleasant. She was tall but he was taller and for an instant she was distracted by his big workman’s body. Damn, she hated when that happened. She snapped her attention back to his face.

  He frowned for a moment then something lightened and his lip twitched, a tiny movement, almost imperceptible, but enough to crack that ruthless expression. “Of course.” He inclined his dark head and stepped back. “It wasn’t my intention to butt in.”