Page 16 of Irish Thoroughbred (Irish Hearts #1)
“I’m sure you will,” he murmured, twining his fingers in the ends of her long, silky waves. Then, pulling the brim of her cap down over her eyes, he repeated in a lighter tone, “Yes, Dee, I’m sure you will.”
The week moved swiftly, hours crammed with duties and activities.
Most of Adelia’s time was given to Majesty’s care, talking and fondling as much as grooming and seeing to his more practical needs.
She spent much of her free time with Steve Parker, teasing him about his girlfriends or watching from the rail as he accustomed Majesty to the track.
Other times she spent with Paddy, discussing the Thoroughbred’s qualities and the style of the other colts who would compete in the qualifying race.
“The colt that wins is automatically eligible for the Derby,” he informed her, giving Majesty a thorough examination as she watched from the stall door.
“Of course, Travis nominated this fellow right after he was born, the same way he’s entered Solomy’s foal, and kept up with the nomination as he got older.
He knows when he’s got a winner. Travis is a man who keeps one eye on the future. ”
“He’s good with the horses,” Adelia commented. The obvious pride and affection in Paddy’s voice warmed her. “You can see he cares for them; it’s not just a matter of the money they’ll bring him.”
“Aye, he cares,” Paddy agreed, giving Majesty an affectionate slap on the flank.
“And he’s fierce on the matter of using painkillers or drugs as others have been known to do.
If one of Travis’s horses isn’t up for the race, he doesn’t run and that’s that.
Of course, money’s not a problem with Travis, but it wouldn’t make any difference if it was, because that’s the man he is.
Now, he has a practical side as well.” He moved from the stall to join Adelia and slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“Investments—and he’s mighty crafty about them.
He knows how to take a purse or the sale of a foal and turn it into more.
He’s got the touch,” Paddy added with a wise nod.
“And a time or two, he’s stretched my pennies for me, though not on as grand a scale as his.
Travis takes care of his own.” Squeezing her shoulder, Paddy led Adelia out into the flash of sunlight.
She remained silent, thinking of this new aspect of the man she loved.
The sky was overcast on the day of the Blue Grass Stakes.
The air was heavy. Lead-gray clouds lay thick as a blanket overhead.
Tension seemed to start at Adelia’s brow and spread down to her toes; the stillness of the air weighed like a stone at the nape of her neck.
To take her thoughts off the coming race she kept both hands and mind busy.
Glancing up she saw Travis enter the building. She smiled as he approached.
“I believe that, if you could, you’d get into the silks and ride him today.”
“The truth of it is,” she began, finding the ease of his smile soothing, “I think I’d be less terrified that way. But I don’t think Steve would care for it.”
“No.” The syllable was accompanied by a slow, grave nod. “I don’t think he would. Come up to the stands with me. Paddy’ll take over now.”
“Oh, but—” Her objection was neatly cut off as he captured her arm and propelled her to the door. “Wait!” she cried and pivoted to run swiftly back to Majesty, throwing her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear.
When she rejoined Travis, he stared down at her, both amused and frankly curious. “What did you tell him?”
She gave him a mysterious smile for an answer. As they approached the stands, she dug into her back pocket and thrust some bills into his hands. “Will you place a wager for me? I don’t know how to go about it.”
“A wager?” he repeated, looking down at the two dol lars in his hand. Looking up, his features were entirely too serious. “Who do you want to bet on?”
“Majesty, of course.” She frowned at the question, her expression lightening as she recalled some of the terms she had heard tossed around the stables. “To win… on the nose.”
To his credit, Travis’s features remained grave. “I see. Well, let’s see… his odds are five to two at the moment.” Brows drawn, he studied the odds board. “Now, number three there is ten to one, but that’s not too long for a gambler. Number six is two to one; that’s rather conservative.”
“I don’t know about all that,” she interrupted with a frustrated wave of her hand. “It’s just all a bunch of numbers.”
“Adelia.” He said her name slowly, giving her a small pat on the shoulder. “One must never bet unless one knows the odds.” Ignoring her, he glanced up at the flashing numbers. “It’s three to one on number two, a nice safe choice for win, place, or show. It’s eight to five on number one.”
“Travis, you’re making my head spin with all of this. I just want to—”
“And fifteen to one on number five.” He looked down at the two crumpled bills. “You could amass a small fortune if that one came in.”
“It’s not for the money.” Her breath came out in one impatient huff. “It’s for the luck.”
“Ah, I see,” he returned with a solemn nod before the grin escaped and spread. “Irish luck is not to be scoffed at.”
Though she scowled quite fiercely for a moment, he slipped his arm over her shoulders and led her to the two-dollar window.
Before long, she was standing next to him and gaping openly at the masses of people filling the stands.
The enormous stadium would hold one hundred and twenty-five thousand, Travis had informed her, and to her astonished eyes there seemed to be no less than that.
Several people greeted Travis, and she felt an occasional twinge of discomfort as eyes often passed over her in speculation.
Embarrassment was soon eclipsed by excitement as post time approached.
She watched the horses step onto the track, her eyes immediately focusing on Majesty and the rider in brilliant red and gold silks on his back.
As Majesty’s name was announced, Adelia closed her eyes, finding the combination of excitement and nerves nearly overpowering.
“He looked ready,” Travis commented casually, then laughed as she jolted at his words. “Relax, Dee, it’s just another race.”
“I’ll never be easy about it if I see a hundred,” she vowed. “Oh, here comes Uncle Paddy. Is it going to start?”
For answer, he pointed, and she watched the horses being loaded into the starting gate. Her hand clutched at the cross at her neck, and she felt Travis’s arm slip over her shoulders as the bell sounded and ten powerful forms lunged forward.
It seemed to her a mass of flying hooves and thunderous noise, the pack clinging together in one speeding block.
Still, her eyes were glued on Majesty as though he were racing alone.
Her hand reached up of its own accord to grasp the one on her shoulder, tightening as she urged the colt to greater speed.
Steadily he moved forward, as if following her remote-control command, persistently passing one, then another, until he emerged alone from the field.
Suddenly the long legs increased their stride, streaking across the dirt track until his competitors were left with the sight of his massive hindquarters as he lunged under the wire.
Travis’s arm encircled her, and Adelia found herself crushed to his hard chest, sandwiched between his lean body and her uncle’s stocky frame.
It was like being caught fast between two unmoving, loving walls, and she found the sensation torturously wonderful, a heady mixture of scents and textures.
Her uncle’s voice was raised in excitement in her ears, and her head was snuggled, as if it belonged, against Travis’s chest. Majesty’s win, she decided, closing her eyes, was the best present she had ever had.
Every man, woman, and child in Louisville ate, slept, and breathed the Kentucky Derby.
As the days dwindled, the very air seemed to shimmer with anticipation.
Adelia saw Travis sporadically. Their conversations revolved around the colt, the only personal aspect of their relationship being the abstracted pat on the head he would give her from time to time.
She began to think that quarreling with him had had its advantages, and she relieved her frustrations by spending more time with Majesty.
“You’re a fine, great horse,” she told him, holding his muzzle and looking into his intelligent eyes.
“But you mustn’t let all of this go to your head.
You’ve a job to do come Saturday, and it’s a big one.
Now, I’m going out for a few minutes, and I want you to rest yourself, then perhaps we’ll see about a currying. ”
Satisfied with Majesty’s silent agreement, Adelia stepped out of the stables into the bright May sun and found herself surrounded by reporters.
“Are you the groom in charge of Royal Meadows’ Majesty?
” The question was fired out by one of the people who suddenly cut her off from the rest of the world with a wall of bodies.
The sensation was disconcerting, and she was thinking wistfully of the dim solitude of the stables when she heard another voice.
“You don’t see many grooms that look like this one.”
She rounded on the man who had spoken, squinting against the sun to see more clearly. “Is that the truth, now?” she demanded, discomfort replaced by annoyance. “I thought red hair was common enough in America.”
The group roared with laughter, and the man at whom her remark had been directed responded with a good-natured grin. Questions were fired at her, and for a few moments she surrendered to the pressure and answered, valiantly attempting to keep one query separate from the next.