Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (39 page)

A gentle tap on her door roused her from her thoughts. Doug had probably heard her arrive back from the room next door and would want to be filled in on all the details of Tom’s “situation”.

‘Coming,’ she said, heaving herself off the bed.

She unlocked the door and swung it open. She gaped. It wasn’t Doug standing there, and it wasn’t housekeeping either. Her voice escaped in a gasp.

‘Rhys.’

Had she conjured him up out of wishful thinking? Maybe she should try it with lottery numbers next time.

‘Don’t slam the door on me,’ he said.

In a daze, Frankie looked at the door then back to him. She hadn’t got that far in thought processing.

‘
Wh–what are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?’

Rhys looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He held out an appeasing hand.

‘I—er…bumped into someone who told me. Listen, can we talk? Please?’

Remembering Tom’s encouragement that she
give Rhys a chance, she nodded.

‘All right,’ she said uncertainly.

He swallowed and took a deep breath.

‘Okay.
Right. First up, you have every right to hate me. I’ve been a bastard and an idiot and I’m sorry it’s taken this long for me to say what I’m about to say. God, I’m terrible at these conversations. It’s just that it’s hard to ask you to take me back when I hate myself for what I did. I don’t deserve you.’

He paused. She wanted to say something to make this easier for him, but what to say? He
had
been a bastard, even if it was a bastard she missed. She stayed silent, her hand still clutching the door handle.

‘When I read in the papers that Pippa had given you the ride on Peace Offering in the National, I was furious,’ he went on. ‘Livid.
This was going to be my year, my best chance of winning it and instead it got handed to you, the new kid. The amateur. And at the Christmas party I seduced you. I didn’t much care if I hurt you in the process. All I could think about was getting back my National ride.’

Frankie squeezed her eyes shut and leant her head against the door. Would the pain ever lessen? When she opened them again, Rhys was looking desperately at her.

‘But then as we carried on, I started to–to have
feelings
for you. I didn’t want it to end, I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought if I just kept quiet then you’d never be any wiser and we could just carry on. Then you gave me the ride on Peace Offering.’ He looked at her helplessly. ‘What could I do? You were offering it to me on a plate, the thing which meant the most to me. I didn’t want to accept it, but I let you convince me that you’d made the decision off your own head. So I accepted it.’

A noisy group of guests, staggering out of the elevator, interrupted him, and he stepped forward to avoid being trampled. Once the raucous laughter disappeared round the corner, Rhys moistened his lips and refocused. Beneath the corridor lighting, beads of sweat clung to his forehead. Frankie almost wished the guests had carried him away on their wave of high spirits. Rhys’
s explanation didn’t make the hurt any easier. No amount of excuses could undo the damage.

‘Then you found out and everything went to shit,’ he continued. ‘I completely destroyed your trust in me, what I did was unforgiveable. But that’s what I want: your forgiveness. So I want you to take back the ride on Peace Offering.’

Frankie’s mouth fell open. Now
that
had come from left field.

‘But—
’

‘Please, Frankie. When you’d gone, I tried for a while to console myself with the fact that I still had the National ride, I still had the thing which meant most to me. But it didn’t work. It made me realise that the National isn’t the most important thing to me. You are.’ He searched her face for a reaction, but faced with her frozen expression, he stepped forward again. ‘You are what
means the most to me.’

Frankie felt hollow.

‘I can’t…’

Rhys looked panicked. He grabbed her hand.

‘Please, Frankie. Yes, you can.’

‘I can’t. It’s too late.’

‘No, it’s not. We can start again, do it properly this time.’

She looked down at his hand grasping hers and carefully removed it.

‘I can’t take the ride on Peace Offering because I don’t want it. I don’t want to ride in any races because I don’t really want to be a jockey.’

Rhys looked horrified.

‘But I’ve nothing else to offer you! What more do you want?’

Frankie looked long and hard at Rhys.
To forgive or not to forgive? Rhys’s black eyes bore into hers, his lips were pink from being bitten.

‘I want the past
to be undone,’ she whispered.

‘But I can’t do that,’ Rhys despaired.

She smiled sadly.

‘I know. I’m sorry, Rhys. There’s nothing you can do. I can’t go back.’

For a moment, Rhys didn’t respond. Then with a grimace, he spun around and stalked away. Once again, tears welled in her eyes, but this time they represented a new emotion. She wept for Rhys—compassionate tears that admired his courage and his sacrifice. And she wept for herself—angry tears frustrated at her inability to forgive.

Fifteen hours on, Frankie could barely breathe. Circled by the runners for the two-mile novice hurdle, she stood in the centre of the parade ring beside Jack.

‘Sorry, Frankie,’ he said. ‘Whatever plan you had for Ta’ Qali doesn’t appear to have made much difference.’

Frankie cringed and turned to watch Ta’ Qali hop, skip and jump around the paddock. The jockeys trooped out from the weighing room and she caught her breath. Rhys walked over, his expression hard, his demeanour tense. Frankie avoided his eyes.

‘Wait,’ she said to Jack. ‘Just bring Ta’ Qali over here before you send them off.’

Jack gave her a puzzled glance but assented.

‘Your call.’
He motioned to Billy and the lad wrestled Ta’ Qali into the centre of the ring. The gelding’s nostrils flared and he rolled his eyes at Aintree’s fanfare. The bell rang for jockeys to mount and he twirled around in a flurry of black mane and tail.

Frankie took a deep breath and reached out to unbuckle the horse’s sheepskin noseband.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Rhys demanded.

‘Just go with me on this one,’ she said through gritted teeth. Ta’
Qali threw his head as she tugged the noseband free from the bridle.

‘What are you doing, Frankie?’ Jack said.

‘It’s a long shot,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘But when you let me show my Girl Guides around the yard, one of them asked how he’d hurt his nose.’ She gestured to the white marking on Ta’ Qali’s face. ‘Then when you brought home those new novices, you said that you’d had to use a curb chain on one—’

‘This is a waste of time,’ muttered Rhys. ‘Can you just leg me up so we can get on with it?’

‘No, wait. Listen. I know it might sound ridiculous. But what if Ta’ Qali had been a handful in his youth? What if he’d had a curb chain used on him and something had gone wrong? We know he’s head shy. Maybe it’s the pressure on his nose that upsets him? We don’t ride him in a noseband at home and he’s quiet as a lamb then.’ She looked timidly at Jack, waiting for him to ridicule her. Jack’s attention wavered between her and the horse. Ta’ Qali stood, his head high and his nostrils still blown wide, but nevertheless quieter than he had been moments earlier.

‘You’re right,’ the trainer said at last. Frankie exhaled. ‘It does sound ridiculous.’ She grimaced and her hand clenched the fluffy noseband in her hand in disappointment. ‘But it’s not implausible,’ he went on. Frankie looked at him with renewed hope. ‘His nose does look like it could’ve been broken before. Come on, Rhys. Let’s get you aboard. We’ll know if Frankie’s right in a
few minutes. If you’re wrong…’ He fixed her with a stern look. ‘...then you’re through with Aspen Valley. That was the deal.’

‘What?’ Rhys said. ‘You’re going to fire her because of this psychopath?’

‘That was the deal. Right, Frankie?’

Frankie nodded. Jack boosted Rhys into the saddle and she rubbed her fingers over Ta’ Qali’s lips.

‘Don’t let me down, boy,’ she whispered.

If Ta’ Qali had time to understand her, he didn’t have time to show it. With Rhys on his back, he wheeled round at his bidding and joined the string of horses exiting the ring.

*

In the c
rush of grandstand punters, Frankie joined Doug to watch the runners and riders mingling behind the two mile start in Aintree’s infield. Frankie’s eyes never left Ta’ Qali. With mounting dread she noted his flicking head and uneasy side-stepping.

Doug patted her arm.

‘Don’t be so worried. Aspen Valley’s on a roll. They’ve won two of the three races so far,’ he said.

Frankie peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

‘I wish they’d get on with it. What’s the delay?’

Doug gave her a sympathetic smile.

‘They’re running to time, there’s no delay. They’ll be off in a minute.’

Frankie’s gaze left Ta’ Qali to scan the horizon. A fine persistent drizzle fell, shrouding the course in half-light. Maybe she’d been too hasty in betting her job on Ta’ Qali.
Everything looked set against them, the weather, the large field of twenty-one runners, all of a higher class than those he’d raced against previously. And she wasn’t so confident about her noseband theory now either. His initial calm appeared to have evaporated. He was still acting like a skittish filly.

She
breathed deep as the horses jogged onto the main course. They bustled together, bumping shoulders and throwing their heads to get a clear view. For a moment, she lost sight of Ta’ Qali as he was swallowed up in the thick of it.

The tape snapped back and the horses
were away. With only nine hurdles to jump, there was a long run to the first. Frankie chewed the lipstick from her lips and a grimace clawed her face when she saw Ta’ Qali take a hefty bump around the turn. He ran in snatches, leaping out from Rhys’s hands then bobbling when he ran into the horse in front. Rhys sat quietly on his back, a firm hold on the reins. They raced to the first flight.

Frankie bounced on her knees as horse and rider knocked the hurdle flat. The second hurdle wasn’t far beyond and Rhys was still trying to rebalance Ta’ Qali when they met
it. Again, they rapped it hard.

The crowd cheered extra hard as the runners neared the grandstand for the first time, but Frankie was too tense to even whisper her support. Over the third, still packed deep in midfield, Ta’ Qali galloped past the finish post. A squeak escaped from Frankie when she saw Rhys
increasing his hold on the reins.

‘What is he doing?’ she cried.

‘Beats me. Looks like he’s pulling up. Maybe he’s lame,’ Doug replied.

Frankie snatched the binoculars hanging round her father’s neck and ignoring his gasps for air, trained in on the Aspen Valley duo.
Rhys’s severe restraint on his mount was dragging him back through the field. She looked for an inconsistency in the horse’s stride, but despite it being curbed, he looked sound as a bell. Was this his way of avenging her rebuttal of him last night? When Ta’ Qali’s head was almost in his chest, Rhys stretched forward and looked to almost go to hit him on his head. Instead he brushed his gloved hand down Ta’ Qali’s nose, as if to rid the horse of the spilt salt marking on his nose. Instinctively, Ta’ Qali shied away from his hand and bounced into the inside rail.

‘What the hell?’ Doug said, watching the jockey’s antics on the big screen.

A small smile warmed Frankie’s face and she let Doug have full use of his airways again.

‘I think I know what he’s doing,’ she said. ‘Ta’ Qali still thinks he’s got a noseban
d on because he associates race-days with nosebands. I think Rhys was trying to show him he doesn’t have a noseband on.’

Doug nodded to the track, his expression grave.

‘Well, he’d better hurry up about it. Slowing him down like that might have cost him the race.’

Cringing away, Frankie saw he was right. Ta’ Qali was now stone cold last going into the final circuit. On the other hand, he looked to be quietening down. She knotted her hands together in prayer. If
ever there was a time for Ta’ Qali to prove his potential, now was it.

Rhys let him out a notch and with half a circuit before the next hurdle, set about
closing the gap. Frankie didn’t doubt he would catch them, but whether he could get to the front and sustain his run right to the finish was an unknown.

‘Come on, my boy,’ she murmured. ‘Come on, Rhys. Work your magic.’

*

They galloped in solitude down the back straight, a
murky blur of black mane and red silk. Frankie darted a quick look to see how the other horses were faring. The pace was brisk. A couple were already being pushed along by their jockeys. Her heart began to thump extra hard.

Ta’ Qali jumped the
next three hurdles straight as a bullet. This wasn’t the horse who’d run wild in all twelve of his previous starts. This was the horse she rode on the Aspen Valley gallops every morning. Rounding the last long sweeping turn of the course, she saw Rhys nudge him forward again, commanding, yet as gentle as if he was kneading dough. The response was immediate, but was it too little too late?

‘Ooh!’ wailed Frankie.

Her voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd welcoming the field back into the home turn. They were strung out like washing. All the jockeys were hard at work. Whips rose and fell, glossy boots pumped, shoulders shovelled like butterfly swimmers.

Ta’ Qali winged his way round the turn as the others took the third last hurdle. Rhys
’s body was low, a cat hunting its prey. Frankie knew that look and a new wave of excitement crashed over her.

‘Come on, Rhys!’ she cried. ‘COME ON!’

Fleetingly, she saw Doug’s look of bemusement beside her. She didn’t have time to care. Ta’ Qali picked off the stragglers and the inherent speed which had carried his sibling to Doncaster and Goodwood Cup victories shone with his every movement. The leaders jumped the second last. Ta’ Qali chased them ten lengths shy.

Roused even higher by the commentator’s excited call as he too saw Ta’ Qali’s pursuit, Frankie screamed in urgency. The feeling was contagious. As the horses neared the last hurdle, Doug
, too, bellowed his support. The crowd’s crescendo reverberated around their ears. The leaders landed over the last, tired but genuine. Ta’ Qali skimmed over on their heels and without loss of stride, began to move past them.

Frankie stopped breathing. She stopped leaping up and down. Her muscles felt paralysed, so mesmerising was her horse’s speed. The furlong lollipop flashed the horses by. Ta’ Qali drew level with the leader and for a moment, the horses lent in on each other. The
y bumped apart and Rhys threw his reins at Ta’ Qali. Ta’ Qali stretched out his head. His muscles strained as he sought to gain the lead. The half furlong lollipop counted them down to the finish line. Rhys used his whip, counting four strides, waiting for his mount to respond, used it again, four strides. He lifted it once more, but there his arm stayed in a victory salute as Ta’ Qali galloped over the line a length clear.

Frankie felt like she was going to explode. She wanted to yell the grandstand down, but couldn’t unclench her teeth
. She would burst into tears if she did. Turning to Doug, she raised her bunched hands to her face and shook.

Doug laughed.

‘And you did that? You brought on that tearaway horse and taught it to jump and run like that?’ he said.

Frankie had never felt so proud. This was the job for her. She could never have felt this amount of s
atisfaction just being a jockey. Looking down to the front of the stands, she saw Billy hurtling along the walkway doing bojangle kicks as he ran.

‘It was a team effort,’ she said
with a smile.

With no attempt at gentleness, Doug slapped her on the back and pulled her into a rough hug.

‘That’s my girl,’ he laughed.

F
rankie’s world glowed.