“Look at me.”
She gritted her teeth. “Shameless is coming.” She tried to concentrate on the filly’s stride as Shameless galloped past, but it was impossible. Inside, she was quaking.
“She’s gone. Now look at me.”
Reluctantly, she faced him. Worry lines creased his forehead, and his jaw was set like stone. “Did you call the sheriff?”
“Yes. He thought it was a prank.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You’ve seen the security guard.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.
“It had nothing to do with you.”
“Oh?”
“It isn’t your business,” Dakota replied as coldly as she could and wheeled her horse around.
“Why are you so mad at me? Because I kissed you?” he called out.
She stiffened, realized that her legs were shaking.
“Don’t get so bent out of shape, McAllister. It was just a kiss.”
She rode out to meet Shameless and led her back to the barn. The words she’d been longing to say all morning now tasted like ashes in her mouth.
Lucy loved the Mountain Oyster Club. If she were rich, she’d come here every day.
She bet the members of the Mountain Oyster Club never had to worry about someone shutting off their electricity or getting caught by some cop for not having registration tags. She bet they didn’t have any problems at all.
Lucy stared at the western paintings on the walls, the photographs of racehorses. The motto of the club was “cervesa y huevos para todos”—beer and balls for everyone—and the red carpet in the front room was patterned with bull balls and beer bottles. Totally lewd. She guessed rich people could get away with stuff other people couldn’t. Her dad would be so jealous. He’d never made it to the Mountain Oyster Club.
Dakota must know everyone here, all the wealthy and powerful racehorse owners, big-time lawyers and judges, the ranchers, the politicians, their wives. People were constantly touching Dakota’s arm and telling her how sorry they were about Coke. Lucy wished she was that popular. She could make people like her if she tried, but it was always an effort because she had to pretend. Pretending was easy; it was keeping it up that was such a bitch.
Too bad they’d had to leave Sonoita so late because of Ernesto’s last ride. He kept trying to get her attention, pointing out stuff that she’d already seen, but she ignored him, even when he tapped her arm.
Lucy watched Dakota talk animatedly to a guy at another table. God, she wished she were like her. Beautiful, poised, rich. Dakota owned a champion racehorse, even if it hadn’t raced yet. Dad would never be able to touch a horse like that. And Dakota had a boyfriend who was the handsomest man in Sonoita. Not to mention that beautiful ranch. Dakota said that when it warmed up, she and Ernesto could go swimming. And of course, this summer Dakota would take her to Ruidoso. This time she wouldn’t have to stay in the trailer. She bet Dakota would let her stay with her at the cabin, like she and Dad had done that summer before Coke fired him.
And maybe she and Dakota could be friends, real friends. She’d never had a friend before—never even felt the need for one—but she could see that being friends with Dakota would be fun.
Ernesto, of course, would always be hanging around. That was the downside. Dakota liked to include him, and Lucy didn’t want to be shut out of doing things, so she went along.
The waitress set down a basket of crisply baked garlic toast. Lucy closed her eyes and chewed some, even though she knew her dad wanted her to watch her weight. God, what heaven! She loved food. She had four more of them, taking the last two when no one was looking.
Suddenly, she noticed Dakota stiffen. Following her gaze, Lucy saw Clay and Rita DeWeil come in. They didn’t notice Dakota and sat in the same room. After they were seated, Clay saw them and waved.
Dakota looked like she’d been hit by a truck. Not long after that, she excused herself and went to the bathroom. Worried, Lucy followed her.
Dakota was sitting on one of the green-and-white dressing table chairs before the mirror. She shook out two aspirin from a tiny bottle and dry-swallowed them.
“Are you all right?” Lucy asked.
Dakota glanced up into the mirror and smiled. “I’m fine. Just a little headache.”
“I could get you a cup of water.”
“No, I already swallowed them. I’m okay.” She grinned. “Funny room, isn’t it?”
Lucy glanced around, but saw nothing funny about it. It was exactly the kind of bathroom she’d have if she were rich; a princess’s room, with wire-backed dresser stools and draperies and lots of fresh white paint on the walls. “Why aren’t we sitting with Clay?”
“He’s entertaining someone else.”
“She’s not as pretty as you.”
Dakota didn’t reply.
“He’s been looking at you ever since they came in. I think he’d rather be sitting with you than her.”
“Your imagination’s working overtime.”
“I could talk to them. Maybe they’d come sit with us.”
Dakota smiled. “Thank you, but I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I heard her order the mountain oysters.” Lucy giggled. “She’ll probably throw up when she finds out what they are.”
“I could do without that picture.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said quickly. “It’s just that I don’t like her. I like you.”
Dakota sighed. “I should be flattered, but you don’t have to choose between us. You can like her, too.”
But Lucy had a feeling Dakota was secretly pleased. People cared about stuff like that. “If you want me to like her, I will,” she added helpfully.
“That’s not the point. I can’t tell you how to feel about someone.”
“I don’t mind. You’ve been so good to me, hiring me even though my dad hates you. I’d do anything for you, including be nice to her.” Dakota was about to argue, but Lucy kept going. “You’re the nicest person I ever met. You’re even nice to her, when she’s trying to snag your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Lucy grinned. “You’d like him to be.”
Dakota was staring at her with a puzzled, not-so-friendly look on her face.
She’d said the wrong thing again. Sometimes she’d be going along, really impressing someone, and then boom! The wrong word would pop out of her mouth, and she’d get that strange look from people, like she had horns or something. She rushed on. “I saw a movie about people who were married once and got divorced. Fifteen years later, they met again and fell in love, got married, and lived happily ever after. I think that’s what’ll happen to you and Clay.”
“Lucy, we are not getting back together. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want you to talk about it to anyone either.”
“Yeah, okay.” Lucy took the hint and changed the subject. “These cartoons are really funny.” She nodded to the bulletin board.
Dakota laughed, her annoyance gone. “Yeah, they are. I like the one about the bull.”
They left the bathroom, passing the table where Rita and Clay were sitting. Clay glanced up just as the waitress set down their plates. “Dakota! Lucy.”
Rita looked green. “Clay,” Lucy heard her say. “These aren’t oysters.”
“I told you you wouldn’t like them.”
“What are they, then?”
Lucy winked at Dakota, who was staring at Rita, too. “They’re scrotums,” Lucy said. “You know the railroad tracks down the street? Transients are always getting run over by trains. Their balls are a real delicacy.”
“Lucy,” Dakota warned.
Rita looked horrified. Was she dumb enough to believe that?
“She’s just joking,” Dakota said.
Clay took a swallow of his beer. “Well, she’s half right.”
Lucy could tell he was getting a kick out of it. “They’re really horse nuts,” she volunteered. “You see the raceh
orses on the walls? Their owners get so attached to ‘em they want to stuff ‘em, but it’s too expensive, so they eat their—”
“Come on, Lucy, let’s leave them to their lunch.”
“Makes ‘em virile,” Lucy called back.
When they sat down again, they both laughed until their sides split. Even Ernesto laughed, too, although he only half understood the joke.
“Lucy, how in the world do you come up with these things? I swear, you’re the smoothest liar I ever saw.”
“She deserved it,” Lucy said.
Rita sent a few smoldering glances their way, but it didn’t bother Lucy. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
The seminar was as dry as dust. The speaker droned on about the threat of Indian gaming to the racetrack industry, but Rita wasn’t listening. She didn’t understand what he was talking about anyway. Or care.
She glanced at Clay. She could feel his forearm against her own, solid through the crisp material of his shirt. Even through her veil of depression, Rita felt the shock of pleasure race up her arm—goose bumps. She knew so well the things he could do with those strong fingers. It couldn’t be over. Being near him again made her more determined than ever to get him back.
Yesterday might not have happened at all. She tried to block it from her mind. Clay was with her now, wasn’t he?
He crossed his arms. His body was tilted away from her, leaving the armrest empty. Was he here with her against his will, because last week he’d promised to take her to the seminar? Because she’d called and told him her car was in the shop? Because she finally wore him down with her begging? The desperate fear flared up inside her like a hot wind, and she saw his face in her mind’s eye.
Rita, we need to talk.
The way he’d taken her hands in his, the serious look in his eyes. Some sixth sense had told her what he was going to say even before he even spoke. It’s time we saw other people.
What do you mean?
I think you know. We both knew this day would come.
Clay shifted in his seat, his face still turned away. The man at the podium talked about something called “handle.” Rita bit her lip; her lipstick tasted like crayon.
Oh? Well, maybe you’d better spell it out for me.
It’s time to move on. Not see each other so much.
You’re a conceited son of a bitch, do you know that, Clay? What makes you think I even want you anymore? That had been bravado, pure and simple.
If I got things wrong, I apologize.
His voice had been so damn calm. There wasn’t a shred of emotion in it. That was what made her lose control. She’d screamed, railed at him, pleaded, cried, made a fool of herself in front of everyone in the track parking lot. He stood like a stone, absorbing all of it. Nothing could move him.
She glared at Dakota, who sat two rows in front of them. It was obvious that Clay would rather be with her.
He had somehow deluded himself into thinking he could start over with his ex-wife. It would never work out. Dakota had made it clear she didn’t love him anymore. Clay was infatuated, not really in love. Once Dakota was gone, he’d come back down to earth. And realize where his real affection lay.
She had already tried to get rid of Dakota, but so far, it hadn’t worked. It seemed the woman was here to stay.
Unless . . . Rita’s lips thinned with determination. She’d just have to think of something else.
By the time Dakota, Ernesto, and Lucy reached the Tanners’ trailer, it was dark. Tanner’s truck was gone. Lucy said he’d be either at the Steak Out or the Cowpony Bar and Grill.
“How does he afford to go out every night?”
“Veteran’s disability pension,” Lucy replied with chilling matter-of-factness. “It buys a lot of booze.”
No wonder she was so strange, having a father who deserted her every night to get drunk while their place fell down around their ears.
“You want to come in?” Lucy asked.
“I’d better get Ernesto home.”
“I could fix us some grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“I can’t.” There was no way Dakota wanted to spend any time in that trailer. It gave her the creeps.
“I guess I don’t blame you,” Lucy said, glancing meaningfully at the mess in the yard. Dakota followed her gaze. The junk was distributed differently, but it was still junk.
As Dakota drove away, she felt a pang of guilt. Tanner was a real bastard, but it shouldn’t make a difference how she felt about his daughter. The girl probably detested living in such squalor. Would it have hurt to eat one grilled cheese sandwich in less-than-pristine surroundings?
But deep down, Dakota was reluctant to encourage Lucy’s all-too-obvious adoration. Hadn’t she already betrayed the girl’s confidence by sneaking around Jerry’s truck, looking for evidence that he’d killed Coke? It was possible that down the road, Tanner might be arrested for Coke’s murder. How would Lucy feel about her then?
Dakota couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t pay to get too close to the Tanner family. Coke had learned that the hard way.
TWENTY-ONE
At three years old, Viento Prieto—Spanish for Dark Wind—was already a Grade 1 stakes winner. Yet as he and Shameless made their way to the track, the experienced black colt was the fractious one. He pranced and shied and generally made a fool of himself. Shameless walked beside him, not a hint of nervousness in her springy stride. She reminded Dakota of a beauty contestant parading before her audience, well aware of the weight of her crown and its sundry responsibilities. She might have been born an adult.
Maybe Shameless had a precocious nature, but physically she was still a baby. A baby with fragile legs and a desire to run full out.
As Dakota sat Tyke near the stands, she tried to stem the nervousness rising in her chest. She always prepared herself for the worst every time Shameless worked. It was the way the filly ran that both scared and exhilarated her. Shameless had a peculiar straight-up-and-down gait that appeared inefficient, but covered the ground in a phenomenally fast time. Dakota winced as she thought of her own fingers drumming as hard as they could against wood. Shameless ran like that.
The clocker, standing nearby, asked the names of the horses to be worked. “Viento Prieto and Shameless,” Clay called out, urging his palomino closer to Tyke. “Scared?”
“I feel like a parent dropping off her kid for the first day at kindergarten.”
“She’ll do all right.”
“You really think so? She runs so hard.”
“She’s matured faster than most two-year-olds. It’s in her bloodlines.”
It was odd how comforting Clay’s voice could be. Dakota realized how much she was beginning to depend on him; his presence, his advice, his many offers of help. She knew that her increasing reliance on him was dangerous, given her feelings.
At least he didn’t flirt with her anymore. She wondered if he was still seeing Rita. Rita hadn’t come to the track in over a week. Dakota wanted to ask Clay about it, but that would be prying. And it really was none of her business.
But the fact was, she still wanted him. Even a kid like Lucy could see through her. No wonder Clay had thought she was easy pickings.
Clay glanced over. Dakota blushed. Concentrate on the filly, she told herself sternly.
This was Shameless’s first of two works that must be done in the company of another horse. The racetrack required two “works in company” of every horse that had not previously started in a race. Clay was nice enough to run Viento Prieto with Shameless, although at the moment Dakota wished she’d waited for a day when he was working one of his two-year-olds.
The two horses started out at a slow gallop, just before the far turn. Dakota lifted her binoculars as they picked up speed. She didn’t expect much from Shameless, not running against an experienced three-year-old who had already won a stakes race.
They came at a fast gallop around the turn and headed for home. Now was the time. Dakota saw Ernesto
hunch over the filly’s neck and let the reins out a notch, asking her. She jack-rabbited forward.
“Holy Jesus!” Dakota heard the clocker mutter.
One second Shameless had been running alongside Viento Prieto, picking up speed, matching him stride for stride. The next, she took off like a rocket.
“That filly just hit Mach 1!” the clocker said.
Dakota could only look on in a mixture of panic and awe.
It was obvious that Ernesto had been taken by surprise. He sensed her killing speed almost immediately and tried to take back, jamming his feet forward for leverage. Standing in the stirrups, he wrestled to get the bit back from the headstrong filly. Shameless would have none of it. She churned up the track with her explosive, punishing stride, one length ahead of Viento Prieto and widening as they headed into the first turn again.
Viento Prieto was running full out, his ears pinned back as he tried to catch the filly. The pounding of his hooves only spurred her on.
“He’s got to stop her!” Dakota cried. But she knew there was nothing she could do. She was too far away to help,
Viento Prieto was pulling up, his breath coming in loud snorts. With relief, Dakota saw Ernesto slow the filly down, her neck bowed almost to her chest.
“He can’t rate her,” she said. “He’s not strong enough.”
“I think she’s rating herself,” Clay said. “She ran exactly one hundred yards.”
That was the distance she was supposed to work. Dakota stared at the filly in awe. Shameless galloped along at an even pace. From where Dakota stood, the filly didn’t even look tired. How could any horse withstand that punishing pace, let alone a two-year-old?
The clocker pushed his cap back on his head and nodded to Clay. “That colt of yours is a three-year-old, am I right?”
“He won the Sun Country Futurity last year.”
The clocker whistled. “And that filly made mincemeat of him. Me, I had a horse like that, I’d be scared to death.”
Shameless was quickly reaching peak running condition—faster than Dakota thought possible. Trainers who hadn’t given Dakota the time of day were now stopping to talk to her, their eyes blatantly covetous as they looked the filly over. “How’s she doin’ today?” “You gonna be working her any time soon? Let me know.” “What do you feed her, jet fuel?” There was no way Dakota could have kept her filly’s exceptional talent a secret.
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