Heat Wave (Riders Up) Page 6

  “Don’t know. Just because I don’t like the seller doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some good horses. But I don’t see them. One of the bays is more sway backed than my davenport. The other one has a right front knee that’s at least three times its normal size. As for the others, I’d be shocked if they’re high priced claimers.”

  “Very nice,” drawled Harrington. “You’re a quick learner. I don’t see anything here that will be competitive, in Iowa or any place else. These have to be the dregs that Basswood’s son couldn’t palm off. Let’s take the trailer and be happy.”

  As they pulled out of Basswood’s driveway, Maggie said, “Trailer seems to be pulling okay.”

  Harrington nodded. “This trailer will last for many years. No need to buy a new one if you can get something like this used. I’m just as happy I couldn’t find anything we liked around Des Moines—plus, we didn’t have to pay for extra gas to pull it all the way up here.”

  Maggie couldn’t help but wonder if the trailer would outlast Harrington. The corner of her mouth turned up. She had enough worries. Why did she want to worry about him? He’d stay as long as he wanted, and that would be that. “So do you really think we’ll be competitive by later this summer?”

  “If we continue to play our cards right. We’ve seen some good horses these last couple days. That little chestnut you bought yesterday should be competitive right away. And I know Cassie has a bead on a couple claimers. Still have to check out Clint’s broodmares.” Once he got the trailer on the main road, Harrington glanced over at Maggie. “You having doubts?”

  Maggie thinned her lips and sighed deeply. “This is huge. I’m not sure I realized just how huge until coming to Chicago. Clint and Cassie are talking about some horses that are way too pricey for my bank account. And then that Basswood fellow. He sure doesn’t like horseracing.”

  “Doubt that guy has worked hard a day in the last three decades. So do you want out? It’s not too late.”

  Leaning back on the seat, Maggie looked over at Harrington. His features were firmly set and his stare was fixed on the road. He had as much riding on her decision as she did. She admired his guts. It would have been so easy for him to stay with the comfort of the bottle. Instead, he straightened himself out and came to her.

  And he had heart. She’d heard it when he talked of horses. And Cassie had confirmed it with the story of little Eddie’s birth. If she had to trust someone to help her save her farm, she could do a lot worse than trusting a man like Ed Harrington.

  “No, I’m not going to change my mind,” she said. Her voice was an octave lower than normal. She sounded like a stranger to herself.

  “Good. I figured you’d stay the course.” He glanced quickly at her and grinned lazily. “It’s going to be a fairly bouncy course, you know.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to back out. A Magee always finishes what she starts.”

  Harrington nodded and smiled.

  Maggie leaned her head back on the seat and let her eyelids fall close. Her nose wrinkled. She smiled. She was becoming accustomed to his scent. Maybe too accustomed. What had Cassie said? Any woman who lassoed Ed Harrington would be a lucky woman. Well, she’d lassoed him. Not in that way. But she still counted herself lucky.

  Her nipples tightened and her eyelids flew open. She stared at Harrington, who paid no attention to her. Again, Maggie shuttered her eyes. No. She was his boss. You’re good for him and he’s good for you. Those were Cassie’s words. How good? Maggie drifted off to sleep before she could form a response.

  “So do you think your new boss has the guts to stick with racing?” Clint asked, placing two leaves of hay in a hay net. A bay mare stepped forward from the back of the stall to sample this new food offering.

  Ed chuckled. “Oh, she’s got the guts all right. I don’t know if she’ll have the sense to duck.”

  As the two men walked from stall to stall, several broodmares greeted them. Ed’s attention was caught by a regal black head with luminous dark eyes poking out over the end stall door. The mare arched her neck and raised her head high. Her haughtiness drew a breath from Ed as he appraised the animal. He knew he was looking at something special. Real special. Good legs. Deep chest. Strong lines. And a pride bespeaking champions. “Well,” he muttered, “you’re a classy thing aren’t you? Bet all the guys think you’re as sexy as sin.”

  The mare rapidly raised and lowered her head as if in agreement.

  This one could be the foundation mare they were looking for. “I’ll want to know more about this one come fall,” he said noncommittally.

  “Not sure Midnight Dancer will still be here by then,” countered Travers, a sly frown working across his face.

  “Okay, hotshot horse trader,” Ed retorted, shooting Clint a knowing look. The man was in the business of selling horses; he couldn’t just hold onto a horse until the time was right for a potential buyer, even for a friend. “So tell me about her.”

  Grabbing the halter hanging on the box stall door latch, Clint began to lay out the mare’s racing history. “We didn’t start her as a two year old. Wanted her to mature more before getting out on the track. Between her three year old and five year old seasons she ran twenty-eight races and was in the money all but four. She has twelve allowance and stakes wins, including one Grade Two victory. We matched her with a sire out of Seattle Slew’s lineage.”

  Ed whistled softly.

  “Why not take her out to a paddock so you can see her in action?” Clint suggested, moving to halter the eager animal.

  A few minutes later, the mare was prancing as if she was leading a parade.

  “Yeah, she’s all you said she would be.” Ed folded his arms, knowing that he could not let this one get away. She was a thousand pounds of thoroughbred promise. One couldn’t expect to find much better, unless there was an unlimited bankroll. “So, what will it take to hold the mare until we make a final decision in October?”

  Clint scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Considering feed, care and risk—five thousand, ten percent, would guarantee that no one comes along and buys her out from under you.”

  “And if we take her the money goes toward the purchase price?”

  “Of course.”

  “And if we decide not to buy, you pocket the money?”

  “Naturally.” Clint folded his arms and smiled broadly.

  Ed nodded. “I’ll talk to Maggie about it, but expect you’ve got a deal.” Turing to the ebony mare, he added, “You, young woman, take care of yourself and that baby you’re carrying. That’s all you have to do. No racing. No showing off. Just take care not to hurt yourself or the little one.”

  As they retraced their steps back to the barn, Ed said, “Appreciate all you’re doing to help us find some good horses.”

  “That’s what I do for a living.” Clint shuddered. “Besides, I owe you a few.”

  “Don’t even go there again!” Ed’s voice rose. “If I hadn’t been there, someone else would have taken Cass to the hospital. Let’s forget it, okay?”

  Clint shrugged and looked away.

  “I think it will be pretty easy to decide on buying your Midnight Dancer,” Ed said, turning the conversation back to a subject he preferred. “Maggie will be thrilled with the mare.”

  “You sound quite committed to Anderson Stables,” Clint observed, turning off the lights before leaving the stable area.

  “Why shouldn’t I be? That’s how I get paid.”

  “Uh huh. You have a damn sexy looking boss, too.”

  “So.”

  “No need to get huffy about it. It’s just that I expect you’re rather vulnerable at this point. And Maggie has done a lot to help you turn some personal things around. Just don’t want you feeling overly obligated to her, that’s all.”

  “Travers, you have always been in my face about something,” Ed snapped, picking up their pace heading toward the house. “No, I take that back, partially. You’ve been a good friend these last few years and that’s
appreciated, but no advice is needed in this corner about women. Maybe I’ve drunk a hell of a lot of booze, but I’m not blind. It’s no revelation to me that she’s damn attractive. It would be better if she were ugly, but she’s not. In any case, I simply work for Maggie Anderson. That’s all there is to it. That’s all there ever will be.”

  “Okay, Ed,” Clint replied, placing his arm around Ed’s shoulder and squeezing him roughly. “No doubt you’re quite capable of handling the woman. I just thought you wouldn’t want to get too tied down in Des Moines, Iowa. I’m still confident that we can beat this betting scandal rap. And when we do, you can come back and pick up where you left off. There’ll be plenty of owners who’ll jump through hoops to be first in line to get their horses in your stable.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Ed responded, shrugging off the compliment. “Hope there’ll be a chance for you to prove me wrong, though. In the meantime, I’m going to help Maggie build the best damn racing stable she can afford.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Warm June sunlight spilled through window panes into the upstairs guest room at the Travers’ McHenry home. Lazily, Maggie awoke, stretching, basking in her surroundings. Tiny rainbows danced on the nearby wall as light played through prisms hanging in the window.

  Light blue lace curtains billowed before the morning breeze, casting a spell of fantasy and romance. The antique four poster bed on which she lay dated back to the colonial period and had been crafted in Ireland. And the lush feather pillows augmented a luxurious setting that Maggie had not anticipated. Cassie Travers had a lot of taste.

  Maggie mumbled incoherently. She needed to get up and start the day but didn’t want to leave her delicious surroundings. Sinking back into the fluffy pillows, she succumbed to their sensuous comfort.

  She’d liked her plucky auburn-haired hostess right off. Cassie managed with aplomb being a wife, mother and horse trainer. Yet, the woman seemed very true to her own core. Maggie envied her sense of being okay with herself. Someday. Maybe someday.

  Not once had Cassie tried to dissuade her from the goal of forming a racing stable. Her hostess, as well as her husband, had been very helpful in identifying horses in the area that might fit into Maggie’s plans.

  Clint had agreed to keep Maggie’s needs in mind when he went to the summer Keeneland Sales in July. He and Cassie concurred with Harrington that to build for the long run, Anderson Stables would want to purchase mares in foal later in the fall.

  Clutching a pillow tight to her chest, Maggie reflected on the news Cassie had shared about Harrington’s background. Maggie sighed softly. She’d chosen well.

  Cassie had said he’d once had a reputation as a fairly heavy drinker and a lady’s man. Maggie hadn’t seen evidence of either since he’d shown up on her porch that Sunday afternoon in a dusty feed mill cap ready for work. She grinned.

  He’d better not try to bring any floozy to her haymow loft. Maggie jutted her chin forward. She’d send him packing so quick he wouldn’t know what hit him. There were the children to protect.

  “Right,” Maggie groused, sensing old stirrings in her loins. Rolling over, squeezing a pillow tightly between her thighs, she wondered how long it had been. She missed the feel of a man holding her, caressing her neck, grazing her nipples, kissing her lips. She missed running her fingers lightly across a man’s back, feeling straining muscles, knowing she was the reason for the hardness pressing against her hip.

  There were these haunting moments when she missed Mason so terribly. He would never again touch her in those intimate ways. There hadn’t been desire or time for men since his death. She hadn’t looked at another man in that way.

  Not until Ed Harrington. He’d been in her dreams more than she wanted to confess.

  What would he be like in bed?

  She’d only made love to one man. Maggie chewed on her lower lip. Would it be the same with her hired man? Different? Could it be even better?

  Absently, she brushed her fingers over her aching breasts through the thin, worn nightgown. She’d been a teenager when she first made love with Mason. Now she was a mature woman…So what was she doing thinking and behaving like a teenager?

  Slipping the sleepwear down her torso, Maggie pulled gently on first one rising nipple and then the other.

  “Oh my,” she moaned. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel, to be aroused, to want.

  Maggie’s head lolled back and forth, swaying with the erotic electric charges radiating from her breasts upward to her nape and downward through her inner thighs to her toes.

  A litany reverberated from one tiny brain cell to another: It’s okay to seek satisfaction.

  As if of the same mind, her fingers moved leisurely over her belly, first sketching invisible circles clockwise and then counterclockwise around her navel. In that balance of concentric movement, awareness of time was lost. No reality existed beyond those bubbling internal sensations straining for more tactile encouragement, demanding release.

  Descending lower, her hand sought the warmth of her loins. Her palm paused, resting as if waiting further instructions.

  Maggie’s breath came haphazardly. Cupping her mound, she pressed tentatively inward. Her lower torso jerked upward. A finger slowly penetrated. Without further hesitation, her thumb skimmed her clit. A second finger slid easily into her wetness.

  Maggie thrust urgently against the slickness. A tiny red-orange ball pulsed somewhere within. It grew, spreading in ever larger circles. Perspiration beaded across her upper lip. Her breath stopped. The ball exploded, dissolving muscles and bones into nothingness.

  Curling into a fetal position, trapping her fingers deep within, Maggie screamed into a pillow.

  Minutes later, still quaking, she reclaimed her fingers. How long had it been since giving herself the chance to feel that exquisite touch? Months. Nearly a year. This was only the third time since Mason’s death.

  Keeping remnants of shame at bay, Maggie reveled in the warm toasty afterglow. How she had missed that simple, elemental act. By denying herself all these months of such exquisite gratification, had she been punishing herself, trying to atone for her husband’s death? This gift of life, she decided firmly, should not be sacrificed to the past.

  What would it be like to make love to a man again? A real man. She hugged herself. What would it be like making love to him?

  “Did you sleep well?” Harrington inquired, when Maggie pulled out a chair at the breakfast table.

  “Very. I’m afraid I overslept. Don’t know how long it’s been since that happened.” Maggie focused on breakfast options, hoping no one could fathom what she had been doing not so long before.

  A squabble erupted between Sammy and Lester over the last warm pancake, diverting everyone’s attention from Maggie’s flushing cheeks. And Eddie began screaming so as not to be left out.

  Thankful for the diversion, Maggie smiled at the children’s mom scolding the older ones and rescuing the cup that had dropped to the floor. Clint reached for the Eddie, picked him up and soothed him. While a single parent could manage such escapades quite well, these were moments, Maggie acknowledged, when another pair of hands could be decisive.

  Once the commotion was settled and Cassie plunked down another round of hot pancakes, the woman opted for peace and quiet. “Lester, Sammy, I’ve had about enough closeness for this early in the morning. Both of you are done. I want you to take your dishes to the sink and then go out and do your chores.” Softening her stern look, she said, “Love you, but be gone.”

  “Okay, Cass,” replied the twelve-year-old boy, rising from his chair.

  His younger sister, Sammy, followed on the run and then dashed back to give Cassie a hug. “Sorry, Mommy. Didn’t mean to get you mad.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not mad. Just a little grumpy. Eddie was up most of the night with an earache. Run along now,” she whispered, kissing the girl’s forehead.

  After the screen door clattered shut, Clint said, “Cass and I have be
en talking about your plans, Maggie. We’d like to make a suggestion or two, if you don’t mind.”

  Maggie loved the drawl of the copper skinned man with hair as dark as night. She met his eyes easily. “Not at all. What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, it’s a lot to expect of anyone to learn the ins and outs of training race horses all at once. People work for years as apprentices to learn what you need to know.” Glancing at his wife, he continued, “We thought you might want to leave the horses that are still racing with us so Cass can continue their training and entering them in races on the Chicago circuit. When they’re ready for a couple months rest to freshen up, we can ship them down to you.”

  “That way,” Cassie said, breaking in, “Ed can teach you how to prepare some of the younger horses for racing without the pressure of immediately tackling track management.”

  Whoa, Maggie wanted to shout. Things were moving too quickly all of a sudden. Dollar signs nagged at her brain. She couldn’t afford racing on the Chicago circuit. Not in the beginning. But neither did she want to offend her new friends.

  Biting her lower lip, she mumbled, “I don’t know.” Instinctively, she looked to Harrington for his advice.

  Harrington raised an eyebrow. “It’s probably a good idea, Maggie. You’ll need time to develop along with the horses. We could work with two or three yearlings and two-year-olds and with those on R and R from the track. This way we might not even have to race at Prairie Meadows until the fall or even the next season.”

  “You’ll want to watch your horses race,” Cassie said, turning to adjust Eddie in his highchair. “I’ll bet you could catch most of the races via satellite at Prairie Meadows. We’ll keep our eye on the stakes races they’ll be offering down there. It may pay to ship a horse or two, and that would give you more hands on experience at the track. And, of course, you could always come up here and work with me for however long you can get away. There is no better substitute for learning the ways of the backside than being there.”