‘No more than the next guy.’ He rolled onto his side so he was facing her. ‘Including you.’
Grateful to see he wasn’t sinking into depression, she returned his smile.
‘So I’m just one of the guys now, am I?’
‘Believe me, what I am about to do to you I have absolutely no interest in doing with the other guys.’
Frankie giggled as Rhys ducked beneath the covers. His hair tickled her ribs and she squirmed. He trailed kisses over her stomach before burrowing up and gently holding her hardening nipple between his teeth.
Frankie pushed her head into the pillow and closed her eyes.
‘Rhys, no,’ she moaned. ‘I’ve got to get up early tomorrow. We don’t have time.’
Rhys’s black curls appeared from beneath the duvet, shortly followed by his face.
‘“Time is a companion that goes with us on a journey. It reminds us to cherish each moment because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we have lived”.’
‘Look at you, Professor Bradford of the Philosophy Department. Whose words of wisdom are those? Aristotle?’
‘No, Captain Jean Luc Picard in Star Trek.’
Frankie rolled onto her side in giggles. When she’d recovered, she turned back to him. She could see him smiling in the darkness.
‘Can I ask you a favour?’ she said.
‘Depends on what it is. You should know I don’t do violence and while it’s okay for some people, I really don’t go in for foot fetishes.’
‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ She hesitated. ‘You know I help out at Girl Guides?’
‘Yeah,’ Rhys said guardedly.
‘Well, we organise these events for them, themed events. They’re kind of like badges but they’re called Go For Its.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m meant to be organising a couple in the new year. One’s called Lights, Camera, Action and the girls get to learn about film production and acting and stuff like that.’
‘Frankie, I know Hollywood is missing out on its next leading man while I’m over here, but I’m a jockey. What favour could I possibly do?’
Frankie stroked his cheek, bristly with shadow. He would make such a sensuous leading man.
‘Well, you’re a bit of a film buff and you do all of your photography. I thought maybe you could come along and teach them about how a camera and tripod and things work.’
Rhys groaned.
‘No, Frankie. No, no, no. I couldn’t, I’m sorry. I’d be the worst teacher. And I very much doubt whether I could tell them anything about cameras that they don’t already know.’
‘Of course there is. No one takes photos like you do without knowing a thing or two about—I don’t know what you’d call it—framing and lighting, I guess. Please. It’ll be fun. Everyone gets to dress up as a movie character.’
‘Oh God, no.’ He lay his arm over his eyes then peeped from beneath it when she didn’t respond. Frankie gave him her most doe-eyed look. Rhys covered his eyes again.
‘Say you’ll think about it?’
Rhys sighed.
‘I’ll think about it.’ He raised his arm to look at her again and pointed a finger. ‘That is not a “yes” though. It’s a “I’ll think about it”.’
Delighted that he hadn’t given her an outright “no”, Frankie snuggled deeper into their bed.
‘That’s good enough for me.’
Rhys curled up behind her, neatly fitting his body against hers and nuzzled her neck. Frankie felt like purring.
‘Now this is what I call a quality Rhysy-spoon,’ she murmured.
‘Except that sausage and eggs are off the menu,’ Rhys replied. He kissed her neck. ‘Sweet dreams.’
Chapter 31
By the time Frankie received a sleepy text message from her mother wishing her a happy new year, she was already driving across the Severn Bridge into Wales with Rhys. There had been no huge celebratory bash for her the night before. She had toasted in the new year and shared a kiss with Rhys on the stroke of midnight, but that was all. Okay, and she’d had a shag, but that had come later and hadn’t been particularly New Year-related.
She needed to be sober and wide awake for New Year’s Day. She had to ride Peace Offering in the Welsh National, up against his old foes Skylark and Okay Oklahoma and last year’s Grand National winner, Faustian. Skylark was favoured to repeat his Becher Chase triumph over Peace Offering and adding to the pressure on Frankie’s shoulders, her parents had promised to attend.
Frankie looked up at the sky as they pulled up in the car park and got out. Low cloud hovered over the surrounding hilltops. She sucked in a lungful of the frigid air.
‘You coming for a run?’ she asked Rhys.
Rhys exhaled noisily. His hair was still tousled and purple smears of sleep deprivation shadowed his eyes.
‘If it’s pounds you need to lose, we could always have a fast fuck in the sauna.’
Frankie slung her bag over her shoulder and began walking towards the course.
‘Nice try, sunshine. I’ve got to walk the course before the big one.’
‘Ah, yes. You’re riding Peace Offering, aren’t you?’
It wasn’t a question as such, Frankie knew. Rhys was well aware of her four rides today. And despite his reassurances that he was okay with her riding Peace Offering, she still felt the horse was an uncomfortable topic. She dreaded to think how she and Rhys would cope come Grand National Day in April. Right now, she didn’t want to think about it. Dare she say it, but she’d even prefer her own company. She had plenty on her plate already without having to worry about hurting Rhys’s feelings.
‘I’m going for a run,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later.’
*
The first of Frankie’s rides came aboard Dory in the three mile Beginners’ Chase. Ordinarily, Frankie felt she would have been in with a chance. Dory was a good jumper and she had a decent of foot. But Aspen Valley was triple-handed in this race and Dory was the weakest of its three entries.
‘I wouldn’t change you for the world,’ she said, ruffling Dory’s silver mane as they cantered down to the start. ‘Let’s show these boys how to do it, eh?’
The turf was thick and the ground heavy underfoot. Frankie knew conditions weren’t ideally suited to Dory’s daisy-cutter action and from where she was sat, the six walls of birch which severed the backstretch seemed insurmountable. She glanced across at Rhys, sat astride Faulkner in his blue and grey-striped silks. He looked focussed; his goggles were already down even though the tape still hadn’t been drawn across the course.
The first droplets of rain began to fall as the starter climbed his rostrum. Frankie went to pull her goggles down.
‘Shit,’ she hissed.
‘What’s up?’ Rhys asked.
‘I forgot to bring spare goggles. These won’t be any use in the mud. Dammit! Jack wanted me to drop her in at the back too.’
The starter called the runners forward and the field grouped together. Dory bounced sideways.
‘Do you want a pair of mine?’
Frankie looked at the starter, at the bright orange ribbon of tape up ahead quivering in the wind. Dory pulled her out of the saddle and bounded forward. Frankie shook her head.
‘No time,’ she said as her mount surged past Rhys’s.
‘Okay. Keep her wide then.’
‘She’ll never get the trip if I take her wide. Not in this ground.’
‘Well, keep her handy then.’
At the starter’s cue, the tape lashed back and the nine runners plunged forward. Dory was away smartly and Frankie settled her in third. The first of two plain fences was quickly upon them and Dory put in a giant leap. Frankie grappled at the mare’s mane as her impetus threw her forward.
‘Dory,’ she growled, pushing herself back into position. ‘Please don’t do that.’
Dory twitched her ears, but obviously hadn’t paid any attention. She’d spied the next fence and
was keen to get to it. She edged into the lead. Another Puissance leap put them a length and a half clear. Dory pricked her ears and quickened away. Frankie gently worked the reins, dislodging the bit from between her horse’s teeth.
‘Come on, honey. You might be enjoying yourself now, but you’ve got another three miles to go yet,’ she murmured. ‘Come on, ease up.’
She took a quick peak across her shoulder. Jack would kill her. She was doing the complete opposite to what he’d instructed and she was only now beginning to realise just how significant dropping Dory out the back would be. There she could settle, but here at the front she would be out of puff in just one circuit.
‘Bloody hell,’ Frankie growled.
She sawed more insistently on the reins. Goggles or no goggles, she had to get Dory to settle.
As they rounded the home turn for the first time, Frankie was relieved to hear the rhythmic huff of heavy breathing and dull drum of hoofbeats nearing her from behind. Within seconds the field had surrounded her. A sod of mud was flicked up by passing hooves and hit Frankie square between the eyes. Blinded for a moment, she dragged her gloved fingers across her goggles. Through the brown smears, she could just make out the next fence approaching. A small flurry of panic rose from her gut. She had slowed too quickly. Now Dory was getting bumped from all sides.
The cheering of the crowds washed over her. Doug would be watching.
The new leaders prepared to meet the third fence. Another onslaught of muddy turf hit her in the face. Like a bank of warm air meeting a cold front, a hurricane of fear swirled through her body. Frankie dragged her goggles down around her neck so she could see. Two and a half strides. The horse in front took off, dispatching a clod of earth with his hindfeet.
Slap!
She squeezed her eyes shut to dislodge the stinging pain. Dory took off and with her reins flapping loose as Frankie lost her grip, the mare soared over the jump, adding in an extra kick out of exuberance and love of the game. Frankie didn’t stand a chance. She didn’t know where the ground was, where the sky was. Where were the rest of the runners? She hit the landing side of the jump in an untidy Jenga pile of limbs. Pain shot up her arm from her hand. Frankie rolled over and groaned.
*
‘Does this hurt?’
The on-course doctor gently manoeuvred Frankie’s wrist up and down. Sat in Chepstow Racecourse’s medical room, Frankie hissed through her teeth.
‘No, it’s fine as long as you don’t do that.’
The doctor gave her a weary look. She probed her thumbs around Frankie’s arm. Frankie gritted her teeth so hard she was sure they would crack. This could not be happening to her. She could not have fallen off Dory and broken her arm. She had to ride Peace Offering in the Welsh National in just over an hour’s time.
‘Just give me a couple of painkillers and I’ll be fine,’ she insisted.
‘You know I’ve been doing this a long time,’ the doctor said. Her unlined face told a different story, but Frankie waited for her to continue. ‘And in my experience, you lot never let on just how much pain you’re in.’
Frankie gave her a sulky look, which the doctor ignored.
‘Looking at this,’ she nodded at Frankie’s dirty wrist, ‘you’re not riding anywhere except to hospital for X-rays.’
‘It’s honestly not that bad. It looks worse than it really is. I stub my toe and my whole foot swells up. Please. I’m riding Peace Offering in the Welsh National. Just give me some painkillers.’
The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. She picked up Frankie’s mud-spattered helmet by the chinstrap.
‘Hold out your hand.’
Frankie eased her fingers straight and held out her palm gingerly. The doctor placed the helmet onto it. Immediately, it bounced to the ground and rolled under the bed as Frankie gave a gasp of pain.
‘Ow.’
‘You need to go to hospital.’
Panic fought its way to the fore. She had to ride Peace Offering. She’d bolloxed up the Becher Chase on him. If she didn’t ride him now then Jack would surely convince Pippa to drop her as jockey.
‘No! Please, you don’t understand. I must ride in the next. I can do it. There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s a little sore, I’ll give you that, but you dropped my helmet onto my hand. I wasn’t expecting it.’
The doctor shook her head.
‘You’re not riding again today. And probably not for a while, I’m afraid. I’m signing you off for the rest of the day.’
‘Shit!’ Frankie cried. She slumped on her chair. A lump the size of a golf ball rose in her throat. ‘Shit! Shit! SHIT!’
The doctor patted her on the shoulder.
‘I’m sorry.’
Frankie’s cheeks burned with frustration and she turned to glare at the woman.
‘Fine, but I’m not going anywhere until the Welsh National has been run.’
Chapter 32
The pervading smell of all things medical hung gloomily in the ward as Frankie sat back against the wall of Chepstow Community Hospital pillows. She looked dejectedly at her strapped wrist resting within a pile of icepacks in her lap.
‘The doctor said to keep it raised, lovie,’ Vanessa said.
Grudgingly, she obliged. The icepacks were freezing against her chest. She looked at her mother chewing off her lipstick then at her father. Doug was frowning at the ground.
‘It could’ve been worse, I guess,’ Frankie said.
Doug raised his eyes, troubled.
‘I guess.’
Frankie hung her head. Not by much, she supposed. Peace Offering had still run in the Welsh National. Rhys had switched rides and, after a couple of early mistakes, had finished a close second to Okay Oklahoma.
‘I’m sorry you came all this way just to watch me make a pig’s breakfast of everything.’
‘Don’t be silly, Frankie,’ Vanessa said. ‘We’d much rather be here. We’d have been worried sick if we’d watched it on TV, not knowing what had happened.’
Frankie gave her a weak but grateful smile.
‘And for being such a girl’s blouse about this whole thing.’ She scoffed at her immobile limb. Ow, maybe she shouldn’t huff when it was up against her chest like that.
‘Nonsense,’ Doug said. ‘You’re being very brave.’
She couldn’t see any sign of her father not being genuine, yet she still sunk a little lower knowing how disappointed he must be. She cursed all the times she’d bigged herself up in front of him to impress him. How could he not be disappointed when she fell flat on her face the first occasion he came to watch her ride?
‘Great way to start the year, eh?’
Vanessa batted a hand at her.
‘Honey, most people start the year off with a hangover. I wouldn’t read too much into it. And look on the bright side. At least your horse was okay.’
‘Guess so.’ Only three jumps in when they’d fallen, Dory had ignored all opportunities presented to her to stop racing and had jumped the remaining fifteen with carefree abandon. ‘Speaking of hangovers, how was your party last night?’
‘The best. I was so hungover this morning even my eyelashes hurt.’
The door to the ward opened and Frankie looked up hoping it would be the doctor to discharge her. Instead, Rhys entered. He was dressed in warm clean clothes and his hair was still damp from the shower he’d obviously taken at the racecourse.
‘Rhys!’
‘Hey. Thought I’d come see how the walking wounded is doing.’
Her initial delight was punctured by the sudden realisation that Doug was in the same room. Rhys followed her wary glance towards her father. He paused before stepping forward with his hand outstretched.
‘Hi. You must be Frankie’s parents. I’m Rhys.’
Doug stiffened and kept his arms rigid at his sides. Frankie willed him to take Rhys’s hand. Thankfully, Vanessa stepped forward and gave him a gracious smile.
‘Hi, Rhys. Lovely to meet you at last,’ she said. ‘
I’m Vanessa. This is Doug.’ She gave Doug a subtle kick on the ankle and he reluctantly gave Rhys’s hand a shake.
Rhys took his hand back awkwardly. There was an uncomfortable pause before he looked at Frankie optimistically.
‘How’re you doing?’
‘I sprained my wrist. Doc says I probably tore some ligaments.’
Rhys grimaced in sympathy.
‘At least nothing’s broken. How long before you can ride again?’
‘Isn’t her health more important than riding?’ Doug said frostily.
Rhys gave an embarrassed chuckle.
‘Well, of course. But as a jockey, I know riding again will be the main thing on her mind.’
‘And as a jockey, you’ll also want to know if you have her ride in the National.’
‘Dad! Please!’ Frankie said, mortified by his rudeness.
Rhys’s face took on a grave expression.
‘It’s okay, Frankie,’ he said, still watching Doug. ‘Your dad’s probably just a bit upset after your fall. I doubt whether he means it personally.’
‘Don’t give yourself bloody airs!’ Doug growled. ‘You’re precisely the reason why I’m angry.’
‘Doug, behave!’ Vanessa scolded him. ‘For God’s sake, do we have to have a scene? Frankie’s hurt. Let’s concentrate on getting her better.’
Doug pursed his lips, but didn’t reply. With relief, Frankie turned back to Rhys.
‘I’ve got to rest it for a few days then I can take on light duties at the yard after a week. Then depending on how fast it heals, I could be back riding in three or four weeks.’
Rhys smiled encouragingly.
‘That’s great.’ His smile lost its potency as he glanced across at Doug again. He shifted from one foot to the other and ground his fists in his jacket pockets. ‘I also came by to see if you needed a lift home, but since your parents are here…’
Frankie looked helplessly from Rhys to Vanessa and Doug. She knew her father was out of line, but like Rhys had pointed out, he was probably also worried about her. She didn’t want to desert him, to throw his protectiveness in his face. At the same time, she didn’t want to turn Rhys down. He’d made the effort to come to see her. How could she just fob him off?
Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) Page 21
