Summer Kisses (106 page)

At least Kurt was giving her a chance, especially generous considering the way she’d lost her temper, and for that she was grateful.

They walked in companionable silence to the gap where he removed Ace’s lead. “You have about twenty minutes before the starter calls you. Give him a sightseeing tour, then warm him up with a slow lap. Slow,” he repeated.

She nodded and walked Ace onto the track, letting him check out his surroundings before moving into a jog and then a canter.

Fifty feet past the grandstand, the wind tossed a vagrant cowboy hat and the gelding’s ears pinned forward, tracking the straw hat as it stalled and flipped. He didn’t spook or try to bolt, and she murmured her approval. Some horses would have gone bonkers, Bill Chandler’s Princess for one. But Julie was riding quality horses now, horses trained by an expert. She no longer had Bill’s business, but her riding prospects had definitely improved.

She heard a shout, garbled by the wind, and glanced at the chute. The starter, a figure of absolute authority, gestured at the horses scheduled for gate approvals.

“Bring him in,” an outrider relayed.

She trotted Ace toward the starting gate, joining two other horses that circled behind the gate. A score of people lingered by the rail, Otto included. He often watched gate work, although she suspected he really wanted to see an accident. She jerked her head away from his insolent eyes.

A wide-eyed chestnut was called first. The assistant starter reached up to guide the filly in, but she planted her feet. Undaunted, the loading crew turned her in three circles until she was inches from the opening. Two men stepped behind her, hooked their arms together and pushed her in the slot.

Ace was called next. He sidled up, ears flat, attention pinned on the looming gate. Too nervous, he rushed in, clipping the assistant’s heels. The man cursed and jumped on the tiny ledge. His gnarly fingers wrapped around the bridle as he cranked Ace’s head to the left.

Clang!
The door slammed shut, the noise vibrating through the entire gate. Ace charged forward but there was no place to go. He waited, trembling, and pressed against the grill. Julie stroked his sweaty neck, trying to calm him, but the shivers didn’t stop.

Thud
. A man hollered and she peered over her shoulder. The last horse to load, a chestnut colt, was full of fight, and soapy lather coated his neck. He whirled, knocking his handler down, flecking the air with specks of white. The colt plunged away, but his rider—she knew him only as Joe—pulled him around before he could bolt.

Furious, the horse bucked high and hard, hurling the rider over his shoulder. Joe landed catlike on his feet and managed to keep a grip on a rein.

Julie straightened, determined to ignore the ruckus. She adjusted her goggles, wrapped her hands around a thick clump of Ace’s mane and waited. When the gates opened she needed to be ready for an explosion of speed. Or risk the ignominy of being left behind, sitting in the dirt.

Beneath her, Ace trembled, claustrophobic and resenting the enclosure. His earlier poise had crumbled, and his inexperience showed. He scrambled against the closed door, striking it with a hoof, unnerving them both with the loud clang.

She shot another glance over her shoulder, willing them to hurry. Ace felt like a time bomb, and the filly next to them was beginning to fret too.

The gate crew conferred, opting to load the resisting horse without his rider. They produced a blindfold, confused the animal with a few circles then guided him into the slot. Joe swung over the bars, placed his toes in the irons and an assistant whipped off the blindfold.

“Not yet!” Joe yelled as the horse jackknifed. The handler straightened the horse and pointed his nose in the vee of the gate.

Julie caught herself watching and cursed.
Concentrate on your own horse
. She stared through the grill, trying to re-focus her thoughts. A split second of calm. Then the starter pushed the button, cutting the electric current to the plates that held the doors shut.

Ace reared as the door cracked open. His feet found the ground but his legs crossed and he stumbled, furrowing the dirt with his nose. Legs tangled, he struggled to keep his balance.

She was flung onto his neck. Her hands crisscrossed his mane and she tightened her grip, knowing Joe’s horse was behind her. Staying on Ace’s back was the only way to avoid lethal hooves.

Time suspended as Ace fought to regain his balance. Sounds sharpened—gasps, yells, Otto’s gleeful chortle.

What an ass. Anger gave her strength. She willed Ace to be determined enough, athletic enough, to stay on his feet. He seemed to absorb her message and gave a last desperate lurch then straightened and started running.

She began breathing again, using his long mane to regain her seat and find a rhythm with his lengthening strides, and they charged down the lane after the galloping filly.

Ace caught the horse just past the finish line. Julie rose in the stirrups and gradually slowed him to a trot. The filly was on her right but the third horse was missing, and she checked over her shoulder in concern.

“Joe’s horse is stubborn as a mule,” the filly’s rider said, trotting beside her on the way back to the chute. “Damn horse didn’t want to go in. Now he won’t leave. Trainer should have done more work with him.” He shook his head at the blazed chestnut still propped in the gate.

The young horse had obviously refused to run when the doors opened and still stood rooted in the gate, with Joe vainly trying to urge him out.

The filly’s rider gestured with his stick. “Look at that nut. He must have a death wish walking by an open gate.”

Julie stiffened as Otto lumbered in front of the frightened colt, waving his arms and hollering. She could see the whites of the horse’s eyes, how his head raised in panic as Otto loomed closer.

The colt abruptly catapulted from the gate, smashing Otto with his shoulder and driving him into the dirt.

Julie pulled Ace to a halt, staring in horror. A bird trilled from the infield, its cheery song discordant with a man prone on the ground. A loud fly buzzed around her ear. No one spoke.

Otto raised his head and her breath escaped in a whoosh. His arm moved, then both legs. He slowly picked himself out of the dirt. A communal sigh of relief was replaced by a groundswell of mutters.

“Teach him not to stand in front of a loaded gate,” someone said.

Two men at the rail nodded, followed by more grumbles.

The starter gestured with his thumb. Julie had never seen the stony official show so much emotion, his expression a mixture of relief and anger.

“Leave the area now,” he snapped. “I won’t tolerate interference like that!” He turned toward the horses. “Riders! Bring them back in.”

She couldn’t tell if Otto was disoriented or merely stubborn, but he ignored the starter’s command and glared at Joe, who had trotted back on the reluctant chestnut.

“Man, I’m sorry,” Joe said, his voice squeaky with relief. “No way to avoid you. My horse was scared when you cornered him and busted out on his own. Nothing I could do.”

Otto’s hands fisted, and Julie’s breath hitched. Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to drag Joe off his horse, not in front of the officials. Otto stalked closer, his eyes narrowed on Joe.

He’s going to be kicked off the track
. Julie’s relief was tempered with dismay. Otto gave her the creeps, but he was also one of the few trainers she jockeyed for. His mare was scheduled to race that evening, and if he was kicked out now, the mare wouldn’t be allowed to run. What bad timing.

“Excuse me, sir.” Kurt’s calm voice sounded from behind the rail. “I’d like to check my horse before he goes back in the gate. He might have cut himself when he stumbled.”

The starter turned his attention to Kurt. “Make it quick,” he said, still edgy after the incident.

Otto seemed to regain control. He shot Joe a dark glower, shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked away.

Julie pulled her gaze from Joe and Otto. Ace seemed to be fine, but it was fortunate Kurt’s request had distracted the starter and given Otto a chance to cool down. She leaned over Ace’s shoulder as Kurt approached. “We had a sloppy break,” she said, scanning his face for signs of displeasure. “I’m sorry. The next one will be better.”

“Not your fault. You did a good job keeping him on his feet.” He crouched down and ran a hand over Ace’s legs.

“Ace won’t be so tight next time,” she said, forestalling any lecture. “There was a lot of excitement. I’m glad Otto’s okay. Thought he’d finally be banned.”

“Not banned yet.” Kurt rose, his hooded gaze following Otto, and she blew out a relieved sigh as it truly seemed he wasn’t obsessing about the break. Chandler would have lectured endlessly.

She followed Kurt’s gaze, watching as Otto trudged along the walkway. A hoof print marked the back of his shirt, but he walked evenly and showed no other sign he’d just been trampled by a horse.

“He’s tough as an oak tree,” Kurt said, so quietly it seemed he was talking to himself.

“Come on. Let’s get those horses in.” The starter gestured impatiently at Julie. “You first.”

“Keep his head up,” Kurt said softly. “You did fine.” He wiped some dirt off Ace’s muzzle then squeezed her boot. Turned and stepped back over the rail.

She tightened her lips, listening as the trainer of Joe’s horse shouted loud instructions about using the whip to make the colt listen. She was glad she was riding for Kurt.

“I want your horses coming out together or we’ll be doing this another day. We’re already pushing regs,” the starter warned as a handler grabbed Ace and led him into the gate. The two other runners entered the slots. Julie grabbed a chunk of mane, steadied her breathing and waited.

The gate rattled. Someone cursed. But she stared through Ace’s flattened ears, determined not to let her distractions filter down to Ace. Her mother had been a big fan of visualization, and Julie pictured Ace coming out straight and fast.

Crack!
The doors opened and the three horses broke as one—running hard, running straight.

Two straining heads bobbed on her right, and whoops and whistles cut the air. She was vaguely conscious of her own yells as she urged Ace down the lane. He galloped strongly, even passing the other two horses. She rose in the stirrups, pumped with excitement as she eased him up before the turn.

Gate work was an important step in a young horse’s career. Races could be won or lost at the start, and fear of the gate often launched many bad habits. She stroked his neck, absorbing the new bounce in his trot. The two horses beside her also seemed more confident as they headed back to their waiting trainers. Even the chestnut pranced, strutting now that he’d overcome the scary gate.

Kurt snagged Ace’s reins and led him through the gap, where Julie dismounted.

“Good job,” he said, nodding with approval. “Starter said he’s ready to race.”

“Ace is a nice horse,” she said. Her voice bubbled with adrenaline. “He gallops straight, businesslike. And the bit worked perfectly too. I’ve never seen a snaffle so low.”

“Me neither,” Kurt said. “Surprised it worked.”

She jerked back, shocked by his admission. She’d trusted him; yet, he’d put her out on a green two-year-old, not knowing if she’d have any control? The side of his mouth twitched, and she realized he was teasing.

She punched his arm, then dropped her hand, appalled. Good grief. What was she doing? Hitting trainers now? She turned and unbuckled her mother’s old saddle, her fingers fumbling at the buckle.

“Good thing you didn’t fall off.” Kurt didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. His deep voice rippled with amusement. “You might have been banged up. And I’m sure you wouldn’t forgive me if you missed tonight’s race.”

She nodded, grateful for the diversion. She hadn’t been thinking. Had been way too comfortable. She wouldn’t do that again. Besides, his arm had felt like bedrock. She suppressed a wimpy urge to rub her knuckles.

“I actually have two races tonight,” she said, pulling off her saddle and edging back a step. “Otto’s mare and a classy old sprinter.” It was the first time she’d ever had two rides in one night, so she definitely wouldn’t have welcomed a training spill. Not today, not when she was so close. Just the thought of a fall made her throat tighten.

His eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you riding Ace back to the barn?”

“If you don’t mind, I have some horses to gallop at this end.” She paused, hoping he was still considering her as a jockey, even though Ace’s first break from the gate had been far from stellar. “You’ll watch me tonight?” She moistened her lips. “Watch me ride?”

“Definitely.” His eyes darkened. “We can meet after the races. Go for a drink.”

Her palms felt moist as she gripped her saddle like a shield. Part of her wanted to see him, but it could cause all sorts of complications. And though she liked being around him, knew she could learn a lot, she felt much safer when she was mounted. He jumbled her emotions, and she didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit.

“We’ll talk about Lazer,” he added, his face expressionless.

She swallowed. Then nodded slowly. “All right.” She forced her most businesslike tone, the one she always used when trainers turned too familiar. “We’ll meet…have a meeting, later.”

But her formal attempt only seemed to amuse him because his mouth twitched, and the glint in his eyes didn’t look at all businesslike.

Kurt rubbed his jaw and stared absently through the motel window, imagining Archer’s reaction to his e-mail. A recommendation to claim a racehorse was certain to raise objections; plus, he also wanted a border alert placed on Otto.

Experience had taught him to make requests in pairs, one as a throwaway so there was room to negotiate what he really wanted. But he needed both these things, and he needed them now.

His attention drifted over the stained curtain—three cigarette burns and another mark that resembled blood—and he dragged his chair sideways, suddenly resentful of the grungy room. It would be a relief when this sordid chapter of his life was over. One last job. A few more lies.