by Hebby Roman
He was a beautiful colt, black like his dam, but with some gray marks from his sire, splattering his rump. She hoped he kept the unusual coloring; it would make him stand out in the charro ring. With colts, though, until they were at least yearlings, you could never be certain of their coat.
She wanted to name the colt, too, but she was waiting for Camila to come home to help her pick a name that went with his pedigree.
She pushed her Stetson to the back of her head and turned her gaze to John Clay again. He was dragging the heel of his boot across the rough track, about halfway from where Pedro held Stormy Knight. She wondered what he was doing, but she liked the way he moved. All grace and loose-limbed, even while absorbed in such a strange maneuver.
Usually, she liked chunky, solidly-built men, like her Eduardo and even Franco. But she had to give it to John Clay, he’d aged well. He was tall and muscular without an ounce of fat, and still as handsome as any movie star.
Uh, oh, she was getting all shivery inside, hot and then cold, just watching him. Not a good sign, not if she was going to keep her head on straight.
She needed his racing experience. Beyond that … she didn’t know.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, “What in the heck are you doing?”
He held up one hand, acknowledging her, but continued to drag his boot until he’d crossed the rustic track. Then he pulled a brightly-colored bandana from his back pocket and anchored it on the ground with a rock.
He crossed to her and said, “Let’s move over there.” He pointed. “Where I marked off. Most two-year-old’s start racing at two hundred and twenty yard trials.”
“There were a couple of trial races at the end of the program at the Sam Houston track. Based on my Internet research, I thought that’s what they were for. I noticed none of the horses had racing records, just work outs.”
He took her elbow and helped her over the uneven ground. “Yep, you’re right. That’s what the trials are for, to see how an untried horse will race.” He took his Stetson off and fanned himself. “I had a maiden chestnut mare in the twelfth race, ‘Sheesa Diamond Diva,’ and she won. I don’t know if you noticed her.”
She couldn’t help but detect the note of pride in his voice. “Yes, I remember her, and her workout times weren’t that great. I bet on a gelding, ‘Princely Perry.’” She shook her head. “He had the fastest workout times.”
He grinned at her. “Workout times aren’t much to go on. But hold that thought and stay here. I need to give Pedro some instructions, then we’ll see.”
He sauntered off across the track. She couldn’t help but notice how his tight jeans fit his butt. And then she looked away, wondering if she was falling under his spell again. And not wanting to go there.
She watched as he talked to Pedro. Pedro nodded his head and mounted. John Clay came back and pulled another red-and-white checkered bandana from his pocket, along with a stopwatch. But not just any stopwatch, this one was a Rolex. Trust John Clay to only own the best.
Not that she couldn’t afford a Rolex, but for a stopwatch. Really?
“Okay, here’s the scoop, workouts can be easy, as in ‘breezing’ the horse. Or they can be serious time trials. The race program usually doesn’t tell you which. Better, with a maiden horse, to bet on the jockey and trainer.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Yeah, but the workouts do give an indication of what the horse is capable of.” He put his thumb on the fob of the stopwatch. “Let’s see what Stormy Knight can do.”
He dropped the bandana. Pedro urged the gelding forward and at the same time, John Clay clicked the stopwatch.
Stormy was upon them and passed the line John Clay had drawn in the rugged track in the blink of an eye. “Not bad!” He called out. He turned to her and said, “Look, twelve point twenty seconds, pretty damned fast for just breezing.”
“You told Pedro to breeze him?”
“Yep, but next time, I told Pedro to get serious.”
Pedro had let Stormy slow down to a trot and then he turned the horse around, bringing him back to the starting line.
“Now we’ll see,” John Clay said and dropped the bandana again.
Straight as an arrow, Stormy flew down the track, his hooves barely touching the ground.
“Whoopee! Eleven point seventy-six!” John Clay grabbed her up and whirled her around in his arms as if she weighed no more than a dandelion puff. He kissed both her cheeks, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and then set her down.
“You’ve got one fast horse there. I’d love to see him go up against my mare, Sheesa Diva.”
Leticia touched her hand to her cheek, her head spinning. And the bad thing was, she didn’t know if her head was swirling from excitement over how fast Stormy was or from John Clay’s strong arms and infectious enthusiasm.
His face, when he was excited, was boyish, with his blue eyes glowing and that damned dimple showing. She couldn’t help but grin back. “Well, I guess Ramos and Chuy are right. He’s one fast horse.”
“Yep, he is, but…” John Clay hesitated and then called out to Pedro, “Hey, let’s breeze him once more, see what his stamina is like. Okay?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Laidlaw.” Pedro returned Stormy to the starting line, and the gelding sped down the track.
John Clay clicked his stopwatch and bobbed his head. “Pretty damned good, he’s got stamina, too.” He nudged her and showed her the time: twelve point eighty-seven seconds.
“But that’s slower than the first time.”
“Yes, but close enough to show he still has something left.” John Clay squinted at the horse. “And he’s barely lathered. He might be a long sprinter, they’re even more highly prized. They get to run in the big races.”
“And you want to see him up against your Diva? Is she a long sprinter, too?”
“I hope so. Won’t know until I get her into a couple of races with experienced horses.”
“That’s one thing I didn’t understand about Quarter horse racing, as opposed to Thoroughbreds. They race the mares and horses against each other. Occasionally, they do that with Thoroughbreds, but—”
“You don’t miss much.” He gazed at her as if she was the most special thing in the world. Just the expression in his eyes took her breath away.
She turned aside and called to Pedro, “Can you take him back and rub him down?”
“Yes, Miss.” He bobbed his head and turned Stormy toward the ranch house and barn.
He touched her arm. “I thought you wanted to know about racing the mares with the horses.”
“Uh, yes, I do.”
She licked her lips and looked down, kicking a stone with her boot. But now, given the way he was gazing at her, she wasn’t certain they should venture into anything that smacked of sexual overtones, even horse sex.
“Couple of things. Quarter horses aren’t as high-strung as Thoroughbreds, and most Quarter horse tracks only allow geldings to race with the mares. Stallions, who are going to be kept for stud, seldom race.”
“Oh, that makes sense. I wondered when we were at the track.”
That had gone easier than she’d thought. And she was relieved. She glanced at the sun setting in brilliant bands of red, orange, and mauve.
“Guess it’s time to get back for supper. I asked Maria to cook one of her best dinners for us.”
He hooked his arm through hers. “Yeah, and all this excitement has me starving. I can’t wait.” He matched his stride with hers and kept her close to him. She could feel the heat from his body, and her head came up to his shoulder, the perfect height.
“Don’t you have any more questions about Quarter horse racing?”
“Yes, lots, mostly about finances and logistics. But they will make good dinner conversation, I think.”
“Don’t you want to know the one thing more important than how fast your horse is?”
She gazed up at him. “What could be more important?”
“How good he
is, clearing the gate. It’s the most important thing.”
* * *
John Clay had tried to answer all Leticia’s questions about what it took to start a racing stable, and she’d had plenty of them. More than plenty. For someone who claimed she didn’t know much about Quarter horse racing, she’d been thorough and had asked all the right questions. He wasn’t surprised, though, she was an astute businesswoman and had obviously done her research.
And he’d enjoyed talking with her, sharing the passion of his life, and savoring her cook’s standing rib roast, cooked to perfection, along with scalloped potatoes and braised asparagus.
He pushed back from the table. “Haven’t eaten such a fine meal since I was in Houston. Your … Maria, is it? She’s one hell of a good cook.”
Leticia fingered her wine glass and then sipped. “Yes, Maria is an excellent cook. Eduardo knew someone who knew she needed a job when we settled full-time at the ranch. She’s been with us … me … ever since.”
“Well, if I thought I could steal her away, I would. But I have a feeling she’s devoted to you.”
“Yes, she is, we’re good friends. She likes to take care of me. And of course, she spoiled Camila silly.”
He chuckled. “Not a bad thing.”
“Noooo,” she drew out the word and pushed her plate to one side.
Then she frowned and circled back to the beginning of their conversation. “I can’t get past the need to build a track, even a small one, and purchase a starting gate if I’m going to get into Quarter horse racing.”
She looked up and caught his gaze. “You’ve explained how because the races are short, getting out of the gate is crucial.” She fiddled with her wine glass.
“And remembering the races in Houston and how most of the favorites didn’t win, unless they got out of the gate first, I understand.” She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. “But it’s such a large outlay, especially if I’m not sure…”
“Do any of your neighbors have a track where they train Quarter horses to race?”
“I was going to ask around Eagle Pass to see if anyone was into Quarter horse racing, but then I ran into you in Del Rio. And I thought—”
“If I saw your horse run, I’d know whether you should forge ahead?”
“Sort of. I guess.”
He came to a quick decision. He didn’t know if she’d want to spend the time, driving back and forth, but at least, it would give him another reason to see her. He was hesitant to ask her for a date. Wasn’t certain if she’d accept. Though, technically, he owed her a dinner at the Country Club because he’d let her win the race. But helping out with Stormy Knight was an even better way to ensure he’d see more of her.
As if he’d just had a revelation, he snapped his fingers. “Okay, I have a suggestion. I think I can help you—”
“Señora.” Maria interrupted him by opening the swinging door and standing on the threshold. “My apologies, but Señor Ramos and his son have arrived, and they would like to greet you.”
Leticia smiled. “Of course, show them in. Have they eaten dinner?”
Maria frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think … I didn’t ask.”
“That’s all right, Maria. I’ll take care of it.”
Maria bowed her head and opened the door wide. Then she retreated into the kitchen.
The stocky older man John Clay had seen at the Houston track came in, followed by a younger man, who must have been his son, though he didn’t look much like his father.
The younger man was a head shorter than Ramos, and he had a small, pinched face, not like his father’s broad, open face. But they were both wide-shouldered and thickset. Maybe the son’s features favored his mother’s side.
He rose along with Leticia.
Leticia turned to him and said, “John Clay Laidlaw, this is my horse trainer, Señor Ramos and his son, Franco Junior, I believe.”
“Pancho, just call my son, Pancho, so there’s no confusion,” Ramos offered.
John Clay shook both the men’s hands.
Leticia held out her hand, too, and shook the younger man’s hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Pancho. Welcome to El Prado Verde. Are you comfortable speaking English or would you prefer Spanish?”
“I speak enough the English.” He shrugged. “No special favors. I am at your service, Señora, and in your … how you say? In your debt.”
“Nonsense,” Leticia said. “I’m happy to have your help. I hope you don’t mind sharing the trailer with your father. Only our foreman has a cabin here. The rest of my employees live nearby.”
“It will be my pleasure, Señora.”
“Good then.” She glanced at Ramos. “Have y’all eaten?”
“Yes, Señora, we ate in Eagle Pass. With your permission, I will get my son settled in the trailer and leave you to your guest.”
Then Ramos shot him a glance like a poison dart before he bowed his head. It was as he’d suspected that day at the races, Ramos had designs on Leticia. And despite her denial, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t attracted to him, too.
But the son, who was gazing between the three of him, his eyes darting and shifty, gave him a strange, anxious feeling. Like meeting a thug in a dark alley.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but for very different reasons, he didn’t like or trust either one of them.
* * *
Leticia sat with John Clay on the front porch, staring into the dark night. The cicadas were whirring, filling the night with their metallic-like clicking. The scent of new grass and primroses was heavy in the air. Between them, on a small table, was her wine, a smooth Malbec from Australia, and John Clay’s drink of choice, a Lone Star.
The porch light on Franco’s trailer was the only bright beacon in the night. While she and John Clay sat on the porch talking, she’d watched as Franco and his son unloaded the back of Chuy’s pickup.
Franco came out on the trailer’s wood-railed porch. His son followed, and they spoke for a moment. Then Pancho grabbed a duffel bag from the back of the pickup and pushed past his father.
Her horse trainer stood on the porch for a moment longer, his gaze turned to them. She shivered under his scrutiny, guessing what he was thinking. Before, he’d been the one on the porch, talking to her. Now, she had another man, eating dinner and taking his place.
But Franco didn’t own her—no matter how close they might have grown during the past few months. And given her reaction to his overtures in Houston, he should know she wasn’t looking for romance. Not now … maybe never. And she couldn’t get Maria’s words out of her head, either.
What could come of a romance with him, especially when all his family, except Pancho, lived in México? Not to mention she was his employer.
He lifted his hand and waved, calling out, “Buenas noches.”
“Good night, Señor Ramos,” she raised her voice. “I hope your son gets settled in.”
He bowed stiffly and pulled open the trailer door.
John Clay cleared his throat. “He makes me feel like I’m poaching.”
She picked up her wine glass and took a sip. “What do you mean, John Clay?” She couldn’t help the tinge of annoyance in her voice.
Men. Since they were both interested in her, Franco and John Clay reminded her of two bulls, circling one heifer, eager to lock horns. Thinking about it, her face flushed, and she was glad for the shadowy front porch.
“I, uh… Oh, hell, Leticia, it would take a blind man to not see Ramos is interested. And I’m not talking about your employer-employee relationship. Have you given him—”
“Hey, wait just a minute, Mr. Laidlaw.” She turned in her seat and speared him with a stare. “Even if I have, which I haven’t, it’s none of your damned business.” It was mostly true, she’d turned down Franco when he’d kissed her. “Where do you get off—”
“Okay, okay, I deserved that.” He reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away.
“Damned right you did.”
He shook his head. “My apologies, but I don’t like the man or his son for some reason.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You just met them.”
“I know, and you’re partially right. I’m jealous. He’s here all the time, and I don’t get to see you—”
“What on earth are you saying?”
“I want us to date, to have a relationship. Is that too much to ask?”
“You’re still married.”
“But legally separated.”
“I don’t see the distinction.”
“Okay, forget what I said.” He snagged her gaze. “But you can’t keep me from trying.” Then he reached out his hand. “Truce. Shake on it.”
She took his hand, and a spark of electricity shot through her, turning her insides to prickly-pear jelly. Her nipples stiffened and lower … she ached. It had been so long, so very, very long.
She sucked in her breath and willed her hammering heart to slow. She still didn’t trust John Clay, and he was acting as if he owned her, too, being high-handed as always.
But good Lord, she was drawn to the man. Had always found him attractive, but even as needy as she was, she wasn’t ready to start a relationship. No matter how unattached he might think he was. No matter that his wife had found someone else. And no matter how old-fashioned that made her.
She dropped his hand and said, “Before the interruption, you were talking about training Stormy.”
He cleared his throat again and cradled the beer bottle between his hands. “I want you to try Stormy on my track, using my starting gate. It will give you a better idea of what to do or should I say what he can do.”
She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. “I think I’ve already made up my mind, John Clay.”
“You have?”
“Yes, but technically, I need to go over my decision with Rusty, as he’s my partner.”
“What have you decided?”
“I’m not ready to start another venture that involves the amount of work or money for a racing stable. I’m happy with my charro horses and training working Quarter horses.”
“Okay.” He glanced at her. “What do you propose to do with Stormy then? Turn him into a barrel racer or—”