Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (2 page)

his sides heaved. “Had a hard time keeping him under

wraps. If he'd gone longer than three furlongs, I wouldn'ta

been able to hold 'im.”

“Thanks, Miguel. He's almost racing fit. I plan to

work him six furlongs out of the gate before he runs

though.” Jenna propped the saddle over the rail and

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Dead Heat

grabbed the halter off the hook. “I'm checking the

condition book for two-year-old maiden races. If I can't

find one I like, I'll either wait ‘til he's three or run him

this year with three-year-old maidens.”

Miguel took the halter from her hands. “I'll hold him

for ya.”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at Miguel's

offer, but now was not the time for pride. “Thanks. I'd

appreciate it.”

“I'm sure you have other places to be, Miguel.” Jenna

tensed at the familiar voice. “I'll help the lady.”

Rye Cameron had followed her? What the hell was he

up to? She wanted to confront him. Common sense told

her not to make a scene.

“Sure thing, Mr. Cameron.” Miguel tossed the halter

into Rye's outstretched hand. “Catch y'all later. Jenna,

give a holler when ya need me.” Miguel walked away and

then looked over his shoulder and winked. “That horse

rides like a Cadillac. Not like some of those Jeeps I've

been on recently.”

Jenna laughed and waved. She controlled her

curiosity about Rye’s purpose for following her and

concentrated on work, ignoring the flares of

embarrassment that scorched her. When she removed the

bridle, Rye's deft fingers slipped the halter over Rising

Sun's muzzle. With precision movements, she threaded

the chain of the shank through the brass eyes of the

halter and placed the leather end in Rye's outstretched

hand. The whole process took no more than ten seconds.

She had to admit they worked well together.

Soaking the sponge in the pail of warm sudsy water

she'd prepared before going out to the track, she stood on

tiptoes, squeezed it over the colt's head and stepped back.

On cue, Rising Sun shook his head, sending a shower of

soapsuds in all directions.

“Very funny.” Rye chuckled, soap dripping down his

face. “But you won't get rid of me that easily. It takes

more than soap and water to scare me away.”

“What do you want?” Jenna worked fast, washing the

horse, cleaning under his belly and the inside of his legs.

A few buttons on Rye's shirt were undone. She tried not to

look at the dark curly hair on his chest.

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“It can wait until you're done.”

She tossed the sponge in the empty bucket. Picking

up the hose with one hand and a large metal scraper with

the other, she sprayed the dark bay horse, and then

scraped off the excess water.

Without another word, she grabbed the shank from

Rye’s hand and began walking around the shed row for

the thirty minute cool down. Rye leaned against the rail

and with each pass, his intense stare burned her back.

Rye Cameron's reputation for breaking hearts

followed him from track to track. She’d heard the rumor

that a well-known trainer had caught Rye messing

around with his wife and threatened to shoot him. Who

knew if it were true or not? Jenna couldn’t care less. The

man’s reputation for getting what he wanted scared her.

Until she knew the reason for his friendliness, she’d put

herself on high alert. What if he wanted Rising Sun? That

might be it. He'd seen the workout this morning. Now he

wanted the horse. The thought made her sick. No way.

Jenna would sell herself before she'd sell this horse.

Thirty minutes later, Rising Sun stood in his stall

munching hay while she brushed his dappled coat, picked

his feet and then packed them with cooling mud. She

knelt and checked for heat in his knees or ankles. Finding

none, she gave each leg a five-minute rub with alcohol

and wrapped all four legs with protective bandages.

By the time she’d hung the feed tub, filled the water

pail, removed his halter and shut the webbing, she'd

worked herself into a frenzied state. She was more than

ready to face Rye Cameron and demand some answers.

He was gone. Probably for the best, she thought,

pushing her disappointment aside. Time to concentrate on

Rising Sun’s immediate future. She headed for the closet-

sized tack room, a cup of strong black coffee next on her

agenda. She stepped through the door and stopped short.

Rye sat at her father's desk, an old white diner mug in his

hand. She focused on the hot steam rising from the mug.

Who did he think he was sitting in her father's chair

as if it were his own? Although her dad was gone, even

she had difficulty working at that desk. “Get out of my

father's chair, Mr. Cameron. And while you're up, get out

of this room.”

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Dead Heat

The blue glacial gaze pinned her to the spot.

“What's your problem, Jenna?” He gestured toward

the door with the wave of his hand. “It was wide open.

Anyone can walk in. Did I miss the ‘Do Not Enter’ sign?”

She spun away. With jerky steps, she moved to pour

a cup of coffee. Damn him. What was wrong with her?

She'd been a real bitch. Something about the self-

confidence oozing from this man put her on the defense.

Or was it the uncertainty in her life that made her lash

out at him? She sipped the black coffee and found a hint

of comfort in the familiar smells of saddle soap and

leather permeating the room.

“Are you in the market for a job?” Rye asked.

Hot coffee sloshed over the side of her Styrofoam cup

as her hand jerked. She quickly put the cup down and

shook off the hot liquid. Rye Cameron was offering her a

job? He kept at least fifty horses on this track alone and

had five trainers. Employees never left his stable unless

Rye fired them. Scuttlebutt said he was a great employer

and offered fantastic benefits. She hadn’t heard of any of

his trainers leaving.

Bingo! The light dawned. Had he said a job training

horses? She'd assumed that's what he meant. How stupid.

She cleared her throat. “Walking hots, mucking stalls,

cleaning tack? I’m not interested. If you're looking for a

groom, I might consider it — if I’m assigned a stakes

horse. And,” she emphasized, “if I can bring my three

horses with me.”

“Turn around. Please,” he added. “I don't like talking

to your back.”

She shifted position and leaned against the wooden

slab that served as a counter. The coffee had lost its

appeal. She set the cup down and wiped her hands on her

grimy jeans. Lifting her chin, she waited for him to

continue.

“I've had my eye on you. Three years ago you were

your father's shadow. Since then you've found your own

niche. I like what I see. You’ve chosen to move away from

old school training methods and developed an original,

fresh approach for conditioning thoroughbreds.”

Her mouth went dry. “You want me to train your

horses? Who's leaving?”

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Pam Champagne

“Dimitri Manos.”

“Dimitri?” she squeaked. “He's your top trainer.

Where's he going?”

Rye toyed with a pencil, tapping it on the desk. “No

idea. I fired him this morning.”

“Fired Dimitri? Why? He made the list of top ten

winning trainers for the season.”

Rye's eyes narrowed, sending a twinge of alarm

through her. “I had my reasons.”

Something was going on here. An undercurrent she

didn’t understand thickened the air. “I don't know what to

say.” “How about a simple yes or no?”

She shrugged and lowered her eyes to hide her

confusion. “I'd be crazy to say no. Do I look crazy?”

He pushed away from the oak desk and rose. “Good.

Stop by my barn in the morning. We'll work out the

details. You’ll have to sign a contract. If you agree to the

terms, I'll make arrangements to move your horses and

gear.” He moved to stand in the doorway and nodded

toward Rising Sun’s stall. “You own that horse?”

“Yes.” Red flags went up. Her spine stiffened. “Why?”

His face stayed free of emotion. “Just curious. See

you in the morning.” After a quick nod, he walked out.

Jenna stood in the small tack room and waited for her

head to stop spinning.

****

thoughts. He waved to people, ignoring their stares.

Gossip would spread faster than the plague.
Hey, guess

what? Rye Cameron was in Jenna Green's tack room early

this morning.
He smiled. Too bad there wasn't some truth

to the rumor that would circulate. Jenna Green was one

good-looking woman. Having her on that oak desk

sounded mighty fine to him.

About four inches shorter than his six feet, her body

curved in all the right places. She'd been in some

tantalizing positions while bathing her horse. He hadn't

seen an ounce of fat. He had a thing for long legs, and

hers were not only long, but muscular to boot. Perfect to

wrap around a man's waist. Preferably his.

She wasn’t pretty in a conventional way. Her upper

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Dead Heat

lip came together to form a perfect heart, the lower one

full and lush. Big gray eyes fringed with long lashes.

Thick curly red hair. Her self-assured manner turned him

on. The gorgeous body was a plus. Put it all together, and

she presented quite a package.

He’d balked when his brother, Brett, asked him to

give her a job. Jenna mixed up with the mob? Total

insanity. Her reputation as a horseman was impeccable.

But now that he’d actually met the woman, he’d willingly

oblige the FBI and keep an eye on her.

Who knew what might happen down the road? He

made it a rule never to mix business with pleasure, but

what were rules for, if not to be broken? Jenna was old

enough to know the score.

Like he always did, he'd make his situation clear at

the beginning. Anything between them would be for fun.

No way, no how was he looking for a permanent one-on-

one relationship. He'd watched his parents' marriage fall

apart. His mother, the party queen, loved men, especially

ones other than her husband.

Brett married the love of his life only to end up with

a broken heart, not to mention an empty bank account.

After those spectacles, Rye had decided marriage and

long-term love affairs had no place in his future. He'd

worked too damn hard to get where he was to let some

woman step in and take it all away.

Jenna's horse, Rising Sun, put a fancy ribbon on the

deal. The horse’s workout on the track this morning had

been damned impressive. His speed made him a front-

runner. Question was, could he stay the course? Or would

he fold when the come-from-behind horses barreled down

the homestretch right on his ass? Time would tell.

Running Rising Sun and his own colt, Tsunami, as a

double entry, would assure a win. Rising Sun would tire

the rest of the field, and Tsunami had the stamina to blow

by them all at the finish line.

“Hey, boss. Dimitri cleared out all his gear. He's

gone.”

Pete Jones' voice put an end to Rye's fantasies. The

twenty minute walk to his barn had passed quickly.

“Thanks, Pete. I just hired Jenna Green to replace

Dimitri. She'll be here tomorrow. Make sure everything

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runs smooth till then.”

“Jenna Green? Joe Green's daughter?” A look of

horror crossed Pete's weathered face. “Ain't she a bit

young for this kinda’ responsibility?”

Rye slapped his foreman on the back and laughed.

“Be honest, Pete. It's not her age that has your tail in a

spin. It's because she's a woman.”

Pete grinned.

“Give her a chance. I think you'll be eatin' your

words. I'm heading back to the farm for a while. See you

at the races.”

Rye walked down the shed row. Morning work

completed, most of the horses stood at the entrance of

their stalls, tearing into their hay. A few rested. Grooms

had raked the shed row and not even a piece of straw

littered the area.

He stopped at Tsunami's stall. The colt nickered a

greeting, and softly blew on his cheek. Rye scratched him

behind the ears. He had big plans for this two-year-old.

Tsunami had yet to make his debut, but Rye's gut told

him this horse was Derby caliber. They had one year to

prove it.

During the time Dimitri had trained the colt, Rye

had watched Tsunami change from an eager, enthusiastic

racehorse into a frightened, dangerous animal. He'd

thrown the last two exercise riders. No one wanted to

walk him because he reared up and tried to strike. Rye

didn’t know what the problem was, but he blamed Dimitri

Manos.

****

room, Jenna finished cleaning the last bridle with

Neatsfoot oil and hurried outside to investigate the