Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) (71 page)

Mary flung the door open before they knocked. “Lord, what happened?” she asked, staring at Jessica’s face. “Horse?”

“Yes.”

She nodded in total understanding and passed Jessica a key. “I’ve had lots of wrecks. Expect to have lots more. That’s horses.”

“Yes. That’s horses.” Jessica’s shoulders squared with fraternal pride. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to have a messed-up face. “Have you talked to Dick?” she added.

“Sure have. Every day on the phone. And soon he’ll be allowed visitors.” Mary launched into an account of how Dick hadn’t seen his attacker, how grateful he was Mary had called 911, and how mortified he was to be stuck in an ugly green hospital gown.

Mark shuffled his feet, and Jessica gently interrupted. “Mary, we were wondering if you have your pictures from the last four weeks.”

“Honey, I have them for the last two years.”

“We’re looking for one taken three weeks ago,” Jessica said. “Same time as all the clothes were catalogued. Dick took a picture of a dark-haired man leaning against that wall.” She pointed at the apartment across the road.

“Should be able to dig it up,” Mary said. “Think he’s the psycho who cut Dick?”

“Don’t know,” Mark said, stepping forward. “Might be a coincidence but Dick was flashing the picture, asking questions. Maybe he stirred up something.” Jessica flinched with guilt, and Mark gave her elbow a reassuring squeeze. “But it may have nothing to do with the picture,” he added.

“Give me your e-mail,” Mary said, “and I’ll send the picture soon as I can find it. Poor Dick. He’s such a generous man too. Loves horses and people.”

“I’ll be upstairs.” Jessica blinked rapidly, trying to control the tightness behind her eyes. Palming the key, she trudged up the steps to Dick’s door. She entered the silent apartment, lonely and depressing now that Dick no longer filled it with his unique energy. The racks of clothes were still there but shoved rudely against the wall, and many of the dresses had slipped from the metal hangers.

She rehung them, desperately trying to work the lump from her throat. However, the picture of Dick, stuck in a sterile hospital bed, was much too vivid. He was all alone in an ugly green gown, with no visitors, isolated from the charity work he loved. God, he must have been terrified when that blade cut into his neck.

She dropped her head in her hands, overwhelmed with guilt.

She didn’t hear Mark enter, but his familiar arms slipped around her. He didn’t try to stop her tears or even speak, only held her as she turned and cried into his shirt.

“You really are the most patient person,” she finally muttered, lifting her head and swiping her face. “Sorry. Now your shirt is all wet.” She turned away, still knuckling her cheeks, but desperate to force some gaiety into her voice. “This place isn’t too messy. It looks about the same as last time.”

“Check Dick’s bedroom,” Mark said. “I think someone else was looking for that picture.”

She hurried down the hall, slowed to a stop at the sight of the overturned drawers, the flipped mattress, the carnage of strewn paper. “I can’t believe the police would do this.”

“Probably they didn’t.” Mark’s jaw flexed. “Don’t think they’re looking.”

She drew in a shaky breath. It would take time to clean and choose her Keeneland wardrobe, and the plane was leaving in less than five hours. Yet this room wasn’t just messy, it had been ransacked—and if not by the police, it had been the work of a scarily determined intruder.

***

Jessica tightened her seatbelt as the plane taxied along the runway. She’d forgotten to nab the seat on the left, but it didn’t seem as though Mark noticed her ugly eye. And if he didn’t care, she wouldn’t either.

Not that he was paying any attention to her. By the time the plane leveled in the air, he’d already pulled out the Keeneland catalogue and was focused on pedigrees. A stewardess brought him a coffee but rushed off before Jessica could ask for a juice.

She twisted in the seat, trying to attract someone’s attention, but the attendants had already moved down the narrow aisle.

“Need something?” Mark asked, circling numbers with his pen.

“A cold drink. I’ve been thirsty since that pizza last night.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t look up. “What would you like?”

“Orange juice. A big one. But it looks like I’ll have to wait. They’ve passed our row.”

“I can get it,” he said with utter confidence. She didn’t hear him speak but somehow he snagged the stewardess’s eye, and she bustled back. A smile, a murmur, and she brought Mark two glasses of orange juice and four bags of peanuts.

“I think she likes you,” Jessica whispered.

Mark just smiled, somewhat smugly she thought, and continued flipping pages.

She peered out the tiny window and checked the scenery, but a shroud of white clouds extended in every direction. Sighing, she slipped on the headphones, but the music was boring no matter how many channels she checked. She’d always used an iPod when she skied, the perfect tool for staying relaxed, but today she was restless and couldn’t find any decent songs.

She glanced at Mark’s catalogue, saw he’d circled a Barkeeper colt and perked up. “That colt is by the same stud as Assets. You interested in him?”

“Maybe, but Barkeeper is best at siring precocious two-year-olds. And not so good for the three-year-old races like the Derby. A lot depends on what your grandfather wants.”

“Seems like everyone wants to win the Kentucky Derby,” she said. “What does black type winner mean?”

“Graded stakes. The best horses run in those.”

“Did Buddy ever win a stakes race?”

“No, honey,” he said with a smile. “But when he was younger, he won a few allowance races. And he always tries his best. Can’t ask a horse for more than that.”

Honey? She fumbled for the headsets she’d dropped in shock. He was calling her ‘honey’ in public. Of course they weren’t at the track, but it did feel rather nice, and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Fortunately he was too engrossed in the catalogue to notice.

“Do you have another of those auction listings?” she asked.

He glanced at her then rummaged through his briefcase, producing a shiny new catalogue with gold print. “It’s a mixed sale so circle what you like,” he said. “But we’re only buying a two-year-old. We can compare horses tonight.”

Ah, yes. Her grandfather wasn’t arriving until tomorrow. Her gaze flickered over Mark’s chiseled mouth, his lean hands as he snapped his briefcase shut. When his muscular thigh grazed her hip, her entire body tingled. This was going to be so much fun. An entire night away from the track. Just the two of them, no sneaking required.

Maybe he shared her anticipation—and they’d do much more than compare horses. His warm fingers suddenly grabbed hers. Her breathing stuttered, escaping in a disappointed sigh when she saw he’d merely pressed a pen into her hand.

Chapter Twenty-One

The hotel receptionist slid Mark two room cards. “Elevators are to the right,” she said. “Rooms are on the third and sixth floor. Enjoy your stay.”

“Do you have a preference?” he asked Jessica as they waited for the elevator.

“No, as long as my room has a tub. I plan to soak forever.”

The image of that bare skin made his throat go dry. He grabbed their luggage and shoved it onto the elevator. “You take third then,” he said gruffly. “I’ll meet you at nine in the lobby. The restaurant is pretty good here.”

“Okay.” She swept from the elevator, almost forgetting her bag, obviously preoccupied with her upcoming bath. He passed it to her before the elevator doors closed. Not surprising she was in a rush to reach her room. She’d endured the primitive track bathrooms for over a month but, even so, her total lack of interest in him was rather deflating.

Probably for the best though. Her grandfather was his most important owner, and Boone wouldn’t be happy if he discovered they’d slept together. From past conversations, it was clear Boone had plans for Jessica, and they didn’t include a Texas horse trainer. Being a day away from seeing Assets’ owner made Mark realize they needed to be cautious.

He unlocked his door, tossed his bag on the luggage rack and paced. Of course, there wasn’t much to his relationship with Jessica. Nothing Boone needed to know. She’d asked for help forgetting an old boyfriend, and he’d obliged. Simple. Only he hadn’t anticipated enjoying her company quite so much.

At least Boone would be pleased with how much she’d learned. She’d turned into a dedicated groom, a little slow maybe, but that was because she spent so much time dawdling with Buddy. And though she wasn’t ready yet to handle a rambunctious colt, she had loads of courage. She hadn’t dropped Ghost’s reins when he pitched a fit. It took lots of guts to hang onto a twelve-hundred pound freak-out. And she’d done it earlier with Assets. There were probably many things she’d excel at, so long as it was something she liked, something that didn’t choke her creativity. She just didn’t realize she was so capable.

He checked his watch—another hour before dinner. It would have been a much better start to the evening if she’d invited him to join her in that hotel tub. She must really like her jockey friend.

He scowled, pulled out a Belmont program and scanned the jock list. He’d already checked it twice, trying to figure out which guy she was seeing, but the guard’s description had been vague. He could probably find out from Emma Rae or Steve—jockeys were notorious gossips—but he doubted Jessica would appreciate his snooping. She’d made it clear their sex was casual and temporary. Exactly what he wanted.

He tossed aside the program and rechecked his watch. Eight o’clock. Maybe he’d have a quick shower in case she invited him to her room later. Neither Boone nor the singing jockey were around tonight. Hopefully after a few drinks, she’d relax and they could enjoy each other’s company. Or maybe she needed some consolation. It was clear she was eaten up with guilt over Dick’s stabbing.

Didn’t matter what they did. He was suddenly very impatient to see her.

***

“Thanks,” Jessica said as Mark expertly refilled her wine glass. “You’re an attentive host. Is this how trainers always treat their owners before a big sale?”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “So you’re an owner now, not my groom?”

“Two weeks left,” she said with a flippant smile, a smile that took so much effort it hurt. “Two more weeks, and I’ll be gone. But you can bet I’ll keep an eye on you, making sure you treat Gramps’ horses well.”

“Good. I hope you visit often.”

“Only if you promise not to make me muck a stall.” Her voice was bright even as her chest constricted. He spoke so casually about her leaving, didn’t guess the thought of not seeing him made something jab against her ribs.

“Feel like dessert?” he asked, blue eyes watchful over his glass.

“Wish I could, but I’m too full.” Her dismay was genuine. She’d been planning to order the chocolate cheesecake but not now, not with her stomach flipping. “I can’t even finish this wine.”

“Okay. Want to go somewhere and compare horses?”

She sucked at her bottom lip, trying to control its quiver. He was trying hard to look after her, but the pedigree information was too new, too confusing. She preferred to see horses in the flesh, had always finalized her bets that way and didn’t want to admit she hadn’t circled a single animal.

Didn’t want to admit she’d been hoping for a more romantic type of evening.

Even the clothes she’d borrowed from Dick’s apartment had been chosen for a lover’s tryst. Snazzy black pants and metallic sweater tonight, form-fitting jacket for the sale, and a strapless cocktail dress for tomorrow’s dinner. She could have worn her comfortable boots and jeans for all that Mark noticed.

“Think I’ll just go to my room.” She struggled to keep her voice level. “I probably ate too much. Do you know what time Gramps is coming tomorrow?”

“Around noon. I’m going to the pavilion in the morning, but we won’t be bidding until the afternoon. If you want to come with me, that would be fine. Just let me know.” He dropped his napkin on the table.

The perky waitress materialized at his side. “Tea, coffee?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow at Jessica, but she shook her head, too miserable to speak. Fine if she accompanied Mark in the morning, fine if she didn’t. The lovely meal she’d eaten felt like a brick.

“Just the bill then.” He nodded at the waitress, his face inscrutable.

“How does this work?” Jessica asked. “Do you bill this trip to my grandfather? Because I don’t have any money, and the hotel and food—”

“You’re always fretting about money. Don’t worry. Sales are fun. If you change your mind and want to study some horses, I’ll be in the bar.”

***

Jessica pointed the remote and flicked through an assortment of TV channels. A feature on heli-skiing in the Rockies looked mildly interesting, and she raised the volume. Now this was promising; she’d always loved adventure skiing, and it was a treat to watch TV again.

She fluffed her pillows and stretched on the huge bed, watching as three skiers with tanned faces and sparkling white teeth climbed into a helicopter. It rose in a crescendo of noise and swirling white. The snow cover wasn’t too deep, about to Buddy’s knees, although horses would definitely struggle to get through the higher banks. It was probably fun to ride in the snow. Wouldn’t hurt a bit if you fell off.

She rose and wandered into the bathroom. Leaned close to the mirror so she could inspect her eye. Still blackly bruised, but Mark had said it would turn yellow soon. She reapplied her makeup, stood back and studied her face. Marginal improvement. She flicked off the bathroom switch and stared at the mirror. In the dim light, the bruise was almost indistinguishable.

She returned to the TV. The skiers grinned with anticipation as they adjusted their packs and stepped into their bindings. A few more minutes and they’d be ready to tackle the mountain.

She picked up the sales catalogue and flipped through the sire list, surprised when she recognized several names. Buddy’s sire wasn’t listed, nor was his grandsire or his dam sire.