Cassie shivered. That was where the rubber hit the road. She wasn’t ready to think about it. Plus, there would be cultural differences. His Ute heritage. They hadn’t talked much about it, but she’d seen some of it firsthand. His family was in some ways foreign, a little scary, yet very welcoming.
What about her father? She and Clint both had family with lots of needs. Responsibilities. They weren’t teenagers trying to escape into an adult world. Perhaps they were adults envious of a carefree life—but that was no longer a possibility. Cassie shook her head, bracing herself for the roller coaster of emotions she experienced whenever Clint Travers approached.
- o -
Stepping out of his truck, Clint swept the horizon with his gaze. He liked what he saw. The farm exuded comfort.
The old farmhouse could use some fresh paint on its green trim and white clapboards, but otherwise it was nicely maintained. Red, white, and yellow roses climbed trellises on the near side of the house. The screen porch looked well used rather than merely being a walk through or decorative space.
The yard had been recently mowed. He looked with appreciation at the two large chestnut trees in the front yard. It had been a while since he’d seen trees so full of foliage. Oaks and maples framed the far side of the yard. He wondered who handled all of the leaves in the fall.
His eyes moved toward the outbuildings. He chuckled. There was no question where the priorities were on this farm. The barn was in much better repair than the house. The barn appeared to be an old dairy barn remodeled for horses. Several horses of varying ages grazed in paddocks.
Whoever had converted the place into a working horse farm had done so with foresight and pride. A small half-mile dirt oval served as an exercise track. Not bad. Not bad at all.
At last his eyes settled on the woman with flaming hair bathing a young filly on a concrete slab at the side of the barn. With hose in one hand and a scrub brush in the other, Cassie looked as fetching as ever.
As he neared, he could see the pale blue blouse had been splashed by flying water in the most provocative places. He was immediately envious of her jeans molded against silky feminine skin. Standing in oversized rubber boots that appeared to be waders on her, Cassie looked like a misplaced waif. A waif he was more than willing to rescue from whatever terrible fate threatened her.
“Good morning, Cassidy,” Clint said, with a hint of a smile. He chuckled nervously. “Once again I’m not sure if I’m supposed to shake your hand, hug you, or kiss you.”
“Well, if you’ve come a courtin’,” Cassie cooed impishly, directing the water hose away from them and rising on her toes to brush his lips, “I guess a discrete kiss is acceptable.”
Clint used every muscle in his body to refrain from grabbing her and kissing her like he wanted to, like he hoped she wanted him to. “This isn’t going to be easy,” he grunted.
“No. It won’t be easy,” she snickered, squeezing his hand. “You caught me at an awkward moment. I’m just about done. I have to rinse this girl off and turn her out.”
“No problem. I’d like to wander around, if you don’t mind.”
“Go ahead. We don’t have any traps or land mines around.”
He squinted, admiring the land mine standing before him. Without further comment he stepped into the barn. Again he was impressed with the workmanship that had gone into converting the building into a very functional space for horses. Stalls were solid and of adequate size. A separate area for feed and another for tack. In the tack room, surrounded by bridles, ropes, saddles, bits, and hackamores was a small desk with papers layered in every which direction. He smiled. The social worker horsewoman was not quite as organized as he’d expected.
A fairly new stairway led upstairs. He expected it was the way to the loft apartment that Cassie had told him about. Apparently, it had been used for a hired hand in the past. Now it served as her quarters.
When he walked back out into the sunlight, Cassie was leading the freshly bathed filly into a nearby paddock.
“You have a real nice set up here,” he commented, leaning against the paddock fence. “This is obviously a place where people care about the well being of horses.”
“Thanks.” Cassie glanced in his direction and grinned. “It’s certainly not nearly as large as a ranch, but it’s big enough for us to raise some decent horses.”
Clint heard the pride in her voice and smiled. Did she have any idea how happy she looked—or how happy she made him feel?
After giving the filly a pat on the rump, Cassie ventured, “Okay, I’ll rinse out my bucket and then we’ll go and see Dad. He’s sitting on the porch, probably getting a kick out of spying on us. He always has set of binoculars close by so he can check out the horses in the various paddocks.”
“That’s handy.”
“So…you’re the fellow who’s taken a fancy to my daughter. You don’t look very damn Irish to me,” chided the older man with more than a trace of humor.
“Yes and no to your questions,” Clint said, suppressing a smile and glancing toward the kitchen doorway, where Cassie had scooted off for coffee after making the introductions. “I’m very taken with your daughter. And while I expect I have at least a speck of Irish blood in me, it’s not very noticeable.”
“Well,” Tug said, thoughtfully studying Clint, “a speck will do, if you don’t hurt her.”
Clint took his time responding. Finally, looking directly at Cassie’s father, he said, “I will do everything in my power not to hurt her, sir. You can count on that.”
The older man didn’t say a word. Clint wished he could read the fellow’s mind.
“You better not,” Tug countered at last. “I wouldn’t want to have to hurt another horseman. At least I can see now why my daughter is in such a tizzy these days.”
Clint cleared his throat. Was that an off-handed vote of confidence?
“Understand you think Hope’s been drugged.”
Welcoming the change in topic, Clint responded smoothly, “Yeah. I doubt it’s the first time, either.”
“That would explain a lot of things that don’t add up, wouldn’t it? Cassie’s really had the horse trained right up on her toes till the actual race, and then everything falls apart.” The older man ran his hand up and down the worn arm of the rocker. “I’m slippin’, I guess. Should’ve expected it myself. Not as sharp as I used to be. Sure would like to catch the bastard who’s doing it.”
“We’ll work on it.”
“We’ll work on it?” Cassie asked, carrying a tray of coffee and cookies out to the porch. “How long do you expect to be here? Thought you had responsibilities.”
“I do,” Clint acknowledged, accepting a cup filled with steaming coffee and two chocolate chip cookies. “I’ll be here a week or so to see my horses settled in at the track.” He shrugged, knowing there was no real need for him to stay that long just due to the horses he was leaving in her care. “Then I’ll head back and make sure the two year olds we’re taking to the Keeneland sales are ready. And I try not to be away from the kids for more than a week or two at a time.”
“You sure were confident I wouldn’t say no to training your horses for you while they’re at Arlington.”
“If you’d turned me down, I would’ve settled on another trainer. But happily, I don’t have to do that. And you’ll keep me informed of their progress.”
“Then,” she asked with a catch in her throat, “you won’t be here for Hope’s next race?”
“No, afraid not.” The disappointment on Cassie’s face tugged at Clint. He frowned, wishing he could stay, but knowing he couldn’t. “I’ll help you work out a plan to protect Hope. But I can’t be here to help put it in place. Is there anyone else you totally trust?”
“Absolutely not,” interrupted Cassie’s father bitterly. “Somebody at the track is doing this. Could be anybody. Could be a stranger or a friend. Can’t trust no one. It’s just you and me, girl.”
- o -
Cassie wat
ched the sparkle in her father’s eye. He was being revived by this mystery. He felt needed. But what could he do, nearly welded to his rocker?
In spite of her father’s bravado, his words made her feel even more alone. Steeling herself, she resolved that Travers would not witness her fear.
She turned to the ever observant Clint Travers and chuckled at his furrowed brow. “We can handle it. Shouldn’t be too much to it. I don’t know how we can trap the culprit, but we can certainly keep Hope safe until the day of the race. She trains just as well here as there. I won’t leave her out of my sight once we get to the track.
“Yeah, that ought to work,” Clint said. “I’d suggest you might think about hiring some security for your shedrow barn a couple days ahead of race time. It may not be necessary. She’s being drugged the day of the race. That seems quite certain. But if anyone thinks we’re onto them, their strategy could change.”
Before Cassie could object, Tug agreed. “Sounds like a good idea. I know a guy I can probably trust to do that much. He won’t have to know about our suspicions to do his job. But it does seem like a lot of trouble for someone to go through—drugging a horse that has yet to prove she can really do much of anything.”
“I’ve been wondering and worrying about that,” Clint said, nodding thoughtfully. “Seems likely there’s more to this than the horse. Either one of you have enemies?”
Father and daughter answered in unison, “No.”
“You don’t think it’s personal…?” Cassie asked, not liking the slight tremble in her voice.
“Could be,” Clint hesitated. “Don’t mean to alarm you. You do work with delinquents. How many of them have you alienated? How far might they go to settle a grudge?”
“Damn,” she whispered. “That never occurred to me. But they wouldn’t have access. You have to have a license to be in the paddock area.”
Clint shook his head. “Come on. Access can be bought. Or people with access can be bought.”
“You really have a suspicious mind, Travers,” she said, sipping her cooling coffee. Her mind raced through all of her acquaintances at the track and at her work. She hated to walk through life being distrustful of everyone, but it seemed as if she had little choice.
“Well, I come by my wariness from experience.” He shrugged, not offering any additional details. “Most often things aren’t as simple as they appear. How about you, Tug? You can’t have been around horse tracks for so many years without stepping on some toes here and there.”
Tug’s breathing was ragged. A cough sapped an attempt at laughter. Pausing at last, he scoffed curtly, “You’re probably right. But that list would be so long it couldn’t help at all. Still, I can’t imagine anyone being so worked up that they would stoop to drugging a horse. And I’m not even training the filly.”
“Just keep the question in mind, both of you. It just doesn’t feel right that this is only about one horse,” Clint reasoned.
Cassie nodded warily, wondering once again how much Clint was not saying.
“I’ve been to Chicago several times,” Clint said, squeezing Cassie’s as they walked along the lakefront, “but don’t think I’ve ever seen Lake Michigan this calm.”
“Seldom do we see it this peaceful,” Cassie said. “I like it when it’s like glass, and I also love it when it pounds waves across Lake Shore Drive. She has many personalities. And you never know which one she’ll express on any given day.”
“Sounds like a woman,” Clint bantered lightly.
“Right,” Cassie said, pulling them to a halt. “Any woman I know?”
“You might. I do like to watch the sailboats. At a distance they seem like toys and then as they approach the harbor they take on real life form and you can see the folks trying to maneuver just so.”
“Uh huh, and I think you just maneuvered out of a tight spot quite nicely, Mr. Travers.”
Breathing in the moist lake air, Clint wondered if he’d ever be able to understand this woman at his side. He liked the warmth of her fingers interlaced with his. Her strength was evident. Yet her vulnerability was only a moment away. She seemed so sure and confident of so many things—but not about the two of them. Clearly she would try his patience. He had a deep reservoir of patience. He hoped it would be enough.
- o -
“If we walk up this little knoll, you can see my apartment building,” said Cassie, leading him up a grassy rise. “There,” she pointed, “that tall gray building, about one hand over from the John Hancock building.”
“How long did you sublet your apartment?”
“Six months. Emily’s an art history student taking classes at the Art Institute. So she doesn’t have far to go.” Cassie sat on the grass and looked back toward the lake. “I miss being surrounded by all my own things. Wish I could take you over and show you, but that feels like intruding.”
“It’s okay. There will be other times. What do you miss most about living in the city?”
Cassie sighed deeply and peered toward a new shape emerging on the horizon. From experience she knew it to be a freighter. His question bothered her, more than she’d like to admit. It seemed like a simple question, yet it was anything but. In a way it was Dirk Johnson’s question. It surprised her to realize she hadn’t missed living in the city as much as she’d expected. But she was sure Clint’s question was loaded with implications for the future, which meant she had to tread carefully.
Thoughtfully, she answered, “Mainly the ease of going down to a favorite corner restaurant. I enjoy being close to the theater and the symphony. Being around diverse sounds and people. The city pulsates. And I do miss the lake.” She grimaced. “I know this should be easier than it is, but the city is simply part of my adult life. Oddly, it’s stable. Every day people come and go in the city. Every day it changes. But every day Chicago remains the same.”
Clint nodded. “Ironically, you could be describing eastern Utah.” He chuckled. “Very different places, obviously. But that flavor of changing yet remaining the same…they have that in common. And I sense that you do like the country, too.”
“Of course. The farm is almost idyllic. The smell of freshly cut hay. The sounds of robins and mourning doves. The stillness of the night. And then the chorus of frogs speaking their own incredible language. Sunsets and flowers. Sure, I love the country too. And I appreciate the hard work needed to make the farm go and the fact that it is so clear that we are not in control of everything. The farm keeps me in touch with the rhythms of the seasons in ways I’d almost forgotten.” Surprised by her own fervor, she hastened to add, “I guess I need both city and farm.”
Very quietly, she asked, “What about you, cowboy? Does the city offer you anything? Or is it simply a place to be avoided?”
Nodding, Clint said, “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t mind visiting. It has a pulse I find exciting. The city, like the country, has its own vibrations. I like to see a play or hear a symphony now and then. And you’re right about the restaurants. I even enjoy watching the people scurry about. In my business, I actually spend a fair amount of time in cities. But I expect over time any city would wear me down. At some point, I have to see further than the next building or I’d lose touch with reality.
He chuckled softly. “And where would I put my horses in the city?”
She watched his lips curl into a half smile.
“Besides,” he added quietly, “it would be pretty hard to throw my woman across my saddle and ride off into the sunset in Chicago.”
Cassie laughed. “Would that be a western saddle you had in mind, cowboy? The saddle horn could be a problem.”
“Yeah, well. For you, I would remove the horn. You know it’s primarily handy when you’re roping cattle. I don’t expect you’d respond well to being roped and hogtied.”
“You can count on that, mister.” She poked him in the ribs. “I think maybe we ought to continue our walk before we get too carried away by your cowboy ways.”
As she started t
o rise, Cassie glanced down at the grass and squealed, “Look what I found.”
In her open palm, she held a four leaf clover. She felt her cheeks flush. “This is very special, Clint.” Her voice cracked. “This is like receiving a blessing from the universe.”
“I can tell,” he replied “Guess if I didn’t know you were Irish before, I would now.”
A sudden chilly breeze picked up off the lake and Cassie, dressed in tank top and shorts, shuddered. She closed her eyes. She felt Clint’s strong arm pull her into the protection of his warm body. She wondered if somewhere out there someone was trying to tell her something about her future. Certainly, her dad had spun many a tale to her as a child about the portent of four leaf clovers.
An Irish melody played a forlorn amorous tune in her head. How much longer could she refrain from inviting him to her bed? That would simply add more complications to an already uneasy relationship. He had responsibilities, and so did she.
- o -
Days sped by. Cassie and Clint spent much of that time together preparing their horses, talking about everything under the sun, learning more about each other, yet dancing around their own personal issues. Clint had come to the farm to see Hope one last time before heading back to Utah. He’d fly back the next morning, leaving his truck, trailer, and his horses in Cassie’s care.
He watched her galloping Hope on the dirt oval behind the barn. What a sight. Did she have any idea what kind of picture she presented racing the chestnut filly full tilt with waves of rich auburn hair flowing in the wind over her back?
Clint moved out to greet her when she brought the horse to a halt and leaped off her back. “She sure looks ready. You’ve got her right where she needs to be a week before a race. You’re good, O’Hanlon.”
Was she flushed from her ride, or were those reddening cheeks caused by his words?
Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) Page 12
