Jockeys and Jewels Read online

  Tiffany stepped closer. “Nate is just a banking friend,” she whispered. “I really had a good time last night.”

  “Yeah, me too.” But he fought the urge to check over his shoulder even as he made polite conversation.

  By the time he returned to his seat all he could see of Julie was her rigid back. Even Sandra shot him a glare before continuing her conversation with a grinning Bixton. The table, however, had brightened considerably and now was crammed with a colorful display of shooters.

  “Another one down the hatch,” Cody said. He clinked his glass against Julie’s, and they simultaneously chugged. “Nothing to it, beautiful,” Cody said. “You're getting the hang of it. Almost beat me that time. Now we chase with beer.”

  Julie swigged her beer then accepted the next shooter Cody passed her.

  Kurt folded his arms and tried to look bored. If Julie and Cody wanted to get blitzed drinking the shooter menu, that was their business. He didn’t give a shit. But he was definitely going to leave after he ate. No way would he sit and watch them giggle and drink and giggle some more.

  It was a relief when the food waiter arrived, balancing a tray of steaming plates. “The one with the fries is hers.” Kurt gestured at Julie.

  Julie didn't look at Kurt but gave the waiter a polite smile. “I’m not hungry anymore, thanks.” She reached out and drained another shooter, surprising even Cody.

  “Wow, babe, you’re one up on me.” Cody set his glass down and rose with a smirk. “Be right back. I’m going to play our song.”

  Kurt bit into his hamburger, watching Cody weave toward the bar. Julie grabbed another shooter, not seeming to care she was chugging alone.

  Cody strutted back, and the words to ‘Julie, Do Ya Love Me’ filled the room. The food stuck in Kurt’s throat as he recognized the tune Sandra had been whistling. He pushed the plate away, his appetite replaced with full-blown frustration.

  Julie was already reaching for another shooter. He grabbed her hand. “Better slow down. I don't want a hung-over jockey riding my horse tomorrow.”

  She tilted her nose, haughty as a drunk can be. “I don’t care if I ride Lazy.”

  “Lazer,” he snapped. “And you do care. Have some food or coffee instead.”

  “I prefer these delicious shooters.” She slurred the last two words, dismissing him with a swish of her hair.

  “We should find a spot that's a tad quieter.” Cody’s reddened eyes flickered over Kurt then back to Julie. “My place is only twenty minutes away. I’ll call a cab.”

  “Okay, but first I want to drink the pretty green one.” She tried to pick up the glass but sloshed most of it on her hand.

  “You can drink mine too, beautiful. I gotta pick something up.” Cody tossed some coins in the air, leered at Kurt and headed crookedly toward the men’s bathroom.

  A muscle ticked in Kurt's jaw and the side of his forehead throbbed. Drunk or sober, Cody was an asshole. And Kurt had pushed Julie into his arms. He couldn't just stand back and let her leave with the prick, not while she was so wasted.

  He rose so fast his chair toppled. Stalked around the table to Sandra. “Don’t worry about Julie,” he said. “I’m taking her home now.”

  “Give your head a shake,” Sandra said. “She won’t go with you. Not after seeing that snob from the office plastered against your chest. And I don’t blame her.”

  “Just don’t worry about her,” Kurt said. His gaze swung to Bixton who stared with an expression that resembled approval.

  Kurt rounded the table. He winced as the glass clinked loudly against Julie’s teeth. “Phone call for you,” he said. “Some trainer looking for a rider.”

  She looked up, her eyes glassy. “What?”

  “You’ll have to go outside so you can hear. Come on.” He put his arm around her waist, grabbed her purse and propelled her outside.

  She stumbled on the doorstep, blinking owlishly as she peered around. “What phone?”

  “Over here.” He guided her to his truck, buckled her in the seat and pressed his cell phone in her hand. Slammed the door and slid behind the wheel.

  Cody burst from the bar as the truck rumbled past the door. He looked furious, even more so when Kurt honked and waved.

  “I can’t hear anyone. How do I work this?” Julie asked, oblivious to Cody’s hollers behind them. Her nose wrinkled as she peered at the display and pressed random buttons.

  “Let me see.” He reached over and studied the phone. Shit, Archer’s number was displayed. She’d probably hit redial. He turned the power off and dropped the phone on the seat. “Ah, too bad,” he said. “Looks like your caller hung up.”

  “I wonder who it was…where are we going?” She fidgeted in her seat, twisting and staring in confusion.

  “You wanted a drive home, remember?”

  “I did?” She wrinkled her forehead and hiccupped, then settled against the headrest. “I guess I am tired. And my stomach hurts. Oh, look at all the pretty lights!”

  She stared out the window, fascinated by the cars streaming in the opposite direction.

  He drove south for twenty minutes. She was drunker than he'd thought but explanations couldn’t be postponed, so he veered into the parking lot of a deserted strip mall, unclipped both their seatbelts and lifted her onto his lap.

  “We need to straighten out some things. Remember Tiffany? The girl in the paddock yesterday, the one at the bar tonight?”

  “Yes. She’s the one who always sticks Sandra and Dad in the oldest barn. She’s only nice to the big shots…or to the really nice guys.” Julie glared up at him before mumbling into his chest. “Guess you’re a big shot.”

  He felt his mouth twitch. “She’s just part of my job, Julie.”

  “That’s what Gary says, that all the girls he sees are part of his job.”

  “And that's all Tiffany is. Or ever was.”

  “Why do men always have those kind of jobs?” She shook her head and hiccupped.

  “We’ll talk about it another time when you’re not so…when it’s not so late. But you’re the one who matters. If you see me with someone else, or I act…in a different way, just remember it's only because of the job.”

  “The job? Training?” She blinked, her expression a mixture of confusion and grain alcohol.

  “Never mind. Let’s get you home, honey. You need your sleep.” He lowered his head, intending only a quick kiss, but somehow it deepened. Her arms wrapped around his neck, filling him with longing.

  He’d been so afraid he’d wouldn’t be able to touch her again, and such gratitude filled him he felt almost giddy. He tugged her shirt loose, his hand found her breast and she felt so damn good—she gave another hiccup.

  He swallowed and lowered his hand. Tucked her shirt back in. “Let’s just sit for a minute, honey. Then I’ll take you home.”

  “What’s wrong?” She linked her fingers behind his head and pressed closer.

  “Not a thing.” He shifted her rear a little further from his groin. “But we can talk tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” She giggled and tried to kiss him but landed off target and hit his left ear.

  “You’re really drunk, Julie.”

  “I am not!” She straightened, so aghast he grinned.

  He knew better than to try to reason with a drunk, but the chance to probe was irresistible. “You almost went home with Cody.” His stomach kicked at the thought. “Would you really have done that?”

  “Maybe.” Her voice lowered to a mumble, and she didn’t look at him. “Did you sleep with Tiffany?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Cody and I weren’t close either.” She sniffed. “And there's no way I would have gone home with him. Besides, Gary would never let it happen.”

  “What are you talking about? Does Gary look out for you like that?”

  “Yup.” She gave a rueful smile but it trailed off to a yawn, and she covered her mouth. “He’s a combination of Sandra and Blue. I just
don’t understand how I walked out the door with you.” She frowned and glanced around, as though expecting to see Gary’s face plastered against the window.

  “You know,” Kurt said, “I’ve always had an extremely high opinion of Mr. Bixton.”

  “Yeah, Gary’s great.” Her eyelids flickered. “Let's not talk for a minute. Just be quiet and watch the lights.” She snuggled into his chest and was instantly asleep.

  He held her for a moment, reluctant to let go. But after a few minutes, he straightened her shirt, smoothed her hair, rearranged her in the seat. When he clipped the seatbelt she mumbled something about ketchup with her fries but didn’t open her eyes.

  He turned the radio on and continued south, feeling more optimistic than he had in years. They’d driven less than a mile before her breathing deepened, and another sound mingled with the music. Snoring.

  His woman snored. His woman—he liked the sound of that. Contentment warmed him as he drove, her soft sounds intermingling with the Top Twenty Country Countdown. The truck’s headlights panned a square sign announcing Turner Valley, and after a slight hesitation at the intersection he chose a wide gravel road that looked vaguely familiar.

  “Stop!” She jerked upright, arms flailing as she fumbled for the door handle. “Let me out!” Her left hand pressed against her mouth, muffling her words.

  He pulled over in a spray of gravel, released her belt, leaned over and flipped open her door. It swung open. She thudded into the dark.

  Oops. He leaped from the driver's seat and rushed around the truck. She lay where she’d fallen, propped on her elbows, one knee under the running board, and retched forcefully.

  He helped her to a crouching position and tucked her hair behind her ears. There wasn’t any food coming up, he noted clinically, just liquid. He slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders. “You’ll feel better soon,” he said.

  “Just go away, please,” she managed.

  He walked back to the side of the truck and rummaged behind his seat. Found a squashed box of Kleenex and a wrinkled sweatshirt. Gave the shirt a cautious sniff. A bit of diesel and horse, but otherwise it seemed clean.

  When the gagging sounds slowed, he ventured back.

  She was crouched on the ground, shivering, arms wrapped around her chest. He gently wiped her damp face.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, not looking at him.

  “Everyone gets sick when they mix drinks like that,” he said. “Good thing you woke up. I wasn’t sure if this was the right road.”

  She managed a feeble smile.

  Her teeth were clicking as he helped her back into the truck. He turned the heat up and unbuttoned her soiled shirt. She made a garbled protest—not understanding—but he eased her shirt off and replaced it with his rumpled sweatshirt. “I rolled the sleeves up. There you go. Let me know if you need to stop again.”

  “I just want to go home.” Her face was pinched and white, her earlier gaiety replaced with misery, and he cursed Cody even as he blamed himself.

  Forty minutes later they drove into the West's driveway. “Better be quiet. Looks like your dad is asleep.” He switched off the ignition, silencing the loud engine. “Sleep in. Don’t come to the track until the races. If I see you galloping in the morning, you’re off my horse.”

  “Your horse?”

  “My three-year-old. The gray.” He used the patient tone he reserved for preschoolers and drunks.

  “Okay, Cody.”

  He jerked his head around just in time to catch her smile. “You’re such a smartass,” he said. He reached over and helped her with the door handle. “Don’t fall out this time. Wait and I’ll help you.”

  She rolled her eyes, huffy at the memory, and, of course, didn’t wait. She stumbled to the ground and had to grab the door to regain her balance. He grinned, stepped out and helped her to the house.

  An ominous growl leaked through the front door.

  “Quiet, Blue. Don't be so loud,” she muttered as she struggled to insert her key.

  “Not so loud yourself,” Kurt whispered, prying the key from her hand and unlocking the door. He stepped back and edged the door open with his foot. “Don’t let the dog—”

  But she swept the door wide open, and Blue charged out. He gave her hand a quick lick as he passed then jerked to a stop in front of Kurt. She flounced into the dark house without a backward glance.

  “Wait, Julie,” he said but she was gone and he was alone with her tough-ass dog. “Good dog,” he said cautiously.

  Something thumped from inside. Blue looked back, cocking his ears.

  Kurt swallowed. “I better go check on her.”

  However, the dog growled so he remained motionless, trying not to flinch as Blue sniffed his pants, his big muzzle lingering by the front of his zipper. Jesus. After an endless moment, Blue turned and trotted into the house, and Kurt’s breath escaped in a whoosh.

  Another thump. He shot a longing glance at his truck before following Blue inside.

  It was difficult to see anything in the inky darkness. Julie hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights or perhaps couldn’t find them. He almost stepped on her. She said something about her feet. He bent down, groping in the darkness until he felt the bootjack stuck to her heel.

  “That thing isn’t working,” she mumbled.

  “I’m surprised Blue doesn’t do this for you.” Kurt tugged her boots off and helped her stand.

  “He’s only a dog,” she snapped. “Good night.”

  She lurched down the hall, bounced off a wall and vanished around the corner. The sound of a slamming door boomeranged through the house.

  Blue whined, sounding so puzzled Kurt felt for his head and patted him in empathy. The dog wasn’t as scary when he couldn’t be seen.

  Steps creaked in the hall, and the sudden light made Kurt blink. Adam materialized, squinting and bleary with sleep. A gray t-shirt hung halfway down his hairy legs.

  “Kurt? That you?” He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Thought Julie was staying at Sandra’s.”

  “Her plans changed. Sorry to wake you.”

  “No sense driving back this late.” Adam scratched his head. “I’ll rustle up a sleeping bag. Surprised she didn’t think of that.”

  He opened a closet door and thrust a green bag in Kurt’s arms. “Couch is in there. Make yourself at home. I’m going back to bed.” He shuffled down the hall.

  Kurt opened the sleeping bag and gratefully stretched out on the couch. Blue whined. His claws clicked as he circled twice then thumped down on the wooden floor, a barrier between the stranger and the rest of the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  An unfamiliar ceiling stretched above Kurt’s head. Light seeped through the curtains. He raised himself on an elbow. A massive rack of elk antlers and an antique rifle loomed over the fireplace but horse pictures crammed the remainder of the walls, pictures of the same jockey winning, over and over again.

  Must be Julie’s mother, he thought, relaxing on the sofa. Clearly she’d been an accomplished rider.

  A screen door slammed, and boots thudded against the floor. Blue trotted into the room, tongue lolling, and dropped to the mat to lick his paws. Seconds later Adam poked his head in.

  “You and Julie must have had quite a night? It’s six-thirty and she’s still asleep.”

  “What time does she usually get up?” Kurt asked.

  “Four. In time for the morning feeding. Then she drives to the track.”

  Kurt winced. She worked both ends of the clock, making herself available to any trainer for morning gallops and hanging around the track at night, trying to snag a jock ride. No wonder she always fell asleep in his truck.

  “Come and have a coffee,” Adam said, “before I run over to the Farmers’ Market.”

  Kurt yawned, not feeling too lively, but Blue stared at Adam’s retreating back then looked at Kurt and whined. A command appearance then. Kurt rose to his feet, hauled on his shirt and walked to
the kitchen.

  “Do you have any sort of chance tonight?” Adam asked as he poured Kurt a cup of coffee.

  Kurt dropped into a worn kitchen chair. “My horse can run a little.” He sipped some coffee and ran a hand over his stubbled chin, trying to wake up. This brew was stronger than the stuff Adam made last week. Different smell too. He took in several more gulps, savoring the caffeine, feeling himself recharge. “Yeah, Lazer can run if he wants,” he added.

  “But will he want to?” Adam asked. “Here let me top up your coffee.”

  A robin flew by the window, its shadow flitting across the table. Looked like it was going to be another nice day. The track would be dry and fast.

  “I really don't know what Lazer will do.” Kurt stretched out his legs. “He had excuses for most of his losses. I do know he’s fit, impeccably bred and gets along well with your daughter.”

  Adam dropped a spoon in the sink with a sharp clink. “The handicapper only has him at twelve to one. There are some tough Alberta-breds in the race. They may not have the fancy bloodlines but around here ‘good bred’ only matters in a sandwich. A lot of the eastern runners are wimps.” Adam gave a disdainful snort. “A little bumping, a little dirt. Those pretty horses want to give up and go home.”

  “That sounds like Lazer.” Kurt straightened in the chair. Adam seemed uptight, and he sensed it wasn’t about betting strategy.

  “I’m just razzing you,” Adam said without a hint of humor. “No one can guess what will happen in a race. Or at a track.” His eyes hardened, boring into Kurt’s. “Nick was a good man, a careful man. What happened to him was tragic. And strange. There was an earlier incident, a cop who’d been at the same barn. Looking for Otto.”

  Kurt studied the image on his mug: cattle and three penners. One rider had her arm thrust in the air, and he studiously traced the picture with his index finger. “Julie did mention something about that,” he said slowly.

  “I figure the track hired a private investigator to come and look around,” Adam said. “Having two people shot and kicked to death isn’t good for business.”