A Little Bit of Charm (20 page)

“Are you that hungry? I can't wait to hit the dessert table either.” John clambered over the side after her.

Rachel grabbed a chocolate cupcake and a cup of cider before heading back into the cool night.

“You probably think I will ask to drive you home, but I live here.” Laughing, he pointed at the ground.

She swallowed a bite of chocolate cake. “I thought nothing of the kind. I had planned to walk home alone…right now, in fact. I'm exhausted.
Gut nacht
, John.”

“Don't be silly. I'll walk with you. There might be black bears prowling this time of year.”

Nothing Rachel said dissuaded him. By the time she climbed the back steps, she would have
preferred
the company of a black bear. John Swartz all but followed her into the house before she was able to shut the door on him.

NINE

Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come

J
ake watched the sun break the horizon in the east from the kitchen window. He swallowed down another gulp of black coffee with a grimace. His third cup. All the caffeine wasn't helping his upset stomach, but after the restless night he'd spent, he needed a boost.

“You're up bright and early.” His father stood in the doorway, wearing his usual faded jeans and flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. “And I see you dressed for the occasion.” His dad grabbed his favorite mug and headed to the coffeemaker.

Jake glanced down at his crew neck sweater, pressed jeans, and leather loafers. “It's not every day I turn the reins of Eager to Please over to a big-time horse trainer from Lexington.”

“And you wanted to look the part of an owner rather than a groom or an exercise boy?” Ken pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard and a carton of cottage cheese from the fridge.

“Twelve Elms is the registered owner of Eager, not just me.” Jake let the curtain drop in place and joined his father at the table.

“That may be true, son, but you're the one who had the idea to breed Man of His Word to Pretty in Pink. You practically hand raised that colt and have done well with him up until now.” Ken dumped cornflakes into a bowl and passed the box across the table. “Win or lose, you should be proud of yourself, Jake. I want you to be the one this trainer works with. I'll stay in the background running the rest of Twelve Elms—the unexciting end. I have faith in you, son.”

Jake swallowed down a tight knot. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, Dad.”

“This Alan Hitchcock doesn't need to deal with too many bosses.”

“His boss?” He snorted. “Hitchcock has probably forgotten more than I know. He'll run the show from today on. His expertise is what we're paying for.”

“Just remember we're paying him, not the other way around. Make sure you agree with every decision regarding the colt. Don't let him run roughshod over you because you're young and green. Those savvy Lexington trainers can have inflated egos.”

Jake studied his father's pale blue eyes. “You're worried about Hitchcock running us into the poorhouse?” His cereal remained untouched in the bowl.

Ken laughed with little mirth. “I'd be lying to deny it, but that's not the only reason. Some men won't take a twenty-three-year-old owner seriously. He might try to push you around, but you're ready for this day. You know more than you take credit for, so don't doubt yourself.”

A reflection of headlights against the kitchen window drew Jake's attention. “He's here. We're about to find out where I stand in the world of horse racing.” He and his father locked gazes. Then
they rose to their feet and strolled out the door, casual-like—how Thoroughbred owners were supposed to act.

A tall, robust man of around forty straightened from a sleek BMW. “Alan Hitchcock,” he said. “Which one of you gentlemen is Mr. Brady?”

“We both are. I'm Jake and this is my dad, Ken.”

After the requisite handshakes, Hitchcock pivoted in place. “Nice spread you have here. How many acres—four, five hundred?”

“Twelve hundred, including the timbered acres in the hills.”

“Good size for a small outfit. I don't recognize the name Brady in the racing business. You just buy this spread and plan to step it up a notch?” Hitchcock peered toward the barns and arena.

“No,” said Jake. “This has been Brady land for four generations. I am the fourth Brady to breed horses in Charm.” He shifted his weight but kept his focus steady. He chose not to mention that the previous generations bred mares primarily to drag plows through the clay or pull buggies similar to Rachel's mode of transportation.

“Is that right? I noticed your sign down by the road. Says you give wagon tours and riding lessons, plus put on rodeos and trail rides. Everything but birthday party pony rides for six-year-olds.” Hitchcock softened his words with a good-natured smile.

Jake didn't flinch. “Yep, almost everything, but right now we have a colt named Eager to Please. And he's changed our long-range plans for the stable.” He let his words hang in the air.

The trainer nodded. “So you said in your e-mail. I looked into his sire's bloodlines. Man of His Word has done all right for himself, but Pretty in Pink hasn't done much in this country other than as a minor pacing mare. I understand she has Irish blood in her veins.”

“She does. Are you ready to see the colt now, Mr. Hitchcock?”

“I sure am, son. I didn't drive down from Lexington to buy an ice-cream cone at the Tastee Freez.” He chuckled. “I'm not sure if
I missed downtown Charm or if I drove right through. It's rather charming if that was it—just like the name suggests.”

Ken Brady offered his hand a second time. “Nice meeting you, Alan. My son handles the Eager to Please business, but I'm sure we'll meet in the office later.”

“Nice meeting you, sir, but we need to clear up a few matters before I waste your time. The salary proposed in the e-mail will barely cover my expenses.” He glanced again at the row of buildings and barns. “I'll probably have to rent an apartment in the area because I don't bunk with grooms and field hands.” His tone put a disparaging cast on men who made their living in those vocations. “Based on what I expect to see in your yearling, I want a contract that includes a ten percent commission on future wins and any potential sale. As long as I get that, I'll move here to God's country and turn your pretty baby into a champion in the money.” Hitchcock glanced at Keeley, who skipped up the driveway carrying the newspaper. Skinny Joe followed at her heels. “That is one ugly cat,” he murmured.

Both Bradys ignored his comment.

“Sounds fair to me if it's okay with my son.” Ken took a step back. “Now, if you'll excuse me.” He walked away with a limp more pronounced than it had been that morning.

Sweat trickled down Jake's neck inside his collar. “I'm amenable to those terms. I'll have our lawyer draw up the contract if you agree to take the colt once you've seen him.”

“Let's go. Tell me what you've done with him so far.”

“I've had him on a lead and halter alone,” Jake said on the way to the barn. “No bit in his mouth yet. I've been working him on a twenty-foot lunge rope in the arena.”

“Good, good, plenty of time for a bit in his mouth. But we'll need to put a rider on him soon, somebody lightweight—not you. We must get him ready for the Florida races this winter for
yearlings. He should train with other horses around so he doesn't develop any don't-come-near-me bad habits.”

Jake tried to digest everything the trainer said, but his mind raced in a dozen directions at once. His queasy stomach from breakfast hadn't settled down one bit. Inside the barn, Jake walked to the colt's stall on legs that suddenly felt as though he wore thirty-pound ankle weights. What if Hitchcock laughed? What if he demanded reimbursement for his gasoline from Lexington for an utter waste of his precious time?

When the trainer unlatched the door and stepped inside the stall, he didn't say much at first. He approached Eager slowly, inspecting him from every angle. He ran a practiced hand down his flank, assessing the young horseflesh. The colt eyed him suspiciously a few moments and then returned to munching oats.

“He's too thin,” declared Hitchcock, exiting the stall. He secured the latch behind him. “And I'll bet your feed doesn't contain near enough protein.” The trainer went on to criticize the stall, the bedding, the barn's ventilation, the overhead sprinkler system—just about everything in their operation.

But not the colt. Other than thinness, he didn't have one negative thing to say about Eager to Please. And he conceded that too thin was superior to the alternative. The next half hour passed in a blur as Jake's head swam with Hitchcock's demands. Later, he found his father in the stable office with a fresh pot of coffee and two mugs, as though expecting him.

“Hitchcock gone?”

“Yeah, he went back to Lexington to pack.”

“I thought he would take the job once he saw the colt.”

“I wonder what he'll do when he finds out Charm has no apartments to rent?” Jake exhaled air he'd been holding far too long. When he met Ken's eye, they both smiled.

“Our bunkhouse will start looking better and better. Or he can
rent a room at Miss Florence's B-and-B, if he doesn't mind heavy Victorian decor.” They both laughed as they pictured the elderly widow's quaint inn, filled with doilies, bone china, and porcelain dolls up to the ornate plaster ceilings. “Maybe Alan will develop a taste for scones with clotted cream,” said Ken.

“Or maybe he'll discover a soft spot for Miss Florence.” Jake wiggled his eyebrows.

Ken covered his face with his hands. “Stop. I don't want to picture those two on her settee when I run into her at church.”

Jake lowered himself to a chair, tired even though it wasn't yet noon. He debated how much to relay regarding Hitchcock's demands for improvements. He decided he would wait for now and enjoy a few hours of luxury. They had just hired a first-class trainer for a world-class horse.

Ken shuffled into the kitchen the next morning after a scant three hours of sleep. That's all they added up to after subtracting the hours of tossing and turning, pillow punching, and pacing the living room floor so he wouldn't wake his hardworking wife. Exhausted, he had finally slumped onto the sofa, folded his hands, and closed his eyes to pray. At first he had no idea where to begin. He had so many worries, so many fears that he could have presented God with a shopping list of requests. So he started with simple thanks—for his loving wife, his healthy children, and the continued productiveness of Twelve Elms. After that the words wouldn't stop until he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In the kitchen one of his chief reasons for gratitude stood at the stove. “Morning. You are a sight for sore eyes.” He filled a mug with coffee.

His wife grinned over her shoulder. “Tuesdays aren't anyone's favorite days off. Most pharmacists want Friday through Monday.
But if I work weekends, it's more money in the family coffers.” She expertly flipped a blueberry pancake.

“You're a fine woman, Taylor Brady. I'm glad you chose to spend your free day with us.”

“Johnny Depp was busy. You were my second choice.” She set a plate of pancakes and crisp bacon in front of him.

“Second choice is better than forty-third.”

“By a long shot.” Taylor carried over her mug and plate and bowed her head.

“Thank You, Lord, for this food we're about to eat.” Ken shoved a whole slice of bacon into his mouth.

“A man of few words today?” Taylor ate with her usual moderation. “You look terrible, Ken. Didn't you sleep much?”

“A few hours, but I'm fine. This is delicious. I can't remember the last time you fried bacon.” He devoured another piece.

“Man cannot live by granola, Greek yogurt, and oatmeal alone. Woman either. Just don't tell our doctor. What's troubling you?”

He shook his head. “You talk first. Tell me your agenda for today. I'm hoping you've planned something more interesting than housework.”