Summer Kisses (112 page)

Best to lighten things up. The last thing he needed was to stir her stubborn streak. And, of course, he already had something she really wanted. Something she wanted desperately.

“Not cocky at all,” he said mildly, “but there are certain Eastern traditions that must be observed. Especially the one that says a jockey must let her trainer pay for dinner.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding? I’m riding Lazer?”

Something kicked in his chest. Her happiness was infectious, and he didn’t feel quite so battered and chewed up. “I liked the job you did tonight,” he said gruffly. “You held your ground but weren’t dangerously aggressive. You knew when each horse was giving all they had. It was good riding. Smart riding. And, yeah, I want you to be Lazer’s jockey.”

She was almost hopping on her stool now, but her leg was touching his, so he wasn’t going to complain. “It’s nice of you to give me this chance,” she said. “I’ve never ridden a good horse before.”

“Julie, don’t tell a trainer that. And don’t admit you’re new, like you did with me the first day. Fake it until you make it.” He couldn’t stop grinning. My God, she was sweet. After years of working with creeps and scum and everything in between, it was refreshing to be around someone so utterly honest.

He slipped a hand around her hip and gave an impulsive hug. She didn’t pull away, probably still distracted about Lazer, so he left his arm draped around her, wanting to feel her reaction to his next question.

“Speaking of trainers,” he said, watching her face, “I heard a friend of Otto’s was murdered last week. Did you ever meet the guy?”

She nodded, but he felt no telltale stiffening. Nothing she wanted to hide. “Yes. I talked to him in the barn. The police said I was the last one to see him alive.”

Heaping plates were slammed on the counter in front of them. The smell of fried food, after a diet of coffee, bagels and sandwiches, made his mouth water.

“Enjoy,” the waiter said as he plunked salt, ketchup and two kinds of spicy sauce in front of Julie. Kurt received a plastic fork.

Julie looked at Kurt, and her dimples flashed. “Since this has been such an excellent meeting,” she said, “I’ll share my ketchup.”

“A deal,” he said wryly, wishing the food hadn’t come just as she was talking about Connor. Still, they were both hungry. Better to finish this conversation later and let her eat in peace.

She bit into her thick, dripping hamburger without a touch of reservation. He liked that and turned to his own food. The burger was big, delicious and filling. He left half his fries, watching in surprise as she continued to eat.

“Guess you didn’t have lunch,” he said ruefully.

“Or breakfast. Too nervous to eat.” She paused, mid-bite, slanting him with a conspiratorial smile. “Guess I shouldn’t admit to nerves either. Fake it until you make it, isn’t that what you say?”

“No, Julie,” he said quietly. “Don’t change a thing.” He liked everything about her—her honesty, her dedication, even her temper, and he also liked the sensuous way her mouth moved as she enjoyed her food.

“So,” he said impulsively, “we should have another meeting tomorrow. You can show me one of Calgary’s famous steakhouses.”

Her eyes darkened, and he was certain he saw regret. “I’m sorry.” Her voice lowered. “We both know it’s stupid to mix business with pleasure. Even though you’re horribly attractive—” She stopped talking and even under the muted lights, he could see her cheeks flush.

“Don’t stop now,” he said. “I like that word.” He also liked her company. All in all, he was very much enjoying the evening.

“What word?” She gave a hopeful smile. “Horribly?”

“No. The other word.”

“Attractive then.” She waved her fork, dangerously close to her eye, not seeming to notice when he gently guided it away from her face. “But men and horses always look better after a few beer, and I really do prefer horses right now. No time for anything else.”

“Maybe you should consider time optimization,” he said, feeling his mouth twitch. “Men and horses, together at the track. You can use me for a test drive, kind of like a morning gallop.”

She laughed and bit the end of a fry. “You like teasing, don’t you. I didn’t see that when we first met.” Her nose crinkled in memory, and she tilted her head. “Actually, you were different, harder.”

“Really?” He forced an exaggerated chuckle, somewhat irked she’d picked up on his earlier mindset, back when he’d been suspicious of her involvement. It was odd she could read him so well. She was fresh, unspoiled, but like her dad, rather astute. Something he needed to remember.

She was also intoxicated and shouldn’t be driving. It took her three attempts to spear the last fry, but she chased it around the plate with single-minded determination.

“I can drive you home tonight,” he said, watching her fork with concern. “I just have to pick my truck up at the barn.”

“Thanks, but there’s no need. I’m staying at Sandra’s.”

His disappointment rocked him. And he needed to get back on focus. This was about Connor, not about his own interest in an attractive woman, a woman who regrettably was more interested in horses than men.

“I talked to your dad about hauling Otto’s mare tomorrow,” he said. “He thought it’d be a nice day to ride in the mountains. Can you show me where your place is? Maybe guide me around after? I can bring Cisco.”

“Sure.” She wiped her mouth and absently pushed her empty plate toward the lurking waiter. “A trail ride would be fun.” Her eyes narrowed as she tried to peer over his shoulder. “I wonder where everyone is? I haven’t seen Sandra all night.”

He shrugged but wasn’t surprised. His arm draped the back of her chair, his hip moored her stool and the hardy souls who had ventured in her direction had been deterred by his flat stare. Even the cowboy had moved on. He lifted his hand and traced a path across her smooth cheek. “You have a bit of ketchup, right there.” He wiped the fictitious spot, watched her eyes and the way she looked at him. Could feel her slight shiver.

“It’s late.” Sandra’s voice was sudden and authoritative. “We gotta go.”

Julie jerked back. He lowered his hand, smoothing his expression before turning toward Sandra, surprised he hadn’t noticed her approach. “It’s not that late,” he said.

“Close to midnight, and we peasants have to get up early.” Sandra crossed her arms, looking at them both with an amused expression. “Do you still want your two-year-old ponied tomorrow?”

“Please,” he said. “I’m hauling the new mare after Julie gallops Lazer.” He picked up the bill, stilling Julie’s hand as she reached for her purse. “I’m paying,” he said softly. “It was just a dinner meeting.”

She let him take care of the bill, and he figured it was a major accomplishment. “Do you need a drive?” he added.

“No,” Sandra interrupted, her voice loud as she gestured in an indeterminate direction. “We’re walking. It’s only a couple blocks west. Gary’s staying at my place too.”

Kurt digested that news as they walked toward the door. He wanted to see Julie home. Conversation was beginning to flow, and it was painfully difficult to talk to her at the track.

He pulled open the door, holding it open for both ladies, then followed them outside. A lithe shadow unfolded from the wall. Bixton.

“Congratulations,” Kurt said, remembering Bixton had ridden three winners earlier that evening, a laudable feat at any track.

“Thanks, but Julie is the real star,” Bixton said. “She didn’t have much horsepower but got both her mounts up for a piece of the money.” He looped his arm around Julie, his teeth gleaming wolfishly under the streetlight. “You rode smart, Jules. But a couple things need improving. We can discuss riding strategy at Sandra’s.”

Julie turned toward Kurt, calling out a goodbye even as Gary propelled her down the sidewalk. Their conversation shifted to talk of whips, the best time to switch hands and then Kurt could no longer hear their actual words, only her low laugh.

His jaw clamped as he watched her walk away.

“Jocks always rehash each race.” Sandra blew out a sigh. “And it’s
your
fault they didn’t have a chance to talk earlier. Now they’ll keep me up all night.”

She pointed in the opposite direction. “That’s the fastest way to your motel. Two blocks, then cut through the first alley. No one in his right mind would try to mug you. Especially the way you’re scowling.” She grinned but not unkindly. “See you tomorrow, dark and early.”

She hurried off in the direction of her friends, leaving him unclenching his jaw and feeling like someone had just claimed his favorite horse. This sucked. He’d noticed Bixton flirting happily with almost every girl in the bar, yet somehow the nimble jockey had snagged Julie right off his arm.

Obviously Julie and Bixton had some sort of relationship, albeit a loose one. He could just imagine the type of riding strategy they’d be discussing. A steamy image of Bixton with Julie made his chest kick.

He rammed his hands in his pockets, wheeled and headed toward his motel, searching for a positive note. He’d turned up goose eggs tonight, but at least when he’d mentioned Connor, she hadn’t been evasive. And though she professed not to date, she clearly had some time for men. Understandably, she avoided demanding relationships, didn’t want anything to interfere with her career.

All fine with him. He only needed a little chunk of time anyway, just enough to chat her up. And tomorrow they would be alone—no distractions, no interruptions, no Bixton.

Equanimity restored, he cut across the gravel to his motel. Reached in his pocket, searching for his room card but paused, hit with a familiar sense of danger. Something was different.

He stilled, staring at the unit window. The curtains had been closed when he left, but now a two-inch gap loomed. And the room was dark. He’d left the desk lamp on.

A horn blasted from the street and he jerked, his reaction intensified by his rushing adrenaline. From the adjoining room, a television droned. Its whitish light cast surreal shadows. He flexed his hands, focusing on his own room.

It was silent. But maybe not empty.

He eased onto the shadowed walkway that fronted the motel, his mind scrambling. It was unlikely the cleaning staff had made a second visit today. But someone had been in his room. Otto? Or perhaps the person who’d shot Connor? He doubted it was Otto who had pulled the trigger. Otto was the type to use his fists; Connor hadn’t had a mark on him other than the bullet holes.

Kurt lingered in the shadows, questioning his instincts, trying to soothe his innate wariness. So far, he’d played everything low key. A few questions to Julie, but nothing that would connect him to Connor. Unless someone had burned him.

The air was crisp, but sweat beaded on his forehead as he remembered another job, another surprise. Of course, that debacle had been his fault. A little pillow talk with Anne Marie, and his identity had been blown.

But there was no gang and no Anne Marie. Archer and his assistant were his only contacts, and Archer didn’t make mistakes.

Kurt’s heart thudded more evenly. His breathing steadied. Besides, whoever was in there was sloppy.

He edged to the door, watching the folds of the curtains. Nothing moved.

The door to the motel office slammed. Someone laughed. Steps jolted along the walkway. He grabbed the diversion, eased back then tramped forward and rapped on his own door.

“Pizza’s here!” he called.

No response.
Knock, knock
. Nothing.

He fingered the doorknob. It skewed uselessly in his hand, the deep grooves rough beneath his fingers. Clearly not an ambush. He shoved the door open with his foot, reached in and switched on the light.

Goddammit! The room was a shambles of clothing, plastic and glass. He stepped over the television cord, covered with shiny shards of glass, and checked the room—bathroom, closet, beneath the bed.

Empty.

He scooped up a leather sleeve, torn from his jacket. A pair of jeans was intact but his suitcase had been split, the hinges broken. He tossed the clothing aside and moved into the bathroom.

Glass, remnants of the mirror above the sink, crunched beneath his boots. His toothbrush and container of allergy tablets floated in the toilet. A wad of tobacco left a streaky trail and clumped on the tiles, a calling card left to taunt.

Dammit. Otto was one crazy idiot.

Kurt gritted his teeth as he bent over and scraped the tobacco into a plastic bag. An intrusion always felt personal, but at least the damage was minimal.

Obviously the mare was the trigger, and Otto was unraveling. Besides, he told himself, no real harm had been done. His gun and briefcase were locked in the room safe, and his laptop was in the truck. He had nothing else of value.

Oh, Christ. He jerked upright. The horses! His innocent, unprotected horses.

He sprinted to the motel office and reported the break-in, fielding the clerk’s questions with brusque replies. No, he had no idea who’d trashed his room. No, nothing was stolen. The flustered night clerk passed him a blue garbage bag and called the police.

Kurt rushed back to his room, scooped up some clothes and the gooey tobacco evidence. Stuffed them in the bag, tossed it over his shoulder and ran toward the track.

“Gathering trash?” the guard in the security booth asked with a snide snicker.

Kurt didn’t answer. Wasn’t in the mood for jokes and didn’t like the man’s attitude. This guard wasn’t the pale-faced skinny kid, but a paunchy guy with a tired uniform and the bored expression of someone who didn’t like his job.

Kurt flipped his pass out, hurrying, yet trying to control his dread. The horses were fine. Just fine.

“So many people chugging back and forth. Don’t understand how those overpriced animals get any sleep. What’cha doing here so late anyway?” The guard tilted back in his chair and fiddled with Kurt’s credentials.

“Let’s hurry it up,” Kurt said softly.

The guard started to protest but saw something in Kurt’s expression and pressed his mouth shut. He shoved the ID through the grill and started writing, suddenly occupied with paperwork. “Go on,” he muttered.