Page 14 of Dark Things
Before they can argue that point, I pull out my phone and dial the PI. Now to make up a story on why there would be a knife in my bed. Because one thing is certain, I can never tell anyone else what happened that day besides Staff and Brooks.
6
Rebelle
The racetrack is exactly as it was the last time I was here—something of a cross between Southern antebellum and 1930s rich vacation spot. I walk around the side entrance for the jockeys and go into the office to see if I can find the stable foreman.
Haunt is supposed to meet me here after football practice, but I need to get reacquainted with Black Caviar before he shows up. He’s a raging beast, and it’s going to take him a minute to allow me to get comfortable enough to ride him.
I walk into the stuffy space, knocking on the doorframe as I enter. “Hey, you the stable foreman?” I ask, when I locate the portly man sitting behind the desk. His hair is mostly gone and what looks like mayo—or at least, what I hope is mayo—stains his polo.
His gaze slides along my length, and it takes a lot tonot snarl at his clear perusal. Beady eyes, and a sun-wrinkled jowl make his face look almost cartoonish.
“Yeah, who’s asking?” he replies, a firm scowl now in place.
“Reb, Stan Graves’ jockey. I have a session with Black Caviar. It should be listed in your books.”
I wait for the recognition to hit his face. Stan is known in the professional racing world as well as the underground one. If this guy is keeping a tight ship, he’ll know exactly who he’s dealing with, and maybe I won’t have to go through this shit every time I come down here.
His eyebrows shoot up seeing me completely different now. Glad to know he’s only a jerk for the woman who he deems unimportant.
“Aisle four, stall twelve. You should go over his chart; it’s tacked on the side of the stall. Let me know if there are any changes that need to be made. And give Mr. Graves my best.”
I hold in the smirk and push out of the office. The sun is bright in the sky today, making it a perfect day for a few laps around the oval. If I don’t get thrown off, I'll call this a success.
People are all over, mostly men because why would jockeying be a gender equal sport. There are a few stares, which probably have more to do with me being a woman than my breeches and paddock boots with half chaps. Normally I’d wear my jeans with the boots, but I didn’t want to take a chance on anything withCaviar being an asshole. I’m more flexible in my breeches than jeans.
I find the signs for the aisles quickly enough and walk down to his stall. I swear the air chills a bit when I walk up to the door. After a glance into his darkened lair, I decide to ignore the untamed dragon inside and pick up the clipboard. Going over all the notes to make sure they’re up to Stan’s standards, I try not to let my nerves get the better of me. Stan’s a bitch to please if something isn’t perfect, and I don’t plan to let Black Caviar be the thing that finally takes me out.
A snort sounds to my right, and when I look over a majestic head hovers near my shoulder. I step to the left to put some distance between us in case this fucker gets mouthy.
Black Caviar might be a dick, but he sure is pretty, with a shiny ebony coat and a small star between his eyes. He’s not as tall as Midnight, but he’s just as thick. His chest muscles quiver in anticipation.
“Yeah you psycho, we’re gonna work today. I expect you to be on your best behavior. I got a lot riding on this, and so do you. They’ll put you out in the stud farm so fast, you’ll never be able to get into a gallop again.”
If a horse could roll their eyes, Caviar’s would be in the back of his skull right now. He snorts and disappears into the stall again.Dick.
Sighing, I bend down to get his tack out of the small locker on the side between the two stalls. Thebridle and blankets are in there, along with various brushes and hoof picks, but it looks like I’m going to have to go into the tack room to get his saddle.
I put the clipboard back onto the hook and walk back the way I came. Maybe I can find someone to tell me where it is so I don’t have to go back to speak to Mr. Mayo Stain.
A head of blond hair leans out of a stall two spaces down. A guy around my age smiles wide and waves. Oh great, a happy one.
“Hi! You must be new. I’m Tom, Stately’s groom. How are you?”
I’m a little stunned at first, trying to figure out why this dude is so excited, but then again, I did need someone to show me where the tack room is.
“Reb. And yeah, I’m Black Caviar’s jockey.”
“Whoa, that’s so cool. I mean he’s a beautiful guy, but the fact that you’re female is even more amazing.”
I cock my head to the side, and squint my eyes again. This guy can’t be this happy all the time. It’s a little creepy.
I give him a tight smile. “Thanks. Um…could you tell me where the tack room for the saddles is located? My groom doesn’t get here ’til later on, but I want to get an early start.”
“Oh, sure. Give me a sec to pack my things, and I’ll walk you over.”
Happy and helpful — awesome.
