Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (11 page)

On her way home from Newton Abbott the next day, Frankie sat in dejected silence beside Tom, who’d been kind enough to take on driving duties providing he didn’t have to listen to Bonnie Tyler. She’d had three rides that afternoon, had wasted for days and lain in the bathtub for two hours that morning to get down to the featherweight in the feature handicap chase, yet she’d finished well down the field. She was tired, weak and miserable and just wanted her bed.

Their
last clash of horns had faded to the back of Frankie’s mind. She had more pressing concerns to stress over. Peace Offering took number one spot and as much as it irked her, riding a close second was Rhys’s latest tactic which was to completely ignore her existence. When their paths had crossed, his gaze would flit over her with as much attention as a boy racer passing a speed limit sign.

Damn this crush, Frankie scolded herself. And damn Rhys for looking so damned sexy when he’s angry.

‘Frankie, can you keep a secret?’

The soberness in Tom’s tone made her look at him in surprise.

‘What’s up?’

‘You remember that night a coup
le of weeks ago when we argued—’

Frankie batted him away with her hand.

‘Forget it. Truly, Tom. You were right about what you said. I was being selfish about wanting all the attention.’

‘No. It was a horrible thing to say. You were obviously dealing with Seth’s anniversary in your own way and I didn’t make it any easier for you. You just walked in at the wrong moment, that’s all.’

Frankie frowned at him, puzzled. She vaguely recalled Tom had been sitting in the dark, working on his laptop. The memory sharpened, Tom had slammed the screen shut when she’d tried to see what he was looking at.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

Tom gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He exhaled.

‘I’ve decided to try
find my parents,’ he said at last.

She
looked levelly at him for a cautious moment.

‘You don’t mean your parents down in Weston-super-Mare, do you?’ she said.

Tom shook his head.

‘No, my
real
parents. My biological parents.’

‘Wow.’ Frankie didn’t know what else to say.
‘Erm, why now?’

Tom shrugged, not taking his eyes off the road in front
.

‘I don’t know. Just things like have you noticed I’m getting grey hairs at my temples? I’ve only just turned twenty-eight! And Dad didn’t go grey until he was fifty-odd. You know what I mean?
There’s things about me which I’ve inherited from someone and I don’t know who and what they are. I want to know if there’s a history of heart disease in my family. Will I go bald? Am I the only one in my family able to bend my finger back like this?’

Tom demonstrated, making Frankie shudder.

‘Urgh. Yuck. Don’t do that. I get the picture.’

‘And
when you ambushed me that night in the kitchen, I was just reading an email from an adoption agency forum thing. And there weren’t any matches to me.’

‘What does that mean though?’

Tom looked downcast.

‘It means my parents don’t want to find me.’

‘No, don’t say that. You don’t know that for sure. They might be really non-techie people who don’t know what an internet forum is or they might be missionaries in deepest darkest Africa or South America or somewhere where they don’t know the internet exists. Do you know their names?’

He shook his head.

‘No. But I’ve written to the Social Services and asked for my original birth certificate to be sent to me. That should have their names on it.’

Frankie reached over and squeezed his hand, a sparkle lighting her green eyes.

‘This is so exciting, Tom,’ she breathed. ‘You could be the son of some massive celebrity—haven’t I always told you you look like Colin Firth? Or you might be tenth in line to the throne or something.’ She searched Tom’s face for some enthusiasm. ‘Aren’t you excited?’

Tom gave an undecided nod-shake of his head.

‘I’m a bit apprehensive, to be honest.’

Protectiveness swelled inside Frankie.

‘Well, you’re not going through this alone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you were doing this?’

‘I dunno. I guess I feel a bit guilty about the whole thing. It feels like I’m betraying Mum and Dad by going looking for my birth parents.’

‘Have you told them?’

‘No. Mum’s not well and you know
, I might not find anything. I wouldn’t want to distress them unnecessarily.’

The initial novelty of finding a brand new family wore off Frankie pretty rapidly as she realised the psychological burden Tom was carrying. Going behind your parents’ backs with something so colossal must take a lot of the excitement out of the hunt.

‘Wow, I don’t know what to say,’ she muttered. ‘I’m here, if that’s any consolation. Like, if you need someone to offload on. God knows I dump enough of my troubles onto you.’

Tom flashed
her a smile and leaned over to squeeze her knee.

‘Let’s talk about something else. How’re you getting on with Lord Bradford? He’s got
to be the most unsociable person I have to valet.’

Frankie
looked pained.

‘Can you keep a secret too?’

‘’Course.’

‘I’m having trouble with Peace Offering at the yard and I’ve got the feeling Rhys knows what’s going on.’

‘You think he’s up to something?’

‘Oh no, nothing like that.’
Frankie took a deep breath. ‘I mean I don’t think Peace Offering likes me. Simple as that. But I don’t know what to do differently. Jack’s had the vet out to check him over, etcetera, but there’s obviously nothing wrong with him health-wise. Then I see Rhys watching us from the sidelines and there’s just something about him that makes me think he knows what’s going on.’

‘Has he said anything?’

‘God, no. The last time we spoke properly was when I tried to apologise and he bit my head off. He acts like I don’t exist now.’

*

Making their way up the steps to their front door, Frankie was still complaining about Rhys.

‘He just blanks me every time I try
to talk to him,’ she said. ‘And bloody Donnie doesn’t help matters. He keeps grinning at me when Rhys is around like this is all some big joke put on for his amusement.’

‘I wouldn’t take any notice of Donnie,’ Tom soothed
, digging out his house keys. ‘He can be a big dickhead sometimes.’

Frankie’s thoughts strayed back to Exeter Racecourse’s sauna.

‘You can say that again,’ she murmured.

Tom grinned at her. He pushed the door open for her to enter.

‘Made an impression on you, did it?’

Frankie bustled into the warmth of the hallway, rubbing her ar
ms.

‘He could demolish buildings with that thing.
That’s
the impression it makes.’

Tom laughed and followed her in.

‘Yet you’re not falling at his feet.’

‘Size ain’t everything. Anyway, that’s not the sort of thing that attracts me to men. I like a bit of refinement, a bit of mystery.’ Her mind’s eye went through
Rhys’s attributes. ‘And dark hair, dark eyes, someone with a bit of danger about them.’

Tom stopped leafing
through the Indian and Chinese takeaway menus he’d retrieved from the mat, and stared at her.

‘Frankie, you’ve got the biggest God-awful crush on Rhys Bradford, haven’t you?’

Frankie pulled up short. Okay, yes, she could admit to herself that she found Rhys more inviting than most other members of the opposite sex, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it publically.

‘I don’t know about that,’ she said evasively.

‘How has it taken me this long to realise?
He’s
the reason you’re so miserable, isn’t he? It’s not because you didn’t have any winners or because Peace Offering’s not going for you. It’s because Rhys isn’t talking to you.’

Frankie gave a grudging shrug.
A knock at the door stalled her reply reply. Their next door neighbour stood on the step, a broad smile on his ginger face. He held up a brown envelope for Tom.

‘Just saw you arrive back. This came for you earlier. I had to sign for it.’

‘Thanks,’ Tom said, taking the letter and closing the door again.

‘Ooh, that looks official. Is it for me or you?’ Frankie asked.

Tom’s face became grave and he tapped the Do Not Bend envelope against his palm.

‘It’s for me. It’s from Social Services.’

Frankie followed as he strode through to the kitchen at the other end of the hall. Rhys Bradford was wiped from her thoughts. The kitchen light flickered on and Tom sat down at the table and stared at the envelope. Frankie slipped into the chair next to him.

‘Your birth certificate you
mean?’ She could feel her pulse drumming and could only imagine what his was doing.

He nodded.

‘The original one, yes.’ He licked his lips and teased the envelope flap away from the sealing gum.

Frankie held her breath and leaned closer.

Tom pulled out a sheath of paper and booklets. He dropped the latter carelessly on the table and sifted through the rest. He withdrew an A5 sheet of thick paper.

He sucked in his breath. His hands were shaking and Frankie had to crane her neck to read the certificate. Tom exhaled with force and dropped it. He ground his chair back and stood up with a muffled cry. Frankie shot him a concerned glance then picked up the paper.

‘Born on the thirtieth of September, 1985,’ she read aloud. She looked up at Tom as he paced around their kitchen. ‘Okay, that sounds right. Mother: Adelaide Mann.’ She looked up again, beaming. ‘That’s great. We know who your real mother is now.’

Tom stopped pacing and looked up at the ceiling, his hands on his hips.

‘Read on,’ he commanded with a vague wave of his hand.

‘Father—
oh, this is a bugger. They’ve forgotten to fill this bit in. They’ve left your father’s name blank by mistake.’

Tom looked at her, pained. Tears filled his eyes.

‘It isn’t a mistake, Frankie. It means they don’t—
she
doesn’t know who my father is.’

The first winter frosts staked their ground at Aintree in the early hours of Becher Chase Saturday. Frankie shivered with cold as she exited the heated weighing room alongside twelve other riders, but she was sweating beneath her body protector. In just under an hour, she would be tackling the most famous steeplechase course in the world on a horse she was convinced didn’t like her.

Added to her nervous excitement was Ta’ Qali about to make his debut in National Hunt racing. She followed Rhys, in his red and white chevroned silks across the parade ring, trying to ignore the yearning
she felt to be wearing those colours instead of Roosevelt’s blue and yellow. She smiled to herself. It brought a completely different meaning to the phrase “wanting to get into his pants”. The thirteen horses skirted the ring, their rugs pulled back to cover their loins. Most of them walked round calmly beside their handlers, now and then skittering out of line if something in the throng of bystanders spooked them.

The first horse Frankie recognised was Ta’ Qali. She felt a deluge of disappointment spill over her. Sweaty foam fringed his saddle pad and girth. With hi
s newly-donned sheepskin noseband hiding the white marking on his nose, the big black horse was an imposing presence. Billy, his handler for the day, struggled to keep him on the path. He was flung from side to side like a leaf in a gale as Ta’ Qali tossed his head and reared forward.

Jack was frowning at the horse’s antics and barely acknowledged Frankie
’s and Rhys’s arrival by his side.

‘Don’t know what the matter is with him,’ he muttered, at last registering them. ‘It’s not like he’s never been to a racecourse before.’

‘Did they have a bad trip up?’ Rhys asked.

Jack shook his head.

‘Billy said he wasn’t the quietest, but nothing exceptionally drastic.’

The bell sounded, summoning the jockeys to mount. Ta’ Qali bolted, dragging Billy with him. Jack turned to Rhys.

‘Keep him prominent, but try get some cover. Hopefully he’ll settle down when he’s on the move. Frankie, you do the same, but keep to the inside where the better ground is.’

*

Frankie’s Becher Chase worries were replaced with concern for Ta’ Qali as they cantered away from the stands towards the start. He wasn’t settling beneath Rhys. The jockey was having to use all his strength to keep him to a canter. Down at the start, Rhys was shaking his head almost as much as Ta’ Qali. Ta’ Qali wouldn’t have looked out of place at a heavy metal concert. With each head bang, he flung gloopy foam from his mouth onto his rider. The starter plodded over to his rostrum while runners circled behind.

‘What the hell’s wrong with him?’ Rhys growled, wiping a string of equine saliva from his thigh.

Frankie bit her lip. She almost wished Ta’ Qali acted like this at home. At least then she would be able to give Rhys some advice on how to deal with him.

‘Maybe he’s been stung by something?’

Rhys gave her a disparaging look.

‘Seriously?’

For once, Frankie didn’t blame him. Unless there were wasps carrying stings full of Meth flying around, it was an unlikely reason for his behaviour. On the bright side, that was the most Rhys had said to her in two weeks.

The starter called them forward. Frankie pulled her goggles down over her eyes and tried to focus on her own race.

The tape snapped away and the horses surged forward in a cavalry charge to the first hurdle. Frankie took up position on the rail behind the two front runners while Rhys wrestled with Ta’ Qali on her outside. The pace was hot yet even that didn’t settle the horse. He flung up his head, half taking off in mid-stride and smacked Rhys square beneath the eyes.

Frankie cringed at the dull thud of impact.
So much for the sheepskin noseband lowering his head carriage.

Rhys growled and wiped away the thin stream of blood from his nose.

‘You okay?’ she yelled.

Rhys jabbed a gloved finger at the first in a line of three hurdles ahead.

‘Just concentrate on your own goddamned race.’

Frankie tried not to take it personally. She could just make out
Rhys’s eyes watering behind his goggles. That smack must’ve hurt like a bastard.

Roosevelt lengthened his stride as the hurdle ranged closer then put in a short one, rapping the jump hard with his knees.
Frankie sat tight, aware of Ta’ Qali jumping high and left. They bumped shoulders on landing. Roosevelt, the lighter of the two, bounced sideways and Frankie clung to his mane.

The
y jumped the second, then the third in tandem. Roosevelt now jumped left as well, anticipating the impact from his stable companion.

‘Frankie, what are you doing?’ Rhys yelled out. His cheek was smeared with diluted blood. ‘Fucking go on ahead. This thing is gonna bring us both down in a minute.’

Frankie hesitated. She didn’t want to be told how to ride. On the other hand, he did have a valid point. She lowered herself in the saddle and Roosevelt edged clear. As they passed the stands for the first time, she became aware of the steeplechase course on their inside. The hurdles looked like trotting poles in comparison. The worries of her upcoming ride on Peace Offering reappeared now that Ta’ Qali had disappeared from her line of sight. The wide pool at the base of the water jump glinted in the sunlight, foreboding, winking at her. Frankie didn’t like the look of that jump one bit.