Racing Hearts (18 page)

T
rip pulled into his garage and dropped his head against the steering wheel, so angry at himself he contemplated driving back to Annie-Jean's and begging Emery on his hands and knees for forgiveness. He'd done exactly what he'd fought all night last night not to do, and the shit of it was, it had nothing to do with Emery losing and everything to do with
why
she lost and the repercussions of that loss.

Beckett had all but tied a weight around her, dragging her down. It was a miracle she hadn't lost sooner. Then her mother called, and it was done. He could see it in her face, but he thought the strong, feisty woman he knew would put it aside to race. But that Emery wasn't the real Emery. Inside, she aimed to please, craved it, and without Beckett's approval and support, she'd slowly and painfully become a half version of herself. He should have seen this coming.

What's worse, he already had three missed calls from his father. He knew he'd seen the race, knew he'd talked to Sarah Anderson and already put it in motion to have Marcus ride Craving Wind instead of Emery. The thought hit him so hard he felt breathless. How the hell had he lost control so completely?

Feeling like avoidance was the medicine of the hour, he pushed out of his truck and into his house to find a game playing on the widescreen and his brothers both kicked back on his leather sofa.

“Get out,” he said, ignoring them as he made his way to the shower, hoping he could burn away some of this guilt.

“Now, now,” Alex said, standing. “We brought beer.” He went into the kitchen, and Trip heard him crack open a can, then return and pass it to him. Still fuming, he gripped the beer and nearly threw it against the wall.

Nick was to him then, always the calm brother. “Dude, when did it happen?”

Trip's heart clenched tight. “What? Don't tell me they already fired her.”

Nick shook his head. “Nah . . . not yet.”

Trip cursed, walking away for fear he might lose it. He lived and breathed by a certain life order—control and patience and intellect cured all. But he couldn't talk his way out of this, couldn't order someone to do something, couldn't think of a single damn way to save her from this misery. And the realization nearly broke him in half.

“Damn.”

Trip glanced over to find both his brothers staring at him, Nick with sympathetic eyes, Alex with a touch of disgust. “What are you two barking about? Spill it already.”

“You love her,” Nick said, his voice low, like he was revealing a secret.

“I . . .” But all Trip could do was trail off, because he knew with certainty that he didn't simply love Emery Carlisle. He worshipped her, needed her to breathe, to feel whole. And now he wasn't sure how to be the man he'd always been. Who was Trip Hamilton? The old him was nothing, emotionless and closed off. He didn't want to be that man anymore, yet he knew he'd not only lost Emery's trust but as soon as she heard she wouldn't ride Craving Wind in the Kentucky Derby, she'd never speak to him again. She'd blame him. And she'd be right.

His gaze fell helplessly on his brothers, the two people in the world who understood how hard this was for him. “What do I do?”

Alex opened his mouth, likely to spout out something smart, but Nick hit him in the chest before he could continue. “Hey!”

“Well,” Nick said. “No one needs your opinion.” And then he turned to Trip. “You tell her. You open your heart wide and tell her. And then, when you're done telling her, tell her about Craving Wind before someone else does. Because we tend to forget all the reasons we have to forgive someone when we're at our worst.”

“Will she hear me out? Will she forgive me for not telling her sooner?”

Nick shrugged and took a long pull from his beer. “No clue. But you'll never know standing here talking to us.”

Trip hesitated, and Nick took a step closer. “Look, I know we messed up your love life for you. Screwed up the way you see it.”

“Hey!” Alex called for the second time, but with one look from the brothers, his shoulders fell and he sighed. “All right, fine. So I'm not exactly the poster child for relationships.”

“Understatement.” Nick laughed. “But here's the thing, Trip, at least we're trying. I know I lost Brit, but I'd do it all over again if I could. So would Dad. We don't regret falling in love just because we lost the ones we loved. Talk to her, man. You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't.”

All the convincing he needed. Trip grabbed his keys off the counter and started for the door as his cell rang. Most of the time he'd ignore it, but Mama V rarely called him. He hit Answer on the phone as he jumped into his truck. “Hamilton.”

“Honey, are you home?” she whispered.

Trip's eyebrows drew together. Mama V spoke in one tone—loud. For her to whisper, something had to be wrong. Very wrong. “What happened, V?”

“You need to get down to the barn. Fast.”

“Can you explain?”

“Just . . . hurry.”

He threw the truck in reverse and sped down the road, a thousand thoughts going through his head. Had something happened to one of the broodmares while foaling? Had something happened to his father? No. She would've called his brothers, too, and she wanted him down at the barn, which could only mean one thing.

Stepping on it, he made the last turn toward the main barn, spotting Emery's Jeep parked outside, and then his gaze fell on the scene—Mama V wringing her hands. Clark and half the others on the farm standing around, tense. And Emery and Marcus standing off, shouting at each other, their faces so close it was amazing no one had thrown a punch yet.

Dammit!

Trip threw the truck in park and jumped out, slamming the door and racing over. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted as he reached them, and then Emery turned, her face full of pain. She knew.

He took a step back, the weight of her stare too much for him to stand in, but she deserved more than a coward. He opened his mouth to say he was sorry, to ask her to come talk—anything—when she tossed up her hand.

“Don't. Don't you dare.” And the hurt combined with the words, so close to the ones she'd used when they were together, sent him reeling.

“Emery, please.”

“Guess screwing the boss didn't get you very far after all,” Marcus said, and unable to hold his temper another second, Trip stormed him, tossing him into a stable door, ready to punch, before Clark stepped between them, urging Trip back.

“Stop. Take a breath,” Clark said.

Trip stared at his assistant trainer, his friend, his breathing heavy, and then his gaze fell on Emery, walking away.

“Emery!” he called, but she wasn't stopping. Not for anybody, certainly not for him. He reached her and skidded in front of her, his arms out to stop her. “Please, listen . . .”

“Did you know?” she asked, a hint of hope in her eyes. “Tell me you didn't know.”

Hanging his head, he stepped back and put his hands on his hips, sure if he didn't put them somewhere they'd betray him and reach out to the woman he loved. Damn, how had he messed this up when he'd just gotten her back? With incredible will, he lifted his eyes, pushing aside the need to protect himself. This wasn't about him. “Yes.”

She spun on her heels. “That's all I needed to know.”

“No, let me explain. Sarah Anderson, she—”

“I lost one race, Trip. One! You're the trainer. They hire you, not me. They listen to you, not the other way around.” Her eyes found the ground, her teeth working at her bottom lip, and God if he didn't feel like the piece of shit he was. “Did you even try?” Tear-filled eyes found him. “Did you fight for me?”

He tried to draw a breath and failed. “I . . .”

“That's what I thought.”

And then she was in her Jeep, and all he could do was stare as she drove away.

“D
arlin', you're gonna have to move to another drug. Vodka, maybe?” Annie said, passing over a slice of freshly made peach cobbler. “I'm all out of sugar.”

Emery dug her fork into the cobbler, stuffing far more into her mouth than her mama would find appropriate, and lay back on the couch, ignoring the memories of Trip and her on that very couch, everything so perfect. Why couldn't it stay that way? The two of them lost in each other, her heart floating somewhere high above.

“I can get behind some vodka.” Kate pushed her own fork into the cobbler and moaned loudly as she slowly enjoyed the dessert. “Annie, you've got a gift. Did you sell your soul or something? Nobody makes desserts like this.”

Annie beamed over at them, until her gaze landed on Emery, staring at the TV but not at all seeing it. “Heavens, child, you're going to make
me
cry, and I vowed to stop crying in 1995.”

Kate slumped against her and wrapped her tightly in a hug. “We just need to find you another trainer, another horse.”

The thought made Emery want to sob, because it wasn't about the Kentucky Derby. She wanted to ride Craving Wind . . . and she wanted Trip to feel she was the best rider for him, that no one else could ride Craving Wind the way she could ride him. Instead, she'd lost one race and he'd turned on her completely.

“I think I'm ready for that vodka now.” Emery held out her empty plate to Annie, and with only a moment of hesitation, she shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with drinks for each of them. “Okay, but no puking on this rug. It's new.”

Kate passed Emery a glass and then sat back against the couch beside her. “I don't want to make it worse, but what happened at the track, Em? Why did you lose?”

“You can't win every race.”

“No, but something tells me it's more than that. I'm not asking why someone loses. I'm asking why
you
lost.”

Emery closed her eyes, remembering the way her helmet strap had cut into her chin, her shirt tight against her chest. Air had flown past her, yet she couldn't seem to find a breath. “I just . . . I felt like I was suffocating. I kept thinking about Daddy, and how hard he's worked for me all these years. He helped me become a rider, taught me how to race. He's the reason I won the Kentucky Oaks two years ago, and why I would have won it a second time if not for the accident. He believed in me.” She choked on a sob, emotions rising from her chest. “And what sucks the most is, I turned my back on him only to ride for Trip, who clearly never believed in me. And to think I thought I . . .” She shook her head, not wanting to admit it out loud now that things had changed so completely.

“Thought what?” Kate asked, setting her glass on the coffee table.

Emery stared down at the phone in her hand, the three missed calls from Trip and two text messages asking her to call him. “Thought I loved him.”

“Oh, God, Em . . .”

“It's okay, really. It wasn't meant to be.”

Kate hiccupped, then took another long sip of her drink. “Just like me and Alex.”

“Oh, no.” Emery gripped her hand. “I thought you went out again and it went well.”

She blew a stray red curl from her eyes. “Yeah, if well means a guy patting you on the back and saying, ‘See you next time, champ.'”

“He didn't.”

“He did. He champed me.”

Emery clinked her glass against her friend's. “To us, and to never falling for guys who don't love us. I mean, I probably didn't really love him anyway. You can't really love someone who doesn't love you back. Surely love doesn't work that way.”

Annie leaned against the wall in the family room and crossed her arms. “You are so stupid.”

Both Emery and Kate's heads snapped up. “What?”

“Of course you love him, Em. And he loves you. You could see it plain on his face whenever he was around you. And now he's called you numerous times, sent texts. I'm surprised I don't have delivery guys pounding on my door with obnoxious floral arrangements.”

“But he—”

Annie tossed up her hands. “I know what he did. You've told me at least ten times now, but when you've lived as long as I have, you start seeing things in levels of importance. Seeing the truth behind actions. Don't you see? He got angry with you for the loss because he knew what it meant. He knew you'd get pulled from that horse you loved and it tore him apart, so he lashed out. Was it right? Hell no. But he's a man. They never act the way they should when we want them to. Their brains are installed with screwup software at birth.”

Could Annie be right?

The clock on the mantel hit five, and Emery's heart stilled. Right now, Marcus was riding Craving Wind, breaking from the gate and feeling all the wonder of Craving Wind's ability. Emery had never ridden such a horse, and she suspected neither had Marcus. But now he would, and maybe even better than she had. And Trip would be there, ready to congratulate them in the winner's circle. Not her.

She slumped down into the couch, pulling her ratty robe tighter around her. “I need a stronger drink.” Emery toyed with the phone in her hand, desperate to hear Trip's voice, for him to confirm everything Annie had said, but she knew Trip. He was an amazing trainer. He wouldn't pull her from Craving Wind unless he truly felt another jockey could do a better job.

Annie brought a fresh round of drinks, then two, then five, and before she knew it, she and Kate were two sheets to the wind, dancing along to the Dixie Chicks' “Cowboy Take Me Away,” blasting from the Vevo channel from Annie's Roku. Thank God for Rokus, and the Vevo channel, and the Dixie Chicks, who knew exactly what she needed to hear. And what happened to the Dixie Chicks, anyway? Probably got screwed by some man who told them some other singer could sing about cowboys and getting taken away better than them. And who did that man think he was, telling them someone else could sing cowboys better? No one sung cowboys better than the Dixie Chicks! Even though, Emery thought, this was their only song actually
about
cowboys, but still! They did it best, and they didn't need some stupid man telling them to stop!

In fact . . .

Emery swiped her phone off the coffee table and scrolled until she found Trip's name, and then clicked the little Phone icon and then Speaker, 'cause she wasn't 100 percent sure she could hold the phone steady against her ear. The phone rang two and a half times before—

“Emery?”

“You can't tell me not to sing about cowboys.”

“Um . . . okay.”

“And just because they only wrote the one song about cowboys doesn't mean they aren't experts on cowboys. One doesn't mean a thing. They are experts. They're the
best
at cowboys.”

“Yeah!” Kate called out for emphasis. “The best!”

“Emery, how much have you had to drink?”

“We're not talking about drinking. We're talking about cowboys, and how you men try to tell us we can't do it. But we can. And the Dixie Chicks can. And, and . . . I can.” A strangled cry broke from her lips, and if not for the alcohol, Emery would have screamed at herself. But there was no stopping this. “You didn't believe in me.”

Her cry was met with a moment of silence; then he said, “You're wrong. No one believes in you like I do. I can't take back what's happened, and I won't blame you if you never forgive me. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry, and no matter who you race for, no matter whose colors you wear, I'll be rooting for you.”

Emery hung up before she did something stupid, like confess how much she missed him. Or, worse, how much she loved him. Because loving someone who didn't believe in you was worse than loving no one at all. And despite what he'd said, she knew how he really felt. She set her phone down and peered up to find both Annie and Kate staring at her.

“Em . . .”

“Stop,” Emery said, holding up a hand and nearly knocking herself off balance.

“Annie's right. He loves you.”

Emery fell back against the couch, her eyes on the Dixie Chicks, her mind on only one cowboy. “No. If he loved me, he would have told me the truth. He wouldn't have let me find out from Marcus the asshole. I'm just a silly girl who fell for the wrong man. Twice!”

Only he didn't feel like the wrong man. He got her, understood what made her tick, and that alone was enough to make her wish to be with him for the rest of her life. But him seeing her wasn't the same thing as him loving her. Love was putting a person first, protecting her, and being honest even when it was hard.

“All right, enough of this,” Annie said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I'm not nursing two drunks. Sober up. We're going out.”

Kate fist pumped the air. “Yes! Let's go out!” Then her forehead crinkled and she turned to Annie. “But there aren't any bars in town.”

A glint of wickedness flashed in Emery's aunt's eyes. “No. But I know of one that'll be perfect. Go get dressed.”

Before Emery could argue—not that she was sober enough to try—Annie had them over in Triple Run, parking outside Rudy's. “All righty, we're here.”

Emery craned her neck and then straightened in her seat. “I'm not going anywhere near there.”

“Why? Trip's at that stakes race, right? He's not even in town. Plus, I know the owner, and he'll give us a deal on drinks.”

Or make virgin ones without telling us
, Emery thought. But the truth was, she wanted to go inside, wanted be here in Triple Run among Trip's people, like she was a part of his life, which was maybe the most pathetic thing she'd ever thought in her life.

“Come on, Em,” Kate said. “It can't be that bad, and it's the closest bar to home. You won't even see anyone you know.”

Emery peered back up at the sign and then down the sidewalk, but there was no one especially out, so what was the harm? Plus, she felt bad for her aunt and her best friend, doing their best to cheer her up and her being more than a little difficult. She owed it to them to put her misery aside—or at least to go along.

“All right, fine, but if Mama V's in there, I'm walking.”

“Who's Mama V?” Annie asked as she opened the door to the bar, then stopped cold as her gaze landed on someone by the bar.

Emery followed her glare to see Patty there, laughing with the older man behind the bar, who Emery could only assume to be Rudy. “Uh-oh, now who's running?”

“I don't do running.” Annie
wasn't
one to run, but she hadn't taken a step either.

“I heard you. But I haven't seen you move either.”

Annie glared at her only niece, then pushed in front of her and strode toward the bar, and Emery thought maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to joke with her after all. Annie might be an amazing person, but like any good Southern woman, she turned into a raging bitch if pushed too far.

With a sidelong look at Kate, Emery followed her on inside, thankful Annie chose a four-top table close to the bar but on the opposite side from Patty.

People stood all around, watching a game on the widescreens around the room, the chatter making it hard to hear anyone else or pay attention to those around them. Which was why Emery didn't see Alex Hamilton until he stood right in front of her.

“Hey there,” he said, flashing a smile because this was Alex, and his face was set permanently in flirt mode. She tried not to take it personally.

“What do you want, Alex?”

He started to answer, but his gaze shifted to Emery's right. “Kate.”

“Yep. That's my name,” Kate said.

Alex peered from her to Emery. “You're drunk.”

“So, what's it to you?” Emery and Kate said at the same time, then broke into laughter. They'd always thought the same way. Clearly that particular aspect of their friendship emerged when they were drunk.

“It's a lot to me,” he said, and Kate blinked, staring at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Emery rolled her eyes, wishing they'd leave and get a room or whatever, so she could drink whiskey and listen to Carrie Underwood singing about smashing in her cheating boyfriend's truck.

Finally, Alex pulled away from Kate, but the smile he'd used on her was still in place. She bet he used that weapon everywhere he went. Like Trip, he had the same tall, strong build and wavy brown hair, but his had streaks of blond mixed into it, setting off the flecks of gold in his green eyes. His jeans and shirt were a little too I-rolled-out-of-bed perfect, which made Emery think behind the carefree facade was a guy who genuinely cared what others thought of him.

Unlike Trip.

Trip was the definition of self-actualized. He knew himself, respected who that person was, and never let anyone get in the way of it. It was part of what had attracted her to him all those years ago, when she was a girl watching him learn to be the great trainer he became. Only he didn't train like her daddy trained. He'd created his own style; a mix of others maybe, or maybe all Trip Hamilton. It was like magic watching him work. Everything about him was so—

“Wow.”

Her gaze snapped up to find Kate and Alex both watching her. “What?” She peered around, unsure if she'd missed something.

“I thought it was just him.”

“What was just him?”

Alex's smirk rose to take up his face, and Emery thought she didn't really like him or his well-bred Southern charm so much.