“Hola.”
She whirled toward the greeting, so quickly that hot coffee splashed her wrist.
Miguel, the new student, leaned against the outside wall, phone in his hand. “I thought everyone was in that new class?” He arched a questioning eyebrow.
“I slept in.” She made a rueful face and took a quick sip of coffee. It was black and much too strong. Probably had been sitting for hours. If she’d known she’d have to drink it, she would have added milk. “I heard you guys had a coffee machine,” she added. “Hope you don’t mind me popping in, but your barn was closer than the cafeteria.”
“You’re not a jockey.” His dark eyes swept over her in blatant assessment. “Isn’t there a coffee machine in your dorm?”
“No. We don’t have washers or dryers either.” She folded her free arm over her stomach, hoping the magazine wasn’t showing.
“Guess that’s why they posted the ‘Jocks Only’ sign.” He jerked his thumb at the large sign on the door. “To keep out riffraff. But pretty girls can come and visit me anytime,” he added, his gaze stuck to her chest.
Riffraff. It was quite clear he wouldn’t notice the magazine beneath her shirt. For that matter, she doubted he’d even recognize her face. In fact, he was rather bold for a new student, even a jockey. “We riffraff aren’t the only ones cutting classes,” she said stiffly. “Guess at least one jockey is playing hooky.”
He had flashing white teeth, but his wolfish smile didn’t touch his eyes. “I don’t need the addictions class. I’m almost finished the program.”
“How did you do that?” she asked. “I only noticed you last night.”
His smile deepened. He edged closer, bringing the sharp smell of liberally applied cologne. “It’s good you noticed me, querida,” he said. “I noticed you too. But I’m not new. I’m from the Baja Tinda. Are you a groom?”
“No. Exercise rider.” She grimaced. It was clear she’d never be mistaken for a jockey, but his question brought back the grim reality that she was still riding with the grooms.
“Good,” he said. “Then I’ll see you later on the track. Perhaps I will pick you as my riding partner.”
He obviously had a high opinion of himself but at least he was friendlier than the other jockeys. It was unfortunate he hadn’t known Joey…or had he? Joey had mentioned that only he and a Mexican student were able to ride the tough horses. And no horse was tougher than Rambo.
Her gaze drifted over Miguel’s sinewy forearms. Extensive tats wrapped around them, the green and black ink edging below his neck. “You look like you can handle a horse,” she said.
“Definitely, querida.” He flexed his muscles, his voice lowering suggestively. “Believe me, I can ride anything.”
She edged a step back. “Can you ride Rambo? He’s one of the horses I groom.”
Miguel’s leer changed to a frown, and he stopped posturing. “That horse is loco. I tried him once. We don’t get along.”
“Doesn’t anyone ride him?” she asked, breathing a little easier now that she had more space.
“No,” Miguel snapped. “He isn’t suitable for students. Don’t put your saddle on him.”
“I won’t. But there must have been some people who liked him. A lot of riders pass through here.”
“One guy did okay,” Miguel said grudgingly. “But he’s gone now.”
Clearly, he was talking about Joey. “Must have been a good rider,” she managed. “Is he working at a track now?”
Miguel’s mouth tightened and he looked away, his gaze darting to the left. “I don’t know where he is,” he muttered.
Her hand shook, sloshing coffee against the side of the thin cup. Miguel was lying. She knew it. She wanted to shake him, demand answers, but he kept talking, oblivious to her turmoil.
“All the good horses are in this barn,” he was saying. “Come back sometime and I’ll give you a private tour. Maybe I’ll even make you a special coffee.”
His words cut through her anger. She gave a jerky nod, her throat too tight to speak.
“I have liquor,” he added. “For you, I’d share.”
She nodded again, swallowing convulsively. “That would be nice, Miguel,” she said. “Let’s do that sometime.” And surprisingly, her voice barely quavered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Get your ass up, Megan,” Lydia snapped. “Why is that so difficult?”
Megan stuck her rear another inch in the air, but the position felt wrong. All her life she’d been told to keep her seat in the saddle, and she instinctively wanted to sit up. Maybe she was too old to learn such a different style.
She circled the field again, following a line of nine riders and horses. Her mount, Barney, was lazy and lacked impulsion. He stumbled over each tuft of grass, and every time he tried to stop, she had to sit back in the saddle and push him forward.
Peter, on the energetic gray, was lapping her now. He chuckled as he passed. “I had to ride Barney my first day here. It’s impossible to lean forward on that plug. Tell Lydia you want a different horse or else ask permission to carry a stick.”
She grimaced. Lydia would bite her head off. Fine for Peter to make special requests, but he was one of Lydia’s favorites. Actually all the guys were favored. And despite her waspishness toward the girls, Megan had to admit Lydia did look rather striking today with pretty red and silver hoop earrings that matched her shirt.
Barney stepped out a few strides, briefly energized by Peter’s gray, a narrow-chested gelding with a perpetually arched neck and white-rimmed eyes. For a glorious moment, they trotted in tandem.
“Is Lydia dressed up for you?” Megan teased, careful to keep her voice low. It was okay for Peter to talk, but Lydia always snapped at the girls if they ‘disrupted’ the class.
“Not for me,” Peter said. “It’s because of the new prof. All the girls were drooling this morning. Not a bad dude actually. Didn’t you see him?”
“Missed that class. I’ll catch the next one.”
“Better not miss any more or you’ll lose your spot. It’s a full credit so there’s a wait list.”
She nodded absently, tired of hearing about full credits and half credits and no credits. She didn’t want the course anyway. Besides, she knew enough about addictions to last a lifetime. However, a good-looking instructor explained why Tami had lingered after class. Her roommate had hurried through her grooming, too rushed to answer any of Megan’s questions about Miguel.
Peter’s horse drew away, and she glanced wistfully at the dirt oval where more than twenty riders cantered in pairs. They all looked so capable from this distance, leaning forward and standing in their stirrups like real jockeys.
Tami was among them, and no doubt Peter would join their ranks soon. He actually looked good on his gray. Once he left, she’d be the only exercise rider still stuck with the grooms—grooms who weren’t expected to ride and merely needed to understand the basic concepts.
At this rate, she’d never be able to buddy up with anyone from Joey’s class. They’d all have graduated by the time she joined them. Ramon might be her only hope, and he was like a stone wall. Of course there was Miguel. Her mouth curved with distaste. For a moment Barney responded to her body language, stepping out for three jerky strides.
“Congratulations, Peter!” Lydia called, her mouth vivid beneath a fire engine red lipstick. “Tomorrow you can ride out with the jockeys. I like how you’re two-pointing, and only making contact with your legs.
“This class is over for the day,” she added. “I’ll see the rest of you tomorrow.”
She hurried away, in such a rush she neglected to deliver her usual sermon about walking to the barn in single file.
Students and horses milled in confusion. However, Lydia was already a hundred feet away, beelining toward the building that housed the classroom, cafeteria and fitness center.
A stout lady with a pug nose snickered. “I know where she’s going. Catch her trashy makeup. Garrett has totally l
ost her affections.”
“Garrett doesn’t care,” Peter said. “And do you guys realize we only had a twenty-minute lesson? Waste of time to even tack up.”
“At least you’ll be riding with the big boys tomorrow. Well done, Peter,” a gray-haired woman said. “Now I’m going back to the barn to practice my bandaging.”
The rest of the riders lingered, confused by Lydia’s sudden departure. No doubt about it, she was gone. Riders turned and straggled away, but Barney stretched his neck and rested a hind leg, pleased with this chance to nap.
“At least I won’t have to put up with Lydia anymore, other than in the classroom. Don’t know why she has it in for you girls.” Peter circled his restless gray around Megan’s dozing horse. “It’s impossible for anyone to look good on Barney.”
Megan gave Barney a rueful pat. Everyone else had ridden at least two horses, but so far, she’d only been assigned one mount. Maybe Peter was right and she would be able to two-point on a different horse.
“Would you switch?” she asked impulsively. “We still have an hour before lunch. And Lydia didn’t give us any instructions.”
“That’s because we already know it’s taboo to switch horses.” Peter peered over his shoulder as though afraid Lydia might reappear.
“But she’s gone. No one will know. Besides she likes you. She even lets you carry a stick.”
Peter flipped his reins and looked smug.
“I’ll give you two chocolate bars,” Megan added, watching his face. She could tell he was almost swayed. “Plus I’ll groom both your horse and Barney after the ride.”
“All right.” He sighed and reluctantly dismounted. “But make sure you’re back before the jockeys return. I don’t think Ramon talks to Lydia much, but she seems to hear everything.” His voice lowered. “I would have switched without the chocolate. You know I’m glad to help.”
She dismounted, pretending not to hear. Peter was helpful to all the girls, especially to her and Tami, but he was too nice to lead on. Giving him something in exchange made it okay.
“Look at Barney,” she joked, hoping to lighten the conversation. The horse’s lower lip was slack, his eyes drooping. He seemed oblivious to the rider change, and when she legged Peter up, the horse still didn’t move.
However, Peter’s gray circled and pulled at the reins, confused by this unusual procedure. He called to his receding line of stablemates, his shrill neighs blasting her eardrums.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have switched. He looks upset.” Peter’s eyes widened with alarm. “And how the heck are you going to mount?”
“Like this.” She grabbed mane, hopped once and vaulted into the saddle, ignoring the gray’s crow hop.
“Damn, Megan. You really can ride.” Peter gave a relieved smile. “You’ll be fine then. Want me stick around?”
“No, go on back to the barn. I’m going to trot and practice standing in the stirrups. No problem.”
But two minutes later, it was a problem. The gray—Megan didn’t even know his name—was panicky at being deserted, and his half-hearted crow hops had turned into aggressive bucks.
She pulled her feet from the short stirrups, clamped her legs around his barrel and pushed him forward, trying to keep his head up. Clearly he wasn’t used to being without his buddies, and even more clearly, she wasn’t going to be able to practice her two-pointing. It took most of her skill just to stay on.
His ears flicked, tracking movement to the right, and he briefly settled. Ah, another horse, a confident-striding bay. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping the new horse and rider would remain in the field. The gray obviously lost his mind when separated from his friends. Fortunately the bay’s rider seemed to understand her predicament and he halted, watching her from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.
“Thanks,” she called. “My horse was rather lonely.”
“Megan?”
She swung around. Scott? The gray took advantage of her attention lapse and sidled toward the muscled bay, eager for company.
She was too stunned to do anything but stare at the rider—and wow, it really was Scott, looking every bit as good on a horse as he did on the blacktop. He rode in a western saddle, and his big bay looked like he’d been chiseled from a Breyer Quarter Horse model.
“Hello, Megan.” His deep smile made something kick deep in her chest. “I’m surprised to see you. Not making jewelry today?”
“No…actually, I’m taking a riding program here. What about you?”
“Teaching.”
Her gray was already bored with the new horse and began to sidestep. She turned him in small circles, wishing he’d stand still so she could talk. Scott. Right here. This was too good to be true.
“Teaching massage?” she asked.
“No massage.” His voice rippled with wry amusement. “That phone ID was my assistant’s idea of a joke. I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”
Ah, yes. She remembered the mark on his head, hidden now beneath his hat or maybe not. Darn. The gray wouldn’t stand still long enough for her to see, although Scott didn’t appear to have a similar problem. His horse stood on a loose rein, seemingly as relaxed as his rider.
“But your name really is Scott?” she asked, still circling her horse.
“Yeah. Scott Taylor.”
The gray snapped out a sneaky buck. She pushed him forward, glad at least she had something to do and Scott wouldn’t see how flustered she was. She simply couldn’t believe he was here. Couldn’t believe how her heart hammered.
“Your horse sure is herd bound,” Scott said. “I noticed him from the track and wondered if I could help.”
“Thanks for coming.” Her voice was rather breathless and it wasn’t entirely from fighting with the gray. “I need to work on my two-pointing, but he’s too upset to listen.”
“I’ll pony you,” he said, reaching over and slipping a loop over her bit. And suddenly they were trotting, the gray happy to be moving forward.
“Stand up,” Scott said. “Keep all your weight in your heels. That’s it.” His voice was confident and encouraging, and he clearly had control of her horse. She bounced for a few strides, concentrating on her position, then suddenly nailed it.
She was actually balancing in the stirrups, butt in the air, head up. It wasn’t hard at all. Now the horse’s impulsion, the very thing she’d hated earlier, worked to her advantage. She glanced over at Scott. “Thank you. I’ve been trying all week to get this.”
“Often it’s harder for experienced riders.”
She grinned with delight. The gray moved freely, head arched, while she balanced over his neck in perfect rhythm. It was a different sort of riding but definitely exhilarating. No wonder Joey had loved it.
Scott moved his horse into a canter, and her gray stretched out gleefully. Lydia had never let her break from a trot. Her poor horse must have been so frustrated. And holy shit, Scott was leading her toward the track.
She scanned the oval but Ramon and his class were at the far end, obviously finishing up. Besides, she was having too much fun to tell Scott she was only a field rider. And he seemed to know what he was doing.
They slowed to a walk as they approached the gap. “We’ll do our fast work on the track,” he said. “The ground’s safer, unless your legs are tired. Want a rest?”
“No, they’re good. But I can see why they want us fit.” Her breath came in short gasps. “My horse is in better shape than me.”
His approving gaze slid over her, and she blushed, grateful she hadn’t indulged in too many chocolate bars. “You’ll still pony me…when we’re on the track?” Her breath was still ragged but she wasn’t sure if it was from lack of fitness or because of the odd crackle in the air.
“Megan,” he said, “I don’t intend to let you go.”
She glanced sideways, but his hat shaded his expression. She didn’t see the signal to his horse, but both animals moved smoothly into a ground-covering trot, making conversation difficult.
>
She yanked her attention back to her riding. At first, she was acutely conscious of his presence but he didn’t say anything more, and she was able to concentrate on the large oval.
Trotting was even easier on the smoothly harrowed track. Her horse didn’t stumble and moved straight, seeming to know his job and utterly accepting of the composed bay at his side. Obviously racehorses were used to being ponied, and it was a huge help to be able to concentrate on her position and let Scott control their speed.
A speed he was gradually increasing. And, wow, the horses were galloping now. She was doing it! She was actually galloping on the track. She felt like a jockey, balancing in the stirrups, moving in a natural rhythm with her horse.
They slowed much too quickly. However, her legs had turned to rubber and her breath was labored so maybe it wasn’t too soon, although her eager horse felt like he wanted to gallop another mile.
“This is great, thanks. Before, I was putting too much weight on my knees.” She shot him a delighted smile. “I don’t really want to stop.”
“Me neither,” he said, his eyes intent on her face.
She swallowed. Her face felt warm but that could easily be blamed on exertion. He wasn’t even doing anything, just looking at her, but he was so damn attractive it left her unsettled.
“Guess my horse is ready for lunch,” she said lamely.
“Why don’t you take him back to your barn and have lunch with me?” And then he smiled, so slow and intimate she thought she might hyper-ventilate.
“I’d like that,” she managed. Boy, would I. “But there’s not enough time,” she added, unable to look away from his mouth. “The cafeteria closes at one-thirty and I have a class right after that.”
“Dinner tonight then,” he said, so easily she could only nod. “What program are you in?”
“Exercise rider.”
“That explains why you wanted to meet at Santa Anita. But you said you made jewelry?”
HORSES AND HEROIN (Romantic Mystery) Page 6
