Stubborn Hearts

by Hutchinson, Heidi

  She reached him. He gave her his best sideways smile as she joined him at the fence line.

  “I did it.” She nodded towards the horse warming up at the far end of the track. “I hit the publish button.”

  Jesse's head turned toward. She slid her eyes that way for a second. He faced forward again.

  “Proud of you,” he said, his deep voice breaking through the crisp dawn like a warm hug.

  For someone who didn't like to be touched, she sure enjoyed the feel of his words as they rolled across and through her.

  “How's he doing this morning?” she asked, easily changing the subject. She'd shared her moment, that's all she needed.

  “Strong,” Jesse said with a nod.

  “That's our boy,” Ryan murmured as Red passed by at a canter. His ears flicked her direction, noting her presence. “Are we running this week?”

  Red hadn't run since the last threatening note had caused so much strife and upheaval in Louisiana. They also hadn't changed his schedule. They proceeded as if everything was normal. But Ryan was a bit apprehensive, especially in light of the things Jesse had shared with her over Thanksgiving.

  Red's next scheduled race was in a week.

  Jesse straightened and held his stopwatch in his hand. “Let's see how he's feeling.” He lifted his hand and signaled the jockey to bring him around and open it up.

  Red was the kind of horse who didn't just like to run.

  He liked to run.

  Full out, no restrictions, no limits.

  The trouble these days was horses' bodies were degrading at a faster rate than they did fifty or a hundred years ago. Ryan had her theories, so did Jesse. They'd discussed them in depth. Horses were being pumped with too many performance enhancing drugs and their bodies were deteriorating, sometimes only allowing them six good races before being called into retirement due to weakened bone structure and the higher rate of injury. Breeding was where the big money had moved and Ryan could see why; a single horse winning a dozen stakes races in a year was unheard of anymore.

  However, it appeared Red was immune to the things that held back the other horses and their teams. And under Jesse's training, he had blossomed into a horse no one saw coming.

  A legend in the making.

  It had a lot to do with Jesse being old school. No drugs, no enhancements. He wanted his colt to feel every moment of the race, not be numbed stupid. The diet was important, too. For years, there was a belief that feeding a horse a higher amount of protein would contribute to muscle growth and better performance. It had the opposite effect. Horses need a high carb diet, it was just body chemistry. Which Ryan had studied extensively in college.

  Putting Ryan, Jesse, and Red on the same team? It made them unstoppable.

  Red stood still at his start, then Eddie made a slight move and the horse jumped forward. The power in his hindquarters propelling him to a phenomenal speed instantly. He thundered by, the ground shaking beneath them and ricocheting through Ryan's rib cage.

  Red picked up speed as he came around again.

  It was an eight furlong dirt track, or one mile. Usually taking a horse a minute forty. Jesse stiffened, his head jerking back and forth from his clock to his colt. Ryan could sense it, but she didn't take her eyes off of the fastest horse she had ever seen. If it were even possible it looked like....

  “That's not possible,” Jesse said out loud.

  “What?” Ryan asked as Red went by a third time. Eddie was standing in the stirrups, trying to get him to slow down.

  “He... damn.” Jesse laughed out loud and shoved away from the fence. Ryan spun to watch him. His smile was enormous and unsuccessfully hidden by his hand.

  He charged forward, getting close to Ryan. “He just broke a track record.” He shook the stop watch in Ryan's face excitedly. “Twice!”

  “What?” Ryan asked, not following.

  Jesse's flushed face was beaming. “The track record was a minute thirty-five for a mile. He ran the first mile in a minute thirty-four-five. And he ran the second in a minute thirty-three.”

  “That's not possible,” Ryan said, feeling the blood drain from her face.

  Jesse laughed again, running a hand through his short hair so it stood up all crazy on top. “But he did it anyway.” He kicked his boot in the dirt and pointed the watch at Ryan. “I told you! Didn't I tell you?”

  “You absolutely did tell me,” she confirmed.

  Movement on her left caught her attention. A lone man sitting in the stands wearing a dark coat and dark hat pulled low over his eyes stood up and quickly left.

  A horrible sensation passed through her. The kind she got when she was a child and would be irrationally afraid of the dark because of her own imagination. A chill accompanied the dread and she glanced at Red, half-expecting him to be gone.

  “What?” Jesse asked, calming instantly at her expression.

  “We're not the only ones who saw that,” she said, looking over her shoulder for a monster to be lurking. “There was a man. He's gone now.”

  Jesse looked around, frowning. “What man? What did he look like?”

  “I don't know. He had a hat on. He wasn't close enough for me to see his face.”

  Jesse measured her words and her tone, letting them take the moment away from him and turn it into something else.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “We won't race him next week.”

  “We won't?”

  “No. He's going to have pulled a tendon during today's workouts and he'll need to recover.” Jesse shrugged as if it was a misfortune that he wish could've been prevented.

  “That's too bad,” Ryan said solemnly. “Pulled tendons are tricky things.”

  “It really is too bad,” Jesse agreed. Mischief crept into his blue eyes and he dropped his voice. “He would've creamed 'em.”

  Ryan's lips twitched. He was so damn proud of his horse.

  It was a good call, to pull him from the race and it eased her immediate concerns. But they were definitely being watched. And no doubt whoever was watching was going to have no problem taking advantage of the moment their guard was down.

  A cold wind cut through her coat and she pulled it tighter.

  But the warmth didn't return.

  nineteen

  “I am proud of you. All of the time.”

  Santa Anita

  Arcadia, California

  Robert B. Lewis

  February

  Triston,

  Long time, no harassment. Although if you think you're fooling me with your comments from “Fred,” you're mistaken. I appreciate the feedback, by the way.

  I decided to use Annie's services for the first book. She offered to do the first one for free to see if I liked her. I thought that sounded pretty decent, so I took the deal.

  I think you can see where I'm going with this.

  I chose Sullivan Summers as my pen name. The novel is out there. In the internet ether. Annie says I need to set up social media accounts and stuff. Is that as important as she says?

  You are one of the few people who know I'm doing this. I have no intention of ever letting Sullivan Summers be known as Ryan Zacherson. I'm trusting you with this secret mostly because I don't have a choice, and also, I suspect your real name is not Triston Thomas.

  I'm in California this week. This horse racing gig is both a gift and a headache. I'm taking pictures now, with plans to use these locations in future novels. It's weird how getting two or three stories out of my head really didn't alleviate the pressure — it increased it. Now the story ideas never stop coming.

  Ryan

  Ryan didn't even reread it before she sent it. She briefly recalled her first email to Triston and the anxiety behind it.

  How people change so quickly.

  She leaned back in her chair and looked out the window of the Starbucks she was currently occupying. The weather in California was beautiful, almost unreal, like crossing into Narnia.

  This was their first trip to Santa
Anita, one the most famous tracks in the country. Since they had arrived absurdly early before their scheduled race, Ryan had taken advantage and had gone exploring, as she did. She had already done the Seabiscuit Tour and visited Clocker's Corner. Physically being in places where amazing things had happened was a thrill all on its own.

  And through it all was the writing.

  From the corner of her eye, the real target of her visit to Starbucks stood and moved to the restroom.

  Amy Simpson.

  SimpCore didn't have any horses stabled or registered to race at Santa Anita. Amy didn't have a business reason to be at the stables that morning. Not an obvious one anyhow.

  Maybe it wasn't Ryan's smartest idea, but it happened so quickly she didn't really have time to over think it. Impulsivity was one of her flaws.

  Besides, she'd needed to find a place to write for a couple of hours anyway.

  She'd slung her laptop over her shoulder, smashed a beanie onto her head, and followed Amy in a cab.

  Amy, not the least bit concerned about being followed, but probably would have actually enjoyed it if she'd known—, ordered a latte and took a seat at a table near the front. That worked for Ryan in a big way. She ordered her coffee, slid into a seat in the back, and watched Amy sideways as she caught up on her correspondence.

  It looked like the heiress was waiting for someone. She fidgeted with her phone, her purse, her latte. Her head snapped up every time the door opened. Finally, she went to the restroom. Ryan crossed her arms over her chest, her shirt loose and bunching around her middle.

  The weight loss was happening at a much faster rate than she had anticipated and she had been keeping her progress a little bit of a secret from Jesse. Not out of payback or anything so juvenile. She just didn't want him to worry.

  But it seemed her body had had enough with the stress, and it was shedding the excess pounds with excited abandon. So she wore layers and over-sized clothes that made her look bigger than she was.

  And she didn't miss Jeremiah.

  It was a matter of fact that left her feeling guilty and not great about who she was as a person. They weren't good for each other. Her subconscious had been all too aware, but she had been too stubborn to really examine the uncomfortable feeling that came along with being engaged to the bull rider. It was something she was going to need to talk through out loud to really settle it.

  The door opened again and Ryan sat forward in her chair, bending her neck to hide behind the laptop screen.

  The man from the track at Oaklawn.

  Ryan couldn't be totally certain because she hadn't been able to see his face that day, but it was the same hat and dark coat.

  She slid further down in her seat, thankful for her short stature and having tucked her brilliantly bright hair under the gray beanie. Hopefully she just looked like another college student mainlining caffeine and working on a paper — like that really tall guy with the glasses across from her. That's obviously what he was doing. Ryan adjusted her posture to mimic his, while keeping one eye on Black Hat.

  Amy came back from the restroom and returned to her seat.

  Black Hat ordered a black coffee and the he joined her.

  And the plot thickens, Ryan thought darkly. Immediately scolding herself internally for being as excited about this as she was. But it was very exciting!

  Her suspicions were being confirmed right before her very eyes!

  She couldn't hear them, they were too far away. And even if she'd have been closer, the Starbucks had their stereo up incredibly loud. Not that it mattered, their expressions spoke volumes.

  Black Hat was probably in his forties or so; he wasn't the most polished bad guy she had ever seen, but no matter. He had a big ole fat crush on Amy.

  And Amy totally knew. She had her best smile on, she touched her neck and the low collar of her shirt several times.

  So were they in cahoots, or just flirting with each other?

  That's when the world decided to open up and swallow Ryan whole.

  Just kidding, nothing was that easy.

  The front door opened and Ryan's eyes bugged out of her head as she recognized her uncle Dennis.

  Except he looked different. He was well-dressed, clean shaven, his hair slicked back in a style that suited a more successful man.

  Amy jumped to her feet, one hand moving around Dennis' waist, the other hand sliding up his chest to his neck. She smiled at him a much more believable smile than she'd been giving Black Hat. Dennis dipped his head and kissed her on the curve of her neck.

  Black Hat looked down at the table, his mouth hard and expression flat.

  Oh boy.

  “Can I sit here?”

  Ryan's head jerked up, her wide eyes colliding with the blue curious ones of a stranger. She looked him up and down. Jeans, Pink Floyd tee, mandles, thick rimmed glasses with square frames. His blond hair was overdue for a cut, but his face was freshly shaved.

  Ryan realized he was waiting for her to answer. So flustered was she by the interruption in her spying, she sputtered quickly, “Yes, fine. Just sit down.” Her eyes darted back to the front of the store. It didn't look like Hot Nerd had drawn any attention. (Yes, Hot Nerd. She was very distracted.)

  One of his eyes squinted at her as his full lips pursed in question. Ryan rolled her eyes and moved her purse out of the chair right next to her.

  “For cryin' out loud,” she muttered. “Take a seat, sailor.” She sat up and leaned closer to her computer screen, elbows to the table, her chin in her hands.

  “I'm Bo,” the guy kept talking.

  “I'm fine, thanks,” Ryan answered. She clicked out of her email, over to her Facebook author profile that she'd been trying to set up for two days.

  “Sullivan? That's unique.”

  “Huh?” Ryan swung her head around to frown at “Bo,” if indeed that was his real name.

  He shook his head dismissively. “Never mind.”

  Ryan paused. Was he...? Was he put off by her? She opened her mouth to ask him if that's what was happening when Amy, Dennis, and Black Hat all stood up and filed out the door.

  “Shit,” Ryan hissed under her breath as she slammed the lid of her laptop down and shoved it back in its case. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

  She slung the bag over her shoulder, nearly knocking herself down in the process. Both of her hands pushed the front door open and she spun in circles on the sidewalk, looking for her targets.

  “Damn it!” she snapped, stomping her foot on the sidewalk.

  They had gotten away.

  ***

  “So then this guy sits down beside me. To be fair, he did ask first. But the guy was wearing mandles. When is that trend gonna go away?”

  Ryan was, well, agitated didn't seem to be a strong enough word. Jesse was fighting a smile as he watched her struggle with getting her story out while removing her bag from her shoulder. The strap was currently tangled in her hair.

  “This.” She pressed her lips together and gave him a hard look, shaking her bag at him. “This is bullshit.”

  Jesse ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand.

  “Are you laughing at me, Jesse Hart?”

  “No, ma'am,” he lied through his chuckles.

  “So he sits down beside me and he smells like Christmas. Not a little, a lot. Full-on cinnamon and spice. I wanted to ask him what the hell that was all about, but by then I was chasing the idiot posse out the door.”

  Jesse's eyebrows snapped together. “Wait, go back. Who were you following?”

  Ryan's bag broke free from her hair and she set it indelicately on her pile of blankets. She attempted to straighten her askew-ness, but the shirts were all twisted and bunched. Why she was wearing a thermal under a t-shirt, he had no idea. It was California, the weather was lovely.

  She yanked on one sleeve and pulled her arm inside. “Amy Simpson. She was here this morning and I followed her.” She yanked the second arm back through its hole. No
w she had both arms in a tangle of sleeves that were inside out. She looked down at the mess she'd created. “What the hell?!”

  “Why are you following people without telling me?” Jesse asked seriously, taking a step towards her to offer assistance.

  “Because I didn't have time,” she explained, sweat beginning to trickle down the side of her temple as her arms jerked around the inside of her shirt. “Jesse, help me!”

  He chuckled, shook his head, grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it straight over her head. Both the t-shirt and the thermal came off. Ryan's hair got caught in the neck hole and she yelped when Jesse yanked it away. Her sweaty hair didn't exactly look like it had at the beginning of the struggle. But that's not what Jesse was currently focused on.

  Under those two shirts had been a black tank top. Form fitting. And the form revealed that Ryan had been keeping a secret.

  “How much weight have you lost, Ryan?” he asked tightly.

  Ryan's hands went to her hips and her eyes fired with irritation. “Nuh-uh. Get that look off your face right now. This is exactly why I wasn't telling you. I knew you'd overreact — ”

  “Overreact?” he scoffed. “Why would I overreact? Can't I just have a reaction without being accused of it being over?”

  Ryan licked her lips as they twitched with an almost smile. “Okay, fine. Have a reaction.”

  “Thanks. Big of you,” he said flatly.

  “I just didn't want it to become a thing,” she said by way of explanation.

  Jesse inhaled deeply. She'd had a lot of attention on her lately and most of it negative. He could see why she might want to just have a moment of reprieve.

  Besides, it wasn't like she'd been hiding it that well.

  It was just another example of the distance that was always going to lurk between them.

  She shifted on her feet, waiting for him to make it into a thing. He felt his jaw grow hard and he focused on relaxing it. Then it tightened up again as he remembered what she'd said about following Amy.

  “Explain to me your sudden interest in amateur sleuthing, Nancy Drew.”