Piper realized Nana had not yet noticed who exactly was standing in the circle surrounding Jetstream… Until she raised her eyes, and her nostrils flared, and she pursed her lips as her eyes moved over the gathering before shifting back to rest on one particular person.
Shaking her small knotted fist, she said, "Henri Broussard, you're behind this. You've been holding those unlawful races at your place for years and now you've got my granddaughter thinking she can do the same thing."
"Stop right there," Piper said before Henri would be forced to defend himself. "First off there was nothing unlawful about the race because there was no betting, and second, this was my idea. I proposed a match between Lady and the fastest quarter horse in the Parish, and Henri Broussard met the match with a horse he has in training, and since everyone was away today it was only logical to race here where we have a well-maintained track."
Nana looked at Piper, incredulous. "Logical? This is not an issue about logic. There should not have been a race here at all, especially with your father's horse!"
"Phantom Lady's a racehorse and I gallop her all the time, and the reason I proposed the match is because I've been to jockey school, I have my license, and this is the only way I can do what I've been trained to do, which is to racehorses."
"For the love of me I cannot see why. There are enough horses here for you to ride without your taking up something as mannish and unfeminine as jockeying."
"Jockeying's the only thing I want to do, and today I did what you've been pontificating all my life."
"Don't be flippant with me. I don't pontificate."
"Okay then, sermonize. You've always said we only know what we're capable of when we test our limits, so today I tested my limits. You should be proud of me instead of mad."
"I simply will not stand here and listen to any more of this nonsense, but it's not over!" Turning abruptly, she marched in the direction of the house.
No truer words were ever spoken, Piper thought, as she watched her grandmother's brisk determined strides. This was most definitely not over.
It wasn't any time before the men had Jetstream loaded in the horse trailer, and immediately after, Norman Rowe, Edgar, and Edgar's son left in Norman Rowe's truck, followed by Henri, leaving Ace standing with Piper, who was still holding Phantom Lady. As the vehicles made their way down the long driveway, Ace said, "Your grandmother doesn't mince words."
Piper let out a snort of disgust. "That was mild. She hasn't even begun to voice her disapproval, which she will as soon as my parents get home."
"Then be glad you have a fais do-do to escape to tonight."
"Forget it. Your side won the match, along with my money and my trophy, and I still have to pay for engraving the brass plate, so I've lost enough. I'm skipping the fais do-do."
"You can't. It's part of our deal. Besides, if you back out it'll verify what my grandfather's always said. Don't make a deal with a Harrison. Their word means nothing."
"Your grandfather already made a deal with me with the match race and working his horses, and I've come through with both, so that shoots a hole in his claim. Besides, I'm not in the mood for foot stomping and loud music."
"I know, sweetcakes. You're grumpy because you lost the race which is why you need to come to the fais do-do, and before long you'll be snappin' your fingers and tappin'' your feet and wigglin' your behind. Besides, my mama spent the day makin' crawfish pies and you ain't never tasted crawfish pie till you've eaten a slice of Momma's."
Piper lost track of half of what Ace just said, the word, sweetcakes stuck in her head, and she didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. Or just plain baffled. She was anything but a girly girl who'd succumb to pointless endearments...
"So, what's it gonna be?" Ace cut into her musings. "Kickin' up a storm at a fais do-do or hunkerin' down here?"
Piper glanced toward the house. In a couple of hours her folks would arrive home, dog-tired after two days at the races, but instead of settling back and having a nightcap they'd be buttonholed by Nana with a full-blown account of what took place while they were gone. Maybe hanging out at the fais do-do would be the lesser of the evils. "How long do those shindig's last?"
Ace shrugged. "Till the band gets tired, which could be pretty late since Edgar's family's comin' to help celebrate his win."
"You can't be serious. This was a two-bit match race. Edgar runs in big stakes races."
"Yeah, but he's back on his home turf and lovin' it, and he said he hasn't been to a fais do-do in years. You might even get the chance to dance two-step with a fellow jockey."
Ace finally hit on a reason for her to go. Edgar had been courteous and gave no indication that he resented female jockeys. He was also a master she could learn from, maybe get a few pointers from his years of racing. Possibly she'd even invite him to check out Harrison Stables and he might pass on a good word to Mick that she was a capable rider worth more to them than simply as an exerciser. "Okay, I'll put in a appearance and try some of that crawfish pie, as long as I can see Rags and bring her some carrots."
"You can if she's not sleeping."
Piper rolled her eyes in exasperation. "That again! She can sleep-in tomorrow morning."
"It's okay with me but my grandfather's in charge of trainin' so you'll have to run it past him. He'll be at the fais do-do, speakin' of which, you might want to change outta your ridin' gear so you'll blend in."
"Yeah, right, like they wouldn't notice a Harrison among them. They were all here for the race so they know who I am."
"Maybe they won't if you wear a dress."
Piper eyed him with uncertainty. "Then, all the women wear dresses to this thing?"
"A lot will because they came from church, but since you don't want to be recognized, show up lookin' like a woman and you'll fool everyone, including me."
Not waiting for her response, Ace turned and hopped over the railing and headed across the track and up the dirt road cutting through the cane field, leaving Piper quietly fuming.
So, like Nana, he viewed her as mannish, simply because she was pursuing an occupation females were apparently not supposed to pursue. A part of her wanted to come swaggering into the fais do-do dressed as she was—dusty boots, dirty pants, rumpled work shirt—just to let him know she didn't care what he thought of her. But another part wanted to prove she could be as feminine as the rest and let him eat his words, like dangling a mouse in front of a cat only to jerk it away when the cat started to pounce, except the cat in this scenario would no doubt be pouncing on all the pretty Cajun girls there.
***
Ace left the table, where he'd been sitting with his grandfather and Edgar Robichau, to see if the jambalaya was ready. The big black cast-iron pot on the grill just outside the barn had already been scraped clean once, as reported by Pépère when he and Edgar returned with plates piled high with food, and standing at a long table a few feet from the grill, several men started in chopping vegetables and cutting meat for cooking another round.
As he made his way through a gathering of boisterous, fun-loving, high-spirited friends and family who'd been at the match race earlier, he didn't see Piper among them, and she wasn't sitting off by herself, so he figured she'd reneged. It didn't matter though. There'd be a slew of girls to dance with, Cajun girls whose families wouldn't have an axe to grind with his.
At a couple of long wooden tables near the front of the barn, an assortment of bowls and platters held potluck fare ranging from salads and side dishes to a lineup of main courses that included chicken fricassee, dirty rice, boudin sausage, red beans with ham hocks, and Momma's crawfish pies. And at the far end, an array of desserts displayed homemade pies, right down to his favorites, pecan and sweet potato.
Taking a sturdy paper plate from a stack on the table, he stepped in front of the kettle of jambalaya and dished up a hefty portion. As the zesty aroma of spices, onions, celery and bell pepper mingled with chicken and smoky andouille sausage filled his nostrils, he fel
t his stomach rumble. Moving alongside the table he spooned on a sizeable portion of collard greens smothered with onions and bacon bits, added a wedge of Momma's crawfish pie, and propped a couple of thick slices of crusty French bread on top. Before returning to sit with Edgar and Pépère however, he grabbed another plate, placed on it a sizeable wedge of crawfish pie, added a slice of French bread and an ample portion of pecan pie, then grabbing two sets if plastic ware wrapped in napkins, returned to the table, where he set the plate with the crawfish and pecan pies aside.
On sitting down, he glanced around again, wondering if Piper might have changed her mind, not that it mattered. There were enough good-looking gals there to swing around the dance floor.
Hogwash! Who was he fooling? It was that obnoxious weed thing again. Every time he chopped it back a pixie of a woman sprung up, occupying far too much space in his mind.
Scooping a forkful of jambalaya, he shoved it in his mouth then found himself again checking the open doorway of the barn when it darkened momentarily as people entered.
"So, is your girlfriend comin'?" his grandfather asked.
He stared at Pépère, baffled. "What are you talkin' about?"
"Mais la. I'm talkin' about the pint-size woman you got your eyes on. You got an extra plate of food and two sets of eating ware, and you keep lookin' at the door."
"If you're referrin' to Piper Harrison, forget it. One Harrison in the family's enough." Ace filled his mouth again, a hint to Pépère to scratch the subject.
"Speakin' of Piper Harrison," Edgar said, chucking that strategy, "she ran a good race today. She's cutthroat. I mean, she was a killer out there. It wouldn't surprise me if she made it as a female jockey. A lotta trainers won't ride a girl, and I say they're missin' the boat. Girls seem to have a connection with their mounts. They're able to get the job done but with more subtlety. Some male jocks can do it, but most depend on strength. In the long run, the patience girls have is better for the horse, but it's the connection that matters and Piper Harrison's got it."
"She's pretty competitive," Ace admitted, which was an understatement. Cutthroat. Killer. She'd been both at the jousting tournament.
"If you're not competitive in this business you're not gonna get far," Edgar said. "Take the race today. Jetstream's a powerful sprinter and he's got the thoroughbred endurance. I figured on takin' the lead at the start and never lookin' back, but I had to fight for every furlong, and about the time I thought I had the race in the bag, Piper was right there again."
Brows drawn, Henri said to Edgar, "You been around many female jockeys?"
Edgar nodded. "Quite a few, and they're good. Chantal Sutherland and Rosie Napravnik ran rings around the boys, both rankin' among the top jockeys in earnings and total races won. You have a jockey for that thoroughbred you're trainin' yet?"
Henri eyed Edgar with interest. "No. You wanna run her?"
"Sure, but we're headin' to Florida in a couple of days. They have good tracks there and lots of chances to ride so we'll be stayin' through winter. If you're lookin' for a jock though, you got a hungry one next door. Females startin' out have a tough go, but if they start winnin', the media's all over them, which is good for a female jock's career and for the trainers she's connected to."
Ace figured Edgar had a point, though he couldn't imagine the uproar it would cause when Charles Harrison learned his daughter was riding a Broussard filly, the one he'd dumped at a claiming race, especially if the filly turned out to be what Pépère pegged from the start. It just seemed odd that Piper wouldn't show up for the fais do-do, knowing a top jockey would be there.
"You've got your eyes on that door again," his grandfather baited.
Ace looked at Pépère with a start. He hadn't been aware of checking the door, but to get his grandfather off that track, he said, "I'm lookin' around to find me a pretty girl to spend the evening dancin'… with… and…"
His voice trailed off as he spotted a small slender woman entering the barn. The face, the figure, the way she was dressed. It took a moment to realize it was Piper. Well, he knew it was Piper the moment he saw her, but seeing her gussied up like she was ready to dance took him by surprise. The thing was, she wasn't gussied up like he would've expected, the way Joe described Harrison women dressed for affairs. Piper looked like she was wearing something she'd picked up at Goodwill; a plain dress with big pink and yellow flowers splashed all over it and in a silky-looking material that draped over her slender, female curves in a way that got his notice. And with the dress coming mid-knee, he saw a pair of trim legs that also caught his notice…
"Looks like you got your dance partner," his grandfather said, cutting into his daze.
"No way," Ace countered, "but since I'm the one who invited her, figurin' she could use some cheerin' up after losin' the race, I'll call her over."
"I'm bettin' you'll be sharin' that slice of your Momma's crawfish pie with her too, and maybe a lot more by the time the evenin's done. Just keep in mind she's a Harrison."
"I don't need a reminder. I'm the coonass next door and she's a cutthroat killer with a one-track mind on racin' horses." Ace also suspected any personal interest towards him on her part would be with that goal in mind.
CHAPTER 6
To catch Piper's eye, Ace stood and waved his arms. When she spotted him, he motioned for her to join them. He didn't realize he was grinning from ear to ear until he glanced at his grandfather and saw him thump his head while mouthing the word, couillion, meaning fool, his reminder to his grandkids when they were doing something stupid.
Deciding to put an end to this, he said, "Relax, Pépère. Even if Piper was my type, which she isn't, she's got riding skills we might be able to use. I said might. I'm still not convinced."
A potential argument was cut short when Piper arrived at the table, gave a little hand wave hello to his grandfather and to Edgar, which dislodged the strap of the handbag she was toting, a big pink woven thing that also looked like something she'd picked up at Goodwill. After readjusting the strap, she said to him, "Okay, you got me to this fais do-do, and with everyone hopping around to the music like dodo birds I see where it got its name. Same pronunciation."
Ace laughed. "Could be. The way we learned was when Momma tucked us in bed she said 'time to go dodo.' We didn't figure out till later it's Cajun French for makin' sleep, but after the bunch of us were snoozin', Momma and Daddy and any grownups who dropped in got goin' on the dance floor and by the end of the evenin' everyone knew everyone because at a fais do-do no one's a stranger."
"We'll see." Instead of sitting in the chair next to him, Piper went around the table and squeezed in between his grandfather and Edgar, a clear message that she was there to fulfill her end of the match-race bargain, nothing more.
Figuring it was for the best since it would let Pépère know they weren't an item, Ace pushed the plate with the crawfish and pecan pies across the table in front of Piper, and said, "I didn't know if you'd make it, but in case you did I saved you a piece of Momma's crawfish pie. It goes fast."
"Thanks." Piper gave him a brief smile then hastily unwrapped her plastic ware and pretty much attacked the crawfish pie.
After she'd had several bites, Edgar said to her what Ace had been thinking, "Let me guess. You've been eating lettuce leaves all week in preparation for the race and this is your first real meal, which is why you're skinny as a rail."
Piper laughed. "Actually, I was starving after the race so I had a turkey sandwich, but this pie looked so good stuffed high with crawfish tails I got hungry all over again." She had another sizeable bite, followed by another, and between the last two bites she said to Ace, "Umm… umm. Your Momma does know how to make fluffy crust and tasty filling." She gave the plate a half turn, and after swallowing a bite of pecan pie, she said with enthusiasm, "This pie's to die for. Our cook would go on strike before having to roll out dough and go to all this work. All her pies are made with prepared crusts and canned filling, but this sure hits the spot.
"
Ace couldn't believe how fast Piper wolfed down both slices of pie and the French bread too, leaving him curious about things he'd heard regarding the Harrisons and the way they ate over there, needing a half dozen kinds of forks and spoons simply to get through a basic meal.
After Piper set her plastic ware across her paper plate, Edgar said, "I take it you're not worried about your weight like most jocks who spend half their lives purgin' their last meal, munchin' on laxatives and water pills, and sweatin' off pounds in saunas the day of the race to drop the four or five pounds needed to make weight."
Piper chuckled. "I'd wilt if I did that. But having a metabolism like a hummingbird will give me a huge psychological advantage when I show up at the track before a race with a dozen chocolate eclairs and offer them around the room while having one myself, and when I top it off with a couple of wedges of cheese from the platter I'll have sitting out, they'll be pretty irritable by post time and their horses will sense it. Seriously, I have to eat to keep my weight up, one of the reasons I figured being a jockey was the way to go. Modeling was my other option, but wearing eight inch stiletto heels to get my height up to the average model's shoulders, and having to keep my nails manicured seemed a little daunting."
Ace found himself eyeing Piper's hands, which were smooth, as were her slender fingers, but her short fingernails were pretty ragged around the edges. Ragged. Rags. Ragamuffin. Kinda matched Piper's hair too, which appeared as if hastily piled on top of her head and caught in back with some kind of clasp, and the untidy brown strands escaping that clasp were also kinda raggedy, reminding him of the filly's mane and tail and about the same color...
"Why are you grinning?" Piper asked when she caught him eyeing her in amusement.
Giving a little shrug, he said, "Your… um… fingernails. They reminded me of the filly."
"Care to explain?"
"They're ragged."
"Actually, yours are too, but at least mine are clean."
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 6
