Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (26 page)

“I bet.”

The woman asked, “Is
it as beautiful as I hear? I’ve never seen the mountains.”

“It’s pretty, all
right,” Clint replied.

After signing the
credit slip, he grabbed his bag to leave, then hesitated. “Is there any place
around her where one can get some peace and quiet?”

Nonplused, the
clerk ran her fingers through her mousy brown hair. “There’s a motel on the
outskirts of town.”

“I’m not looking
for a bed,” Clint interrupted. “Is there any country around to walk in, any
vistas to see?”

“Sounds like you’re
homesick.”

Clint ignored that
comment.

“We don’t have
views like you’re used to,” the woman said, “but if you take that road you came
in on two miles out of town and turn on County Road A, you’ll go through some
pretty country. It’s called the Kettle Moraine, left behind by the glaciers.”

“Thanks,” Clint
muttered.

Within twenty
minutes, the woman’s words had come true. He could breathe again. Very few
houses were around. Initially, he drove through thick woods, and then he’d come
upon an open meadow, and then the scenery would turn quickly to woods again. And
it was all gently rolling. The kettles and the moraines, he imagined.

At one turn-off, he
pulled over to stretch his legs and watch the waterfowl come and go on a marshy
lake—mallards, wood ducks, Canadian Geese, and further off to his right a blue
heron stood in the water near the marsh’s edge. They seemed so sure of
themselves, whether they were finding a place to land or a place to feed.

The sounds were
soothing. Ducks quacking. Geese honking. He could also make out the cry of redwinged
blackbirds and the call of a kingfisher. In the midst of his misery, life went
on whether he wanted it to or not, whether he was ready or not.

Sitting on the edge
of a knoll, Clint dozed off to sleep. It was a fitful sleep as a nude woman
with rich auburn hair chased him naked across the deep green grass of rolling
hills. When he stopped to take the woman into his open arms, she’d vanish only
to reappear some distance away. They chased each other, but failed to ever
touch. The green of the landscape dazzled his eyes. It was a lush land matching
the disposition of the comely redhead. He knew it was Ireland, though he’d
never been there before.

He awoke as the
blood red sun nestled close to the western horizon, leaving its flames etched
across the sky. Those flames stretched over his head.

His heart clinched.
Fire Woman. Hah. He wondered what his grandmother would make of her now. He’d
been scalded by her fire, that was for sure. Never again. Never ever.

Disgusted with
himself, he had to admit that while the woman had lied to him over and over,
she had never spoken those three words he’d wanted to hear so badly. At least
she hadn’t gone that far. He wished to hell
he
hadn’t.

Determined to
protect himself from the fickle smoldering redhead for as long as it took to
catch a crook, Clint walked to his truck to begin his trek back to the Windy
City.

- o -

“I tell you I’m
goin’ out to see her work over the track.” Tug O’Hanlon glared. “Either you can
take me along, or I’ll call a cab, but you can damn well count on me bein’
there.”

“Dad,” Cassie
protested. She was about to trailer Hope from the farm to the track for a light
workout so the filly could get reacquainted with the track conditions and its
surroundings. She certainly hadn’t expected company, especially her father.

“Don’t
Dad
me. I don’t care what the doctor says. This may be my last chance at havin’ a
real good horse. I gotta be certain we’re doin’ everything we can. Maybe she
just don’t like the track surface. Maybe she’s got somethin’ botherin’ her that
no one else can see. I’ve been around horses a long time, Cass. Sometimes they
talk to me in ways others don’t hear.”

“But what if…” Cassie
fought the tears forming in her eyes.

Tug responded with
a dry chuckle. “None of us are gonna live forever, girl. If I had my choice I’d
die at the track anyway, but I don’t think you’re gonna get rid of me that
quick. You can’t deny me this chance to help. You don’t know what it feels like
to sit here day after day helpless, lettin’ you do all the work, tryin’ to
figure out a way to keep a finger in the pot. You need me. Hope needs me. I’m
comin’ along to watch how she takes to the surface.”

Exasperated, Cassie
threw up her hands in defeat. When had she been able to deny him of late? No
doubt he’d been scheming for days trying to come up with a convincing argument
to get to the track.

Particularly now
that Travers was working only to protect his damn honor, her dad wanted to be
more involved. There was no question he missed the life at the track. But.

But, she couldn’t
stop him. If she went without him, he’d call a cab as soon as she was out of
sight. At least if he was with her, she’d be able to keep an eye on him.

“Okay, you win. As
usual.” She smiled weakly as the frail man beamed. She hoped his excitement
would carry him through the morning without killing him.

Sitting in his
wheel chair at the edge of the track, Tug O’Hanlon lowered his binoculars. “She’s
good. Damn good. You’ve done a fine job with her, Cass. I’m proud of both of
you.”

“Yeah, well we
haven’t done much to earn that pride on race day now, have we?” Cassie fidgeted
with her hands and shifted her weight from foot to foot. There was too much
worry for pride. The outing seemed to have actually perked up her dad, but then
when would he crash? He must be running on pure adrenaline. Hope did look good,
but she always looked good in the morning hours.

And then there was
the dark figure of a man hunched over the rail a hundred yards away watching
his own horses work. How could he stand being in the same place she was? How
dare he work his horses at the same time she worked hers? Well, Travers could
stay there until he turned to stone, for all she cared. She would simply go
about her business and ignore him.

“I’m even more
convinced that Travers is right,” she heard her dad continue. “Somebody’s
gettin’ to the horse. The track surface isn’t botherin’ her. She looks as sharp
as a tack.”

“I see you brought
the expert out this morning,” Ed Harrington said, joining them at the fence. “Good
to see you, Tug. Maybe you can figure out what’s wrong with that damn filly.”

“Dunno,” Tug
groused, “seems like there may be a number of theories, but no one can really
get to the bottom of it. How you been doin’, Harrington? Understand you can’t
keep your nose in your own business any more than ever.”

“I’m okay. It’s not
the same without you here. The stories sound too true. Few can stretch a story
quite like you, Tug.”

Tug smiled easily. Struggling,
he lifted his right hand. “I’ve missed you all, too.”

“Well, look what
the cat drug in, pardner.” Louie Picard knelt beside Tug’s wheelchair and laid
a gnarled hand atop those of his old friend.

“Uh, oh,”
Harrington joshed, “now the stories will start thick and heavy.”

“Nonsense,” Tug
complained. “Louie and I have been going at it for decades and I don’t think
either one of us ever stretched the truth.”

Cassie laughed
along with the rest. There were no two guys more noted for storytelling on the
Chicago circuit than her father and Louie Picard.

“It’s good to see
you, old friend,” Louie said. “It’s been pretty boring out here without you. Though
Cass has been filling in real good.”

“Yeah,” Tug
replied, with more than a little pride, “she’s a chip off the old block.”

“So do you think
this chestnut filly is the dream you’ve been chasing all these years? She’s a
beaut, that’s for sure.”

Tug coughed while
Cassie moved quickly to pull the blanket more snuggly around him. “Don’t know,”
he said at last, “but she’s sure got a lot of potential.” He paused for breath.
“So how’s your string doin’, Louie? They keepin’ you in oats?”

“Okay, we win some
and we lose some, but that’s better than not trying.”

Tug grimaced. “Expect
I’ve heard you say that a thousand times, old friend, but you don’t really know
what it means until you can’t come out to shedrow on a daily basis…This is a precious
life we all share.” Brushing dirt from the corner of his eye, he added, “Don’t
ever forget it.”

With effort, he
turned to Cassie. “Best you wheel me back before I make a fool of myself. Take
care, boys.”

“You too,” Ed and
Louie replied. Each headed toward their respective barns.

- o -

The phone rang, as
Louie had expected. He sighed heavily and then picked it up on the third ring. “Yeah.”

“Louie, you know
what to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t screw up. This
is a big one.”

“Have I ever?”

“How about at Sportsman’s
in 92?”

Louie scowled. He’d
tried to forget that mistake.

“I don’t want the
filly killed, Louie. Just slowed down.”

“Right. Don’t
worry, I’ll get it done.”

“Will your grandson
graduate at the winter graduation?”

“You know he will.”

“I know. Just don’t
you
forget. I’ll be watching.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was a muggy,
hazy August Saturday in Chicago. The weatherman had predicted ninety-eight
degrees with the humidity lagging only slightly behind. Not a good day for
human or beast.

Pausing in front of
the portable fans she’d brought along from the farm, Cassie pulled the thin
blouse fabric away from her skin, seeking any modicum of relief. She’d set up
the fans to try and keep Hope cool and relaxed until it was time to walk to the
saddling paddock. They’d been at the track for two hours to give the horse some
time to acclimate from the trailer ride in.

The breeze, what
there was, might have been blistering hot, but the air between her and the man
slouched against the stable wall staring at her with raw contempt couldn’t have
been colder if they were on an arctic ice sheet.

He’d said nothing
other than to inform her that the video cameras and operators were in place. She’d
expected that he would be behind the cameras, but it was clear he wasn’t going to
let either the horse or its trainer out of his sight. His constant glare did
little to inspire confidence, but damn if she would show any sign of weakness. She
tried to go about the business of preparing for the race as if nothing bothered
her or the horse.

It was so important
not to let Hope feel her own anxiety. Maybe there would be no attempt to get at
Hope this time. Cassie didn’t believe that for one minute.

“How’s the horse,
Cass?” Ed Harrington asked gruffly. “Suppose you think criminals are lurking
all over the place.”

“She’s fine, Ed. She
should do well today,” Cassie responded evenly, hoping the man would gracefully
move on down shedrow.

“Well, well,”
Harrington said, acknowledging Clint’s presence, “if it isn’t the cowboy from
the wild, wild west.”

Clint turned his
head away from Harrington and spat. Otherwise he made no response to the man’s
jibe.

“Cat got your
tongue? Heard from a groom that you’re hauling your horses back to Utah next
week.” He grinned boldly, triumph filling his eyes. “Can’t stand the
competition, huh? That’s okay, cowboy. Chicagoans are a breed unto themselves. We
know how to race the best horses and how to take care of our women,” Harrington
taunted. “Looks like you’ll be needing more help than you thought, Cass.”

“Don’t count on it,”
Cassie replied tartly.

Clint moved
smoothly from the stable wall to stand directly in front of the trainer. “I
think the lady would like you to move on, mister.”

“Are you trying to
make me move?” asked a red faced Harrington.

“Nah, wouldn’t want
to force you to do anything. Certainly a Chicagoan should know when he’s not
wanted.”

Harrington stared
hard at Clint, clearly measuring his options. “Okay, you win, cowboy. But we’ll
see who wins on the track.” As he turned to walk away he added, “And we’ll see
who wins the girl in the long run.”

“
The girl
,”
Cassie sputtered. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

“Your next lover,
no doubt,” Clint said tersely. “He’s well aware of a vacancy. At least he didn’t
go anywhere near the horse. Not yet, anyway.”

Over the public
address system came the announcement to bring horses for race five to the
paddock.

- o -

Staying on alert,
Clint walked beside Hope as Cassie led her toward the saddling area. He let his
gaze dart about, taking in everything around them. Nothing seemed out of place.
Hope seemed relaxed. The unexpected didn’t seem to be happening. He’d put money
on an attempt being made. Someone felt so strongly about keeping Hope from
performing that he couldn’t let the horse get away with a clean race.

The saddling went
smoothly. Clint saw nothing unusual from the paddock judge or attendants. A
groom led Hope out to the paddock circle and began walking her around.

The jockeys came
out from the jockeys’ room. Cassie hefted the jockey into the saddle. The horse
behind her reared. Louie Picard came over to put his arm around Cassie, wishing
her luck. Earl Sheraton stepped between horses to shake Cassie’s hand, also
wishing her luck. Harrington passed by to wish her horse a good trip. This was
not uncommon. Trainers competed with each other, but they also looked out for
each other. None wanted a horse to be hurt. Clint scowled. At least that was
the code. He studied the paddock crowd. Someone in this bunch didn’t care one
whit about jeopardizing a horse.

Shrugging, he
headed for the stands. He hadn’t seen anything, but he really hadn’t expected
to. There was simply too much confusion in the paddock area to see everything.

But the cam
recorders would, if they covered the appropriate angles. He hadn’t bothered to
look, but he knew Cassie followed him carrying another set of binoculars. Both
mounted the stairway quickly.

Both saw the same
thing. They watched a horse who had started the post parade up on her toes and
eager to race slowly flatten out along the backstretch, before the horses ever
even came close to the starting gate.

“They got to her,”
Cass whispered, her voice laced with despair.

“Yeah, they sure
did,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Now we can get to the bottom of this.”
He let the binoculars drop to his chest and started to leave.

“You’re not going
to watch the race?”

“No need to. I’ve
got what I want.”

“You wanted her to
be drugged, didn’t you?” Cassie accused, brushing stray strands of hair from
her forehead.

“Of course,
otherwise I’d have to stay or come back until she
was
drugged,” he
responded. “I can’t clear myself until I find the bastard who’s behind all of
this.”

“You don’t care
about Hope. You don’t care about Dad’s dream. You just care about yourself.”

Clint grabbed her
wrist. “Listen carefully. Very carefully. I do care about the horse and about
your dad. But I’ve also learned the hard way that my caring can be misplaced
and trampled on…

“I’ll bring the
videos by the farm this evening. We’ll look at them on your dad’s VCR. Another
set of eyes that knows the people and the inner workings of tracks and horses
may be helpful.” Without waiting for a response, he walked toward the stairs.

- o -

Cassie watched the
man skulk away. Even his resolute determination could not hide his brokenness. He
looked drained of energy and spirit. His vulnerability shook her to the core. Until
now, she hadn’t really realized how badly he was hurting. Cassie wiped tears
from her eyes in time to watch Hope run gamely across the finish line in fifth
place.

The three of them,
Cassie, her father and Clint, hunkered in the farmhouse living room in front of
Tug’s VCR running and rerunning the tapes of Cassie Hope’s movements from the
time she stepped into the paddock area until leaving the gate at the start of the
race.

The
tension in the room would dull a knife. Very few words were exchanged between
Cassie and Clint. Tug’s attempts at conversation were rebuffed. Cassie sat on
the couch leaning forward, resting her chin on her hands, watching the screen
intently. Clint was down on his knees close to the TV glaring at the screen, as
if demanding it prove him innocent.

On the second run
through, Clint felt they’d missed something. He wanted to go frame by frame. It
was a painstaking effort, but it needed to be done.

Cassie’s eyes
blurred from focusing so hard. She looked away and then quickly back. “There!”
she shouted. “Back it up. I thought I saw something, like a shadow.”

The picture in the
frame showed the jockey ready to be hoisted up atop Hope. It was that moment
when trainers and owners were wishing jockeys and each other well. There was
Cassie doing just that, giving last minute instructions to the jockey. And
there beside her in the shadows was a man who had just finished the same with
his rider. Just prior to greeting Cassie with a smile and a hug, his right palm
had brushed Hope’s near hip. It was a brief instant, but it could have been
enough.

The frozen picture
frame did not lie. Clearly visible, in a flicker of real time, was the
friendship ring that a child had given a man as a token of trust and love.

“Oh my god!” Cassie
cried out, collapsing against the sofa.

“That son of a
bitch!” gasped a startled Tug O’Hanlon.

“What? Who is it?”
Clint asked, through compressed lips not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Louie Picard. One
of Dad’s longest friends. He’s wearing the friendship ring I gave him when I
was ten years old.”

“Damn.”

“But we don’t
really know that that one tap on Hope’s hip is it. Do we?” she asked, not
wanting to believe.

“We can continue to
look frame by frame,” Clint said icily, “but I’d bet my ranch that we’ve found
the bastard. We don’t have time to set up another trap for him. The next race
is the Land of Lincoln. We’ll just have to confront him. Maybe we can smoke him
out of his hole.”

“Just be careful,”
Tug O’Hanlon advised, frowning sourly. “This smells to high heaven. I don’t
doubt it was Louie. But he wouldn’t do it on his own. I can’t believe that. Somebody’s
behind him.”

The next morning,
Cassie and Clint found Louie Picard on shedrow filling a water bucket and
invited him to a private room inside the track kitchen, with the promise that
he would be surprised by what they had to share with him.

Immediately wary,
Louie declined grumpily, “I don’t have time for surprises. I’m too old for ‘em.”
Returning to his work, he tried to ignore the two intruders.

“Come on, Louie. Just
for me.” Cassie put her arm on his shoulder, trying to be as sweet as she
could, hating every second of it.
This is the man who betrayed me. Why? Why
Hope?

Clint gripped the
man’s other arm with less tenderness. Louie went along grudgingly, apparently
not wanting to make a scene and draw a crowd.

“Have a seat,
Louie,” Clint instructed roughly, closing the door to the small room containing
a few chairs and a television with a VCR. “We’ve got a video we think you might
find fascinating, if not downright revealing. We’d kind of like you to
interpret it for us. Turn it on, Cass.”

Cassie pushed the
button. The saddling paddock with all the horses being saddled for the previous
day’s race number five came in clearly. In the number three stall, Cassie
saddled Hope. In the number four stall, Louie was doing the same with his
horse. The grooms walked their horses around the circle for a few minutes until
the paddock judge called riders up.

 Louie fidgeted and
started to noticeably perspire. The tape showed Cassie helping the jock mount
Hope. Breathing heavily, Louie groaned, “That’s enough. I don’t need to see any
more.”

Cassie pushed the
stop button and slowly let out a trapped breath. She stood gawking at Louie, feeling
like a stricken little girl betrayed by a best friend. To her amazement, she
saw a couple tears working their way down the man’s weathered cheeks. Cassie
shook her head, trying to keep her own in check.

“Why?” she asked. “Why
my horse?”

Scrunching up in
his chair, Louie said, “Wasn’t nothin’ personal with you, honey.”

“Don’t call me
honey, dammit.” Cassie gripped the back of a chair for support, her knuckles
whitening.

“Okay,” Louie
responded painfully. “It didn’t have nothin’ to do with you or even your horse.”

“I don’t
understand.” Cassie ran her fingers furiously through her hair. She rubbed her
nose and sighed deeply. “It sure as hell was personal. You were ruining Hope’s
chances. You were trashing Dad’s dream. You made me look like a fucking idiot.”

“Cassie,” Clint
hissed, “let him tell his story. Give him some space.”

“Yeah, I know,” she
said, unable to meet the eyes of her old friend. “Okay, go ahead.”

“It goes back a
long ways. Back to the sixties, long before you was even born, girl.” He paused
to light an old stogy. “Your daddy was beginning to make a name for himself as
an up and coming trainer hereabouts. The mob took notice.”

“The mob?” Cassie
squeaked.

 The old man
nodded. “One day your dad had the favorite for the featured race. They didn’t
want that horse to win. Your dad wouldn’t throw the race. The boys lost a lot
of money that day. Twice more they came to your old man. Each time, he refused
to help.” Louie stopped talking to cough harshly.

Cassie’s entire
body shook. She could never imagine her stubborn father taking orders from
anyone. But the mob?

“So,” Clint
prompted, “they came to you for help.”

“Yeah,” Picard
grunted, wiping a hand on his dirty jeans. “You don’t turn your back on ‘em and
just walk away. They don’t always kill people or break legs like in the
gangster movies, but they have their ways. From that point on your dad ran a
lot of horses, some good horses, but never a real contender. Never the kind of
horse he wanted and sometimes thought he had.”