A Little Bit of Charm (39 page)

Alan Hitchcock had greeted him graciously, surprised yet pleased he'd come down for the rest of training. The man had talked nonstop during dinner last night about Eager to Please's latest times and distances. Alan told him about the procession of jockeys being considered to find the right match between professional rider and highly spirited colt. Hitchcock took Jake to a fine steakhouse, insisting the meal was his treat and wouldn't appear on any expense account receipt. The restaurant served delicious Black Angus steaks covered with sautéed mushrooms and onions with a dollop of blue cheese sauce—just the way Jake liked it. His potato had been twice baked and served with cheddar cheese and sour cream. A Caesar salad opened the feast, while chocolate cake with hot fudge sauce had brought the memorable meal to a close.

Then there had been the reunion with his beloved horse. Eager to Please tossed his mane several times, nickered, and clearly not only remembered Jake but was happy to see him. The horse had filled out during the weeks he'd been in the land of flat tracks, warm days, and plenty of bugs. His sprint times were impressive and improving each day.

Yet despite the gourmet food, comfortable digs, and excellent reports from his hired trainer and staff, Jake was not a happy man. Part of his melancholy had to do with Rachel. He replayed each of their encounters in his mind over and over to see if he'd been offensive or had somehow sabotaged his chances for a future with her. Nothing came to mind. But seeing her pretty face whenever he closed his eyes, hearing her musical laughter ringing in his ears, and recalling the sweet scent of ripe peaches that clung to her accounted for only part of his misery.

Far more serious matters were on Jake's mind that day than his nonexistent love life, despite how overwhelming their breakup had seemed back in Charm. Arriving in Florida brought him face-to-face with the enormity of what he had done. Filled with bluster and lofty dreams of grandeur for his colt, he'd turned down a very generous purchase offer on an unproven juvenile. While sitting in his home office in Kentucky, anything and everything seemed possible. But here powerful men with deep pockets surrounded him, those who bought racehorses the way he bought T-shirts at the mall. One bad decision, one unlucky accident might not break these men's bank accounts or change their lifestyles. Not so in the case of the Brady family. God forbid, but if Eager to Please broke a leg or something else happened that ended his racing career, Jake's family could easily lose the farm and everything else Ken and Taylor had worked for their entire lives. Why had his folks agreed with his idea? Because they loved him, pure and simple. His mom and dad encouraged each of their children to work hard and to follow their dreams. And how had Jake repaid their trust and devotion? By making a crucial decision—one that affected all Bradys—by himself.

Guilt and shame washed over him, turning his stomach queasy. For a few moments, he feared he might become physically ill, throwing up the egg-substitute omelet just as exercise boys rode their Thoroughbreds onto the track for some easy warm-up
laps. Steadying himself on a fence post, he sucked in several deep breaths to calm his nerves.

Who was Jake Brady amid all this old and new money? According to Hitchcock, these men ordered two-hundred-dollar bottles of wine, purchased five-thousand-dollar suits, and had homes in several states and, occasionally, even other countries. Alan had entertained him during last night's dinner with tales of flashy owners throwing elaborate parties for trainers, jockeys, and the news media in hopes of wooing away winning personnel from current contracts or garnering favorable advance reviews in the racing papers. The way Hitchcock described the behind-the-scene activities, it sounded like a cross between
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
and the TV soap opera
Dallas
.

He was Jake Brady, proud graduate of Charm High School and the Casey County Community College, who owned only one suit from the men's outlet store and wouldn't know the difference between oysters and calamari if his life depended on it. And his lack of sophistication had never bothered him one iota until he showed up down here. Jamming his hands down into his pockets, Jake headed back to the barns to spend some alone time with Eager. When he arrived, the grooms were already feeding his colt and changing the water bucket. With pride he picked up a brush to groom the magnificent horse as he'd done so many mornings in the past.

“I thought I'd find you here early.” Hitchcock appeared in the stall doorway. “Chomping at the bit to see what your boy can do?” The trainer looked casual but refined in his striped pullover sweater, pressed jeans, and polished boots.

“Yes, sir, I am.” Jake voiced the words with little emotion.

“Jose, take our boy out and get him warmed up. He's finished with breakfast. This is Eager's owner. Mr. Brady didn't come to Florida to watch him chew oats.”

Actually, that's exactly what Mr. Brady came for this morning
. But
Jake stepped back as the young man nodded respectfully and led away the horse.
Mr. Brady
. Funny—he didn't feel like an owner or even an owner's son. He felt like a fraud, a poser who was grasping at things he didn't even understand.

“Did you hear the news about Treacherous Blue Waters?” asked Hitchcock.

“No, who's that?” Jake leaned a shoulder against a smooth polished wall.

“He won the Breeder's Cup five-furlong race at Santa Anita two months ago.”

“What happened to him?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Suffered a stress fracture of the ilium—that's a bone in his pelvis. Luckily, he should heal with sufficient rest. It doesn't look as though he'll need surgery, but the horse will be out of commission for a long while.” Hitchcock held the stall door open for him.

Jake had to breathe through his mouth to quell his nausea, which had returned with a vengeance. “You know what, Alan? Something I ate at the hotel isn't sitting well on my stomach. I need to take a walk and get some fresh air. I'll catch up with you later to watch some timed sprints.”

Hitchcock chuckled merrily. “You got it. No matter how many times these stalls get cleaned, a horse barn always smells exactly like a horse barn. Check in at the track infirmary for some antacids if you don't feel better soon.”

Jake strode away as fast as his legs could carry him—away from the stalls and lunging area, the owners' clubs and jockey lounges. He marched past the row of pari-mutuel windows that on race days would have long lines of gamblers. He passed the restaurants and snack bars, uncertain of exactly where he was going. Then a small metal sign caught his eye: Trackside Chapel. Jake pictured one of those small rooms inside hospitals with a few pews or rows of chairs and a tiny altar, a place where patients or family
members could come to terms with a grim diagnosis. This chapel was inside a mobile trailer so it could be easily moved to other locations around the country. He ducked his head under the doorway, expecting to be alone inside.

“Come on in,” boomed a voice.

Glancing up, Jake spotted a burly guy, covered in tattoos, sitting in the front row. “I didn't know anybody was already in here.”

“I'm a volunteer who staffs the chapel two days a week. The name's Ed Bonner. I found Jesus in prison while serving time for assault with a deadly weapon. The guy survived or I'd still be in the slammer, fearing for my life each and every day. Now I'm more worried about my soul.” Bonner's laughter revealed several missing teeth. “Where'd you learn about Jesus?”

Jake blinked like an owl, undone by the man's forthright approach.
Nothing like not beating around the bush
. “I don't know. My parents took us to church when we were babies, then Sunday school, VBS, the whole nine yards. I guess I've always known Him.”

The parolee nodded toward an empty chair. “My folks never set foot inside a church. Lucky you, to have had Jesus during the tough times.”

Anger snaked up Jake's back. How could this guy assume he knew his life story after two minutes? “You think so? I might have heard of Him, but I can't say I spent much time with the guy. I'm a fraud, a Sunday-morning Christian who talks the talk but hasn't walked the walk a single day in his life.” He spat out the words as though they were vinegar.

The chapel's host was unmoved. “Join the club, my friend. It ain't easy, is it? Sit down. I'm willing to listen and offer a little advice if you're willing to give me some in return. This is a two-way street here.” His tone soothed, and his smile was genuine.

Jake stared at the man, fixing his gaze on a scar that ran from his
hairline to the bridge of his nose. “Why not? If you think you could possibly benefit by anything I have to say, I'm in.” He slumped into the opposite chair.

And for the first time all day, his nausea had vanished.

EIGHTEEN

Than when we'd first begun

Wednesday

R
achel left for work with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she regretted leaving her little sister, who so desperately wanted to spend every waking moment with her. She'd had to close the bathroom door in Beth's face twice, insisting that some activities demanded solitude. Beth was lonely back in Pennsylvania with all her sisters living elsewhere. She'd cried when Rachel refused to allow her to tag along to Twelve Elms.

On the other hand, Rachel was relieved to leave
grossmammi
for a few hours. As much as she loved her grandmother, the woman had watched her like a hawk since arriving, as though she waited for some telltale sign Rachel was planning to jump the fence. Between the two of them, Rachel had as much privacy as one of Sarah's hens trying to lay an egg.

Grossmammi
needn't worry about Rachel leaving the Amish faith. The only person for whom she might have considered the
idea was now living hundreds of miles away in another state. He hadn't called or written any letters, not that she could blame him. She'd made her feelings painfully clear last month and hadn't seen him since. To please Sarah, she returned to Mennonite socials and made every attempt to meet new people. Too bad all of the other Amish had moved to Tennessee. She tried to muster feelings for Reuben beyond friendship to no avail. Much to her surprise and relief, he hadn't been devastated by her confession. In fact, he and Ruby were practically a courting couple now that she had revealed Reuben's admission to her friend. Life was strange. Ruby hadn't been the least bit dismayed she was Reuben's second choice. Apparently, she was a far more practical woman than Rachel and not waiting to hear romantic bells and whistles.

Slipping her packed lunch inside her bag, along with her hidden English clothing, Rachel stepped from the warm kitchen into frigid air. Her breath turned into a fog of condensation under an overcast gray sky. As usual, dear Isaac had already hitched up the buggy by the time she reached the barn. He had even placed a lap robe close to the barn's potbelly stove to warm.

“Drive carefully,” he said, handing it to her.

Rachel climbed up and spread the cozy cover over her legs. “I'll get there and back safely, God willing. No long workdays during the winter, but it'll still be dark by the time I return tonight. I'm sure I'll be ready for supper and a cozy fire by then.”

“Your
grossmammi
and Sarah are waging a battle of wills over who'll cook the meal, and it's escalating.” Isaac glanced toward the house to make sure Rachel hadn't been followed. “Sarah told Edna that at her age she ought to rest in the rocking chair. Edna replied that, left to your own devices, granddaughter, you would cook chicken three meals a day, seven days a week, all year long.” Isaac buried his face in his hands, undone by a fit of laughter. “Who knows what we'll find on the supper table tonight.”

“I'll hurry home. I wouldn't want to miss any King family fireworks. But I advise you to steer clear if those two start to fuss.”

He lifted his gaze, his eyes watery. “If I've learned nothing else, cousin, it's never get in between two angry stray cats…or women.” He slapped the gelding's rump and headed to the house, still chuckling.

Rachel drove the three miles to Twelve Elms, trying to keep warm while sorting out her emotions. Without warning, tears began to stream down her face. But unlike Isaac, her tears weren't from uncontrollable laughter but from abject sorrow. How could she work there after how she treated Jake—the only man she ever loved and probably ever would?

I still love him
. Despite her brave attempts to put him out of mind, to ignore the cherished way he made her feel, she couldn't stop thinking about him. What difference did it make if she was Amish and he Baptist? As long as they were both Christians, it shouldn't matter. But it certainly mattered to
grossmammi
and Bishop Esh. Although she wouldn't be shunned if she turned English because she hadn't taken the kneeling vow, she might as well be. She would become an outsider, an acquaintance allowed to participate in Amish life only in peripheral ways. But she would have the love of Jake Brady. And now that she'd spurned him, his devotion grew ever more precious in her memory.

Once Rachel arrived at the stable, she had no time to pine over broken relationships. The head trainer started giving orders the moment she exited the ladies' room dressed in jeans and her heaviest sweatshirt. She stayed busy for hours, working horses in the lunge ring, the indoor arena, and even on the lower hills. Pretty Boy needed exercise, according to her boss, so he selected Rachel to take him up the wet, sloppy trails. With Jake gone, she seemed to have fallen out of favor with the other employees, but that didn't bother her. No one's opinion could be lower than her own.