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Book: Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) by Hannah Hooton
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Authors: Hannah Hooton
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toe dug into her opponent’s girth. Aztec Gold refused to give way. With one last effort, he lengthened his stride, pulling a nose clear. But with fifty yards still to go, it wasn’t enough. Evan’s horse pegged them back once more then th eir momentum carried them past.
As they staggered over the finish line, Frankie slumped in her saddle. For a moment, disappointment dragged her south, more so perhaps because she knew Aztec Gold had given everything. But then the reality hit her. She had just completed her first race as Aspen Valley’s jockey and had come fourth! She hadn’t fallen off. She hadn’t made any terrible blunders. And starting fourth in the betting, they hadn’t done any worse than expected. A grin split her face as she pulled up a grateful Aztec Gold. She leaned down, pressing her cheek against the horse’s sweaty neck.
‘Triumph in defeat, my boy. Triumph in defeat.’
*
Two more races down the card, Exeter’s cheering grandstand loomed on Frankie’s left as she urged Dust Storm along the last hundred yards of the run-in. She stood up in her stirrups and punched the air as they galloped past the post, three lengths clear of their nearest rival. She clapped her mount’s chestnut neck and whooped in ecstasy. Even though it was only a nondescript handicap hurdle they had won, those three golden words glowed through her body.
They had won .
She had won. And in no small way was it thanks to Rhys. The foggy snorts of the runner-up neared as she pulled Dust Storm up. She turned to see Romulus, Aspen Valley’s second string bearing down on them. She looked at his rider, an uneasy feeling gathering in her gut.
Rhys pulled down his goggles. Frankie gulped. Apart from looking e xhausted, he looked disgusted—with himself and with her.
Dust Storm changed down to a ragged trot and Rhys and Romulus pulled up alongside. Frankie open ed her mouth to say something—she wasn’t sure what. To thank him? To apologise? But then Rhys granted her a grudging smile that made Frankie sit down in the saddle with a thud.
‘Remind me never to play poker with you again,’ he grinned before swinging Romulus towards the track gateway.
Frankie watched him jog away, her body and brain numb. It might have been the shock that he was being so unnaturally gracious in defeat, especially considering Dust Storm should have been his ride. It might equally have been the joy of winning her first race for Aspen Valley. But as Frankie let her horse trot down the chute back to the paddock, she knew in all honesty, that that rare smile—she wouldn’t have known he had teeth before if it wasn’t for his gum guard—had changed her opinion of Rhys Bradford from this moment onwards.
Chapter 7
When she opened the front door to her parents’ house later that afternoon, she could hear the racing on the lounge television battling for supremacy with the hair dryer in her mother’s home salon. She entered the lounge where her father was concentrating hard on listening to the racing presenters discussing the upcoming race. Distracted, Doug Cooper looked up from his armchair.
‘Hello, Frankie.’ He proffered a whiskery cheek for her to kiss.
She struggled to keep the excitement, which had been bubbling inside her, under wraps. She wanted to appear cool, to wait for him to ask.
‘How’ve you been?’ she asked.
Doug grunted and shrugged.
‘They’re about to jump off in the Arc. You?’
Frankie’s shrug was a carbon copy of her father’s.
‘Pretty good. Bit of a hectic week, I guess. Then of course, racing at Exeter today.’
She sat on the arm of his chair and nonchalantly picked at a scab of mud on her jeans. She stole a discreet glance at Doug, waiting for him to press her for details, but saw he’d returned his attention to the television. Her spirits drooped but she quickly forgave him. The Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe was one of the biggest flat races in Europe and featured high on every racing fan’s list of
As they staggered over the finish line, Frankie slumped in her saddle. For a moment, disappointment dragged her south, more so perhaps because she knew Aztec Gold had given everything. But then the reality hit her. She had just completed her first race as Aspen Valley’s jockey and had come fourth! She hadn’t fallen off. She hadn’t made any terrible blunders. And starting fourth in the betting, they hadn’t done any worse than expected. A grin split her face as she pulled up a grateful Aztec Gold. She leaned down, pressing her cheek against the horse’s sweaty neck.
‘Triumph in defeat, my boy. Triumph in defeat.’
*
Two more races down the card, Exeter’s cheering grandstand loomed on Frankie’s left as she urged Dust Storm along the last hundred yards of the run-in. She stood up in her stirrups and punched the air as they galloped past the post, three lengths clear of their nearest rival. She clapped her mount’s chestnut neck and whooped in ecstasy. Even though it was only a nondescript handicap hurdle they had won, those three golden words glowed through her body.
They had won .
She had won. And in no small way was it thanks to Rhys. The foggy snorts of the runner-up neared as she pulled Dust Storm up. She turned to see Romulus, Aspen Valley’s second string bearing down on them. She looked at his rider, an uneasy feeling gathering in her gut.
Rhys pulled down his goggles. Frankie gulped. Apart from looking e xhausted, he looked disgusted—with himself and with her.
Dust Storm changed down to a ragged trot and Rhys and Romulus pulled up alongside. Frankie open ed her mouth to say something—she wasn’t sure what. To thank him? To apologise? But then Rhys granted her a grudging smile that made Frankie sit down in the saddle with a thud.
‘Remind me never to play poker with you again,’ he grinned before swinging Romulus towards the track gateway.
Frankie watched him jog away, her body and brain numb. It might have been the shock that he was being so unnaturally gracious in defeat, especially considering Dust Storm should have been his ride. It might equally have been the joy of winning her first race for Aspen Valley. But as Frankie let her horse trot down the chute back to the paddock, she knew in all honesty, that that rare smile—she wouldn’t have known he had teeth before if it wasn’t for his gum guard—had changed her opinion of Rhys Bradford from this moment onwards.
Chapter 7
When she opened the front door to her parents’ house later that afternoon, she could hear the racing on the lounge television battling for supremacy with the hair dryer in her mother’s home salon. She entered the lounge where her father was concentrating hard on listening to the racing presenters discussing the upcoming race. Distracted, Doug Cooper looked up from his armchair.
‘Hello, Frankie.’ He proffered a whiskery cheek for her to kiss.
She struggled to keep the excitement, which had been bubbling inside her, under wraps. She wanted to appear cool, to wait for him to ask.
‘How’ve you been?’ she asked.
Doug grunted and shrugged.
‘They’re about to jump off in the Arc. You?’
Frankie’s shrug was a carbon copy of her father’s.
‘Pretty good. Bit of a hectic week, I guess. Then of course, racing at Exeter today.’
She sat on the arm of his chair and nonchalantly picked at a scab of mud on her jeans. She stole a discreet glance at Doug, waiting for him to press her for details, but saw he’d returned his attention to the television. Her spirits drooped but she quickly forgave him. The Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe was one of the biggest flat races in Europe and featured high on every racing fan’s list of
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