Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash

by Bev Pettersen

  “Oh, what would you do?” She twisted again, the seatbelt cupping her left breast. “Fire me?”

  “Sure, but I’d give you money.” His dragged his attention back to the road. “Plenty of money,” he added. “And I’ll come back and visit.”

  “In exchange for the money?”

  “It wouldn’t be quite like that.”

  “You’re an asshole.” She yanked down the sun visor and leaned against the headrest, her face stony as she stared straight ahead.

  And that was the problem. She didn’t want things, wasn’t a bit materialistic. Completely happy with her pony and trailer. He couldn’t figure out what motivated her, and it was damn difficult to control people if you didn’t understand their motivations. And didn’t everyone want things?

  “You’re complicated,” he said, needing the last word. He jammed on the radio, deliberately choosing classical music that he guessed she’d dislike.

  He didn’t throw out offers like that every day. Besides he was her boss; she really shouldn’t be calling him an asshole. She probably needed a little attitude adjustment after enjoying such liberties with Wally. He wouldn’t actually fire her. It was clear she loved working with the horses. But he’d make her wonder, put her on edge and maybe then she’d be a little more…accommodating. Women were natural-born conciliators; they didn’t like disruption.

  He concentrated on driving, enduring endless minutes of a string quartet. Finally he blew out an apologetic sigh and glanced sideways, admitting he was thinking like an asshole. Just like she’d accused him of being.

  “I’m sorry…” He stopped talking. Clearly she was a lot less disrupted than he. Her eyes were closed, lashes long and dark against her cheeks. First time he’d seen her with mascara, but it was obvious now. Proud cheekbones. A hint of darkness beneath her eyes, something he hadn’t noticed earlier when he’d been so distracted by their vibrant blue.

  He softened the music and flipped on his GPS. She looked tired, no doubt affected by the drugs. Kinder to let her sleep.

  He found the fairgrounds on his own. She woke forty-five minutes later when a laughing family wandered too close to the car. She jerked her head sideways, then straightened, fumbling with her seatbelt.

  He put down his phone, leaned over and unclipped her belt. Switched off the ignition, silencing the whirr of the air conditioner.

  “We’re here already?” She blinked at the crowded parking lot, obviously fuzzy.

  “Maybe you should go to the doctor tomorrow,” he said. “Have him check that hand for infection.”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” She covered a wide yawn. “Just not used to drugs. How long have we been here?”

  “Not too long.” Almost an hour. And no Internet connection in this low section of the valley.

  “I’m sorry. And you wanted to meet all the important people.” She opened her door, stuck out a shapely leg and glanced back. “Thanks very much for letting me sleep. That was thoughtful of you.” Her smile was so sincere, it rattled him and he almost forgot his keys in the ignition.

  He circled the car and protectively tucked his fingers over her elbow, frowning in dismay at the people swarming the admission gates. It looked like the entire town had gathered, along with some neighborhood dogs. There was even a spotted goat on a leash.

  They walked closer. A chubby boy with a ragged haircut stared at him and began to bawl.

  “Quit scowling,” Jenna whispered. “You’re scaring the kids.” She shook his hand off her elbow and circled the line of people. He hustled after her, not wanting to be left behind in this circus. Barns to the left, one rickety grandstand dead ahead and scores of campers, trailers and RVs jammed in a rutted field to the right.

  He didn’t see any box seats but surely if he bought two of the most expensive tickets, they’d be somewhat separated from the riffraff. It appeared they’d be at least twenty minutes getting in. One snaking line, one tiny wicket. Maybe everything would be sold out.

  “Maybe there’re no more seats,” he said hopefully.

  “Hey, Jenna!” A paunchy man at the side of the exhibitors’ gate stepped forward. He beamed a smile at Jenna and waved them through with a beefy arm. “Margaret will be glad to see you. Wants you to know Snuffers is much better.”

  “Glad to hear that, Mike,” Jenna said.

  She grabbed Burke’s hand and pulled him past the lineup, through the sagging door of a paint-peeling guardhouse. Blessedly they were free from the racket.

  Several white tables were cordoned off in the infield, surrounded by gaily striped umbrellas and a distinctive alcohol banner. Probably Leo Winfield and his cronies. Good. Burke planned to order a large scotch and pray this day ended quickly.

  “Are we sitting over there?” He gestured hopefully at the infield.

  “No, but you can sit there. I have to go to the barn area. I’m judging the sprint and am already late.”

  “Quarter horses?” He glanced around, looking for a starting gate but she just winked and headed toward the low ridge of buildings, moving fast in her elegant sandals. A randy teenager ogled her shapely legs and Burke charged forward, slipping his hand around her hip. “I’m coming with you,” he said. “I like the sprinters too.”

  “Jenna. You’re here!” A sandy haired boy on a too-big bike pedaled beside them, pumping his legs and crunching gravel as they approached the first barn and a squealing din of noise.

  The wails intensified as they rounded the corner. He stopped, too stunned to speak. Must be at least forty kids, muddled in a chaotic group. No—not muddled—grouped in pairs, each child with a leg tied loosely to another.

  Jenna gave a wicked smile and stepped forward. The teams silenced except for a little girl who crossed her legs and complained she needed to use the bathroom.

  “Good morning, contestants,” Jenna called. “We’ll start the race in a minute. But this is a special occasion. We have an important judge who likes sprinters. He came all the way from—”

  She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, still with that wicked smile, completely unfazed by his ferocious scowl.

  “New York,” he finally said, blowing out a sigh.

  “That’s right. We have a special judge this year, all the way from New York.”

  A boy with a Yankees ball cap jumped up and down but the rest of the kids were silent, even the wiggly girl with the crossed legs.

  “So as usual, you’ll race along the field and around that little tree.” She pointed at a stubby spruce tree a hundred feet away. “Maybe we’ll have our new judge stand by the tree.”

  “But you’re always the judge, Jenna. We want you to be our judge,” a kid with two missing front teeth called.

  “Yeah,” another kid screeched, “not some old guy from New York.”

  “We want Jenna! We want Jenna!” And the little hooligans all started chanting.

  Tough crowd but Burke had handled tougher. He stepped forward and raised his hand. “Good morning, contestants. I’ve been sent by Three Brooks, the sponsor of your big race this year. And to honor this special occasion, there will be two divisions and very, very big prizes. Everyone over eight years old will race first. Winning team gets twenty dollars.”

  The kids hooted and pumped their fists.

  “The next division, the under eights, will race for twenty dollars as well. And everyone who finishes the race receives a free ice cream.”

  He glanced at the rough grass and then at Jenna’s sandals. “We’ll wait a few minutes for our junior course judge to get in place.” He pointed helpfully at the spruce tree and stared clapping. “Go, Jenna, go.”

  She scowled and shook her head, but the kids picked up the chant and leaped in delight while the little girl with the crossed legs scooted toward a small brown building.

  Jenna smiled and pinched his arm, but the kids kept chanting. “Sonofabitch,” she muttered, covering up her finger assault with a cheery wave. She shot him a dark look then picked her way toward the tree, stumbling several
times over the rough grass.

  The races lasted twenty-six minutes and went off without a hitch.

  “Sir? You really want every kid in the race to have a free cone?” the ice cream man asked, dipping his scoop into a murky jar of water.

  “That’s right,” Burke said, keeping his hand on Jenna’s elbow. “Just send Three Brooks the bill.”

  “Sure thing.” The man glanced approvingly at the line of kids behind Burke and Jenna. “All these years and Wally Turner never bought the kids ice cream.”

  Burke felt Jenna stiffen. “Great idea to involve Three Brooks in the kids’ race, Jenna,” he said dryly. “A bit of a surprise though. You might have warned me. Was it hot out by the tree?”

  “It was indeed,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Would you be a darling and get my hat? I seem to have left it on the back seat.”

  “Tough,” he said, still feeling betrayed that she had tried to set him up.

  She blew out a sigh, shading her eyes from the bright sun. “I was a little mad at your comments in the car,” she admitted. “And if you hadn’t been able to handle the children, I would have stepped in.” She lifted her head then, her expression solemn. “And you were actually…great. You made a lot of kids happy, and it was smart to split the ages. I never thought of that, not in six years.”

  Her expression was so rueful, he impulsively touched her cheek. He didn’t know why but she turned him into putty. “I’ll get your hat if you want it. But please wait for me.” He gave a mock shudder. “Please don’t leave me alone with this mob.”

  “I think you do just fine wherever you go,” she said quietly.

  The sincerity in her voice made him pause. She’d been a good sport about hiking through the long grass, and it wasn’t surprising everyone loved her. And he had been an asshole in the car. “Stay in the shade,” he said. “You’ve probably had enough sun.”

  He turned and headed for the crowded parking lot.

  An uneventful walk but without Jenna by his side, he was forced to stand in the admission line for re-entry. By the time he returned to the striped ice cream booth, she was gone. Sighing, he dug in his pocket, searching for his phone.

  “Are you Burke?”

  A vaguely familiar kid slouched in front of him.

  “Jenna said you’d be holding a real pretty hat. Remember me?” the kid added. “I’m Charlie.”

  Burke nodded cautiously, remembering the freckly kid with the funny-looking mare. “Hi, Charlie. Where is she?”

  “With Molly. Come on.”

  He tailed the nimble kid through the flowing crowd, between some metal struts and along a muddy path beneath the grandstand. They weaved through a litter of half-eaten hotdogs, pop cans and discarded cotton candy. He hoped no one in the stands dropped a drink on their heads but his young guide was savvy, and they emerged from the short cut unscathed.

  “Molly needed a little tune-up,” Charlie said, gesturing at a motley group of horses. And Jenna.

  She gave them a distracted smile but clearly her attention was on the swaybacked mare. Her lips pursed, face set in concentration, as she worked on the horse’s left side. Worked both hands over the sacral joint. Granted, her right hand wasn’t pushing as hard, but the fingers were thrusting beneath the bandage. Burke slapped her hat against his thigh with disapproval.

  She stepped back, nodded and Charlie rushed forward. “Start at the back of the pack,” she said. “Give her a chance. I mean it, Charlie.”

  “Sure will.” The kid’s head bobbed. “We’re going to win this year. You’ll be cheering for me, won’t you, Jenna?”

  “Definitely. As long as you start at the back.” Her gaze met Burke’s and she gave an apologetic smile. “I had to help the horse,” she whispered. “Couldn’t wait for you any longer.”

  “I know.” He placed the hat on her head, adjusting the brim so the sun wouldn’t reach her nose. “Let’s relax now and cheer on Molly.”

  About twenty horses milled on the straight stretch, mainly kids, but Burke spotted a few men and one lady with bluish-white hair and a pink helmet.

  “I first took Peanut in this race when I was four,” Jenna said, standing on her toes and straining to see over the rail. “It’s more exciting than the steeplechase.”

  People were definitely milling to see the race, and the grandstand overflowed. Burke propped his arms around Jenna, protecting her wrist from any inadvertent knocks, and stared over her hat.

  So far, Charlie was following her instructions, standing three rows back behind a hyper pony and a bored-looking mule. The starter lowered the flag. The pony bolted, the mule refused to move and a fat grey pony wandered to the outer rail, apparently in search of grass. Most of the horses merely shuffled past, turning their heads as though surprised by the burst of applause from the appreciative audience.

  But Molly was in a beautiful extended trot and by the time she broke through the front line of horses she’d hit a smooth gallop. Charlie bounced over her neck, hollering and waving at the fans. He crossed the finish line a full length ahead of a blaze-faced Arab.

  The kid turned a big circle and trotted back, teeth gleaming whitely through his dirt-smeared face. He leaned over and slapped Jenna’s hand, then Burke’s, continuing along the row of spectators, smiling and pumping his arm from the back of the unflappable mare.

  “That was perfect.” Burke grinned, oddly elated. “What does he win?”

  “Aren’t bragging rights enough?” Jenna asked. “He rode five miles to get here. His mom’s fighting cancer. He doesn’t have a dad, but right now he’s one happy kid. Sometimes that’s as good as it gets.”

  Something in her voice tugged at him and he glanced down, trying to read her expression beneath the wide brim of her hat.

  “I suppose you want to go to the infield now?” she asked, averting her head. “That’s where the mayor and other people like that sit.”

  He paused, sensing she wanted to remain here. And it was surprisingly fun rubbing shoulders with the railbirds. But this excursion had always been about contacts, and they needed to be cultivated. “Then that’s where I want to be,” he said.

  She opened her tiny purse and pulled out a gold sponsor pass. “Wally sent this. Just show it to the man in the suit and he’ll let you into the tunnel.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re coming with me?”

  “I don’t have a pass. It’s a Chamber of Commerce event. And I need to check on Molly and I promised a few others…” Her voice trailed off, and it was abundantly clear she had no intention of resting her wrist.

  He gripped her left arm. “You’re not massaging any more horses. We’re going to sit down, have a drink and talk to some of these city fathers.”

  “But it’s only open to business owners—business owners and their families.”

  “You’re with me. That was the deal.”

  “It was never the deal. I said I’d go to the steeplechase, not the infield.” Her voice rose. “You can’t make me.”

  If she had smiled then, he might have relented but her outright defiance was frustrating and the only way rebellious employees should ever be handled was firmly. “This is your job today,” he snapped. He clamped a hand around her upper arm and propelled her toward the gate.

  The man in the dark suit and sunglasses carefully checked the pass then unsnapped the velvet cord, nodding as through granting admission to the White House. Damn pretentious people, Burke thought, but he’d made up his mind and they were going in.

  A second man stepped out from the other side of the shadowed tunnel, scanned the gold pass again and shot a curious look at Jenna. “Do you also have a pass?” he asked.

  Burke scowled and the guard shut his mouth and stepped back.

  A white-jacketed waiter materialized with a tray of champagne. Burke grabbed one, shoving it in Jenna’s left hand. “Bring me a Scotch and water, please,” he said.

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Derek! Glad you could join us.” Leo Winf
ield shot out from a cluster of suited men. “And who is this stunning young woman? Oh, hello, Jenna.” Leo nodded, nostrils flaring slightly and Burke instinctively edged closer to Jenna’s side.

  Her fluted glass shook as she nodded politely and pressed it to her lips. He could tell she wasn’t drinking though, merely hiding behind the bubbles.

  “Who are you betting on today, Derek?” Leo asked, pulling his curious gaze off Jenna’s bandaged wrist. “Have you picked a winner?”

  Charlie and Molly. “Haven’t had a chance to check the form yet,” Burke said. “Who do you like, Jenna?”

  She shot him such a disdainful look, he almost flinched but turned and accepted his Scotch from the attentive waiter. Goddammit. Maybe he shouldn’t have dragged her in here. Clearly it was another of those endless functions with pretentious men and fawning women, and besides, her lips were clamped so tightly, they were almost bloodless. He didn’t know why she made him lose his mind, but he certainly hated to see her upset. And she obviously wasn’t enjoying her champagne.

  “Here’s a program. Take a look.” Leo edged forward, shouldering Jenna to the side. “The three horse has the best breeding and my good friend, George, owns five percent. He knows the uncle of the man who bred last year’s Derby winner. Come on. You can meet him.”

  “Not now,” Burke said.

  “Well, hello. Look who’s here.” Kathryn Winfield minced forward, brilliant in a bright red dress and matching hat. “My new boss.”

  Jenna’s hand jerked and champagne sloshed her fingers. Her pained gaze met his, then shuttered as she dipped her head and pretended to take another sip.

  “Should I call you Derek or Burke?” Kathryn asked.

  “Mr. Burke will work,” he said tight-lipped, trying to edge closer to Jenna. Something had hurt her, and that naked pain in her eyes left him unbalanced. But she’d already turned her back, squaring those proud shoulders. A hovering waiter with an obvious eye for pretty ladies passed Jenna a program.

  “I’m looking forward to Monday,” Kathryn trilled on. “I’ve always wanted a chance at Three Brooks. The old manager preferred to hire his friends. Regardless of qualifications. Or background.” Her sniff was too loud, too disdainful, and Burke edged back a step. He needed to get Jenna a different drink, should have asked her what she wanted instead of just pushing the champagne in her hand. And maybe he should just get her out of here.