The Suit (12 page)

She settles into me, finally really relaxing. I worried the bathing together idea would make her panic, but she seems to be enjoying it even if she is a bit quiet.

“I’m sure it will go fine.” I know this because I’ve watched Trish as she exercised Night Rider and the horse looks good, but I can’t tell Edie that. Telling her that would mean telling her about my past and that’s not a place I want to visit ever again.

She sighs and I can hear the stress in her deep breath. “He’s sent his horses here for years. He’d be a big client to lose.”

The water laps against her breasts, her nipples are just above the surface and I run the loofah over them. She moans softly and my dick twitches. I could go again, but I won’t. She’s stressed and I want to comfort her. I wrap my arms around her and kiss the back of her head. She’s scared. She’s scared she’ll lose the farm, and losing it would ruin her. Although she would lose it under completely different circumstances, I can relate. Losing my family’s farm was torture. I don’t want that for her. I have to help her.

“It’ll be okay, Edie. I promise.”

After our bath, we go our separate ways into our own rooms. I offered to climb in bed with her, but she felt we needed to keep things casual and sleeping together could blur lines. She’s right. It could. But I can’t help but wonder if lines haven’t been blurred already.

As I stare up at the ceiling, images of Edie floating through my mind, my cell chimes. I know it’s a text from Ainsley before I even pick it up. I’ve ignored every call and text from her, but after Edie told
me how her ex treated her, dumping her by text, I feel like a dick ignoring Ainsley. I need to tell her there’s no chance for us to get back together, but I need to do it in person. That’s the right thing to do. I decide to respond because ignoring her is an asshole thing to do.

Ainsley:
  I can’t wait for this summer to end. How are you?

Me:
  I’m good. Just really busy and very tired. Going to bed now.

Ainsley:
  Wish I was there. ;)

Me:
  Night.

So my replies aren’t super friendly, but at least it’s something. My greatest hope is she’ll meet someone and forget all about me. But something tells me I’m not that lucky.

When I awake the next morning, it’s ten o’clock.
Shit!
I overslept! I quickly dress and once I realize Edie is already gone, I rush out to the barn. Why didn’t she wake me?

The day is already hot and humid and the two groundsmen Edie has, Joey and Glen, are busy measuring a horse. As I near the stables, I see Edie sitting on Night Rider, with her riding helmet on, looking down at a man dressed in a navy blue polo and khakis near the training track.

As I approach the track, I begin to hear parts of their conversation.

“I assure you, Mr. Turner, I’ve been training these horses with my grandfather for years.”

“I’m just concerned about the transfer is all, Edie. This is a lot for a young woman to take on,” Turner adds as he shoves one hand in his pocket.

Edie’s lips flatten briefly and I can tell she resents the insinuation that she can’t run a farm because she’s a ‘young woman.’ She instantly gets herself together and plasters on a polite smile.

There’s a saying that goes;
You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.
Edie knows this and puts aside her contempt for Turner’s remark. That’s my girl
. Holy shit!
Did I just think that?
Wilson, get that shit out of your head right now. She is not your girl
.

“Well, if given the chance, Mr. Turner, I’ll show you I’m more than capable.” It’s then I decide to approach them. Edie gives me a shy smile, something only I would understand after the night we shared. I wink back before turning to Turner.

“Mr. Turner, this is Johnny Wilson. He’s working with us for the summer. Johnny this is Mr. Turner.” Edie motions between us and we shake hands.

Turner is your typical rich—needs something to spend his money on—racehorse owner. For Edie, racing horses is a livelihood, for Turner it’s just something to brag about to his equally rich friends. If I were a betting man, which I am, I’d bet Turner has never even ridden a horse. After we exchange the appropriate greetings with one another, Edie says, “I’m going to gallop him through the first turn and then breeze him for half a mile.”

Basically, she’s going to get the colt warmed up and then show Turner his speed. With that she heels the black stud and starts to canter him.

Turner pulls a stopwatch from his pocket and clicks it, readying it for when Edie starts her breeze. “Johnny Wilson, huh?”

I freeze momentarily. “That’s right.” I rest my forearms on the top beam of the fence and keep my eyes trained on Edie.

“Any relation to J.R. Wilson?”

He knows who I am.
Shit
. “He was my grandfather,” I admit as I continue to watch Edie. Why can’t the past just stay there?

“Wow.” He nods. “Denver’s Bronco.” He says the name and I can see his eyes glaze over as the realization of who I am sets in. Denver’s Bronco was a filly that my grandfather and father took to The Triple Crown. In horse racing, The Triple Crown is the mecca, the almost unreachable goal. Not only did Denver’s Bronco win The Kentucky Derby, she also won The Preakness Stakes as well. Winning two legs of The Triple Crown is an almost impossible feat for most…a miracle really. But what makes it even better, is a filly rarely competes in these
races, let alone wins them. Denver’s Bronco made my grandfather a legend in the world of horseracing.

“She had good breeding,” I say, trying to shrug off his attempt to connect me to my father. “They got lucky.”

He snorts. “I’d say it was more than luck, son.”

I roll my eyes and refocus on Edie again, hoping Turner will drop it
.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Your grandfather was one of the best trainers out there. I heard you weren’t too bad yourself. It’s a shame your father, J.J—” His words trail off and I grind my teeth. If shame had a sound, it would sound like an agonizing scream, but unfortunately it’s a silent emotion. One I’ve been hiding from for years. I know what he’s saying, but is too chicken shit to finish his sentence. What’s a polite way to say ‘let your family’s legacy go to shit?’ Yeah, my grandfather was one of the best, my dad too, but that didn’t stop our farm from going under. When my grandfather passed away business was good. Everyone believed my father was every bit as good as Pop Pop. But somewhere along the line J.J. Wilson became an alcoholic and the farm tanked while his addiction thrived.

“Thanks,” I state simply, saving him from his struggle. “But I never really came into it. I was young. Left for college. The talent died with my grandfather and father,” I add quickly.

Edie has
completed the gallop and Turner clicks the stopwatch as she passes the first furlong and begins to breeze. The horse is traveling smoothly. That’s a great sign. His mechanics are perfect, he has a strong stride and I can’t see in any way Edie is asking him for it. The horse is meant to race.

I can’t help smiling as I watch her leaned over Night Rider, crouched into position, her focus intense. Turner continues clicking his stopwatch as E
die reaches each furlong, but says nothing. When Edie completes each distance, the horse gallops out strongly. I know, without a doubt, this horse can place top three in a race and Edie absolutely needs this horse to win so she can meet her grandfather’s requirements to keep the farm. When I glance over at Turner, his expression gives no indication as to his thoughts.

“How’d he do?” I ask.

“Not too bad,” Turner answers nonchalantly. I have to work hard to hide my disgust from leaking out and showing on my face. The horse did fucking spectacular. He just doesn’t want to admit it since he was acting like such a dick about Edie being capable.

Edie trots the horse off of the track and right up to us. “H
e’s a good horse,” she says patting Night Rider again before climbing down. “So, what do you think, Mr. Turner?” There’s confidence in her tone. Edie knows the horse is golden. There’s no denying it, no matter how big of a douche Turner wants to be.

“Well, in light of recent revelations, I’m going to leave him. If he places well in Jersey, I’ll keep him here.”

“Revelations?” Edie questions him.

“I didn’t know you had the grandson of one of the best trainers on the East Coast working here. It makes me feel better about leaving my horses.”

Edie glances between the two of us while trying to understand what Turner just said. “I told you, Mr. Turner. That was my grandfather. Not me. I’m not a trainer. Not anymore. Edie is the one that has your horse running like that. It has absolutely nothing to do with me.” My tone is almost pleading.

“Even so, I like the idea she has someone here to help her. Thanks for letting me come out this morning, Edie. I’ll be in touch.” With that, he turns and heads towards his Porsche parked beside the office
/tack room.

Edie remains frozen in place, but her gaze is now trained on me. “Care to shed some light on what the hell he’s talking about?”

I close my eyes and groan.
Fuck!
“He recognized my name and knew my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather?”

“J.R. Wilson.”

“Your grandfather was J.R. Wilson?” she asks as she stares at me blankly.

“Yes.”

“
The
J.R. Wilson? Denver’s Bronco?” she clarifies.

“Yes,” I mumble.

She opens her mouth as if to say something and then quickly snaps it shut. Without another word, she leads Night Rider up to the stables and I follow a few feet behind. Is she pissed? I didn’t really lie to her. I just didn’t tell her. When she nears the stables she hands Night Rider’s lead to Trish and stomps into the tack room. Trish gives me a questioning look and I shrug. I wait a few moments before following Edie inside and find her sitting on the small loveseat that’s shoved against a wall, elbows on her knees. Her riding helmet sits beside her and her hair is matted from where she’s been sweating. Saddles are piled everywhere in the small room and I lean against a stack of them near the door.

“You okay?” I ask hesitantly.

“I’m great!” Her head shoots up and I see the wild look in her eyes. She is most definitely not
great
. What she is—is pissed. “What a sexist asshat!” she yells as her fists clench. “Lucky little ole me had a big, strong man around.” She fans herself like a Southern belle. “Stupid fucker.”