Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3)

by Bev Pettersen

  “I will if I can bunk with Jessica,” Dino said. Carlos nodded, grinning so wide his lip stretched over his broken tooth.

  Mark flipped his pen in exasperation. Women loved Dino, and if they helped his friend forget his ranch and busted marriage that was fine. But Mark didn’t like the idea of anyone sleeping with Jessica…and Dino was a charming bastard. “No more jokes,” he said, avoiding Dino’s amused gaze. “But it’s been a long day. Go relax. We’ll continue this in the morning. I’ll check the horses on the way home.”

  He rose and shoved the notes in his briefcase, ignoring Trish’s lingering gaze. He wished Jessica were around. She was a great buffer; other women tended to step back when they saw her. Good horses had that effect too. The really great runners had a fearlessness, an air of invincibility that made other horses back away.

  He nodded at Maria who gave a jerky wave and ducked behind Pedro. Five years and she was still intimidated by him, no matter how approachable he tried to be. She couldn’t speak any English when he first met her. Now she talked as snootily as Jessica.

  He walked over and shook hands with Pedro. “Congratulations on the race today. If we couldn’t win it, I’m glad your barn did.” He smiled at Maria. “Saw you feeding Buddy tonight. Is Jessica off somewhere?”

  “No, no,” Maria stammered. “She’s probably working in her room.”

  Maria sometimes mixed up words when she was nervous so he switched to Spanish, hoping to put her at ease. “I’m assigning Missy to Jessica and giving you Belle, the filly Trish rubbed. Belle is running in the undercard on Breeders’ Cup weekend,” he added.

  Maria’s eyes widened as she realized the purse money involved. “Thank you, boss.” Her smile deepened.

  Pedro thumped her back in hearty congratulations.

  “You deserve it. You’re a hard worker,” Mark said. “I appreciate how much you’ve helped Jessica.”

  “But I like her.”

  “I do too,” he admitted, turning away. Trish was still posed on the stool but busy talking with the bartender, and he slipped out the side door with a sense of relief.

  ***

  “Everything’s quiet in the barn, sir.” The guard, spiffy in his crisp khaki uniform, flipped open the logbook. “Last visitor was Carlos, who checked the horses at six.”

  “And another check by Jessica at eight?” Mark asked as he glanced down the aisle at Assets, who played with his hay net and now had long stalks stuck in his forelock.

  “No, I haven’t met Jessica yet,” the guard said.

  Mark frowned and looked in Buddy’s stall. Jessica spent a lot of evenings with the horse and sometimes was a little sloppy with her time, but she’d never missed a night check. He strode down the aisle and rapped on her door. No answer.

  Kato brushed against his leg, impatient to get in. He turned the knob, and the door opened. Damn. Over two hundred dollars on a new lock, and she didn’t bother to use it. Kato bolted to his empty dish then turned, arched his back and yowled indignantly.

  Mark stepped into the room, grabbed the cat food and dumped a pile into the dish. It was just an old horse stall but now so stamped with Jessica’s presence, he felt like an intruder. Her busted bike was propped against the wall, serving as a drying rack for T-shirts and incredibly wispy underwear. He jerked his head away.

  Buddy’s win picture hung in a place of honor above the head of her bed, but the rest of the walls now had beautiful pictures of their own. He sank down on the cot and studied the artwork. It was apparent now who cut out the pages in his magazines. Clever how she’d arranged them. The fields ran together, making it look like an endless window and giving remarkable depth to the tiny room. The end wall was the view from the clubhouse, but her emphasis was on horses running free in green fields and not racing at a track.

  Papers crumpled beneath his leg. He shifted, pulling them out. Just notations on today’s results written in her elegant writing. ‘Race two, photo, runners three, nine, seven. $$$$$ Check betting machines. Race three, disqualification, two, eight, five (five moved to the win $$$$. Ask Maria about gloves. Lots in first aid kit.)

  His gut spasmed, and he thrust the papers aside and leaped to his feet. Scrolled through his display and frantically called the guardhouse. “That stooper. What was the name on the stolen credentials she had?” he asked.

  “Jessica Boone.”

  “Damn. Look, just tell her I’m sorry, and I’ll be right there. She’s one of mine.”

  “Too late. Our policy is to turn them over to the police. And you did say—”

  “What station?” His hand squeezed the phone.

  “Jamaica. It’s on the corner of Ninety-first and—”

  “I know where it is.” And at least the station chief there was a friend. He snapped the phone shut and rushed down the aisle, past Assets, who shook his head in irritation, past the curious security guard, and into his car.

  He called the station while he weaved through traffic. A clerk answered the phone, huffed a moment, then reluctantly put him through to the chief. They began their usual negotiating.

  “For this one—eight tickets on Breeders’ Cup weekend,” Bruce Connelly, the station chief said, sounding rather complacent, as though aware he held all the bargaining chips.

  “Come on, Bruce. Only four. And the seats might not be together.”

  “Not much fun if they aren’t together. And I need at least six. Especially if I drop two counts of resisting arrest. She pushed one of the officers, and they both ended up in the mud.”

  “All right. Six seats. But I’m picking her up now.” Mark closed his phone, sped the last half mile, and charged into the station.

  He signed every form the scowling clerk shoved in front of him then waited by the steel-enforced door. Someone with filthy jeans and muddy hair was escorted from a side room, but he kept his gaze on the door, fighting his guilt. If only he’d taken the time to answer the phone, if only he’d listened to what the guard was saying—

  “Mark?”

  He swung around, too stunned to speak. Jessica? Christ. It looked like she’d rolled in the mud. And maybe something else, he thought, catching the unmistakable smell of overripe food. If Bruce’s officer looked half as bad, it explained why Bruce wanted six tickets.

  “I gather you had some trouble stooping?” he finally managed. Her lower lip wobbled, and he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. “It’s okay, Jess. Everything’s okay.” He tried not to breathe too deeply.

  He nodded at the impassive guard and carefully escorted her down the hall.

  “Wait.” She twisted. “They have my bag. Can you get it?”

  “Sure. We’re going to the counter anyway. You can sign for your purse and stuff there.” He led her to the hard-eyed clerk, reluctant to let her go. She seemed subdued, shaken by her arrest. Her unnecessary arrest.

  The clerk reappeared with a disapproving scowl, slapped down a watch, some coins and not a purse, but a huge, transparent bag of betting stubs. She gave Jessica a look of disdain and passed the bag to Mark as though it were tainted.

  “Good job, honey,” Mark said loudly as he slung the bag over his shoulder. “You got a nice pile here.”

  “They threatened to throw it out. All that work.” Jessica’s lower lip trembled. “They handcuffed me and wouldn’t let me find the boy…I might have got a little mouthy.”

  “That’s my girl.” He shot the clerk a dark glower. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He clipped her into the passenger seat and pulled a horse blanket from the back seat. The blanket was new and white and immaculate, compliments of a recent stakes win. But he only hesitated a second before tucking it around her filthy body.

  “Thank you for getting me,” she said, and promptly fell asleep.

  He drove directly to his house, waking her only when he pulled into the driveway. She didn’t argue or ask questions, and his concern grew as she followed him, zombie-like, into the house.

  “What happened to you, h
oney?” he asked as he pulled off her boots, stiffening when he saw her laces had been confiscated. Damn. They’d given her the full treatment. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his guilt mushroomed. A visit to a police station could soften all but hardened criminals, and Jessica was certainly no criminal.

  “What happened?” he repeated.

  “A man chased us. A man with a knife.” She stared at his face as though doubtful he’d believe her.

  “You and Maria?”

  “No. Me and that poor little boy.” Tears welled in her eyes and when she reached to wipe them away, her entire arm shook. “He was so scared. I was too. I hope he’s okay…” Her voice trailed off and he held her, soothing her, trying to absorb the trembles wracking her body.

  “Everything’s okay,” he said. “We‘ll talk later. You’re safe now.”

  He scooped her up and carried her down the hall and into the bathroom. Turned on a stream of warm water. “A quick bath, then bed. You can tell me all about it in the morning.”

  She stared, unmoving, her face a stiff mask. “He ran off. I just don’t know if he’s okay.”

  “Aw, honey. Nothing we can do now.” He unbuttoned her shirt. “There, can you do the rest?” he asked.

  She nodded again but struggled with the snap on her jeans, and her look of helpless panic filled him with concern.

  “It’s okay. I’ll do it.” He tugged down her jeans and underwear. Picked her up and plunked her in the water. Tried not to look or respond, but it was damn hard.

  “Bubbles, I think,” he muttered. He grabbed an old container from under the sink and dumped in the entire contents. Turned the jets on until blessed suds frothed over her body. Only then did he unpeel her soaked shirt and bra. He tossed them on top of her soiled jeans, then grabbed a washcloth, leaned over the side and scrubbed. Her tense muscles eased as he rubbed her shoulders and when he worked shampoo through her tangled hair, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  A pink nipple peeked from the swirl of suds and he palmed her breast without thinking, massaging it beneath the water. Aw Jesus, she felt good. He wanted to climb into the Jacuzzi with her. It was clear they shared a powerful attraction, and she wouldn’t be around long enough to create complications. She wasn’t a motor mouth and, unlike Trish, would never neglect a horse. But sex wasn’t what she needed or wanted, not tonight. She’d looked so frightened, so exhausted, and she obviously trusted him.

  And so did her fucking grandfather.

  However, his hand didn’t want to leave her slick breast—it touched, explored, caressed. Her eyes opened, and a slight smile tilted her mouth.

  “Found some dirty spots, did you?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” His voice thickened. “Real important spots. Just give me a sec.” He cupped both breasts, watching the water lap around them, feeling a hot possessiveness toward this naked woman in his tub. A woman who was fighting to keep her eyes open and preoccupied about some unknown kid.

  He jerked back, swallowing a spurt of shame. Turned and grabbed a towel. Helped her from the slippery tub then wrapped her tightly, afraid to linger with the drying. She swayed so he scooped her up and carried her, still dripping, into his bedroom.

  “Sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning.” Before he hauled the blankets up, her eyes had drifted shut.

  He closed the door, dumped her clothes in the wash and headed for his spare room. It would have made more sense to put her there. Now he had to set the other alarm, but the idea of having her in his bed was rather appealing even if he wasn’t in it with her.

  He blew out a sigh and set the clock. Already two a.m.—only an hour and a half before they had to get up. Assets had a big work scheduled. He certainly hoped the colt had a better night’s sleep than he and Jessica.

  ***

  As usual Mark woke at three-thirty, one minute before the alarm sounded. He rose, transferred Jessica’s clothes from the washer to the dryer and showered. He quietly opened his bedroom door and approached the bed.

  She lay in the same position as when he’d tucked her in last night. He shook her shoulder. She felt limp, lifeless, and his heart kicked. He should have taken her to the hospital, had her checked out. But he felt her pulse, checked the steady rhythm of her breathing, and his relief was so great he backed from the room, deciding to let her sleep another precious hour.

  He made a pot of coffee and checked the weather. Perfect. Logged onto the track and watched the live cam of the dark oval. At four thirty he still didn’t have the heart to wake her and called Dino. “I’ll be a little late. Make sure Assets is ready to go in the first set. I’ll meet you at the gap. Put wraps on his hind. No blinkers.”

  “What’s up?” Dino asked. “Car trouble?”

  “Jessica trouble. Better have someone look after Buddy. He can walk the shedrow today.” His voice hardened. “Let me speak to Maria.”

  Maria’s voice was cautious at first, but it strengthened as she denied any knowledge of a kid or man with a knife.

  “Then this incident happened after you left,” he said. “After you took her stooping.”

  Maria must have heard the disapproval in his voice because she stopped speaking.

  “It’s not your fault, Maria.” He sighed. “Stuff just happens around her.” He hung up and dragged a hand over his jaw. Returned to the bathroom and spent extra time shaving. At five-thirty, he grabbed her clean clothes and re-entered the bedroom, deliberately loud. There was absolutely no way he could linger any longer.

  She’d moved slightly. Her hair now fanned the pillow, and the glow from his clock radio illuminated her face. A bruise darkened her cheekbone, and her lower lip was swollen. She looked like a street fighter—beaten, subdued but oddly heroic.

  He lowered himself into the chair, holding her clothes and studying her face. Old Man Boone had a helluva granddaughter, and if he believed the backside would send her scurrying home, he had no idea of her grit.

  But she needed sleep. Would’ve been spared the whole police ordeal if he’d only taken a minute to talk with security. There was no real reason why he had to be present for Assets’ work. Dino was immensely capable. The work would either go well or it wouldn’t. And Jessica needed him much more than Assets did.

  He left the bedroom, deliberately taking her clothes with him, and picked up his phone.

  Dino’s voice rose with disbelief. “You’re not coming? You feel okay?”

  “Yeah. But I just can’t make it,” Mark said. “Call me after the work.”

  He stretched out on the sofa and for the first time in five years, missed a training day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jessica woke in an unfamiliar but truly comfortable bed. Her gaze jerked from the ceiling and skittered around the masculine room. Aw, shit. Afternoon already? The clock said one o’clock, and sunshine filtered through the drapes. Clearly she’d slept away a big chunk of time, several feedings at least, and she hadn’t arranged for anyone to look after Buddy.

  She must be at Mark’s house, in his huge bed. But if she’d slept with him, regrettably she couldn’t remember. She did remember he’d dumped her in the Jacuzzi and sloshed water over her head. Probably hadn’t used conditioner.

  Her hands swept to her hair. Oh God, it felt like a rat’s nest.

  The bathroom was down the hall, and she needed to creep to it unseen. Hopefully Mark was at the track. Odd, he hadn’t woken her, but maybe the guards had confiscated her credentials. It hadn’t been wise to resist arrest. Maybe she no longer had a job, and her grandfather was sending a car to pick her up. Maybe the police were pressing charges just like they’d threatened.

  A wave of emotion engulfed her—she’d been so scared, so helpless, and those people had made her feel like scum. They’d refused to help her look for the boy, impatiently cuffing her when she’d insisted they find him.

  She shoved aside her jumbled thoughts and eased from the bed. No sense trying to speculate; she had to regroup. A meshed shirt was thoughtfully folded on the chai
r. She slipped on the shirt, examining it doubtfully. An old exercise shirt, maybe? Great for workouts but the holes didn’t give much coverage, and the bottom of the shirt only reached mid-thigh.

  She listened by the door. Didn’t hear anything. Pushed it open and tiptoed down the hall.

  Mark stepped from the kitchen, a steaming coffee mug in his hand. “Good morning,” he said. But his gaze drifted to her hair and the side of his mouth twitched, the way it always did when he was trying not to laugh.

  Heat flamed her cheeks. She stared at him, vulnerable, embarrassed and overwhelmed with gratitude. It had been the scariest, most frustrating night of her life and he’d rescued her. She wanted to burrow into his arms, but it was clear he didn’t feel the same way—despite the skimpy shirt, all he was looking at was her messy hair.

  “Thanks for everything last night.” Her voice quavered. “I’ve never been in jail before.”

  “The police dropped all charges.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” She edged along the wall, desperate to escape, afraid she’d cry if he looked at her any longer with those empathetic eyes. “Where are my clothes?”

  “I washed them. They’re drying.”

  “Thanks for that too. I really need to use the bathroom now.” She eased past him, wishing for a bag to pull over her head.

  She showered quickly and joined him in the kitchen with renewed composure. At least her hair was back to normal.

  He handed her a cup of coffee. “Tell me about last night.”

  “Right. But you promised you wouldn’t fire me.” She gulped and studied his face over the rim of the mug. He didn’t seem mad, but he wasn’t smiling either.

  He slid a glass of orange juice and two pieces of generously buttered toast in front of her. “I want to know about the man with the knife.”

  “Didn’t see him very well.” She bit into the delicious toast, then took another quick bite, realizing she was hungry. “It was dark,” she added. “But he spoke English with an accent.”