Christmas Countdown. Jan Hambright
sexy and … haunting about the way he looked at her.
Tugging on Navigator’s lead rope, she threaded them through the opening and out onto the track.
Layers of fog obscured the mile-and-a-half oblong, but she could see it with her eyes closed; she’d ridden it a thousand times. Even in the dark.
Nudging Oliver into a gentle lope, she focused on the rail at the first turn and relaxed into the saddle.
Mac watched horses and rider fade into the flat gray mist and put his senses on alert. Turning his head slightly to the right, he picked up the whisper of hoofbeats churning soft soil.
He closed his eyes, letting the sight deprivation intensify his auditory ability. He didn’t know why it worked, but it did. Closing off one always heightened the other. Up until he’d been shot in the line of duty, he’d never really appreciated his razor-sharp senses or the capabilities they afforded him.
The hearing in his left ear would never—
Mac jerked around at the pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
Caught in an instinctive reaction, he leveled the man with his forearm and shoved him back into the fence rail.
“Easy!” The kid’s eyes went wide. He raised his gloved hands in surrender.
The adrenaline in Mac’s system diluted as he sized up the young man clad in a coat, breeches, boots and a riding helmet, its loose strap swinging back and forth from the force he’d exerted against him.
“Oh hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you coming until you were on me.” He lowered his arm and took a step back. “I overreacted. I’m Emma’s new groom, Mac. Are you Navigator’s gallop boy?”
“Yeah. Josh Duncan.” He smoothed the front of his jacket. “I’m early. My 5:30 a.m. ride over at McCluskies’ canceled. I came straight here.”
“Is Chester McCluskie still running Rambling Farm?”
“Yeah. He has a heck of a Derby prospect himself … had a prospect, I should say, until this morning. His filly Ophelia Mine went AWOL sometime last night, and went down in her stall. Hurt herself pretty bad. They’ve got the vet there now.”
Caution sluiced in Mac’s veins. Was it possible Navigator hadn’t been the only target of the disguised thug last night? He’d have to get the syringe they’d found turned over to the police for analysis.
“Emma ponied the colt out to the half-mile post. She should be back any time.” He turned his attention once again to the track, picking up the rhythmic clop of horse hooves in the dirt. “So what do you think? Does Navigator’s Whim have what it takes to win the Derby?”
“He’s a powerhouse with heart. I’ve barely tapped his speed potential. Under the right jockey he could take the Triple Crown.”
Great, another true believer. Mac gripped the top rail of the fence while he watched Emma, Oliver and Navigator materialize out of the mist like an apparition. For the first time he found himself analyzing the bay colt’s stride. Looking for that it factor. The look of eagles in his eyes. Knowing. Confident. Fierce. An old saying in the Bluegrass reserved for winners.
His heart hammered in his chest. There it was, a rush of hope that sent men and women over the edge. Compelling them to move heaven and earth for a chance to bet on a winner. He should turn around and get the hell out while he had the chance. He had nothing at stake in this gamble … but Emma Clareborn did.
Judging by the run-down condition of Firehill Farm in the light of day, she had everything to lose if the colt didn’t come through.
Concern embedded itself in his brain and he made a silent vow to do whatever he could to ensure disappointment didn’t destroy her.
Emma reined in her horse next to the gate and dismounted. “He’s good and warm, Josh. Take him to the wall this morning.”
“You’ve got it.” Josh took hold of the reins while Emma unfastened the buckle on the halter she’d used to pony him and slipped it off.
“Break on the outside rail and move him inside, just like last time. If we get a bad gate pick, he’ll be ready to overcome it.”
Mac stepped out onto the track and approached Josh. “Rider up,” he called. He caught Josh’s foot and hoisted him onto Navigator’s back.
Josh put his feet into the irons on the flat saddle and gathered the reins in his hands.
“I wish this blasted fog would burn off,” Emma said. Leading her pony horse, she headed for the opening in the rail.
Mac followed, watching her tie the leggy black gelding up before moving over to stand next to him.
“Want to do the honors?” She opened her hand to expose a silver stopwatch. Every horse racer’s instrument of delusion.
It should have been a simple decision, but he wrestled with it anyway. The track time wasn’t going to lie, it was finite, a rock-solid indicator of what the horse was capable of.
“Sure.” He plucked the watch from her palm and saw a slight smile bow her lips.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d spent a considerable amount of time around racehorses.”
Caution glided through him. Would she have been old enough at the time to remember the feud that tore their fathers’ friendship apart?
“It was a long time ago, I was a kid. But you don’t forget something ingrained in your DNA.”
“Solberg was right then, you’re the man for this job. I’m glad you’re here.”
Mac stared over at her, at the surety in her whiskey-brown eyes as she searched his face with her gaze. His throat tightened. He could easily fall under her spell if he didn’t pull back.
He turned abruptly, waiting for the sound of the horse breaking from the far left end of the track.
The fog dampened the swish of the mock starting gate, but there it was, hoofbeats pounding Kentucky soil. He raised the stopwatch in front of him, feeling his heart rate shoot up. Closer … closer … the colt flashed in front of them.
Mac started the clock, listening to the horse thunder down the front stretch and into the first turn.
Emma put her hand on his forearm and shook him. “I told you he’s fast. I know he can win.”
Her excitement leached into him and he let a degree of the sensation move through his body. Focusing, he turned his head to the right and picked up the hammering of hooves as Navigator thundered his way down the backstretch.
He didn’t dare look at the time; instinctively he knew it would be incredible. Better to wait until the colt passed in front of him. Seeing would usher in believing, and then some.
There was trouble. Mac felt it first telegraph through the top rail pipe that ran the entire length of the racetrack. Seconds later Josh’s yelp of pain reached out through the fog.
“Something’s wrong!” Emma squeezed his arm.
Navigator galloped from the mist minus his rider and shot past them on the inside rail.
Mac pressed the stopwatch and shoved it into his pocket.
“Take Oliver and go find Josh, I’ll go after the colt!” Emma said. She ran through the opening in the gate.
Mac turned for the pony horse at the same time he heard her shrill whistle for the riderless colt.
He jerked the knotted reins loose from the rail, untied the pony horse, jammed his foot in the stirrup and climbed aboard. He hadn’t ridden in years, but riding a horse was like riding a bike. You never forgot.
Spurring him forward, Mac trotted through the gate and out onto the track. Josh was somewhere on the back turn. That’s when he’d felt the vibration of Navigator’s impact with the