Jockeying for You Read online

  Jake felt his brow furrow deepen. “Without using a whip, how does the horse know when it’s time to go all-out for the home stretch?”

  Ryder met his steady gaze. “Of course, a lot of jockeys use whips to let the horse know when to go faster. But it seems redundant to me. Why use a whip when it already knows from the jockey’s body language what it needs to do?”

  His eyebrow was now arching. “Body language?”

  “Sure. Like when the jockey gets lower in the saddle and leans all the way forward to hang on the horse’s neck, the horse knows it’s the home stretch. When the jockey is straighter in the saddle at the beginning, the horse knows not to use up his strength too fast.”

  With every word coming out of her mouth, he liked her better and better. Though the jockeys he knew never struck a horse to hurt, only to spur the animal on, it wasn’t a practice he was a fan of. The best riders were more apt to hand ride at the end, a humane—and more effective way, to his mind—of encouraging the animal to give its last burst of energy toward the finish line. Still, he’d never heard of using no whip at all. But he wasn’t here to discuss his philosophy, he was here to discuss hers. “You’ve got pretty unique ideas, I’d say.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged again, her tan shoulders exposed in the brightly colored sundress. “I think my way is best, not only for the horse but the owner as well. A happy horse is a winning horse.”

  Someone actually agrees with me. Amazing. I should stick her comment in the other owners’ faces. He took a long, hard breath. “How about a horse that will be especially difficult to train? Still think you can do it without going about it the standard way?”

  He watched her take another sip of water. It looked like she was considering the question in full measure.

  “Yes,” she said eventually. “I think a horse that’s difficult to train may have some emotional issues. I’d definitely want to use a soft touch on a horse like that.”

  The waiter came back to them to take their drink order. Jake motioned for her to go first.

  “I’ll stick with the ice water. Thanks,” she replied.

  “Do you want anything to eat? Since I’m the one interviewing, I’m buying.” He allowed himself to give her a smile.

  “Thank you. I guess I have time for a salad before I have to go back to work.”

  He quirked up an eyebrow. “That’s it? Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “A Waldorf salad, please. Dressing on the side.”

  “Okay Robert, you heard the lady. I’ll get the filet mignon. Medium rare.”

  “Very good, sir. Right away,” the waiter replied before hustling toward the kitchen.

  “When I’m hungry,” Jake said wryly, “nothing gets done, so I hope you don’t suffer the same way. I feel like I’m eating with a jockey.”

  “Since I used to be one, you kind of are. I still have a ‘eat light’ mentality. I think it’s ingrained at this point. I don’t notice what I’m missing because I’m not used to having it anyway.”

  “I heard about your racing record.”

  He could see her body tense up. “My fall was a mistake. A jockey’s mistake. But I don’t make mistakes as a trainer.”

  “Relax, I didn’t say what I heard about your past was bad. I heard you were quite good until your accident.” He observed her lips were tight. A straight line of pressed flesh.

  “I focus on the future, not the past,” she answered. “Both in my life and in my profession.” Her voice was courteous but clipped.

  Clearly, he had hit a bump with her. If she were any tenser she could be a filly at the starting gate for the first time. “Well, we can talk about jockeying later.” He observed her nod slowly. No matter how tense she was, this was one business lunch he didn’t want to end.

  Ryder hardly ate the delectable Waldorf salad in front of her, picking at the lettuce as if she were back to being a fussy eater in second grade. Why had she mentioned anything about having been a jockey? He had made only a light reference to riding and she cringed as if he’d thrown a bucket of cold water over her.

  An image sprang into her head, the memory of it colder and wetter. The afternoon of her fall. Track conditions deteriorating from a downpour that would not let up. All that morning anxiously awaiting updated weather reports, none of them getting any better. Thunder and lightning setting in. Flashes bright enough to light up the black sky. Thunder loud enough to sound like God himself was snapping a jockey’s whip. Wind and sheets of rain pouring in with such intensity the atmosphere was no more than an electrically charged blur.

  Ten minutes later, the storm had stopped. The skies cleared to a dull gray a few hours before the races. The track had dried out enough for the authorities to allow the race to go on but posted on the board the track conditions were ‘poor.’

  Ryder had almost bitten her lip off in indecision. She knew she was largely untested in poor conditions. The horse she was on had some experience on muddy turf, though, so she had taken the calculated risk. But hadn’t calculated enough. Five minutes before the bugle sounded the rain came down once again. Within moments of the downpour the track’s status was downgraded from ‘poor’ to ‘sloppy.’

  Wet earth quickly turning into mini rivers. Face stinging from cold rain. And then falling as the horse went down, tripped by the horse in front of it . . .

  “Um, Ryder? You okay? You look a bit pale.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m fine, really. Just feeling a little cold is all. The air conditioning in here is nice. I’m not used to it.” She laughed nervously. “The stables are like a big oven it’s so hot in there.”

  Her lips stretched out into a smile she hoped would put him at ease. Why am I reliving such an old memory? For someone who espoused not dwelling in the past, she was hardly living up to her own words.

  “Would you like my jacket?” Jake offered, already getting up to shrug it off.

  “You’re very sweet, but I’ll be fine.”

  She ate quickly, more for the distraction than to ease hunger. Geez, what is wrong with me?

  At least the subsequent downturn in her conversation hadn’t hampered his meal. The thick steak he’d ordered was disappearing at a fast clip. A man who could relish a good meal and still maintain a physique like his was a man to be admired. Judging by the envious stares from several women at a nearby table, Ryder wasn’t alone in this theory. Through his oxford shirt, she could make out a sleek, muscular body. If Jake had been a horse, no doubt he would have been a thoroughbred.

  She glanced at him and swallowed through a tight throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been curt. You were polite about my riding past. More than you should have been, given the outcome.”

  He put his fork down. “Sorry our conversation got off-track.”

  Despite her tension, she laughed. “Good pun.”

  He cocked his head for a minute, as if he were trying to catch her meaning. A moment later, he grinned. “It was inadvertent. Glad you’re quick witted. Handsome Dancer’s trainer will have to be. That horse is going to be a handful.”

  “I’ll be happy to take on the challenge. Tell me more about him.”

  He shoved his empty plate aside and leaned toward her. “To be honest, he’s a conundrum. He’s got great lineage. His sire is Handsome Winner, who won the Belmont Stakes. His dam is Dancing Wind, who did exceptionally well in three-year-old-and-older mare races.”

  “Which one of his parents do you own?”

  “Neither. I don’t pay for breeding rights. Too much risk in what the foal is going to be like. Besides, I don’t like to race them until they’re ready, nearer to their third birthday, like Handsome Dancer. Waiting that long for my investment to pay off is too risky. Besides, the foal may not have any racing ability, and then I have a lost leader.”

  Ryder felt her tight lips
relax and a slight smile break out. A man who refused to race young horses was not only a good owner but a good person. Racing horses barely at their second birthday was way too young for the majority of these animals in her opinion. Unfortunately, some owners were tempted to race horses as soon as possible, regardless of the animal’s condition, for the potential of fast returns. Horseracing was an expensive business. And buying a breeding session was one of the most dangerous. A few thousand dollars for the breeding, the vet bills for pregnancy and birth, plus the costs of the foal’s upkeep for years until it was ready to race.

  Assuming the foal would ever be ready to race. Like human babies, foals could be born with any type of physical issue. With horses, however, the tiniest little imperfection could mark the foal as a lost cause.

  “When did you get Handsome Dancer?” she asked.

  “I bought him four months ago from Barney Smythe.”

  She could feel her nose wrinkle.

  He let out a sharp laugh. The masculine sound was beautifully baritone. “I guess you know him.”

  I hate that my face is so easy to read. She hesitated for a second. “I know of him.” The most she was going to admit.

  “Yeah, he doesn’t have the best reputation. But I got Handsome Dancer for a song. Barney was ready to give him away. But Handsome should be ready to get down to business now. Though his prior trainer got nowhere with him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Handsome is wild. Barney thought he was untrainable and I understand why. Handsome didn’t want to be broken. Still doesn’t. He likes to throw riders off of him. And when he does allow someone to ride him he is very obstinate. He’ll start, then stop. Won’t increase his speed. Things like that.”

  She could feel her forehead wrinkle. “If that’s that case, what makes you think he has potential?”

  “The few times he’s been willing to practice on the track, his time is outstanding. He can easily do six furloughs in a minute-point-nine. And that’s with him completely unconditioned and untrained. Imagine what he can do with proper workouts and guidance. This horse could be a legend. I can’t let an opportunity like this pass me by.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip as she contemplated this. “His time for an untrained horse is impressive, certainly. What are other people saying?”

  He gave her a flat stare. “I’m the owner. What do I care what anybody else thinks?”

  “I’m trying to get a full picture of Handsome Dancer. The fuller the picture, the better the assessment. I don’t want to take your money or your time if I can’t do any better with him.”

  “That’s a first.”

  “What is?”

  “Someone concerned about taking my money or my time. It’s nice to see.” He gave her a warm smile.

  In any other circumstance it would have made her toes curl.

  “To be honest,” he continued, “all the owners I know think I’m nuts. In fact, anyone who knows this horse thinks I’m nuts. Barney Smyth sold him for a song for a solid reason. But I think they’re all wrong. And I’m willing to pay you a nice base salary to prove it.”

  “Has the racing association threatened to take away his gate card?”

  “Yes, though thankfully Handsome recovered before he had to go back to school.”

  “What about your family? What do they think?”

  She saw him blink, taken aback. Then he laughed. “If I were married, maybe my wife would think I’m crazy, too. My only sibling, Dina, is supportive of what I do, generally. But not this time. She hasn’t seen Handsome Dancer yet but doesn’t seem too enthused from my description. My mom isn’t around anymore.”

  Jake lowered his voice and stared out the enormous window. “Dina likes to try to fill in for mom. She means well, of course, but at thirty-five years old she’s way too young to live the role. Go tell her that, though. Good luck. Fortunately her husband and kids take some of her attention off me.”

  Ryder felt herself smiling again. “What’s your dad think about the horse?”

  Jake’s gaze turned back to her, his voice flat. “Let’s just say he’s not real enthused about putting money into anything that’s not a sure bet.”

  Ryder nodded sympathetically. “I see. I did a Google search on you and your family before coming here.” She fought back the blush threatening to rush forth. “Standard practice before I take on an owner I’m unfamiliar with.” She let out an uncomfortable cough. “It seems your father can be quite . . . opinionated.”

  Jake’s laugh was even flatter. “If you’re referring to the articles when he openly said disparaging things about one of my horses right before the Belmont Stakes, then yes, he can be very opinionated.” He straightened up in his chair. “People can think what they want. I know what I think. I don’t like people telling me no if I believe the answer is really yes.” Leaning forward in his chair, he said, “You must agree with me. You never would have been a jockey if you didn’t. There must be tons of people who told you a woman can’t do it.”

  She blinked in wonderment. Until now there were less than a handful of people who understood what she had had to endure being a female jockey. Her mother. Lenny. Mindy. Her father, when he was alive. Adding someone to this list would have been unthinkable. Especially if that person was an owner. And as stunning as Jake. “I understand. I’ve had plenty of people try to shut me down.”

  His grin was as bright as the afternoon sun shining through the restaurant’s huge windows. “So we have that in common. Good to know you can relate.”

  “I do. I’m sure we’ll get along great, if you hire me.”

  His grin was lopsided now, as if toying with her. “When you say we will get along great, do you mean me and you, or do you mean you and Handsome Dancer?”

  She felt her face go hot.

  He laughed loudly. “Either way,” he said, not waiting for her to respond, “I’m glad you think so. Why don’t I bring Handsome around to make sure you’ll get along with him?”

  She nodded and begged her blush to lighten. “Okay. Later this afternoon?”

  “Around four o’clock?”

  “Yes. Great. See you then.”

  They rose from their seats and shook hands.

  “Yes. Later,” he agreed.

  Ryder left, excited about the opportunity to see two handsome males return.

  Chapter 2

  Time flew until four o’clock. Ryder barely noticed the hours rushing by. Calls to owners, instructions to jockeys for future races, and one passive-aggressive argument with a surly jockey’s valet all ate time at a fast pace. But her best, albeit most time-consuming, distraction was her four-year-old mare, Yankee Doodle Girl, winning her race. Yankee hadn’t exactly been a long shot, but the mare hadn’t been thought to win, either. Ryder almost laughed at the thought that she and Yankee had a lot in common—they both shouldn’t be underestimated.

  Better yet, Ryder would be getting ten-percent of Yankee’s winnings. The ten percent bonus would be gladly accepted. The more races won, the more money Ryder had to rent stalls from the racetrack. Having more stalls meant more horses under her care. And more horses meant more chances of winning ten percent. Technically, when a trainer agreed to work with a horse, they were gambling, too.

  That was, assuming the trainer had the luxury to decide which horses to train. Some trainers had a heck of a time convincing owners to—figuratively—bet on them. Though Ryder was in solid shape with nine stalls, she knew better than to take her luck for granted.

  It seemed Jake was seriously considering betting on her. If they made a deal, and Handsome Dancer became a consistent winner and notable name, she’d have good leverage with the track to give her as many stalls as the best trainers around.

  Ryder’s ears honed in on the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned around, a
lready looking up to spot the tall height of Jake. Instead, it was Mindy Gomez, one of the two other women trainers. Mindy wore her usual work attire, worn out blue jeans and stained gray sweatshirt. A long, brown braid hung over her left shoulder making the middle-aged woman appear youthful.

  “Great job with Yankee Doodle back there, Ryder. I thought for sure you’d be screwed when your mare got stuck with the number one gate.”

  “Thanks, Mindy. I always cringe when they wind up in there. You know how the first horse loaded into the starting gate is usually the first to freak out.”

  Mindy lowered her voice and moved her eyes around the stalls to see if anyone was listening. “How did you calm Yankee Doodle Girl down? What’s your trick?”

  Ryder bit back a grin. Lenny had taught her everything she needed to know. Trainers in general were very secretive of their winning techniques. But Lenny had been only too happy to bestow on her every method and trick he had. Because if one of her horses failed to consistently place, another trainer would be hired in a heartbeat. Thankfully, the horses she trained performed well. Yankee Doodle Girl’s win was not an anomaly.

  Before Ryder could answer, Mindy shot out, “Wow. Check out Mr. Gorgeous.”

  Ryder’s brow wrinkled. She didn’t know any horse by the name of “Mr. Gorgeous.”

  She turned to peer down the path and quickly realized Mindy was referring to a man. Jake. He was, however, leading a horse that had to be the animal equivalent of a gorgeous man. In fact, both males truly were stunning. “The man is Jake Carter. The horse is Handsome Dancer. Mr. Carter wants me to check him out for possible training.”

  Mindy burst out laughing. “Training which one of those studs? I hope for your sake it’s the man.”