His smile turned wary, his intent gaze not leaving her face. “Hello, Megan.” He paused and passed her a program.
She automatically accepted it, hiding her confusion. He had another program in his hand so obviously he’d purchased two. Was he actually expecting to meet today?
“I can pick you up a Racing Form if you prefer,” he said.
“No, this is fine.” She stared down at the program. Her hands were shaking and she steadied them against the rail.
“There’s no need to worry anymore.” He cleared his throat. “The Federales raided the Baja Tinda two days ago. Hugo Torres is dead.”
She glanced up. Couldn’t remember his voice ever sounding so ragged. Lines fanned from his eyes and his strong jaw appeared even more chiseled.
“No need to worry anymore,” he repeated. “You’re safe.” He edged closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
She hated her shiver of awareness.
The three horse pranced by, newly saddled and awaiting his jockey. She had a program now. She could look up the horse’s name and race record. Perhaps he was even related to Rambo. But her mind was sluggish, still struggling to make sense of Scott’s presence.
He was here, and seemed glad to see her. He didn’t look at all remorseful. In fact, his expression was so shuttered she had no idea what he was thinking.
“Perhaps you should introduce us, Scott,” a feminine voice said.
Megan steeled her shoulders and politely turned toward his companion in the red suit. The lady was flamboyant, beautifully groomed, with a smiling mouth and an intricate gold necklace. She and Scott made an eye-catching couple.
Megan’s voice wasn’t quite steady but she made a valiant effort. “Hello,” she managed. “I’m Megan Spence.”
She glanced toward the turnstiles, desperate to escape. She’d been a fool to fall in love, to let herself believe he cared. She’d persuaded herself that Garrett’s death was the main problem. She’d misinterpreted Scott’s touch, that tender look in his eyes, the extra things he always did. This was embarrassing for them both.
And yet he remained cool and calm, just watching her with those hooded eyes, silent in the midst of all the noisy spectators.
“I’m Vanessa Grant,” the woman said, smoothing her immaculate hair and peeking at Scott. “I know you’re busy and Scott said this wouldn’t be the best time, but there’re a few things we need to discuss.”
Discuss? Megan willed her face to be as expressionless as Scott’s, but he was much better at it than her, and her lower lip quivered.
“Not now, Vanessa,” Scott said, and she could feel his gaze on her mouth.
“We just need details for the fall schedule,” Vanessa continued brightly. “Our memorial races are listed on the website. Since you’re both here—”
“Call my office,” Scott snapped.
Vanessa murmured something else but Megan could only concentrate on her breathing. In and out. She didn’t know what was going on, but the steel in Scott’s voice didn’t bode well for Vanessa.
“I apologize,” Scott said, his voice softening. “I thought it was a good idea. Maybe not. Perhaps you’d like something else?”
Megan glanced past him. Vanessa had turned and retreated toward the clubhouse, her flashy suit prominent against the more casually dressed race goers.
“Oh.” She swallowed, desperately wetting her throat. “Vanessa works here?”
“Marketing manager,” Scott said, his expression enigmatic. “I’d like to sponsor a memorial race for the fall meet.”
“I see.” She nodded, staring at the horses, wishing she’d remembered her sunglasses. He was much too good at reading emotions. She didn’t want him to spot her blinding spike of relief that the lovely and eager Vanessa wasn’t his date.
“So? What do you think?” He edged closer, dipping his head with the question.
His breath was warm against her neck, his familiar scent a cocoon. For a jumbled moment, she wanted to melt into his chest. Then she wanted to berate him and thank him and ask why he hadn’t called, and the barrage of emotions left her much too shaky to speak.
“We could have an apprentice race or a memorial race,” he went on. “Perhaps you and your Mom can decide? Or Eve too, if you like?”
“Okay,” she croaked, guessing her voice now sounded as gruff as his. But she’d assumed the race was for Garrett. She gulped, still staring at the horses. A memorial for Joey? It was difficult to comprehend such a thoughtful gesture, not when her heart pounded with renewed hope.
“But we can discuss that another time,” he said, following her gaze. “Do you like a horse in this race?”
“Number three,” she managed, her voice wobbly. The jockey was already in the saddle. She didn’t remember hearing the call for riders up. Couldn’t remember seeing the jockeys parade from the jock room.
“Want me place a bet for you?” His voice was only inches from her ear.
She mutely shook her head. He was still talking about horses? Horses, not heroin? How could he act as if nothing had happened? The last time she’d seen him, he’d been pressing his hands over Garrett’s bloody chest. In that terrible, horrible cowshed.
A shiver escaped and she gripped the rail. “I didn’t have a chance to thank you,” she whispered, “for saving my life. You were very brave and—”
“Don’t. Please, don’t.” He gave a racking groan and splayed his fingers over hers.
She stared down at his hands so dark against her paler ones. Three knuckles were freshly torn, and the sun-bleached hairs on his forearms were stark against the tan of his skin. And then she understood. He’d been in Mexico. He’d had something to do with the collapse of the Baja Tinda.
Still, her hurt was overwhelming. “You didn’t even call,” she whispered.
“I had to fix things. Needed to bring your brother back.” His voice faltered. “But I can’t fix this. Ever. I thought… Megan, all you ever did was sell chocolate bars.”
She tried to twist around, but his arms tightened and he pressed her against his chest, his head close to her ear. “I’m so damn sorry.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. She started to lift her hand but he was stroking the back of her wrists, his light touch so at odds with the anguish in his voice. And she didn’t want to move. Not now, not when she’d feared she’d never be close to him again. Maybe his heartbreaking absence hadn’t totally been about Garrett? A nugget of hope sparked in her chest.
“Belinda’s pushing for a release,” Scott went on, his voice still ragged. “I have some guys down there. You’ll have Joey home by next week.”
It took a moment for her to digest that news. Her mother received regular updates and had said officials were extremely cooperative. It appeared Scott’s influence had a long reach, but oh God, she didn’t want anyone else hurt.
“Where’s Snake?” she asked, with a flare of panic.
He paused, as though surprised by her question. “Still at the Baja Tinda. But the Torres cell is broken. You don’t have to worry any longer.”
She hadn’t really worried. Had never thought Miguel’s father would target her for revenge. It seemed more likely he’d go after Scott—the shooter. If she’d known Scott had been working south of the border, she would have been terrified. But at least he was safe now. She shivered with relief. “You came back before Snake?”
“I had to meet you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. What kind of man would take off to Mexico, recover Joey’s body, participate in some kind of cartel invasion, then honor a date made months earlier? Yet not ever call? She couldn’t understand his thought process.
Yet her chest drummed with hope, and when she opened her eyes the sun seemed a bit brighter, the air sweeter. His hands remained linked over hers, but neither of them spoke. The announcer warned ‘two minutes to post.’ A lady with a shrill voice agonized over her bets, and a pigtailed girl begged for a pony ride. A man with a hotdog dropped ketch
up on his shirt. Her hearing—every one of her senses—seemed to have kicked into overdrive.
“I love the track,” she murmured. “The smell of horses, beer, hotdogs.”
“Me too,” he said. “Want some?”
Her appetite had vanished over the last month but now she could almost taste the mustard. Hotdogs were always good here. She didn’t want Scott to move though. Wanted to absorb his presence a little longer. Somehow he’d wrapped himself around her, had tucked her head beneath his chin.
It seemed as if they were the only ones in the paddock. Actually, she peered sideways, they were the only ones by the paddock. The horses had disappeared along with the spectators.
“The hotdog and beer I can get you now,” he said. “The horse later.”
Wow. Her knees turned rubbery but it didn’t matter. He was literally holding her up. “Sounds good,” she managed. “But my place is too small for a horse.”
“Mine isn’t.”
“I see.” Her voice sounded breathy, so low she could barely hear it over the hammering of her heart. He acted as though everything was cool between them. Maybe he had a trace of amnesia? “What about Garrett?” she asked.
He slid his hands up her arms, wrapped them around her shoulders and turned her around. “What about him?” His gray eyes were unreadable.
Now she wished she hadn’t mentioned the man. Not today. It was enough that Scott was here, that he had cared enough to come. He was even talking about riding together. They could build on that.
But she couldn’t stay silent.
“You didn’t call,” she said, her voice quivering with the memory of all the sleepless nights. “Wouldn’t even talk when I called you. Did you blame me for Garrett’s death?”
He flinched as though shocked. “It wasn’t that. I couldn’t forgive myself. Christ, I cuffed you and handed you over—” His voice broke and the muscles in his throat moved convulsively.
“But then you saved me,” she said quickly. “It’s in the past.”
She could feel the tenseness in his body though and it was apparent it wasn’t in his past. His face had stiffened to a stony mask. Oh, God. What if he took off on another job, seeking some crazy kind of redemption? She didn’t want him anywhere near Mexico.
“There is something you can do for me.” She spoke fast, before she lost her nerve.
“You got it,” he said. But he lowered his hands from her arms, his chest so tight she could see the ridges beneath his shirt.
“Eve is having Joey’s baby,” she said. “He’ll need a man in his life, someone dependable.”
“Eve’s pregnant? So that’s why you insisted on riding Rambo.” He paused and tilted his head, eyes wary. “You think I’m dependable?”
She nodded. Tears stung the back of her eyes. He was the most dependable, the most decent man she’d ever met.
But he just stared, so still he didn’t seem to be breathing. He certainly made no move to close the gap.
She crossed her arms and pretended an interest in the paddock screen. Two galloping horses strained for the wire. Looked like number three, the Rambo look-alike, would win. She couldn’t bring herself to care, not with this clawing fear that paralyzed her body.
Scott’s withdrawal was ominous. No doubt she’d scared him with talk of a baby. Sure, he’d take a bullet for her—but he was a natural-born protector. That’s what he did. It didn’t mean he wanted to be around for the long haul.
She fumbled with her program. Spectators trickled back to the paddock as the horses arrived for race two. In a few minutes, the area would be crowded again. She scanned the entries but the writing was indecipherable, and she realized she was holding the pages upside down.
“Forget I asked that,” she said. “I know it’s a big commitment…” Her voice trailed off in misery. She couldn’t stop blinking, desperately fighting the prick of tears.
He cursed. Pried the program from her distressed fingers and pulled her along the concrete, moving against the flow of racegoers.
They rounded a corner. He turned, pantherlike, pressing her against the wall. It was much quieter here but she could still hear the loudspeaker, the crowd…Scott’s ragged breathing.
He raised his hands and cupped the sides of her face, the center of his eyes as dark as his gunslinger stubble. “You need to know, right now, that I love you, Megan. I was a goner since the day you wiggled under my car.”
He cleared his throat. “And I’m honored as hell to help in any way I can with the baby. I wish I could have known Joey.”
She stared up at him, suddenly lightheaded. Tenderness blazed in his eyes along with a strange uncertainty. He loved her. In spite of everything? But he didn’t know everything. However, his thumb stroked her cheek and as usual, his touch made it difficult to think.
“I…” she sucked in a quivery breath, not certain if he’d even hear her confession over the thudding of her heart. “I experimented with drugs when I was younger,” she said in a rush.
“So did I.”
“I ended up in Juvenile Court,” she said. “After Dad left I was a bit of a rebel.”
His eyes flashed with amusement. “I know, sweetheart.”
She stopped talking. Of course, he knew. At some point, he’d been investigating her. But he wasn’t revolted? Garrett said Scott hated drugs, and anyone who ever used them. Something warm flooded her chest. “I do not wiggle under cars,” she added, her voice so thick with joy, it sounded unfamiliar.
“Baby, you have an irresistible wiggle.” His thumb skimmed along her jaw, trailing seductively over her collarbone, making her shiver. “You see, like that.” His voice turned fierce. “And I will make you love me.”
“That’s not something you have to do.” She rose on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “In fact, it’s way too late. I already bought a bigger sofa.”
His entire body stilled. A group of teenagers rushed past, so close someone muttered an apology, but he didn’t take his eyes off her face. “You mean a sofa that fits you, Rex…and me?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” she said. “I love you.”
He tunneled his hand through her hair, still staring. His head swooped and his mouth covered hers in a kiss filled with passion and promise. A kiss that left her breathless and slightly dizzy and totally loved. And when he finally lifted his head, his own eyes gleamed, but it was hard to really see because everything blurred through her happy haze of tears.
“Let’s go home, sweetheart,” he said softly.
Home. She already felt home, along with something else…a presence she hadn’t sensed for a very long time. And she was swept by a profound sense of peace, knowing that somewhere Joey was smiling.
OTHER BOOKS BY BEV PETTERSEN:
Jockeys and Jewels
Color My Horse
Fillies and Females
Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to Ulf & Barb Snarby, Val Dyer, Becky & Archie Mason, Pat Thomas, Anne MacFarland, Nathaniel Mason, Cathy McDonald, and Ben & Liana Mason.
About The Author
Bev Pettersen is an award-winning writer and two-time finalist in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart® Contest. She competed for five years on the Alberta Thoroughbred race circuit and is an Equine Canada certified coach. When she’s not writing novels, she’s riding. Visit her at http://www.bevpettersen.com
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed reading Horses and Heroin. If so, would you help others enjoy it as well. Lend it (this book is lending enabled so you can share it with a friend), recommend it, or leave a review. If you’d like to know when the next book is available, please sign up for my mailing list at http://www.BevPettersen.com Sincere thanks! - Bev
Contents
Title page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPT
ER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
About The Author
HORSES AND HEROIN (Romantic Mystery) Page 31