Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (7 page)

“Yeah, your old man
is a damn crafty trainer. I’ve got to give him that. How much do you want for
her?”

Startled, Cassie
backed away. “What?”

The tall sandy-haired
trainer grinned. “Don’t think I mumble that badly. How much money would you
like for the horse?”

“She’s not for
sale! I didn’t come here to sell her. Dad would have a fit.”

“That must be who
you get it from.”

“Be that as it may,
the horse is not for sale.”

“Okay, doesn’t hurt
to ask, usually.”

“Fine. You asked. And
I answered.”

“She is a nice
looking filly.”

Cassie leaned
against Hope, watching the man amble off in the direction of his horses. Did he
ever in his entire life experience a moment of self-doubt? Well, whatever. She’d
have to watch out for him.

But Louie was
right. Harrington was a damn good trainer. He had an excellent reputation on
shedrow and typically was among the leading winning trainers at the Chicago
tracks.
Up and coming
was a phrase often linked to Ed Harrington. And
then there was the downside. Picking up track scuttlebutt, she’d learned he had
a reputation for being a heavy drinker and a womanizer. No way was she going to
let him add her scalp to his collection.

“Nice race, honey.”

“Oh, thanks, Louie,”
she said, turning to hug her old friend. “Wasn’t she great?”

“She’s a racehorse,
that’s for sure. And looks like the Wyoming altitude advantage didn’t hurt a
bit.”

“I didn’t get to
see today’s last race. How did your horse do?”

“The old guy came
in second.” Louie shrugged. “ That’s not bad for a nine year old gelding.”

“You ever going to
retire Jasperson?”

“Probably the end
of the year. Hell, I’m getting too old for this myself. How’s your dad doing?”

“He’s coming along.
This race will do wonders for him. I’ll be surprised if we can keep him from coming
out to the Capitol Stakes.”

“Maybe old Tug will
be doing a jig by then.”

Cassie shook her
head. “I doubt that. Hopefully, he’ll be able to come and watch Hope race.”

Louie spat a stream
of tobacco. “Yeah, well, I best be getting along. Pass on my hurrahs to your
dad.”

“I’ll do that. You
can count on it. Take care, Louie. Come on out to the farm when you get a
chance.”

The next morning,
Cassie stood on the porch before her father with a smug look plastered on her
face. She’d traveled three thousand miles by herself to further his dream. He’d
been right, Hope looked spectacular in her win in Wyoming, and equally
fantastic yesterday when she won the relatively minor allowance race against
cheap but respectable competition. Next up, a mid-level allowance in two weeks.

She breathed in the
fresh moist air. Thank god for humidity and all things green. Thank god for big
old chestnut trees and oak trees. And thank god for a race horse who could run
like the Wyoming wind.

“Don’t get too high
on your horse, Cass,” Tug O’Hanlon cautioned with a scratchy voice. “She still
has a lot to prove. And it’s damn hard to keep a horse on her game for very
long. We don’t wanna peak too early.”

“Me, high? I
thought you were the dreamer in the family.” Cassie scowled down at her father sitting
comfortably in the old wicker rocker with a blanket over his legs.

“Dreaming comes
with the Irish, my daughter,” he replied, smiling ear to ear. “Ye can’t do much
about that now, can ye? Just try to keep your feet on the ground. Two wins in a
row is good, but we’re a long way from the Capitol Stakes.”

“I know.” She
slumped onto the smooth boards of the worn porch swing. “It’s hard to wait.”

“One thing you gotta
learn with horses is patience. You can’t rush ‘em. They seem to have minds of
their own. Like women, I think.” Tug began one of his coughing fits.

Every time he
coughed, Cassie’s throat clamped down with worry; would this be his last
coughing bout?

After some moments,
the wheezing stopped. “Cass, I really appreciate what you’re doing,” he rasped.
“Know it’s a hardship for you. Can’t do it myself.”

“You rest. I’ll be
out at the barn. Ring the buzzer if you need me.” Covering his weathered hand
with hers, she said, “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t also share your
dream—at least a wee bit. I love you.”

His eyes fluttered
open in acknowledgment and then closed. When his breathing returned to its
normal shallow flow, she tiptoed down the steps. With sagging shoulders, she
made her way to the barn, seeking solace from the horses.

- o -

“Let her go,
Travers,” Clint muttered, tossing about in his bed at the ranch. The old solid
bed had never felt so large and superfluous. “Just let her go.”

Sitting up, he
combed his unkempt hair with tired fingers. His three day beard scratched like
hell. His mouth tasted sour, like he hadn’t brushed his teeth for ages. Cupping
his hands over his eyes, he admitted reluctantly that he hadn’t been doing very
well in the self-care category. And it was that damn sassy redhead’s fault. Why
couldn’t he shake the woman from the cobwebs of his brain like he had all the
others? Because her scent clogged his nostrils. Her taste assaulted his lips. Her
laugh echoed in his ears. Her fiery temper brought a smile to his eyes.

So what was he
going to do about her? Nothing. How could he let her slip away as if all they’d
shared was some earth shattering sex?

Groggily, Clint
managed to get out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror,
he was appalled by what he saw. No woman had ever done that to him. He looked
like he was a step or two away from being the skeleton in old man Granger’s
biology class.

The problem was
clear; the solution was anything but. “No more sitting on your ass, Travers. Do
something.”

He picked up the
phone and punched in the numbers on a piece of paper sitting on his night
stand.

“Hello.”

Clint smiled at her
throaty voice. She was sexy just saying hello. “Hi,” he said, “how did Hope do
in her race?”

Her gasp was
audible. He decided he liked surprising her.

“Clint. Oh, my
goodness. Hope. Hope won by two lengths.”

“That’s great. So
the altitude factor may have helped.”

“Don’t know for
sure, but she won. Clint, it was great.” She grew quiet. “I can’t believe you
called. I do owe you an apology for running off.”

Clint sighed. “I
didn’t handle things well either, though I was back at the track Tuesday
evening.”

“You were?”

He swore she
purred.”I should’ve stayed with you, but I really had to go take care of some
things. Should’ve taken you with me.” There was silence. “Would you have come?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess that keeps
me guessing. So when are you coming out for the second leg of the Wyoming
Stakes?”

“What?”

“Didn’t your dad
tell you? Maybe he wants to skip it. The race you won was part of a series to
determine the best thoroughbred horse racing at the Downs for the season. It
may not matter to you. But it’s a big deal out here.”

“Dad didn’t say
anything to me about a second leg.”

“There are actually
three legs, but if you win two out of three you’ll win the series. I’ve checked
the dates of the Arlington Capitol Stakes you talked about—that’s the same
weekend as the third leg of the series here.”

“When’s the second
leg?”

“Two weeks, on June
fourteenth. It would be a good prep for the Capitol for Hope, and you’d have
that altitude factor working for you again. Maybe your dad would like that.”

“He’d love it. He’s
probably afraid he’ll lose his trainer if he asks her to drive another three
thousand mile trip.”

Clint cleared his
throat. “I have to be in California about the time you’d need to drive out, but
I should be at the Downs by Friday. If we’re still talking to each other by the
time you return to Chicago, I could help with that part of the drive. My calendar
is clear. I’ll keep it clear from Friday until you leave, if you want.

He watched the red
numerals flip over on the bedside clock. “I never knew silence could be so
painful.”

“Don’t push me. I’m
thinking. Or at least I’m trying to think. I told my girlfriends you were
history, but you’re not.”

“I hope not. You’ve
generated more sparks for me than I can remember—and not just in the stable. I’d
like to show you my world, if you want to see it. I don’t have any big ideas on
where things will go. But I think we can have a good time while you’re here.”

“So I’d probably
have to leave by the end of this week for Hope to have enough days at the Downs
before the race.”

“And then head back
maybe ten days or so after the race.”

“That would be
about right.”

Clint heard Cassie
groan.

“Okay, I’ll do it. I
should be there by Monday or Tuesday at the latest.” She chuckled. “I’ll be
sufficiently rested and bored by the time you arrive on Friday.”

“Cassie.”

“Yes.”

“Are you doing this
for the horse, or for yourself?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s good enough
for me. I’ll see you sometime Friday. Have a safe trip.”

“See you.”

There—he’d done it,
and she’d accepted. Why were danger signals prickling the back of his neck?

- o -

What had she done? Cassie
sat on her bed and hugged herself. Another trip to Wyoming! It would be good
for Hope. The altitude should set her up quite nicely for the Capitol Stakes.

But she’d just
agreed to much more than that. Much more. Where could she run, if she had to? She
hadn’t left herself much of an escape hatch this time.

Second and third
thoughts nagged at Cassie as she sipped her coffee on the O’Hanlon farmhouse porch
after feeding the horses. Had her hormones driven her to this? It made good
sense for Hope. But did it make any sense at all for Cassie O’Hanlon?

She’d only be out
there there less than two weeks; it wasn’t like she’d agreed to marry the guy.

“Didn’t figure you’d
want to trailer all the way back to Wyoming,” he father said, breaking into her
thoughts. “Thought you’d bite my head off if I suggested it. Should give our
girl that altitude edge again. That’ll be a bonus for the Capitol.”

“Hope so. What
about after the Capitol Stakes? Have you given any thought to that?”

“Oh yeah.” Tug
winked at Cassie. “We’re nominated for the Land of Lincoln Stakes on Labor Day
Weekend.”

“The Land of
Lincoln! A grade three stakes?”

“Why not? Doesn’t
cost much to nominate. The real money has to be put down closer to race day.”

“That’s heady
stuff. She’s only won a cheap allowance race plus the race in Wyoming.”

“I know, but I’ve
got a gut feeling. And I like this fellow’s thinking, the guy you met out west.
I’m not the only guy who has faith in the altitude angle.”

Cassie lifted her
cup to her lips and swallowed. “He thought you were pretty clever for sending
Hope out there in the first place. So, what if we lose the Capitol—do we still
move forward to the Land of Lincoln?”

“Depends on how we
lose. If she just runs flatfooted, there’s no excuse. If she gets knocked
around a lot and has excuses for a poor performance we’ll probably move ahead.”

“Plus we’ll have
another allowance or two for prep races between the Capitol and the Lincoln.”

“Right. I figure
she’s strong and willing and can handle a race every couple weeks or so. Those
first two races hardly took anything out of her. We’ll probably give her a
break sometime between the Capitol and the Lincoln. She’ll let us know when she
needs to freshen.”

“I suppose she
will. Sometimes I think she’s talking to me. And there are plenty of times when
I wish she really would.”

“You’ll hear her
when she needs you to. You got a good ear for horses. So do you want to tell me
about this Travers fellow?”

“Not really.”

“Thought so.” Tug
coughed. “Nothing wrong with mixing horseracing and a little romance.”

Cassie’s cheeks burned.
“Calling it romance may be too strong.”

“Hell, call it
lust, if you want. It’s good for you. You’ve hung around stockbrokers and such
for too long. Need to find a real man.”

“Dad!”

“It’s true. My
health is coming back, slowly. Think I might make it a little longer. Sure
would like to see some grandkids before I go.”

Cassie scrunched
further back in the wicker rocker. “Since when have you become so family
focused? I don’t mean to disappoint you, but I sure don’t see any kids on the
near horizon—or the distant one, for that matter.