Heat Wave (Riders Up) (3 page)

“Yes,” Maggie
responded haltingly. “We’ll have to work out arrangements. I can’t offer you
much, but it should be better than the Resting Arms.”

“I don’t doubt
that.”

She raised her
eyebrows slightly. “I’m having a loft efficiency apartment built in one end of
the haymow. It should be ready within a couple weeks.”

“I was hoping to
get out of the Arms sooner than that.”

“I’ve got a spare
room in the house. I’d need a day to clean it up.”

“I’d prefer the
loft.” Ed glanced furtively toward the kitchen door.

“I know. But it can’t
be helped. The room will be ready by tomorrow night. Two weeks at the most, and
you’ll have more privacy. I’m prepared to offer the loft, three meals a day
except Sunday—you’ll be on your own that day—and a thousand dollars a month.” She
took in a quick breath and rushed on. “I know it’s not much for a top trainer,
but that’s all I can afford for now. Maybe later…”

Ed grimaced. “No
need to apologize, ma’am. That’s darn generous. I’m not a top trainer anymore.”

“But you have the
same skills, if you can stay away from booze.”

“Yeah, about that.”
Ed glanced around the porch to assure himself of their privacy. “I’ve been dry
for more than thirty days. They say that’s the toughest. Not that any day is a
cakewalk. Even got my thirty day chip.” He reached into his pocket and produced
the chip.

“I’m pleased.”

“Not looking for
sympathy, lady. I’m looking for a job. And I’d kind of like to keep the drinking
problem private, between you and me.”

“I don’t have a
need to broadcast anything about your private life, Mr. Harrington.”

He arched his
eyebrows.

“Ed.”

“Good. Now tell me
about this job. Where do you keep your horses?”

“I don’t have any.”

 “What? You got me
to dry out, to come out here for nothing—”

“Not at all. You’re
going to help me build a racehorse stable from scratch. You can look at it this
way: I haven’t made any mistakes yet.”

“That’s certainly
open to debate.” Ed studied her again. She sure had guts. He wasn’t sure she
had much common sense, though, trying to hook up with a dried out drunk to
start a racing stable.

“Do you have any
ideas about how we might begin?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair.
“And how much it will cost? This is not a pauper’s game.”

Ed watched her
pause and look wistfully toward the barn. What did she see there—the past,
present or future?

Maggie looked
directly at him. “I may not be rich, but I’m not a pauper.” She looked away.

“Other
than my children,” she began, “this land is the most precious treasure to me. It’s
been a part of my family for generations. It’s my children’s legacy. I have to
make this farm pay for itself. The cash crops aren’t enough.” She glanced back
at him.

He waited.

“My husband died
over two years ago,” she continued. “He left a sizable insurance policy. It may
be enough to make the farm profitable. If not, Con-Ex Farms or some other
conglomerate will swallow up this land and my family’s heritage like it’s just
so much dust.”

“Ah, so now I at
least know something about the larger game you’re in.” He nodded grimly. “So
that’s why you had to resort to digging a broken-down trainer out of his hiding
hole. You have to play some ace cards or fold. It’s ante up time, and I’m part
of the ante.”

“I hadn’t thought
of it that way.” Maggie frowned. “This is no game to me. But I see your point. Anyway,
I want you to teach me how to train horses.”

“What?” Ed
jumped to his feet. “I thought you wanted me to train them and then turn them
over to someone else at the track. You’re hardly big enough to swat a fly!” Uh
oh, his mouth had gotten him into trouble again. When would he ever learn to
engage brain before mouth? But the sparks firing out of those large round blue
eyes might have been worth the gaffe.

Scrambling
to a stand, Maggie gestured toward door. “If you are incapable of working with
and teaching a woman—even a short one—to work with horses, Mr. Harrington, you
can leave right now. I don’t need you. You can crawl back from wherever you came
from.”

“Now, don’t jump to
conclusions,” Ed backpedaled. “My mouth often gets me into trouble. I didn’t
mean you were incapable of learning. It’s just…you’re so pretty, and we’re
talking long hours and a lot of hard work. And no promises of getting rich quick,
if ever.”

“No matter,” Maggie
said, blowing bangs off her forehead, “this is what I intend to do. It’s what I
must do. I’ve worked hard all my life. These small hands you’re looking at have
calluses just like those of any other farmer. Don’t mistake me for some
sniveling female who has to be pampered. If you do, you’ll be in for loads of
trouble. And I don’t see this as some get rich quick scheme either, Mr.
Harrington.”

 “The question is,
is this something you want to do? Can we work together? And believe me, if you
take this job, we will be working as a team. I’m not hiring you to do all the
work or make all the decisions. I wish I didn’t need your help, but the fact is
I do.”

“It’s clear you
wouldn’t accept any pampering, ma’am, even if you needed it.”

Her eyebrows shot
up.

“Not that that’s
any of my business one way or the other. As far as working together—guess we
won’t know till we try. But there is a lot to what you’re asking. Lots of
planning. A lot of dollars to buy horses and refurbish the barn area so it will
be safe for horses.”

Ed stopped and
looked out toward the barn. What was he getting himself into? He had to have a
screw loose somewhere to even be thinking about helping the woman. She was so
green about racehorses she hadn’t even earned the label greenhorn. Yet he
admired her spunk. And it might just work. She had the land and the desire. He
had the skill and the know-how. With a half smile creeping across his face, he
wondered what kind of a student Maggie Anderson would be. He expected she did
her homework thoroughly.

“Doesn’t have to be
top of the line horse farm right off,” he resumed, “but it must be safe for
horses. You’re gonna have some expensive investments running around out there
on four long spindly legs. Race horses are finicky and prone to injury. We’ve
got to protect them the best we can. And that’ll cost some money. If we don’t
buy quality horses, we won’t have the potential for making large enough purses
for them to pay their way.

“Most horses don’t
win, you know,” he said, watching her intently. “Many don’t even make it to the
track. And just when you think you’ve got one in good form and who can run,
something goes wrong. Are you really prepared for the disappointments that go
along with horseracing?”

For a moment, he
wished he hadn’t asked that question. The fire quickly drained from those
sapphire orbs and was replaced with familiar hollow pain. “Yeah, I guess you
know about disappointment and loss,” he acknowledged, slouching back down onto
a chair.

- o -

“I expect that’s
one thing we have in common,” Maggie murmured, taking her seat. “Mr.
Harrington, have you decided to take the job?”

“Well, it’s not
like I have a lot of other offers.” He grinned faintly, like a child returning
from a runaway attempt.

That smile tore at
Maggie’s heart. Did he really think she was pretty?

“You may be getting
in way over your head,” he cautioned. “Hell, maybe me, too. But I’m willing to
try. Of course, I don’t have much to lose. If you’re going to be in this
business, it’s important to know something about all elements of the game. In
the long run, you may not want to take on the track responsibilities of a
trainer. There are a lot ways to play the game.

“We do need to
clear up one matter.” Harrington sighed and dropped his gaze. “You know I can’t
take your horses to the track. Can’t help you out there.”

Maggie nodded. “I
know about the ban, Ed. That doesn’t have anything to do with me. You’ve been
vouched for. That’s enough. There are likely a lot of bridges yet to cross. Let’s
take them one at a time.”

“I’m all for that,
Maggie.” Harrington lifted his cup in salute.

That was the first
time he’d called her Maggie. It sounded too familiar, yet they had to be on a
first name basis if they were going to work together as a team. She took a
short breath, excited about actually beginning to put in place her plan to save
the farm. Her nerves tingled at the prospect.

Or,
perhaps they were responding to the man who pronounced
Maggie
in a
gravelly voice that oozed intimacy.

“I had no idea this
room had so much junk in it,” Maggie complained, wiping her brow with the back
of her hand. She glanced over at Flo Zimmerman, who was filling a box with odds
and ends Maggie had set out for her. “I so much appreciate you coming out to
help on such short notice. I can’t believe Harrington is starting work
tomorrow. It’s going to happen.”

“It all sounds so
scary.” Flo wrapped a tarnished softball trophy in newspaper and tucked it into
a large cardboard box. “I know you’ve done a lot research on this horse business
and you’ve set aside CDs for the kids’ college, but what about yourself? You
could lose everything.”

“They claim
horseracing is one of Iowa’s fastest growing agribusinesses. Racing purses have
been growing steadily, ever since they opened that casino at the track to
support them. People are making it. And some aren’t. That’s the nature of
business. Hell, that’s the nature of living off the land.” Maggie took the
quilt off the bed and started removing the blankets and sheets.

“I imagine you’re
right. Maggie, if anyone can do it, you can. You’ve always had more
determination and grit than any two people.”

Maggie stuffed the
quilt in a chest of drawers. Would determination and grit be enough? Although
the half million life insurance settlement sounded like a lot of money, it wasn’t.
And it was all she had. She’d have to be extremely prudent.

“It’ll work. Once
all the pieces are in place. It’s got to be more realistic than dairy. I can’t
make enough money at hogs. And there’s not enough land to survive only with
cash crops. Besides,” she said, grinning at her friend, “this is an adventure
of sorts.”

“Adventure? We had enough
of those when we were kids.”

Maggie shook her
head. “I loved Mason, but sometimes he was so conservative. We should’ve tried
other things with the farm years ago.”

“I was always so
jealous of you and Mason.” Flo stared at her and then looked away. “It seemed
like you were the ideal couple. You had each other. You had kids. What else
would anyone want?”

Maggie folded her
arms across her chest and leaned against the dresser. “Maybe spark. Maybe
challenge. Maybe adventure. I can’t explain it, Flo, but lately I keep
remembering that young girl on top of a horse racing across the pasture.”

“I remember.” Flo
nodded. “You and Betsy Cunningham used to be best of friends, and you’d ride
your horses like you were glued to them. I’d come by now and then and watch. I
miss Betsy.”

“Yeah, I get a
Christmas card each year. She and her husband seem to enjoy Seattle.”

“You’re lucky
Carolyn and Johnny are so excited about your horse ideas.”

“Neither of them wants
to leave Beaverhill.” Maggie picked up a broom and started sweeping the wood
floor. “Carolyn doesn’t want to have to make new friends, and Johnny can hardly
wait until we have horses.”

“I just hope this
Harrington fellow will work out okay,” Flo said, taping a box. “Aren’t you
afraid of having a man living under your roof? He could be a molester or
something.”

“I’ve checked him
out. He has good references.” No need to say anything about the scandal
Harrington was still embroiled in. “He’s had some bad luck. He’ll only be in
the house a short time. I’d prefer to have the loft finished, but it’s not. We’ll
get by. We have to.”

Maggie worked the
broom rapidly across the stained floorboards. Having him in the spare bedroom
did make her nervous. She wasn’t afraid of him—it wasn’t that. She didn’t like
the fluttering in her tummy when he’d called her Maggie. She was the boss and
he was the hired hand. That was the way it would stay.

The next day Maggie
stopped by the Beaverhill Bank to withdraw some cash. After completing her
transaction, she turned to leave the lobby only to be summoned by the banker,
Josh Prater.

“Step into my
office for a minute, would you Maggie? I’ve got some exciting news for you.” Without
waiting for a response, the bank president guided her toward his door.

Maggie cringed as
she allowed herself to be escorted into the man’s office. His oversized
rosewood desk formed the centerpiece of an ornate office. Prater’s desk was
excruciatingly neat. How could any normal human be so organized?