Winner Takes All - Anna Harrington Page 0,28

passed, she felt like a silly goose dressed in muslin with kid gloves and a parasol raised over her bonneted head. She was dressed for a Mayfair outing, just like all the wives and daughters, when she should have been dressed as a jockey in the race. If only she could have seen the looks on their faces when they realized that a woman was riding to victory in the Derby!

But that dream wasn’t to be. Instead, she’d settle for seeing their surprised looks when Midnight won, proving her to be a breeder capable of holding her own against any man on any track in England.

As she approached Midnight, the colt nickered in recognition and stepped forward to greet her. She removed her glove and ran her hand over his velvet-soft muzzle and across the broad stretch of forehead between his large eyes. He closed them gently beneath her touch, for a moment oblivious to the noise and activity around them.

If only she could relax like that. Perhaps the butterflies churching in her belly would settle down and she could—

“He’s ready to race and win,” a deep voice said behind her. The familiar timbre twirled its way down her spine and conjured up all kinds of wicked memories from last night.

“Jack.” Her cheeks heated, but she didn’t dare glance over her shoulder at him for fear that everyone who glanced their way would see her feelings for him exposed on her face. She gestured at his gray who stood only a few yards from Midnight; the colt laid back his ears in irritation as Paddy fussed with his saddle. “Of course, Ghost is capable of winning, as well.”

He leaned as close to her as he dared and lowered his voice to a private murmur. “But not as capable as yours?”

She prayed not, because Midnight absolutely had to finish first. But how would he react if she told him that? Instead, she offered, “May the best horse win.”

Not acknowledging that dodge, he stepped past her to check Midnight’s saddle and the mandatory weights placed there by the race officials. The horses would be going to the starting post soon, and all had to be ready to race.

“Time to give any last instructions to your jockey,” Shaw told her as he gestured at Sam, the small man dressed hat to boots in all black except for a white diamond on the right side of his chest. Midnight black. The color she’d picked for the silks so that anyone who saw her horse race would never forget who’d won the Derby.

She nodded and fixed Sam with a determined look. “My last instructions…win.”

The jockey grinned and tugged at the brim of his cap. “Aye, miss.” Then he went to the colt’s side. The horse immediately came alert, the firm muscles quivering beneath his gleaming ebony hide in anticipation.

Instead of waiting for Paddy to come over and assist, Shaw held down his cupped hands for Sam, who stepped into them and landed on the saddle with a small bounce. Then Shaw held onto the bridle until the jockey settled into his seat and stirrups, the reins firmly in his gloved hands, and his crop tucked beneath his left arm. As soon as he felt the weight of the jockey on his back, Midnight danced in eagerness to run, but Sam expertly stilled him with a firm hold of the reins and a reassuring pat to his neck.

From the top of the grandstand, a trumpet blared out the call to the post, and a cheer went up from the crowd.

Shaw took her arm and gently drew her back to safely keep her out of the way of the colt and the other horses in the paddock around them, who were now as eager to race as Midnight. Her arm tingled at his touch, and he released her far sooner than she would have liked.

“Time to settle in for the race.” Not looking at her, he squinted instead toward the track. “I’m down at the rail with the other trainers. Enjoy your seat in the owner’s box.” He nodded toward the grandstand, then added quietly, “We’ll talk when it’s over.”

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly as bright anticipation sparked in her belly. To keep from reaching for him, she stepped away and placed her hand back on Uncle Jonas’s arm. “We will.”

As she walked away, she couldn’t resist casting one more look over her shoulder at Shaw, who had approached Ghost to give his jockey Benny his own last