Oliver glanced down at where Wyatt had touched him, then back up at Wyatt looking completely confused. Oliver stepped back awkwardly.
Wyatt cringed inside. He hadn’t meant anything suggestive. “For cryin’ aloud,” he mutered under his breath. “I think you deserve a break!”
Oliver seemed to ease.
Wyatt stuck his hands in his pocket, and did that little lean onto his heels. “Tell you what. I’ll give you one of our horses if you date my sister.”
Oliver definitely looked like he wanted to bolt like a racehorse on a bad day.
Wyatt ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Wait. This isn’t going the way I thought it would.”
Oliver paused.
Wyatt took a step toward him. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Oliver looked even more uncomfortable. “You’re already doing that.”
“Right.” Wyatt exhaled. “Do you...” his eyes wandered. “Do you like women?”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “I’m straight as the stretch run, Junior.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Wyatt pulled at his hair. “It’s just that you seem to run away from girls, and...” He cursed under his breath.
“What is this really about?” Oliver asked.
“I’m making you a business offer.”
“Does your sister know?”
Wyatt shook his head, taking one more step toward Oliver. He touched Oliver’s shoulder. Oliver glanced at his hand, then back at him, seeming confused, stunned. Wyatt offered his hand before it went too far. “Shake on it?”
Oliver pulled away, leaving Wyatt disappointed and not sure where either of them stood.
FILL IN DASCHA TRIPPING
She was falling, but a split second before she was sure she’d have a concussion, she stopped. Dascha looked into Oliver’s eyes. His fingers pressed into her arm as he cradled her. They were rough, and strong, and all too gentle. Her heart fluttered.
Dascha swallowed hard at. She wanted to fall all over again just so he could catch her once more. She knew the words that would utter from her lips would echo what she truly felt.
“Let me go.”
Oliver set her right, then rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry.”
“You should have let me fall.”
He looked even more guilty. “Sorry.”
“Then I could have sued you and gotten out of this place.”
“Dascha Ramona Lane!” Wyatt scolded.
Oliver went from repentive to snorting. “Your middle name’s Ramona?”
Dascha rounded on him, doing that face he loved.
“Like Ramona Quimby?” Oliver pushed. “You’re not so tough after all. Trouble maker.”
Before she could sock him, Wyatt stepped in between. The fire between Dascha and Oliver was so obvious, he felt it radiate from them like a couple of old wood stoves; nostalgic and timeless. For a second, Wyatt had to swallow back a little bit of jealousy.
“Now listen here, Sparky,” Wyatt said, glancing at both of them in turn. “We want this deal to go down smoothly, but you’re both being a couple of twats to one another. I want everyone to walk away happy, so can we please,” he begged, “act like grown ups for five minutes.”
Dascha scowled at Oliver, then stuck her tongue out at him, to which he promptly shot back, “Don’t stick it where I can lick it, darlin’”
Dascha’s face went as wide as the ocean. She wheeled and marched away.
Wyatt’s shoulders slumped. He really did want her to be happy. When he turned back to Oliver, the trainer was doting over the chestnut mare from Wyatt’s father’s string.
Oliver cooed and preened her, as though she meant the world to him. Wyatt knew, just from how Oliver acted around the horse, that he was completely wrapped up in her. If it could tie a string, Oliver would be wearing it on his finger. Wyatt also couldn’t help notice a completely different personality oozing out of Oliver when he was around the horse. He was such a softy.
Whatever Oliver had against Dascha was simply a wall he was putting up. Something tragic had happened to Oliver, Wyatt knew it in his heart. Just like Dascha was struggling with her own emotions. Wyatt knew he had to get them together. In the end, he was sure it would heal all of them. And he’d get to spend more time with Oliver.
Oliver worked hard, cared about what he did on a level of business Wyatt rarely saw, and was loyal. That much was clear. When Oliver hadn’t gotten paid, he could have neglected the Lane horses. But he didn’t. And that said something about his character. Dascha could use someone like that in her life.
Oliver hung around the horse a few more minutes, gradually warming with a smile. Wyatt wanted to see him smile like that more often. He wanted to make Oliver smile like that. Wyatt pushed the urge away and approached Oliver.
“Meet with Dascha one more time.”
Oliver instantly tensed. “I thought you had gone.”
“Yeah it’s easy to make the world disappear when you’re doing what you love, isn’t it.”
Oliver sighed.
“Hear her out. Hell, do what she asks just once,” Wyatt suggested. “You might be surprised how accommodating she can be if you work with her instead of against her.”
Oliver turned, looking completely unconvinced. “One last time, but that’s it. After that, I’m finding a private broker to handle your business.”
“Fair enough.” Wyatt offered his hand, and Oliver shook it.
*
The afternoon races were buzzing with motion. Wyatt had pointed Oliver toward millionaire’s row where Dascha said she’d be waiting for her brother. Wyatt had been all too willing to share the text with Oliver.
“Can I, uh,” Oliver hesitated as he approached Dascha. She turned to look at him. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
Her brow knit, as though she weren’t sure what to make of the offer.
“I’d like to start over,” he said. “I haven’t exactly put my best foot forward, so to speak.”
Dascha returned her attention to the track. The next race would start soon. Horses and riders decked out in brilliant colors paraded down the stretch, headed for the starting gate.
Oliver sat near her. “Or I could buy you a drink,” he offered.
Dascha drummed her manicured fingers on the table. Oliver wasn’t sure if that meant she was irritable or what.
“Scotch. On the rocks,” she said.
Oliver flagged down a waiter and ordered for them.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Dascha looked at him. “Of what?”
He tilted his head toward the track, hinting at the races.
“It’s interesting,” she confessed. “I can see why people get wrapped up in it. I haven’t placed any bets, however.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know who to choose.”
“I could show you sometime, if you’d like that is.”
Her eyebrow cocked.
Oliver lost his nerve. She already thought he was terrible at picking winners, given the track records of her father’s horses. Why would she learn anything from him? Oliver leaned back in his seat.
“I love it. All of it,” he said. “The colors, the sounds, the adrenaline. It’s an addiction.”
“Is that why you hardly have a dime to your name, Mister Way?”
Oliver shook his head. “No. I just need a good horse. A great one.” He squinted to the backstretch where the horses were loading into the gate. “I know if I had a truly great horse, I’d get my name on the map.”
“You seem to be struggling with the decent ones you already have.”
Oliver scratched at a spot on the table casually. “You see my problem.” He felt her eyes gazing at him, but didn’t look up. “Who’s going to give a guy with mediocre horses the chance to even try?”
“Someone who believes in you.” Their eyes met. Dascha shivered. Not wanting to field the feelings rising in her, she turned her gaze back to the track. “Just don’t make my brother that per
son.”
Oliver pressed his lips together. The starting bell rang, and the horses charged into motion. He and Dascha watched in silence until the thunder of hooves and popping of whips rattled the clubhouse. Unable to help himself, Oliver jumped to his feet, cheering.
When the race was over, he sat back down, just in time for the drinks to arrive.
He offered his glass up. “Cheers?”
Dascha touched hers to his, their fingers brushing. The glasses clinked.
Oliver downed half of the copper liquid before setting down his glass.
“So, Mister Way.” Dascha shifted in her seat. “Any news of the plans you have for the Lane horses?”
He twisted the glass around on the table, leaving a ring of condensation. He needed to find a solution to this mess, but he didn’t want to tell her how he’d figure out acquiring Fools Rush In. “I found some claiming races,” he said finally.
“No buyers, then?”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking it might be beneficial to see if we could get one more win under their girths. That would increase their value to a buyer.”
Dascha still didn’t fully trust him, but couldn’t deny the way he made her feel. She was only here to get the horses sold, she reminded herself. Attraction was not part of thedeal. She sipped her drink. “Alright. When do you propose we run them?”
He rattled the ice in his glass. “Oh, in the next week or two.”
“Good.” They watched another race together and finished their drinks.
Oliver rose at the same time she did, and offered his hand. “You can trust me, Miss Lane. I’ll take care of everything.” He offered a smile, hoping it would win her over.
She extended her hand, hesitantly, as though he might bite. Finally they met, skin to skin. Her breath hitched at his touch, remembering the day he had caught her. She had been too harsh on him. Maybe she should give him a chance. He might prove worthy yet.
He didn’t let go at first. He seemed to be lost in the same moment, but his eyes drank her in like the remaining drops of whiskey in his glass.
The shrill of the starting bell brought them back to reality. Oliver pulled away. “Until next time, Miss Lane.”
Dascha’s hand hung in the air, as though it wanted to hang on to his. She smoothed her dress, and sat back down, dismissing him.
Dascha received an invitation to join Oliver for the morning workouts at Gulfstream Park. As she struggled to shake her grogginess, she thought only people out of their mind got up this early. She dressed anyway. If Oliver invited her to the workouts, it must be important. Maybe he’d have more to discuss about her father’s horses.
And one grande half-caff mocha latte Americano would have her awake in no time.
She let Wyatt know she was headed out on her own, and he simply gave her a thumbs up. She was surprised at his laxity. She thought he might want to go with.
Dascha made her way to Gulfstream and found Oliver down at the rail. Trainers lined the white-washed metal, looking like a murder of hunched crows in the dim morning light.
Dascha sidled up to Oliver, passing him a black coffee. “Wasn’t sure what you liked.”
He took a sip, wrinkling his nose. He almost choked. “This is fine.”
She smiled. “A peace offering, if you will.”
He nodded, rubbing his throat. “Thanks.”
“You asked to see me.” Dascha sipped her coffee.
“I thought you might appreciate watching your horses work before their race. I’ve got Faith out now.” He nodded in the direction of the chestnut mare Dascha had seen.
“What am I looking at exactly?” Besides a rear-end, Dascha posed.
“She’s a good mover,” Oliver said. “But I think she would be better suited for another sport.”
A little further down the track, the horse started running. Dascha followed Oliver’s gaze. The only interesting thing was the way Oliver seemed so enamored with the horse.
Dascha couldn’t help her self. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Oliver seemed to choke on air. “Excuse me?”
She rolled the cup of coffee between her palms, warming her hands. “Wife? Sister?”
He cleared his throat. “I have the horses, and that’s enough.”
“So you’re alone.”
His head whipped around. He scowled. “I just said I have the horses.”
She rolled her eyes. “Horses aren’t people, Mister Way.”
“Would you drop the Mister Way stuff? It’s Oliver. Please.” He turned his focus back to the horse.
Dascha smirked. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“Hell yes,” he spat, looking at his timer.
She chortled. “Why are you so married to your career?”
Dascha watched Oliver’s jaw flex.
“Better than the alternative,” he grumbled.
Was he even interested in women? Dascha wondered. He seemed to get along better with Wyatt. She drank her coffee, washing away the note of jealousy, and brushed the notion off. Everyone got along with Wyatt.
The fact that even a spark of jealousy invaded her, caught her off guard. “Why don’t we go to dinner before the race?” she suggested. “The three of us.”
“Is Faith invited?” Oliver asked dryly.
He was funny. “Wyatt, You, and Myself.”
His attention was still so fixated on the horse. Dascha wondered even more what had him so married to his work.
“I must ask,” she pressed.
He glanced at his stopwatch, then at the horse barreling around the far turn. “Hmm?”
“Why do you feel like the horses make better companions?”
“Huh?”
“You said that horse would make a better girlfriend than I would, and you don’t seem too keen on marriage, or women in general.”
He stiffened. Dascha still got a kick out of making him uncomfortable for once.
She watched his knuckles brighten as he clutched the stopwatch.
Finally he huffed, “Would you leave me alone? I’m trying to work.”
“But you invited me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Dascha shrugged, sipping her coffee and started meandering away.
He turned, appearing as though he might want to say something, but also looking guarded at the same time. “Self-preservation,” he said.
Dascha’s eyebrow arced.
“If I’m working, I’m not thinking about my past.”
“I would love to hear about that some time... Oliver.”
*
Dascha and Wyatt shared a vanity mirror in their hotel room.
“What have you got against him?” Wyatt pressed.
“Nothing!” Dascha said, securing her earrings.
“You obviously like him.”
“I do not,” she protested.
Wyatt grinned. “Liar.”
Dascha perfumed herself, then squirted Wyatt. He winced, but chuckled.
“You’re a terrible Poker player, Dasch.”
She moved to the edge of the bed to slip her shoes on, and sighed. “Alright. I...” She really gave in. “I want the romance mom and dad had. But I want love on my terms.”
“Dasch, love isn’t something you can control.” He stepped back, motioning to himself, as though he were saying Prime example here. “Take control of everything else in your life, but rush into love like a damn fool. Surrender to it. You might surprise yourself.”
*
The dinner went off without a hitch. Finally it seemed they were going to get along. The horses would race tomorrow. They’d all have a grand time, and move on with their lives. Everyone was coming out a winner.
Oliver tapped his foot impatiently as he waited to put in his claim ticket on Fools Rush In at the Claims Office. The race was going off in a little under an hour, and he wanted to make sure this was taken care of.
The clerk was taking her sweet time reviewing the paperwork. Ol
iver needed to meet the Lanes in a few minutes. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also wanted to shout would you hurry up!
A bile was rising in his throat with the knowledge of what he was doing. He had no plans to tell the Lanes who claimed Faith. It had him a little unnerved. What if they found out? He gripped the edge of the counter. Everybody wins in this situation, he told himself. He got Faith. The Lanes got their money. Oliver didn’t care if they had already told him no. It was a good plan in his opinion.
The clerk finally finished with the paperwork and got Oliver situated with his claim ticket. He shoved it into his pocket and skulked away.
The Lanes had made themselves comfortable in the clubhouse, sharing a simple dinner and drinks. Oliver stood behind them.
“Greetings, Earthlings.” He couldn’t think of anything better to describe them.
Junior wiped his mouth and smiled up at him. He stood and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Ollie!”
Junior turned to his sister. “Dascha. Say hello to our friend.”
She took a sip of her drink and wiggled her fingers at him in a pseudo wave.
Oliver grimaced. The other day she was all chipper and in his grill. Today she was pretending he didn’t exist. Women.
“I can’t stay long,” Oliver said. “I have to bring Faith down for her race. But I thought I’d say hello, and wish you the best.”
Junior grabbed his glass and raised it. “Here’s to winners!”
Oliver shook his hand. Butterflies scattered in his stomach, zapping themselves on an imagined electric wire. Not because of the Lanes, but what was going to go down. It left Oliver feeling completely sliced open and readable. He was sure they’d find out. He could barely muster words. “Thanks, uh... Wyatt.”
Wyatt grinned at him. “See you soon, boss.”
Oliver turned and headed to the barns. Faith peered over her mesh stall guard, ears perked. She looked ready to go. Oliver took her out, gave her a good brushing down, then walked her to the receiving area where she was checked against her tattoo identification number under her lip, and a small blood sample was taken. The vet in charge waved them on.
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