STUDS AND STILETTOS (Romantic Mystery) Page 12

  But Lizzie had already turned away and was murmuring to Dan. He nodded, texted something on his phone then glanced back at Emily.

  “Thanks for the tip. Can you be here tomorrow? Reckless is going to crash through the rail. Should be fun.” He smiled, the cleft in his strong jaw deepening. “You did well today.”

  Warmth spread through Emily’s chest. It didn’t matter now that the director had been annoyed at her sneezing, or that her wet feet seemed directly attached to her itchy nose, or that Lizzie was standing behind Dan and glowering. He wasn’t the type to throw out idle praise, and for a blissful moment even her head stopped pounding.

  Dan turned away, still texting, with Lizzie scampering beside him. Emily felt slightly bereft.

  Her hand drifted to the comforting phone in her pocket. Maybe she could whip off some texts too. Message Jenna and tell her about Bruno, about his rears. She wouldn’t send any pictures, of course, or reveal any movie details. But a little text wouldn’t hurt. After all, Dan used his phone on set all the time. And technically she was no longer background but a race advisor. Surely that gave some privileges.

  She nibbled at her lower lip. Dan had been so respectful, almost as though he had high expectations. Odd since no one ever expected much of her. Generally they harped about the rules before she even had a chance to break them. She’d never forgotten Wally’s words her first day on the tour guide job. ‘I know you’re going to screw up.’

  It was amazing Wally had even hired her as a guide. Although he’d really done it for Jenna.

  “Excuse me.”

  Emily gave a guilty jump, pulling her hand off her phone. Mrs. Hamilton stood about ten feet away, her carefully made-up face drawn in a slight frown.

  “Did I miss Reckless galloping this morning?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.

  “There was no galloping,” Emily said. “Just the rearing.” But it had been her scene and she felt a flush of pride.

  “He didn’t bolt and run through the rail?”

  “Not yet,” Emily said. “That’s early tomorrow.”

  “Oh, good. My husband isn’t feeling well but he didn’t want to miss the action.” Mrs. Hamilton stared across the infield, a faraway look in her eyes. “It seems like this all happened yesterday.”

  “Did Reckless really run through the rail?”

  “Indeed he did. For a few months he was a complete terror. My husband almost gelded him. Fortunately, we didn’t.”

  Emily shook her head, unable to imagine the number of talented horses who wouldn’t exist if Reckless had been gelded. “How did you help him?” she asked.

  “We moved him back to the main barn. Hired a new groom.” Mrs. Hamilton gave a musical laugh. “Men rarely remain faithful for long and Reckless was no different. His next groom was a sixty-year-old woman who signed a contract saying she’d remain in our employ for as long as Reckless raced. He loved her, much more than the first.”

  There seemed to be no question that the groom’s abrupt departure was what bothered Reckless. Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t even speculating; she spoke as though it were fact.

  “Were you tempted to offer the first groom a raise?” Emily asked, trying to choose her words carefully. “At least so Reckless could make it to the Derby?”

  “I’m not sure why they couldn’t make a deal.” Mrs. Hamilton’s eyes shadowed. “My husband was in charge of compensation. I wasn’t…involved.”

  Emily took a hasty sip of coffee. It seemed the groom was a delicate subject. No doubt, old Hamilton had been having an affair. It made sense now. The elegant apartment, the private barn for Reckless, even Billy monitoring the gate. Clearly it had been an upsetting situation for more than just the horse.

  Her nose itched and she averted her head but was unable to suppress a sneeze.

  Mrs. Hamilton gave a sympathetic tilt of her head. She reached in her purse and pressed a soft tissue into Emily’s hand. “My husband started sneezing yesterday. Now he’s so chilled he can’t get out of bed. I hope you don’t catch it.”

  She snapped her purse shut. “I appreciate knowing the daily schedule. Anthony usually advises us of any changes but he’s extremely busy. Now we won’t have to call him.”

  Emily couldn’t imagine picking up the phone and calling the director about scene changes. The man was a sparkplug of energy, and very volatile. She’d sensed the production crew’s relief when Dan was present to act as a buffer.

  Mrs. Hamilton continued talking but despite the lady’s friendliness, it was hard to concentrate. Emily’s stomach churned along with her head. She gripped her empty cup, wishing for another coffee. Or maybe food might help. Mainly she wanted to find somewhere warm where she could curl up and sleep.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mrs. Hamilton said, turning toward a stately silver Lincoln. “It was very pleasant talking with you.”

  “You too,” Emily managed. But once Mrs. Hamilton closed the car door, she lobbed her empty cup into a garbage can and bolted toward the dining room. She’d pick up some food for Billy, clean the stalls and grab a nap. Sleep always did wonders.

  She didn’t want to sneeze tomorrow and draw more negative attention. No one was ever given lines that way.

  She strode into the tent, past the monitor who eyed her suspiciously but didn’t challenge her presence. Lunch was being served. However, the stagnant air still reeked of eggs, and nausea churned Emily’s stomach, completely wrecking her appetite.

  She picked up two sandwiches, ham and cheese and one that resembled chicken, wrapped two doughnuts in a napkin and hurried back outside.

  The sun beamed overhead, warming the paved drive to Billy’s cottage. Despite the heat on her shoulders, she shivered. She just wanted to curl up and sleep. But she stopped in front of the cottage, uncertain if she should knock or simply leave the food. The front and back yards were both empty. A large dog kennel had weeds entangled in the mesh, but the food should be safe on top of the wire.

  Click. The door pushed open and Billy stepped out, as if he’d been watching the road. His eyes filled with anticipation. “Got my doughnuts?”

  “Yes, and here’s a sandwich you can eat first. Do you like ham or chicken?”

  “I like them both,” he said.

  She passed over all the food. Her appetite had disappeared anyway. Now the only thing she wanted was solitude. “Maybe you should eat a sandwich before the doughnuts,” she suggested, eyeing his baggy pants.

  “All right,” he said grudgingly. “But it would have been better if you brought more doughnuts.”

  “I need to look after the horses,” she said, covering a yawn. “However, I’ll bring more food, as long as I’m here.”

  “Mr. Hamilton wants you to stay.” Billy took a big bite of doughnut, completely ignoring the sandwiches in his left hand.

  “You should eat the sandwich first.” She stopped making suggestions and gave a wry shrug. Nobody liked being told what to do. Besides, the order of the food didn’t matter, as long as he ate something nutritious. “I want to stay until the movie’s finished too,” she said.

  And maybe, just maybe, she’d land a speaking role. There weren’t many special skills around and the director might need someone to say a line. Maggie had mentioned there was a lot of background scheduled for tomorrow. Emily would have to do something to get Anthony’s attention though, something besides sneezing.

  She rubbed her temple. Hopefully a nap would help her think more clearly. It wouldn’t hurt to clean the stalls later. Barney and Ted wouldn’t mind, as long as she fed them their noon hay. Right now, her arms felt too heavy to lift a pitchfork.

  She forced a wave that Billy ignored. His head was still bent over the doughnuts, his jaw grinding rhythmically. And even though he was a cantankerous old man, his obvious satisfaction gave her a boost.

  She continued her trudge along the winding drive, keen to flop on the sofa and catch up on some sleep. Maybe she’d borrow Barney’s blanket. It was warm enough that he didn’t need it. By no
w the sun would have heated the apartment. The wide French windows faced south so it should be warmer than last night. And in the daylight, the place might feel more welcoming.

  She rounded the corner, swept with a swell of pride at the sight of the stud barn. She’d never been in charge of horses before. Never been in charge of anything important. She’d looked after Peanut, but Jenna had always checked, as though not trusting her to do it right. Dan had given her feed instructions, shown her how to wrap and then stepped back. Pretty cool.

  Of course, she’d have to adjust the horses’ schedule to fit her day. Before she went upstairs, she’d turn Ted out in the paddock and give Barney a flake of hay. Then, after she woke, she’d pick out their stalls and tend to Barney’s leg. That would give her time to grab supper at the dining tent. Tomorrow she’d be rested and ready to smile for the director, hopefully without any disruptive sneezing.

  Lizzie charged from the barn, shattering Emily’s calm. “Where the hell have you been?” she hollered. “These stalls are still filthy.”

  Her accent didn’t sound so cute when she yelled. “I’m going to do them,” Emily said. “Soon.”

  Lizzie’s scowl deepened. “This isn’t some type of ranch vacation. If you’re not going to work, you should leave.”

  “I just left the set,” Emily said. “I’ve been working all morning.”

  “So have I,” Lizzie snapped, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “And you have hay to stack.”

  Emily glanced to the left. A haphazard pile of hay bales had been dumped near the corner of the barn. It looked like enough to feed ten horses over a very long winter. And for some reason the truck had unloaded the bales fifty feet from the door.

  Her shoulders drooped. The bales looked heavy, at least forty pounds each. “Why did they drop them so far away?” Emily asked, eyeing the extra distance.

  “The ground is muddy everywhere else,” Lizzie said. “And it might rain later so there’s no time to waste.”

  Emily checked the clear sky. Not a cloud in sight. Sighing, she looked back at the stack. “Barney and Ted couldn’t eat all that hay if they lived here a year.”

  “We might have a few more lame horses that need to be separated,” Lizzie said. “But if chucking bales is too much work for an actress like you, just say so.”

  Emily’s mouth tightened. Finally she was being called an actress, although in a very demeaning tone. A wrangler actually sounded more important. It definitely was more fun. But any work she did here was helping Dan so her nap would have to wait.

  She forced an agreeable nod. “Where should we put them?”

  “Use the empty stalls,” Lizzie said. “They’ll fit if you stack them properly.”

  “You’re not going to help?”

  “You offered to look after this barn,” Lizzie said. “It’s your responsibility.” She turned and headed down the path, her back ramrod stiff.

  Emily glanced wistfully at the sunny balcony. It was tempting to just feed the horses and grab a nap. But if by remote chance it did rain, the hay would be ruined. Besides, despite what Lizzie thought, she wasn’t afraid of hard work. She and Jenna had lugged many bales before, although it was always more fun with company.

  She walked into the barn, slightly mollified by Barney’s welcoming nicker. She gave him a flake of hay, then turned Ted out in the paddock. At least she had the horses close by. They were much better company than grumpy old Lizzie.

  She grabbed a broom and thoroughly swept the empty stalls, making sure the floor was clean before bringing in the hay. The wheelbarrow proved invaluable and after a few spills, she figured how to stack it so she could move four bales per load. Barney chewed hay, watching curiously as she pushed the top-heavy wheelbarrow in and out of the barn.

  Earlier she’d been cold. Now she was clammy with sweat, and beads of perspiration trickled between her breasts. The hardest part was stacking. With no one to help, she had to wrestle the hay to the top of the rows, then climb up and adjust each bale. Her arms ached, four nails had broken and already blisters formed where the baler twine cut into her hands.

  She took a couple breaks, twice sticking her head beneath the tap. The shock of cold water eased her headache, at least temporarily, and it certainly soothed her blisters. But her eyes and nose itched, and the dust gave her such fits of sneezing, she had to step outside and gulp in the cool fresh air.

  She worried about Barney too. The hay was unusually dusty. She couldn’t turn him out with his injured leg but it was becoming evident no one should breathe this air. His stall was close to the entrance where it caught a little breeze, but his flanks visibly heaved and his nostrils flared. When she leaned closer, she even heard a worrisome wheeze.

  She walked outside and checked the paddocks. They were all too large for a horse with an injured tendon. He might run and buck, especially after being cooped up in a stall. If it were Peanut, she’d tie him to a post but she didn’t know Barney. He might not be trained to tie, and if he panicked and pulled back, he’d hurt his leg even more.

  There were still about ten bales left in the pile, but it seemed more important to look after the horse.

  She returned to the barn, haltered Barney and led him outside. He was delighted to eat grass and immediately stopped wheezing. Ted was happier too, now that his buddy was in sight.

  But she couldn’t stand and hold Barney all day, not when she had so much work remaining. And already her body ached with exhaustion. It was times like this when she wished horses would behave more like dogs.

  She closed her eyes, wondering if it were possible to sleep standing up. A fly buzzed around her ear. Barney chewed in the background, his steady chomping like a lullaby. She dragged her eyelids open and checked the horse. He looked as quiet as a puppy dog. She closed her eyes again, lacking energy to swipe at the persistent fly.

  It was definitely peaceful here. No wonder Mr. Hamilton had built an apartment above the barn. The location was perfect, close to the track, yet isolated. And he’d even had a gate protecting him from unexpected visitors.

  “There’s been a change in plans.” Lizzie’s abrupt voice jerked Emily awake.

  “The hay is too dusty so we’re sending it back,” Lizzie went on. “The truck will pick it up in about an hour.”

  Emily staggered, stunned by the pronouncement. All her backbreaking work, wasted. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

  “It’s really too bad you worked so fast.” Lizzie gave a taunting smile. “But Dan trusts me to inspect the hay. It’s part of my job.”

  “Apparently that job is above your pay grade,” Emily said. “Most people wouldn’t take an entire afternoon to notice bad hay.”

  Lizzie’s smile faded. “Just get the hay back outside. If you want to quit, I’ll be happy to take over.”

  “Hold my horse.” Emily jammed the lead line in Lizzie’s hand. “I can chuck hay all day, but it’s too dusty inside for Barney.”

  She stalked into the barn, struggling to control her temper. At least Barney was safe, no longer breathing all this dust. Lizzie could figure out what to do with him.

  Emily clambered up onto the top row of hay and pushed the bales back into the aisle. It was much easier tossing it down than dragging it up, but the complete waste of time and labor was devastating. It had been stacked perfectly too.

  She trudged back and forth, pushing the loaded wheelbarrow, returning the hay to the pile outside. At some point, Lizzie disappeared, replaced by a wiry wrangler wearing a blue ball cap.

  Let’s switch,” he called. “You can hold the horse for a while.”

  “Thanks.” She walked over and gratefully took Barney’s lead. There were only about fifteen bales left, but each one seemed to have tripled in weight. Every muscle in her body ached.

  “Damn.” The wrangler’s eyes widened as he stared at her hands. “Why didn’t you use gloves?”

  “I don’t have any,” Emily admitted, ruefully inspecting her blistered palms. The baler twine had left
angry tracks, and the skin on her exposed forearms was red and blotchy. “This job came up unexpectedly.”

  “I’m surprised Lizzie hired you.” His gaze flickered over Emily’s face and then back to her hands.

  “She didn’t hire me. Dan did.”

  “That explains it.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Well, you just relax. My name is Monty. I’ll move the rest of the hay. You look beat.”

  “I can do the job,” she said defensively.

  “So can I.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “How far does the cardboard extend?” Dan studied the white strip of fence surrounding the track. It looked like a normal rail, but tomorrow morning a horse and rider were going to cause a spectacular crash. Any mistakes could be fatal.

  “Twenty feet.” The man adjusted his tool belt, his gaze sidling away.

  “Dammit. I requested thirty.” Dan calmed his voice, aware it wasn’t the set crew’s fault. “We need thirty feet minimum for this stunt. How long to add ten more feet?”

  The man glanced at the setting sun. “Could start first thing tomorrow. Finish by noon. We’ll need to add more foam grass though.”

  “Do it,” Dan said. He turned to Lizzie. “Looks like we won’t need Bruno tomorrow. Anthony wants this filmed at sunrise. Just a sec.”

  He walked a few feet away before pressing Anthony’s number, conscious of the curious ears of the construction crew. “Anthony,” he said into the phone, “I’m on the track now. We need more work on the cardboard section of rail. For some reason, it’s way too short.”

  There was a long silence, punctuated by Anthony’s resigned sigh. “A horse is only two feet wide. Twenty feet seemed like plenty.”

  A muscle ticked in Dan’s jaw. “At a gallop. Dawn light. Be like threading a needle.”

  “That means we can’t shoot it tomorrow.”

  “That’s right,” Dan said. “Unless it’s done at a trot.”

  “No,” Anthony said quickly. “I want it at a gallop. Go ahead and tell them to add the cardboard.”