Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (3 page)

“That’s horse
racing, isn’t it?” Cassie’s voice rose. She boldly returned his hard stare. “And
the favorites win only a third of the time. So?”

“Uh, huh. Unless
someone ships in a ringer. This filly will go off three to five. The bettors
aren’t gonna be very happy with you, either.”

“Well, hot damn. I
didn’t come here to win a popularity contest. I came here to win a horse race. And
that’s what we’re going to try to do.” Cassie abruptly turned her back on him.

“Okay, but don’t
expect everybody to roll out a red carpet,” Clint barked at her back.

Cassie’s ponytail
did a hundred and eighty degree turnabout as she declared shrilly, “I don’t
expect any western hospitality from the likes of you. Who the hell started this
conversation anyway? Not me! And if you don’t mind too much, I have other
things to do.”

- o -

Clint Travers
turned away, hiding a grin. He heard the sputtering fireball whisper soothing
sounds to her horse. Stuffing his hands in his back pockets, he strolled back
down shedrow toward his own horses.

Later he saw the
woman ride the filly out on to the track for a mid-morning gallop. His
experienced eye followed filly and rider. Damn, he’d thought
poetry in
motion
was a cliché until now. “She’s as good as she looks,” he grumbled,
grading the horse. Could the same be said for the rider?

Reluctantly, he had
to admit he liked what he saw. Damn it. He’d been prepared to boot the invader
back to Chicago where she belonged, but he hadn’t counted on her coming in such
a nice package.

Now, she might as
well stay at least until he had a chance to see that long fire-burnt hair
hanging loose. The ponytail stuffed through a Cubs hat had cast a sexy and
sensual spell bobbing with her hand movements, but he’d rather see that
gleaming hair unencumbered, blowing in the Wyoming wind.

The snug indigo
blouse she wore obviously had all it could do to contain shapely breasts; palm
sized, no doubt. Not too small and not too big. And, the young woman was graced
with an extraordinarily tempting rear end.

Clint shook his head.
The horse was trouble enough. The woman would no doubt be a disaster. It wasn’t
exactly like they’d started off on the best of terms.

- o -

At 5:30 the next
morning, Cassie swore she was soaring on the wings of Pegasus. While her body
complained loudly about a 4:30 a.m. wake up call and some of her muscles had
not recovered from the long road trip from Chicago, nothing—absolutely nothing—could
compete with dawn at a track. And Wyoming Downs was no exception.

The thermos of very
hot coffee might have been her physical lifeline at a time of day when only a
few months ago she had been accustomed to sound sleeping; the sun poking up
over the dusty foothills proved to be her spiritual lifeline. Cassie sighed
deeply, taking in the familiar scents of horses, liniments and hot mash.

She welcomed the
sounds of creaking leather and neighing horses. Here and there were human
sounds: trainers giving quiet instruction to exercise lads, riders clucking to
their mounts, and cuss words spoken in frustration at a balking horse or human.

Cutting the strings
on a bale of hay, she glanced over to check out Hope, exercising on a
hotwalker. Hope appeared to have no trouble adjusting to her new surroundings.

Cassie had to be
careful not to be taken in by the charm and subtle allure of the track. Making
the racetrack a way of life was kind of like joining the circus or the
carnival. And she wasn’t about to do either. She’d experienced more than enough
of that growing up.

Horse people worked
hard putting in long hours and crazy schedules. And horse people stuck
together. They competed with each other, they fought each other, they played
together and they stood by one another in their isolated world.

Cassie mucked out
Hope’s stall. Her gear was stored along with feed in an adjacent stall. She’d
arrived so late in the night on Sunday she’d simply made a bed of straw in that
stall and slept until dawn. It turned out her motel room wasn’t much larger.

She guided a
wheelbarrow loaded with straw and manure toward the dump pile. What would her
Chicago friends say if they could see her now? She laughed out loud.

“Must’ve found your
sense of humor.”

“That damn voice,”
Cassie muttered, taking her time to empty the wheelbarrow before turning to
face the man.

“Thought you might
like to hear the latest scuttlebutt.”

“I doubt that very
much.” Cassie folded her arms and awaited whatever news the
stable crier
had to offer. Too bad he didn’t look ugly to match his disposition.

“Sounds like one of
the other barns based here is shipping in a California horse for your race. The
horse ran fairly well at Golden Gate—we may yet see a horse race come Sunday.”

That news certainly
popped her reverie, but she wasn’t going to let Mr. Travers know. Her lips
thinned and then she brightened. “Good. I’m not the only one shipping in from
out of state. And it will make Hope’s victory more meaningful.”

“You might not be
so cocky after the race. The horse they’re shipping in has won three out of
four lifetime races. Granted, they were cheap races, but at least the horse has
won.” Clint removed his Stetson long enough to run his fingers through thick
jet-black hair. “Pulled up your horse on the Internet last night. She’s bred a
hell of a lot better and looks a lot better than she’s performed. Guess I know
why you’re here.”

“Why I’m here is
none of your business.”

Clint breathed
deeply. “Look it,” he said, more slowly, “I’m not saying you don’t have a right
to be here. It looks like you’ve got a troubled filly. If she wins, it may
prove worth the effort. I admit I don’t like people shipping in classy horses
from around the country to compete with the locals. But now that the California
horse is coming, the fact that you’re here doesn’t make much difference. One of
those two horses is bound to win.

“That filly of
yours walking on the hotwalker,” he gestured toward the chestnut, “is the best
bred horse we’ve seen here in several seasons. She looks the part. Even on the
hotwalker she’s up on her toes prancing. Anybody here would love to have her in
their barn.” He smiled at the quizzical look on Cassie’s face. “Yes, including
me.”

“Well, thank you,”
Cassie sputtered. “I just hope she’s up on her toes come Sunday.”

“So what do you do
when you’re not at the track?”

Cassie swallowed. Did
he know she wasn’t really a horse trainer? She wasn’t about to tell him she was
a social worker.

“Evanston, Wyoming
isn’t the most lively place.”

“Oh.” Cassie
blushed slightly. “I’ve read a lot of novels. It’s pleasant enough. Say, don’t
you have a place to belong? Or is the track your home?”

The deeply tanned
trainer laughed. “Actually, I have a ranch in eastern Utah. During the racing
season here at the Downs, I may spend a week or two up here at a time.”

“What about the
running of the ranch?”

“Others can handle
that while I’m away,” he said, turning to walk away. “Well, guess I best be
getting about my business.”

Cassie was left
with her mouth ajar wondering why he’d walked off so abruptly. His questions
were more personal than hers. Maybe he’d stay away from her from now on.

She shut down the
hotwalker and went to get Hope. She was here to race a horse. And that was it.

Still, the man
intrigued her...against her better judgment. Was it his looks? Was it the
sparks that seemed to always fly between them? Maybe she was she just bored.

- o -

Clint eased into
his truck to head toward his motel. He would be eating alone again and then
going over pedigrees or reading a novel. There were those connected with the
track who partied hard every night. He wasn’t one of them. Apparently neither
was the red-head.

What would she have
done if he’d invited her to dinner? He pressed his lips together tightly. No
doubt she would have given him a tongue lashing. Damn, she was a hard woman to
get close to.

She had piqued his
curiosity. It certainly was unusual to see a woman haul a horse halfway across
the country to race. And a damn pretty woman at that. She had to have a lot of
guts. He’d give her that.

He was looking
forward to the big race. And he was looking forward to seeing how the big city
tigress would handle victory or defeat.

He turned his truck
toward Evanston. What would she do if he showed up at the café next to her
motel around dinner time? It hadn’t been difficult to obtain that information
from a secretary in the track office; they needed to know where folks stayed in
town in case there was an emergency at the track.

He’d stay away from
her, though he liked the way she blushed every time she got her dander up. Which
seemed quite often. Would she have as much fire in bed?

CHAPTER TWO

By Saturday, the
dark haired cowboy hadn’t pestered her for days. She’d often felt more than
seen his brooding gaze around the stable area. A few times she’d returned a nod
of greeting, but no further words had been exchanged. She figured her world was
safer for that.

With only Hope to
care for, she had far too much idle time. Her motel room was small to begin
with; now it felt like a cell. How many novels could she read?

The sights of
Evanston had taken about half a day to explore. The old railroad station was
quaint. Initially, seeing live buffalo was exciting, but they so seldom moved
she’d decided watching them for any length of time wasn’t much more appealing
than watching grass grow. A couple hole-in-the-wall restaurants had proven to
be excellent hangouts for observing local culture. But if she hung out in them
long she’d be fat.

At least there
would be horse racing later in the day. That would give her something to do. Then
Hope would run in the featured race tomorrow. And then she’d sit on her hands for
a week for Hope to soak up the benefits of altitude. Not fun.

But this morning
she could feel the anticipation and excitement of race day. There was a
stirring on shedrow that was the same at any track on race day. Trainers and
grooms were more alert, eager and anxious. The early morning hours dragged for
some. For others there never seemed adequate time for last minute adjustments. There
was a lot of well wishing. But everyone wanted to win, and few would.

After exercising
Hope, mucking the stall, and brushing her, Cassie did a last check of the hay
and water before tidying up the work area. It was already mid-morning. She’d
have to hurry back to the hotel to get changed for a day at the races. She looked
forward to being a spectator and fan for a change. Wyoming Downs wasn’t Hawthorne
or Arlington Park, but it was horse racing.

- o -

Clint grimaced at
the redhead striding rapidly toward her truck. He stepped around his own truck
to confront her. “I see you continue to mess things up for us.”

Cassie scrunched to
a halt. Her glare could’ve killed lesser men. “Now what the hell did I do to
earn your praise? Well, get on with it,” she sputtered. “As self-appointed
guardian of Wyoming Downs, what do you want now?”

“You can pull in
your claws, lady. I’m not going to bite your head off.”

“It’s hard to tell.”
She folded her arms across her abdomen and waited.

Two flashy magpies
landed ten feet away in the middle of the dirt road, pecking at unseen things.

Clint sighed. Why
did he want to confront this delightful filly who seemed more likely to be
found in a board room than at a horse track? She irritated him, that was why. It
was pure and simple. Coming in here like she belonged. She annoyed him the way
she carried herself.

Never, as far as he
knew, had she asked for help or about how she might better fit in. No. She was
too damn proud and combative. Always coiled like a rattler, she was ready to
strike at a moment’s notice. Well, truthfully—he smiled inwardly—he did have
something to do with her shaking those rattles.

Keeping his face
expressionless, Clint said, “Well, just wanted you to know that I don’t like it
when my regular jock switches from my horse to anyone else’s, especially yours.”

“Oh.” Cassie clearly
wan’t trying to hide her smile. “Do you own him? I asked around to see who was
the best jockey at the meet, and then asked him if he wanted to ride for me.”

“Did he ever look
at the horse, or was he merely taken with the filly’s bewitching big city
owner?” Clint caught Cassie’s wrist before her hand collided with his chin.

“Damn, you are a
feisty one. I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t try to get the best rider.” Feeling
the tension ease from her, he released her hand. “Actually, I’m more angry with
the jock than with you. Thought he had more loyalty than that. Guess that’s
another reason they call ‘em pinheads.”

Cassie laughed. “I
don’t expect they like being referred to by such an endearing name.”

“Yeah.” Her throaty
laugh spurred him on. It was good to hear the woman laugh. “Well, I imagine
they have some precious endearments, as you call them, for trainers and owners,
especially those of the female gender.”

Cassie nodded. “You’re
probably right about that.”

Clint shoved his
hands in his pockets and looked toward the Uinta Mountains. Maybe he had been riding
her too hard. Why? Others had shipped in horses from the east and west. He
usually ignored them by taking care of his own business.

How could he ignore
the auburn ponytail, the green eyes, and the cockiness of the woman from
Chicago? He’d been behaving like an overzealous idiot, and he knew it. He
should walk away and be done with her.

“There’s a rodeo in
town this weekend.” His words betrayed him. “Don’t suppose you’ve ever seen
one. I’d be willing to escort you, if you’d like to go.”

Clint winced at the
shock registering in the woman’s eyes.

“You got to be
kidding,” she said, “or brain dead.”

Damn, there she
goes again.
Clint recoiled from her venom.

“I’ve seen more
rodeos than I care to remember. We raised rodeo horses along with thoroughbreds
and a few quarter horses when I was a kid. If the road didn’t lead to a second
rate track, it went to a fourth rate broken down rodeo. No thanks, Mr. Galahad.
I don’t want to go to a damn rodeo. And if I did, I wouldn’t need you along to
protect me.”

Clint nodded and
spun on his heel. He tried to amble nonchalantly toward his pickup.

What the hell got
into him to ever ask her about the rodeo? What the hell got into her? She’d
swat away an olive branch if he held one out to her. Well, no matter, he would
be going back to eastern Utah come Monday.

Ms. High and Mighty
could cool her heels in Evanston until hell froze over for all he cared.

- o -

By the start of the
Saturday afternoon races, Cassie sat in the grandstands dressed in a clean pair
of jeans, a new blouse, boots and her Cubs hat and watched as people of all
stripes and ages cheered on their favorite horses and jockeys. Clearly, racing
at the Downs was a family affair; there were almost as many kids as adults. Gifts
were raffled away after every other race. Barbecued beef simmered in a large
pit area at the end of the stands. A country western band entertained before
the races began and would return for more at the conclusion of the last race. The
mood of the place was not unlike a Midwest county fair.

The afternoon
proved entertaining and a decent change of pace from reading in her motel room.
Cassie won a little money betting thoroughbreds; she stayed away from wagering
on the quarter horses. Bumper cars on legs, her dad called them. They often ran
any which way but straight, and she found it impossible to handicap them, so
she didn’t.

Between the sixth
and seventh race she went downstairs to use the ladies room and to fill up
again on popcorn and pop. Hurriedly rounding the corner leading to the ramp
back to her seat, she caught herself just before barreling into the wide back
of Clint Travers.

She recoiled. Her
stomach tightened and her blood pressure rose. A tall blonde dressed in tight
black shorts and a white blouse knotted to show off plenty of midriff hung all
over Travers’ muscled shoulders. The two of them might as well be making out in
public. Didn’t they know there were little kids about? Cassie swore she saw the
blonde’s red lips slobbering across the back of his neck.

“Excuse me, lady! I’d
like to get by and see another race yet today,” said a large man behind her
juggling hot dogs and drinks.

“Oh. Excuse me,”
Cassie whispered, reddening. She turned quickly to escape any more accusing
eyes.

- o -

She wasn’t quite
quick enough. Clint Travers turned to see what the commotion was behind him and
groaned when he witnessed Cassie O’Hanlon dashing down the ramp scattering
popcorn all over the concrete floor. Damn, she had a butt that’d drive men
crazy.

Very carefully he
reached behind him to remove Gretchen’s arms from around his neck. He knew she’d
had too much to drink while sitting in the hot sun. “Come on,” he said
patiently, “let’s see if we can find your husband. He’s got to be around here
somewhere. I’ve got other things to tend to and other places to be.”

After finally
depositing the woman with his friend, Clint retraced his steps. He looked
everywhere but could not locate the woman from Chicago. Giving up, he figured
she’d gone back to her motel. Wyoming racing probably didn’t measure up to her
standards.

- o -

Cassie jammed the
gears in her truck in her effort to get out of the Downs parking lot before
anyone else could notice her. What the hell did she care if he had women draped
all over him? Mr. Know-It-All probably had drooling women lined up like so many
widgets.

What a spectacle
she’d made of herself! She was supposed to be a sophisticated Chicago social
worker. Whenever she was around Clint Travers, which was far too often, she
felt like a klutz. Somehow he did it to her on purpose.

Well, she certainly
hadn’t come to Wyoming to get involved with a man. And never would she find
such an arrogant philanderer attractive or appealing.

Pulling
to a stop in front of her motel, Cassie rested her head against the seat. “Who
am I kidding?” she grumbled. “Travers is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever come
across. He exudes sexuality.”

What
would it feel like to run her fingers through his shaggy black hair? Would his
touch be rough or gentle? Why did she act like some half-baked adolescent whenever
she got near him? She wanted to go home.
Damn Dad and his dreams.

Cassie dozed off in
her truck dreaming of a dark haired cowboy coming to the aid of his fair
skinned cowgirl. With one arm, he hoisted her up to ride in front of him. Together
they rode off toward the setting sun.