Summer Kisses (133 page)

“Yeah, that one.” Kurt grinned.

“Oh, man! Wicked! I gotta run home and change. And tell my mom too. She’s even coming to watch.”

“Think your red-headed friend will be there?”

Martin pumped his head. “Oh yeah. She’ll be there. Girls sure like horses, don’t they?”

“They sure do,” Kurt said but his pleasure at Martin’s reaction dimmed as his thoughts jumped to Julie. She might be peeved at how he’d shanghaied her into his truck, and if she really did like Cody he’d scuttled that for her.

He didn’t want to think about it. Passed a mane comb to Martin, and tried to concentrate on nothing but the best way to tame Lazer’s stubborn mane.

Julie slipped into the barn. Her pulse pounded, and every sense seemed to have sharpened. She recognized Martin’s voice and Kurt’s deeper timbre. Her stomach kicked, but she squared her shoulders and walked toward Lazer’s stall. She had to face him sometime. It would be much easier now than in the saddling enclosure before the race.

“Hi, Julie.” Martin careened past, arms and legs pumping, his teeth a line of white. “I’m helping saddle tonight!” he yelled.

“Super!” she called back. That was quite a coup. She knew more experienced people who would have been delighted to help Kurt. Everyone wanted to be connected with the quality horses. The other runners would all have huge entourages, but Lazer only had the three of them.

Kurt stepped from Lazer’s stall, his expression inscrutable, and the butterflies in her stomach morphed into giant moths. Was he disgusted with her drinking last night? Maybe he’d even decided to use another jockey.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fine.” She spoke in a rush. “Thanks for taking me home. I’m really sorry about drinking like that. And about getting sick.”

“Let’s take a look at Lazer’s race,” he said.

She followed him toward the tack room, her emotions jumbled. He always kept his emotions walled, but apparently she was still riding his horse. She gave him a grateful smile. He opened the door and smiled back—such a deep smile her toes curled.

Relief loosened her chest, weakening her legs and she sank down on the squeaky cot.

“What do you know about these horses?” He flipped open
The Racing Form
and sat down beside her.

She pointed to Brenna’s Hitter, determined to act professional, despite the blast of heat that radiated from him. “This filly is fast but hard to rate.” She moistened her lips. “She and the one horse, Frostbite, will probably set the pace. But if she gets an easy lead and relaxes, she could be tough.”

“What about Bixton’s mount?”

“So far the horse is unbeaten, but his regular rider from Seattle broke his leg. This will be Gary’s first time up. But Gary dropped Brenna’s Hitter for Sweating Bullet, so he must think Bullet’s the best.”

The sagging cot made it impossible to keep any distance between them. She didn’t want to scoot away and look like a prude, but heat pulsated from his leg, making her skin tingle, and there didn’t seem to be nearly enough oxygen in the tiny room.

“I don’t think the jockey change is going to hurt the horse,” she added, her voice breathless. “Gary’s very good.”

Kurt nodded, but his attention was on
The Form
. “You’re coming out of the two hole,” he said thoughtfully, “so there’ll be a wait. Lazer is never quick leaving the gate, so you’ll be shuffled back. A lot of dirt will fly. I’m running him in full cup blinkers. They might keep him focused and at least will cut down on the dirt. Don’t be afraid to go around traffic. He’s plenty fit and can handle the turns. And don’t get stuck behind that Frostbite horse. He’ll run out of gas and when he shuts down, he’ll be taking horses with him.”

She nodded—her stomach churning not only from Kurt’s proximity but also from the looming race. Tonight she’d be matching wits with top riders, competing against quality horses. Lazer lacked early speed, had focus issues and habitually gave up when dirt smacked him. But she was finally riding in a huge race. Her mother would be proud.

She wiped her warm forehead then clutched her hands. At least having other horses in front would let her see how the race was setting up. She wished she were better prepared, wished she’d spent more time watching Lazer’s replays. Usually she was very diligent, but her totally unprofessional feelings for the man sitting beside her had been too distracting.

She stared out the tiny window, watching as a fly struggled to free itself from a web. Warm fingers on her neck made her jump.

“Relax,” he said. “It’s just a race.”

She opened her mouth to argue. It wasn’t just a race. Not to her. But his hands felt incredibly good, so she closed her mouth and let him knead her stiff neck.

“You’re so tight, I should give you a full body massage,” he said.

“Yes.” She sighed. “That’d be nice.”

He tilted her chin, studying her intently. “I do give good massages,” he said.

“I’m sure you do.” She remembered how good his hands could feel. Her cheeks warmed, but he kept holding her chin, studying her face as though searching for something.

“Then you’re not upset about last night?” He blew out a breath, and the angles of his jaw softened. “Thank God,” he said.

She blinked, puzzled, but he’d already stretched out on the cot and pulled her down beside him, covering her mouth with a deep kiss, and it was apparent he still wanted her—physically at least. His tongue stroked her mouth, making her senses hum, and his big hands trailed along her back, molding her against him.

When he finally raised his head an inch, his breath was ragged. “Let’s go directly to that massage and forget the damn race.” He nuzzled her neck, his mouth warm and insistent.

His body crackled with so much sexual energy, she suspected he was serious. “We have a few minutes before I have to weigh in,” she jerked upright, “but I’m not missing this race. Lazer and Martin don’t want to miss it either.”

His hot gaze lingered on her mouth. “If we continue like this, sweetie, you won’t make the weigh-in.”

She scrambled to her feet, afraid he spoke the truth. A little kissing and she tingled all over, and when he looked at her with those hot eyes, she just wanted to slide her hands beneath his shirt and explore that hard body.

“I’m not missing this race,” she said. “Don’t even joke about it.” She crossed her arms and backed further from the cot. “And don’t look at me like that,” she added.

He still eyed her through narrowed lids so she stayed out of reach, waiting until they were a safer gray, not that dark color they turned when he was thinking of sex. My God, he was gorgeous, sprawled on the cot, all big surly male, looking as disappointed as Dude when a mare was led past the breeding pen.

His dark hair was slightly rumpled, his collar crooked. She caught a glimpse of chest hair, knew there was a scar about an inch to the right, close to the spot where his chest muscles bunched. Her eyes drifted lower, lingering on the bulge in his jeans. Maybe there was enough time, maybe—

“We have twenty-five minutes before you need to report in.” He sat up and checked his watch. “Are you going to be overweight? Lazer’s only assigned a hundred and fifteen pounds, and with your apprentice bug, we can shave it down to a hundred and ten.”

She made a non-committal sound deep in her throat, hiding her disappointment at the abrupt subject change. Nothing mattered to him very long. Certainly not her. He was all trainer now, composed and businesslike, while she couldn’t quite pull her thoughts off his body and masterful kissing.

“So? What do you weigh?” he asked.

“One hundred and seven pounds,” she said. “I’ll use my light saddle and hit the weight dead on.”

“Don’t use that word. That’s bad luck.”

“What word? What’s bad luck?” She took a curious step forward. He really looked worried, had even winced.

“That phrase, the one you just said.”

“Dead on? Are you superstitious?”

“Not a bit.” But he spoke way too quickly.

She stared at him, such a big, tough hunk of a man—cool, composed, always in control. It didn’t seem possible he’d be ruled by a superstition. A giggle slipped out, then another until she was outright laughing.

It seemed she laughed for minutes and when she finally sobered, all her emotions had drained, and she felt more relaxed than she had in weeks.

The room was ominously quiet though. Firming her mouth, she wiped her wet eyes and peeked at Kurt. He’d lain back on the cot, muscled arms looped beneath his head as he stared at the ceiling.

Oh, no. He had that reserved expression he often wore. Of course, all guys hated to be laughed at. But this was totally unexpected.

She tried to be solemn but her words carried a little bounce that was impossible to hide. “Sorry, but you’re the last person I’d ever expect to be superstitious.” Her dad called it super-stupid, but she definitely wouldn’t mention that. “It’s just that I’m nervous about the race and everything. I think I have a touch of the giggles.”

“No problem. Laugh away,” he said. “But tell me when ten minutes is up. I have to keep my arms crossed, in total silence, so that any bad karma is blocked. Or there’s no way I can run Lazer tonight. It’d be much too risky. That’s not a superstition either,” he added, his voice flat, “but an absolute rule.”

Her mouth dropped, and she stared in disbelief. This was no longer funny. He would actually scratch his horse because his jockey had used an unfortunate phrase? She’d suspected Kurt was too good to be true, guessed he must have a flaw. Well, she’d just found it.

God, it must get complicated, especially at a track where racing luck was so critical. Her empathy welled, and she walked over and sat beside him on the cot, holding his hand and squeezing it in understanding but she remained silent—just as he’d requested. She definitely didn’t want him to scratch Lazer, and if it meant shutting up for ten minutes, she could do that too. She’d also remember to never say ‘dead on.’

A radio blared from the aisle. Someone dropped a shovel, but it was quiet in his tack room, quiet except for his ragged breathing. Ragged? Puzzled, she looked down, scanning his expression.

His lips twitched. A chuckle burst out of him, and he tugged her into his chest.

She stared in disbelief as he laughed—laughed at her.

“You’re not superstitious.” She knocked his arm in exasperation. My God, would she ever understand him? “You’re just a jerk,” she said.

“Sometimes I am.” He sobered then slipped his hand around the back of her neck. “But this jerk adores you.”

Then he kissed her, barely touching her mouth. But so tender and lingering the impact was every bit as powerful as his earlier kisses. Even more so because he’d said he adored her. Her heart tilted as she absorbed his words. He adored her. From a man like Kurt, that was huge.

“I believe I could forget the race after all,” she admitted.

“Just ride safe, Julie,” he said, his voice husky. “I have something for you.” He sat up, leaning her against him as he pulled a blue box from his pocket and flipped it open. “The stone is a zircon set below our mountain. It’s supposed to ward off evil spirits.”

A lump balled in her throat. She stared at the beautiful pendant.
Our mountain
. The stone gleamed, seeming to mark the spot where they’d made love. So that afternoon had been important to him too. He’d obviously gone to a lot of trouble to find the necklace. He didn’t seem like a man who enjoyed shopping, and his thoughtfulness moved her as much as the gift.

She had to swallow before she could speak. “This wards off evil spirits?”

He lifted her hair and placed the chain around her neck. “You never know what lurks around a track,” he said. His warm fingers brushed her skin as he fastened the clasp, sending familiar shivers down her spine.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice husky. She looked down, pretending to admire the silver and the way it contrasted against her tan. She didn’t usually wear jewelry when she rode, but she was definitely not taking this off.

He rose, effortlessly lifting her and setting her on her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk over with you and drop off my spare silks.”

She glanced at his owner silks hanging next to a race bridle. “Is that red plaid the MacKinnon tartan?”

“Yeah, the clan that’s credited for Drambuie and the haggis masher.”

She wrinkled her nose, not keen to taste either but not yet ready to leave. She still had to bring up the subject of Sandra’s magnets. “Is this the bridle Lazer will be using?” She picked the gleaming leather off the hook and fingered its crownpiece. The magnet would fit right on top, right over Lazer’s brain, if only Kurt would agree. “I brought you something too.” She slid a hand in her pocket and passed him a flat disc, handling it reverently. “Just tape the magnet on the crownpiece. The side with ‘Nikken’ faces up.”

He held it in his palm for inspection and actually chuckled. “This tiny little thing is what you said would help?”

“It helps children and adults focus, so why not horses?” She knew she sounded defensive but prayed he’d try it. Lazer needed all the help he could get. And so did she.

Still grinning, he slipped it into his left pocket. “I’ll think about it. Better get you over to the weigh-in. It’s almost ninety minutes before post.”

She blew out a sigh, turned and opened the door. At least she’d tried. However, the dismissive way he’d pocketed the magnet didn’t bode well.

They walked along the pathway. As they neared the jockeys’ room, disappointment in his casual reaction to the magnet switched to a jittery buzz. The palms of her hands were moist. Already people drifted around the mezzanine, showing up early for the big race, a race she’d be riding.

“See you in the paddock,” he said.

She forced a nonchalant wave, knowing he wouldn’t want a fearful jockey on his horse. Yet nausea churned in the pit of her stomach because four weeks ago, she’d only dreamed of riding in a race this big. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and she had the horrible feeling she was going to mess up.

Kurt sat in his truck, listening to Archer’s update.

“Otto hasn’t left the apartment, and we picked up another call confirming his two o’clock meeting with Friedman tomorrow. Three quick-response teams are on alert. It’ll be a joint forces op with Calgary, but I’m flying out from Ottawa.” Archer paused a beat. “Our legal people are praying we find something. Evidence is sketchy, but we can’t let Friedman leave the country.”