Page 45 of High Value Target

“Not officially.”

“You should probably get some rest, Miss Wyatt.”

“Oh, so it’s Miss Wyatt, again.” She spun away, and Grady watched her go. He needed to remember why he was here. It wasn’t to let himself get close to a woman who was so unattainable it was laughable.

He drained his glass and went inside.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Two days later, Grady accompanied Tinsley to an auction by the Texas Thoroughbred Association.

“See that guy over there? He represents Sheik Mohamad Bansal.”

Grady looked toward the tall man, surrounded by a group. If he were a rap artist, people would call that his posse. “Yeah. What about him?”

“He bought Sunstar a few years ago and took him back to Saudi Arabia. Everyone thought how great that was, that the thoroughbred champion would live out a wonderful life to stud. After a couple of offspring, they shipped him off to slaughter like he was nothing. He’d won the Belmont Stakes five years ago.”

“Some people are cruel.”

“It’s so sad. These horses are magnificent animals, highly intelligent, and with big hearts. Yet men like him dispose of them like they’re used up garbage.”

“Outbid him.”

“What?”

“Outbid him. You spent more at the mall yesterday.”

“Daddy told me I could only have one.”

“What if you could do what you wanted? What would you do?”

“I’d have a stable full. I’d start my own rescue. It would be called Second Chance Stables. We’d rehabilitate them. See if they could become jumpers or perhaps therapy animals to children with disabilities. Whatever suited their personalities. Thoroughbreds are intelligent and sensitive animals with strong personalities. They love deeply, are spirited, and often goofy at times. But they are, above all, incredible athletes. They deserve a good life. They deserve so much more than to be sold at auction to buyers who ship them to slaughter. I would try to find good lifelong homes for them.”

“And why can’t you do that?”

“Palmer’s plan is to go to DC.”

“I see. What will you do there?” Grady longed to ask if she loved the man, but that was one question he could never verbalize. It wasn’t his business.

She shrugged. “Give parties and live a useless life, I suppose.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I suppose I’ll turn into my mother. Plan balls and such to raise money for children’s hospitals or homeless shelters.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He studied her. “But it wouldn’t be your passion.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“You couldn’t combine the money raising aspect with saving the retired racehorses?”

“I’m sure I’ll be expected to do something more along the lines of a children’s hospital charity. Washington society won’t be thrilled about racehorses.”

“Also a worthy cause.”

“Yes.”

“But not your passion.”

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