Jockeys and Jewels

by Bev Pettersen

  “Is that the three-year-old from Woodbine?”

  Kurt turned toward the deep drawling voice. The man behind him was lithe with a confident smile and crisp white shirt. Only a few inches taller than Julie. Probably a jockey. His dark head reached Kurt’s chest.

  “Yeah,” Kurt said. “Horse shipped in a few days ago.”

  “I’m Gary Bixton. I like your horse. Julie's doing a good job out there. Nice to see her on a quality animal.”

  “What does she usually ride?”

  Bixton snorted. “Stuff nobody else will touch. She’s a good rider though. Gutsy, and a fast learner.”

  Kurt glanced back at the track to watch Julie guide Lazer around the oval. The colt cruised into the clubhouse turn, his stride quickening as he powered down the backstretch.

  “Nice turn of foot,” Bixton said. “Big change from Otto Laing’s runners.”

  “Otto’s? A change in what way?”

  “No legs, no brains,” Bixton said. “I've warned her. She shouldn't even sit on Otto’s horses. No one should.”

  Kurt propped his hip against the rail, assuming a nonchalant pose while he studied Bixton, the jockey everyone talked about with such respect. The man radiated the confidence most top athletes possessed. Designer sunglasses hid his eyes but laugh lines crinkled around the edges, and his mouth permanently tilted as though he was well pleased with life.

  “Are Laing's horses that bad?” Kurt asked, glancing at a dainty filly trotting on the outside rail.

  “The four I remember were cripples,” Bixton said. “So mean they’d put you on the moon if they had a chance to kick.”

  “All mares?”

  Bixton shook his head. “Nope. Geldings. But cheap claimers, every one.”

  Geldings, damn. There went his theory. Drugs couldn’t have been hidden in the boys. Kurt crossed his arms and turned his attention to Lazer. The colt had reached the three-eighth pole. Julie crouched over his neck asking for more speed and the big horse gave it to her. He scorched around the track, so fast even Bixton stopped talking.

  Kurt stared across the infield, his gaze locked on the gray colt. He’d never seen Lazer run with such enthusiasm.

  “I’d be glad to ride your horse,” Gary drawled. “Any time.”

  Julie galloped midway down the backstretch before she was able to turn Lazer and head back toward the gap. Though exhausted, a grin curved her lips. This horse was magnificent. He’d worked beautifully too, except for a second when he was alongside another horse and had, very briefly, lost his focus. Not long. Only a second. She doubted Kurt had even noticed, not from his position on the backside.

  Her excitement fizzled when she spotted Gary, and she wished Kurt hadn’t met the accomplished jockey quite so soon. Gary only rode the best, and it was now obvious Lazer belonged in that select group. It was also obvious she couldn’t compete against Gary.

  “Morning, Jules,” Gary called, a wicked grin creasing his face. “Looks like that hoss has some run. Think you can handle something that goes so fast?”

  Julie shot him a withering look but felt Kurt’s assessing gaze and knew it was important to remain poised. Gary’s grin widened, as though he fully expected her temper to blow. She knew it wasn’t anything personal. Trash talking was part of the game, and Gary was King of Cool. He hadn’t become top jock by letting others needle him. And neither would she.

  She tilted her head, pretending sympathy as she looked down from her elevated position on Lazer’s back. “Actually this was my slowest ride today,” she said sweetly. “But maybe you couldn’t see. We all heard about your failed eye test. Gosh, it’s going to be tough for you to get rides.”

  She shot Kurt a glance, hoping he didn’t mind that she’d dissed his horse, but he winked, seemingly with approval, and something clenched low in her stomach. For a second she forgot Gary and stared into Kurt’s dark eyes. Moistening her lips, she jerked her head away. Maybe he didn’t realize Gary was top dog.

  Very good. If she could keep Kurt to herself for another day or two, it would give her more time to earn the mount. Gary wouldn't be a good fit for Lazer anyway. The colt needed someone to gallop him every morning, not an established jockey who only climbed aboard for the race. The colt’s focus issues had to be understood—understood and addressed. Kurt should know Gary wouldn’t be around to gallop in the morning.

  She gave Lazer’s neck a possessive pat. “I’m surprised you’re even here right now, Gary. Why are you out of bed so early?”

  “Maybe because you’re not there with me, darling.” Gary’s voice hardened as though he knew exactly what she was trying to do. “The fact is I sometimes show up for morning gallops if the horse is good enough. But we can discuss my sleep habits tonight if you’d like.”

  Kurt abruptly stepped in front of Gary, blocking her view as he reached up and hooked his lead on Lazer. His face was impassive, but she had the distinct impression he didn’t enjoy their banter.

  “See you around, Gary,” Kurt said, his voice clipped.

  She was so shocked she almost fell from the saddle. Kurt had just dismissed Gary Bixton. She’d heard it. Everyone in Calgary begged for Gary's time, his attention, his advice. Not Kurt. Maybe he didn’t know who Gary was.

  But no way would she introduce them. It was in her best interest to remain silent, exactly what any jockey would do. She tightened her mouth, but her guilt magnified into full-blown discomfort—Gary deserved more.

  She swallowed. “Kurt, this is Gary Bixton,” she heard herself say. “He’s a good friend, a good rider, and the leading jockey here…and in Edmonton...” Her voice trailed off, miserable with the knowledge she’d just gift wrapped Lazer.

  But Kurt only nodded politely and led Julie and Lazer away. She stared between the horse’s ears, too stunned to speak. He’d said he’d watch her race before committing to a jockey, and he meant it. He was actually giving her a chance.

  Gratitude warmed her chest and her head felt light, but she realized Kurt was talking and tried to focus on his words.

  “Lazer definitely liked the track,” Kurt said. “We'll see what the clockers say. Did you feel anything when he passed that horse in front of the grandstand?”

  She blinked, surprised Kurt had noticed Lazer's attention swing. The man was very astute, and she hesitated. Some trainers only wanted to hear good things about their runners. However, Kurt was so honest he wouldn't want the truth varnished, and he was asking her opinion as though it mattered.

  “Lazer's very talented.” She chose her words carefully. “Best horse I’ve ever ridden. But for a second his attention slipped. I tried chirping, shaking the reins, even waved the stick but nothing worked. It wasn't long, just a few strides.”

  “But a few strides can make a difference in a race,” Kurt said. “That attention lapse has always been the problem. He starts gawking and forgets his job. Some kind of horse ADD, maybe. You analyzed it well.” His gaze drifted past her and his mouth tightened.

  She glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze. Gary still lazed against the rail, his white shirt and smile dazzling beneath the bright sun. He wouldn't be alone long. Already three people were bee-lining to his side.

  “Is Bixton waiting for you?” Kurt asked, his voice clipped. “Or do you have time to ride my two-year-old?”

  “I have time,” she said, trying to hide her surprise. He hadn’t mentioned his second horse before; she hadn’t dared dream she’d be able to gallop both his horses.

  “Ace is scheduled for gate work. You can have the job if you want it.” He glanced back with such a deep smile, her breath caught.

  “Of course I want the job,” she managed. But her voice sounded breathless. It was lucky he didn't smile like that very often, the type of smile that connected to his eyes and made her chest tighten in a most annoying way.

  She reached forward and straightened Lazer’s already perfect mane, determined to keep Kurt in the business side of her brain. His casual questions helped her relax, and
she soon slipped into an easy conversation. He was a good listener and seemed especially interested in G barn, and she was surprised when they reached the barn so quickly.

  She dismounted. A lanky teenager appeared with a red cooling sheet draped over his wiry arm.

  “This is Martin,” Kurt said as he unbuckled her saddle. “He’s working mornings and evenings for me.”

  She nodded, remembering Martin and what Sandra had confided. The teenager was a loner, a non-achiever at school, and worked his spare hours at the track. Julie had glimpsed him hot walking horses, but Martin was shy and rarely spoke.

  “Hi, Martin,” she said. “Glad to meet you. Sandra says you're a good hand with a horse.”

  “Thanks.” A flush stained his cheeks and he studied the floor. “I saw you ride at Lethbridge once.” He scuffed the toe of his worn boot, peering at her from beneath too-long hair. “You're the toughest rider I've ever seen.” He gave a bashful smile.

  She grinned. Martin had an endearing smile and a cowboy's sweet manners. Once he had more confidence, he'd have plenty of girls chasing him. “It's not hard to stay on,” she said. “The real job is teaching horses to run straight. If you want, Sandra and I can give you some riding tips.”

  His eyes sparkled but he said nothing more. Only an emphatic nod revealed his interest.

  “Walk Lazer around until he’s cool, Martin,” Kurt said, his tone mild. “I’ll wrap his legs later.”

  Martin nodded again, and another clump of brown hair escaped from beneath his ball cap. Julie watched as he expertly turned Lazer and guided the colt along the walkway. Sandra was right. Martin was assertive enough with horses, just uncertain with people. Her gaze met Kurt’s, and she realized he’d been watching her. She dipped her head and adjusted the zipper of her vest.

  “Let's see how you and Ace get along,” Kurt said, his voice husky as he turned and walked down the aisle. It was a relief his attention had switched to his horse. He’d seemed to be scanning her face, looking for something, and despite the cool morning, his appraisal made her feel oddly warm.

  Chapter Nine

  Julie watched as Kurt tied his two-year-old to a ring in the stall. The brass tag on the leather halter read ‘Ace of Spades.’ Ace stood quietly for the saddle and even lowered his head to be bridled. She doubted many horses argued long with Kurt. He had a fearlessness that animals probably sensed; she certainly sensed it, although that first day she’d mistaken it for arrogance.

  He wasn’t arrogant, just…bold. She wiped her warm forehead and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Gave a quick swipe to her cheeks, hoping her face wasn’t dirty then reminded herself that her appearance didn’t matter.

  It was more important she ride well tonight. He’d promised to watch the races, and if he liked what he saw, she’d earn the mount on Lazer. Simple. No sucking up or feeding peppermints or smiling at stupid jokes. And he was letting her work Ace from the gate, so she might have a chance to earn that mount too. Finally her business was picking up. She let out a sigh of contentment, a sigh so tiny she was surprised when he turned and arched an eyebrow.

  “You okay with this?” he asked. “Working a green horse from the gate?”

  “Of course,” she said, embarrassed he’d heard her sigh but even more mortified he’d attributed it to nerves. “I was just wondering why you gelded Ace before he ever raced?” she asked quickly.

  “He’s a little knock-kneed, and his breeding isn’t fashionable. I picked him up cheap as a yearling.” Kurt gave a reassuring smile, but his eyes probed her face. “He's been popped from the gate before, so there shouldn't be any problem.”

  His lingering gaze made her uneasy, although the feeling could also be attributed to the upcoming gate work. There was an element of danger when a horse was confined to a tiny stall, and it always provided an adrenaline rush. She’d been squashed between a flipping horse and steel bars before, but helping with a young horse did earn extra points with the trainer.

  Besides, Ace didn't look like he’d be much trouble. His eye was calm and steady, and he stood rock still as Kurt turned and adjusted his bridle, lowering the snaffle several buckle holes. She stepped closer. “Isn’t that snaffle a bit low? I mean…it looks low.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Are you a trainer too?” he asked.

  He probably wasn’t used to being questioned but at least he wasn’t frowning, and she edged a step closer. It was risky when equipment malfunctioned, and she’d learned to check the tack. “If the bit's too low, it's useless,” she said.

  “Remember what you said earlier?” His lean fingers moved deftly over the buckles. “When you said trainers don’t appreciate advice from their riders?”

  It might have been a warning, but she guessed he was much too confident to be thin skinned. “But I'm the one on Ace's back,” she said stubbornly, “so it’s important his steering works.”

  He raised his head and looked at her, and his eyes seemed to darken. “I’m not going to let you get hurt,” he said. And then he slanted her a deep smile, the kind that made her insides soften, although that probably wasn’t a good thing to happen when she was about to gallop a thousand-pound horse. “Let’s go.” He surprised her with a gentle rap of his knuckles on the side of her helmet and led Ace from the stall.

  She followed, disarmed by his gesture. But she still wasn’t certain about the bit. Sandra considered all trainers idiots until they proved otherwise, although Kurt certainly was no idiot.

  He was also damn attractive. His broad shoulders and lean hips looked good from the back, and it was obvious he worked out by the way his shirt tightened over his arms. It had been a long time since she’d really looked at a man, other than how they rode or trained. Since her mother’s death, she hadn’t dated; Sandra thought it was because of the accident, but she didn’t understand.

  Still, there was no reason not to check out Kurt’s tight butt, the way he walked, with a slight hint of a swagger. Everything on him looked hard. She had the crazy impulse to slide her hand along his jeans and find out for herself—

  She jammed her hands in her pockets and yanked her gaze to Ace, to the sweep of his silky tail and the way it swished over his hocks. Not nearly as stimulating, but definitely safer.

  Besides, Kurt received enough attention. Girls were always ogling him. One of the grooms from Harrison’s barn had even asked for his motel number, and Julie refused to join the gaggle of admirers.

  Kurt stopped Ace in the center of the aisle. “Don’t scowl,” he said, looking back at her. “The bit’s okay. No wrinkles because I don't want pressure on his mouth, not unless you put it there. You have a nice touch, and I want to take advantage of it.”

  “The bit?” She swallowed. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “Come on. Mount up.” He splayed a firm hand over the small of her back, guiding her closer to the saddle. His fingers felt oddly intimate as they slid along her hip to her boot, his touch so warm the leather over her ankle seemed paper thin.

  She perched in the saddle, staring straight ahead, dismayed at her reaction. She wasn’t going to be much of a jockey if she turned all fuzzy every time a good-looking trainer boosted her into the saddle. Of course, it wasn’t just any trainer; it was Kurt.

  She adjusted her toes in the stirrups, suddenly impatient. She was just relieved Kurt had a relaxed side. It made him easier to work with. When they’d first met, his watchful smile never touched his eyes, but now he was different, more open. He was kind too; she’d noticed his easy way with Martin. She might have been interested in him, if they’d met outside the track. If she actually dated.

  She flipped her reins to the other side of Ace’s neck, switching her thoughts to more important things. Like racing this evening. It would be a big night, although she wasn’t going to agonize about weather and post positions and the competition. No more mental lapses like she had with the filly. The manure pile incident and subsequent teasing were too fresh, and her reputation co
uldn’t take another hit.

  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.