Racetrack Romance BOX SET (Books 1-3)

by Bev Pettersen

  “Yeah, got a dinner at the big house with Martha and Ted.”

  “How long before she sells?” Slim asked.

  “If we get some wins, she’ll probably hang on. Hope so anyway.” A muscle ticked in Dino’s jaw. Martha wasn’t the only one who needed a win. His salary was fair, but he relied on the fat race bonuses. Laura wouldn’t wait much longer for the down payment. “Keep a good eye on Echo. We need a win from that filly. Malcolm never wanted her stabled at Lone Star so we’ll haul in Saturday.”

  Slim grunted but didn’t look happy. Lately he’d been edgy and even more morose than usual, if that was possible. And the way his pants hung, the man was losing a lot of weight.

  “How’re things?” Dino asked, eyeing his foreman with concern.. “How’s your daughter?”

  Slim shrugged but worry creased his leathery forehead, and he fiddled with his belt buckle. “We’re surviving. Wish I could afford a better place for her.”

  Dino blew out a sympathetic sigh. It was common knowledge Slim had an adult daughter who’d been injured at the track and was now stuck in a wheelchair. Damn bad luck, as by all accounts she’d been a helluva rider. “We’ve got good horses racing for big purses,” he said. “Should be better cash flow soon. I’m sure Martha’s lawyer can set up a trust account. Give you some peace of mind.”

  Slim stared glumly at the dust left by the crawling Mercedes. “I’d need ten winning seasons to be able to give Jilly what she needs. Not much chance of that, not with Malcolm gone and Mrs. Conrad on the brink.”

  Dino shook his head. He didn’t consider himself materialistic, but money definitely smoothed out a lot of problems. Ten winning seasons—hell, no wonder Slim was sour.

  “Got a good buddy in New York,” he said, then paused. After all he didn’t know Slim that well, had only worked for Conrad’s the past nine months. However Malcolm had held Slim in high esteem, and he couldn’t stand by and watch a man struggle. “Mark trains for a sheikh,” he continued. “I can give you a reference. You’d make better money up north.”

  Slim jerked around, his eyes widening. “Mark? Mark Russell? I heard of him. Damn big of you. But I’ve got things worked out.”

  “Good,” Dino said. “And hopefully the filly will make us all happy on Saturday.”

  Slim nodded and trudged toward the barn, head down, shoulders hunched. But he didn’t look like he had things worked out, and Dino didn’t like unhappy staff. Slim was a longtime Conrad employee and his skill at picking out yearlings was unquestionable. Lately though, the man had been a tad impatient with the horses.

  And what the hell had he meant when he’d called the nurse cute? It was difficult to see anything the way she hid behind those shapeless clothes, that long hair. And she wasn’t very friendly. He’d attempted conversation before, trying to coax out a smile, but she’d always shut him down.

  Sighing, he reached down and scooped up an errant piece of baler twine. Clearly he’d have to try harder. For some reason Martha trusted the quiet nurse which made her goodwill all the more critical.

  Chapter Four

  “Maybe you should go to bed early tonight,” Becky said, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed Martha’s pallor. The early-morning excursion to the stable had left Martha exhausted and despite the brave makeup, her cheeks were now pasty, her breath labored. Becky checked her blood pressure and marginally relaxed. “Not so bad. I think a good night’s sleep will help. But you should go to bed right after dinner.”

  “You’ll miss me, won’t you dear?” Martha spoke so quietly, Becky had to strain to hear.

  “You mean when I drive to Lone Star tomorrow, all alone, not knowing anyone or even where Dino’s barn is?” She forced a cheerful smile, hating to think of Martha’s mortality. “Of course I’ll miss you.”

  “You’ve become much more than a nurse, much more than a companion. You’re like a member of the family.”

  Becky’s heart wrenched. In reality, this lady was the only family she’d ever known, and the thought of losing her was terrifying. She squeezed her eyes shut, hiding her shimmering emotion, and kissed Martha’s clammy forehead. “That’s why, in spite of my fear and ignorance, I’m going to be the best darn horse reporter you ever had.”

  “Horse reporter.” Martha gave a wan smile. “I suppose that’s a good name. Just watch the horses. They’ll tell you how they’re feeling. I still can’t understand why Hunter ran such a poor race.” Her hand clutched at her throat. “I want to keep going until the Lone Star meet is over. Need to make sure Malcolm’s name isn’t forgotten. He wanted that so much, wouldn’t want me to sell yet.” Her voice faltered. “But I won’t make the scheduled dinner tonight.”

  Panic jerked Becky upright. “But it’s too late to cancel. What about Ted and Dino? They’ll be here soon.”

  “You can cope, dear. You’re much braver than you think. And Jocelyn has the kitchen under control.”

  “But you need me with you.” Becky’s voice squeaked and she swallowed, trying to ease her tight throat.

  “The night nurse is very capable. You know that. You hired her. Just enjoy the wine. It’s a lovely Beaujolais—your favorite. By the way, Ted is bringing some documents.” Martha’s voice turned smug. “And he’ll be extremely disappointed when I’m not there to sign them.”

  Becky groaned. “Is this another trick to avoid Ted?”

  “Of course not. I’m tired. You said so yourself.”

  Becky eyed her suspiciously. No doubt Martha was pale, but she was also wily and the prospect of dealing with Ted’s displeasure—all alone—made her gut wrench. She’d have to face Dino too, although that thought caused an entirely different type of quivering.

  She took another quick gulp. It was shaping up to be a very stressful night. Unfortunately there probably wasn’t enough wine in Martha’s expansive cellar to make it any fun.

  Chapter Five

  “This is unacceptable.” Ted topped up his wine and, for the third time that evening, ignored Becky’s empty glass. “Mr. Anders and I both expected to meet with Martha. If she’s too tired to eat, obviously involvement with horses must be curtailed. You should have known better than to drag her down to the barn.”

  Becky picked up the bottle and refilled her own glass. Ted’s mouth had been flapping throughout dinner, but it hardly bothered her anymore. Even his pale eyes failed to rouse her usual aversion. The man was a total pain. No wonder Martha always pretended to fall asleep—unlike Becky, Martha was limited to a strict diet and unable to find refuge in wine.

  Fifteen more minutes and she’d escape. Would pretend Martha needed checking, even though there was another night nurse.

  “Martha didn’t seem tired when she was at the barn this morning,” Dino said from across the elegant table. “And watching Echo gallop around the training track won’t cause a heart attack. It’s certainly not Betty’s fault if she’s tired.”

  Becky’s initial gratitude flipped to irritation when Dino once again mangled her name. “Thank you, Dano,” she said.

  But he didn’t catch her deliberate mistake; his steely gaze was locked on Ted.

  She fingered the stem of her glass while the two men sparred, their hostility blatant. Neither had shown her much attention so her conversation had been limited to the briefest of replies. Fortunately there was always unending wine at Martha’s formal dinners. She’d been able to sit and sip and study Dino.

  He wore a dark sports jacket and white shirt, and she blew out a sigh of appreciation. She may not enjoy talking to good-looking men, but she definitely liked looking at them.

  Ted abruptly tossed his napkin on the table, still staring at Dino. “You should know I brought along papers for Martha to sign. The quicker she sells the property—and every horse on it—the longer she’ll live. And that’s really what we want, isn’t it?” He turned to Becky. “At least you do, right?”

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  “So you’ll help me convince her?” Ted asked.

  Be
cky’s gaze darted to Dino’s alert face and then back to Ted. She stopped twirling her glass and squared her shoulders. “What Martha really wants,” she said, “is to have a few more wins with the horses Malcolm bred.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Ted snorted. “We already saw Hunter in action. How many more debacles do we need? I question your nursing competence, Becky.”

  “Easy,” Dino said.

  One word, but Ted immediately paused. “You must understand,” he shot Dino a wary look and lowered his voice, “Uncle Malcolm had a dream but so does every owner. There’s no reason to believe this crop of horses is any better than last year’s. Aunt Martha shouldn’t waste any more time. I really thought she’d be more sensible after that animal’s performance yesterday.”

  Dino crossed his arms, his shirt tightening. He must go to a gym or carry a lot of water buckets. It was clear he was more than capable of keeping puny nephews in line, and also clear he wouldn’t let Ted ride roughshod over anyone. Earlier he’d even stopped Ted from scolding the cook.

  “I do understand your concern,” Dino said, his voice surprisingly amiable, “but not your authority. I work for Martha, not you. And she has some promising horses that I intend to race. And win.”

  “Then it’s both your fault if the old lady keels over,” Ted snapped.

  Becky’s hand jerked, splattering red wine over the tablecloth, and Dino shot her a reassuring smile. However, when he looked back at Ted, his voice was as tight as his arms.

  “I realize Martha suffered a heart attack, but she’s agreed not to watch any more races. Besides, she’s already selected a very competent stand-in.” His gaze met hers again, and his mouth curved in that irrepressible smile. He even gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  She smiled back, suddenly very glad he was here.

  “Excuse me, please.” He pulled out his phone, frowning as he checked a text message. He abruptly rose from the table. “Sorry, I have to go. Loose horse. Slim just noticed the empty stall.” He paused, his enigmatic gaze settling on her face. “Are you coming? So you can report to Martha?”

  “What? Oh, of course. Good night, Ted.” She shoved her chair back and bolted after Dino, glad for any excuse that kept her from being stuck alone with Martha’s nephew. “What horse is loose?” she asked, trying to keep up as he strode down the hall to the foyer.

  “Lyric.”

  “But I’m sure I closed the door...” Her voice trailed off in dismay.

  “You weren’t the last person in her stall,” Dino said. “I helped Slim and Stephanie with night feed.” He swung the heavy door open with easy strength. “And I know I shut it,” he said grimly.

  ***

  Dino flicked on his high beams, scanning the sides of the road as he searched for movement. Most loose horses would hang around the barn, looking for a way into the feed room, but Lyric had always been a rebel. She’d escaped one other time and been caught two miles away, dangerously close to the highway. He squeezed the steering wheel, trying to block images of a horse loose in traffic. Martha didn’t need any tragic accidents.

  He glanced sideways. Becky—Ted had distinctly called her that—was perched on the edge of the passenger seat, face pressed against the side window. At least she provided another set of eyes. He hadn’t the heart to leave her alone with that prick, Ted. She’d drained her wine as though it were water and clearly been uneasy throughout dinner, although she’d had the guts to defend Martha’s interests.

  Ted was a manipulative asshole and to blame a well-meaning nurse for Martha’s declining health was petty and cruel. He couldn’t condone petty and cruel. “See anything yet?” he asked, realizing his passenger hadn’t spoken a word since she’d scrambled into his truck.

  “Nothing yet, but at least she’s white.”

  “Technically, the mare’s gray,” he teased, trying to loosen her up. “White thoroughbreds are rare.”

  Her head swiveled in the darkened truck, and she stared at him through the gloom. “She looked quite white to me.”

  “Her muzzle and the tips of her ears are black so she’s considered a gray.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But I’m still looking for a white shape in the dark.”

  He smiled despite his anxiety, relieved to hear her lilting amusement and happy that she would actually talk to him a bit. His good humor remained when they reached the pulsing interstate and saw no sign of a runaway horse, gray or white.

  “Thank God,” he said. “Doesn’t look like she came this way. Slim and Stephanie probably caught her on the lower road.”

  “Dino...” Horror thickened her voice, and he jerked around.

  For a second he stopped breathing, his air escaping in a ragged hiss. Unless it was a moving rock, Lyric was grazing on the narrow median of the highway. He flipped on his emergency flashers, swerved up the ramp and jammed the truck onto the gravel. “Wave at the oncoming vehicles,” he said. “Try to slow them down.”

  He grabbed a halter, clumsy with urgency. Pushed open the door, leaped over a soggy ditch and scrambled up the bank.

  Cars rushed past in both directions, lights cutting the night, but thankfully there were no thundering transport trucks.

  “Hey, girl,” he said softly.

  Lyric raised her head from the clover, blinking, as though surprised and not entirely happy to see him.

  He tucked the halter behind his back and edged closer. “Good girl,” he soothed.

  She sidled away, dropping bits of grass in her hurry to escape.

  He followed, talking softly, trying not to rush as a big truck rumbled over the hill. She was on the very edge of the median now, nose down, still hunting for the choicest morsels but prudently keeping her distance. Dammit. She’d never been an obliging horse.

  The truck whizzed past. She didn’t move and he exhaled a long breath. He circled, trying to herd her down the ramp, but the crafty mare pivoted and walked along the median, so nonchalant a stranger would assume she regularly grazed in the middle of the dark highway.

  He edged closer, keeping his crooning low and unhurried. Only two feet away now, almost close enough to touch. But when he reached out, she snorted and wheeled, tail raising like a banner. A car whizzed past, noses pressed against the windows, and the driver…oh shit, no—

  Honk!

  Lyric flinched then bolted, kicking up clumps of grass as she galloped down the meridian and across the road. Hooves clacked on the concrete. A car swerved amid squealing brakes and stinking rubber. She vanished into the ditch.

  A pickup skidded to a stop. “Need some help?” a man called as he flung open his door.

  “Yeah. Loose horse,” Dino said. “I’ll try to herd her up the access road if you can block her from running back onto the highway.”

  The man said something, but Dino couldn’t wait and scrambled back down the bank. A white shadow stood unmoving in the narrow ditch, barely twenty feet away. At least she’d stopped galloping and was off the road. Now he only had to keep her moving in the right direction.

  “I’ve got her,” a quiet voice said.

  He paused, had forgotten all about Becky. She probably thought the mare would behave like an obedient dog off leash. He shook his head, fear making him impatient. “There’s another guy coming to help. We’re going to chase her down the road. Try to herd her toward the barn.”

  “But I’ve got her. I tied my shirt around her head. It has long sleeves.”

  He blinked, absorbing her words. The white shape hadn’t moved so maybe Lyric really was caught. Hard to believe though. He edged closer, straining to see. Looked like a shirt was wrapped around her ears, across her nose, with a sleeve acting as a makeshift lead line. The perfect halter. Even better, the mare seemed submissive, as though she didn’t intend to fight the restraint. But the shirt meant…

  He edged around the mare, peering through the gloom. Yes, Becky’s bra gleamed whitely in the night, a perfect match with the mare’s coat. Surprisingly lovely breasts. He could see the swell�
�

  He jerked his head back and whipped off his jacket. “Here. Put this on. I’ll hold her. Good job,” he added. “She’s not an easy horse to catch.”

  “You caught that horse?” a concerned voice called from the top of the ditch.

  “Yeah, buddy. Thanks for stopping.” Dino stepped sideways, blocking the man’s view of Becky, protective despite the darkness. The jacket rustled and he glanced down at her, dwarfed now in his dinner jacket. Even with heels, she only reached the top of his chest. Heels, and they had a two-mile hike.

  “Can you drive a standard?” he asked as he slipped the halter on Lyric and untied the life-saving shirt.

  “No.”

  “Then you’d better wait in the truck. It’s quite a walk. I’ll have Slim pick you up.”

  She clasped the jacket together with both hands and peered toward the highway, where several guffawing men had gathered. “I don’t want to stay here.” Her voice carried a note of panic. “I’d rather walk with you.”

  “Sure. Whatever you want.” He passed her the twisted shirt. “Thank you. For what you did. For using your shirt like that.” He swallowed, shoving aside the image of her chest bared beneath the moonlight, exposed except for her bra. She always wore such baggy clothes. Weird she’d hide such lovely curves.

  He turned Lyric and headed along the private road to the barn. Conscious of Becky’s heels, he kept a slow speed. But the mare, ever perverse, chafed at the pace. Without racing or a foal, she was bored and a pain to handle. Probably needed some sort of job.

  He glanced sideways. Becky hadn’t complained but was clearly struggling to keep up. No doubt she’d have a few blisters by the end of this night. “Have you ridden before?” he asked.

  “A bit. A while ago.”

  “Why don’t you mount up? Give Lyric a job, seeing as her shenanigans dragged us out here.”

  He half expected a refusal, but the expression on her face was one of pure delight. She still clutched his jacket though, holding it together with one hand and gripping her rolled-up shirt in the other. Impossible to ride like that.