Fear of Falling (11 page)

Luke put his hand on her shoulder. “We were inundated with volunteers. It actually went much faster than we'd thought. Two weeks.”

“No way.” Olivia turned to Sarah.

“It's true. It was like one of those Amish barn raisings where they finish the whole structure in a day. Luke and Jerry and his crew did most of the staircase in sections. We hired a roofer for the shingles, and everything was painted before we set it up here.”

Luke grinned. “Yeah. It took longer for the cement pilings to dry than it did to get the walls and shutters up.” He stopped and shared a glance with Sarah. “Well, almost. But you know what I'm saying.”

“I do,” Olivia said. “And I know everyone on the foundation is very appreciative.”

Sarah nodded happily. “Nate and Maddie are taking us out for a steak dinner to thank us.”

“Yes, and Timmy and I get to come, too,” Annie said, slipping her hand into Sarah's.

“I'm getting a burger and a chocolate sundae at the Louise House after,” Timmy interjected as he rocked triumphantly on his heels.

Just then, they heard the blast of trumpets over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen. Friends and fans. We of the Indian Lake Hospital Foundation welcome you to the first annual Indian Lake Hospital Horse Race.”

The grandstand roared with applause, and Olivia scanned the crowds with her camera, taking pictures. Sweeping over the excited faces, Olivia paused when she saw Mrs. Beabots dressed in a black-and-white knit suit and a small black straw hat with a band of white ribbon around the crown and hanging down the back. The older woman held a pair of binoculars to her face, and with her nearly platinum hair cut in a chin-length bob, she was the picture of 1960s sophistication. If Olivia used a diffused filter and airbrushed Mrs. Beabots's lines and wrinkles, the result would resemble a snapshot from her older friend's past. Next to her sat Maddie and Nate, who were poring over their brochures and pointing to the parade of horses as they met the “Call to the Post” from the announcer. Liz and Gabe, Austin and Katia, and Cate Sullivan, Isabelle Hawks and Mica Barzonni completed the row.

As Olivia swung her lens toward the paddock, Howard turned away from the telescope and glanced at her. “Somebody around here has some pull.”

“What do you mean?”

“The portable starting gate.” He pointed to the track, where a huge John Deere tractor was unloading an eight-stall starting gate. It was a smaller version of the electromagnetic twenty-stall rigs she'd seen in the past, but for Indian Lake's purposes, it was perfect.

She adjusted her telephoto lens so that she could watch the action.

“There they go,” Howard said, gesturing toward the people leading the horses to the gate. “The cowboys of horse racing. That's what we call the assistant and head starters. It's bad enough that claustrophobic Thoroughbreds are confined to ten-by-twelve stalls in the horse barn. But put one of those high-strung horses in a two-and-a-half-foot by eight-foot gate stall, and they can go ape. I've seen one kick a man nearly to death down in Texas, and once I saw a two-year-old kill herself trying to jump out. There—see? Those assistant starters have to get the horse to the stall, keep it calm and then shut the back end gate, hold it closed and hope the horse doesn't spook and kick him in the head. It's one of the most dangerous jobs in sports.”

Olivia gaped at him. “I had no idea.” As a child, she hadn't paid attention to anyone on the track except the horses. She barely even registered they were ridden by jockeys. Olivia loved the animals, and her dreams as a little girl revolved around visions of riding a classic stallion like Black Beauty or a pure white horse like Pegasus. She understood too well the dangers of gambling at the track, but she hadn't really considered how certain jobs in horse racing put people at risk, too.

“Most folks don't. They think this is all about a single lap around a track.”

Frowning, Olivia realized she was just such a
folk
. She'd focused so long on her fears that she hadn't investigated the intricacies of horse racing enough. Quickly, she took a couple dozen shots of the horses walking to the starting gate with the assistant starters. Olivia had been tasked to chronicle as much of the event for the hospital archives as possible. The Hospital Foundation also wanted photographs they could post in the hospital lobby.

Though this was an amateur race, the jockeys wore brightly colored silks that matched the colors on the horses' bibs.

She spotted Rafe, Rowan and their jockey heading toward the gate. Jenny was red-haired with freckles all over her face and neck. Tiny and short, she wore royal-blue-and-gold silks, racing goggles and shiny black boots. She didn't look a day over ten. Olivia felt foolish for being jealous of the young girl. As Olivia snapped shot after shot of the three of them, a prickle of apprehension ran down her back.

Rafe was acting as his own assistant starter.

After what Howard had just explained, she couldn't help but worry about Rafe's safety. Even if Rowan didn't freak out, what if another horse tried to jump its stall?

Olivia lowered her camera and put her palm over her thrumming heart. She was afraid for Rafe. Perspiration broke across her forehead and upper lip. She wished she could be down there on the track with him; help him. But what could she do? This was his game. He'd chosen it.

Reason returned to her as Irwin Levine, the announcer, introduced each horse and its owner. The crowd cheered. She heard Rafe's name and she was filled with excitement.

Her heart thrummed even faster as she remembered his kiss. Her cheeks flushed with warmth that spiraled to her core. Her legs wobbled, but she held on to the window ledge.

Something had happened today between her and Rafe. It was more than a kiss for luck. Something had opened in her heart and ushered in a new season. Deep emotions caused her to fill with pride and anticipation as she watched Rafe through her camera's eye. What was happening to her?

CHAPTER TWELVE

AN
EARSPLITTING
HORN
blast began the race. Eight Thoroughbreds sprang into action with a burst of applause and cheering from the crowd. Next to Olivia, Howard peered through his telescope at the race. Olivia's fingers couldn't move fast enough. For the first time ever, she was glad she had her slow-motion video grabbing every nanosecond of the action.

“Coming around the first turn, it's Mr. Blue in the lead position, Black Knight and Rowan on the outside. Mr. Blue is looking like this is a walk in the park for him,” the announcer nearly shouted into the microphone, his own enthusiasm dialed up high. “In fourth and fifth it's Swept Away and Old Man River. Oh, wow. Rowan is slipping to fourth as Swept Away pours it on.”

Olivia was shocked that Rowan wasn't running better. From the way Rafe had talked up his horse's talent, she'd been prepared for Rowan to walk away with the trophy. She found herself pulling for Rowan, though she knew she shouldn't be. She was there as a journalist. It wasn't her place to have a favorite. Besides, wasn't that the spark that fed gamblers? Picking a favorite, betting everything you had on something you
hoped
would make you a winner?

As she clicked another set of photos, she realized she'd angled in on Rowan. From what she could see, he was barely panting. Was Rowan taking this race seriously? Didn't he know what this win would mean to Rafe? Did she, really?

Olivia snapped a close-up of all the jockeys' faces as they drew up to the second turn. Jenny's expression changed the moment they rounded the turn. Instantly, her composure altered to fierce determination and she shouted to Rowan, cracking her crop just above his flank.

Rowan leaped ahead of Old Man River and in less than fifteen seconds was a half length ahead of Swept Away. Pouring on the steam from the outside lane, Jenny moved Rowan to the middle lane and squeezed between Mr. Blue and Black Knight.

“Coming around the third bend, it's Mr. Blue in the lead. Rowan in second. Rowan has left Black Knight in the show position,” Irwin called.

Olivia snapped dozens of photos, silently cheering on Rowan.

The rest of the pack seemed to drop away as if they'd lost steam, but of course, they hadn't. Both Mr. Blue and Rowan had soared out in front and put so much distance between them and the pack that it almost looked like two different races. This was the difference between amateurs and professionals. Losers and winners.

Feeling her blood ignite with exhilaration, Olivia had to force her body to remain as calm as possible. She needed steady hands to take the shots, and the most important one was coming up.

“Clearing the third bend, it's Mr. Blue in the lead by a nose. Rowan still pouring it on. Black Knight is dropping to fourth, and Swept Away is now coming in third,” the announcer bellowed into his microphone. As he continued a second-by-second narrative of the race, Olivia followed Rowan and Mr. Blue as they neared the finish line.

“Go, Rowan,” Olivia finally said aloud, though no one could hear her. Everyone in the tower was screaming and yelling for their favorite horse. “Rowan! You can do it, boy! I believe in you. Come—on! Row—an!”

Just as Olivia shouted the horse's name, the two front-runners crossed the finish line, and she snapped the final photo. “Oh, no.” She exhaled all the energy that had been building inside her. Mr. Blue had just won. Rafe would be crushed. She envisioned the disappointment in his eyes. He'd been so happy...

“And it's Rowan by a half a nose!” Irwin exclaimed loudly. “Yes, Rowan is our winner! Mr. Blue places and Swept Away takes show! Congratulations to all our horses and jockeys. Gentlemen and lady, an excellent race.”

The people in the grandstand exploded in cheers and applause. Olivia heard the thundering of feet as they banged their approval—or disapproval—on the metal grandstand flooring.

Olivia stared blankly at Irwin Levine and then at Howard.

Howard smiled. “A hometown winner. Isn't that great?”

Olivia blinked. She must have fallen asleep and woken in another dimension. It wasn't possible. She knew she'd seen Rowan lose, not win. She'd captured the moment on her camera.

“My camera—” Olivia quickly pulled up the six most recent shots. This would set the record straight.

Howard took the microphone and gave a long congratulatory speech to the hospital foundation and all the volunteers. He read off a long litany of hospital administrators who had sponsored various aspects of the event.

Olivia was engrossed by her photos. They all showed that Rowan had won. Yet she could have sworn she'd seen Mr. Blue cross the line first. She should have been happy, even ecstatic, but something nagged at her. Her eyes had never failed her before. She'd looked down the nose at a grasshopper via her macro lens, but she'd seen the grasshopper from ten, maybe fifteen yards away before zooming in. Her vision was better than twenty/twenty.

“Howard, are you sure? About Rowan?”

“Absolutely. Why? Do you see something different on your camera?” He looked down at the Sony in her hand.

“I thought I saw Mr. Blue cross the finish line first, but my pictures confirm your call. You should check it out.”

Howard took the camera from her and scrolled through the final shots. “Yes, they confirm my judgment. Still...” He rubbed his chin and handed the camera back. “This is the disadvantage of where you were standing.”

“But I was right next to you.”

He shook his head. “Not quite the same. My telescope was right on the line. Exact. The tripod is even a bit to the right of the finish line. I never would have guessed this race would be so close. Frankly, I haven't seen one this close since 1989, when Park Avenue and Probe finished in a dead heat at the Hambletonian Stakes. Next year, when we set things up, I want a camera smack-dab on that finish line.” Howard pointed to his telescope. “If I'd known there were horses here that were this good, I would have insisted on a professional race photographer.”

Olivia felt the slight and frowned. “Howard, I believe I was well-suited for the job.”

He threw his head back. “Oh, no! It's not you I'm talking about. We should have been more precise in our camera placement. Perhaps we should have mounted one from the ceiling here so it would point directly on that vertical line. In the end, though, the most important thing is this.” He held up his stopwatch. “The minute hand was stopped at two minutes and the second hand registered only a few seconds more.

“I don't understand,” Olivia said.

“Rowan finished in just over two minutes. It's always been said that the Kentucky Derby is the fastest two minutes in sports. There have only been two horses in history to ever finish under two minutes. That's Secretariat in 1973 and Monarchos in 2001. Rowan finished in two minutes and one second even. That, my friend, has only been accomplished twice in history, if I recall correctly. Yessiree. That Barzonni has got himself a special horse.”

“And Mr. Blue?”

“A half second different. Which is also uncanny. Both those horses could bring in millions.”

“Yes,” she replied quietly, thinking of Rafe and how his life might change because of this race. This phenomenal win.

“Shouldn't you be getting down to the winner's circle to take more photographs?”

Her eyes widened as she realized she'd promised not just the foundation, but Rafe, that she would take plenty of photos for posterity. “You're right.” She stuck out her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Howard. Thank you for the quick education. Next year I'll be more prepared. I promise.”

“I'll count on it, Olivia,” he replied.

Olivia packed up her two cameras then gathered her satchel and the rest of her gear. When she got home, she'd play back the footage. If she needed to, she could use Twixtor to slow the motion to ten thousand frames per second and enhance the shots. Despite all of Howard's explanations, Olivia wasn't completely convinced of Rowan's win. This was her first time in the judges' stand. She didn't know squat about finish lines and photo finishes. She was clearly no expert, but her gut told her something was wrong. Always a stickler for the truth, Olivia promised herself that once she saw the video and was assured that Rowan had won, she'd put the matter to rest.

If he wasn't the winner? Then what, Olivia?

What would she do with the information? Tell the judges? Have the trophy recanted? How would she tell Rafe? How could she come down on him with news like that? And what would he do? It would cause him embarrassment and disappointment. What would it mean to Rowan's chances of another race? Maybe it didn't matter. Rowan had run an exceedingly fast race. Howard had even said he was one of the fastest horses he'd ever seen. Rowan was a natural for racing whether he was the winner at the silly Indian Lake track or not.

Olivia's head ached with tension, all of which she'd caused herself. If she was smart, she'd put the camera away and never look at it. Let it lie. Be done with it. Move on.

Was she so bent on destroying Rafe's joy? And why? Was she jealous that he didn't have fears about gambling or racing? Was she so self-centered that she would hurt another person just to make herself feel righteous?

Putting her fingers to her temple, she massaged the pain away. “You really are your own worst enemy, Olivia,” she grumbled to herself.

She slung her satchel over her shoulder and turned to leave.

Most of the spectators in the tower had left, but Sarah and Luke were waiting for her. They each held the hand of one of the children.

“We thought we'd walk down with you,” Sarah said, taking Olivia's arm as they neared the stairs. Then she leaned over and whispered, “What are the chances of you talking Rafe into letting Timmy sit on Rowan for a photograph? As of today, he's decided he wants to be a jockey and own a horse.” Sarah laughed.

“I don't know the protocol for this kind of thing, but I should think that after the formal shots are taken, Rafe wouldn't mind.”

“You're so sweet, Olivia. It would mean the world to Timmy.”

As they descended the stairs, Olivia said, “It's a hard life being a jockey.”

“I'm not worried. Are you kidding? Timmy's the spitting image of Luke. He'll be over six feet and—”

“Made of twisted steel?”

Sarah grinned at Olivia. “I've always said you had the sharpest eyes in town.” She turned to Luke and Timmy. “C'mon. Let's go see Rowan.”

The winner's circle was nothing more formal than the area next to the gate that led to the horse barn. Olivia saw Jenny sitting on Rowan, holding a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses tied with a bright blue-and-gold ribbon. The Barzonni family was posing next to Rowan, and Maddie and Mrs. Beabots stood nearby taking photos with their iPhones.

Annie broke away from Sarah and rushed up to Liz, hugging her. Then she barraged Liz with questions about the new baby. Since Liz was in her fifth month, her “bump” was visible in the spring-green linen dress she wore.

Rafe was talking to Gabe, both men smiling and slapping each other on the back. Gina called out Olivia's name.

Rafe froze and lowered his arm as he scanned the group. When his eyes came to rest on Olivia, his face burst into a luminous smile. He excused himself from his brother and made his way toward her.

“Olivia! Can you believe it?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her. How was it possible for her to see so many colors in one person's eyes? And each had a name. Happiness. Joy. Sincerity. Hope. Elation.

“You saw it all, right?”

“Yes, I did. Through my camera and—”

He pulled her close for a hug and whispered, “I knew that kiss would bring me luck.”

His breath brushed against her skin like a feather: tickling, soft and teasing. When his lips skimmed her neck, she thought it was a mistake. That he didn't really want to kiss her in front of his family and all her friends. But then he lingered there, and the pressure of his lips against her skin sent chills to the top of her scalp and down her spine. If they'd been anyplace else she would have grasped his face in her hands and brought his mouth to hers once more.

He broke away and turned to his family. “Okay, everybody. Olivia's here, so let's take these photographs with Rowan quickly. He needs his rubdown.”

Olivia fumbled with her Sony. Her fingers were numb; probably because there wasn't a nerve ending in her body that hadn't been incinerated by the penetrating look in Rafe's eyes. Not to mention the heat from his lips. She swiped the back of her hand over her forehead, pretending she was shielding her eyes from the sun.

She was getting her bearings. Rowan had run a race in two minutes. In less than twenty seconds, Rafe had turned her to dust with a simple kiss and a smile she would remember till the day she died. No man had ever looked at Olivia as if she were the only woman in the world.

What was happening with Rafe? Was it too soon to ask him what exactly his kiss had meant? One part of her understood that their kiss could have been just what he'd asked for—luck—but the other part of her heart ached for him in a way she'd never felt before. Maybe if she told him she had these feelings, he would clear up his intentions. Or would her confession shove him right back to his paddock, never to be seen again? She was conflicted and confused. Fearful, apprehensive and exhilarated. Perhaps the best plan was to understand herself better before she tried to figure out Rafe.

All she knew right now was that as Rafe left her side to hustle up to Nate and Maddie and position them next to Rowan, she felt alone. Again.

This was the second, maybe third time she'd felt like this. Why did that keep happening? There was no explanation for the void she felt when she wasn't with him.

You've lost your mind, Olivia. That's what's going on.