Racing Hearts (5 page)

E
mery tried, and failed, to keep her mouth from falling slack. She'd Googled Trip's name the night before, unable to stop herself, and while she knew age had served him well, every expectation she had paled in comparison to the person before her. He wore faded jeans and a fitted flannel shirt that showed off his broad chest and thick biceps. Rugged cowboy boots stuck out from his jeans and an equally beaten-up cowboy hat graced his head, but even with it on, she could see his chocolate brown hair curling out at the ends. A memory hit of her hands in that hair, and she had to look away to keep from blushing. Trip was manly to the extreme. His expression, hooded and sexy. But none of that compared to watching him with the colt.

She and Kate had parked behind the stables and walked over. Kate had just begun to speak when Emery motioned for her to wait, her eyes on the training ring and the man inside it, his every move controlled—graceful. She'd never seen anything like it. They eased up to the fencing and watched, and the longer she watched, the more two things became apparent to her—the man was undoubtedly Trip . . . and the colt was hers.

“Wow, he's gotten big. He's beautiful, isn't he?” Emery said, nodding to the horse. The truth was, she found it easier to look at the horse than the man before her. Somehow, she never expected to feel so intimidated by Trip. Sure, they had a past, but that she could handle. What she couldn't handle was the surge of emotions waging war inside her head and heart at the way he said her name—Emery. Like her name meant something to him, even now. Looking into his eyes was like looking into the depths of a well, dark and forever and yet, somehow, peaceful. They were mesmerizing.

And the last thing she needed distracting her in that moment. He should have aged crappy, gotten flabby and worn. Instead, he looked even better than she remembered.

Damn him!

Trip turned around, a smirk on his face, like he knew just what she was thinking and got a little more than joy from her frustration. He'd always been able to read her thoughts. “He is,” he said, then focusing back on Emery, added, “a little spirited, but a beauty all the same.”

Their eyes held, the moment drawing long, and then Emery cleared her throat and adjusted her footing, forcing Trip's gaze to drop—and land squarely on her cane. His brow furrowed, like he couldn't quite make sense of it, and she felt her cheeks burn. She knew this would happen. Kate had suggested she leave it in the car, but the thing had become her security blanket. Without it, she wasn't sure she could stand tall against a man like Trip.

This time he cleared his throat, his eyes darting quickly to Kate. “And you are . . . ?”

Kate grinned, reaching out to shake his hand. “We've actually met once before, but it was a long time ago. Kate Littleton, teacher.” Trip's gaze shot to Emery, and Kate laughed. “No, no. Not her teacher. Even I'm not patient enough for that.”

“Oh, really? So what do you teach?”

“Kindergarteners.”

Trip burst out laughing. “I see. So, it would require more patience to teach Emery than it does five year olds?” He laughed again, and Emery found herself gritting her teeth together to keep from blurting out just what she thought of Trip and his too-sexy laugh.

“Can I see him?” Emery asked, her tone full of aggravation despite her best efforts to hide it. Why did she have to wear her emotions on her sleeve, for all to see?

“Who, this one?” Trip replied, still chuckling a little, until he caught the determination in her face. He knew, even before she had to say a word. He crossed his arms and stood taller. “He's a little wild right now.” His gaze fell to her cane and then quickly back up, like he'd made a mistake. “Is that a good idea?”

Emery stared back, unable to hide her hurt. After the time they'd shared, she never once thought he'd focus on her injury. That he'd be like everyone else. She held him higher than the class of people who saw her injury first, Emery second, and the disappointment was unsettling. “I'm not a cripple.”

Kate adjusted beside Emery. “Hey, Em, let's—”

“Then what's with the cane?” Trip shot back.

The hurt spiked, transferring into anger. “What did you say?”

“You don't need it. So why are you using it?”

Emery's hands balled into fists, despite her best effort to keep her emotions in check. “You don't know a thing about me.”

“Don't I?”

Everything about the moment felt overly raw, from their too-close stance to the intensity in their eyes. They tested each other, seeing who would falter first, and Emery had no intention of allowing it to be her.

She took a step forward, refusing to allow her cane to keep her from standing up to him. “You barely knew me then, how in the hell could you possibly know me now?”

The air sparked with tension, even the colt behind them backing away, as though he, too, wanted away from Emery's glare. She knew her words were a lie, but she couldn't admit the truth—that he'd known her better than she knew herself. Which made it hurt all the more when he left. Maybe she was the reason he'd left. She'd wondered that very thing too many times to count, but it didn't matter now. Now she needed to act tough. It was easier to throw attitude at him than allow herself to feel all the things her heart wanted to feel.

“Tell yourself whatever you want,” Trip said. “But I know you, and I know this—” he motioned to the cane—”is beneath you. If you plan to work for me, then you do it without that cane.”

Emery pointed at Trip, and Kate, sensing her friend's feistiness coming to life, darted forward, pulling Emery back. “Em, let's look around first. Then maybe you can—”

“I want to see the colt. Now,” she said to Trip, refusing to back down. “You know as well as I do that it's a smart decision to hire me. I'm the best female rider in—”

“Fine, have it your way. Clark?” he called, glancing over at the man. “Saddle up Prankster Pit. Let's let Ms. High and Mighty show us what she's got.”

Emery's hand dropped to her side, all the blood draining from her face, her lungs refusing to take a breath. “What . . . what are you doing?”

“You're a rider. So ride. Prove it to me.”

He was challenging her now, and she hated him all the more for it. “I don't have to show you anything.”

Trip laughed. Laughed! “You really are something else. This is my farm, not your daddy's, and you'll follow my rules or you can go. Simple as that.” He crossed his arms and, unable to stop herself, Emery stepped up in front of him, refusing to accept this mean, arrogant man in front of her. He might know her, but she knew him, too. And this wasn't Trip.

“I can't do that,” she said, her voice low as she lifted her head to look him in the eye. “But I will. If you know me like you think you do, then you
know
I will. For now, I'd like to see him.” She motioned to the horse behind them. “Please.”

Trip exhaled, his gaze locked on hers, his heart beating noticeably in his chest, and she thought maybe she'd pushed him too far, maybe he wanted her to leave, when he released another breath and with effort said, “Fine . . . after you.”

The gate seemed an eternity away with the cane in tow. Emery considered tossing it, but then, how would she stand? How would she brace herself when she reached up to stroke the colt's mane? Rushing would only make things worse, so she took her time, sliding the cane in the dirt, then taking a step, until she reached it, ignoring the stares from both Trip and Kate. She could handle almost anything but pity, and it rolled off both of them in nauseating waves.

Trip unhooked the gate and held it open for her to step inside. Immediately, she felt the presence of the horse across from her, heard his breath rush out in uneven bursts. She remembered the white diamond shape between his eyes, the way he'd gotten up immediately after he'd been born, like he couldn't remain still—like he was ready to run.

“What'd Sarah name him?”

Trip stopped just behind her. “Craving Wind.”

A smile spread across Emery's face as she pictured the name at the races. “It's perfect.”

The sound of Trip taking another step toward her hit her ears, his body undeniably close. If she leaned back, she would touch him. “It is?”

Emery turned but remained where she stood. Her five-two height left her a full head and a half below him, so she tilted her head up, squinting in the morning sun. “I saw him being born, and it was like he couldn't
wait
to take off. Like his spirit yearned for the track.”

Sounds of the farm's staff at work echoed all around them—commands from other assistant trainers managing the morning workouts, the quiet chatter from those busy in the stables. She knew she should step away from Trip before someone saw whatever this was passing between them, yet she couldn't force her body to move.

Trip's tongue swept over his bottom lip and her eyes immediately drew down, wondering if they felt as full as she remembered. Wondering how they would feel now. She shuddered and turned back to the horse, who walked around like he wasn't sure about anything at all. Emery could relate.

She took another few steps toward him, watching for his reaction, waiting until he calmed, then took another few steps, and then she stood right beside him, listening to his breathing.

Emery closed her eyes and gingerly reached out her hand . . .

 

Trip's insides coiled up like a rattler, every fiber in him screaming for him to step between the colt and Emery. He didn't know this horse, couldn't predict his responses. He'd almost kicked in Clark's face, for Christ's sake, and now, here was Emery, five foot nothing, tiny and meek, her body's weight resting on that black cane of hers. He still couldn't make sense of her using it when she very clearly didn't need it. But need was a very subjective thing.

Time slowed down as he watched her extend her hand to the horse, her palm out flat, reassuring. He held his breath, telling himself to stay put, despite everything in him screaming that he should intercept. But then her hand was flush against the colt, holding there, not moving, just rising and falling with the horse's breaths. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and for the first time in his life, he questioned his own ability. No one had touched that horse without him flinching. Until now. It was like Craving Wind remembered Emery, cared for her. This was different than the standard rider-horse relationship. Trip just couldn't decide if different was a good thing or a very dangerous one.

He gave Emery another five minutes alone with the horse, watching as her mouth moved in hushed whispers, appreciating how quickly they'd reconnected—their bond undeniable. Damn, how did he allow himself to get in this situation? Emery was injured. Even if he hired her, he couldn't put her with this colt, who by all accounts was expected to become a champion. He needed an experienced rider to get him there, and Emery hadn't been in a race in years. Clearly, Trip was losing his mind. He shook his head and released a breath, forcing the trainer in him to return.

“I have other horses to show you,” Trip said as he approached her.

“I don't want another horse.”

“Well, I refuse to let you ride this one.”

She dropped her hand from Craving Wind, and the look on her face nearly broke his will. Like she was losing her best friend, like she was losing herself. “I told you, you don't have to pay me. Just let me ride.” She lowered her eyes, and he knew she was trying to rein in her emotions. “I can do this.” Her watery gaze returned to his.

He swallowed hard, wishing he'd never invited her here in the first place, but at the same time, he didn't want her to leave. The feelings that had settled over him since she arrived couldn't be ignored. He enjoyed being around her, enjoyed listening to her voice and watching her with Craving Wind. Still . . . “I can get you back on a mount. Just not
this
mount.”

Emery spun to face him. “Why?”

There were a thousand answers to that question, all of them more important than the last, but maybe the truest answer of all was that he didn't trust her. A part of him wanted to, but that part was also the one urging him to forget that eight years had passed and pull her into his arms. He couldn't depend on that side of himself right now, which only left the sensible side, and anyone with good sense would laugh at the idea of putting Emery on Craving Wind. He would prove to be a champion. Trip could feel that in his bones. And champions needed dependable, experienced riders. Not riders with canes and two years' worth of pent-up fear, who refused to ride for him today.

“Are you going to continue analyzing every aspect of this situation or are you going to answer me? It's a simple question.”

He almost laughed at how well she could read him. Maybe he hadn't changed that much after all. Though she was wrong about one thing—this was anything but simple.

“I have other horses,” Trip repeated.

“
This
is my horse.”

Trip shook his head. “See, this is part of the problem. He isn't your horse. He's Sarah Anderson's horse, and she expects him to win a title this year. That isn't going to happen with an inexperienced rider. So, like I said, I have other horses.”

Both Clark and Kate adjusted their stance, sensing the tension rising.

Emery walked away from the colt, toward the edge of the fencing, gripping the side and staring over the pastures. “You don't get to call me inexperienced. Not you. You've never seen me ride.”