Backstretch Baby Read online

  The inner rail was a blur of white now. His rhythmic breathing blended with hers, his powerful stride long and even, and if he missed balancing against the bit, he didn’t show it.

  Just past the finish line, she rose in the stirrups and leaned back on the rope. Tizzy slowed to a canter and then down to a trot. He barely pulled at the ropes, as if aware her injured wrist hadn’t regained its strength.

  She leaned forward and gave his damp neck a delighted pat. “You’re a prince of a fellow,” she said, her breath mingling with his.

  A few more nights like this and he’d definitely be ready to run on Saturday. The ride had gone more smoothly than even she’d dared to hope. It hadn’t taken long either. Tizzy would be cooled off by the time they walked back to the barn. Now, she just had to make her escape and get him off the track.

  But a light flashed, and her satisfaction flipped to a chilling fear. She was only fifty feet from the gap and couldn’t see Ashley or Miguel. However, the light flickered again, clearly a warning.

  She straightened in the saddle, alarm turning her ramrod stiff. She pulled Tizzy in a circle, straining to see through the dark. It was probably just some backstretch workers returning to the dorms after a night out. They’d be gone soon.

  The light flashed again, more frantically now.

  Moments later, Ashley’s loud voice cut through the night. “Oh, hello. I’m so glad to see security around. I dropped my wallet somewhere. Trying to find it.”

  Eve’s throat turned bone dry. She wheeled Tizzy in the opposite direction and trotted away, grateful for the starless night. But now everything seemed cannon loud. Tizzy’s hooves, his heavy breathing, her own thrashing heart.

  And Tizzy was not happy. He’d expected to leave through the gap, return to the barn and finish his hay. Now he was confused, and irritated. He balked, and she nudged him forward with her legs.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll find another way out.”

  He swished his tail but stepped forward. At least he wasn’t nickering. They’d have to circle to the tractor entrance, the one at the far end of the chute beyond the starting gate. It was a long walk but no problem.

  But she wiped her sweaty palms against his mane, trying to soothe her apprehension. Because if they’d stationed a second security guard by the tractors, it would be a problem. A very big one.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rick killed the bike’s engine in front of the security booth and tugged off his helmet. It had been a relief to ditch the drug car and climb back on his Harley. To drive as he wanted, simply enjoying the solitude. In fact, the ride to the track had been so liberating he’d explored several side roads, stretching the one-hour drive into six.

  The pudgy guard slid the window open a scant inch, studying Rick with obvious alarm. “Lost?” he asked, keeping well back from the opening. “Need directions?”

  “Nope.” Rick hooked a leg over the seat of his bike. “Not if this is Riverview Racetrack.”

  “It is,” the guard said. “But slot machines are closed.”

  “What about the horses?”

  “Next races are Saturday afternoon.”

  Rick stepped off the bike and gave a lazy stretch. The guard edged back, his hand slipping below the counter.

  “I’m looking for a woman,” Rick said, remaining by his bike and giving the guard plenty of space. “She lives in the dorms.”

  The guard’s twitchy fingers returned to the counter. “I see. But we can’t let people in without credentials. You understand?” He cleared his throat. “So late like this…”

  Rick remained silent. If they let him in at midnight, they’d let anyone in. Which would explain the thefts plaguing Scott’s trainer.

  “Maybe you could call her?” the guard suggested. “Have her come to the gate?”

  “And then you let me in,” Rick said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Well, no.” The guard shook his head. “Sorry but you’ll still need credentials. There’s a bar a couple miles down the road. Open late. And it has a motel that rents rooms by the hour.”

  A radio buzzed from within the guardhouse.

  “Just a moment, please.” The man turned and picked up a handset.

  Rick yawned and replaced his helmet. He’d learned what he needed to know. Security was in place, at least at the front gate. He’d head over to that motel, enjoy a few beers, and pick up his creds in the morning. Nothing was happening here, not tonight.

  “Yes, sir.” The guard spoke into the radio mouthpiece, his head nodding with fresh urgency. “Heading there now,” he said. He replaced the handset and stuck a yellow note in the window: BACK IN TEN MINUTES. Then he scooped some keys from a wall hook.

  “Think you’ll be able to find that motel?” he asked, glancing at Rick.

  “Think so,” Rick said.

  The guard hurried from the building, his keys jingling. He glanced at Rick and made a show of double locking the door, then jogged to a compact Jeep parked just inside the closed gate. The engine started and the vehicle sped down the paved drive toward the track, its roof lights streaking the sky with amber.

  Rick studied the sky, tracking the warning beacons. It appeared two security vehicles were on the move, one at the east end of the track, the other by the barns in the north end. And then a third set of lights stained the night. Those ones came from the south end of the track.

  Interesting. Three vehicles on full alert. Track security was definitely out in force, even calling their man in from the front gate. Maybe they were close to corralling the thieves and Scott Taylor’s investigative agency wouldn’t be required. Perfect.

  He revved his engine. The security bar was lowered over the entrance but it was designed to stop cars. Not bikes. He eased his motorcycle over the side of the concrete onto the grass, skirted the closed gate then rolled back onto the pavement.

  The bike’s powerful headlight outlined a square reflective sign, its arrows indicating that the clubhouse and grandstand were to the right. The guard had headed left, toward the backstretch.

  Rick veered in the opposite direction of the guard. He cruised through a deserted parking lot and into the owners’ section, only a stone’s throw from the saddling paddock.

  He cut the engine, sat back and checked the sky. The towering clubhouse blocked his view of the track but judging from the yellow streaks, the guards had the oval surrounded. Clearly they were going to considerable effort to catch this culprit.

  He stared through the gloom at the saddling enclosure. An equine walkway tunneled beneath the clubhouse, leading from the paddock to the track.

  He removed his helmet and gloves, stepped off his bike, and walked into the tunnel. Except for some random horse droppings and a program that fluttered in the breeze, the place was eerily empty. A line of white outlined the track with a smaller rail marking the winner’s circle. Otherwise, the grandstand was completely dark.

  All the action appeared to be on the opposite side of the track, close to the barns. A security vehicle was parked in the chute, its yellow lights bouncing off the starting gate. Obviously the guards were more interested in the gaps by the backstretch, as opposed to the public grandstand where he stood.

  It was a mystery why they blocked the gap and not the roads. But having a sprawling grandstand all to oneself was certainly a moment to be savored. Besides, watching the guards chase down their man was much more interesting than lying on a seedy motel bed, waiting for the sun to rise.

  He ambled to the front row and selected a prime seat adjacent to the winner’s circle. Then he stretched out his legs and leaned back, enjoying the rare luxury of being a spectator.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Unbelievable. Eve sucked in a ragged breath, shaken that the guards were already blocking the second gate. She wheeled Tizzy away from the tractor chute, away from the security vehicle with the flashing lights and back into the friendly darkness. But now she was truly stuck.

  Only two gaps opened to the backstre
tch and there were vehicles watching both gates. In addition, yellow lights flashed at the entrance of the horse track leading to the barn. Ashley and Miguel definitely had company.

  She fought to control her panic. But her options were limited. Walk Tizzy around the track until morning? Then pretend she’d just arrived when it opened? However, that wouldn’t be healthy for Tizzy, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to ask him to race on Saturday.

  And soon the guards might wise up. If she were trying to catch someone, she’d simply turn on the overhead lights and spotlight the horse and rider. It would be impossible to hide. The guards might be a little dull but they weren’t complete morons.

  She gulped and glanced over her shoulder. Security was certainly on high alert. It would be nice if they devoted half as much energy to preventing the thefts at her barn. No doubt they already suspected her identity, after seeing Ashley and Miguel waiting by the gap.

  Obviously the guards hadn’t believed Ashley’s excuse about looking for a wallet, or maybe they’d heard Tizzy’s hooves. Didn’t matter what had alerted them. It was apparent she’d be caught. Only a matter of time. She wasn’t sure if the racing commission would hit her with a fine or opt for suspension. Either way, it could be a career killer, something that would thrill Victoria.

  She eyed the three and a half foot rail. “Too bad you can’t jump,” she whispered, almost tempted to try. Tizzy had probably hopped over logs at the ranch. But there was concrete on the other side and she would never risk injuring him. Broken legs were reparable with humans, not so much with horses.

  Tizzy just flicked an ear and walked faster. He’d already been disappointed once, thinking the ride was over, so this new eagerness was rather baffling. Especially since they now headed away from the backstretch, away from the barn with his food and buddies. Strange, since horses were creatures of habit, and on training days they always left the track through the gap.

  And then she understood. Tizzy was heading for the finish line. He thought she’d get off and remove the saddle there, close to the weigh scales where the jockeys dismounted after every race. And of course there was a removable rail by the tunnel, so the horses could parade from the paddock onto the track.

  “Smart horse,” she said, hope lifting her higher in the saddle. There didn’t appear to be any guards by the clubhouse. Not yet. In fact, the entire grandstand was dark. The guards were watching the track adjacent to the barns. They hadn’t even considered the paddock entrance.

  All she had to do was walk Tizzy through the tunnel and off the track. The saddling enclosure had no time restrictions. It might be odd to have a horse by the paddock at midnight, but it wasn’t illegal.

  Tizzy sensed her new eagerness and broke into a trot. She feared security might hear the telltale thud of his hooves so she slipped her feet from the stirrups, letting him know it was time to relax. Besides, it wasn’t much further. A green and white pole gleamed, the markings indicating there was only an eighth of a mile remaining between her and escape.

  She squeezed her palms tighter around the rope reins, just praying she’d reach the clubhouse before the guards realized there was another way out.

  *

  Rick heard the horse before he saw it. He leaned forward, eyeing the dark shape that materialized from the shadows. One horse, one rider.

  They stopped a scant ten feet in front of him, then expertly sidepassed until they were alongside the rail. The rider leaned down, groping to open the gate. The horse twisted, shoving at the rail with his nose, clearly trying to help. But his fidgeting only moved the rider’s hand further away.

  “Easy,” the rider whispered. Her voice was calm, determined and distinctly female.

  The horse stilled. But he pawed at the ground as if trying to hurry her up. He didn’t wear a bridle, just a halter with two attached ropes. And the rider didn’t carry a backpack or even saddle pads. Clearly this wasn’t the tack thief.

  “Need some help?” he asked, careful not to move from his seat. He knew he’d startle the rider, but he certainly didn’t want to spook the horse.

  They surprised him with their composure. She barely twitched, just swiveled in the saddle, scanning the darkened seats, trying to pinpoint his voice. Then she wisely checked her horse, tracking his pricked ears, letting him reveal Rick’s location.

  He could see her eyes when she spotted him, noted their resignation. No fear at all, which rather surprised him. Even the security guard had assumed he was a badass. Living the life of an outlaw, he’d grown accustomed to being treated with a certain degree of caution, from both men and women.

  But she gifted him with a beautiful smile, as if relieved by his appearance. And that shocked him even more.

  “Hi,” she said. “I thought you were security.”

  “Not security,” he said.

  “Yes. I can see that.” Her laugh was soft and musical, and full of such delight it left him grinning back.

  “I’m surprised they let you in this late,” she added.

  “They didn’t. I rode my bike around the gate after the guard left.”

  She gave an approving nod. “Good for you. Some of the guards can be control freaks. They always give strangers a hard time.”

  “They’re chasing someone else tonight.”

  She glanced across the track. “Yes,” she said wryly. “They’re after me.”

  “Really? What did you do?” Maybe he’d been wrong and she’d stashed the bridles elsewhere. But he sincerely hoped she wasn’t his tack thief. It had been years since a woman had been so relaxed around him. Undercover required a certain appearance. He could clean up, of course, but his heart wasn’t in it. And this type of acceptance was utterly refreshing.

  “The track is only open in the morning,” she said. The horse pawed again, and she placed a steadying hand on his neck. “I needed to get this guy out and stretch his legs.”

  Rick blinked and leaned back in his seat. And then he laughed. A big booming belly laugh. “That’s the reason for all those vehicles,” he finally managed, still chuckling. “They’re looking for someone who’s riding a horse at the wrong time?”

  “It seems like overkill to me too.” She leaned forward, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “But could you please tone down the laugh. Because they will suspend me if I’m caught.”

  He squeezed his mouth shut, still grinning at the absurdity. There was no major crime here—no felons or bodies or blood. It was the type of place where they sent three security vehicles roaring after a tiny woman on a docile horse. Maybe Scott Taylor had been right about a vacation. This was what normal people worried about—riding after hours.

  He couldn’t keep his lips straight, and another laugh leaked out.

  “I’m glad you find this amusing,” she said. “But if you can’t be quiet, could you at least cover your mouth? Sound does carry.”

  There was a new edge to her voice and clearly she didn’t suffer fools gladly. And suddenly it was important she not consider him a fool.

  He unfolded from his seat and stepped up to the rail. “I’m not laughing at your predicament,” he said. “Just astonished they’d pull all the guards for this…horrendous rule breaking.”

  “Well, they do need to keep the horses safe. That’s everyone’s goal. And the track was freshly harrowed so it’ll be smooth for tomorrow morning.” Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “But yes, their reaction is surprising.”

  She was trying to be fair, and he liked that. He didn’t really want to open the gate and let her vanish into the night. Talking to her was much more fun than nursing a beer in another dirty bar.

  But she probably wanted to scoot. Now that he was standing next to the rail, she’d be able to see every inch of him, from his worn leather jacket to his scruffy hair and jaw. And no amount of scrubbing could wash away the stench of his work. It hung over him like a cloud. No doubt she was terrified.

  “Are you going to just stand there?” she asked. “Or are you goin
g to open that gate?”

  He grinned. Not terrified at all, just impatient. He studied her face, the regal tilt of her head, the determined press of her lips. She was spunky, fearless and so tiny he could probably wrap one hand around her waist. But best of all, she treated him like he was normal.

  “Certainly I’ll open it.” He spread his hand over the rail, stalling for time. “But what will you do with that horse in the parking lot? Is there a pathway back to the barns?”

  He’d already memorized the layout and knew the answer to that question. There was no way around the guards.

  She shook her head. “No, but I can wait in the saddling enclosure until morning. It’s good ground there and it will be fine on Tizzy’s feet.”

  “You’re going to stand there all night?” he asked, deciding he definitely wanted to stay and keep her company. “Doesn’t sound like much fun…alone.”

  “It’ll be fine. It’s worse for Tizzy than me. Especially since I hoped to race him on Saturday.”

  She hadn’t picked up on his invitation, or else had chosen to ignore it. He suspected the latter. There was a focus about her, a clarity of purpose. She was clearly concerned about her horse, as if she were used to responsibility and didn’t intend to shirk it.

  She placed her hand on the horse’s neck again, reassuring him that he’d be okay. That she was going to take care of him. And that little gesture moved Rick, even more than the desire to talk her up.

  “The race on Saturday,” he said. “Is that important to you?”

  “Very.” She shot a wistful look across the track. “Hopefully the guards will give up and leave, so I can get him back to his stall.”

  “Maybe I can help with that.” He raised his helmet, setting it on top of the rail. “And have some fun in the process.”

  Her eyes flashed with hope. Then she shook her head. “A bike diversion might work but if they catch you, they’ll give you a hard time. And if it’s on the public lot, they’ll call in the real police. And they’re usually bigger assholes than the security guards.”