Heat Wave (Riders Up)

by Adriana Kraft

  “Aw, Mom,” Johnny grumbled. “We don’t have to do that until after supper.”

  Smiling, Maggie said, “Today’s a little different than usual, young man. Now run along and do what I say.”

  “Nice kids,” Harrington commented, watching them leave the porch. “Well behaved.”

  “Yeah, well, most of the time.”

  “Here you go, Ed,” Carolyn said, returning with coffee.

  “Thank you, young lady.”

  “Mom.”

  Maggie reached for the drink. “Thanks, dear. I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”

  Maggie stared thoughtfully at the curious man while her daughter climbed the stairs to her room. Her stomach muscles tightened. She needed his help desperately. But she hadn’t counted on her body acting like that of some giddy teenager.

  She feared her heart was doing more whispering than her bones. Ed Harrington was still thin, but there was a blurring of pain and challenge and mystery in his face that pulled and scared her at the same time. His hair was still shaggy, but it had been washed. His face, with its distinctive roman nose, reminded her of a shattered mirror. Was haggard handsome a decent way to describe a man? And his hands. He had long fingers. And they were steady.

  - o -

  “Well, I’m here. What about the job you wanted me to do? Didn’t see any horses when I drove in,” Ed said gruffly.

  “You get right to the point, don’t you?”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Ed tried not to be too obvious, but the woman looked even better than the one he vaguely remembered from their first encounter. He’d recalled that she was a tiny thing, hardly five feet. And as he remembered, she filled out a blouse nicely. But how could he forget her face?

  Her straw-yellow hair was styled in a functional short pixie that would not get in the way of doing farm work. Short, stubby fingernails also attested that she was no stranger to manual labor. Most stunning, though, were her round eyes. He’d remembered they were the blue of robin’s eggs, but he had forgotten how round and expressive they were. An impish nose and small naturally puckered lips looked perfect in her heart-shaped face.

  She projected an air of innocence. Counterbalancing that chaste look was the toughness apparent in the pinpoints of those round eyes. He expected she could be as smooth as rye whisky and as harsh as straight tequila. She exuded a kind of class that came from confidence and roots.

  Although she was fetching and could easily become bewitching, he quickly decided he had no designs on getting to know her body better. As far as he was concerned, Maggie Anderson might as well wear an off limits sign around her neck. All he wanted was an opportunity to work with horses, get his career back, and build up his reserves some.

  He owed this sassy looking blonde for getting his attention back on living. They might be able to help each other out for a while, but that was all. He wasn’t about to sit around the Iowa countryside with third string horses. Damn, he missed Chicago.

  Right now, though, Ed didn’t like Ms. Anderson’s perplexed look. Surprisingly, she seemed unsure of herself. “Well, what is it? Do I have a job or don’t I?”

  “Yes,” Maggie responded haltingly. “We’ll have to work out arrangements. I can’t offer you much, but it should be better than the Resting Arms.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  She raised her eyebrows slightly. “I’m having a loft efficiency apartment built in one end of the haymow. It should be ready within a couple weeks.”

  “I was hoping to get out of the Arms sooner than that.”

  “I’ve got a spare room in the house. I’d need a day to clean it up.”

  “I’d prefer the loft.” Ed glanced furtively toward the kitchen door.

  “I know. But it can’t be helped. The room will be ready by tomorrow night. Two weeks at the most, and you’ll have more privacy. I’m prepared to offer the loft, three meals a day except Sunday—you’ll be on your own that day—and a thousand dollars a month.” She took in a quick breath and rushed on. “I know it’s not much for a top trainer, but that’s all I can afford for now. Maybe later…”

  Ed grimaced. “No need to apologize, ma’am. That’s darn generous. I’m not a top trainer anymore.”

  “But you have the same skills, if you can stay away from booze.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Ed glanced around the porch to assure himself of their privacy. “I’ve been dry for more than thirty days. They say that’s the toughest. Not that any day is a cakewalk. Even got my thirty day chip.” He reached into his pocket and produced the chip.

  “I’m pleased.”

  “Not looking for sympathy, lady. I’m looking for a job. And I’d kind of like to keep the drinking problem private, between you and me.”

  “I don’t have a need to broadcast anything about your private life, Mr. Harrington.”

  He arched his eyebrows.

  “Ed.”

  “Good. Now tell me about this job. Where do you keep your horses?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “What? You got me to dry out, to come out here for nothing—”

  “Not at all. You’re going to help me build a racehorse stable from scratch. You can look at it this way: I haven’t made any mistakes yet.”

  “That’s certainly open to debate.” Ed studied her again. She sure had guts. He wasn’t sure she had much common sense, though, trying to hook up with a dried out drunk to start a racing stable.

  “Do you have any ideas about how we might begin?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair. “And how much it will cost? This is not a pauper’s game.”

  Ed watched her pause and look wistfully toward the barn. What did she see there—the past, present or future?

  Maggie looked directly at him. “I may not be rich, but I’m not a pauper.” She looked away.

  “Other than my children,” she began, “this land is the most precious treasure to me. It’s been a part of my family for generations. It’s my children’s legacy. I have to make this farm pay for itself. The cash crops aren’t enough.” She glanced back at him.

  He waited.

  “My husband died over two years ago,” she continued. “He left a sizable insurance policy. It may be enough to make the farm profitable. If not, Con-Ex Farms or some other conglomerate will swallow up this land and my family’s heritage like it’s just so much dust.”

  “Ah, so now I at least know something about the larger game you’re in.” He nodded grimly. “So that’s why you had to resort to digging a broken-down trainer out of his hiding hole. You have to play some ace cards or fold. It’s ante up time, and I’m part of the ante.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Maggie frowned. “This is no game to me. But I see your point. Anyway, I want you to teach me how to train horses.”

  “What?” Ed jumped to his feet. “I thought you wanted me to train them and then turn them over to someone else at the track. You’re hardly big enough to swat a fly!” Uh oh, his mouth had gotten him into trouble again. When would he ever learn to engage brain before mouth? But the sparks firing out of those large round blue eyes might have been worth the gaffe.

  Scrambling to a stand, Maggie gestured toward door. “If you are incapable of working with and teaching a woman—even a short one—to work with horses, Mr. Harrington, you can leave right now. I don’t need you. You can crawl back from wherever you came from.”

  “Now, don’t jump to conclusions,” Ed backpedaled. “My mouth often gets me into trouble. I didn’t mean you were incapable of learning. It’s just…you’re so pretty, and we’re talking long hours and a lot of hard work. And no promises of getting rich quick, if ever.”

  “No matter,” Maggie said, blowing bangs off her forehead, “this is what I intend to do. It’s what I must do. I’ve worked hard all my life. These small hands you’re looking at have calluses just like those of any other farmer. Don’t mistake me for some sniveling female who has to be pampered. If you do, you’ll be in
for loads of trouble. And I don’t see this as some get rich quick scheme either, Mr. Harrington.”

  “The question is, is this something you want to do? Can we work together? And believe me, if you take this job, we will be working as a team. I’m not hiring you to do all the work or make all the decisions. I wish I didn’t need your help, but the fact is I do.”

  “It’s clear you wouldn’t accept any pampering, ma’am, even if you needed it.”

  Her eyebrows shot up.

  “Not that that’s any of my business one way or the other. As far as working together—guess we won’t know till we try. But there is a lot to what you’re asking. Lots of planning. A lot of dollars to buy horses and refurbish the barn area so it will be safe for horses.”

  Ed stopped and looked out toward the barn. What was he getting himself into? He had to have a screw loose somewhere to even be thinking about helping the woman. She was so green about racehorses she hadn’t even earned the label greenhorn. Yet he admired her spunk. And it might just work. She had the land and the desire. He had the skill and the know-how. With a half smile creeping across his face, he wondered what kind of a student Maggie Anderson would be. He expected she did her homework thoroughly.

  “Doesn’t have to be top of the line horse farm right off,” he resumed, “but it must be safe for horses. You’re gonna have some expensive investments running around out there on four long spindly legs. Race horses are finicky and prone to injury. We’ve got to protect them the best we can. And that’ll cost some money. If we don’t buy quality horses, we won’t have the potential for making large enough purses for them to pay their way.

  “Most horses don’t win, you know,” he said, watching her intently. “Many don’t even make it to the track. And just when you think you’ve got one in good form and who can run, something goes wrong. Are you really prepared for the disappointments that go along with horseracing?”

  For a moment, he wished he hadn’t asked that question. The fire quickly drained from those sapphire orbs and was replaced with familiar hollow pain. “Yeah, I guess you know about disappointment and loss,” he acknowledged, slouching back down onto a chair.

  - o -

  “I expect that’s one thing we have in common,” Maggie murmured, taking her seat. “Mr. Harrington, have you decided to take the job?”

  “Well, it’s not like I have a lot of other offers.” He grinned faintly, like a child returning from a runaway attempt.

  That smile tore at Maggie’s heart. Did he really think she was pretty?

  “You may be getting in way over your head,” he cautioned. “Hell, maybe me, too. But I’m willing to try. Of course, I don’t have much to lose. If you’re going to be in this business, it’s important to know something about all elements of the game. In the long run, you may not want to take on the track responsibilities of a trainer. There are a lot ways to play the game.

  “We do need to clear up one matter.” Harrington sighed and dropped his gaze. “You know I can’t take your horses to the track. Can’t help you out there.”

  Maggie nodded. “I know about the ban, Ed. That doesn’t have anything to do with me. You’ve been vouched for. That’s enough. There are likely a lot of bridges yet to cross. Let’s take them one at a time.”

  “I’m all for that, Maggie.” Harrington lifted his cup in salute.

  That was the first time he’d called her Maggie. It sounded too familiar, yet they had to be on a first name basis if they were going to work together as a team. She took a short breath, excited about actually beginning to put in place her plan to save the farm. Her nerves tingled at the prospect.

  Or, perhaps they were responding to the man who pronounced Maggie in a gravelly voice that oozed intimacy.

  “I had no idea this room had so much junk in it,” Maggie complained, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She glanced over at Flo Zimmerman, who was filling a box with odds and ends Maggie had set out for her. “I so much appreciate you coming out to help on such short notice. I can’t believe Harrington is starting work tomorrow. It’s going to happen.”

  “It all sounds so scary.” Flo wrapped a tarnished softball trophy in newspaper and tucked it into a large cardboard box. “I know you’ve done a lot research on this horse business and you’ve set aside CDs for the kids’ college, but what about yourself? You could lose everything.”

  “They claim horseracing is one of Iowa’s fastest growing agribusinesses. Racing purses have been growing steadily, ever since they opened that casino at the track to support them. People are making it. And some aren’t. That’s the nature of business. Hell, that’s the nature of living off the land.” Maggie took the quilt off the bed and started removing the blankets and sheets.

  “I imagine you’re right. Maggie, if anyone can do it, you can. You’ve always had more determination and grit than any two people.”

  Maggie stuffed the quilt in a chest of drawers. Would determination and grit be enough? Although the half million life insurance settlement sounded like a lot of money, it wasn’t. And it was all she had. She’d have to be extremely prudent.

  “It’ll work. Once all the pieces are in place. It’s got to be more realistic than dairy. I can’t make enough money at hogs. And there’s not enough land to survive only with cash crops. Besides,” she said, grinning at her friend, “this is an adventure of sorts.”

  “Adventure? We had enough of those when we were kids.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I loved Mason, but sometimes he was so conservative. We should’ve tried other things with the farm years ago.”

  “I was always so jealous of you and Mason.” Flo stared at her and then looked away. “It seemed like you were the ideal couple. You had each other. You had kids. What else would anyone want?”

  Maggie folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the dresser. “Maybe spark. Maybe challenge. Maybe adventure. I can’t explain it, Flo, but lately I keep remembering that young girl on top of a horse racing across the pasture.”

  “I remember.” Flo nodded. “You and Betsy Cunningham used to be best of friends, and you’d ride your horses like you were glued to them. I’d come by now and then and watch. I miss Betsy.”

  “Yeah, I get a Christmas card each year. She and her husband seem to enjoy Seattle.”

  “You’re lucky Carolyn and Johnny are so excited about your horse ideas.”

  “Neither of them wants to leave Beaverhill.” Maggie picked up a broom and started sweeping the wood floor. “Carolyn doesn’t want to have to make new friends, and Johnny can hardly wait until we have horses.”

  “I just hope this Harrington fellow will work out okay,” Flo said, taping a box. “Aren’t you afraid of having a man living under your roof? He could be a molester or something.”

  “I’ve checked him out. He has good references.” No need to say anything about the scandal Harrington was still embroiled in. “He’s had some bad luck. He’ll only be in the house a short time. I’d prefer to have the loft finished, but it’s not. We’ll get by. We have to.”

  Maggie worked the broom rapidly across the stained floorboards. Having him in the spare bedroom did make her nervous. She wasn’t afraid of him—it wasn’t that. She didn’t like the fluttering in her tummy when he’d called her Maggie. She was the boss and he was the hired hand. That was the way it would stay.

  The next day Maggie stopped by the Beaverhill Bank to withdraw some cash. After completing her transaction, she turned to leave the lobby only to be summoned by the banker, Josh Prater.

  “Step into my office for a minute, would you Maggie? I’ve got some exciting news for you.” Without waiting for a response, the bank president guided her toward his door.

  Maggie cringed as she allowed herself to be escorted into the man’s office. His oversized rosewood desk formed the centerpiece of an ornate office. Prater’s desk was excruciatingly neat. How could any normal human be so organized?

  “Sit down. Sit down.” He gestured towards a c
hair. “Would you like some coffee?”

  His mouth was smiling, but his eyes weren’t. Maggie shook her head and remained standing. “No, I really need to be going, Mr. Prater. I have a lot of errands to run before getting back. Please be quick.”

  She pulled her jacket tighter around her torso. She had never trusted Prater—his dark, narrow features and fixed smile always reminded her of a mortician. Her dad hadn’t liked him either. The two of them had grown up together. Apparently they were never great buddies.

  Prater folded his arms and leaned back against the corner of his desk. “You know Con-Ex Farms continues to be interested in your dad’s farm.”

  “It’s my farm, Mr. Prater. Has been for the past five years, since Dad and Mom died.” She scowled. “And it’s still not for sale. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “Everything is for sale one way or another. Your brother would sing a different tune if he were here.”

  “He’s not here, and he doesn’t own enough of the land to make any difference. How we manage things is our business.”

  The banker moved away from the desk and towered over her with a smile stilled glued to his face. “Maggie, I just meant that there comes a point when wisdom should prevail over loyalty. I know all about your love for your heritage and that particular piece of ground of yours. Times change. In addition to Con-Ex Farms, there’s another party interested in your farm.”

  Maggie took a step back.

  “You, young lady, can be very rich, very quick. There will be a bidding war between two giants if you but give the word.”

  “And how much commission do you stand to make from this bidding war?” Maggie’s mouth turned up a little as the banker paled, reached for his glasses and began polishing them. “My answer is simple, Mr. Prater. Let me spell it out for you. N, O! What part of that two letter word don’t you understand?”