Page 5 of Run for the Money

“You tell me. All I know is there’s a brunette chick in expensive athleisure headed down the drive,” Edwin says. “Figured you were expecting someone, since she seems to know her way around. She doesn’t look too happy to be here, though. Don’t know where you found her, but you might wanna put her back.”

From the way he’s grinning at me, it’s clear he thinks this woman is some sort of paramour. But I’d bet every last one of my hard-earned dollars it’s Melanie Archer, hereto prove me wrong. I can’t help the self-satisfied smile the thought inspires. Maybe she’s not such fine china, after all.

“How close is she?” I ask.

“At the rate she was stomping, I’d say you’ve got thirty seconds,” he says. “You need a running start? I can hold her up a little.”

“Nah, I’m ready for this.”

It’s true; we’re on my turf now. I’m comfortable here, not stuffed into a borrowed tuxedo shirt with a too-tight collar and stranded in a sea of people with pedigrees to rival the finest racehorses. This is my barn, on my property. Surrounded by the scent of hay and warm animal, I couldn’t be more confident.

“Need me to make myself scarce?” Edwin asks.

“You might want to see this, actually,” I counter. “Our lives are about to change forever.”

He gives me a questioning look, but I don’t elaborate. The horse nearest me—Ophelia Jane—flicks her ears forward toward the open door. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against Ophelia’s stall door to wait for Melanie to appear. The path from the driveway to the stables is curved, so I hear her footsteps before she comes into view. I do my best to arrange my face into something pleasant—not one of my strengths, according to Edwin—while Ophelia nibbles at the collar of my flannel shirt.

“I know, I know. I spilled your breakfast all over the floor,” I tell her. “Don’t fret; you’ll still get fed.”

The footsteps get closer, and sure enough, Melanie is the athleisure-clad ‘chick’ Edwin spotted. She doesn’t look angry, like I expected, though. I’d say her expression is closer to discomfort.

Interesting.

“Morning, Miss Manners,” I call out. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Her lips purse slightly and her eyes narrow.

Shit. The nickname may have been a miscalculation.

“Good morning, Mr. Korbel,” she says stiffly.

Behind me, Edwin coughs, but it doesn’t quite mask his laughter.

“Please, Melanie, call me Nick,” I say. “This is Edwin Soteres, my stable manager and oldest friend. Edwin, this is Melanie Archer. She’s going to compete GT for us. I have a feeling she can take us all the way to the next Olympics.”

Edwin pulls the work glove off his right hand and offers the limb to Melanie. She shakes his hand with a polite smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, despite Edwin’s enthusiastic grin.

“Pleasure to meet you, Melanie. You’re gonna love GT—he’s an unbelievable horse! This is excellent news. It means a lot to us,” he says.

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” she says quickly. “Nicholas has gotten ahead of himself.”

I try—and fail—to keep the scowl off my face when she calls me Nicholas.

“Once you meet GT, you’ll sing a different tune, Mel,” I say.

“Don’t call me Mel,” she snaps.

“Then don’t call me Nicholas.”

Edwin coughs again. I don’t feel so bad about him cleaning up the feed mess anymore.

“Fine,Nick,” she says.

“Was that so hard?” I ask. “Are you going to insist on calling GT Grand Theft Equine, too?”

She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you…never mind. Not the point.”

“No, finish the sentence, please,” I say. “I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

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