Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (4 page)

It was race day. It
might as well have been Judgment Day.

In the post parade,
Hope was up on her toes, full of vigor, certainly more eager to run than in her
previous races. Checking the odds board, Cassie grudgingly acknowledged that
Travers had been right. Her filly had been bet down to even money. She didn’t
bother going to the betting windows. No horse, not even her own, deserved such
short odds. Too many things could go wrong in horse racing: stumbling out of
the gate, a bad step, blocked by other horses and so on. No, even odds were not
justified.

Sitting alone in
the grandstand area designated for owners and trainers, Cassie worked at
calming her gnawing stomach. A couple acquaintances wished her horse a safe
trip. Most folks ignored her for the interloper she was.

The California
horse looked good, but didn’t appear nearly as classy as Hope. And its breeding
was second or third rank. But that horse had proven it could win—more than she
could say for Hope, or for herself.

She took a deep
breath trying to steady her nerves. She glanced down at her twisted program. When
working with a troubled kid, she was long on patience.

Waiting for a horse
race was quite different. Everything was in the hands of the jockey now. She’d
given him instructions in the paddock and then hurried to her seat.

She saw a familiar
brown Stetson near the rail. From that vantage point, Clint Travers was
watching the horses load into the gate. Cassie scowled. Maybe she displayed
even less patience with that man.

“They’re all in,”
the track announcer said. Then the clang of the gate opening penetrated the
stillness. Cassie watched her filly break cleanly and move immediately to the
front. The California horse broke well but couldn’t keep up with the pace Hope
set.

It seemed too easy.
The horse who had struggled to compete at Arlington led by six lengths on the
back turn. She crossed the finish line ten lengths ahead of the second place
horse.

“My god, is she
that good?” Cassie mumbled, hurrying down the stairs toward the track. With a
beaming smile, she attached the lead rope to Hope’s bridle and led the
victorious filly into the winner’s circle. She was handed a small trophy and a
red and white blanket was placed across Hope’s withers. She felt the eyes of
the crowd: the pleasure of bettors who made the right choice, the awe of some
horse people, and the resentment of others.

- o -

Clint prided
himself on not being the jealous type. Still, he hated being bested by this
woman. But then his horse had struggled to finish a badly beaten fourth. Damn,
the woman looked stunning, almost radiant when she was overjoyed. Her crisp
white blouse contrasted with the blue Cubs cap and that damn sexy ponytail
poking out of it. Blue jeans seemed molded to her tight rear. Was he the only
one who noticed? Or did every man there have his tongue hanging out? Most
maddening was the fact that Ms. O’Hanlon seemed totally unaware of him and of
her own sexual allure.

He’d offer his
congratulations. It was only the polite thing to do. She might think him a
chump, but he didn’t want her to believe he was a sore loser.

- o -

After stopping at
the test barn where winning horses provided a urine sample to be certain no
illegal drugs had been used, bathing Hope, walking her, and placing her back in
the stall for a much deserved rest, Cassie stood back with a smile of
satisfaction watching her father’s dream eat a victory dinner. She couldn’t
wait to get back to Chicago and see how the filly would do against stiffer
competition.

She sensed his
presence before he spoke.

“Congratulations,
Ms. O’Hanlon. There was no doubt about that victory. Of course there never was
any doubt.”

Cassie nodded. She
wasn’t even going to let her nemesis break her festive mood. “I didn’t think
she would win by that much. I just hoped she’d win. For her sake.”

“Don’t know what
went on back east, but this filly’s got real potential. This lady blew that
California horse away.” There was a trace of awe in his voice. “So what do you
plan to do with her now? Don’t expect you’ll hang around here long.”

Cassie wasn’t sure
she liked the way her horse nuzzled up against the annoying man.

“We’ll
enter her in an allowance race,” she volunteered, “two weeks from now. We’ll
keep her here for about a week and then haul her back. Dad wants the altitude
edge.”

“Clever move. It
should give her an edge, but from what I saw today, she shouldn’t need it.”

Cassie said
nothing. That was the longest unruffled conversation she’d had with the
ubiquitous trainer.

Suddenly, he turned
away from Hope and faced Cassie directly, peering sharply into her eyes. She
took a halting step backwards. She hadn’t said anything to earn his ire. Then
she saw his eyes soften as he began to speak.

“On behalf of the
jockey colony, I want to thank you for donating your portion of the purse to
the local jockey insurance emergency fund…. That was very thoughtful.”

Cassie’s eyes
misted and she grunted, “Being here was never about money.” Without saying
another word, she stormed off toward her truck.

Kicking
at the rising dust-devils, Cassie wanted to throttle herself. Why did she feel
so vulnerable when Clint Travers tried to be nice? She’d been more comfortable,
more in control when the galoot angered her.

Back in her hotel
room, Cassie spoke haltingly to her father. “She won, Dad. Just like you said
she would…by ten lengths, going away. Can you believe it? I never saw her look
so good on race day…Thanks. Yeah, now I get to twiddle my thumbs for a week…Yes,
it does feel good to win. I can hardly wait until the next one…No, I said six
months. No more than that. Take care, Dad. Love yah. Bye.” Cassie tapped the
off button on her cell phone, pleased with her father’s glee and unspoken
pride.

Too keyed up with
winning to sleep, she grabbed her jacket and headed for the rodeo grounds. It
was something to do.

Sitting on a
backless wooden bench with a thin windbreaker tugged snugly about her torso for
warmth, Cassie oohed and aahed with the rest of the fans. It had been years
since she’d been to a rodeo under the stars. It was much more refreshing than
watching in an enclosed arena that a day later would house a rock concert or an
antique show.

After the last
cowboy was thrown by the final bull, she strolled through the small carnival
area, stopping along the midway to buy some cotton candy, which she hadn’t
eaten since she was a teenager. She laughed at grown men trying to knock over
wooden milk bottles with three baseballs to impress their female companions. She
watched the Octopus spinning and jerking up and down and listened to the girls
scream as guys bent over to whisper in their ears. Didn’t sound any different
than the teens she worked with. Same bravado, jeers, and cheers. “Oh well,” she
yawned, heading for the parking lot. She must be getting old.

Nearing her vehicle
she frowned and slowed. Three young men slouched haphazardly against the hood
of her red pickup.

A tall wiry blond-mustached
cowboy stumbled toward her, slurring his words as he spoke. “Well, if ain’t the
fancy lady trainer from the east. Welcome to our town.” The tipsy stranger
doffed his hat, mocking her. Without moving, his two friends smirked.

“Did you spend all
that purse money yet?” the first man asked. “Or are you gonna save it for a
rainy day?”

Cassie stood stock
still, poised on the balls of her feet with arms hanging loosely at her sides. If
necessary, she expected she could out run these jerks back to the lighted
carnival area. But she really wanted to get back to her motel.

“Bet she’s like all
women. She’ll spend that money on frilly things,” said a burly man, pushing
himself away from the truck. A cigarette dangled from his upper lip as he
spoke. “Silk panties, soft bras, peek-a-boo nighties. Bet you’d look damn good
in ‘em, ma’am. All dolled up and ready to play.”

“Maybe we can convince
her to model for us,” the smaller third man piped. He lurched unsteadily
forward. The men formed a semi-circle between her and her truck.

“Cat got your
tongue lady?” the tall blond man asked. “I know where I’d like your tongue.”

He lunged for her. Cassie
kicked her booted foot firmly into the man’s crotch. He wailed a piercing
sound, doubling over on the ground. His friends froze for a moment, and then
began edging toward her with more determination. She was about to turn and
sprint toward what she hoped would be safety when she heard a familiar low
voice slice through the dark shadows. Her heart skipped a beat in recognition.

“That’s about
enough, boys. You congratulated the lady. Now it’s time to move on.” Clint
Travers stepped into the diffused light. His firmly fixed stare and straining
muscles served due warning.

“Aw, shit,” the
stocky man complained, “we was just gonna have some fun. Wasn’t gonna hurt her
none.”

“Yeah,” his partner
whined, “she didn’t need an Indian raid to save her.”

“You may be right
about that.” Clint scowled darkly at the man struggling to pull himself up off
the ground. “But I’m here now. You have two of us to deal with. What’s it gonna
be?”

Cassie winced, but
was pleased that Travers had included her when counting the odds.

Letting out a deep
breath, the stocky man ground his cigarette into the dirt and grumbled, “Not a
damn thing. Come on, boys. Think there’s a beer waiting for each of us down at
Randy’s. The chief can have his cowgirl, for all I care.”

The injured man
wrapped an arm around each of his companions and limped away.

When they were out
of earshot, Clint whirled on Cassie. “What the hell are you doing out here by
yourself?”

“Son of a bitch,”
she spat out in return. “And a good howdy-do to you, too. I’m a big girl. I’m
used to being on my own—even in the city. Didn’t you see that bastard dragging
his ass out of here?”

Clint grimaced. “Every
place has its danger and its scum. You’ve encountered some home-grown kind here
tonight.”

She nodded. Unable
to fuel her anger at the man who had helped her out of a tight fix, she
mumbled, “Thanks. So what were you doing here?”

“Thought I’d see
what was happening.” He offered no further explanation, but his features
softened. “I better take you back to your motel. Your truck will be here
tomorrow.”

“I said thank you,
but I think I can drive myself back safely,” she declared hotly. “I’m not that
frazzled by a few overgrown juvenile delinquents.”

“You might want to
look a little more closely at your transportation, Ms. O’Hanlon,” Clint replied
dryly. “It’s not usually a good idea to drive on rims.”

“The dirty
bastards!” Cassie shrieked, racing around the pickup. All four tires were flat.
Each had been punctured with a sharp object.

“Afraid you can’t
prove it was them.”

“Son of a bitch, I
can’t believe they did that.” She was reeling. If they could slash her tires…”They
invaded my space. They violated me. My god.” Her hand flew to her throat. “What
might they have tried if you hadn’t come along?”

Clint shrugged. He
looked uncomfortable. “Don’t know,” he drawled. “I’ve seen those boys around,
but don’t really know them. I don’t think they were as drunk as they made out
to be. Or maybe your toe sobered them up quickly.”

“Oh my god,” Cassie
cried. “I’m so prepared in Chicago, but here, I thought I was safe for some
reason. Thanks,” she said, throwing herself into the security of Clint Travers’
arms.

She trembled. She
cried. She clung to him, garnering strength. A shock of energy emanating from
her loins raced like a runaway horse through every fiber of her body. She
pulled herself up short. Oh no, that was more than comfort; that was raw sexual
desire. Hers. She didn’t know about him. Actually, his hardness pressing
against her belly allowed for little doubt.

Embarrassed by her
momentary lapse, Cassie staggered away from him. “Sorry for being such a
blubbering idiot,” she muttered, wiping tears away with her knuckles. “My kids
would laugh like hell right now if they could see me.”

“Kids!” Clint said,
taking a step backwards. “Didn’t know you were married. You don’t wear a
wedding ring.”

“I’m not married,”
Cassie said. “Oh. Not
my
kids.” Why couldn’t she speak coherently around
the man? And why was it so important that he understand? “The kids I work with.
Troubled kids, delinquents.”

“Ah, you’re one of
those liberal do-gooders.”

She bristled
immediately. “I’m a social worker. If that means I do some good, so be it. But
I’ll have you know I’m damn good at kicking ass.”

Clint bent back his
head and howled. “I never doubted that for a moment. There’s some guy limping
around here wishing that was all you kick.”