Backstretch Baby (35 page)

She tried to sound upbeat. But from what she’d heard, Jackson and Victoria were squabbling over every dollar. “I hope to pay you sometime soon,” she added, squaring her shoulders. “You don’t have a job either, and neither of us knew it would go like this—”

“Don’t, Eve. I’m sorry. But I just can’t do this. Not with him.”

Something inside her withered, his bald statement killing any last kernel of hope. But she gave a nonchalant shrug, hiding that part of her had hoped they’d find a solution, some therapy that might help.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Joey and I will be fine without you.”

“Probably,” he said. “But I won’t.”

She’d been trying hard to hold it together, but his bleak honesty made her crumble. And then she saw the spasms in his throat and realized he was feeling this every bit as much as her. Maybe more.

“I d-don’t understand.” Both her façade and voice broke at the same time. “Please, help me understand.”

He’d been standing by the door, not leaving but not coming in either. But in seconds, he was up the steps and beside her. “I don’t understand either.” He buried his face in her hair. “I thought it would be all right. Thought I could do it. Want to do it. But my body shuts down. I can’t breathe, can’t think. When I get around children, around Joey, I just see them…” He stopped and shook his head.

“See them how?”

“I see them dead.”

She recoiled. He immediately dropped his arms, his face turning to granite, and it was apparent her reaction had hurt him. But she didn’t want him picturing Joey dead. She had a superstitious fear it might come true.

“That must be awful,” she managed. And then the full import hit her. It must be utter agony. Especially for someone who cared about people as much as Rick.

Empathy swept away her aversion, and she reached out and hugged him. Could feel the pounding of his heart, his ragged breathing. He’d been living with this for two years. No wonder he preferred working the streets. But he shouldn’t have been left alone to deal with it, and her anger swelled. “I can’t believe the police department didn’t provide support.”

“They tried.” He shook his head, his voice weary. “They have a list of approved therapists, specialists entrusted to hear details about their cases. Nothing helped.”

“But maybe different doctors, different therapy—”

He placed a finger over her mouth, his eyes lifeless. “You deserve better. So does Joey.”

They were almost the exact words Megan had spoken earlier. But coming from him they were even more heartbreaking. His finger traced her cheek, as if memorizing her face. “You ever need anything,” he said gruffly, “anyone ever gives you trouble, you let Scott know. He’ll be able to find me. And I’ll come, fast as I can.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the wetness of his thumb. Didn’t know how long they stood linked in the doorway before she could gather enough composure to speak.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“Probably head to Sacramento. A friend there needs some help with an Aryan gang.”

The cynical part of her wondered if that had been the reason he cut his hair. Changed his look. Maybe he’d been preparing to run away, or at least been assembling a backup plan. He was a detail man. And his short hair and bike would make him a hit with the Aryans.

“So you’re going to stay undercover?” she asked, desperation turning her words clipped. “Keep relationships short. Run from kids the rest of your life?”

The muscles in his arms tensed. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

“He…Ben, was only six.”

“Ben was a relative?”

Rick shook his head. “Gang president’s son. I was around a lot.” He paused. She held her breath, not daring to move, her hands still splayed around his taut arms.

He took such a deep breath, his shirt molded around the ridges of his chest. “I’d been riding with that biker gang for almost nine months,” he said. “My job was to find out who bought their stolen motorcycles. Gather enough evidence for convictions. I was handy with fixing things and after a while the gang trusted me. The president had a garage full of rebuilt bikes. I became their mechanic. Was there almost every day, stripping the Harleys, adding parts…babysitting.” He paused, shaking his head, as if trying to wipe away the memories.

Then he started talking again, his voice detached, as if speaking about the weather. “Ben loved the bikes. Always wanted to help. His little hands would get so dirty. When we’d finish a job, he’d wipe them on Spike, the Rottie, but it never helped. Both the dog and kid would end up covered in grease, and his parents would get annoyed. Sometimes Ben and the dog were too dirty to be allowed inside so they’d curl up and sleep on the garage floor. I built a little bunkhouse in the yard so he’d always have a safe place.” Rick swallowed, the only sign of emotion.

“By the ninth month, I’d gathered enough intel to put the gang away. They weren’t heavy hitters, dabbling in theft, drugs, prostitution. But they were moving into tougher territory, from selling guns on the street to bigger players. They even worked a deal swapping three bikes with the Angels for some clean semis from Mexico. Brass was ecstatic, thinking they’d nail two gangs at the same time.

“They were nice bikes,” Rick went on. “Two were custom built with Harley engines. Ben helped polish them up. I wanted to stay, but the police didn’t want me around for the actual sale, afraid an unpatched mechanic might spook the Angels. So I told the president I had to meet with my parole officer.

“It was suppertime when I came back. The radio was on in the garage, the side door open. I thought Spike would smell the hamburgers I brought and come running. He and Ben always liked the same food.

“He didn’t come out,” Rick said. “I called the dog when I walked into the garage. But he never came.”

Rick looked over Eve’s head, staring at a spot on the wall, his voice turning even flatter. “At first it was hard to see. The three bikes had disappeared, but the president and another member were still there. Their eyes were open but the backs of their heads were gone. And the floor didn’t look greasy anymore. It was just red.

“I ran into the house, calling Spike and Ben. But no one was there. His wife was in Vegas. I found the dog in a trail of blood by the bunkhouse. He did his best but—”

Rick’s voice broke and he squeezed Eve so hard it hurt. “I’d hidden a camera in the garage. Caught it all. When they argued about the price, the deal went south. They didn’t intend to kill Ben, but he and the dog had been in the bunkhouse. They wandered in at the wrong time. Turned out that bunkhouse wasn’t safe at all.

“The Angels buried him back behind the trees. Thought no one would mourn two bikers but knew there’d be an uproar about a child.”

Eve’s nose was running along with her eyes. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But at least I could have tried.”

“But you can’t keep carrying the blame.” She mopped at her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

He just looked at her, his face so resigned it was clear he’d heard those words before. And they hadn’t helped.

“I’ll sleep in the barn.” He dropped his arms and backed through the door and onto the top step. “I’m hoping to talk to Marcus tomorrow. Finish this up before I go.”

She watched with blurry eyes as he turned away. “You won’t leave though,” she called, her voice breaking, “Not without saying good-bye?”

He didn’t answer. In fact, he was in such a hurry to escape, he forgot to take Camila’s box.

Eve kept her reins loose and relaxed as she rode Bristol back toward the barn. The bossy bay mare was a bit lazy but she’d galloped strongly and appeared to be ready for her race on Wednesday.

Joey was playing with Juanita by the picnic table but he didn’t look up, too engrossed with trying to balance a soccer ball on his knee. His teeth gleamed a brilliant white, and it seemed like the smile hadn’t left his face. So far, his first morning here had been perfect.

Almost perfect.

She glanced sideways, checking for Rick’s black and silver motorcycle. It wasn’t in its usual spot, but his backpack and the extra helmet were still on the chair by the barn. Part of her was relieved. But another part wanted him gone so that the gaping hole in her chest would have a chance to heal.

At least the animals would keep her busy. She could almost pretend this was her barn, and she wasn’t just an assistant on temporary assignment. If the horses kept running well, she wouldn’t have to make jewelry. And she’d be able to pay Ashley and Miguel better wages. Having more stability might help Ashley reach a decision about her baby.

It was challenging raising a child alone, but Ashley didn’t need a man. Neither did Eve. Maybe if a guy came along who was smart and fun and liked horses and made every part of her tingle, well, that might be a man worth keeping. She certainly didn’t need someone like Rick who feared every child around him might die.

But just thinking of the love they’d found, then lost, made her tighten the reins in despair. And she couldn’t bear to look at his pitifully small pile of belongings, packed and waiting on the chair.

Ashley rushed from the barn, as usual forgetting to call out, and the mare’s head rose in alarm. Ashley gave an apologetic shrug and reached for the reins. “After I cool Bristol out,” she said, “I’ll take Joey over to see the pig.”

Her eyes narrowed on Eve’s face. “It must have been dusty out there. Your eyes are all red.”

“Yes,” Eve said. “Tomorrow I’ll wear goggles.” She dismounted and unsnapped her helmet.

The Viper had been even more blunt. ‘Those better not be tears,’ she’d said. ‘Not after winning two races in one weekend.’

And of course Eve was happy about winning. It was especially gratifying that she’d done it without much help from Jackson. She still had three more horses scheduled to race, with high hopes for all of them.

Two wins wouldn’t draw much recognition. But if the rest of the barn performed well, maybe Jackson would send her more horses. In fact, if he wanted time to fix his marital problems, he might let her stay here indefinitely and train.

That would be ideal. They wouldn’t have to deal with Victoria’s vindictiveness, Jackson could sort out his affairs and Eve would have more time to prove she was competent.

As a trainer, she didn’t qualify to rent her own dorm room. They were assigned to grooms and hotwalkers. However, there must be affordable apartments close by. With Juanita’s help, she could find a school and a good babysitter. She could be with Joey, make a little money…and not ache so much about Rick.

She unbuckled the girth then turned to Ashley. “Would you like to stay at this track?” she asked. “And ride here after your pregnancy?”

“Definitely.” Ashley’s head pumped with enthusiasm. “Then I wouldn’t have to compete against big circuit riders, and I might become a top jock. At first, I didn’t like it here. But this place has grown on me. The people are the best.”

She had the grace to flush, and they both looked at Joey and Juanita playing beneath the protective shade of the oak tree. Juanita was tossing the soccer ball to Joey, who caught it on his knee, managing to bounce it twice before it rolled to the ground.

“I’m not sure if I want to join the parent club though,” Ashley added. “Liam told me trainers don’t like to ride jockeys who have babies. They worry about accidents. That’s why male jockeys do a lot better.”

Eve fought a flare of annoyance. “That’s not true. I’d still use you.”

“But most trainers aren’t as supportive. And you’re not a full trainer either. You work for Jackson.”

“Yes.” Eve pulled off her saddle. “And it takes time to build a clientele. But maybe Jackson will send me more horses. Rumor is that Victoria wants a divorce. There’s a good chance he’ll want to spread out his stable while he sorts things out.”

“That would be awesome.” Ashley reached up and scratched Bristol’s damp neck. “Maybe Victoria was a blessing in disguise. She certainly can’t cause any more problems now that everyone knows her game.”

A white horse van rumbled down the road. It stopped in front of the barn close to where Miguel was emptying a wheelbarrow. Two men in blue coveralls stepped out, scaring the orange cat who arched his back in alarm, then scooted away.

“Looking for Eve Lewis,” the driver called.

“You found her,” Eve said. She stepped forward, shifting her saddle to the other arm, and met the man halfway across the grass.

He shoved a clipboard in her hand. She stared down at the typed sheet, scanning the Thoroughbred names, not their affectionate barn names, but their rarely-used race handles. Names like I’m Naturally Grey, Sugar Daddy, Oeste Wildfire and Bristol’s Millie.

“What’s this?” she asked, her mouth turning dry.

“We’re picking up four horses.” The man’s voice roughened with impatience. “The animals are named below, along with all the required authorizations.”

She pressed the clipboard to her chest, didn’t want to look at the official papers stating the horses had been transferred to another trainer. “So everyone’s going but Tizzy and Stinger,” she managed.

Ashley groaned, but Eve didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Her knees felt weak, as if in danger of buckling. Not only was Rick leaving but now their barn family was being ripped apart. The horses weren’t going back to Jackson but to another trainer, where somebody else would oversee their feed, their exercise, their every mood. Someone else would help Banjo’s sore back heal and clip Sugar Daddy’s beautiful head and teach Bristol that she couldn’t duck through the gap.

She’d given each horse her best, and they’d given her more, as horses do, and the pain of their loss was staggering.

“I just finished riding that mare,” she said, her voice stronger than her legs. “She needs to be cooled out before she goes on any trailer.”

“All right,” the driver said. “But we’ll load the other three now.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. She should have anticipated that owners would move their horses. Nobody would put up with Victoria when there were so many other capable trainers around. And for a moment she felt sorry for Jackson. But only briefly.