Racing Hearts (4 page)

 

Trip awoke with a start, the remnants of a dream still clouding his mind. A certain woman. A table. A voice so full of intensity and want that it took his breath away. He groaned as he pushed out of bed, all evidence of just how
involved
the dream had been still showing in his boxers. Damn, how had Emery impacted him so fully after just one call? He blamed his current self-imposed drought. Racing season was upon them, and the last thing he needed was a clingy woman distracting him. He'd made a deal with himself—stay focused on his goal of having one of his horses win, place, or show in every major stakes, and he could celebrate with as many women as he liked.

The problem was, Trip wasn't the many-women kind of guy. He hated the idea of commitment, but he also didn't like the complications of dating around. He preferred to mix with one woman at a time, keep it fun and simple, then move on. At least, that had been his mantra throughout his twenties, but now that he was approaching thirty fast, he'd begun to wonder what he was doing with his life. Didn't he want a wife to hold in his arms after a long day? Didn't he want the quintessential two-point-five kids?

The truth was, he wanted what his parents had, but he'd met enough women to know that women his age had different interests—interests that began with dollar signs. He had only met one woman who possessed the core values he craved—a solid moral compass, unwavering passion, and a drive for more than what his money could buy. And that woman would be at his farm in an hour.

He thought of the last time he'd seen Emery. It had been two years ago in Saratoga, and she'd pretty much become the face of horse racing. An article had just been released in the
New York Post
—“Beauty & the beast, an inside look at racing's newest champion”—and suddenly everyone was talking about Emery and whether she would take the Kentucky Derby. Back then, Trip had done little more than mock her as a marketing ploy, angry that she'd let them present her as a pretty face instead of the athlete she deserved. But one passing moment between them in the backside told him she didn't care what he thought, didn't care about him. He was in her past.

If only he could tuck her away so easily. Instead, she filled his dreams with her long black hair, porcelain skin, and those damn blue eyes.

He turned on the shower at the thought and ran the water as cold as he could handle it in hopes of calming himself down. She would arrive soon, and he wanted to be on his game. He still wasn't sure that he would actually hire her. After all, he had a reputation to consider, and Alex was right. There was talk that she hadn't even gotten back on a horse. He figured the rumors were just that—rumors. But what if they were true? What was he getting himself in to?

Trip pushed out of his house and shut the door, only to turn around and spy his brother sitting in his golf cart, tapping the wheel to a song only he could hear.

“Howdy, brother,” Alex said, continuing his beat. “Thought I'd give you a ride over so we could talk about a few things.”

With hesitation, Trip slipped into the cart and immediately felt like an idiot. He hated being the passenger, hated handing over the controls to someone else. Alex managed to get all the way to the end of the driveway before Trip waved his hands. “Enough. Stop.”

The cart slammed to a halt and Alex peered around. “What? Did I hit something?”

“No; get out.”

“What?”

Trip walked around to the driver's side of the cart. “Get out. I'm driving.”

“You're serious.”

“Don't I look serious? My cart, my rules. Get out.”

Alex shook his head and slid over, motioning dramatically toward the driver's seat. “She's all yours. And something tells me she's not the only
she
.”

Trip stopped in midmotion to getting into the cart. “What did you say?”

It was six thirty in the morning, and already Trip felt like he was running late. He'd yet to have coffee, hadn't taken the time to shave, and knew Clark would already have the morning workouts going. In short, he was in no mood to deal with his brother's shit. He started down the driveway again, ignoring his brother's stare.

“I said—”

The cart jerked to a stop again, lurching both men forward. “I heard what you said. I want to know what you meant.”

Alex made a show of gripping the seat, like he held on for his life. “Should I get out now, before I find myself in a death-by-golf-cart crash?”

“You can say whatever it is you're here to say before I get aggravated and tell Nick about that time you got too drunk and hit on Brit.”

Alex recoiled. “She dyed her hair. I didn't know it was her!”

Trip shrugged. “Somehow I don't think Nick will care.”

“Yeah, well, I've got dirt on you, too, now, so we'll see who's threatening who.”

“Dirt on me how?”

Alex rested back in his seat, relaxing with his newfound power. “I ran into someone this morning at Ms. Patty's. Care to guess who?” At Trip's glare, he continued. “That's right—Emery Carlisle. And not only did she manhandle me into secrecy about her reasons for being in town but she acted every bit as crazy as you did in the meeting yesterday. Seems a little odd, don't you think?”

“Don't know what you mean. And don't care.”

Trip parked the cart beside the barn and started to walk away as Alex matched his step, refusing to let it go. “You know exactly what I mean, and I gotta tell you, this is a bad idea. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed in you.”

“Me?” Trip spun on his brother, growing frustrated and annoyed that he had to explain himself. Again.

Alex grinned, enjoying the fact that his always-responsible big brother was being anything
but
responsible. But then he caught something in Trip's expression, something like fear, and the smile slipped away. “Shit.” He took a step toward Trip, making sure no one was around. “I was just messing with you. I didn't think you really had feelings for her. You don't, right?”

Trip stared down the road, watching as the wind moved through the trees, causing them to stir. He didn't want to answer his brother, didn't want to have this damn conversation at all. Because if he opened his mouth, there were only two possible outcomes—he admitted the truth or he lied to his brother, and he made it a point to be honest with his family.

“Trip.”

Finally, he glanced over, unable to delay any longer. “Look, she'll be here soon, and they need you up at the foaling barn.”

Alex opened his mouth, but one look from Trip had him closing it again. “All right, but just remember, this isn't just your career you're messing with. It's all of us.”

“Like I could forget,” Trip murmured as he continued around to the training ring, eager to lose himself in work before Emery arrived.

Clark had Craving Wind out, getting him ready for Emery to see him, and already the horse looked like it wanted to rear and kick Clark out of the way.

“Trouble?” Trip asked as he neared.

Clark laughed. “Yeah, though by the sound of that conversation you just had, you're in it worse than me.”

“That obvious, huh?” He didn't look over at his assistant trainer and friend. He didn't have to. Clark's thoughts oozed off him, slapping Trip in the face and yelling for him to pull himself together.

“I've known you a long time,” Clark said, “but I've never seen you make a snap decision. Never once seen you act with your heart instead of your head. So what's this really about?”

The colt walked around, seeming thankful for the men's distraction. He'd eaten all his morning feed and had grown well in the weeks Trip had stabled him here, but he couldn't help wondering if the horse would do better at the track.

“Ah, hell.”

Trip shook himself from his thoughts and peered over at Clark. “What?”

“Just tell me now. Is there something going on between you and Emery Carlisle? 'Cause if there is, I'd like to know now so I can start looking for a job before your father axes us all.”

Trip wasn't sure what annoyed him more—Clark's assumption that he'd get involved with an employee and risk all their jobs or his belief that Carter Hamilton had the final say in anything on the farm. Industries? Sure. But the farm was Trip's, through and through, and damn if he'd allow his father to tell him what to do.

“There's nothing going on. Damn, why can't any of y'all believe that I'd hire a female jockey? She's not just good. She's the best female jockey in history. That kind of thing needs to be on my payroll.”

Clark stared at him. “So, that's it then? Just a business decision?”

“It's the only kind I know.”

“All right. Just make sure you keep everything on your terms.”

“What do you mean?”

Clark started toward the colt, clearly hoping to state his peace and leave before he pissed Trip off. “Well, she's a woman, and a looker at that. She's coming here to ask you for a job, not the other way around. She doesn't get to make the demands, you do. Just remember that. Set the terms and keep to them.”

Trip let the advice work through his mind.
Set the terms.
He could do that. Hell, he hadn't seen her in years. The spark between them could long be gone, and then it would be all too easy to treat her like every other jockey. Whose virginity he'd taken. But still. Irrelevant detail.

“Set the terms?”

“Set the terms,” Clark called back, already over to the colt. Trip wanted to step in and micromanage the situation, but Clark didn't need Trip doing that. He was a fine trainer. This colt was just a little more complex, like the woman scheduled to arrive any moment now.

“How's he doing?” Trip asked in an effort to change the subject.

Clark swiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “Stubborn as a mule.”

Trip nodded, taking in the horse. He was a rich chestnut, his mane shiny, his conformation nearly perfect. The horse trotted away from Clark, shaking his head as though to say, “
Not this one again
.” He watched the episode for another solid minute before walking over.

Clark backed away from the horse, giving his boss room, and instantly the colt turned, hyperaware of the new presence in his domain. Taking slow steps, Trip approached him, closer and closer, their eyes locked, until finally he stopped several yards away and lifted his arms out. He nodded for Clark to step out of the gate, then he focused back on the colt. “It's just you and me, boy.” He took another step and the horse squealed, stepping back. Trip focused on his breathing, keeping it steady, and began to lower his arms. The horse reacted immediately, taking another step back. He didn't trust Trip, but he wasn't afraid of him either. That was a good thing.

There were barely any sounds on the farm just yet, everything quiet, the morning just beginning. Trip loved this point in the day, how a world of possibilities lay before him. No two days were the same on the farm, which was the very thing that made him fall in love with it all those years ago. He liked to spend time with every horse, and he had never once turned away a horse because he couldn't train it. There was always a way.

He focused back on the animal before him, stubborn and feisty, so much like Emery, but his conformation and pedigree all but guaranteed a champion. He just needed time. Trip took one long look at him and then stepped back, showing that he would respect that time. For now.

He reached for the gate, and before he'd even turned around, he felt the change in the air. The intense gaze on his back. The increase in his heart rate.

Taking longer than necessary to close the gate, he dipped his head and drew a long breath.
Set the terms
, he reminded himself. And then he faced them, and it was like time had stopped and he was back there, getting introduced to her for the first time and knowing he'd just met someone who would forever impact his life. All bright smiles and caring eyes and unyielding passion. Without thinking, he started slowly toward her, unable to pull his eyes away, unable to slow his pulse.

At first glance, her features appeared harsh—black hair, ivory skin—but then you took in those huge blue eyes and suddenly all you could think was
damn, she's beautiful
.

And she was. So damn beautiful.

Eight years had passed, yet somehow it felt like nothing more than a moment, a breath, a blink, and then she stood there in front of him again. He ached to go to her, to pull her against him and trace a hand down her face and tell her he was a fucking moron for leaving. Because damn.

But then he reached her and tipped his Stetson down and saw a wicked flicker in her eyes, and though time hadn't aged her a bit, something had changed. She was older, more experienced—in more ways than one, if that look meant a thing.

Memories hit all at once—the first time he saw her, the first time he reached for her hand, the first time he pressed his lips to hers, unable to stay away. She was seventeen, almost eighteen, and he was twenty, the age on his mind yet not. They were so similar the small gap didn't matter—outside of the fear of Beckett having him arrested. He smiled at the memory of them nearly getting caught, their hearts racing.

He took a second to take her in, ignoring the warning bells sounding off in his brain. He knew her face, had a thousand memories of it, had seen her in the
Post
article and in countless mentions of racing, and none of it, not the photos, not his memory, had done her justice.

Trip cleared his throat and stepped up to them, tipping his Stetson down with a polite smile. “Emery.”