Jockeys and Jewels Read online

  Fear skidded through Kurt but he shoved it back, afraid the thought of a fall might cause a jinx. He concentrated on the churning mass of horses, picturing every one of them with four good legs, four sound legs, and willing them all to come home safely.

  A chestnut filly charged up and joined Julie on the lead.

  “She’s second by a neck. Keep that horse outside. Make them work for it, Julie!” Adam hollered and jumped and punched his fist.

  “Here they come now,” Kurt said as horses switched positions along the backstretch. “Bixton is four wide, but shit, he’s got her. Look at that move.” Bixton was wide on the turn but his chestnut filly cruised past Julie and easily grabbed the lead.

  “Julie’s still third. Hang in there,” Adam said.

  At the top of the stretch, Country Girl slogged it out for third, while Bixton’s horse drew away from them all.

  “Shit, they’re coming in a wave. Hang on, baby!” Kurt hollered, not sure if he was calling to Julie or the mare.

  Julie switched her whip to the right hand and waved it by Country Girl’s eye. The brave mare responded, crossing the finish line and clinging to third by a neck.

  Kurt’s knees were weak, and he glanced at Adam. “That mare’s gutsy. Just like your daughter. She's good, Adam—real good. Hard to watch though.”

  Adam tilted his hat and wiped his brow, a weary gesture that spoke volumes. “This can't be good for my heart.”

  “No, it can't be,” Kurt said. His own breathing was still ragged. He’d never been so nervous, not even with his first-time starters. He wasn't used to trainers like Otto, pseudo trainers with ill-prepared horses. And riders like Julie, forced to take all the risks.

  They trudged down the steps to the rail and waited for the horses. Adam reached in his pocket and hauled out his ticket. Stared at it for an incredulous moment then chuckled, the tension in his face turning to triumph as he brandished the betting stub. “Look at this. I forgot all about the triactor. Hell, that’ll pay good. Did you make any money?”

  “Haven’t cashed a ticket all night,” Kurt said. The loudspeakers crackled, announcing that Country Girl had been claimed, and he wryly tapped the halter slung over his shoulder. “But I did claim a horse.”

  “Otto’s mare? But why? Wouldn’t the horse Bixton rode be a better claim?”

  Kurt didn’t like the curious gleam in Adam’s eyes but merely shrugged and turned toward the group of pony riders milling on the other side of the rail.

  “Hey, Sandra,” he called. “Can you lead my new horse back?”

  “Yeah, sure. I just heard the claim.” She edged Okie closer to the rail, her voice turning reproachful. “Now I know why you hired an escort. You could have told me the truth. It's not like anyone else wanted that mare, and I’m always very discreet. Just don’t expect Otto to be happy.”

  The tote board flashed the payouts. She glanced up, and happiness carved her face. “Oh, God,” she breathed, her smile widening. “Color me rich.”

  Kurt chuckled, enjoying her win as though it were his own. The numbers on the board were huge; Julie was going to be a very popular rider with long-shot bettors. He vaulted over the rail, leaving Sandra and Adam gleefully comparing their winnings. They both had the triactor, and the money was juicy.

  Several trainers had already picked up their horses, but Otto was still rooted, holding Country Girl while Julie dismounted. His face strobed from pale to purple when he spotted the halter slung over Kurt’s shoulder

  “You bastard!” His hammy fist jabbed the air, and tendons corded on his neck. “What the hell do you want with my horse?”

  “Watch your language,” a voice said as a racing official slipped a red claiming tag on the mare. “Take this horse to the paddock and remove the bridle. Ownership has legally changed.”

  Otto glowered but stopped talking and yanked at the mare, barely giving Julie time to pull off her saddle. The mare was too exhausted to protest and teetered after Otto, flanks heaving, nostrils pitted with red.

  Relief clogged Kurt's throat as he watched the plucky mare struggle to walk. Julie had been lucky. Otto hadn't cared enough to get Country Girl in shape. He’d thrown her in a sprint, hoping the animal would gut it out. This time it had worked.

  Kurt turned to follow Otto and the spent mare but Julie's hand stopped him, gentle on his arm.

  “That was good of you to claim Otto's horse,” she said. Grime streaked her face but her eyes sparkled, and she’d never looked so beautiful. “She’s too much of a fighter to get along with Otto. He'd have killed her. It was a nice thing you did.”

  Her approval pierced him, releasing a groundswell of guilt. If she knew the reason behind the claim, she wouldn’t be looking at him with such warmth.

  “I’m not here to save abused horses, Julie.” His voice was gruff. “It was purely a business decision.”

  “A business decision. Sure,” she said, her eyes luminous, “I know you worried about the mare. You were always watching her.”

  She smiled then, a brilliant smile, and for a moment he felt like a giant. But he was really just a fraud and when he tried to smile back, the skin on his face felt so tight it cramped his mouth. “You're right,” he managed. “I was worried about her. But I'd rather talk about your riding. May I buy you dinner later?”

  Her eyes widened in dismay.

  “And we can talk about Lazer,” he added, determined not to let her brush him off any longer.

  “All right.” she said slowly. “We're all going to Champs afterwards. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  An official yelled for her to weigh out. She gave Kurt a cautious smile before hurrying to the scales. He crossed his arms and watched her go, fighting his self-loathing. He'd always intended to use Lazer as bait, and his personal regard for Julie didn’t change a thing. He needed private time with her, time away from the track, and socializing with her was the quickest way. If she thought he was a nice guy, that really wasn’t his fault.

  But he had a sour taste in his mouth when he joined Otto in the paddock.

  “What took you so fucking long?” Otto yanked the bridle off, rattling the mare's teeth. She flattened her ears at the callous treatment. Her nostrils still flared, but her respiration had steadied, her lungs no longer desperate for air, and she looked to be rallying for another battle.

  Kurt quickly buckled the halter, afraid he would have a tiger on his hands if he didn't get the mare away from Otto.

  “I’ll take good care of her,” he said, although it was doubtful Otto even cared. He led Country Girl to Sandra, who watched the exchange with open interest. Kurt winked as he passed her the line, but Sandra looked at Otto’s dark face and prudently held her wisecracks.

  Kurt trailed Sandra along the walkway to the barn, his smuggling suspicions reinforced by Otto’s anger. Otto could claim a better horse with the money received for Country Girl, so it appeared the mare's value was measured by much more than just racing. At last, it seemed, there was some headway in the case.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The walk back was easier than the walk over.” Sandra gave Kurt a saucy grin as she flipped him the mare’s lead line. “Just what you need, a hot woman to spice up your life.” Laughing, she wheeled her horse and trotted back to the paddock.

  The mare twisted at Okie's desertion and gave an ear-blasting whinny.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Kurt said. “New owner, new deal.”

  She trembled, reluctant to enter the barn. He waited. She lowered her head, took a tentative step then stopped, her liquid eyes seeming to peer into his soul. Finally she gave a weary shudder and followed him down the aisle.

  He led her into the airy box stall next to Cisco where she sniffed at the generous straw, stuck her head out the window then buried her nose in the sweet hay. He lingered by the door, watching her eat, enjoying her contentment but concerned by her appearance.

  Her ribs were visible, her neck and hindquarters hollow, and she clearly wasn’t used t
o regular meals. A few weeks at Adam’s ranch should add some weight. Give her a fresh outlook on life. The mental vacation alone—

  The mare wheeled, ears flattened. He jumped back as her rear hooves smashed against the stall door. Christ! She’d almost nailed him. Maybe she was beyond help. She looked enraged now, like the horse he’d seen in the paddock, like she was when Otto was near.

  Understanding slammed him, and he twisted, leaping sideways as a shovel whipped the air. It missed his shoulder by scant inches. The steel clanged from its lethal impact on the concrete.

  Kurt stared at Otto, stunned by the ferocity of his attack. The man's lips curled, exposing a darkened tongue and a ridge of stained fillings. “Teach you to fuck with my stuff!” Otto pulled the shovel over his shoulder, holding it like a baseball bat. His face contorted, and he swung again.

  Christ!

  Kurt dodged but not quickly enough. Numbing pain shot down his arm. Adrenaline charged him, and he dove under Otto's arms, grabbed the wooden handle and rammed the butt into Otto’s throat.

  Woof! Otto grunted with pain but bulled forward and locked his arms around Kurt’s neck. Kurt buried a flurry of fists in Otto’s stomach but couldn't loosen the chokehold.

  They did a macabre waltz around the aisle, slamming into stall fronts, sending horses scrambling. Kurt’s lungs ached for air; he struggled to breathe. Desperate, he head-butted Otto then drove his fist into the man’s jaw. The big hands loosened, and he wrenched free. He kicked Otto’s legs out as gasping breaths stuck in his throat.

  Otto rose, grinning and confident in his strength. Lowered his head and charged.

  The guy is nuts. The knowledge fuelled Kurt, sweeping aside his reluctance to fight and perhaps draw a suspension. Fuck it. He wanted to do some damage of his own. He held his ground and rammed his boot into Otto’s face, then jabbed three brutal kicks to his stomach. Otto dropped to his knees, sputtering.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Kurt wheeled toward the voice, still in a crouch, still punchy with fight. Nick. The farrier shook his head with disgust and smacked a long metal rasp against his leather apron.

  “Shoeing horses is hard enough without grown men leaping like apes. Scaring them.” Nick twirled his rasp with the authority of a nightstick. “I suggest you take your argument off track, or I’ll call security.”

  “Sorry.” Kurt straightened, pulling back his control. The last thing he wanted was for Otto to be suspended; he needed the man close. But pain seared his throat, and it was hard to speak. “Everything's fine,” he managed. “A small disagreement but Otto and I are…finished. Right, Otto?”

  Otto scowled. A bruise darkened his chin but he opened and closed his fists, clearly less than finished.

  The barn turned eerily quiet. Even the horses watched, unmoving, their ears pricked toward the three men. Kurt heard his own breathing, still rough, as he balanced on the balls of his feet. But this time he was ready.

  Nick stepped forward and stood beside him, a stalwart force with a big rasp.

  Otto jerked back. Cursed and stalked from the barn.

  Nick chuckled. “Looks like you licked the red off his candy. Better watch your back though. He’s an odd one.”

  “Thanks, Nick,” Kurt said simply.

  The farrier nodded, but his expression turned pensive as he eyed the shovel and the fresh groove cut in the floor. “Don‘t expect Otto to play fair. He’s built like a gorilla but not quite as smart.”

  Behind them, Country Girl churned in her stall, poking her head over the door, staring, then circling again.

  “It's okay, sweetie,” Kurt said. “He can't hurt you anymore.”

  “What’s wrong with that horse?” Nick asked as he picked up the shovel and propped it against the wall.

  “Don’t know. I just claimed her from Otto, but she gets upset when he's around. Her reaction saved me tonight.”

  “You bought a cheap claimer?” Nick shook his head and slipped his rasp in the long side pocket of his apron. “Thought you Woodbine guys were strictly big league.”

  “I run all types, and she did come third tonight.” Kurt paused, sensing the farrier was the type who liked to fix things. “Even with messed-up feet,” he added.

  “Messed-up feet?”

  “Yeah.” Kurt nodded. “And she sure could use an expert.”

  Nick rolled his eyes but gestured at Country Girl. “Quit the sweet talk and bring her out. Horse deserves a break if she's been with Otto very long. The man insists on doing his own shoeing. Always fucks it up.”

  Kurt led Country Girl into the aisle. Nick ran his hands down her front legs. The mare trembled but lifted her feet, making no objection to Nick’s attention, and Kurt’s opinion of her intelligence rose another notch.

  “Not so bad.” Nick crouched, eyeballing her left hoof. “The angles are off, and the toe should be shorter.”

  “Check her hind end.”

  Nick bent over the mare’s back legs then rose and stared at Kurt with a bleak expression. “Sorry, but you can’t race this mare for a while. Looks like she was the practice horse at Farrier School, and every kid took a turn with the hammer. Let’s see how she moves.”

  Kurt led the mare down the aisle. Her hooves clicked as Nick stroked his chin and watched.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Nick said. “Bring her back.”

  He slid his hand along her left fetlock and lifted her leg. Lines fanned the edges of his eyes as he stared at her hoof. He spoke slowly, almost to himself. “Looks like she was shod three or four times over the last couple of weeks. Dry feet, couple quarter cracks. The wall is weak, damaged from all the nails. But the aluminum racing plates she wears now aren’t the same shoes she had earlier. Those shoes were heavier and needed bigger nails.”

  When he pressed her sole, the mare flinched and tried to pull away, but Nick kept a firm grip on her leg. “I think she had rubber pads on her back feet.” Nick glanced at Kurt. “Her soles are mushy, like they've been covered for a while. Dump some iodine on them. If she ran a third with these kind of feet, she's brave enough. I'll pull these shoes off now. She'll heal faster barefoot.” His voice lowered as he expertly cut the nails and removed all four shoes.

  Kurt stepped closer, eager to hear every word this gentle man said.

  “Her angles are screwed up,” Nick continued. “I think the other shoes were too thick, and she pulled some ligaments. She moves stiff, like a girl wearing high heels too long. There shouldn't be any permanent damage though. Her tendons aren’t bowed. Damn lucky.” He rose and flipped the old shoes at Kurt. “Those weren’t put on by an expert. Some of the nails were a little high. It's a wonder she let me handle her feet at all.”

  Kurt studied the aluminum shoes while he mulled over Nick’s comments. Nothing odd about these. However, it was odd to use heavy steel shoes on a racehorse. He felt Nick’s curious gaze and gave a quick shrug. “Thanks for looking at her,” he said. “She's leaving the track tomorrow, but I have two other horses that need shoeing. Think you can do them?”

  “Yeah, I’ll pencil them in somewhere. Working nights is a bitch, but it means a new truck by fall.” He headed down the aisle but paused and swung around, his eyes alight with interest. “I’d like to see the shoes on Otto’s next horse. Maybe they have a new trick south of the border. They're always experimenting with ways to make their horses run faster.”

  “Otto was probably trying to save money,” Kurt said quickly.

  Nick only shrugged and turned away.

  Kurt watched until he faded into the far recesses of the barn, until he could no longer see Nick’s outline, could only hear the solitary tapping of his hammer and the humming of a melancholy tune.

  The announcer’s voice crackled over the barn speakers. Two races left. Kurt walked to the front of Otto’s now vacant stall. According to the police report, Connor had stood in this exact same spot. Talking to Julie. Looking for Otto.

  But why?

  Otto’s frustrated at
tack confirmed the mare was the link. So far though, all Kurt had discovered was a bad shoeing job.

  Shaking his head, he carried the shoes into his tack room and powered up his laptop. The keyboard clicked as he finalized his report to Archer and stressed the need for a border alert. The thought of Otto's heated reception the next time he entered Canada filled Kurt with perverse pleasure.

  Laughter and shouts rocked the barn, so he shoved the laptop back into his briefcase and stepped into the aisle.

  “Hey! Join the celebration.” A grinning Sandra yanked a can of beer from a dented blue cooler and lobbed it in the air.

  “Did someone win a race?” He snagged the beer and snapped open the tab. Beer foamed over the top, and he covered it with his mouth, savoring the taste.

  “You don’t have to win to make money,” Sandra’said. “I’m up three hundred and seventy-two dollars from betting, and I ponied every race. So it’s a big payday. Help yourself, Martin.” She shoved the cooler toward Martin with the side of her boot.

  “Whoa,” Kurt said. “How old are you, Martin?”

  Martin’s hand stalled over the cooler. “Almost fifteen,” he mumbled, averting his eyes.

  Sandra’s mouth straightened in displeasure. “Martin can have a drink. There’s no damn cop around. And it’s my beer.”

  “And he’s my employee,” Kurt said.

  Martin’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his hand. Kurt felt his disappointment; nothing tasted better than a cold beer after a day of dust, dirt and horses, but Jesus, he wasn’t even fifteen. And the kid already had social problems.

  Kurt glanced at Sandra who cocked her head and glared, as though they’d just entered into an undeclared power contest.

  “You don't look the type to care about a little alcohol,” Sandra said, her eyes narrowing. “Quite the opposite. And there's no reason to worry about Martin. His mother is a close friend of mine. They live walking distance from here.”

  Everyone seemed to be a close friend of Sandra’s, and Kurt didn’t like the speculative gleam in her eyes. Didn’t want her natural nosiness turned on him. Sometimes he felt like he had ‘cop’ tattooed on his forehead.