"I want to at least see where she's being stabled," Piper pressed.
"Suit yourself." Ace led the way down the long shed row to the end stall where there was less commotion, and peered into the cubicle where he found Gumbo nibbling the bedding while Ragamuffin lay stretched out, blissfully snoozing.
Piper peered into the stall and said in a whisper, "She's bedded down in a foot of straw."
"Dust-free rice straw," Ace whispered back. "One of her favorite pastimes is eating, which includes her bedding."
"And the stable companion?" Piper whispered in reference to seeing a goat sharing the stall with the stretched-out filly. "Whose idea was that?"
"My grandfather's. The filly was restless when stalled and had some bad habits like cribbin' and pacin' in circles, and when Gumbo got loose and found his way here and made a friend over the stall door, my grandfather put him in there, thinkin' a goat companion would improve her disposition while breakin' those habits, and Gumbo decided beddin' down in straw's better than sleepin' on the hard ground under the stars, and now they're joined at the hip."
"Good luck then. My father's trainer's against stable companions. Claims they make the horse dependent and anxious when they're separated, and he doesn't want the hassle of transporting other animals with the horses," Piper said, her voice rising with her zeal.
The filly, hearing Piper, gave a little whinny and lifted her head. Piper held an outstretched hand over the stall door. "It's me, Rags."
The filly's mule ears shot straight up. Rolling onto bent legs, she raised herself to a standing position, energetically shook off the straw, and went over to where Piper stood.
Piper rubbed her face and blew into her nostrils, and said, "You want a peppermint?" She offered a red and white mint which she held between her thumb and forefinger.
Rags's long tongue came out to touch the flat, round mint, then opening her mouth wide, she curved her lips around it and crunched with her teeth while bobbing her head. When she finished the mint, she raised her upper lip high, revealing a row of hay-stained teeth, and stuck out her tongue.
Piper laughed. "So you want another. What do you have to do to get it?" Rags pawed the stall floor with her front hoof, to which Piper offered another mint. Again, Rags's tongue came out and she took the mint and crunched on it while bobbing her head. When she pawed the stall floor for another mint, Piper said, "Nope, that's all you get, sweetie, but Mommy has carrots and an apple for you out in the car."
The endearment and maternal reference caught Ace off guard. Piper seemed far too tomboyish for that kind of sentiment. Addressing the issue of giving the filly carrots and an apple, he said, "My grandfather's got her on a restricted diet and monitors what she eats when she's stabled, so you'd better run it past him first."
"I already did and he's okay with it." Piper glanced around the stall, her forehead puckered with disapproval. "These are pretty tight quarters for a horse and a goat to move around in. Our stalls are twice as big."
"Yeah, but your horses are stuck there all day, which is why you have to deal with problems like chewin' wood and walkin' around the stall in circles."
"How would you know what goes on at our stable? You've never set foot on our place." Piper let out a little ironic laugh. "Wait, I forget. You're rubbing shoulders with all those anti-feminist jockeys, trainers and owners at the race track, now that you're one of them."
Ace let that pass. He wasn't about to get into a row with Piper over the emergence of female jockeys because it was clear she was primed for battle. "I also own one of your father's rejects so I'm familiar with her bad habits. As for the size of this stall, the filly's only here at night. Days she's in a pasture where she runs alongside the fence with her ears up, challengin' the horses in the neighborin' pasture, so it's obvious she likes to race, but only on her own terms."
"Which doesn't mean diddly-squat since you won't have trainers bringing their horses here to race Rags along the fence, so everything you're doing seems pointless," Piper said.
"Not if she develops a passion to race and a will to win," Ace countered. "Horses are born to run fast, and in the wild, race to the front of the herd. They also spend about sixteen hours a day foragin', and stallin' a horse disrupts its grazin' patterns, leading to digestive problems."
"Not if they're closely monitored," Piper argued. "Our trainer keeps the horses stabled to avoid injury, but they're turned out after workouts when they're not so active and the chance of injury is lessened. But being stabled, their food intake can be monitored."
"Except there's a big difference between feeding cured hay and grazin' when it comes to getting' enough vitamins A and D."
"No problem there. I was giving Rags a couple pounds of carrots a day."
"And she hasn't yet won a race."
"Okay, I'll concede she hasn't been handled right under my father's trainer, and I'll also grant that part-time pasturing is better than full-time stalling, but I also have a problem with the jockey our trainer uses. He doesn't handle Rags right. She's sensitive to the reins and hates the sight of a whip, and the jockey doesn't communicate to her the way he should. If he did, Rags would want to give everything she's got. The jockey also holds her back instead of driving her through narrow gaps between horses to get to the front, which costs time."
"And I take it you're a pro at masterin' horse traffic while racin' forty miles an hour."
"I've raced before," Piper said.
"Where? Accordin' to Anne, you spent two years at a jockey school in Kentucky but as yet haven't run in a commercial race."
For the space of several seconds, all that could be heard was the chomp, chomp, chomp of the goat, and the rustle of rice straw as Ragamuffin pawed the floor for another mint.
At last seeming to have gathered her wits, Piper said, "The race was held during the running of the High Hope Steeplechase at The Kentucky Horse Park in Lexington. I raced against ten riders and came in first."
Ace figured there was some thread of truth to what she'd said, but only a thread. From the little he knew of Piper, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she was good at fabricating the truth. "Are we talking professional jockeys?"
Another few seconds ticked by. "Not pros, apprentice jockeys, which is more challenging because you're running in a field with riders, some who'd never ridden a horse before starting the program, and about anything can happen when you're running full out with riders bumping into you and no place to go, so you learn quickly how to weave through openings to get to the front of the pack where you might not get killed if riders collide and tumble."
"So, after two years of jockey school, why aren't you riding for your father's trainer?"
"Because, like my inflexible, mulish father, he's against female jockeys."
It finally hit Ace. The 'ah ha' moment. This whole match race, free exercising scheme, was Piper's strategy to launch her career by riding Ragamuffin in a race that would pit her against a field of male jockeys, and she was confident she'd win. After all, she'd trounced every knight in the jousting tournament, including him. Still, he was willing to offer her a challenge he was certain he couldn't lose. "How about we add another wager to the match."
Piper's brows gathered in suspicion. "What kind of wager?"
"You win and I'll hire you to ride Ragamuffin in her next race."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah, but there's a downside if you lose."
"Which is?"
"You'll come to the fais do-do after the race and see what it's like dancin' the two step with a bunch of rowdy, boot-stompin' Cajuns."
"Which I assume will include you."
"Not necessarily. There's an old Cajun saying, if you feel grumpy it’s time to go out dancin', and you'll be grumpy after the race. Ga-run-teed. But it won't last. The music's lively. Makes you wanna move, and before long you’ll start tappin' your foot, and snappin' your fingers, and wigglin' your behind, and maybe I'll dance with you then."
Piper eyed hi
m with annoyance. "You're assuming I'd be willing to dance with you. And by the way, I am familiar with Cajun music. It's been blaring across the cane field from as far back as I can remember."
"And you never once tapped your feet, or snapped your fingers, or wiggled your behind?"
"No, I slammed the window shut. But it's a moot point because I won't be losing this match. The prospect of being trapped at one of your fais do-dos gives me added incentive to win."
"You know what I think?"
Piper waited, arms folded, fingers drumming against her biceps.
"I think you're more bark than bite, and I aim to prove it at the fais do-do. See you at the match." Ace turned and headed back to the house thinking he'd just set himself up in a Catch-22.
If Piper won the match he'd be stuck with an apprentice jockey who'd never raced on a commercial track, which could blow a hole in his investment. And if she lost, she'd be fighting mad, and having accused her of being more bark than bite she'd be intent on proving him wrong, a dangerous position to be in when dancing with a fighting banty hen at a fais do-do…
Unless he could turn all that spunk and spitfire into desire. Maybe then she'd start to see more in him than just the coonass next door. This wasn't the first time he'd imagined that feisty little body in his arms. Like an obnoxious weed, that notion was beginning to take hold.
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MY STORY
I was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana, but gave up city life the first chance I got. I now write from a hand-built log cabin nestled in the evergreen forests of Oregon's Coast Range. Being published in both historical and contemporary romance with Harlequin and Avon-Harper Collins in the past, I vacillate between wanting to write both, but love whatever I'm writing at the time, which for now is contemporary cowboy romances that feature courageous, self-assured heroes with endearing flaws and the gutsy women who capture their hearts, women, these unsuspecting cowboys would lay down their lives for. Although writing is my number one love, over the course of my lifetime I've raised a wolf dog, laying hens, milk goats, and Tennessee Walking horses, built, plumbed and wired three houses, been a professional photographer, and written photo essays for national and international magazines. I've published 24 romances, which include my 13-book DANCING MOON RANCH series, a contemporary western that spans 30 years and two generations, and the first two books in my CAJUN COWBOYS series. I invite you to visit my website and view video trailers for both series. I love hearing from readers and learning about their lives, and I answer all notes. In fact, I've even met fans traveling the country who find time to stop in at my place or visit with me in a near location. And please, if you post a nice review, let me know so I can thank you personally: http://www.patriciawatters.com/cajun-cowboys.html
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