Page 33 of Demons

I shook my head. “I’ve not seen him since yesterday.”

“Sounds about right,” he replied. “Okay, so you ready to warm him up and go a few times around?”

Miller was talking to some other man when I looked over at Bloodline.

“Yep.”

“Good. He’s ready to run.”

Miller realized I’d made it and turned to me. “Where is Thatcher?” he asked, frowning.

I shrugged. I was not that man’s keeper. Why was everyone asking me where he was? Yes, I was slightly bitter, but I was doing my best not to care.

Miller cut his eyes to Sebastian, who also shrugged.

“All right, then let’s get you out there,” Miller said, sounding annoyed.

Thatcher wasn’t needed for this. Why did he suddenly care?

The empty stands were more daunting than when they were full. Being the main focus was just more stressful. It was different from being at the ranch and taking Bloodline around. I was focused when surrounded by other horses and riders. That played a large part of it.

“You’ve ridden this track before, right?” Sebastian asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Once for Markson Stable and another for Hyton Farms.”

“Excellent,” he replied. “You know the feel of the track.”

I’d also watched so many videos of races here that I had the thing memorized. I’d noted others’ mistakes, their wins, and how they’d chosen to move into place. Timing and understanding your horse’s strengths were essential. I knew both. The Belmont Derby Invitational was normally held at Belmont Park, but it was currently under construction and wasn’t believed to be ready until sometime in 2026. The invitational was being held at The Big A.

Following Miller, I waited while our gate crew prepared Bloodline with his blinders. I made sure he saw me and told him we were gonna have a nice run before I went to mount him. The others made sure my straps were secure, then led us into the starting gate. Bloodline wasn’t always difficult at the ranch starting gate, but we often left the front open. He liked that best. Here, he needed to go in with it closed, and Miller had thought he needed to go in with a blindfold, but Thatcher vetoed that. I’d thought he made the right call, but I’d kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t the trainer or the owner.

Blocking out everything else, I got him balanced and prepared for the gate to open. It was all about that first jump. Bloodline read my cues sometimes before I even gave them to him. He was brilliant and sensitive, which made what needed to happen next easier.

“Ready?” Sebastian called out from where he had moved to stand on the other side of the gate, far enough away to watch.

I gave a nod and watched the crack in the gate. My complete focus was on that spot, and I waited for it to begin to move open. The swing of the gate was fast, and unless you’d ever sat behind it, you wouldn’t understand the importance of cuing your horse for that moment.

The moment the crack began to widen, we were off. It was poetic, the way his body moved beneath me. I didn’t let him go full blast. There was no need for that today. Just getting the both of us warmed up to the track. I grinned as I felt him holding back. His stride was perfection, and I knew when it was time, he was going to break clean and put us where we needed to be to win.

Dismounting, I immediately turned to Bloodline and told him what a good boy he was. He loved the praise, but then again, he was a male. The two guys in the gate crew took his lead as I kissed his nose.

“His breaks were clean, and the rhythm in his stride looked good. How did it feel?” Miller asked, walking toward me.

I reached up to unlatch my riding cap and take it off before responding, “He feels comfortable on the track. The jump at the gate would have been more impressive, but I held him back today.”

Miller nodded. “All right, that is enough for today. I’ll have a practice jockey ride him tomorrow.”

Which meant I had a full day in Manhattan. I hadn’t expected that. I could explore.

“I only want Capri on him before the race.”

Thatcher’s voice startled me, and I spun around to see him walking this way with a cigarette between his lips and a black cowboy hat on his head. I tried not to take in the rest of him, but it was hard. The man could wear a pair of jeans like no one else.

“Miller is the trainer,” Sebastian said, stepping up beside me.

Thatcher’s gaze cut to his younger brother. “And I’m the owner.”

“We are the owners,” Sebastian replied, sounding annoyed.

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