by Nora Roberts
“What happens inside me when I do that scares the hell out of me.” He rested his brow against hers while the new and almost familiar emotions worked through him. “The fact that as soon as I’ve done it I want to do it again scares me even more.”
“Me too. It’s probably best you’re going away for a few days. There’s so much to think about.”
“I’ve about finished thinking, Kelsey.”
She nearly had her breath back and nodded. “Me too.” With some regret she eased away. “Good luck at Keeneland, and thanks for the shoulder. I needed it. I guess I needed you.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
NAOMI DIDN’T QUESTION KELSEY’S DECISION TO ACCOMPANY THE TEAM to Kentucky. She’d wanted her there, badly, but hadn’t allowed herself to take it for granted. Naomi no longer took anything for granted.
The only disagreement between them occurred when Kelsey insisted on paying her own expenses. Naomi simmered over it privately during the packing and preparations, throughout the flight, and while they’d checked into their hotel. It wasn’t until she’d asked Kelsey to join her in her suite that the simmering boiled over.
“This is absurd.” Agitated, Naomi paced, ignoring the light meal and bottle of wine she’d ordered up to help keep the discussion amiable. “You’re here with Three Willows Farm. You’ll be helping Boggs with Pride. It’s a simple business expense.”
“I’m here,” Kelsey corrected, “because I want to be here, because I wouldn’t miss the Bluegrass Stakes or the Derby for anything in the world. And I’m extra baggage as far as Pride’s concerned. Moses and his team don’t need me.”
“I do,” Naomi shot back before she could stop herself. “Do you know what it means to me to have you here? To have you want to be here? To know after all this time and all the loss that you’ll be standing with me, not just at post time, but through all the wonderful foolishness that goes on before that final two minutes? I’d rather have you here from now until the first Saturday in May than win a dozen Derbies. And you won’t even let me settle your hotel bill.”
More than a little taken aback, Kelsey stared as her mother stalked around the room. She’d never seen Naomi so overwrought, so brimful of emotion. Finally, here was the woman who had laughed for her wedding photo, who had flirted recklessly with men. Who had killed one.
“It just didn’t seem right to me,” Kelsey began, but stopped the moment Naomi whirled on her.
“Why isn’t it right? Because I wasn’t the conventional mother? Because I was in a cell when I should have been teaching you to tie your shoes?”
“That’s not what I—”
“I don’t expect you to forgive that,” Naomi snapped back. “I don’t expect you to forget it. You’re not required to love me, or even to think of me as your mother. But I thought you were beginning to think of Three Willows as your home.”
And how, Kelsey wondered, had she started this whirlwind by simply using her own charge card? “I do,” she said carefully, ready to parry the next explosion. “That doesn’t mean I want to take advantage of it, or you.”
But the explosion didn’t come. Naomi sat, deliberately fighting back her anger. “If you don’t want to accept the trip from me, I’d like you to accept it from Three Willows. Your association there might very well have cost you at least part of your inheritance. I regret that.”
“So, this is a payment on guilt? All right.” Kelsey threw up her hands when Naomi’s eyes went to smoke. “This is silly. I didn’t realize you were so worked up over it. Pay the bill if it’s important to you.” She tossed back her hair. “You know, I’ve always wondered where my temper came from. Dad is placid as a lake. And you, you’re so cool, so controlled, so in charge. It’s worth losing a fight to have seen that I come by my temperament honestly.”
“I’m glad I could solve one of life’s little mysteries for you.” After a jerky shrug, Naomi plucked a strawberry from the fruit plate she’d ordered. “Win or lose, a fight makes me hungry. Want to eat?”
“Yeah.” Kelsey chose a slice of apple. “I want to tell you something,” she began in a tone that had Naomi’s hand pausing as she poured wine. “I do think of you as my mother. I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t.”
Naomi leaned forward and kissed Kelsey’s cheek; then, steadying her hand, she filled their glasses.
“To the women of Three Willows.” She tapped her glass against Kelsey’s. “I’ve waited a long time to drink to that.”
The days before the Bluegrass Stakes passed in a blur. Kelsey met more people than she could ever remember. She rose each morning at dawn to watch the workouts, worrying, comparing Pride to every other colt and filly who soared through the mist. She haunted the shedrow, studying jockeys, judging trainers, and badgering Boggs for tidbits of news or speculation.
Whenever she could corner him, she harassed Reno, prodding him for his thoughts, grilling him over strategy. She worried over him, over the colt, over the track.
“Hey,” he asked her, “who’s going to ride that colt, you or me?”
She pouted a bit, rocking back on her heels as the two of them spent a private moment with Pride. “You are. But—”
“But you’d rather have your hands on the reins.”
The pout turned into a small smile. “Maybe.” She stroked Pride’s nose, enjoying its warmth, its softness. “I guess I’ve got the fever.”
“You’re burning up with it.” Reno hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his navy silk suit. He had a woman waiting for him, and a great deal on his mind.
“That’s part of it, isn’t it? The nerves, the ambition.” She took the apple she’d been saving and held it out to Pride. “The love.”
“It gets to you,” Reno agreed. It would be of no use telling her that sooner or later other things would interfere with the innocence of it. The numbers, the angles, the odds. She’d find out for herself, he thought, and gave her a friendly pat on the back. “You keep our boy happy, kiddo. And remind him about that Kentucky colt. Keep him on edge.”
With a wink, Reno sauntered out of the barn.
“You don’t have to worry about that flash in the pan,” Kelsey assured Pride. “He can’t compare to you.”
Pride crunched his apple, obviously in complete agreement.
Midnight Hour, a Kentucky-bred colt, was the local favorite. He’d been the surprise winner of the Florida Derby, outdistancing both Pride and Double by a neck. The small, easily spooked roan was getting a lot of national press.
And Kelsey had to admit, this one was a beauty. The classic lines, the unpredictable disposition, the fire in the eyes. The colt used a shadow roll on the track, to prevent him from shying at shadows and things that weren’t there. But he could run. She’d seen that for herself.
Bill Cunningham’s filly had her supporters as well. One didn’t have to admire the man to admire his horse. Sheba had heart and courage and could break through the gate like a tornado. But the sound of her wheezing after a hard workout chilled Kelsey’s blood.
There were others who showed heart and grit, not the least of which was Gabe’s Double. But Kelsey’s money was on Pride. She told herself it wasn’t simply loyalty, not even simply love, but the eye she was beginning to develop under Moses’s careful tutelage. The colt was one in a million. As she was sure her own Honor was.
The day of the Stakes, she stood beside her mother, eager to have her confidence justified.
“He looked so good this morning.”
Kelsey took long, deep breaths. She wanted to enjoy the post parade, the pageantry, the anticipation. But she couldn’t stop talking.
“Moses said he had Reno hold him back a little, because he wanted to keep him on edge. The field’s hard and fast, just the way he likes it. I heard some of the clockers. The sentiment’s riding with Midnight Hour, but the cool heads are split almost even between Pride and Double.” She rubbed a hand over her mouth. “Still, Sudden Force might be the missing link. That’s the chestnut colt in
from Arkansas. He looked ready this morning. And we can’t count out Cunningham’s filly. She’s got such heart.”
Amused and impressed, Naomi ran a soothing hand up and down Kelsey’s arm. “Just take a deep breath. It’ll all be over in a few minutes.”
“I just have time to wish my two favorite ladies good luck.” Gabe slipped between them, kissed them both. “Looks like we’re both seven to five,” he commented, studying the odds board. “What do you say the winner buys dinner?”
“And the loser springs for the champagne.” Naomi gave him a quick grin. “I’ve always preferred to have a man buy my drinks.”
“Good one,” Kelsey murmured. Then, rather than taking a breath, she held it. The horses were being led to the gate.
From the shelter of the stands, Rich watched his son. The boy had always had taste in females. And the devil’s own luck with them. Just like his old man, Rich thought, and patted the derriere of the tipsy little blonde he’d picked up the night before.
“Keep your eye on number three,” he told her. “I’ve got me an interest in that horse. A real close interest.”
The bell sounded. The horses surged forward and the woman beside him squealed and began to cheer boozily for number three.
Rich narrowed eyes shielded behind mirrored lenses. The local favorite had the lead, with the colt from Arkansas pressing close to the rail. The pack was hardly more than a blur of color and pounding legs, but he never lost sight of number three. Cunningham’s filly ran valiantly, clipping the lead down to a neck by the first turn. But already Virginia’s Pride was bursting out of the pack, eating up the light, spewing up turf.
Rich nodded slowly, a smile beginning to curve his mouth. Double won the rail and streaked up the inside on the backstretch. Even the thunder of hooves was lost in the wild cheers of the crowd. For an instant, one of those gorgeous photographic moments, three horses were neck and neck, strides almost in unison, silks blazing.
Then Pride drove forward, a nose, a neck, a half-length. They crossed the wire within fractions of a second, Virginia’s Pride, Double or Nothing, Big Sheba. Win, place, show.
Rich tossed back his head and laughed. “Honey, I’ve hit the big time.”
She pouted, swirled her beer. “Number three didn’t win.”
Rich laughed again, fingering the ticket for the thousand dollars he’d put on Pride’s nose. “That’s what you think, darling. Old Richie’s hunches always pay off.”
“Oh, God.” Kelsey still had her hands covering her mouth. Toward the end she’d nearly given in to the urge to place them over her eyes. “He did it! He won!” On a whoop of laughter she tossed her arms around Naomi. “Congratulations! It’s just the prelude to the Derby. I can feel it.”
“So can I.” Naomi squeezed back hard, ignoring the sudden intrusion of cameras and press. “Come with me to the winner’s circle. I want you with me.”
“You couldn’t keep me away.” She swung back to Gabe. For someone who’d just lost by half a length, he looked awfully pleased with himself. “Your colt ran a good race.”
“He did. Yours ran better.” He tugged the braid that rained down her back. “This time. See you at dinner.”
The victory glow wasn’t allowed to distract anyone from the job at hand. They’d stay in Kentucky until after the Derby, moving from Keeneland to Churchill Downs.
Dawn still meant workouts, clockers, black coffee, and trainers watching from the backside rail.
Only this was the Derby. Workouts were no longer a private affair. Even as exercise boys roused themselves from bed, reporters were setting up equipment. Television, newspapers, magazines all wanted features; all wanted that definitive interview, that perfect picture.
Kelsey knew what hers would have been.
The soft dawn, that most magical time for horse and horseman, with mist rising, blurring color, muffled sound. And the signature twin spires of the track spearing up through it. Tubs of hot water added steam. Birds sang their morning song.
Spring had come to Louisville, but there was still a vague chill at this hour, bracing, exciting. It touched off more white steam from the flanks and shoulders of horses returning from a gallop. Pampered and pushed, they slipped through the mists as magically as any Pegasus rising from hooves to wings.
But they were athletes. It was easy to forget that these half-ton creatures balanced on breadstick legs had been born to run.
Of the thousands of Thoroughbreds foaled every year, only a few, a special few, would ever walk through the morning fog at this track, on this week. Only one would stand on Saturday with a blooming blanket of red roses over its glistening back.
Grooms carried the tubs and the wrappings, moving through the thinning swirl among the horses while the sun streamed softly, burning away the dawn, turning dew to diamonds. A cat meowed, boot heels crunched. And then the sound of hooves on dirt, eerily disembodied at first, then growing, swelling as the grayish mists parted like water, a colt swimming through them.
That was her picture, the memory Kelsey would take with her, quiet and comforting amid all the colors and the pageantry.
“What are you doing?”
Kelsey said nothing at first, simply took Gabe’s hand in hers. She should have known he would walk into the scene and make himself part of the memory. “Taking a picture. I don’t want all this to get lost with the parties and the press and the pressure.”
“You’re up early for someone who couldn’t have gotten to bed before two.”
“Who can sleep?”
In answer, Gabe nodded toward a stableboy who was leaning back against the barn wall, dozing. She laughed and took a deep gulp of air, swallowing the scents of horse, liniment, leather, manure.
“It’s too new to me. I saw your jockey working Double this morning. They looked good.”
“I saw you, leaning on the backstretch rail. You looked good.”
“I don’t know how you have the energy to flirt with all that’s going on. This is like Mardi Gras, a Kiwanian convention, and the Super Bowl rolled into one.” She began to walk. “Parades, hot-air balloon races, owners’ dinners, trainers’ dinners. That steamboat race yesterday. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I won five thousand.”
She snorted. “Figures. Who was foolish enough to bet against you?”
He grinned. “Moses.”
She tugged down the brim of her cap. “Well, with his ten percent of Saturday’s purse, he can afford it.”
“You’re getting cocky, darling.”
“I’ve always been cocky. You’re going to the museum for the draw, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He hadn’t missed the drawing of the field in five years. His presence, or lack of it, would make no difference as to which position his colt was assigned, but it was his colt. “There’s breakfast in the old paddock before. Hungry?”
Moaning, she pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’ve done more grazing than a holstein since I got to Louisville. I think I’ll skip it. If you . . .” She trailed off, noting his attention had wandered. No, she realized; it was more than that. It had focused, frozen, beamed in like a laser on something back at the shedrow. “Something wrong?”
“No.” For an instant he’d thought he’d seen his father. That familiar swagger, the pastel suit so out of place among denim and cotton. But it had been only a glimpse. And surely Rich Slater wouldn’t be wandering around the barns at Churchill Downs at an hour past dawn. “No,” he said again, and shook off the automatic dread. “If you don’t want to eat, come watch me.”
He didn’t think any more about it. Before the morning was over, Gabe was busy analyzing his colt’s number-three position with Jamison and his jockey.
“We got the rail.” Kelsey stood with Boggs in the barn, nibbling on one of the apples she had in her pockets while the old groom hooked wraps on a line. “It’s a sign from God.”
Boggs took one of the clothespins clipped to his pant leg and meticulously hooked
a royal blue wrap. “I figure God watches the Derby, like everybody. Probably got His favorite.” He ran his fingers over a saddle, well worn, the irons rubbed and polished by his own hand. “I might just put some of these dead presidents I got in my pocket down on that colt.”
“I thought you never bet.”
“Don’t.” With the same slow care, he draped a blanket over the line. “Not since April ’73.”
He shot her a look to see if she realized that was the year her mother had killed Alec Bradley. When there was nothing in her eyes but mild interest, he continued.
“Was at Keeneland, too. Over to Lexington for the Stakes race. Three Willows had a Derby hopeful then, too. Fine colt. I loved that colt more’n I ever loved a woman. Name was Sun Spot. I guess I got me a fever, ’cause I put a month’s pay on him. He came out of the gate like a whirlwind, like he could already see the wire. At the first turn, the colt beside him stumbled, bumped him hard. Spot went down. Knew as soon as I saw him go he’d not race again. Shattered his near foreleg. Nothing to do but put him down. Your ma put the gun behind his ear herself. Was her colt, and she cried when she did it, but she did what had to be done.” He sighed, gustily. “So I ain’t never bet since. Maybe it’s bad luck if I do.”
She put an arm around Boggs and together they studied the tools of his trade, the drying wrappings, the blinkers, the blankets and cotton padding. “Nothing’s going to happen to Pride.”
He nodded, taking the apple Kelsey offered him. “It’s a mistake to love a horse, Miss Kelsey.” He polished the apple on his shirt and handed it back to her. “They break your heart one way or another.”
She only smiled, tossed the apple up, caught it. “Is this for me, Boggs, or for Pride?”
His gummy grin split his face. “He does like his apples.”
