The horse wasn’t lying down, but he was definitely drowsy and not at all happy to be saddled for the second time in one morning. She thumped the heavy western saddle on his back, ignoring the stains on the silver, and pulled on a bridle, grumbling the entire time.
She left the saddle loose, knowing Ghost was cinchy and would resent abrupt tightening. Besides, a big-time trainer like Mark would always check his own cinch.
Ghost seemed to catch her mood. By the time she led him from the barn, they both bristled with ill-humor.
A panel van slowed, and a man with an ESPN cap stuck his head out the window. ““I saw The Times people were here,” he called. ” Is Mark Russell talking to the media?”
“He sure is. Stick around,” she said. “He’ll be here soon.”
She and Ghost waited in front of the barn for another fifteen minutes and when Mark, Tina and the camera man finally emerged from Mark’s office, a large ESPN crew had also assembled. Mark’s eyes narrowed.
Tina complained she was supposed to have an exclusive, but Jessica fiddled innocently with Ghost’s bridle.
“Thanks, Jess,” Mark said quietly as he reached for the reins. The affectionate way he spoke her name blew away her resentment.
“The cinch is loose,” she said, suddenly contrite.
But he’d already stepped into the stirrup. The saddle twisted, Ghost bucked and Mark hit the dirt.
She heard him curse but held on to Ghost who continued to buck, determined to rid himself of the saddle which now flapped like a giant monster beneath his belly. The horse’s shoulder slammed her ribs, knocking the breath from her lungs, and a hoof flashed by her eye. Something hit her leg and pain seared. Bodies flailed as the media crew scrambled for safety.
Her arm burned from the yanks of the terrified horse, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hang on. But then Mark was there. He shoved her aside, released the cinch and the saddle dropped harmlessly to the ground.
“You okay?” he asked as he calmed Ghost.
She nodded, unable to speak, ashamed his first concern was her safety. She’d had plenty of time to tighten the cinch too, knew he always wanted his barn to appear professional. But maybe he’d think she simply forgot. Maybe he’d think—
“You’ll be a helluva woman when you grow up.” He shook his head in disgust before turning and addressing the white-faced ring of watchers.
“So that’s today’s demonstration of why jockeying is one of the most dangerous careers in the world,” he said. “Horses are unpredictable and accidents can happen, especially when you have inexperienced staff,” he paused and gave Jessica a pointed stare, “on loan from another stable.” He gestured at some ambiguous barn in the distance.
“Radcliff’s barn,” Jessica said. “I’m going back to Paul Radcliff’s barn right now.”
“Oh, man, this is great stuff,” she heard the ESPN crew say as she walked away. “Did you see that horse buck? Be great if Mark could repeat the demo tomorrow.”
She limped down the dusty road, not sure where she was going but vastly reassured by the weight of the Egg McMuffin in her pocket. She passed a couple dumpsters, but saw no sign of the boy, so she veered to the right, toward Dick’s. Maybe she could find the picture. Do something useful.
Twenty minutes later, a horse pounded behind her. She glanced back, not surprised to see Mark and Ghost. Mark looked like an avenging cowboy and she sidled to the right, but there was really nowhere to hide.
“You shouldn’t be walking down here alone, not with that unknown assailant around.” He slowed beside her, his voice level.
She dared a quick glance upward, checking his face. “I’m sorry. Are you still mad?”
“About last night or this morning?”
“Last night?” Indignation replaced her regret and she jerked to a stop. “You almost strangled me.”
“Hardly,” he said.
She didn’t like the way his mouth hardened and really didn’t want to annoy him any more, so she changed the subject. “I’m heading to Dick’s to see if I can find that picture.”
“Good idea.” He leaned over and extended his hand. “Climb on.”
“Will he buck?” She stepped back, eyes narrowing as she stared at Ghost. Her feet ached but she’d never seen the horse ridden double before, and he’d certainly taken violent exception to the saddle dangling beneath his belly. He looked safe now though, head low, ears angled back, as if awaiting Mark’s instruction. However, his earlier bucks had been scary and much more explosive than the playful antics of the racehorses. “I doubt I can stay on if he bucks like that,” she added.
“No, I wouldn’t expect one of Radcliff’s employees to be able to do that.” A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and she stopped worrying, placed her hand in Mark’s and let him pull her up behind him.
When Ghost resumed walking, she almost slid off and had to grab Mark’s waist. It was strange, sitting on warm slippery hair. No saddle, no stirrups. Ghost’s hindquarters pumped rhythmically but when she relaxed her grip, she was able to sway with his movement, and it was quite enjoyable to sit back and look around.
There was no racing today so the backside was virtually deserted, although several horses thrust their heads out, watching Ghost as he clopped along the road. A man whizzed past on a bicycle, his churning tires crackling the autumn leaves. Ghost flinched but Mark lifted his rein hand, and the horse steadied. After that, she watched Mark closely, noting how subtly he used his hands, his legs. The slightest shift made Ghost step sideways. She found it fascinating.
Much more fascinating than the rundown area they now approached. She stared in dismay at the older barns, devoid of flowers, picnic tables or any sign of life. “I’ve never been here before,” she whispered, feeling like a foreigner in a strange land. “This isn’t where Dick lives.”
“We’re circling from the back.” Mark seemed to choose his words as he studied a tiny barn. “Ground is softer here, easier on Ghost’s feet.”
“Feels spooky.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes when you have an injured horse and not enough stalls, you can stick them back here. Work with them, try to get them healthy, yet keep your race stalls full. My first year, I had three horses in that little barn over there.”
Jessica stared at the crooked building. It was inconceivable Mark had started down here. Sometimes she forgot he wasn’t always the successful trainer, and a reluctant respect filled her.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to stay in Texas? Where people knew you?”
“The easiest way isn’t always the best,” he said, walking Ghost toward the open door of his old barn.
She twisted, distracted by a bloodthirsty horsefly that stubbornly circled. Ghost swished his tail and she swiped at his rump, trying to discourage the persistent fly. A door creaked, and something shot from the barn, arms and legs flailing. Ghost leaped. She grasped for Mark but clutched only air.
Her gaze held the boy’s in a startled second of recognition, and then her face smashed into the dirt.
Mark cursed, the boy yelped and Ghost’s hooves pounded in pursuit but she was too shaken to do more than struggle to her knees. Red streaked the gravel in front of her, and she swiped at her nose, recognizing the metallic taste of blood.
She flinched as Ghost thundered back, afraid he’d run her over, but Mark leaped off and crouched beside her.
“Did you catch him?” she asked, keeping her head bent while she wiped her nose.
“I’m sorry, Jess. Sit still for a minute.”
“I’m fine.” She tried not to sniffle. “Go get the kid.”
“Your nose is bleeding.” He used his sleeve to wipe her face. “Everything else okay?”
“Just my face, I think.” But her words were as ragged as her breath.
“Let’s see, honey.” He lifted her chin, studying her face, but his expression turned so pained, she twisted from his scrutiny. He pulled her into his arms, but the frantic thud of his
heart scared her.
“Does it look that bad?” she squeaked.
“No, everything’s good.” But he spoke much too quickly. “Sit for a sec. We’ll get the nosebleed stopped. Let the other blood dry. Then try to clean you up.” But he looked so dubious, she permitted herself a tiny sniffle.
He wrapped her in his arms and pinched the bridge of her nose as he tilted her head downward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. The sun heated her jeans, and of course Mark’s body was always flaming hot. She closed her eyes, telling herself that at least she no longer noticed her blisters.
“Let’s check it now.” He finally broke the silence, shifted his arms and studied her sore nose. “Looks like the blood stopped. There’s a tap by the barn.”
He guided her past Ghost, who calmly munched grass, and turned the tap handle. Squeak. A brown spray bubbled out but quickly cleared. Mark wet his sleeve and gently wiped her face. “That’s great. Doesn’t look bad now.” However, he sounded much too jovial, and he turned away before she could see his expression.
“Where are you going?”
“Just checking where the kid sleeps,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing inside the dilapidated barn.
“Is this the extent of your first aid?” He didn’t answer so she gingerly felt her face. Except for her right eye, it didn’t hurt too much. Her hand came away with only a hint of red, so she guessed her forehead and left cheek were scraped but not deeply cut.
Mark abruptly strode from the barn with a dark scowl and a filthy AQHA jacket cradled in his arm.
“I feel a little dizzy,” she mumbled. “Must have hit the ground harder than I thought.” She clutched the sides of her head, peeking at his thunderous face, but he walked past and grabbed Ghost’s reins. For a second, she thought he was going to ride off and leave.
“Come on,” he said. “You ride. I’ll walk.”
His voice was a bit rough, but she gave him high marks for control. She hadn’t realized the jacket was so special, and there was no way she was getting back on that devil horse. “No,” she said. “I’ll walk back.”
Even ten feet away, she heard his impatient sigh. “It’s okay. You won’t fall off again. Ghost had a little spook, completely understandable. And if you’d been paying attention, you wouldn’t have been dumped.”
“It’s not that. I just don’t want to ride again.”
“Come on, Jess. I’ve never known you to be a coward.”
Both Ghost and Mark were staring at her as though disappointed, so she ignored the name-calling and let him boost her into the saddle. But her throat was dry, and she clutched the horn. It was hard to pretend she wasn’t terrified.
“Dick’s place is that way.” She pried a hand off the horn long enough to gesture to the right.
“We’re not going to Dick’s,” he said.
“Well then, this was a waste of time.” Ghost’s ears flattened as her voice rose. She turned silent and tightened her grip, wondering if the volatile horse intended to buck.
“No, it wasn’t a waste,” Mark said. “Now we know where the kid hides, that he’s wearing a blue T-shirt, that he’s three-and-a-half feet tall and about sixty-five pounds.” He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Plus I recovered my missing jacket which I value greatly.”
“I’m really sorry about the jacket. I didn’t mean for him to take it. But he was so cold.” She swiveled in the saddle, absorbing Mark’s statement, forgetting about Ghost’s ill humor. “Sixty-five pounds? That’s all? Wish I had a chance to give him my Egg McMuffin.”
“If you have food in your pocket, hand it over. I’m starving.”
So he wasn’t lunching with Tina. That fact pleased her so much she passed over her cache of food with only minimal complaint. Besides, she already knew the boy liked fish and chips.
Chapter Nineteen
Jessica sealed another envelope and tossed it on the growing stack of outgoing mail. She hadn’t realized horses and trainers received fan mail. Mark had told her to answer the kids’ letters first and then work on the others. She adjusted her ice pack, stifled a yawn and glanced guiltily over her shoulder. Mark had agreed not to dock her pay if she helped in the office all afternoon but probably napping on the job was taboo.
He was on the phone, boots on his desk as he discussed a knee x-ray. He didn’t look tired, but she guessed he must be exhausted. Dino had left a mound of paperwork; despite the number of calls Mark had made, though, the pile didn’t appear dented.
She turned her attention back to her letter writing, deciding the best way to handle the ridiculous marriage proposal was to explain that Mark was happily gay.
“You better not be causing me any trouble,” he warned as he closed the phone, his eyes narrowing on her mischievous smile. “And put the ice on the side of your eye. Tomorrow that’s where the swelling will be.” His phone chirped again, and he tucked it back under his ear.
A strange tightness did pull at her eyes. She adjusted the ice pack, guessing he was probably right. The swelling would be worse tomorrow. She sighed, but the changing timbre of his voice grabbed her attention—eager, excited, much different from his tone with the vet.
“Yeah, there’s a few I like. Hip 641, 665 and 689,” he said. “Three hundred should get us one of them.”
She bent over the paper, doodling energetically and pretending not to listen.
A wariness crept into Mark’s voice as he glanced in her direction. “Sure. I can meet you in Keeneland,” he said.
She finished her row of hearts then began a sketch of Buddy’s blazed head, careful to keep her head bent.
Mark’s voice lowered. “I think she’d like to talk to you…too busy? Okay…see you later.” His tone flattened as he swiveled his chair and cut the connection. Paper shuffled. She waited for him to say something, to announce he’d just talked with her grandfather, but that was the ticklish part about eavesdropping. You heard enough to make you curious, but could only ask questions in the most casual way.
Mark didn’t give her a chance to do that. Just shoved his chair back and rose. “Keep that ice over your eye,” was all he said when he strode from the office.
***
Mark turned away from the blood stain, preferring not to watch the gorging flies. Richard Maynard, or Tricky Dick as Jessica called him, had bled profusely, and darkened gravel now marked the spot.
The police officer continued removing yellow crime tape as he spoke. “We’ve made extensive inquiries, knocked on a lot of doors, but I’ll add your information to the file.”
And that file will be shelved, Mark guessed. He edged a few steps closer, trying to prick the cop’s interest. “There might be a picture of this guy in Dick’s apartment,” he said. “And maybe the boy knows something. Word around the track is that the kid accompanied this fellow up until a few weeks ago.”
“I’m sure someone will talk.” The officer tossed the tape in the back of his Buick. “That’s usually how we solve this type of mugging.”
“Sounds more like an attempted murder.” Mark’s gaze drifted to the feasting flies. “Look, if you guys are finished here, I’m going to clean up that blood. Kids play here all the time.”
“Go ahead. We’re finished.” The officer didn’t look at the grisly splotch, just slid in his car and rolled away.
Mark walked to the barn closest to the apartment complex. A groom with curly blond hair and a matching earring stood by a rack of bridles, squeezing soap from an oversized sponge. “Shocking, isn’t it?” The groom glanced past Mark at the receding police car. “Dick’s a good guy—eccentric maybe, but a good guy. Doesn’t sound like the cops have a clue.”
“Or that they’re looking for one,” Mark said grimly. “Got a bucket I can borrow? I want to dump some water on that blood spot.”
“Yeah, sure. Poor old Mary doesn’t want to see that. The knife cut Dick’s artery. Just missed the jugular. She clamped her hand over his neck and called 911.”
“Who’s Mary?”
Mark asked as the groom filled four black rubber buckets and even topped them off with generous squirts of soap.
“Lives in the bottom apartment. Helps Dick with fundraising.”
“Think she has a key to Dick’s place?” Mark picked up two frothing buckets and walked back, accompanied by the helpful groom.
“I’m sure she does,” the groom said.
They sloshed water on the ground and watched the liquid dissipate in loopy veins through the gravel. The protesting flies rose in a dark buzz. “Hey, Mary!” the groom yelled, setting down his empty bucket. “Come on out.”
A curtain lifted. A moment later the door opened, and a small woman stepped outside. Short, broad shoulders, strong arms. Looked like an exercise rider.
“Got a key to Dick’s place?” the blond man asked.
“Who wants to know?” she asked, staring at Mark with wary eyes.
Mark stepped forward and introduced himself, and the woman’s thick shoulders relaxed. “Oh, okay. I’ve heard your name. Jessica works for you,” she said. “Yeah, sure, I have a key.”
“I’ll take these buckets back,” the groom said. “Good luck in the Juvenile.” He hesitated, then gave a hopeful smile. “If you’re ever hiring, I’m interested and experienced. Name’s Jim.”
“Grooms come and go,” Mark said, “so keep checking.” He turned to Mary. “Did the police borrow your key and check out the place?”
“Nope.” She shrugged. “But I heard someone up there early this morning. Maybe the cops got a key from housing. If you want to take a look, fine by me. But I’m coming with you.”
Mark followed her up the wooden steps. She turned the key to Dick’s apartment and shoved open the door.
“You first,” she said, stepping back. “I’m a little spooked about all this.”
He entered slowly, absorbing the endless racks of clothes, the stacked boxes. If there was a picture in this mini-warehouse, it seemed impossible to find.
“Your groom sorted most of this stuff,” Mary said. “Dick said she had the best eye for clothes he’s ever seen.”
Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3) Page 54
