Heat Wave (Riders Up) (6 page)

The man’s disdain
for racing, for her, and for Iowa was becoming too much. Maggie felt her cheek
twitch. She opened her mouth to speak.

“We’ll look them
over,” Ed said, winking at Maggie. “Maggie’s got quite an eye for horseflesh. If
they’re what we want we’ll get back to you. Why don’t you give us some time?”

“Sure, no problem. You
know more about horses than I do,” Basswood grumbled. “I just want them out of
my life.”

Maggie sighed. She
knew Harrington had jumped in so she wouldn’t chop off Basswood’s head. She
watched Harrington’s eyes narrow as he assessed the horses from a distance.

“Is there anything
there that we want?” Maggie asked.

Grinning at her, Harrington
replied, “Do you think so?”

“Don’t know. Just
because I don’t like the seller doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some good horses. But
I don’t see them. One of the bays is more sway backed than my davenport. The
other one has a right front knee that’s at least three times its normal size. As
for the others, I’d be shocked if they’re high priced claimers.”

“Very nice,”
drawled Harrington. “You’re a quick learner. I don’t see anything here that
will be competitive, in Iowa or any place else. These have to be the dregs that
Basswood’s son couldn’t palm off. Let’s take the trailer and be happy.”

As they pulled out
of Basswood’s driveway, Maggie said, “Trailer seems to be pulling okay.”

Harrington nodded. “This
trailer will last for many years. No need to buy a new one if you can get
something like this used. I’m just as happy I couldn’t find anything we liked
around Des Moines—plus, we didn’t have to pay for extra gas to pull it all the
way up here.”

Maggie couldn’t
help but wonder if the trailer would outlast Harrington. The corner of her
mouth turned up. She had enough worries. Why did she want to worry about him? He’d
stay as long as he wanted, and that would be that. “So do you really think we’ll
be competitive by later this summer?”

“If we continue to
play our cards right. We’ve seen some good horses these last couple days. That
little chestnut you bought yesterday should be competitive right away. And I
know Cassie has a bead on a couple claimers. Still have to check out Clint’s
broodmares.” Once he got the trailer on the main road, Harrington glanced over
at Maggie. “You having doubts?”

Maggie thinned her
lips and sighed deeply. “This is huge. I’m not sure I realized just how huge
until coming to Chicago. Clint and Cassie are talking about some horses that
are way too pricey for my bank account. And then that Basswood fellow. He sure
doesn’t like horseracing.”

“Doubt that guy has
worked hard a day in the last three decades. So do you want out? It’s not too
late.”

Leaning back on the
seat, Maggie looked over at Harrington. His features were firmly set and his
stare was fixed on the road. He had as much riding on her decision as she did. She
admired his guts. It would have been so easy for him to stay with the comfort
of the bottle. Instead, he straightened himself out and came to her.

And he had heart. She’d
heard it when he talked of horses. And Cassie had confirmed it with the story
of little Eddie’s birth. If she had to trust someone to help her save her farm,
she could do a lot worse than trusting a man like Ed Harrington.

“No, I’m not going
to change my mind,” she said. Her voice was an octave lower than normal. She
sounded like a stranger to herself.

 “Good. I figured
you’d stay the course.” He glanced quickly at her and grinned lazily. “It’s
going to be a fairly bouncy course, you know.”

“I know, but I don’t
want to back out. A Magee always finishes what she starts.”

Harrington nodded
and smiled.

Maggie leaned her
head back on the seat and let her eyelids fall close. Her nose wrinkled. She
smiled. She was becoming accustomed to his scent. Maybe too accustomed. What
had Cassie said? Any woman who lassoed Ed Harrington would be a lucky woman. Well,
she’d lassoed him. Not in that way. But she still counted herself lucky.

Her nipples
tightened and her eyelids flew open. She stared at Harrington, who paid no
attention to her. Again, Maggie shuttered her eyes. No. She was his boss.
You’re
good for him and he’s good for you.
Those were Cassie’s words. How good? Maggie
drifted off to sleep before she could form a response.

 “So do you think
your new boss has the guts to stick with racing?” Clint asked, placing two
leaves of hay in a hay net. A bay mare stepped forward from the back of the
stall to sample this new food offering.

Ed chuckled. “Oh,
she’s got the guts all right. I don’t know if she’ll have the sense to duck.”

 As the two men
walked from stall to stall, several broodmares greeted them. Ed’s attention was
caught by a regal black head with luminous dark eyes poking out over the end
stall door. The mare arched her neck and raised her head high. Her haughtiness
drew a breath from Ed as he appraised the animal. He knew he was looking at
something special. Real special. Good legs. Deep chest. Strong lines. And a
pride bespeaking champions. “Well,” he muttered, “you’re a classy thing aren’t
you? Bet all the guys think you’re as sexy as sin.”

The mare rapidly
raised and lowered her head as if in agreement.

This one could be
the foundation mare they were looking for. “I’ll want to know more about this
one come fall,” he said noncommittally.

“Not sure Midnight
Dancer will still be here by then,” countered Travers, a sly frown working
across his face.

“Okay, hotshot
horse trader,” Ed retorted, shooting Clint a knowing look. The man was in the
business of selling horses; he couldn’t just hold onto a horse until the time
was right for a potential buyer, even for a friend. “So tell me about her.”

Grabbing the halter
hanging on the box stall door latch, Clint began to lay out the mare’s racing
history. “We didn’t start her as a two year old. Wanted her to mature more
before getting out on the track. Between her three year old and five year old
seasons she ran twenty-eight races and was in the money all but four. She has
twelve allowance and stakes wins, including one Grade Two victory. We matched
her with a sire out of Seattle Slew’s lineage.”

Ed whistled softly.

“Why not take her
out to a paddock so you can see her in action?” Clint suggested, moving to
halter the eager animal.

A few minutes
later, the mare was prancing as if she was leading a parade.

“Yeah, she’s all
you said she would be.” Ed folded his arms, knowing that he could not let this
one get away. She was a thousand pounds of thoroughbred promise. One couldn’t
expect to find much better, unless there was an unlimited bankroll. “So, what
will it take to hold the mare until we make a final decision in October?”

Clint scratched his
chin thoughtfully. “Considering feed, care and risk—five thousand, ten percent,
would guarantee that no one comes along and buys her out from under you.”

“And if we take her
the money goes toward the purchase price?”

“Of course.”

“And if we decide
not to buy, you pocket the money?”

“Naturally.” Clint
folded his arms and smiled broadly.

Ed nodded. “I’ll
talk to Maggie about it, but expect you’ve got a deal.” Turing to the ebony
mare, he added, “You, young woman, take care of yourself and that baby you’re
carrying. That’s all you have to do. No racing. No showing off. Just take care
not to hurt yourself or the little one.”

As they retraced
their steps back to the barn, Ed said, “Appreciate all you’re doing to help us
find some good horses.”

“That’s what I do
for a living.” Clint shuddered. “Besides, I owe you a few.”

“Don’t even go
there again!” Ed’s voice rose. “If I hadn’t been there, someone else would have
taken Cass to the hospital. Let’s forget it, okay?”

Clint shrugged and looked
away.

“I think it will be
pretty easy to decide on buying your Midnight Dancer,” Ed said, turning the
conversation back to a subject he preferred. “Maggie will be thrilled with the
mare.”

“You sound quite
committed to Anderson Stables,” Clint observed, turning off the lights before
leaving the stable area.

“Why shouldn’t I
be? That’s how I get paid.”

“Uh huh. You have a
damn sexy looking boss, too.”

“So.”

“No need to get
huffy about it. It’s just that I expect you’re rather vulnerable at this point.
And Maggie has done a lot to help you turn some personal things around. Just
don’t want you feeling overly obligated to her, that’s all.”

“Travers, you have
always been in my face about something,” Ed snapped, picking up their pace
heading toward the house. “No, I take that back, partially. You’ve been a good
friend these last few years and that’s appreciated, but no advice is needed in
this corner about women. Maybe I’ve drunk a hell of a lot of booze, but I’m not
blind. It’s no revelation to me that she’s damn attractive. It would be better
if she were ugly, but she’s not. In any case, I simply work for Maggie
Anderson. That’s all there is to it. That’s all there ever will be.”

“Okay, Ed,” Clint
replied, placing his arm around Ed’s shoulder and squeezing him roughly. “No
doubt you’re quite capable of handling the woman. I just thought you wouldn’t
want to get too tied down in Des Moines, Iowa. I’m still confident that we can
beat this betting scandal rap. And when we do, you can come back and pick up
where you left off. There’ll be plenty of owners who’ll jump through hoops to
be first in line to get their horses in your stable.”

“I’m not so sure
about that,” Ed responded, shrugging off the compliment. “Hope there’ll be a
chance for you to prove me wrong, though. In the meantime, I’m going to help
Maggie build the best damn racing stable she can afford.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Warm June sunlight
spilled through window panes into the upstairs guest room at the Travers’
McHenry home. Lazily, Maggie awoke, stretching, basking in her surroundings. Tiny
rainbows danced on the nearby wall as light played through prisms hanging in
the window.

Light blue lace
curtains billowed before the morning breeze, casting a spell of fantasy and
romance. The antique four poster bed on which she lay dated back to the
colonial period and had been crafted in Ireland. And the lush feather pillows
augmented a luxurious setting that Maggie had not anticipated. Cassie Travers
had a lot of taste.

Maggie mumbled
incoherently. She needed to get up and start the day but didn’t want to leave
her delicious surroundings. Sinking back into the fluffy pillows, she succumbed
to their sensuous comfort.

She’d liked her
plucky auburn-haired hostess right off. Cassie managed with aplomb being a
wife, mother and horse trainer. Yet, the woman seemed very true to her own
core. Maggie envied her sense of being okay with herself. Someday. Maybe
someday.

Not once had Cassie
tried to dissuade her from the goal of forming a racing stable. Her hostess, as
well as her husband, had been very helpful in identifying horses in the area
that might fit into Maggie’s plans.

Clint had agreed to
keep Maggie’s needs in mind when he went to the summer Keeneland Sales in July.
He and Cassie concurred with Harrington that to build for the long run,
Anderson Stables would want to purchase mares in foal later in the fall.

Clutching a pillow
tight to her chest, Maggie reflected on the news Cassie had shared about Harrington’s
background. Maggie sighed softly. She’d chosen well.

Cassie had said he’d
once had a reputation as a fairly heavy drinker and a lady’s man. Maggie hadn’t
seen evidence of either since he’d shown up on her porch that Sunday afternoon
in a dusty feed mill cap ready for work. She grinned.

He’d better not try
to bring any floozy to her haymow loft. Maggie jutted her chin forward. She’d
send him packing so quick he wouldn’t know what hit him. There were the
children to protect.

“Right,” Maggie groused,
sensing old stirrings in her loins. Rolling over, squeezing a pillow tightly
between her thighs, she wondered how long it had been. She missed the feel of a
man holding her, caressing her neck, grazing her nipples, kissing her lips. She
missed running her fingers lightly across a man’s back, feeling straining
muscles, knowing she was the reason for the hardness pressing against her hip.

There were these
haunting moments when she missed Mason so terribly. He would never again touch
her in those intimate ways. There hadn’t been desire or time for men since his
death. She hadn’t looked at another man in that way.

Not until Ed
Harrington. He’d been in her dreams more than she wanted to confess.

What would he be
like in bed?

She’d only made
love to one man. Maggie chewed on her lower lip. Would it be the same with her
hired man? Different? Could it be even better?

Absently, she
brushed her fingers over her aching breasts through the thin, worn nightgown. She’d
been a teenager when she first made love with Mason. Now she was a mature
woman…So what was she doing thinking and behaving like a teenager?

Slipping the
sleepwear down her torso, Maggie pulled gently on first one rising nipple and
then the other.

“Oh my,” she
moaned.
It’s okay. It’s okay to feel, to be aroused, to want.

Maggie’s head
lolled back and forth, swaying with the erotic electric charges radiating from
her breasts upward to her nape and downward through her inner thighs to her
toes.

A litany
reverberated from one tiny brain cell to another:
It’s okay to seek
satisfaction
.

As if of the same
mind, her fingers moved leisurely over her belly, first sketching invisible
circles clockwise and then counterclockwise around her navel. In that balance
of concentric movement, awareness of time was lost. No reality existed beyond
those bubbling internal sensations straining for more tactile encouragement,
demanding release.

Descending lower,
her hand sought the warmth of her loins. Her palm paused, resting as if waiting
further instructions.

Maggie’s breath
came haphazardly. Cupping her mound, she pressed tentatively inward. Her lower
torso jerked upward. A finger slowly penetrated. Without further hesitation,
her thumb skimmed her clit. A second finger slid easily into her wetness.

Maggie thrust
urgently against the slickness. A tiny red-orange ball pulsed somewhere within.
It grew, spreading in ever larger circles. Perspiration beaded across her upper
lip. Her breath stopped. The ball exploded, dissolving muscles and bones into
nothingness.

Curling into a
fetal position, trapping her fingers deep within, Maggie screamed into a
pillow.

Minutes later,
still quaking, she reclaimed her fingers. How long had it been since giving
herself the chance to feel that exquisite touch? Months. Nearly a year. This
was only the third time since Mason’s death.

Keeping remnants of
shame at bay, Maggie reveled in the warm toasty afterglow. How she had missed
that simple, elemental act. By denying herself all these months of such
exquisite gratification, had she been punishing herself, trying to atone for
her husband’s death? This gift of life, she decided firmly, should not be
sacrificed to the past.

What would it be
like to make love to a man again? A real man. She hugged herself. What would it
be like making love to him?

“Did you sleep
well?” Harrington inquired, when Maggie pulled out a chair at the breakfast
table.

“Very. I’m afraid I
overslept. Don’t know how long it’s been since that happened.” Maggie focused
on breakfast options, hoping no one could fathom what she had been doing not so
long before.

A squabble erupted
between Sammy and Lester over the last warm pancake, diverting everyone’s
attention from Maggie’s flushing cheeks. And Eddie began screaming so as not to
be left out.

Thankful for the
diversion, Maggie smiled at the children’s mom scolding the older ones and
rescuing the cup that had dropped to the floor. Clint reached for the Eddie,
picked him up and soothed him. While a single parent could manage such
escapades quite well, these were moments, Maggie acknowledged, when another
pair of hands could be decisive.

Once the commotion
was settled and Cassie plunked down another round of hot pancakes, the woman
opted for peace and quiet. “Lester, Sammy, I’ve had about enough closeness for
this early in the morning. Both of you are done. I want you to take your dishes
to the sink and then go out and do your chores.” Softening her stern look, she
said, “Love you, but be gone.”

“Okay, Cass,”
replied the twelve-year-old boy, rising from his chair.

His younger sister,
Sammy, followed on the run and then dashed back to give Cassie a hug. “Sorry,
Mommy. Didn’t mean to get you mad.”

“It’s okay. I’m not
mad. Just a little grumpy. Eddie was up most of the night with an earache. Run
along now,” she whispered, kissing the girl’s forehead.

After the screen
door clattered shut, Clint said, “Cass and I have been talking about your
plans, Maggie. We’d like to make a suggestion or two, if you don’t mind.”

Maggie loved the
drawl of the copper skinned man with hair as dark as night. She met his eyes
easily. “Not at all. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s a lot
to expect of anyone to learn the ins and outs of training race horses all at
once. People work for years as apprentices to learn what you need to know.” Glancing
at his wife, he continued, “We thought you might want to leave the horses that
are still racing with us so Cass can continue their training and entering them
in races on the Chicago circuit. When they’re ready for a couple months rest to
freshen up, we can ship them down to you.”

“That way,” Cassie said,
breaking in, “Ed can teach you how to prepare some of the younger horses for
racing without the pressure of immediately tackling track management.”

Whoa, Maggie wanted
to shout. Things were moving too quickly all of a sudden. Dollar signs nagged
at her brain. She couldn’t afford racing on the Chicago circuit. Not in the
beginning. But neither did she want to offend her new friends.

Biting her lower
lip, she mumbled, “I don’t know.” Instinctively, she looked to Harrington for
his advice.

Harrington raised
an eyebrow. “It’s probably a good idea, Maggie. You’ll need time to develop
along with the horses. We could work with two or three yearlings and two-year-olds
and with those on R and R from the track. This way we might not even have to
race at Prairie Meadows until the fall or even the next season.”

“You’ll want to
watch your horses race,” Cassie said, turning to adjust Eddie in his highchair.
“I’ll bet you could catch most of the races via satellite at Prairie Meadows. We’ll
keep our eye on the stakes races they’ll be offering down there. It may pay to
ship a horse or two, and that would give you more hands on experience at the
track. And, of course, you could always come up here and work with me for
however long you can get away. There is no better substitute for learning the
ways of the backside than being there.”

Maggie knew that
had to be true. And she also knew that everyone at the table was reminding her
that Harrington could not teach her how things were done at the track while
sitting on a bale of hay in the barn. He might never be able to show her how to
run a racing operation at the track.

That information
wasn’t new. So why had she turned so cold just now? Was she already too
dependent on him?

“But it must be
awfully expensive racing up here,” Maggie protested, stoking her throat with
rigid fingers.

Both Clint and
Cassie smiled. “We will only charge you our costs,” Cassie said. “There will be
no trainer fees.”

“What! Why would
you do that? I’m no charity case,” Maggie fumed.

“Now don’t get
stubborn on us,” Cassie cooed. “We can afford to help out in this way. And we
want too.”

“But why would you?
You hardly know me.”

“There are lots of
reasons,” Clint answered soberly. “We’ve struggled before, like you. It’s good
to see a woman with grit and determination doing what she can to save a piece
of her heritage for her family. Reminds me of another woman I know fairly well.”
He flashed a smile at his wife.

“And,” he added,
nodding in Harrington’s direction, “it’s good to see someone give another human
being a chance to prove himself. It’s simply the right thing to do. Don’t turn
us down, Maggie Anderson. You don’t want to deal with my wife’s Irish temper.”

Maggie gave him a
weak smile and reached to cover her twitching cheek.

“It’s good
business, Maggie,” Harrington said softly. “For them, as well as for you. If
you succeed, and I fully expect that you will, you’ll be back to buy more
horses. If you get in over your head, you’ll risk losing the farm. And these
folks will have one less buyer.”

She didn’t know if
his logic was correct, but Maggie knew when she was surrounded. As gracefully
as possible, she lifted her orange juice glass and declared, “To the Anderson
Racing Stable based in Chicago.” She paused, catching her breath and soaking up
the warmth and hope of the three beaming faces regarding her intently. “I hope
you know what you’re doing. I’m not at all certain what I’ve gotten myself
into, but it’s too late to turn back now.”

“That’s my girl,” Harrington
murmured.

Clint and Cassie
swallowed, busying themselves by soaking up syrup with stray pieces of pancake
and leaving Maggie to stare questioningly at Harrington, who seemed completely
unaware that he’d vocalized what was so evidently on his mind.

“They’re nearly
ready to load,” Cassie said, looking toward the Arlington Park starting gate. “We
just want the filly to run a clean race without injury.”

Maggie nodded,
listening intently. It wasn’t easy to do. There were so many distractions. The
excitement of the crowd thrilled her. Everything was so colorful, from the
jockey silks to the characters analyzing racing forms or peering through
binoculars at the horses warming up.

It didn’t matter to
Maggie that she knew nothing about handicapping. She was here to learn about
the business of horse racing. And Cassie Travers was a very astute instructor.

Maggie’s temples
throbbed with anticipation and apprehension. As they stood by the rail at the
finish line, she knew they were in the process of buying a horse. There was no
seller present; there would be no handshake between buyer and seller. Yet she
was definitely buying a race horse.

Twenty-five
thousand dollars of her money lay in a box in the stewards’ office which would
go to the owner of horse number three, Jill’s Pride, in the upcoming race. It
was called claiming. The owner of the horse had entered the filly in a
twenty-five thousand dollar claiming race, essentially saying if someone wanted
to buy the horse for that price, he was willing to sell.