Page 2 of The Front Runner
Every ounce of humor drains from my body as I stare back down at this woman, who is accusing me of something I wouldneverdo. Patrick Cassel is the jockey I’ve hired to ride my horses. Do I like the guy? Not particularly. But he wins, and I like to win.
“I wouldneverdo that. Not in a million ye—”
She cuts me off. “He intentionally took Violet down on that track. Purposely injured another comp—”
My spine stiffens as I fist my hands in my pockets and interrupt her right back. “That is still under review.”
“Shouldn’t be. I overheard him confirm it when he cornered her, terrified her, and told her he wouldn’t do it again so long as she slept with him.”
My throat feels tight as I blink stupidly at the veterinarian, trying to wrap my head around what she’s just told me. Trying to keep the rage surging up inside of me at bay. I can’t let how distraught this makes me show.
“Is she okay?” is the first thing I think of, and I blurt it straight out. The thought of him doing something like what Mira just described makes me feel borderline murderous.
She blinks a few times, assessing me. “Yes. She’s small but mighty.”
My breath rushes out in a whoosh. Mira has no reason to lie to me about this. She’s been nothing short of professional, even though her friends and employers have labeled me as the Big Bad Wolf.
But apparently, she’s not done knocking me on my heels for today. “I also have my suspicions about what he’s doing to the horses he works with.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I saw him inject one with something before a race last weekend.”
“One of mine?”
“No. But it doesn’t matter whose it was. He was acting off, looking around like he didn’t want anyone to see. It just didn’t seem right. Between you and me, you need to be careful. Both of these things could come back on you and your business.”
“I… had no idea.”And Patrick Cassel is a dead man walking.
She shakes her head, and her chest heaves under the weight of a tired sigh. “The worst part is I actually believe you. I don’t think you’re the devil everyone makes you out to be, Stefan. Here’s your chance to prove it. Find a new jockey, and I’ll continue working for you.”
I almost laugh. She looks so serious, so deadly serious. “Isn’tthatblackmail, Dr. Thorne?”
The smiles she hits me with now is pretty much a snarl. She reaches out and pats me on the chest, right over the front pocket of my suit jacket. It’s almost condescending.
“No, Mr. Dalca. It’s aperfectly fair offer.”
I bark out a laugh as she spins on her heel and walks away. She just spat my words right back at me with a pretty smile. She knows she’s got me by the balls, and she’s absolutely delighted about it. On top of that, she’s walking away with the last word.
I hate not getting the last word.
“Let me take you on a date, and we’ll call it a deal. I’ll fire Patrick,” I call out—only half joking.
It’s her turn to laugh now. It filters back toward me, melodic and amused.
“No chance, Stefan. You’d fall in love with me, and then I definitely couldn’t be your vet.”
And with one sly wink over her shoulder, she’s gone. Back around the tractor, melting into the race day crowds at Bell Point Park, thinking I’ll fall for her whole smart-mouthed, confident persona.
Challenge accepted.
* * *
Five Months Ago…
Second place. Again.
The whir of the track immediately following a major derby rages behind me as I stand at the fence line watching the horses cool down after a hard-fought race. I’m disappointed. I hate losing, and I’m not above admitting I especially hate losing to Gold Rush Ranch and all their happy, sunshiny positivity and family-like vibe. I swear I can hear them cheering above the buzz.
