• Four •

“How has Thatcher been treating you?”

Capri

Had I done something wrong? I racked my brain to try and figure out what I could have said or done last week to make everyone seem as if they couldn’t get away from me quick enough.

Monday, I had thought it was just me being touchy over the fact that JB never called or texted over the weekend. But by Thursday, I realized it had only gotten weirder. I would apologize if I knew what I needed to apologize for.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I watched Jim, one of the stablehands who oversaw Bloodline’s daily routine, walk away with the horse, and I replayed our brief interaction. Jim had always been friendly. He had been married for ten years, and he had two daughters and one son. The boy was his youngest and only two years old. Normally, I’d ask about the kids, and he’d tell me something funny that one of them had done.

But he had given me a tight smile when I asked him today, replied, “Great,” then gotten away from me as quickly as possible.

Miller, the head trainer, had even been more standoffish with me. He’d spoken to me very little and talked to Christopher, the stable’s best exercise rider, more than me about Bloodline. I was the one who would be riding him next week, not Christopher.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I turned my attention toward the corral, where Thatcher had Zephyr. I wanted on that horse so bad. He was beautiful. I’d watched his sire race in the Derby the year he won. It had been on television, of course. I’d never gotten to actually go to the Kentucky Derby. I probably could have gotten tickets, but I wanted to go as a jockey. Sitting in the stands and watching wasn’t my dream. It was being down there on the track.

My focus shifted from the horse to the man on it. I had seen him every day I’d been here this week. Each time, I tried to work up the nerve to speak to him, but I never managed it. The cookies that had been left at my door on Friday night were still a mystery. The thought that he could have left them seemed ridiculous now. As did the idea that there had been someone in my backyard. My imagination had gotten the best of me.

“You think you’re ready for the Breeders’ Cup?” King’s deep voice startled me.

“Uh, yes. I mean, Mr. Shephard hasn’t told me if I’m riding Bloodline in the Breeders’ yet,” I replied, trying not to get my hopes up.

He wasn’t looking at me as he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and a black cowboy hat pulled down to shade his eyes. His focus was on Thatcher and Zephyr.

“Not Bloodline. Zephyr,” he said, then briefly glanced at me before looking away again.

My heart rate picked up as my chest tightened.

Was he serious? Did he think Stellan Shephard was going to let me ride Zephyr in the Breeders’ Cup? We had months to prepare, as it wasn’t until November.

I nodded finally, afraid to gush like I wanted to and sound unprofessional.

“Yes,” I said, then realized that had come out a little gush-like. Oops.

The corner of his mouth tugged up. “When Thatcher is ready, he’ll start having you ride Zephyr. But for now, focus on Bloodline. You two have the Belmont Derby Invitational next week, and Bloodline will be leaving in a couple of days to travel up there. He’s your only concern at the moment.”

I nodded. This was my first race on a Shephard Ranch horse. The thrill of being a jockey, riding for the Shephards, was major. Almost as good as riding in the Kentucky Derby would be.

I glanced around, and there was still no sign of JB. I had asked Jim about him, and he’d mumbled that he didn’t know before attempting to get away from me. King would probably know.

“Um, do you, uh, know where JB has been? I mean, I haven’t seen him in a while, and I was wondering if he was sick or something.”

King’s jaw ticced as if he were tensing up.

Did he not like JB? Maybe he’d done something wrong, and I hadn’t heard about it. That didn’t seem like JB though.

“He quit,” King said.

Why had he quit? I thought he liked working here. Was it me? Had I misread his flirting and come on too strong? Oh God. Was that why the others wouldn’t talk to me? They had all liked JB.

“How has Thatcher been treating you?” King asked.

That was an odd question. Had JB quitting made Thatcher mad? Crap. I shouldn’t have flirted. I should apologize. Maybe JB would come back if I promised to leave him alone.

I glanced back out at Thatcher to see him making his way toward us. Seeing him at a distance on a horse was something to look at, but the closer he got, the better the view. It was almost enough to stop the anxiety that was starting to build. If JB had quit because of me, I was going to literally die of humiliation.

“Um, uh …” I wasn’t sure how to answer this. Thatcher hadn’t said a word to me. He never did. “Fine. I mean, we don’t actually talk.”

King appeared almost annoyed. “Is that so?”

Why did that bother him, or was I reading him wrong? Or maybe Thatcher was going to say something to me about JB quitting, and he hadn’t yet. Was King upset with me? If I were the reason JB had left, then I really hoped Thatcher wasn’t the one they sent to talk to me about it. If he corrected me about flirting with their employees, I might not recover from that. I couldn’t even flirt with normal men correctly. Normal meaning those who didn’t go to church and I hadn’t been forced to interact with most of my life. I was going to die a spinster—or even worse, a virgin spinster.

Maybe Thatcher wouldn’t say anything to me about it. Other than slamming Storm against the stables for snapping at me a few weeks ago, Thatcher didn’t acknowledge me. Our strange, brief interactions had stopped about seven years ago. Now, they often felt like I’d made them up in my head. Which I hadn’t because even then, I’d be shocked when he randomly showed up when I needed someone to talk to or the times I needed help. Whatever I had been upset about, he’d managed to always lift my mood just by talking to me.

Thatcher slowed as he and Zephyr approached the fence. His eyes were locked on King though. He’d yet to even glance in my direction, and I would know because I was incapable of looking anywhere else when he was present. It was as if I needed to soak him in before he left again. Completely creepy of me, and I’d never admit it to a soul.

“Everything good?” he asked King.

King nodded his head. “Yeah, just talking to Capri here about you deciding she was going to ride Zephyr in the Breeders’.”

Wait, what?! Thatcher was the one who had decided I would ride Zephyr?

A warm, tingly thing that was a level higher than joy spread through me as I stared up at him. His eyes flicked over to me fleetingly before he stared down at King. His lips were in a hard line that took a little of that warmth away. Had he changed his mind already? Before I’d gotten a chance to even ride Zephyr.

“Don’t you need to go check on your wife and kid?” he asked King.

A rumble that sounded almost like a chuckle came from King. “Reckon I do,” he replied. “Thanks for the concern.”

The threatening gleam in Thatcher’s eyes made me shiver. King, however, didn’t seem at all fazed by it.

He turned to look at me. “You and Bloodline looked good out there today,” he said, then gave me a nod before walking back toward the stables.

I’d watched Christopher take Bloodline around the track a few times, and then Miller sent me in to take his place. It had been our best time yet, but Miller had barely made eye contact with me after.

I turned my attention back to Thatcher to find his gaze locked on me. I swallowed hard, thinking perhaps I should have gone with King. Thatcher was clearly angry about something, and I didn’t want his anger to be directed at me. I’d seen him lose his temper. If he was about to tell me JB had quit because I’d been making him uncomfortable with my attention, I was going to crawl in a hole and never come out again. Not even for the Breeders’ Cup.

“You think you can handle the Breeders’?” he asked me then, his expression easing some.

He looked less threatening now. Almost friendly. Maybe.

Relief flooded me. No talk of JB.

I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

He studied me. Those dark eyes of his made it hard to take a deep breath. I had never felt more exposed in my life. It was as if he could read my innermost thoughts, and those were some no one needed to get ahold of.

“Tomorrow,” he said finally, “I’ll have you take him out.”

He was going to let me get on Zephyr tomorrow. King had said I needed to focus on Bloodline, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Thatcher was a Shephard, and it seemed like he made the decisions around here. I’d assumed it was Stellan, but the way King had spoken, it seemed as if it was Thatcher calling the shots.

“Okay,” I replied.

He didn’t say anything more before turning Zephyr and riding off. I watched him for a few more moments before forcing myself to stop.

I needed to go get groceries before I went home. I had three hours to get that done, get a shower, and head to the homeless shelter to help serve dinner.