Best Kept Secrets(57)

of his coat. When he turned his head, she noticed that the

angles of his profile were sharp and clear. There were no

indecisive shapes, no subtle contours. When he breathed, a

vapor formed around the lips that had kissed her damp hair

after he'd told her about Celina's body.

"Let 'em go," he shouted to the practice riders. His voice

was as masculine as all his features. Whether he was shouting

orders or making innuendos, it never failed to elicit a response

low in her body.

As the horses came around--four, in all--then-hooves pounded and raised clumps of turf that a track conditioner

had loosened earlier that morning. Flaring nostrils sent up

billows of steam.

When the riders slowed them to a walk, they were directed

back toward the stables. Reede called out to one. "Ginger,

how's he doing?"

"I've been holding him back. He's bouncy."

"Give him his head. He wants to run. Walk him around

once, then let him go again."



"Okay."

The diminutive rider, who Alex hadn't initially realized

was a young woman, tipped the bill of her cap with her quirt

and nudged her splendid mount back onto the track.

"What's his name?"

Reede's head came around. He speared Alex with eyes

shaded against the sun only by the brim of his hat and a

natural squint that had left him with appealing crow's-feet at

the outer corners of his eyes. "She's a girl."

"The horse?"

"Oh. The horse's name is Double Time."

Alex moved up beside him at the rail and rested her forearms

on it. "Is he yours?"

"Yes."

"A winner?"

"He keeps me in pocket change."

Alex watched the rider crouched over the saddle. "She

seems to know just what to do," she remarked. "That's a

lot of horse for such a tiny person to handle."

"Ginger's one of the Mintons' best gallop boys--that's

what they're called." He returned his attention to the horse

and rider as they came around the track at a full-out gallop.

"Atta boy, atta boy," he whispered. "Comin' through like

a pro." He whooped when Double Time streaked past them,

a blur of well-coordinated muscle, agility, and immense

strength.

"Good work," Reede told the rider when she brought the

horse around.

"Better?"

"Several seconds better."

Reede had more encouraging words for the horse. He patted

him affectionately and spoke in a language the animal seemed

to understand. The stallion pranced off friskily, tail fanning,

knowing that a rewarding breakfast was awaiting him in the

stable for having performed so well for his owner.

"You seem to have a real rapport with him," Alex observed.

"I was there the day his sire covered the mare. I was there



when he was foaled. They thought he was a dummy, and

'wanted to put him down."

"A what?"

"A dummy's a foal that was deprived of oxygen during

the birthing." He shook his head as he watched the horse

enter the stable. "I didn't think so. I was right. His lineage

indicated he had every chance to be good, and he has been.

Never a disappointment. Always runs his heart out, even

when he's outclassed."

"You've got good reason to be proud of him."

"I guess."

Alex wasn't fooled by his pretended indifference. "Do

they always run the horses full out like that?"

"No, they're breezing them today, seeing how they run

against each other. Four days a week, they're galloped once

or twice around the track. Comparable to a jog. Two days

after breezing them, they're just walked."

He turned and headed toward a saddled horse that was tied

to a fence post. "Where are you going?"

"Home." He mounted with the loose-limbed grace of a

range cowboy.

"I need to talk to you," Alex cried in consternation.

He bent down and extended his hand. "Get on." From

beneath the brim of his hat, green eyes challenged her.

She pushed her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose

and approached the horse with an outward show of confidence

she didn't actually feel.

Clasping Reede's hand was the tough part. He hauled her

up with very little effort, though it was left to her to get

situated between his buttocks and the sloping back of the

saddle.

That was disconcerting enough, but when he kneed the

horse forward, Alex was thrown against his broad back. Out

of necessity, her arms encircled his waist. She was careful

to keep her hands well above his belt. Her mind wasn't as

easy to control. It kept straying to his damned, well-worn

fly.