Backstretch Baby (11 page)

He was imminently capable, but it was his easy-going nature that attracted her the most. Not his looks or killer body.

Right
.

The car was already moving and she yanked her mind back to her job. Waited another moment as it built up speed, then popped the clutch. The little engine sprang to life. She immediately slowed, but Rick slipped into the passenger’s seat before the car stopped rolling, as if he had considerable practice leaping in and out of moving vehicles.

Which, of course, was quite likely. One didn’t end up in prison without a good reason. Of course, people could reform.

“Do you know Dex Tattrie?” she asked.

“I know some of the Tattries.” Rick adjusted his dark sunglasses. “Believe they have a club north of here.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Dex and his wife own Tizzy.”

Rick made a non-committal sound.

“Dex is a farrier who teaches at the state prison,” she said, watching Rick’s mouth. Absolutely no change. He didn’t give anything away unless he chose.

“He’s a good guy,” she added. “You remind me a bit of him.”

Rick glanced at her then, as if trying to figure out what she meant.

Heck, she didn’t know what she meant either, except to let him know that a prison record was okay with her. And why was she assuming he even cared? She gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, oddly flustered.

But he reached over and touched her bare arm. “Good,” he said, and it was clear he did understand. “I like how no one here worries about the past…especially you.”

Her skin tingled from the brush of his hand, and her face felt hot. She fiddled with the air conditioning, even though it hadn’t worked for years.

He held the back of his hand over the air vent. “Nothing’s coming out,” he said. “I’ll take a look at it after we find a battery.”

“But I can’t spend money on my car,” she said. “Not yet.”

“There’s a junkyard just twenty miles south,” he said. “They’ll have cheap parts. Worth checking.”

She swallowed, fighting a well of panic. She had little more than twenty dollars left, and it was more important to invest in the horses than a battery. And Rick’s plan to win bridle money in some caps tournament was sweet, but a definite gamble. Maybe he was broke too, and this was just his way of conning her into buying beer.

Of course, he deserved something to drink. He’d been doing way more with the horses than she’d ever expected from one of Scott’s shadowy investigators. On the other hand, beer was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

She slid him a suspicious look. “How much practice beer do you need? For the tournament?”

“Not much,” he said. “I have plenty of practice drinking beer. It’s shooting a cap off an opponent’s bottle that needs work. So I’ll need your help tonight.”

“You want me to sit and hold a bottle?”

“No holding. The bottle has to be between your legs, an equal distance from both your knees.” He chuckled. “Woody made me promise to duplicate a game situation.”

She laughed and zipped her car into the outer lane. It was amusing that after one morning, Rick had been roped into a caps tournament and was already good buddies with Woody, a gruff man she’d only spoken to once. “I guess Woody thinks he’s found a real ringer.”

“Yes. He’ll be truly disappointed if I don’t hold up my end. He was just waiting for a prospect to walk into his store.”

“You’re the right size for drinking beer,” she said, a little wistfully. “No one’s ever asked me to be their caps partner.”

“And no one’s ever asked me to gallop their horse.” He gave a teasing smile as if picking up on her competitive nature. Then his voice turned serious. “Do you miss it? The race riding?”

“Sometimes. But I had a few accidents and they affected my psyche. It’s hard to win when you’re worrying about getting hurt. Ashley is a better jockey than me now.” She blinked, surprised by her admission. But Rick had a way of listening that drew her out, as if what she was saying was the most important thing in the world. And he didn’t want to miss a word.

“I guess your first win as a trainer will be doubly sweet,” he said.

She nodded. “Yesterday I had doubts I’d ever get a horse to the starting gate. But now it looks like it will happen.”

“And you’re going to have a nice bridle for the weekend.”

He proceeded to tell her about the rules of the caps tournament and how Woody was intent on defending his title, and then they went on to discuss their favorite types of beer and how nothing could tear up your eyes like the Budweiser ads. And the lost puppy on the Super Bowl commercial made her think of Joey, and her eyes really did tear up, but he seemed a little moved too and the silence was oddly comforting.

“We’re here,” he said, scanning the GPS on his phone. “Turn right just past that rusty Ford.”

She veered onto a gravel road, surprised they’d already reached the junkyard. The driveway was tree lined and rutted, the ridge in the center so high it almost tore the muffler off her car. She slowed to a crawl. Judging from the shape of the road, the owner didn’t encourage retail traffic. They passed a handwritten NO TRESPASSING sign, its letters black and aggressive. Then another sign: THAT MEANS YOU!

She glanced sideways at Rick.

He seemed unconcerned so she drove on. The barbed wire gate was open. A white trailer sat inside, appearing to double as a home and an office. Beyond sat a graveyard of cars, every color, make and model. Some looked in pristine condition. Others had clearly been in a wreck. It was sad and rather creepy.

“That one looks recent.” Rick pointed at a lime green Honda Civic with a parking sticker still hanging behind its cracked window. “Stop here. I’ll see if it has a working battery.”

He stepped out and raised the hood. Bent over the engine, fiddled with something, and flashed her a thumbs up. Then he pulled open her car door and gestured at the trailer. “Let’s see what he wants for it.”

They walked across a patch of dirt spotted with scraggly dandelions and ripped tennis balls. The trailer looked deserted, the blinds pulled. But something thumped. The screen door opened and a huge black dog burst out, his growls menacing.

Her knees buckled.

Rick grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him. “Keep walking,” he said.

Her breath stalled, but she gripped his hand like a lifeline, forcing her legs to move. He didn’t look at the dog, so neither did she.

A man in a camo shirt filled the doorway. “Rebel, quit!”

The dog stopped growling but continued trotting toward them. She studied him from the corner of her eye. He was massive, his neck framed by raised hackles. Red drool hung from the side of his jaw, as if he’d been chewing on something bloody.

She tried not to stare, knew she should hide her fear, but when Rick reached out and tucked her protectively against his hip, she sagged with relief.

“Nice yard you got here,” Rick said. “We need a battery for a Honda Civic. Thought the one from that 2006 Civic might work.”

The man stepped further onto the sagging steps. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Just came in last week. Teenagers around here put a lot of cars in the ditches.” His eyes narrowed on Rick’s jacket. “Got a hog? What’cha ride?”

They went on to talk about Harleys, the best kind of bike polish and a mutual acquaintance called Boomie. Rick kept his arm around her the entire time, except now he scratched the dog’s head with his other hand. She remained motionless, trying not flinch at the reddened teeth so close to his hand.

“All right,” Rick said, finally ending the conversation. “I’ll stop in on the way out and pay.”

When he turned Eve back toward her car, the dog followed.

“Rebel likes you,” she whispered, gripping Rick’s arm. “But he looks at me like he’s eyeing his next meal.”

“I think he has a bone stuck in his mouth after chewing up the last visitor.” Rick smiled down at the dog. “Clearly he’s trained to spot troublemakers. You better stick close.”

She swallowed. “Maybe I should just sit in the car.”

“No.” His arm banded around her. “You’re not afraid of a little Rottie, are you?”

“He’s not so little. And I was bitten a few times when I was a kid. It hurts.” She squeezed between Rick and the grill of her car, peering at Rebel the entire time. “Let’s do this fast,” she said. “There’s some tools in my trunk.”

“No, I’m good.” Rick pulled a compact wrench from his back pocket. He adjusted her in front of him, keeping his legs between her and the watchful dog. Then he leaned over the engine, so close his minty breath tickled her neck.

“I want to clean the cables first,” he said. “Your old battery was quite corroded.” He pointed at the white residue around the terminals. “If I were going to steal a battery,” he added, “I’d choose a new one. Isn’t it strange someone took yours?”

She nodded, but it was difficult to think about thieves and what they might take or not take. And it wasn’t just concern about the hovering dog. Rick’s closeness jumbled her senses. His belt rubbed her hip, and his muscled thighs blasted off so much heat, her nerves tingled.

She’d never been so enveloped by a man. So aware of his touch, his feel, even his smell. If that dog wasn’t so close, she’d scoot away. Just so she could breathe again.

“See the corrosion on the posts,” Rick went on. “Maybe someone didn’t want you driving from the motel to the track?”

“But the car didn’t affect anything,” she said, staring down at his lean fingers. Square tipped, capable, ringless. She fought the impulse to wet her lips. “Ashley and I just moved into the dorms.”

“But trainers aren’t usually allowed to sleep there. And most of them wouldn’t bunk with hotwalkers and grooms. It’s not the lap of luxury.”

“I’d sleep in the barn before giving up.”

“Of course you would,” Rick said. “But not all trainers would do that. Maybe someone underestimated your resilience.”

He reached down and suddenly there was a lethal-looking blade in his hand. It didn’t even have a real handle. Her eyes widened, but he only scraped residue off the battery posts, his movements relaxed, even though his buckle, or something equally hard, was brushing her thigh.

She stared down, feigning interest in the workings of her car, even though she’d almost quit breathing. She inched to the right, pressing further against the grill. Was it his buckle? Difficult to tell. His entire body was so hard and his breath vibrated against her neck, close and warmly intimate.

He didn’t appear conscious of how she was sandwiched between him and the bumper. He just talked about her car—about the importance of locking doors and how driving without a battery wasn’t good for the computer components.

“Looks like your alternator is okay,” he went on. “We just need to grab the other battery.”

He curved his arm around her hip and guided her over to the wrecked car, thoughtfully staying between her and the dog.

She didn’t notice when he put away his knife, but it had been replaced with the shiny wrench that he handled with similar ease. He had beautiful hands, his nails short and surprisingly clean. Most bikers she knew had permanent oil stains. And he didn’t smell of exhaust, more of spice and leather and the outdoors.

She pulled her head away, flustered by her growing awareness. He was here to help, yet she was eyeing him like he was a breeding stallion being led around the auction ring. And he was only trying to do his job. Worse, he worked for Scott.

“I appreciate all the extra things you’ve done,” she said, crossing her arms. But that only pressed her elbow into his ripped abs, and she quickly dropped them. “For leading Stinger and helping with the horses. It’ll be great to have a car that starts. But I’m going to tell Scott it’s not necessary that you stay—”

“I’m going to lift the battery out now,” Rick said. “And switch it to your car. Stand back so you don’t get acid on your clothes.”

She froze, her eyes shooting to the Rottweiler. Seconds ago, she’d wanted to step back. Put more space between her and the press of his virile body. But now that he’d suggested it, she was loath to step away. Didn’t want to admit she found the big dog terrifying.

Rick studied her face, then pointed at the trailer. “Go home, Rebel.”

The dog lowered his head, his expression crestfallen. Then he turned and trotted back to the trailer.

She jerked away from the bumper, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you do that ten minutes ago? Then I wouldn’t have been hanging on your arm like an idiot.”

“Not a chance,” he said, his eyes locked on her face.

She flushed and took another step back.

He gave a dismissive shrug. “I’m here to look after you. Can’t have you telling Scott I’m not needed.”

She nodded then eased around the fender, putting more distance between them. Obviously he wanted to keep his job, not let her be chewed up by a junkyard dog. That explained why he’d kept her pressed against his hip. Totally understandable.

However, she didn’t want to analyze her tug of disappointment or question why part of her wished the dog hadn’t been quite so obedient.

Eve pointed at the tack store on the side of the highway. “That’s our final stop,” she said, still laughing at Rick’s last story.

She couldn’t remember when she’d indulged in such a carefree afternoon. Rick was totally engaging: funny, smart but amazingly kind. He even helped the junkyard owner remove a jagged splinter from the inside of the dog’s mouth. And Rebel was really a gentle soul, licking both Rick’s and Eve’s hands in gratitude.

She wasn’t sure when Rick ended up driving. It had been after he bought the battery and beer, but before they stopped for a hamburger. She hadn’t planned to stay away from the barn so long, but now it felt like she’d just enjoyed a two-week vacation. And she wanted to take something back to Ashley and Miguel, and share the pleasure.

Rick turned into the parking lot. “This is the tack store that’s donating the gift certificate,” he said. “But we can’t get the bridle until after the caps tournament. Maybe we should come back Friday.”

“I’m not buying tack today,” she said. “But they have a maternity T-shirt that Ashley wanted. I just hope it’s still there.”