Realizing they were running out of time to put in a claim, he checked the tote board, noting that Ragamuffin's odds were now 44-1, then making a flash decision to go for it, he headed in a beeline to fill out a claim form for the horse almost every bettor there viewed as the least likely prospect in the lineup, a horse that could fail once again and start a descent into racing obscurity, taking with her his $5500. Then he quickly shoved aside his misgivings, focusing instead on his own words to his brothers the night before. "Samuel Riddle bought eleven yearlings at the Saratoga sale back in 1918. Ten turned out to be duds. The eleventh was Man o' War."
Ironically, the price Riddle paid for Man O' War was also $5500. Maybe a good omen?
Holding that thought, he completed the form and dropped it in the box, and by the time he returned to the paddock the horses were saddled and the trainers were giving the jockeys a leg up. After a couple of circuits around the walking ring, the horses, accompanied by their escort ponies, headed to the track and the parade to post, some walking briskly, others trotting, and ultimately, all of them jogging toward the starting gate.
Except for one homely filly who stopped to survey the crowd, until her jockey, with a short whack of his whip, reminded her why she was there.
Gazing skyward, Ace crossed himself and hoped he hadn't just made the biggest mistake in his life.
CHAPTER 2
Le Tournoi – Ville Platte, Louisiana
Dressed in a silky white tunic and hooded surco with a high-peaked cone on top, his long slender lance tucked under his arm, Ace sat on his horse while waiting for the annual jousting event to begin. He scanned the contenders, all clad in the traditional knight-like garb, all eager to race their steeds around the quarter-mile track at break-neck speeds while aiming their lances at the small metal rings dangling from seven poles set around the track. The knight with the most rings and the fastest time over the three heats would be crowned champion.
He'd been competing for years, always placing among the top contenders, and he had a line-up of trophies gathering dust to attest to his skill, though it wasn't the trophies that kept him returning year after year, but the camaraderie. With barbecue pits smoking, spectators—mostly friends and relatives of the contestants—cheered their brothers, boyfriends, fathers and cousins, with a big community feed following the event.
As he waited, he scanned the line-up of riders, recognizing most of the contenders. Not seeing a female among them, he leaned toward Logan Guidry, a fellow competitor, and said, "Rumor has it a woman's competing this year. I hope it's not true."
"It is," Logan grumbled.
Determined to not let his aggravation over a female competing in a traditionally all-male sport affect his focus and mess up his ride, Ace said in as impassive a voice as he could muster, "Someone from around here?"
Logan let out a sardonic huff. "Yeah, your neighbor, Piper Harrison."
On hearing her name, Ace felt his temper rising, though he couldn't blame Piper for his claiming race miscalculation. He'd gambled his money on Pépère's hunch coupled with Piper's obvious displeasure that the filly might be claimed, presumably because she had potential. But taking possession of a filly that came in three lengths behind the rest of the field not only turned out to be a $5500 disaster, it was far removed from his original plan of pinhooking.
Still, Pépère had undying faith that they had a winner, and he was in the process of changing a rebellious, noncompliant filly into… Ace wasn't sure yet.
For the past two weeks the filly had been enjoying what could only be described as a high-class equine retreat. Instead of spending her days confined to a stall, except for the hour in the morning when exercising on the track as it had been at the Harrison's, the filly had the run of a long narrow pasture where she could challenge other horses over the fence, she was fed high-quality timothy hay instead of the grass hay that went to the rest of the stock, and when stabled for the night, she bedded down in a foot of fresh rice straw, where she remained stretched on her side, peacefully snoozing, until well into the morning. No pre-dawn workouts for her. No workouts at all up till this point.
Pépère also decided she needed an animal companion to defuse her surly disposition, an old-time remedy for discontented horses. Gumbo, one of their brush goats who routinely escaped the pasture, filled that need in a timely manner, befriending the filly over her stall door during one of his getaways, and the two were inseparable. But before long, Ragamuffin would have to accept a rider.
From the time she'd arrived at the ranch she'd laid her big ears flat back and nipped when being bridled, and she balked at anyone trying to saddle and mount her, so Pépère's solution was to leave her be till she settled in. Although, when he hooked her up to the walker for exercise, she willingly agreed because when she was done she'd get a portion of oats with molasses and be turned out into the paddock with Gumbo to graze, frolic or bask in the sun.
Returning his attention to the tournament, Ace again scanned the contestants, his irritation mounting as he said, "Being Piper Harrison, I'm not surprised she's horning in on an all-male tradition here since she recently got her jockey's license."
"That explains why she stands crouched in the saddle, which gets her forward over the horse's neck," Logan said. "She might have something going riding that way because she placed high at the tryouts against candidates from all over the state, so she could be a little competition."
Ace grunted in disdain. "Yeah, well, I'm not sweatin' it. Doing well in the tryouts is one thing. Headin' around a dusty track with a hooded cloak flappin' against the horse while aimin' a lance at a two-inch circle's another. It's all about grippin' with your legs while balancin' a lance and focusin' on the rings, and I doubt Piper has the strength for that."
"Except she doesn't grip with her legs because she's in a jockey crouch," Logan pointed out.
"Maybe so, but you also have to have a good horse to win, and those Harrison horses are all flighty thoroughbreds. Pray she comes in last so this'll be the end of women tryin' to act like knights, or before long, the event'll be taken over by females and we might as well hang up our capes and lances."
"Amen. As for bein' a jockey, I doubt Piper will get far," Logan said. "Exercisin' a horse in a training track's a far cry from handlin' twelve-hundred pounds of flighty, high-spirited thoroughbred in a pack of a dozen riders while racing forty miles an hour. Women don't have the strength or guts for that."
Ace wasn't so sure. "My sister-in-law, Anne, has a different take. Accordin' to her, Piper's crazy competitive. We better hope we're in top form today so we can nip this in the bud or next thing you know we'll be runnin' in a powder-puff derby instead of a jousting tournament."
Logan let out a snuffle of disgust. "You've got that right."
Eyes scanning the line-up of competitors, Ace searched out a diminutive knight clad in a hooded cape, and seeing none, he said to Logan, "It doesn't look like Piper Harrison's here so maybe she got the message and dropped out."
"Keep dreaming." A female voice came from behind.
Ace glanced around to see Piper clad in a flashy red cape imprinted with a rampant lion charge, a black tunic with a coat of arms, and a chainmail hood she must have picked up at a costume shop. Even her black mare was clad in a hooded horse trapper, also with a rampant lion charge. To say she stood out in a crowd of men wearing baggy pants and white hooded capes would be a gross understatement. "Good luck then," he clipped. "If you don't place here you can find yourself a broomstick, and come Halloween, ride it around and get to use that get up again."
A pair of hazel eyes flashed with wry humor. "Thanks, Broussard. I'll keep that in mind. Meanwhile, if you want to stay in the running you might hike up your stirrups and get your butt in the air, except you're pretty much stuck in that big old western saddle. Too bad."
Ace narrowed his eyes at her. "At least I've got a seasoned cow pony who won't balk at his shadow."
Piper let out a hoot. "I'm surprised you're talking down t
horoughbreds now that you have one of ours among your cow ponies. Have you finally decided to breed a little endurance into your racing quarter horse stock?"
"That's for me to know and you to wonder." Ace turned his horse abruptly and cantered over to take his place in the lineup of contestants, wanting to put as much distance between him and a woman who had nothing going for her, in his book of females of interest, except maybe her looks, and any number of Cajun girls could match that.
For the moment though, he needed to concentrate on taking all those rings in the fastest speed of the day for the sole purpose of winning that tall impressive trophy for a very different reason this year, and camaraderie be damned.
***
Wanting to arrive at her sister's house without being seen by any of the Broussards, especially Ace, Piper left her car at home and cut across the cane field on a packed dirt roadway that separated sections of standing sugar cane. In her arms she clutched a large trophy, which was strategically hidden from view by a white plastic trash bag. On arriving at the property line, she scanned her surroundings, noticing that Joe's truck was gone, but Anne's car was parked beside the house, so Anne would be home alone.
Satisfied that she'd be able to sneak into the house unnoticed, she scurried up the porch steps and knocked. A couple minutes later, Anne opened the door, peered down at the plastic bag and moved aside for her to enter. Piper made her way around Anne's protruding belly with its precious little package inside, a baby girl they'd be naming Susanna, and setting the bag with the trophy on the dining table, she said to Anne, "Can you keep this here, maybe under your bed? I don't want Daddy to see it."
Anne walked over to the table and pulled open the mouth of the plastic bag and shoved it down, revealing a tall, impressive trophy with a double-handled cup on top. She eyed the trophy. "I take it this is what you won at the tournament. Sorry it conflicted with the baby shower. I heard you were quite the spectacle, not exactly the way to crash an all-male tournament if you don't want Daddy to know about it."
Piper eyeballed the trophy, still a little stunned she'd taken first place. "My aim was to catch Ace and old man Broussard's notice with a goal of showing them, not only can I ride with the boys, but I'm the one they need exercising Rags and riding her in her next race. You said earlier there's been no talk about hiring a jockey so all I need to do is prove I'm their best bet. But to get to that point I first have to convince Henri Broussard that I'm available for galloping his racing quarter horses since you said his exercise boy's out with a broken collarbone."
"He is, and good luck. You'll need it." Anne traced a finger along the side of the shiny cup and down the smooth walnut pedestal with its engraved plate. "You know you won't be able to keep this from Daddy. He'll be ready to skin you alive when he finds out you rode Phantom Lady in the tournament. I assume that's the horse you rode. Joe said it was a big black mare."
"It was, but why should Daddy find out, with him and Mother and the entire barn crew away at the Fair Grounds in New Orleans until tomorrow?"
"It'll be in the newspaper. Joe said he saw someone from the paper interviewing you."
"They did, but Daddy and Mother don't take that paper. Besides, they'll be so pumped up after winning the race in New Orleans, they'll be focused on that."
"Until they learn you took Lady. I can't believe you did without running it past Daddy."
"If I'd done that he would've said no, and since he's completely against my becoming a jockey I'll never get to race any of the horses in our barn, even though I've been galloping all of them and could run any in a race. But what's done is done. I did what I set out to do and if Daddy finds out and decides to throw a tizzy fit, that's his problem."
Brows gathered as she stared at the trophy, Anne said, "Since when did you become interested in jousting?"
"I'm not, but I figured it would be a good way to get Ace's attention since he owns Rags."
Anne let out a sarcastic snort. "You did that all right and he's totally miffed he lost to a woman, and it's a double whammy since the woman happens to be a Harrison. Coming in first didn't help either because he's convinced you've opened the competition to women who'll arrive in flashy regalia like yours, all trying to out-costume each other. And if you think Ace would so much as consider letting you ride Rags, whether it's exercising or racing, think again. He's steamed because you beat him. You've got a male ego thing going with him."
"Yeah, well with all the jockeys coming and going around our place, all viewing me like I'm a leper, I know about male egos, so I'll try a different approach."
"Ace isn't a jockey. He's a cowboy. He thinks differently."
"He's still a man."
Anne let out an unladylike grunt. "If you figure you can get to Ace using female wiles, forget it. He's adjusted to having me as a sister-in-law out of loyalty to Joe, but he's not a man to be suckered into a woman's schemes, especially a Harrison woman."
"I know and I'd sooner ride naked in next year's tournament than resort to using female wiles with Ace Broussard, or in fact, have any connection with him other than whatever it takes to exercise Rags. I've got a few more ideas though."
"Like what?"
"Like offering to let Ace use our starting gate since Rags has issues with gates and the gate here is a thirty-year-old piece of junk."
Anne eyed her, dubiously. "When would Ace be over there? In the middle of the night when Daddy and the rest of the crew are asleep?"
"No, when everyone's at a race."
"Except there will always be stable hands left behind to tend the horses, so how will you explain someone coming in to use the gate?"
"No problem," Piper said. "I'll tell whoever's at the barn that someone's coming to train and leave it at that. There's no reason for them to say anything to Daddy, and if they happen to see Ace, they won't know who he is."
"This is crazy."
"I know, but look at the extremes you went to in order to get around Daddy and the rest of the family to marry Joe. It infuriates me that I spend my mornings galloping the horses at our place and still Mick refuses to let me run, probably with orders from Daddy, so I'll do whatever it takes to get around the two of them, get established as a jockey, and realize my dream."
"Okay, I do understand, and yes, Daddy can be completely unreasonable at times," Anne said. "Meanwhile, I'm curious about one thing. Where did you get the jousting regalia? Joe said you and your horse were decked out with all the trappings of a Renaissance fair."
Piper laughed. "Not quite. I bought it online except the polyester chainmail hood, which I picked up at a Mardi Gras shop in Lafayette. I thought it was all pretty cool. I might even outdo myself next year with something showier yet, if only to irritate Ace."
Anne let out a huff. "All you'd have to do is show up. He really is steamed."
Piper smiled. "Good."
Their attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps on the front porch followed by a knock on the door. "Go ahead and answer it. I need to get Joey up from his nap." Anne's voice trailed off as she headed down the hallway.
Piper opened the door to find Ace staring at her, the look on his face about as startled as the look on hers must be. "If you want Joe, he's not here," she clipped.
When she went to shut the door, Ace braced his hand on it, and said, "I came to talk to Anne."
Piper drew in a long breath. "I suppose you can come in."
"You suppose?" Ace let out a little snort. "You're the outsider here. I'm… the…" his voice tapered off as his eyes fixed on a point beyond her.
Piper knew he'd spotted the trophy. Walking over to stand beside it, reinforcing the fact that she was a capable rider, she said, "You were saying?"
Ace's expression went blank, his eyes perplexed, like he was completely caught off guard to find the jousting trophy prominently displayed on his brother's dining table. Seeming to regain his composure, he squared his shoulders, and said, "You're the outsider here. I'm the insider. I don’t need your permission to
come in."
Again his eyes shifted to the trophy, and Piper knew it was bugging the heck out of him to know why it was there, so she placed her hand on its base and answered his unasked question, with a little twist to the truth. "I brought this over to make you a proposition."
Ace eyed her with skepticism. "What kinda proposition?"
Piper lifted the trophy off the table. "A match race. I'm offering this as the prize."
Ace stared at the thing with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "It's got a plate on it that says Le Tournoi de Ville Platte."
Piper shrugged. "No problem. It can be popped off and replaced with another plate. I'll foot the bill to have it engraved."
Ace peered down at her, his expression guarded. "A match between what horses?"
"The mare I rode in the tournament and the thoroughbred filly you claimed from us."
"This is a joke."
"I'm not laughing."
Ace eyed her, warily. "The filly's never won a race. Why should I think she'd win this one?"
"Because you wouldn't have bought her if you didn't think she has it in her to win."
Ace shrugged off her comment. "It's a moot point since the filly won't be ready to race for a few weeks, but when she is it'll be a claiming race with a price considerably higher than before."
Piper digested that. With a higher claiming price she'd never have the funds to claim Rags, and if someone else claimed her, and she continued losing races, she could face the same horrific ending at a slaughterhouse many subpar racehorses faced. But the higher claiming price and Rags' poor record would also make it unlikely that she'd be claimed. Either way, Ace would need an exercise rider to prepare Rags, and a jockey to run her. She could do both, and a match race between Phantom Lady and any horse would prove her capability as a jockey.
Tall Dark Stranger (Cajun Cowboys Book 1) Page 21
