Page 10 of Demons

Probably a wise idea. I didn’t say anything more. I had to leave before I did something I shouldn’t. I might not take it out on them, but the stablehand would die. King was really intent on that not happening. Leaving was best.

• 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.

---