by K. Rowe
The delicious heat of her body rose, matching with his. Suzanne put her hands on his back and urged him on.
It took no more encouragement; he arched his back and plunged repeatedly into her. A few moments later, he cried out, giving his love to her.
“I love you,” he said softly, catching his breath.
“I love you, too, and I’m so sorry.”
16
Tom sat up, looking at the clock. It was four in the morning and neither of them could sleep. So, not wanting to waste a good moment, they’d made fantastic love. “What time is it?” Ginger asked.
“Four.” He got up and went to the bathroom. “You wanna take a shower before we go to the track?”
She threw the covers off. “Yeah, kinda worked up a sweat.”
He chuckled. “I did too…Guess I shouldn’t be wearing out the jock before her big race.”
“Oh, you just warmed me up. I’m ready for another gallop.”
Tom smacked his hand to his forehead. “Shit, I can’t ever seem to wear you out!” Turning on the shower, he adjusted the water to a comfortable temperature. Ginger came in and grabbed him from behind, pressing her body against him.
“Again?” he said in disbelief. He was in love with a lioness of a lover. Her appetite took a great deal to sate.
“Let’s have some clean sex!”
He spun around and got her about the waist. “Sex with you is never clean!” They laughed.
Stepping into the shower, Tom ducked under the water. Ginger joined him, getting close so the water could run over her as well. She rubbed her hands over his body, spending plenty of time caressing him to arousal. When he was ready, Ginger turned her back to him, bending over.
“Oh, my!” Tom gasped.
“This one’s for luck.”
“I’d say.” He quickly entered her, thrusting away with zeal. Ginger moaned loudly as he found the right spot. It wouldn’t take long to send her over the edge. Hot water splattered over their bodies, adding to their heated moment.
Getting his hands firmly on her tiny hips, Tom rammed away, giving her his all. She moaned even louder, her body tensing, responding to his forceful attentions. The delicious tension mounted.
Their bodies shook and shuddered as they climaxed together. Tom knew from that moment on, Ginger was the only woman for him. The rather toned-down stories Evan told of his marriage to Suzanne had him believing there truly was a woman out there for him. Yes, he was right. And here he stood, his hands clasped on her, still within her depths, completely caught up in the magic they shared.
Ginger smiled and glanced over her shoulder. “Nice stretch run.”
“Fuck!” Tom laughed.
After their shower, they dressed, and headed out. Tom stopped by Evan’s room and knocked on the door. He figured his boss would want to be present to see War Monger’s preparations for the Derby.
“Ev?” he called. Giggling—both male and female came from the other side of the door. Tom recognized the female voice: it was Suzanne’s. “Ah, never mind!” he called, giving Ginger a nudge down the hall. Yes, things were getting back to normal.
An hour before the Skip Away Stakes, Evan, dressed in his best suit, appeared at Wanderer’s stall door. Tom was inside, carefully bandaging the horse’s hind legs, partly for support, partly for protection against other horses clipping him in the race.
“How’s his leg?” Evan asked.
“Okay. Between our vet at home and the track vet, they both say he’s sound to run.” He finished taping down the bandage. “So, things better between you and Suzanne?”
“Yes, thank God.”
Tom nodded. “That’s good to hear.”
“She’s gonna fly home tomorrow, and move back in with me.”
“Too bad it had to have happened in the first place.”
Evan leaned against the doorframe. “In a way, I can’t blame her; I mean, I do tend to attract a crowd of women when I’m out. And bringing Ginger home really upset the apple cart.”
“No, don’t suppose that helped you, but it did me!”
“You’re welcome.”
Evan hurried off to go place his bets. The lines were long and he kept checking his watch. He needed to be down in the saddling paddock in a few minutes.
The line finally thinned down, and he got to the window. He arranged his money for bets. “Hi, I’d like $50 on Number 3, Lost Wanderer in the Skip Away, and $100 on Number 8, War Monger in the Florida Derby.”
“Here you go, Sir, good luck,” the man replied, handing him the tickets.
Evan smiled. “I feel particularly lucky today.” He tucked the tickets in his breast pocket and went to the paddock. Wanderer was saddled, Tito leading him around. Tom and Suzanne stood in the middle.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Placing my bets,” Evan replied, patting his pocket. “The lines were long.”
The jockeys came out and met with the owners and trainers. Ginger stopped in front of Evan. “Hi, boss.” She watched Wanderer pass by. “He looks a little nervous.”
Evan shook his head. “He wants to go—hasn’t been on the track in over a year. Just give him a good ride; he likes to set his own pace.”
“Front runner?”
“Comes from off the pace. If you tuck him into fourth or fifth, he’ll be game to run at the top of the stretch.”
She smiled and nodded. “Okay.” Ginger actually looked forward to riding the gelding. The few workouts she’d had with him were fantastic.
“Ginger?” Tom said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She turned to him. “For luck,” he added, giving her a quick kiss.
“I got my lucky penny.” She lifted her leg, tapping on her right boot.
“Good luck,” Suzanne said softly.
Ginger smiled. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Stoddard.”
Ginger and Tom went to the edge of the grass. When Tito led the horse by, Tom gave Ginger a leg up. There was something he wanted to say, but it would wait. “Go get ’em, girl!” he called.
A few minutes later, the horses were led onto the track. Evan and the rest of his group were anxiously waiting in their box seats. The horses paraded down the track, turned, and cantered toward the starting gate. It took several minutes while they loaded. Ten horses were going to post for the Skip Away Stakes.
“Has he loaded yet?” Tom asked.
Evan held the binoculars to his eyes. “Yeah, he’s in and standing rock steady.”
“Good, good.”
The number nine horse balked at loading. Several track assistants stood by to help. After a few wild bucks, and a rear, they finally got the fractious horse in the gate. The last horse was quickly loaded.
An instant later, they were off. Evan’s heart leapt as he saw Wanderer break well. The big gray strode comfortably along, Ginger perched on his back. They passed the stands and headed into the first turn. All the horses ran together in a tight group. Heading into the backstretch, the field spread out. Wanderer sat handily in fifth place.
After two more turns, they were rounding the final turn into the homestretch. Wanderer made his move, going wider, looking for clear sand ahead. Ginger found it. Giving the gelding a tap with the whip, he responded, surging into the lead.
Evan held his breath, this was almost too good to be true. With every stride, the gray gained ground. Behind, the number six horse made a run.
“Go! Go!” Evan hollered, his fists clenched with anticipation. Behind him, the rest of his entourage cheered wildly.
Ginger glanced back. She could see the horse closing. Looking ahead, she saw the finish line a few lengths away. “Come on, go!” she yelled, urging the gelding on. The wire drew closer, the horse behind, getting nearer. Just as she passed the finish line, she felt Wanderer take an awkward step. It was followed by a few more. She knew something was wrong. As quickly as she could, Ginger pulled the horse up and got off. “Wanderer!” she cried, trying to see what happened.
Evan, Tom, an
d Tito burst from their box and hurried down to the track.
Ginger brought the horse over to the rail. “I don’t know what happened…He crossed the finish line and went lame.”
Tom squirmed through the fence and under the rail. He immediately went to Wanderer’s right hind leg. Running his hand up and down the horse’s leg, he found a scrape in the bandage. “Bet he got clipped.” Taking out his knife, he cut the bandage off and continued his inspection. “Took a hit right on that tendon.”
“Crap,” Evan said, straining to see.
“I dunno if you should race him again…He might not take any more punishment.”
“No, that’s it, he’ll be retired.”
Three track workers ran over to them. “Do you need the ambulance?” one asked.
“Hang on,” Tom said. He stood, took the reins from Ginger, and walked the horse around. “A little lame, but I think he can make it to the winner’s circle.”
“Okay, let us know if you need anything,” another worker said.
They walked Wanderer to the winner’s circle. Suzanne was there to meet them. “Is he okay?” She gave the horse a pat on the neck.
Evan went to her. “I’m gonna retire him; not worth risking another injury…I think he’ll make a good mount for Cindy.”
“Are you crazy?! You can’t let our daughter ride around on an ex-racehorse!”
“No, no, he’s a nice, sweet horse…With a little retraining he’ll be a good mount for her.” Deep down inside, Evan was sad he’d be losing a fine runner from the track. Despite the horse’s win, it remained a bittersweet moment. But Wanderer would continue to have a place in their hearts, and their barn.
A short while later War Monger took his turn on the track. When he came down the tunnel onto the sand, he bounced and jigged nearly out of control. Ginger did her best to calm him, but the horse knew something important was happening and he needed to be on his game. As they filed by for the post parade, Ginger looked into the crowd and saw Evan and the others. She raised her hand, waving to them.
War Monger pulled on the reins, he wanted to run. Ginger had to use all her strength to hold him back as they warmed up. Nine horses were going to post, they had position number eight. Circling the horse, Ginger looked down and saw he was sweating quite badly—not a good sign, she thought, trying to keep him walking and calm.
Seven horses were loaded, and then the gate attendant called for War Monger. “Okay, big fella, be good for me,” she whispered, nudging him with her heels. The big chestnut approached the gate, paused for a moment, then went in without issue.
Ginger checked her goggles and fixed the reins. Grabbing a hunk of mane, she knew he’d break like a bullet.
The last horse loaded. A moment later, the bell sounded, the gates flew open, and they were off. Ginger was glad she had a good hold of his mane, otherwise he would have left her sitting in the gate. He tore away from the field, never looking back.
“Hey, easy, easy, we got a long way to go,” she said, trying to get control of him. War Monger clamped his teeth on the bit and ignored her.
They roared through the first two turns and into the backstretch. She had no idea of how fast they were going. Glancing back under her arm, Ginger was shocked to see the next horse probably eight lengths away, and the distance seemed to be growing.
“Slow down!” she hollered, trying to hold him back. War Monger ignored her. She gave a yank on the reins trying to get him to pay attention, no such luck.
“War Monger, you ass!” she yelled, realizing he just wasn’t going to listen. They made the far turn, running the short distance to the top of the final turn. Ginger looked back; not a single horse was near. She hoped War Monger had enough left to finish; it felt like it.
Letting the reins slip slightly in her fingers, Ginger gave the beast his head. Her fingers ached and it wasn’t doing any good to try and hold him back. They tore down the home-stretch with not a single challenger.
War Monger stretched his neck and ran even harder; the finish line was perhaps fifty yards away. Glancing back, she guessed the next closest horse was over a dozen lengths behind. Nothing could stop this freight train; he wanted to win.
As they roared past the finish line, Ginger stood up in the stirrups, held her whip high, and celebrated. War Monger ran the race wire to wire in the lead. “Whoa, big fella, we’re done running for now,” she said, trying to slow him down. “Good boy, you ran them right off the track.”
Evan whooped and hollered, celebrating a fabulous win. Suzanne grabbed him and gave him a big kiss. Tom and Tito cheered, hugged, and high-fived. There was nothing as sweet as a victory like that.
They hurried down to the winner’s circle. Evan felt quite confident the racing commission would want a blood or urine test on the horse to check for performance enhancing drugs. He wasn’t worried; War Monger ran his race without a single ounce of help from anyone or anything.
Ginger rode in. “Oh, God, this horse is crazy!” She still tried to catch her breath.
“Wooo! One helluva race!” Evan cheered, holding his hand up to her. Ginger gave him a high-five. “You never touched him with the whip, did you?”
“No, boss, never. He tried to rip the reins out of my hands, I tried like hell to slow him up.”
The loudspeaker crackled. “The official order of finish: Number 8, War Monger, with a new track record of 1:44.38, demolishing the old record of 1:47.49. Second place was Hang Up; and third, Rock of Ages; fourth place goes to Dreaminbluedenim.”
Ginger gave War Monger a hearty pat on the neck. Tom quickly removed the tongue-tie, and Evan had a big handful of gummies ready. “You sure showed ’em,” he said, making sure the horse got all his treats. “Yes, you did!”
The track photographer got them positioned for the photo. Ginger hopped down, and Tito took War Monger to cool off. The manager of the track presented the trophy.
They posed for a few more photos and congratulations from various other track officials. When everything started to settle down, Tom took Ginger off to one side. Evan and Suzanne watched curiously.
“Ginger,” Tom started, fumbling around trying to get something out of his pocket. “From the first moment we met, I knew there was something special.” He took out a tiny box and dropped to one knee. “We make a great team, and I’d like to keep us together.”
Swallowing hard, he opened the box to reveal a petite, yet very sparkly ring. “Ginger de Veoux, will you marry me?”
She put her hands to her face in shock. “Oui! Oui! Yes, I will!”
He plucked the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. Standing, he got his arms around and gave her a passionate kiss.
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Suzanne said.
Evan put his arm around her. “A new member of the family.”
A reporter approached Evan. “Mr. Stoddard, what’s next for your colt?”
“A bath, for starters,” he replied. They laughed. Letting his hand slide from Suzanne, he straightened up, striking his most elegant pose. “Next stop, the Kentucky Derby!”
THE END
About the Author
K. Rowe is a multi-genre author and retired U.S. Air Force Master Sergeant. She has been writing for the last 20+ years. Stationed at various bases around the U.S.A. and in Europe, she draws from years of active service. Blending fact and fiction, she spends hours researching technology and locations for her work.
She lives on a mostly organic 100-acre farm in eastern Kentucky with her husband, three dogs, two cats, three horses, and a potbelly house pig named Sherman.
When not pounding out several novels or screenplays a year on her laptop, she can be found working in the garden or in the fields, proudly driving her 1953 Ferguson tractor.
Her favorite part about being an author is interacting with her fans, and she appreciates reviews and feedback. For more info:
http://www.facebook.com/K.RoweAuthor
http://sturgeoncreek.blogspot.com/
Twitter
: Sturgeon3736
More books by K. Rowe
The Dragonslayers Saga
(Military Thrillers)
Project: Dragonslayers (2010)
Dragonslayers: Mind Games (2010)
Dragonslayers: Battle Rhythm (2011)
Facebook: Project: Dragonslayers
Contemporary romance:
Cowboys and Olympians (2011)
Silks and Sand (2013)
Sci-fi/Action Adventure:
Space Crazy:
Book One of Dar’s Adventures in Space (2011)
Space Junk:
Book Two of Dar’s Adventures in Space (2012)
Watch for Space Available: Book Three of Dar’s Adventures in Space
Supernatural thriller/horror
The Hall (2012)
Thank you for reading.
I hope you enjoyed.
