Cassie's Hope (Riders Up)

by Kraft, Adriana

  “Yeah, your old man is a damn crafty trainer. I’ve got to give him that. How much do you want for her?”

  Startled, Cassie backed away. “What?”

  The tall sandy-haired trainer grinned. “Don’t think I mumble that badly. How much money would you like for the horse?”

  “She’s not for sale! I didn’t come here to sell her. Dad would have a fit.”

  “That must be who you get it from.”

  “Be that as it may, the horse is not for sale.”

  “Okay, doesn’t hurt to ask, usually.”

  “Fine. You asked. And I answered.”

  “She is a nice looking filly.”

  Cassie leaned against Hope, watching the man amble off in the direction of his horses. Did he ever in his entire life experience a moment of self-doubt? Well, whatever. She’d have to watch out for him.

  But Louie was right. Harrington was a damn good trainer. He had an excellent reputation on shedrow and typically was among the leading winning trainers at the Chicago tracks. Up and coming was a phrase often linked to Ed Harrington. And then there was the downside. Picking up track scuttlebutt, she’d learned he had a reputation for being a heavy drinker and a womanizer. No way was she going to let him add her scalp to his collection.

  “Nice race, honey.”

  “Oh, thanks, Louie,” she said, turning to hug her old friend. “Wasn’t she great?”

  “She’s a racehorse, that’s for sure. And looks like the Wyoming altitude advantage didn’t hurt a bit.”

  “I didn’t get to see today’s last race. How did your horse do?”

  “The old guy came in second.” Louie shrugged. “ That’s not bad for a nine year old gelding.”

  “You ever going to retire Jasperson?”

  “Probably the end of the year. Hell, I’m getting too old for this myself. How’s your dad doing?”

  “He’s coming along. This race will do wonders for him. I’ll be surprised if we can keep him from coming out to the Capitol Stakes.”

  “Maybe old Tug will be doing a jig by then.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I doubt that. Hopefully, he’ll be able to come and watch Hope race.”

  Louie spat a stream of tobacco. “Yeah, well, I best be getting along. Pass on my hurrahs to your dad.”

  “I’ll do that. You can count on it. Take care, Louie. Come on out to the farm when you get a chance.”

  The next morning, Cassie stood on the porch before her father with a smug look plastered on her face. She’d traveled three thousand miles by herself to further his dream. He’d been right, Hope looked spectacular in her win in Wyoming, and equally fantastic yesterday when she won the relatively minor allowance race against cheap but respectable competition. Next up, a mid-level allowance in two weeks.

  She breathed in the fresh moist air. Thank god for humidity and all things green. Thank god for big old chestnut trees and oak trees. And thank god for a race horse who could run like the Wyoming wind.

  “Don’t get too high on your horse, Cass,” Tug O’Hanlon cautioned with a scratchy voice. “She still has a lot to prove. And it’s damn hard to keep a horse on her game for very long. We don’t wanna peak too early.”

  “Me, high? I thought you were the dreamer in the family.” Cassie scowled down at her father sitting comfortably in the old wicker rocker with a blanket over his legs.

  “Dreaming comes with the Irish, my daughter,” he replied, smiling ear to ear. “Ye can’t do much about that now, can ye? Just try to keep your feet on the ground. Two wins in a row is good, but we’re a long way from the Capitol Stakes.”

  “I know.” She slumped onto the smooth boards of the worn porch swing. “It’s hard to wait.”

  “One thing you gotta learn with horses is patience. You can’t rush ‘em. They seem to have minds of their own. Like women, I think.” Tug began one of his coughing fits.

  Every time he coughed, Cassie’s throat clamped down with worry; would this be his last coughing bout?

  After some moments, the wheezing stopped. “Cass, I really appreciate what you’re doing,” he rasped. “Know it’s a hardship for you. Can’t do it myself.”

  “You rest. I’ll be out at the barn. Ring the buzzer if you need me.” Covering his weathered hand with hers, she said, “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t also share your dream—at least a wee bit. I love you.”

  His eyes fluttered open in acknowledgment and then closed. When his breathing returned to its normal shallow flow, she tiptoed down the steps. With sagging shoulders, she made her way to the barn, seeking solace from the horses.

  - o -

  “Let her go, Travers,” Clint muttered, tossing about in his bed at the ranch. The old solid bed had never felt so large and superfluous. “Just let her go.”

  Sitting up, he combed his unkempt hair with tired fingers. His three day beard scratched like hell. His mouth tasted sour, like he hadn’t brushed his teeth for ages. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he admitted reluctantly that he hadn’t been doing very well in the self-care category. And it was that damn sassy redhead’s fault. Why couldn’t he shake the woman from the cobwebs of his brain like he had all the others? Because her scent clogged his nostrils. Her taste assaulted his lips. Her laugh echoed in his ears. Her fiery temper brought a smile to his eyes.

  So what was he going to do about her? Nothing. How could he let her slip away as if all they’d shared was some earth shattering sex?

  Groggily, Clint managed to get out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he was appalled by what he saw. No woman had ever done that to him. He looked like he was a step or two away from being the skeleton in old man Granger’s biology class.

  The problem was clear; the solution was anything but. “No more sitting on your ass, Travers. Do something.”

  He picked up the phone and punched in the numbers on a piece of paper sitting on his night stand.

  “Hello.”

  Clint smiled at her throaty voice. She was sexy just saying hello. “Hi,” he said, “how did Hope do in her race?”

  Her gasp was audible. He decided he liked surprising her.

  “Clint. Oh, my goodness. Hope. Hope won by two lengths.”

  “That’s great. So the altitude factor may have helped.”

  “Don’t know for sure, but she won. Clint, it was great.” She grew quiet. “I can’t believe you called. I do owe you an apology for running off.”

  Clint sighed. “I didn’t handle things well either, though I was back at the track Tuesday evening.”

  “You were?”

  He swore she purred.”I should’ve stayed with you, but I really had to go take care of some things. Should’ve taken you with me.” There was silence. “Would you have come?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I guess that keeps me guessing. So when are you coming out for the second leg of the Wyoming Stakes?”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t your dad tell you? Maybe he wants to skip it. The race you won was part of a series to determine the best thoroughbred horse racing at the Downs for the season. It may not matter to you. But it’s a big deal out here.”

  “Dad didn’t say anything to me about a second leg.”

  “There are actually three legs, but if you win two out of three you’ll win the series. I’ve checked the dates of the Arlington Capitol Stakes you talked about—that’s the same weekend as the third leg of the series here.”

  “When’s the second leg?”

  “Two weeks, on June fourteenth. It would be a good prep for the Capitol for Hope, and you’d have that altitude factor working for you again. Maybe your dad would like that.”

  “He’d love it. He’s probably afraid he’ll lose his trainer if he asks her to drive another three thousand mile trip.”

  Clint cleared his throat. “I have to be in California about the time you’d need to drive out, but I should be at the Downs by Friday. If we’re still talking to each other by the time you return to
Chicago, I could help with that part of the drive. My calendar is clear. I’ll keep it clear from Friday until you leave, if you want.

  He watched the red numerals flip over on the bedside clock. “I never knew silence could be so painful.”

  “Don’t push me. I’m thinking. Or at least I’m trying to think. I told my girlfriends you were history, but you’re not.”

  “I hope not. You’ve generated more sparks for me than I can remember—and not just in the stable. I’d like to show you my world, if you want to see it. I don’t have any big ideas on where things will go. But I think we can have a good time while you’re here.”

  “So I’d probably have to leave by the end of this week for Hope to have enough days at the Downs before the race.”

  “And then head back maybe ten days or so after the race.”

  “That would be about right.”

  Clint heard Cassie groan.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. I should be there by Monday or Tuesday at the latest.” She chuckled. “I’ll be sufficiently rested and bored by the time you arrive on Friday.”

  “Cassie.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you doing this for the horse, or for yourself?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s good enough for me. I’ll see you sometime Friday. Have a safe trip.”

  “See you.”

  There—he’d done it, and she’d accepted. Why were danger signals prickling the back of his neck?

  - o -

  What had she done? Cassie sat on her bed and hugged herself. Another trip to Wyoming! It would be good for Hope. The altitude should set her up quite nicely for the Capitol Stakes.

  But she’d just agreed to much more than that. Much more. Where could she run, if she had to? She hadn’t left herself much of an escape hatch this time.

  Second and third thoughts nagged at Cassie as she sipped her coffee on the O’Hanlon farmhouse porch after feeding the horses. Had her hormones driven her to this? It made good sense for Hope. But did it make any sense at all for Cassie O’Hanlon?

  She’d only be out there there less than two weeks; it wasn’t like she’d agreed to marry the guy.

  “Didn’t figure you’d want to trailer all the way back to Wyoming,” he father said, breaking into her thoughts. “Thought you’d bite my head off if I suggested it. Should give our girl that altitude edge again. That’ll be a bonus for the Capitol.”

  “Hope so. What about after the Capitol Stakes? Have you given any thought to that?”

  “Oh yeah.” Tug winked at Cassie. “We’re nominated for the Land of Lincoln Stakes on Labor Day Weekend.”

  “The Land of Lincoln! A grade three stakes?”

  “Why not? Doesn’t cost much to nominate. The real money has to be put down closer to race day.”

  “That’s heady stuff. She’s only won a cheap allowance race plus the race in Wyoming.”

  “I know, but I’ve got a gut feeling. And I like this fellow’s thinking, the guy you met out west. I’m not the only guy who has faith in the altitude angle.”

  Cassie lifted her cup to her lips and swallowed. “He thought you were pretty clever for sending Hope out there in the first place. So, what if we lose the Capitol—do we still move forward to the Land of Lincoln?”

  “Depends on how we lose. If she just runs flatfooted, there’s no excuse. If she gets knocked around a lot and has excuses for a poor performance we’ll probably move ahead.”

  “Plus we’ll have another allowance or two for prep races between the Capitol and the Lincoln.”

  “Right. I figure she’s strong and willing and can handle a race every couple weeks or so. Those first two races hardly took anything out of her. We’ll probably give her a break sometime between the Capitol and the Lincoln. She’ll let us know when she needs to freshen.”

  “I suppose she will. Sometimes I think she’s talking to me. And there are plenty of times when I wish she really would.”

  “You’ll hear her when she needs you to. You got a good ear for horses. So do you want to tell me about this Travers fellow?”

  “Not really.”

  “Thought so.” Tug coughed. “Nothing wrong with mixing horseracing and a little romance.”

  Cassie’s cheeks burned. “Calling it romance may be too strong.”

  “Hell, call it lust, if you want. It’s good for you. You’ve hung around stockbrokers and such for too long. Need to find a real man.”

  “Dad!”

  “It’s true. My health is coming back, slowly. Think I might make it a little longer. Sure would like to see some grandkids before I go.”

  Cassie scrunched further back in the wicker rocker. “Since when have you become so family focused? I don’t mean to disappoint you, but I sure don’t see any kids on the near horizon—or the distant one, for that matter.

  Her father smoothed out the blanket covering his lap. “I imagine near-death experiences are wake up calls for most folks.” He turned to look at Cassie. “I’d like to see you settled and with your own family before I die.”

  “That sounds like another pipedream, Dad.” Cassie swallowed. “I’m not sure it’s any more realistic than dreaming that big stakes horse. And I’m not even certain I share the dream. I haven’t had the best of luck with men. I thought I had a pretty good life going in the city. Of course, you and Hope turned that world upside down...for the moment. She shrugged. “But I don’t know. I do like kids…”

  “A man comes in handy if you want kids. And you’re not getting any younger.”

  Cassie laughed. “You’re really on a tear this morning, aren’t you? I should have plenty of child bearing years left. I’m only twenty-seven.” Cassie scrutinized her father. He clearly didn’t think he had that many years left. Sobered, she said, “I’ve even thought of being a foster parent. I see plenty of kids coming through the group home who need foster placements or permanent homes.”

  “Foster kids.” Tug scratched his chin. “That’s good. Doubt it’s the same, though. They come and go. Just when you get attached, they leave.”

  A sudden chill niggled at Cassie. Being a foster parent appealed to her precisely because there was no expectation of permanency.

  Her father had become quiet. Was he thinking about children—or maybe about mothers who abandoned their children? Soon he snored lightly.

  He’d seldom talked to her about family. It wasn’t a forbidden topic; it just wasn’t talked about. The same was true of talking about her mother.

  Cassie stood and tiptoed toward the screen door. Outside, she walked to the old tire swing suspended from a tall oak tree. The chain attaching it to the tree limb, although rusted, was still strong. This was a place she’d often done her best thinking and dreaming when she was a young girl in pigtails.

  She climbed easily into the tire. The chain complained, but held. She hugged the old rubber treads.

  There was no turning back. She would take Hope to Wyoming. But that was almost secondary. Taking care of Hope and preparing her for the next race would be a snap. Handling Travers might prove more difficult. She had no game plan for dealing with him.

  Couldn’t she have a two-week fling and be okay with that?

  But he wanted to show her his world, if she wanted to see it. Did she want? That didn’t sound so much like a fling.

  Just maybe, she deserved an exciting adventure. When was the last time she’d even taken a vacation? She was merely an adult female having an affair with a very sexy man in a very out-of-the-way place. And hadn’t he said he had no grand designs? She’d peek at his world and then return to her own familiar world—hopefully unscathed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Where had this nervousness come from? One minute Cassie sat in the single chair in the motel room trying to read a novel; the next she was up pacing back and forth in front of the dresser. The trip had gone smoothly. Hope had settled in nicely and was well prepared for Saturday’s race.

  Well, okay, her anxiety had little to do
with Hope and her race. It was Friday. Clint Travers was due any minute. He’d called from the Salt Lake City airport some ninety miles away to confirm that his plane had landed. Probably he’d called to confirm she’d made her way to Evanston without taking a detour.

  She peeked at the clock again. They’d agreed he’d pick her up and they’d try a local restaurant. She’d dressed casually—that was really the only style appropriate in Evanston, Wyoming. She wore a denim wraparound skirt and a pink tank-top. Nothing too seductive, but he wouldn’t mistake her for one of his cowhands, either.

  So how was she supposed to greet him when he knocked on her door? Should she kiss him? Should she apologize again for running out on him the last time? What did he expect?

  - o -

  Clint Travers parked his truck in front of the Early Bird Motel. He rubbed his chin and combed his fingers through his hair before replacing the Stetson on his head. Now what?

  The red-headed vixen of his night dreams was somewhere in the motel. What did she expect? Would she prefer a kiss, a hug, a handshake? Should he apologize for how he left so abruptly the last time?

  Just go do it Travers. You’re both adults. You’ll figure something out. He picked up the flowers lying on the passenger’s seat and headed toward the room number she’d given him.

  - o -

  Cassie jumped at the soft rap on the door. “He’s here,” she muttered. She moistened her lips and moved slowly. No need to appear too eager. She opened the door wide and Clint Travers stepped back into her life.

  He was as commanding a presence as she remembered. She’d made the correct decision to return. “Hi, are those for me?” She pointed at the yellow roses squeezed in Clint’s hand. “Come in.”

  Clint walked into the room and Cassie closed the door behind him. He turned and held the roses out to her. “Yes, they’re for you—sorry.” He grinned and cocked his head to one side. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”

  “You clean up pretty good yourself, cowboy. Let me get a glass and set the flowers on the dresser; they are quite stunning.”