Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Hey,” he said as I approached. “Your Shephard Ranch racing silks arrived.”
A mixture of excitement and nerves bubbled up inside me at those words. I’d seen their blue silks on jockeys before and always wondered what it would feel like to be wearing their silks in a race. They were known for their winning thoroughbreds. The only thing I could think of that would be more thrilling would be wearing the Hughes Farm red and black silks. But that was likely to never happen. Although the Shephard Ranch and Hughes Farm were connected. Perhaps maybe one day. I didn’t need to get my hopes up though. Getting to ride for Shephard Ranch was a huge deal, and in November, I’d be riding one of the horses bred from Hughes Farm. I was still in shock.
“I can’t wait to wear them,” I admitted. “Are you going?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m leaving tomorrow with the crew driving north.”
King had told me that the travel for Bloodline would begin this weekend. The trailer they had was more like a stable on wheels. I’d never seen anything that extravagant before. They also didn’t stop overnight. Several drivers would be taking shifts, and they were driving straight through until they reached New York.
“King said I fly up on Wednesday. Bloodline will be rested from the travel by Tuesday, and Christopher is going as his exercise rider. I’m supposed to take him out Thursday and Friday.”
Sebastian nodded. “Yeah, Miller will be there as his trainer. He’ll give you the updates once you arrive. I’m taking him out to Christopher now. You wanna come watch?”
It was why I had come so early. I wanted to be here for Bloodline’s workout and take him around a few times at full speed. Our time had been excellent the last time I took him around, and I wanted to see if we could beat it. If so, then the win was in the bag.
“Yeah,” I replied.
He wasn’t treating me as if I’d done something wrong. I was relieved. This week had worn on my emotions with everyone but King acting as if I were a leper. Well, Thatcher had let me ride Zephyr, and that was more interaction than he’d ever had with me.
Speak of the devil …
Messy hair and in nothing but a pair of gray joggers, Thatcher walked out of the stables with an unlit cigarette between his lips. My stomach did that weird, funny feeling it normally did at the sight of him, but this time, it was closer to a hawk taking flight than butterflies. Lord have mercy. His nipple was pierced. I needed to stop looking at it, but the tiny barbell had me locked in, unable to tear my eyes away.
Had he just gotten out of bed? Did he live in the stables? I’d seen him leave before and heard others say he had gone home, but he always seemed to be waking up here.
“I can’t find my panties,” a female’s voice said.
I jerked my eyes off his chest to see he was lighting his cigarette while watching me ogle him. Great.
“Thatcher,” the voice whined.
My entire body felt flushed from embarrassment at him having seen me gawking at his chest.
“Not my problem,” he said through his teeth while holding the cigarette between them.
The blonde from the restaurant yesterday came up beside him, and I turned around to see Sebastian watching the scene.
His eyes met mine, and he rolled them, then nodded his head toward the track. “Come on.”
Not wanting to witness the woman who had clearly stayed the night with Thatcher paw all over him, I followed Sebastian as he led Bloodline out to where Christopher and Miller were waiting. My throat had gotten tight, and I didn’t want to accept that I was clearly jealous. Me having any emotions toward Thatcher Shephard was pointless and potentially painful. Like right now. My entire mood had plummeted.
So what that he’d paid for my meal yesterday? And he might possibly be leaving my favorite cookies on my front porch, but I had no proof it was him leaving the cookies.
I was his jockey. He’d probably paid for our meal to be nice. That kind of thing. Me making it more than it had been was stupid. Last night, I had spent entirely too much time thinking about Thatcher. I should have been focused on the upcoming race and paying closer attention to the past races I had been watching of horses and jockeys I’d be up against next week.
Fighting the urge to glance back and see if Thatcher was still there or not was hard. I needed to get a grip. There was nothing about me that was that man’s type.
“I heard you got to ride Zephyr yesterday,” Sebastian said as we made our way to the track.