Page 22 of Winner Takes All

But that dream wasn’t to be. Instead, she’d settle for seeing their surprised looks when Midnight won, proving her to be a breeder capable of holding her own against any man on any track in England.

As she approached Midnight, the colt nickered in recognition and stepped forward to greet her. She removed her glove and ran her hand over his velvet-soft muzzle and across the broad stretch of forehead between his large eyes. He closed them gently beneath her touch, for a moment oblivious to the noise and activity around them.

If only she could relax like that. Perhaps the butterflies churching in her belly would settle down and she could—

“He’s ready to race and win,” a deep voice said behind her. The familiar timbre twirled its way down her spine and conjured up all kinds of wicked memories from last night.

“Jack.” Her cheeks heated, but she didn’t dare glance over her shoulder at him for fear that everyone who glanced their way would see her feelings for him exposed on her face. She gestured at his gray who stood only a few yards from Midnight; the colt laid back his ears in irritation as Paddy fussed with his saddle. “Of course, Ghost is capable of winning, as well.”

He leaned as close to her as he dared and lowered his voice to a private murmur. “But not as capable as yours?”

She prayed not, because Midnight absolutelyhadto finish first. But how would he react if she told him that? Instead, she offered, “May the best horse win.”

Not acknowledging that dodge, he stepped past her to check Midnight’s saddle and the mandatory weights placed there by the race officials. The horses would be going to the starting post soon, and all had to be ready to race.

“Time to give any last instructions to your jockey,” Shaw told her as he gestured at Sam, the small man dressed hat to boots in all black except for a white diamond on the right side of his chest. Midnight black. The color she’d picked for the silks so that anyone who saw her horse race would never forget who’d won the Derby.

She nodded and fixed Sam with a determined look. “My last instructions…win.”

The jockey grinned and tugged at the brim of his cap. “Aye, miss.” Then he went to the colt’s side. The horse immediately came alert, the firm muscles quivering beneath his gleaming ebony hide in anticipation.

Instead of waiting for Paddy to come over and assist, Shaw held down his cupped hands for Sam, who stepped into them and landed on the saddle with a small bounce. Then Shaw held onto the bridle until the jockey settled into his seat and stirrups, the reins firmly in his gloved hands, and his crop tucked beneath his left arm. As soon as he felt the weight of the jockey on his back, Midnight danced in eagerness to run, but Sam expertly stilled him with a firm hold of the reins and a reassuring pat to his neck.

From the top of the grandstand, a trumpet blared out the call to the post, and a cheer went up from the crowd.

Shaw took her arm and gently drew her back to safely keep her out of the way of the colt and the other horses in the paddock around them, who were now as eager to race as Midnight. Her arm tingled at his touch, and he released her far sooner than she would have liked.

“Time to settle in for the race.” Not looking at her, he squinted instead toward the track. “I’m down at the rail with the other trainers. Enjoy your seat in the owner’s box.” He nodded toward the grandstand, then added quietly, “We’ll talk when it’s over.”

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly as bright anticipation sparked in her belly. To keep from reaching for him, she stepped away and placed her hand back on Uncle Jonas’s arm. “We will.”

As she walked away, she couldn’t resist casting one more look over her shoulder at Shaw, who had approached Ghost to give his jockey Benny his own last bit of race advice. Whatever he said to the man made the jockey jerk his attention to Midnight. He asked a single question; Shaw answered. Then Benny nodded, and all further talk between them ceased as the horses began to parade out to the track, to take their positions at the starting line.

Shaw met her gaze. He stilled for a moment, and the dispirited expression on his face pierced her. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones.

He turned away to join the other trainers and grooms at the railing, not glancing back at her.

“What did you tell him, Jack?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his back despite the unease that snaked up her spine.

“Oh, probably the same thing you told your man,” Jonas answered her unintended question. “To win.”

No, it wasn’t that simple. Benny wouldn’t have darted a surprised gaze at Midnight like that, wouldn’t have questioned his riding orders—

“He has to, you know,” Uncle Jonas continued as they reached the owner’s box at the front of the grandstand. The attendant promptly swung open the little door to let them enter.

She turned her distracted attention to the other owners and their families and waved politely to them. “And why is that?”

“Because he’s going to lose his farm if he doesn’t.”

She wheeled on him. Her heart stopped, only to start up again a second later in an unnatural rhythm that left her breathless. “Pardon?”

“Over there, my dear.” He nodded toward the far front of the boxed area. “I see two seats that would give us—”

“Uncle Jonas.” She squeezed his arm to snatch back his attention. “What do you mean that Shaw is going to lose the farm?” She stood firm, refusing to move and not caring if the other owners noticed that she was upset.

“Oh, it’s fairly common knowledge in Epsom, I suspect.” Over his shoulder she saw the horses line up at the start. “Or at leastIknow about it because I just sold two hounds to his banker, and the man let it slip. Both very fine dogs with noses that could track a fox from Chester to—”

“Uncle Jonas, please!” She clasped his hand, desperation ringing in her voice. But a dark thought stirred in the recesses of her mind, a terrible idea of what orders Shaw might have given his jockey. “Why is he going to lose his farm?”