Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (13 page)

What had his grandmother
told him from the time he was a little boy? “Follow your heart, and you will be
in tune with all that is.”

“Follow my heart,”
Clint mumbled, chuckling. “Guess I got to get my ass to Chicago, ‘cause that’s
where my heart is.”

- o -

Louie Picard picked
up the phone on the second ring. “Yeah.”

“Louie, how’s her
filly look?”

“She’s only been
back a week. Filly looks sound and raring to go.”

“Good. Her old man’s
probably got his hopes up real big.”

Louie winced at the
caller’s snicker.

“Louie, you know
what to do?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. See that you
do the job right.”

The phone clicked
in Louie’s ear. He grimaced. What had he ever done to deserve this? “You wallow
in shit long enough,” he muttered, “you become shit like the rest of them.”

- o -

Cassie sat in the
owner’s box fidgeting with the straps of her binoculars. She’d done all she
could to prepare Hope for the big race. Now it was up to the jockey and the
racing gods. Maybe the altitude switch would make the difference again. If it
did, at least something good would’ve come from her Wyoming trip.

Eight minutes to
post. The jockeys were jogging their mounts on the backside, loosening them up
before entering the starting gate. Cassie tensed, suddenly aware that Hope didn’t
appear as up on her toes as she had in Wyoming. The horse was sweating more
than usual, giving her an overall washed out look and no doubt depleting her
energy.

Cassie sighed. Forlornly,
she reflected for the hundredth time on her Wyoming trip. Had she made a
mistake? He never called or wrote, but then neither had she. It was like they
were on two planets in different orbits. She had to admit she missed his touch
and his sensuous low voice. She wondered what kinds of troubles Samantha and
Lester were attempting. And she heard again Clint’s mother saying
You must
be something very special.
And what did his grandmother mean,
Woman of
Fire?

The clang of the
starting gate drew her attention back to the track. Her heart sank as Hope stumbled
out of the gate. The filly did make up some ground on the home stretch to place
a credible fourth. But that wouldn’t be enough for her father; even second best
wouldn’t be enough. Cassie squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t settle for
second best, either.

Cassie retrieved
her filly from the jockey and led her back to the barn area where she began
rubbing liniments into Hope’s ankles. She sensed eyes drilling holes in her
back. She groaned, knowing that Harrington would be by to gloat. His horse had
beaten Hope by six lengths for a well-earned victory. Hope had never really
contended. Standing up, Cassie turned to take the abuse.

She was surprised
to see concern registered on Harrington’s face. “How’s she doing? She had a
pretty rough go of it out there today. Are you okay, Cass?”

“Yeah,” Cassie
acknowledged. “Ankles are still warm and tender to the touch. She should be
okay in a day or two. Congratulations on your win.”

“Thanks,” said the
tall, bulky trainer. “Maybe you should offer to take me out to dinner to
celebrate.”

Cassie winced. “I’ve
got my hands full here and at home.” She paused. Wrapping her arms tightly
around her body, she warned, “Ed, don’t be thinking that I’m part of your
social life. I don’t have time for one. So, please, find another woman to
pursue. From what I hear, there are plenty who are interested.”

“That’s too bad,”
Ed countered. “Everyone ought to make time for play, now and then.”

“I’m afraid I don’t
have the time.”

“Oh well. Like you
said, there are plenty other women lined up.”

Cassie gave him a
warm smile. “I’m sure you’ll find more than one willing to care for your ego.” His
mouth twitched in response. “And I do appreciate the training advice you give
me. I hope we can still be friends.”

“Of course we’re
friends. You’re a sexy looking woman, Cassie O’Hanlon but I’d much rather have
you for a friend than an enemy.” He doffed his hat. “Well, I better get back to
my horses.”

No sooner than had
Harrington left than Louie Picard stopped by to offer his condolences. “Don’t
mind Harrington. He’s more wind than anything else when it comes to women. He
thinks you’re cute, so you should naturally think he was the best thing since
sliced bread.”

Although the news
that Harrington thought she was
cute
made her want to gag, Cassie smiled
faintly at her aging friend. Apparently, he’d overheard at least part of her
conversation with Harrington. “That’s all right. He’s a big boy and should know
he can’t win them all.”

“How’s your dad
going to take this loss?”

“He’ll be okay, I
think,” she said. “I’m glad I talked him out of being here today. Dad warned me
we couldn’t win them all. And he’s really pointing to the Land of Lincoln
Stakes, and there are still two more preps before then. If we can win one of
those, we’ll be in good shape. If not, we’ll probably still compete. That’s
horse racing. Right?”

“Yeah,” the old man
grunted, “that’s horse racing. Well, I best be goin’. Got my own horses to tend
to. Say hi to your dad for me.”

An hour later,
after taking Hope off the hotwalker and returning her to the stall, Cassie
scratched the animal’s neck. Hope nickered softly in response. Contact with the
filly probably did more to soothe her own nerves than those of the horse. Hope
snuffled, sensing that something was wrong.

“It’s okay, Hope,”
Cassie mumbled, continuing to rub both hands up and down the horse’s long
outstretched neck. “You did the best you could. That’s all we can ask. You’re a
good horse, but maybe not at this level of competition.”

“Giving up so soon?
That seems to be a habit of yours.”

The low dry
accusing voice crackled in the late afternoon breeze. Cassie fought the urge to
turn. Her heart leaped to her throat. Tears threatened to embarrass. Without
looking at him, she complained, “How did you find your way out of Utah and
Wyoming, Travers?”

Clint held his
tongue.

Turning at last,
she snapped, “And what are you doing in the barn area? Only owners and trainers
working at this track are allowed.”

“Well then, young
lady, I guess it goes without saying that I’m not alone. Brought a few horses
along to see how they might do against this rarefied competition.” With legs
spread slightly, Clint shrugged in his casual way. “From what I’ve seen, I
might do just fine.”

Folding her arms
across her breasts as if to conceal them, Cassie declared, “Well, it’s a free
world.” She squinted at him, determined not to show the tingling in her body. There
were so many questions she was afraid to ask.

“Ah, Cassidy,” he
sighed heavily. “Put that Irish temper aside for a moment. It’s good to see
you. And you’re happy to see me.”

Fighting her
irritation, she offered a small smile and let out the breath she’d been holding
since first hearing his deep voice. “Okay. I won’t say I’m happy to see you,
but it’s good to see you.” And he did look good, standing there in a fresh
white shirt and jeans. His brown Stetson matched his boots. Yeah, Clint Travers
cleaned up real fine. Cassie tried not to crumble before his overwhelming
masculine presence.

“Well now, that is
a start,” he retorted. Walking around Hope, he scrutinized the filly and then
ran his hands up and down the filly’s forelegs. He stood to look in the horse’s
eyes. With both hands, he pried open her jaws and then gently probed the animal’s
tongue and throat. Hope pawed, her eyes flaring, not welcoming the unwanted
intrusion.

Cassie waited
patiently—he had to have a reason for being so thorough. She knew he wasn’t
just avoiding further conversation.

At last he turned
to her. Shading his eyes against the late afternoon sun, his facial lines
hardening, he said tersely, “I don’t mean to alarm you, Cassidy, but I think
this horse has been drugged.”

“What?” Cassie
shouted, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“The filly’s tongue
and throat are constricted; it’s amazing she could run at all.”

“How? Who?” Cassie
threw her arms around her horse’s neck. “My god, did someone try to kill her?”

“I doubt that,”
Clint said. She watched him take a step toward her. She shrank back. His face
remained impassive. “If they had, she’d be dead by now. I expect they just didn’t
want her to win. By restricting her air intake passage, whoever drugged the
animal was just about assured she couldn’t win against the caliber of horses
running out there today.”

Digging her
fingernails into her arms, Cassie railed at herself, “I’m so damn naive. Why
couldn’t I figure out she was drugged? You just stroll in here out of nowhere
and have a diagnosis.”

“You should confirm
it with a vet.”

“I’m not doubting
your judgment one bit, Clint,” Cassie said, her eyes closing. “It’s just that I’m
the trainer. I should have seen it. I should have protected my horse.”

- o -

Clint fought to
keep his arms from reaching out to cradle Cassie in his arms. He wanted to very
badly. His muscles ached with wanting. But he would not take advantage of her
vulnerability. When she was in his arms again, he wanted her there because she
couldn’t resist herself and couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“You’d be
surprised,” he said. “Eight out of ten trainers would never suspect their horse
was drugged. Guess I’m just a suspicious sort.

“Sometimes you see
this kind of thing at high priced auctions. Not only do some despicable folks
want to enhance the performance of their horses with drugs, others want to
hamper it. That’s one reason the wealthy breeders buy so much security.”

“What can we do
now?” Cassie asked, stroking Hope with trembling fingers.

“Well, she’s your
horse,” said Clint, edging closer to the woman. “I doubt that anyone will try
anything until she races again. But if it were me, I’d take the filly back to
your farm. Work her there, and then bring her in the morning of the next race
while keeping tight guard around her. Many horses back home run after being
shipped in the day of the race with very good results. It happens a lot with
higher class horses who get overly excited by crowds and media attention.”

“I’m certainly not
going to leave her here alone for even one more night,” Cassie growled. She
frowned. “Damn, my trailer is parked next to the barn at home. I hadn’t planned
on needing it here yet.”

“You can use mine
if you like,” Clint offered, trying to hide his interest in maintaining
contact. Any kind of contact. “I could come by and pick it up later, if that
seems okay.”

“I couldn’t help
but overhearing.”

Both Cassie and
Clint turned to see the grim look on Ed Harrington’s face.

He spoke directly
to Cassie, ignoring her companion. “Do you really think your horse was drugged?
That’s pretty farfetched”

“Yes,” Cassie
responded, frowning at Harrington’s latest intrusion. He was obviously checking
out the latest stranger on shedrow. She didn’t want him around her or her
horse. Especially with Clint Travers standing right there. “It would explain a
lot that’s happened over the last few months.”

“And how do you
suppose that could happen? We’ve got a lot of security. You should inform the
stewards of your suspicions, if you really have any grounds.” Ed looked
sideways at the dark man peering at him through smoky eyes.

“Oh,” Cassie said, “I
should introduce you. Ed Harrington. Clint Travers. Ed runs a string of horses
here. Clint is from Utah. He brought some horses to race here and raises some
top quality thoroughbreds at his ranch.”

Cassie was startled
by the pride so apparent in her own voice. Clint looked pleased; Harrington
looked annoyed. They shook hands warily.

Cassie thought two
tomcats meeting in a dark Chicago alley would be more friendly than these two
men. Smiling to herself, she had to confess that at times it was fun being
female. Was she witnessing jealousy? The last thing she needed was each of them
trying to protect her from the other. She had enough troubles without raging
male hormones and runaway egos.

Looking back at
Cassie, Ed said hotly, “Well, my hunch is you just have a very inconsistent
horse that’s often in over her head. But if you think there are other problems,
then there are proper channels for dealing with it. Take your complaints to the
stewards.”

Cassie looked at
him blankly. She knew Clint was taking the measure of the man.

Ed swallowed. “I’ve
got to go, Cass. Can’t hold your hand all the time. Got my own horses.”

Before she could
offer up a cutting response, Cassie felt a boot squeezing down on her own. Angrily,
she looked up into Clint’s solemn face. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head,
encouraging her not to rise to Ed’s bait.