The Radcliffes Page 11

  “I’ll never understand, dear, why you’d ever sully the Radcliffe name with horse racing when there are so many other more prestigious pursuits.” Her grandmother frowned, her lips pursing. “Those beasts are so…dirty. I mean, if you must have horses, why couldn’t you do something more elegant like dressage?”

  It was the same argument each time she saw her grandmother. For nearly twenty-five years, Fallon had lived the life her grandmother had dictated. She’d been a San Francisco socialite who managed the finances of the family shipping business, but it never excited her.

  Horses made her feel alive. Seeing the colors of her silks on a jockey made her entire body tingle with electricity. Watching her horse cross the finish line, even if it had only been in small races so far, made her feel like she was soaring with him.

  “Grandmother, stop,” Gabe said, shooting his sister a wink. “Let Fallon have her moment. We’ll see what you have to say after Dreamer wins.”

  Fallon wished she could muster half of the confidence her brother displayed. Her stomach did another flip as she saw the crowd near the railing scatter and yelp in fear. The horses that were already on the track began to prance nervously and she realized there were already six out, with number seven jolting forward.

  It was hard to breathe. Fallon gripped the railing, leaning forward to get a glimpse at what was happening below, but she couldn’t see anything.

  Her grandmother let out a breath in a huff. “Sport of kings, my foot. More like the sport of the downtrodden unfortunates and misguided saps,” she muttered, lifting her champagne to her lips. “Please tell me I don’t have to attend all of these.”

  Her words barely registered because Fallon located the horse causing the commotion. Dreamer reared straight up, unseating the jockey and lifting the groom off the ground. He pawed at the air with his front hooves.

  The security guard’s last words came back to haunt her. Good luck…you’re going to need it.

  Chapter 3

  “I have to go.”

  Fallon didn’t wait for her family to register what she’d said. She ran from the terrace and headed back toward the track, unsure what use she would be. And yet she couldn’t sit back and watch her dream get crushed. Not when she was so close to getting her horse to the Kentucky Derby.

  Dreamer would make it. He was the most incredible horse she’d ever seen. He wasn’t just fast—he loved to run. When he moved, his feet barely touched the ground, and he had a stride that covered ground the way eagles soared across the clouds—effortlessly.

  Fallon gasped as Dreamer kicked a hind foot at one of the pony horses. Casper stood to the other side, his skin blotchy with embarrassment. Her jockey shot him a pleading look but the trainer simply shrugged. Dreamer’s handler, back on his feet, drew the colt’s reins slightly tighter, trying to control him.

  But the horse only became more aggravated. He began shaking his head, setting the bit between his teeth. Without warning, Dreamer reared back again. The handler clipped a stud chain to Dreamer’s bridle, hoping it would stop his antics, as Casper helped the jockey get back into the saddle. He passed them off to the loading crew at the starting gate, but even from where she stood, Fallon could see Dreamer’s eyes were wide with fear.

  This wasn’t good.

  As they tried to load Dreamer into his chute, he balked, backing up and stiffening his legs. Two men hooked arms behind him to shove him in, but he began bucking. Somehow, they managed to get him into the chute.

  They closed the gate behind Dreamer but it only made matters worse. Rearing inside, he twisted his body, tossing the jockey out of the starting gate to the gasping awe of the crowd around Fallon.

  As the emergency crew rushed down the track, Dreamer continued to thrash in the gate. The clang of metal scared several of the other horses as the crew worked feverishly to get the horses safely unloaded.

  Fallon gripped the railing, knuckles white with fear as her jockey’s golden silks were stripped off so the emergency crew could inspect his shoulder. Fallon heard the announcer notify the crowd that Destiny’s Dreamer had been scratched from the race.

  No, no, no!

  Fallon raced down the fence to the opening, where Dreamer was being handed off to another handler. Blood was flowing down his beautiful chestnut-colored face, dripping from the gash on his head. The horse was still thrashing, trying to rear, while Casper stood to one side, watching in fearful awe.

  “What are you doing? Take him,” she ordered, running to his side.

  “I’m not taking him.” Realizing how cowardly he sounded, Casper cleared his throat. “I mean, these guys know what they’re doing. We need the vet to sedate him.”

  “We can’t wait for that. He’s never acted like this.”

  Shoving past Casper, Fallon moved closer to her horse. She knew she was putting herself in a dangerous position, but she prayed she could calm Dreamer. Her horse knew her. She’d been there ever since she’d helped his mother foal him and when she’d imprinted him three years ago, and she prayed it would count for something.

  Reaching the security detail guarding the gate, Fallon flashed her pass and hurried onto the edge of the track. Dreamer reared again, striking out and catching the lead, ripping it from the handler’s grip. Now loose on the track, he turned, ready to bolt into the pack of horses that were being held at the starting gate.

  “Whoa, Dreamer,” she called, moving closer as he reared again. “Easy, boy.” Her fingers nearly closed around the lead when Dreamer struck out at her.

  Fallon was knocked sideways, hitting the soft dirt with less pain than she’d expected. When she looked up, she saw the broad, muscular V of a man’s back standing in front of her, facing Dreamer with his hands splayed out and his arms angled down.

  “Hey, hey, easy now.” The voice was loud enough to garner the colt’s attention, but it remained calm. “Come on, boy.”

  Dreamer dropped back to all fours and snorted loudly. The man in front of Fallon took a step toward the horse, keeping his hands open loosely, relaxed.

  “There you go.”

  Dreamer dropped his head, as if hypnotized, and began licking his lips, stilling immediately. The man took the lead easily, turning away from the horse who followed behind him as docile as a puppy. Fallon’s gaze lifted, finally able to see the face of the man who’d saved her from being trampled, and found herself staring into those gray eyes again.

  “Mr. Mitchell?”

  He walked up to her and stretched out a hand to help her up. “Sorry about shoving you, Miss Radcliffe, but a hoof to the shoulder hurts. You were about to find out.”

  Fallon took his hand. Warm and calloused, it wasn’t what she’d expected. Nor had she expected the heat that radiated from his fingertips, up her arm, before sliding through the rest of her body, making her feel light-headed.

  “You okay?” His eyebrows lifted in question and she swallowed hard, unable to vocalize the words to tell him she was fine. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

  “No,” she finally managed. She stood and dusted off her cream-colored pencil skirt before realizing it was completely ruined, along with her new shoes. Fallon cleared her throat, taking control of her voice. “No, I’m fine. And please, call me Fallon.”

  “Let’s get him to the barn and have the vet look at him there,” he suggested, grimacing at the blood on the colt’s face.

  She nodded and Casper rushed forward. Dreamer’s head instantly shot up in the air, his eyes rolling back slightly. “I’ll take it from here, Mitchell.”

  He reached for the lead but Fallon put a hand out.

  “Leave him alone. Since you seem inclined to let others handle him when there’s trouble, I’m inclined to find someone else to train him for the rest of his races.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  Both men stopped to wait for her answer, watching her expectantly.

  “You better believe it,” she answered. “I only want my horse in the best hands.” She looked ove
r at the security guard whose mere presence managed to calm her horse. “And they certainly aren’t yours, Casper.”

  Chapter 4

  Fallon’s phone rang while the vet was suturing Dreamer’s face. Luckily for her, Casper had collected his check and left. However, it hadn’t stopped him from ranting about how she was an entitled bitch, and the media had eaten his words up. Sighing, Fallon glanced at her phone and saw her grandmother’s number.

  “I have to take this,” she informed Mr. Mitchell, who was still standing with Dreamer. He nodded and she made her way to the end of the barn for some privacy. “Hello, Grandmother,” she said in a tight voice. She was worried about what would be waiting for her on the other end of the line.

  “I saw that.”

  Of course, you did. “Dreamer is fine. He’s getting a couple of stitches but—”

  “I don’t care about the horse.” Her grandmother sighed dramatically. “I care about the fact that you were shoved to the ground. By a groom, no less.”

  “That’s not what happened, Grandmother. A security guard pushed me out of the way before Dreamer kicked me.”

  “Kicked you? Oh, dear heavens.” Her grandmother gasped and Fallon could picture her waving a hand in front of her face to keep from fainting. Then she switched her tone, exasperation coloring her words. “Fallon, dear, when are you going to give up this silly horse nonsense?”

  Fallon clamped her teeth together and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as she prayed for patience. “It’s not nonsense, Grandmother.”

  “This hobby of yours is going to get you or someone else killed. Not to mention, our family name is being dragged through…well, probably something like the muck you’re cleaning in those stalls.” Her grandmother sniffed loudly, making her opinion of Fallon’s career choice very clear—she hated it.

  “I’m not cleaning stalls; I’m breeding racehorses.”

  “They aren’t racehorses if they can’t get out of the gate,” her grandmother said pointedly.

  Never one to hold back, her grandmother was painfully blunt. Yet because she came from one of the oldest and richest families in San Francisco, people not only overlooked it, but sought out Wilhelmina Radcliffe’s views. And thus she assumed her opinions were wanted in every scenario, though it wasn’t the case now.

  “Why don’t you sell those beasts and move back to San Francisco? You’re a Radcliffe. You should be married by now and taking your place in the family business.”

  Fallon loved her family, but she would never return to accept any position in the family shipping business. It was a dying institution and she’d done that already. It stifled her.

  Fallon wanted to prove she could make it on her own, following her passion. What she needed was her family’s support, not her grandmother’s disapproval and old-fashioned, outrageous demands. Marriage? Well, that was the last concern on her mind. She had enough on her plate right now dealing with Dreamer.

  “This is the business endeavor I’ve chosen to pursue.” She glanced down the aisle and saw that the vet was finishing up. “I’m sorry, I need to go. You’ll be at the race in two months, right? The El Camino Real?”

  Her grandmother sighed into her ear again. “I don’t know about the others, but I suppose if you insist on continuing this nonsense, I will go to one more. But only with the agreement that if this happens again, Fallon, you’ll quit this and come back.” Her grandmother’s voice lowered. “It was an embarrassment.”

  Tell me about it.

  “We’ll have brunch,” Fallon suggested, avoiding her grandmother’s ultimatum and raising a hand to let the vet know she was coming. “I’ll call you later. Give my love to the others. And, Grandmother, I love you.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Before Fallon could respond, her grandmother had already disconnected the call.

  Before Fallon hurried back to Dreamer, the vet instructed her how to care for his wound, and suggested that he wasn’t ridden for a few days. Fallon knew it would take more than a few days to cure what ailed her colt. Something had gone horribly wrong and she was going to be lucky if she could find a way to ever return him to the starting gates, regardless of her confident statements to her grandmother.

  As the vet left, Mr. Mitchell turned Dreamer into the stall, silently watching him, as if he were waiting for Fallon to be the first to speak.

  “Thank you for your help today.”

  He simply nodded.

  She bit the inside corner of her lip, feeling awkward. Now that she could get a good look at him, she couldn’t deny he was extremely attractive in a rugged, cowboy kind of way. His hair needed a cut and hung in long, dark waves on his forehead, making her fingers itch to run through it where it curled slightly at his nape and over his ears. His eyes were the color of a stormy sky, alternating between blue and gray.

  But his mouth. Fallon pressed her lips together in an effort not to think about how kissable it was. Full, but not overly so, and just the thought of it was enough to make her stomach do a flip.

  “I…um, I should probably apologize for not listening to you this morning.”

  He turned back toward her, his expression unreadable. “Probably,” he agreed, tucking his fingers into the front of his slacks. “What are you going to do?”

  She moved to the other side of the door, watching Dreamer, contemplating his question. What was she going to do? The race season was underway. All the good trainers were hired. And it wasn’t like she could start over next year. Dreamer only had this one chance.

  She’d put her heart into the colt—perfect breeding, foundational training, and all the investment she’d built up for her endeavor. She’d put all her money into this dark horse and now, it looked like the opportunity would be ripped away before she even got started. Tears burned, but she refused to break down in front of this stranger.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can I offer a suggestion?”

  She shot him a sideways glance.

  “Let me train him.”

  Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. What did a security guard know about training racehorses? Especially a horse of Dreamer’s caliber. But then again, he had been the only one capable of calming her colt, which meant he had some sort of instinct.

  As if sensing her doubt, he pressed on. “He needs my help or he may never race again.”

  “Your help?”

  He scowled for a moment, but he quickly masked his distaste. His expression softened as he looked at Dreamer. “I’m a trainer, not a guard. I’m just doing this…” He shot her a look. “Temporarily,” he finished.

  Hope flared in her chest, hot and bright. “Wait! Are you Travis Mitchell?”

  His mouth pinched slightly. “Yes.”

  Fallon couldn’t believe her luck. She’d heard of him, heard of the miracles he worked, but couldn’t fathom why he’d be working security. Or why someone hadn’t managed to have him working with their barn. “You’ll help me?”

  “Before I agree, I need to know one thing. Did you ask Casper to drug this horse?”

  Fallon blinked dumbly. “Excuse me?”

  “He was doping your horse with something. I’m guessing that we saw it wearing off today. I need to know whether it was your idea or his.”

  “I…I didn’t even know.”

  He narrowed his eyes as he searched her face. She could see he was trying to decide whether to believe her.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “How do I know you’re really Travis Mitchell?”

  “Ask around.”

  He was confident, she’d give him that. “Why aren’t you working with horses now?”

  “Long story. The short version is while you had a dick trainer, I had a dick owner whose ideas about how to get a horse to perform differed from mine.”

  So that’s why he’d wanted to know if it had been her idea to drug Dreamer. Travis tipped his head to one side and looked at her.

  “We’re in the same boat here.”

>   “Screwed?”

  He gave her a half shrug. “Unless we make this work.”

  “How much do you want? Don’t expect me to pay some exorbitant amount just because you know I need someone.”

  “Not everything is about money, Fallon.” He shook his head. His voice was gravelly but his tone was tender, almost apologetic. She was surprised at what hearing him say her first name made her feel. She found she liked the way it rolled from his lips, like a breath or a sigh. But she could tell that something she’d said disappointed him. She’d definitely touched a nerve.

  Note to self, no more money talk. “Can you really help him?”

  He studied her but she couldn’t figure out what he was looking for. Something in her stance or her expression? She wished she knew because, whatever he wanted, she’d give it to him. She was desperate, but she didn’t want to admit it aloud. She bit down on her lip, waiting for a response from him. Travis sighed, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. She could see the indecision clouding his face.

  “Mr. Mitchell,” she began, reaching for his arm.

  Warm tingles shot up her fingers and he looked at her hand on his bicep, his gaze sliding over her in a slow caress. Fallon jerked it back and clasped her hands in front of her nervously.

  “It’s Travis. And yes, I can, on one condition.”

  “Anything,” she agreed.

  “You don’t question my training. We’re all-in on this. No changing your mind and firing me like you fired Casper. We do this my way, completely, until the season is over. Then you can fire me if you feel the need.”

  When it no longer mattered.

  It was a tall order. He was demanding she give him, a stranger, complete control of her horse’s future based solely on his reputation. She stared into his gray eyes, trying to read him, but he was indecipherable. But unless she wanted to train Dreamer herself, she had no other options.

  “Agreed. Anything else?”