Racing Hearts (20 page)

T
rip watched from the backstretch as Craving Wind went through her morning workout, Marcus on his back instead of the exercise rider out of Trip's insistence. So far, Marcus had yet to be on the horse without Craving Wind acting like he wanted to throw him back off, and the last thing they needed was for Marcus to be the reason they lost the Derby.

The air outside was warm but not humid, the sky so blue it blinded. People milled all around, excited for the next day, and Trip should be excited, too. He had a horse in the Kentucky Derby, a horse who had a very good chance of winning, yet all Trip could see was a world of gray. He thought of Emery riding Craving Wind, how perfectly they worked together, how the horse trusted her—maybe even more than Trip himself. She should be here, riding the horse she loved. She should be the one to celebrate this moment.

Anger coursed through him at the volatility of being a jockey—how they rarely received the respect they deserved, how they could be replaced like this on a whim, unlike trainers. Unlike him. Trip had won the Eclipse Award for Outstanding Trainer three years in a row, and with that and his series of wins, he'd become the most sought-out trainer in the world. There wasn't an owner who would turn him away, who would deny him anything.

He took a step back, the thought swarming through his mind, and then it hit him—Craving Wind's owner wouldn't deny him anything. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It was a risk, a giant risk that might ruin his career, but he didn't want a career without Emery beside him. Didn't want to stand here, watching all his success, without someone he loved to share in it. He understood now what Nick and Mayor Phillips had meant—there was no joy in life greater than being with someone you love. That was living.
Loving
was living.

He only hoped it worked.

Trip stepped away from the backside, ignoring the call from a reporter, and walked away from earshot, then called Sarah Anderson, Craving Wind's owner.

The phone rang three times, and Trip feared she wouldn't answer and all hope would be lost. But then he heard a quiet, “Sarah Anderson.”

“Sarah? It's Trip. Are you at Churchill Downs?”

“I arrived yesterday.”

He released a breath. “Great. I need to speak with you. Immediately. How about lunch?”

She hesitated then, “Sure. I have a few afternoon engagements, but I could meet you at eleven.”

“Eleven is perfect.”

They hung up, and Trip called Clark. “I need a favor. . . .”

 

The Derby Cafe buzzed with excitement, every table full. Several people walked over to shake Trip's hand, even Peter Grant, trainer for Lucky Cross, this year's favorite to win the Kentucky Derby. There was even talk of him going all the way to winning the Triple Crown.

Trip hoped to stop that streak with the Derby. But he needed Craving Wind on his best game, and he knew that horse would only fly for one person—Emery. They were a perfect match, and it was time they were reunited.

A hostess walked up, Sarah Anderson beside her, “Here you are, Ms. Anderson.”

“Thank you.”

The older woman sat across from Trip, her kind eyes lined with wrinkles. The Anderson family was well known in the racing world and had been for years, owning many champions, including the 2011 Preakness winner and the 2013 Breeders' Cup winner. She understood this sport through and through, which he hoped would help him with his case.

“Is there a problem with Craving Wind?” she asked, a hint of nervousness behind her poise. “Injury? Abscess?”

“Oh, no,” Trip said. “Nothing like that. But we do have a problem. He refuses to perform for our new jockey, Marcus, the way he performed for Emery Carlisle.”

Sarah took a sip from her sweet tea. “Yes, but Emery lost her last race on Craving Wind.”

Trip nodded. “She did. But anyone can lose one race. She's won every other race on that horse.”

“Yes, but she hasn't ridden him
since
that loss. This would be a gamble I'm not sure I'm willing to take.”

Drawing a long breath and taking a drink of his water, wishing he'd ordered something stronger, he went with his second argument—the one he hoped spoke to her. “Sarah, you grew up around horses. You've owned and loved many.”

“I have,” she replied hesitantly. “Though I'm not sure how that's relevant.”

“Do you remember who sold you Craving Wind?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, her gaze focused on him now. “Carlisle Farms.”

“Exactly. There's a reason he runs best for her. She's been around him since birth. He loves her, and she loves him. Marcus has yet to meet Emery's best time on Craving Wind. I need you to trust me; they won't let you down.”

Sarah studied him, refusing to break eye contact. “Perhaps, but I sense their love for each other isn't the love driving this conversation.”

And there it was, the thing he'd hoped she wouldn't catch, but she wasn't a fool. “You're right. Which brings me to the reason I called this meeting. Emery is the right rider for this horse. Apart from my feelings for her, she is your best chance of winning the Derby. So . . .”

“Trip, I'm an old lady who values her time. Please, can we get to the point?”

He steadied his gaze on hers, blocking out the people around them, the press who were sure to listen in, taking notes on the meeting. He didn't care. He only cared about one thing—one person now—and he'd let her down. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

“Either Emery rides . . . or you can find yourself another trainer.”

Sarah's eyes narrowed on Trip as she took another sip of her tea. He watched her every move, waiting, praying this worked.

“I see you're taking a gamble as well.”

Trip laughed. “We're in racing, Sarah. There's always risk.”

“So there is.” She studied him a moment longer, as though searching for some hint of doubt, and then smiled up at him. “I trust you, Trip. If you say she's the rider for Craving Wind, then she's the rider. I'll take this gamble with you. Once. Don't let me down.”

He released a breath. “Thank you. You won't regret this.”

They finished lunch, and Trip said good-bye, relieved she'd agreed, until he took out his phone for the second part of his plan. He ran through his spiel again and again, but this wasn't someone who could be easily persuaded. This was the most stubborn person he knew, a person who lived and breathed racing—and the only other person who would have done what Trip did.

He scrolled until he found the person in his contacts, hesitated, then tapped the name.

“Hello?”

“Beckett? It's Trip Hamilton. It's time we had a chat.”

E
mery walked down the aisle of shops on Main Street, trying to convince herself that she could find another trainer to work for—Peter Grant or Lynn Mack. There were others. Plenty of others. And she wouldn't complicate it this time. She would ride and do her job and keep her feelings to herself. She could do that.

Brighton waved to her as she passed Brighton's Sandwiches and Pastries, and she thought she liked sandwiches and pastries. Maybe she should forget racing and work there. Or Paula's Flowers & Gifts. Or any one of the shops in town. She didn't need racing to be happy, and she didn't need Trip Hamilton. The problem was, those were lies, all of them. But maybe in time she could trick herself into believing them.

She had just reached for the door to Brighton's to meet Kate for a late lunch when her phone rang.

“Mama? Everything okay?”

“Yes, honey. I called because you have a visitor.”

“There at the farm?” Emery tried to think of who might come to Carlisle Farms to see her, and a tiny tendril of excitement coiled through her heart. Could it be? But then she remembered he'd been to Annie's and knew she'd still be there. Sadness overcame her, and she pressed her palm over her heart, hoping to massage out the pain. How had he affected her so completely? She'd protected her heart from him all those years ago, why had she failed the second time around?

“Em?”

She shook her head, pulling herself back to the moment. “Sorry. Um, can you just—”

“Your daddy's not home.”

Emery tried to process this, and where he might be, if he'd gone to the Derby without her, but these thoughts weren't going to bring her anything but more pain. “All right, Mama. I'll be right there.”

Ten minutes later, she parked her Jeep in the turnaround in front of her parents' house. Tears threatened her as she walked up the steps, the memories coming back once again. She'd been so lucky to grow up there, her parents nothing but supportive from the beginning. She hadn't told her mother what happened earlier, when she'd gone to see her father. The details didn't matter. All that mattered now was that she'd told him she loved him—the ball was in his court now. A part of her was still angry that he didn't trust her to know when she was ready, but then she thought it must have been hard for them to see her get hurt, to wait in the hospital through all three surgeries, to finally see her, all broken and bruised. They wouldn't be the good parents they were if that hadn't impacted them.

She reached for the door right as it opened and Clark walked out.

“Oh my God, Clark.” She opened her arms to hug him, not realizing until that moment how much she missed the staff she'd spent so much time with over the last six months. “What are you doing here?”

“Emery,” he said, nodding once to her. “Care to sit?” He nodded to the white rockers on the porch.

“Um, yeah, sure.”

They sat down, and Emery tried to keep her hands still in her lap as she ran through reasons he could be there—all of them leading back to false hope.

Clark stared down the long driveway. “I've never been here before. It's nice.”

“It is.”

“Has it always been this large?”

Emery shook her head. “No. Daddy bought more of the surrounding acreage when he took up breeding.” They fell into silence, and Emery, always the talker, couldn't stand it any longer. “I don't think you came to talk about the farm.”

He smiled. “No. I guess I didn't.”

“So what do you need? Is it . . . ?” Emery trailed off, not wanting to even think his name.

“I know things got a little complicated, and I won't pretend I know all the details or understand how you must feel. But you and I both know you were meant to ride Craving Wind in the Kentucky Derby. Well, now you've got your chance.”

Emery gripped the arms of her rocker, her heart rate speeding up. “What did you say?”

“I'm saying Craving Wind's running tomorrow, and he needs a rider.”

“But how? Marcus . . .”

“Trip told Sarah Anderson that it was either you or him. She chose you.”

Emery tried to process what Clark was telling him. “He threatened to quit?”

“He loves you, would do anything for you. Now he needs you to love him back enough to forgive him. He's got a horse but no rider, and if you refuse to go, then Craving Wind and Trip will be disqualified. Complications aside, you love that horse, and I have a feeling you love Trip even more. The Derby's yours, Em—go get it.”

T
rip paced the backside, his nerves twisting into knots. He'd yet to see Emery, yet to hear from Clark, and at this point, his sanity had checked out. He'd registered Emery as their rider despite having no idea if she'd actually show. The tension was killing him, and if he had to answer one more question about Craving Wind and why he'd fired Marcus, he was going to turn Hulk on somebody. He didn't do well with the unknown, and this situation was slathered in unknowns, then coated in shit for good measure. The announcer would call Craving Wind to the paddock any second. Any second! Where the hell was everyone?

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he reached for his phone to call Clark again when he spotted him rushing toward Trip, a smile on his face.

“Tell me you've got good news, man.” Trip put his hands on his hips to keep them steady. He might die of a heart attack before the race began.

“See for yourself.”

Clark turned, and Trip followed his outstretched hand to the person walking toward them, already dressed in the orange and red and yellow silks that represented an Anderson horse. He told himself to remain still, to watch her and file away this moment into his memory, but he'd never been one to follow the rules. Before he could think about it, he started for her, speeding up until he stood over her, peering down at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He wanted to say thank you, to say he was sorry, to spit out a thousand words that might mean nothing.

“Trip, I . . .”

He pressed a finger to her lips, the feel of them against his skin so good he nearly lost himself right there. “I have something to say.”

She stared up at him with those blue eyes narrowed in aggravation, and then he lost his ability to think—lost the speech he'd planned out, all the things he wanted to say and apologize for, instead replaced with three small words, and he couldn't keep them inside another second.

“God, I love you.” She snapped back, her angry eyes suddenly wide, her mouth fallen slack. “I feel like I've loved you my whole life, like every moment before you was dead and useless, like I wasn't really living, like I wasn't breathing. And then you came into my life and showed me all that spunk and fire, and now I can't seem to function without you. I don't care about this race. I don't care if we win or lose. I don't care if I never have another trophy on my mantel. All I care about is you.”

Emery took a step toward him, and he threw up his hands, sure she was going to go off on him, but she said, “Will you shut up and kiss me already?”

A smile broke across her face, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, securing her to him, promising himself he'd never let her go again.

Flashes went off all around them, and Trip pulled away to see reporters and photographers circling them, Trip and Emery still in an embrace, Clark off to the side, and Craving Wind behind them in the background. Trip smiled at the cameras, no longer caring who knew about them. If Trip had his way, she'd be beside him for the rest of his life.

“Riders up!” the announcer called.

Trip cupped Emery's face. “All right, lady girl, you ready for this?”

She smiled. “I was born for this.”

Trip gave her a leg up, then took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “One more thing. I have a surprise for you in the grandstand. We'll be waiting for you in the winner's circle.”

“We?”

“Good luck, lady girl. Show these men who's the real rider out here.”

She grinned wide, and then he watched Clark lead her away, and he went to the grandstand, a sureness washing over him. He'd always been able to feel a race, to know the win was coming. Call it a sixth sense or a feeling, but it burned bright in him today.

They were going to win. They
had
to win.