"Beauty, you're crazier than a sprayed cockroach," Ace shouted over the racket. "I'm thinkin' we've got you in the wrong field. You're a stand-up comedian."
Piper laughed and yelled back, "She can also act like a petulant child when she doesn't get her way." She took the chicken and gave Rags a carrot, then lowered her voice and continued. "In a race at Evangeline Downs a couple of months back, when post time came she didn't want to leave her stall. They finally got her saddled and to the starting gate but it took three aids to get her in. She had the last say though. When the gate shot open she refused to run."
"Which was understandable, wasn't it, Beauty," Ace said to Rags. "You threw a fit because they cut into your sleep. It's that nasty gate thing you don't like. We'll be workin' on that, and by the time we're through, you'll be so fired up when the bell rings you'll shoot out like a cannon."
"Oh, she doesn't have trouble loading when she wants to run," Piper said. "Her next race was at Delta Downs. She went willingly into the gate, and when it banged open, she totally got into the spirit of racing, bumping and knocking and side swiping horses as she careened around the track. She finished second in the pack and came out looking like a prize fighter with cuts and a swollen eye, but that's when I knew she had the fighting spirit in her to be a winner, though she didn't know the rules yet, only that there were horses in her way and she didn't like dirt kicked in her face and she intended to clear the field. Unfortunately, clearing the field got her penalized and knocked her out of the winnings, and her jockey was suspended for ten days. Her next race was the claiming race at the Fair Grounds."
"Where she came in last and I forked over $5500 to your father," Ace grumbled. "Was she being petulant that day too?"
"No, she got a bad start, and since she doesn't like mud in her face, staying well behind the rest avoids that. When she figures out there's no mud at the front of the pack, that's when she'll get with the game. She just needs a trainer who understands her. Mick never did and her jockey always ended up getting into power struggles with her which never works, but I had to keep my mouth shut or get canned from exercising her."
Ace startled Piper by taking her by the shoulders and turning her around to face him. Toying with her collar, he said, "Is that what this is all about?"
"What, my collar?"
"No, your dress, a scheme to convince me you're the one to exercise Beauty?"
Piper was still trying to get used to Rags being called Beauty, such an odd twist. But the dress… yes, maybe it had been her goal, but she wasn't about to let Ace know. "How can you possibly construe my wearing a dress with getting to exercise Rags?"
"Simple. Lookin' the way you do in the dress you figured it would catch my eye, and bein' hooked I'd convince my grandfather you're the one to exercise the filly and run her in her next race, and you'd achieve your goal."
"Except you're assuming I wore the dress to get your notice. I knew guys would be here. Maybe I wanted to get their notice, like your cousin, Buck."
"You don't even know Buck."
"You're the one who jumped to that conclusion."
Ace eyed her with uncertainty. "Do you know him?"
"I know he trains quarter horses and when one of his horses tested positive for methocarbamol a few weeks back he was suspended from racing for a couple of weeks."
"Methocarbamol's a muscle relaxant."
"A banned, class C muscle relaxant," Piper clarified. "I hope that's not typical of the way Cajuns train horses because I can tell you right off, I'd be first to report you if you did." Too late, she realized she'd blown her chance for riding Rags or even being around her if there was any possibility the Broussards utilized banned drugs, which many trainers did, even top thoroughbred trainers running horses in the big stakes races.
"It's not gonna happen on this ranch," Ace said. "In case you haven't bothered to learn what we coonasses do over here, we raise grass-fed beef, no hormones, no antibiotics, no GMOs, no ATVs roundin' them up and scarin' the bejabbers out of them, and no drugs except vaccinations. That goes for our horses too because we care about our livestock."
"If that's the case then I should be the one to exercise Rags. I've been doing it from the start. I'm also the one who breathed life into her when she was stillborn, and took her on her first gallop, and bathed and groomed her, and she loves me. After every race, even though she lost, I'd go see her and she'd whinny and nuzzle my face as if to say, 'See, Mommy, I ran with the boys.'"
"Okay, I'll tell my grandfather about her erratic racing behavior and he'll decide who rides. He's her trainer."
"But you’re her owner."
"You know owners don't make those decisions. Trainers do. You're already exercisin' my grandfather's horses, he watched you in the race today, and Edgar Robichau put in a good word for you, so he's got what he needs to make a decision." Ace toyed with the collar again. "I'm still glad you wore this dress now that I know you didn't wear it for Buck."
Piper was about to explain exactly why she wore the dress, but deciding to let the topic die, she said, "I don't know how it is with quarter horses, but Rags's erratic behavior's typical of two-year-old thoroughbreds because a field of two-year-olds can be months apart in age since all birthdays fall on the first of the year, and late season foals like Rags have more growing to do."
"Your father knows that so why did he put her in the claiming race?"
"He wanted to get rid of her, mainly because of the way she looks, and after she blew the race at Delta Downs it was all over, but I know Rags can do it if she's handled right. She isn't your average horse. She's so intelligent you have to stay one step ahead of her. She can be stubborn as a mule, and with those big ears I sometimes wonder if she isn't part mule, but my biggest worry is her ending up with someone who'll mistreat her instead of trying to understand her. Thoroughbred racehorses are mistreated all the time, being forced beyond their ability, many going to kill buyers just because they can't bring in the money. And I have a confession."
"I'm listening."
"The jousting tournament. The reason I went through all that was because I wanted you and your grandfather to notice me and hire me to exercise your horses, mainly so I could see how you treat Rags. If anything happened to her it would break my heart."
"I know, and she's bein' treated like royalty here."
"Which is fine for now, but if she continues losing races could I buy her? I don't have the money right now because I spent my savings on jockey school, but I could pay you over time."
"She's not gonna lose. Like my grandfather's always said, even diamonds start out as coal."
"Except it takes millions of years for the transformation from coal to diamond and you only have a couple years to prepare a horse for racing."
"He wasn't talkin' about racehorses."
"What then?"
"I'm thinkin' you don't want to go down that road."
"And I'm thinking you're evading my question."
"Okay, he was talkin' about your family. They didn't always have money."
"Kind of like coveting your neighbor's ox or his donkey."
Ace let out an ironic huff. "If you're implying that my grandfather's envious, not likely. Livin' high on the hog doesn't amount to diddlysquat to most Cajuns. Bein' a good person's what counts, along with havin' a good time. Cajun food, Cajun music, dancin' the two-step, and Sunday match races, that's what matters."
"And clothing the kids and putting a roof over their heads?" Piper asked. "I'm thinking someone needs to work and look after the family."
"Cajuns work hard and not many of us are rich, but that doesn't stop us from takin' good care of our families. If you get right down to it, Cajun families do better than most because the whole community's involved, and Sunday's for church, with everyone coming together for a fais do-do afterwards. Speaking of which, the band's pumpin' out music and you're dressed for dancin', so maybe we could go back in there and kick up some dust."
"Except everyone in there's celeb
rating your side's win. I'm the loser."
"Then you can celebrate almost beating a world-class jockey. Besides, by now they've long since finished celebrating Edgar's win and they're just havin' fun."
"I'd rather spend time giving carrots to Rags."
"Like I said before, I think you're more bark than bite. You know two-step and I say you're afraid to dance with me."
"That's ridiculous. Why would I possibly be afraid to do that?"
"I don't know, but if you're not just a lotta woof woof, then prove it. The band just started up and we have a dance floor right here." He offered his hand.
Piper looked at a work-hardened hand she could imagine enfolding hers, yet she didn't take it because her mind was spinning around with the ramification of dancing with a man she wanted to stay clear of, but couldn't seem to convince her heart to do. "The music's too fast. I learned two-step a couple of years back but never danced it."
"Which is why we need to do it so all that learnin' won't go to waste." Ace took her hand and pulled her away from the stall. "Just follow me and I'll have you dancin' like a Cajun, and if you practice at home to Cajun music you'll drive your daddy nuts thinkin' you're becomin' one of us."
Piper laughed. "I'm already driving him nuts with the prospect of becoming a jockey."
Grabbing her other hand, Ace backed to arm's length and said, "Except what I'm lookin' at right now's not like any jockey I've ever seen."
Piper realized too late she was batting her eyes like a girly girl, though it wasn't for that reason but because Ace caught her off guard. She was again tempted to explain the dress, but it was rare to get a compliment of any kind from anyone, mainly because she was usually all riding clothes, and swaggering, and toughness, like the jockey she wanted to be, but she did like the way Ace made her feel, even though she found it hard to believe he actually liked the dress.
"We'd better get movin' before the music ends." Ace pulled her to him, and spreading their arms, turned to the side so they were facing in opposite directions, and said as they moved in a circle, "It's like taking a walk while two-steppin'."
"I got that far with Anne, but that's about it."
"Then we'll go from there."
To the pulsing rhythm of the lively music they turned together, breaking into a push-pull movement a couple of times, all the while Ace's eyes remained on her, and before she knew it they were turning in the opposite direction. A spin out and she returned to find Ace's arm around behind her, and being held close to his side, they moved together forward and back before he twirled her again, leaving her feeling giddy, and very much aware of the dark eyes catching hers during the momentary pause when they came together, a man she was sharing a small close space within the privacy of a stable. A man who was slowly making his way into her heart…
"Get ready for the sweetheart turn." Ace raised his left hand with her right one, gave a little tug, and sweeping her under his arm, ended with her planted firmly against his side, hands clasped, one of his arms around her back, the other coming around front. Captured within the circle of his arms, and both facing the same direction, Piper found herself snug against a rock-hard body while shuffling forward and back to the music, the nearness of Ace sending her heart hammering and a little spurt of adrenaline rushing through her.
"And now a jig around the floor, heavy on your right foot, light on your left, like you're trippin' and catchin' yourself," Ace said in an animated voice, eyes glinting with merriment, like he was having that good time he'd been talking about.
Piper picked up the loud-soft beat, but when they started hippity-hopping in earnest to the pulsing rhythm of the band while two-stepping their way around the plank wood floor, their heavy lopsided stomping stirred up tiny bits of hay, the silliness of it starting Piper laughing.
"What's so funny?" Ace called out, as they made their way past Rags in her stall.
Piper glanced up at him. "We're in a stable sharing a fais do-do with a horse!"
"Then we should be stompin' our hooves." Ace began exaggerating his steps, the energetic thumps of each heavy footfall bringing debris emerging from between cracks in the floorboards and chortles of laughter bursting from the two of them as they tramped their way around the floor. Their exuberant dancing ended with the sound of equally exuberant squeaks.
"Rags!" Piper cried on seeing the filly out of her stall and doing her own lively dance with her rubber chicken.
Still held close in his arms, Ace said, "It seems we have an escape artist on our hands. This is the third time she's flipped the latch on her stall door."
Piper found herself holding Ace's gaze, his nearness sending her heart thudding, and when she drew in a deep breath to calm it, with her breath came the heated scent of a male musk cologne, a primal scent that momentarily fogged her brain. "I'm… not… surprised. We always kept… a double latch… on her stall," she said in a slow, measured voice.
"Then I suppose we'd better… put her back… but first…" Ace's voice trailed off and he started moving toward her, his eyes on her mouth…
Feeling the heat of his breath on her lips, and knowing it was past time to put the skids on what was coming, Piper shrugged out of his arms and went over to Rags, and picking up her pink bag, said to her, "Back in your stall and Mommy will give you a mint."
Rags dropped her toy and turned into the stall.
"You're not serious," Ace murmured.
"Oh yeah. We've been through this dozens of times. She'll do anything for a peppermint. You might want to get some kind of second clasp for that stall door though." Rooting around the pink bag for the promised mint, Piper located one, unwrapped it and offered it to Rags, who snapped it between her lips. "And this is for you, Gumbo." She handed a carrot to the goat, who snatched it away and began chomping on it.
After snapping a fastener through the latch on the stall door, Ace took Piper's hand and said, "Let's head to the fais do-do, now that you're a seasoned two-stepper."
Deciding to cut the evening short and not chance dancing the evening away with Ace and leave there more confused than ever, Piper tugged her hand free, and said, "I don't want to go back in there," then turned and headed down the corridor.
Before she stepped out of the stable, Ace took her arm to stop her. His face serious, he said, "Tell me something and I want an honest answer. Did you like dancing here with me?"
"Yes, but I don't want to go back in the barn with all those people."
"Because they're Cajuns?"
"That has nothing to do with it."
"What then?"
"I don't want to talk about it and I really need to go."
Shoving the strap of the pink bag over her shoulder, she headed for her car, determined to put an end to what was happening. This thing with Ace was simply a male-female attraction. He was a good-looking guy. And fun. And he owned her horse and treated her like a princess. That should be enough to give whatever there was between them a try, which in fact was a reason not to get involved with him because as long as Ace owned Rags she was safe from mistreatment, so for the first time in weeks she felt free to pursue her dream. And the reality was, she was on the cusp of a career that would ultimately take her around the country to the big stakes races, and being tied to a man whose roots were buried deep in Vermilion Parish soil did not fit that plan.
CHAPTER 8
Charles Harrison pinned Piper with eyes filled with fury and said in a loud, angry voice, "What in hell were you thinking, having a match race here while we were gone?"
"It was just a half-mile race, over in less than a minute," Piper said.
"A race with every Cajun in the parish here! Henri Broussard and any one of those Cajuns would've jumped at the chance to sue us for all we've got. Their horse could have fallen and busted a leg on our track, or someone could have fallen off the track rail or tripped and broken an ankle on their way through the cane field. They have an attorney in the family just waiting for the chance to cash in, the same attorney who took Joey from
us."
"The attorney who gave Joey back to his father," Piper corrected. "And the reason the race was here instead of on the Broussard's track was because that track isn't up to standards and Edgar Robichau wanted to race here, so I agreed."
"Edgar Robichau?"
"He rode a colt sired by Jet Black Patriot."
"Jet Black Patriot's a quarter horse. Robichau races thoroughbreds."
"Not today."
Piper's father eyed her with skepticism. "Robichau's among the highest-earning jockeys in the country. What was in this race for him?"
"The thrill of racing a quarter horse in a match race again," Piper said. "He grew up doing that and hadn't raced quarter horses in years."
Harrison let out a snort of skepticism. "More likely he was drumming up big bets on the side. Gambling's in those Cajun's blood."
Piper let out her own snort of cynicism. "And I suppose everyone pumping money into the lineup of machines in all those casinos at almost every race track in the country are Cajuns. Besides, no betting took place here. It was a stipulation of the match race. What happened on the side was their business just as it is with thoroughbred racing. Furthermore, you've never limited what Anne, Georgia and I do on our track. Anne's had walking horse friends bring their horses over, and Georgia had a 4-H donkey race here and you didn't blow a gasket."
Eyes blazing, Harrison said, "Then you'd better listen carefully. There won't be any more racing on this track without my permission, and you won't have any more dealings with those Broussards as long as you're living under this roof."
Piper held her father's caustic gaze, and said with feigned indifference, "I'm sorry. I forgot to check the terms of my internment here."
Harrison peered down at Piper, jaws clamped, nostrils flaring, clearly on the verge of blowing his stack. "If you consider living here an internment I suggest you try living on your own and see how far you get."
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 8
