Summer Kisses (107 page)

Halfway houses and cheap motel rooms had been tolerable with a partner—a partner kept you sane and helped preserve your honest side. Connor had been one of the best, a guy who would go to the wall for you. Kurt had never worried when Connor was behind him.

Connor
.

He slammed his fist on the desk, uncoiling with such force the chair shot back and cracked against the wall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, using the pressure to steady his anger. Usually he had no trouble keeping his emotions blanketed, and his unexpected weakness surprised him.

It never helped to brood. Connor was dead.

The only thing left was to catch his killer. Claiming Otto’s mare was a key step but authorization for her purchase required diplomatic wrangling, and Kurt didn’t have much wiggle room. The mare had to be claimed tonight.

He clicked his laptop shut with a streak of defiance. Sometimes it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and this was one of those times. He’d finish the report in his tack room and send it to Archer at the end of the night. After he owned Otto’s horse.

When Kurt strode into the barn, Sandra had commandeered a large section of the aisle and scrubbed at her saddle with a mangled toothbrush. Her purple shirt and silver belt were festive, but her dark scowl dampened the effect.

He couldn’t resist teasing. “A cowgirl happily cleaning tack,” he said. “Such a rare sight.”

“It’s cleaned every year, whether it needs it or not.” She gestured at the extra sponges. “A nice guy would help me out.”

“Then I hope you can find one.”

She gave a rueful shrug. “It was worth a try. I’m a bit lonely.”

He glanced down the aisle. The barn was deserted, and he did need to talk to Sandra, preferably in private. He hooked a bale of hay and straddled it beside her. “Maybe I’ll help this once but don’t confuse me with a nice guy.”

“I don’t think I’d ever do that,” she said.

He checked her expression but she was busy scrubbing a soapy lather on the saddle; he couldn’t see her eyes. “You working all the races tonight?” he asked, picking up a round sponge.

“Most of them.”

“You ponying Otto’s mare in the seventh?”

“Nope. Otto’s too cheap to pay even though his horses are loco. That’s why none of the regular jocks will ride for him. They’re exhausted before they even reach the gate.”

“Sounds like Julie will need help,” he said. “Will you pick the mare up at the barn and take her back after the race? Since she’s extra work, I’ll pay double.”

He pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and anchored it with the shiny tin of saddle soap.

Sandra didn’t touch the money, just stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You do know Julie is focused on her career?”

“Yeah. I noticed that.” He jabbed far too much soap on the sponge.

“What I mean is,” Sandra tossed him a stained rag, “she doesn’t date. All the guys try, of course, but they’re wasting their time. She has her reasons.”

He leaned forward, unable to resist a little probing. “Which are?”

“None of your business.”

“And it’s not really any of your business,” he said, “why I want a pony for the seventh. Can you do it? Or should I find someone else?”

“No problem. I’m always glad to make extra money.” She scooped up the bill, fingering it as though checking for counterfeit.

He was disappointed she wasn’t going to talk about Julie, but it was more important to swing the conversation around to Otto. He worked up a white lather on the breastplate, scrubbing the leather as though it were the most important thing on his mind.

It was rather enjoyable. The mindless rubbing and the smell of soapy leather reminded him of a more innocent time in his father’s tack room. His dad had always believed in working one’s way up, and Kurt had spent long hours doing menial chores.

“This looks brand new.” He trailed a finger across the glistening leather but watched Sandra’s face while he spoke. “Maybe we should hire out. Otto’s tack look filthy.”

She made a disgusted sound and shook her head. “I hate cleaning leather. And most of Otto’s stuff is so old it belongs in a museum. All that hobble shit. Nobody uses that any more.”

“Does he use it much?”

“Hard to say what he does with it, the way his stall is boarded up. But one night, Julie and I were late. He was fighting with a horse in there. Lots of scuffling.”

“Did he put the boards on that stall or were they already there?”

“Dunno.” Sandra’s forehead wrinkled. “Can’t remember.”

Light steps sounded, steps he immediately recognized. He glanced up, watching as Julie walked gracefully down the aisle. “I don’t believe this.” Her eyes widened. “Sandra? Cleaning tack? Kurt, you’re sweet to help.”

Sweet. He almost choked. He’d never heard that before, although he’d been called many other names, usually by someone being hauled away in cuffs. But it didn’t hurt for her to think he was sweet; in fact, he kind of liked it.

“I’m a full-service trainer,” he said lightly. “You ready to ride tonight?”

“Definitely,” Julie said. “But Dad shipped in a horse about an hour ago and wanted me to check on her.”

“Where is she?” Kurt rose from the bale, ignoring Sandra’s knowing smile.

“Stall twenty-four.” Julie gestured and walked further down the aisle. Kurt followed until she stopped in front of a pretty bay with inquisitive eyes and a splash of white on her forehead.

“Are you galloping her tomorrow?” he asked.

“No, she ripped a shoe off in the trailer. We can’t take her out until the farrier comes by.”

“Maybe Otto would nail it on for you. You said he shoes his own horses?”

Her eyes flared with horror. “I wouldn’t ask him. He’d probably cripple her in the process.”

“You’ve noticed something…about his horses’ feet?” Kurt edged closer, watching her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Hey, guys!” Sandra called. “I’m off to lay my bets. What are Skippy’s chances in the third, Julie?”

Kurt swallowed his frustration, as Julie turned and gave Sandra a confident thumbs up. “Don’t leave Skippy out of your exotics. There’s a chance Country Girl will be in the money too.”

“Okay. I’ll wheel them with the favorites. What a payout that would be!” Sandra’s eyes gleamed as she dug in her back pocket and rushed from the barn, waving her crumpled bills.

“You believe you can get Otto’s mare up for a piece?” He turned to Julie, surprised she’d encourage Sandra to waste her precious cash.

“Of course,” she said simply. “I wouldn’t have told Sandra to bet on Country Girl if I didn’t.”

“No,” he said, “I guess you wouldn’t.” Her honesty was refreshing but somewhat disconcerting. He was used to a life of subterfuge. Julie said exactly what she thought, what she felt. Even when she’d introduced him to Bixton, it was clear she’d been reluctant; however, her sense of fair play had prevailed.

Not that it had even mattered. Bixton’s agent had already approached him, and Kurt had told the agent the same thing he’d told Julie—he hadn’t decided on Lazer’s jockey yet.

His gaze drifted to Otto’s reinforced stall. In a few hours, the mare would be his, and he needed a place where a vet could examine her, far away from Otto’s prying eyes. He looked back at Julie. “Is there room at your ranch to board a horse for a couple weeks?”

She blinked with dismay. “You want to move Lazer? Or Ace?”

“No, a mare.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly relieved Ace and Lazer were staying at the track. Understandable, since she was trying hard to earn the jockey mounts on both his horses.

“This filly’s paddock is empty now.” She gestured over her shoulder at her father’s horse. “We could put your mare in her spot. It has a run-in with some grass. Where’s she now?”

“Grass would be nice,” he said, avoiding Julie’s question. “I’ll talk to your dad, and if it’s okay with him, haul her out tomorrow. Want to grab something to eat?”

“No, thanks.” She checked her watch and edged toward the door. “I never eat before a race. Besides, it’s time to report in, and I still need to study the program.”

Of course. Naturally she wouldn’t want to eat. Even if she met her riding weight, there was too much risk of an accident, and surgery required an empty stomach. He was rather impulsive where she was concerned. But there was a good chance she knew something about Connor’s visit, and she certainly knew a lot about Otto. It was important to get her talking.

She waved as she slipped out the door, but it was clear her focus had already switched to the upcoming race card. It was also clear she intended to avoid being alone with him. Sandra had been correct.

He blew out a reluctant sigh, knowing he was going to have to push. He needed time with her, time for a private conversation that lasted a little longer than two minutes.

Of course, he’d enjoy more than conversation.

The admission stuck in his mind, refusing to leave. Not that it wasn’t justifiable. He hadn’t been able to coax her into talking about Connor through normal channels, so a different approach was certainly warranted. Effective immediately.

A rush of anticipation charged through him, a heated buzz not entirely related to hunting down a killer.

Horses for the first race circled in the paddock, waiting to be saddled. Kurt flipped open his program and scanned the conditions: four-thousand-dollar claimers going a mile. If the track favored speed, the three horse should win, gate to wire.

He shoved his program back in his hip pocket. The speed horse was the heavy favorite, so the race probably wasn’t worth betting. Besides, it was more important he prepare his claim on Otto’s mare. His gaze prowled the crowd as he angled toward the claim box.

Otto had no reason to think anyone would drop a claim on his overpriced mare. There were better horses in the race that could be bought for the same tag. Still, Kurt felt uneasy, as though someone watched.

He signed the form and wryly checked it over. Claiming races were a simple way to keep the competition fair. If you raced a good horse too cheaply, you might win the race but risked losing your horse. He’d claimed many horses before, the first when he was eighteen; from a racing viewpoint, however, this was the worst claim he’d ever made.

“Buying something tonight?”

Adam West’s voice. He tucked the slip in his pocket before turning to face Julie’s father. “Yeah, an interesting mare,” Kurt said. “I spoke to Julie about boarding her at your place for a few weeks. If that’s okay, I’d like to trailer her out tomorrow.”

“Sure, we have some room.” But Adam frowned and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Earlier you said you wanted to rent my trailer. Is yours fixed already?”

“Yeah, repairs went faster than expected,” Kurt said but gave himself a silent reprimand for the mistake. Little lies often caused more problems than the big ones. “I’ll get some directions from Julie,” he added, “and bring the mare out in the morning.”

“All right,” Adam said. “It’s supposed to be nice weather. While you’re out our way, you should ask her to take you for a trail ride. Be a good chance to check out the area you’re looking at buying.”

Kurt nodded, leery of Adam’s watchful eyes. This man was sharp and had a troublesome memory. However, the story about buying land did have its advantages since it would be child’s play to grill Julie on a trail ride. “That’s a good idea,” he said.

“Hey, Nick!” Adam abruptly hollered, and a barrel-chested man detached himself from the crowd, approaching with a bowlegged walk and an amiable grin. A zippered scar notched his jawbone, and he moved with a slight limp. “Nick,” Adam repeated. “Can you shoe my filly tomorrow? She’s at the track now, G barn.”

“Sorry.” Nick shook his head. “Been busy as hell, and I’m roping tomorrow. Can’t fit her in until next week.”

“At least do her front,” Adam said. “She lost a shoe so Julie can’t get her out to gallop.” He jabbed his thumb as though in afterthought. “This is Kurt MacKinnon. In from Woodbine. He’s got some horses in G barn too.”

Kurt shook Nick’s callused hand. Half the farrier’s index finger was missing, but it didn’t weaken the man’s grip.

“Good to meet you,” Kurt said. “I’ve heard your name.”

“Really. What’cha hear?” Nick’s voice rumbled with confident curiosity.

“That you’re the best farrier around,” Kurt said. “Better than a vet at figuring out leg problems.”

“Hell.” Nick chuckled. “Folks just say that because they like free advice. And advice is something I love to dish out. Here’s something you boys can tuck in your wallet.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “This race is easy money if you throw out the three horse. He was sore as hell from a stone bruise when I shod him yesterday.”

“The three horse, you say?” Adam flipped open his
Racing Form
.

Nick nodded, pressed a big finger to his lips then turned and resumed his jaunt to the betting windows.

“Well, that makes it easier,” Adam said as he studied the page. “Maybe I’ll bet the trifecta. Think the number one horse can get up for third?”

“Not a chance,” Kurt said, scanning the past performances and noting the slow times. “That horse would need the race of his life just to keep the others in sight. His speed figures are way too low.”

Adam shrugged with genial disagreement. “Time only matters in jail. I think the one horse will do fine. And if I can throw out the three horse, I’m smelling money.”

Kurt chuckled, watching as Adam jotted down his bets. The man had a stubborn set to his jaw that reminded him of Julie. Probably had her temper too. He wasn’t surprised that he liked the man. People streamed around them, rushing to the wickets, but Kurt remained beside Adam for the post parade, enjoying his company and local insight.

Sandra was in the parade of horses and ponied the favorite, number three, a flashy bay going off at odds of two to one. The horse Nick said had a stone bruise.

“Number three’s a lunch bucket horse,” Adam said. “Doesn’t know the word quit. On a normal day he’d be five lengths ahead of this bunch. But if Nick is right and he’s sore, number six will win, eight will be second, and the one horse will come third. In spite of his slow times.” He smiled a good-natured challenge, hiked up his jeans and headed to the betting window.