Read Online Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) by Hannah Hooton - Free Book Online Page B

Must Sees. She bit her lip, resisting the urge to interrupt. No, it was no use.
    ‘I w on today. For Jack Carmichael—you know, my new boss.’
    He gave her a bright smile.
    ‘Well done, honey.’
    Frankie sat on tenterhooks, wanting to relay every stride of the race, but equally she wanted an interested audience and Doug’s focus had already drifted back to the horses parading in the leafy Longchamp paddock.
    ‘I started at Aspen Valley on Monday. There’s over a hundred horses in training there,’ she tried again, disgusted with herself for sounding so obnoxious. ‘I’ve got five really nice types to look after.’
    ‘That’s nice. Are you enjoying it?’
    At last, an unprompted question! Yet contrary to launching into her week’s adventures, a shawl of disappointment wrapped around her. Yes, she’d got what she wanted: her father’s attention, but she felt cheated that shed almost had to force it out of him.
    She shrugged like an insolent teenager.
    ‘Yeah, it’s not bad.’ Then as she thought about her past week—her race on the gallops against Rhys, Ta’ Qali and the Chifney Rhys had given her, the poker game, Dust Storm’s win—the excitement returned. ‘There’s bag loads of quality in the yard. Jack’s a master at training. He knows all the horses inside out—well, almost. He says he’s still trying to figure out Ta’ Qali. He’s one of my horses. He’s a full-brother to Sequella!’
    ‘Mmm. Sequella’s old stablemate Caspian’s going to jump off in the Arc in a few minutes. I’ve got fifty quid on him.’
    ‘Then there’s Dory, or rather Blue Jean Baby. She’s got a screw loose, but boy, can she jump. Then I’ve got Foxtail Lily. She won at Cheltenham a few years back. And Twain…’ Frankie’s voice drifted into the ether. The horses on the television were cantering down to the start and she’d lost Doug again. ‘Is Mum downstairs?’
    ‘Yeah, but Mrs Banks is down there too, having her hair done.’
    ‘Oh, maybe not then.’ Mrs Banks was lovely but a terrible gossip, and Frankie didn’t trust herself to speak in Mrs Banks’ presence. ‘Me and Dust Storm beat Rhys Bradford today.’
    Doug looked up so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash.
    Frankie didn’t care how arrogant Rhys was, at least his name had got Doug’s attention. In fact, the Arc field were being loaded into the starting stalls and Doug was still staring at her. He even looked a little pale on closer inspection.
    ‘You know Rhys Bradford, right, Dad? He also works at Aspen Valley. He’s obviously their first string jockey. He was champion jockey a couple of seasons ago, won the Gold Cup on Virtuoso. Dad, are you okay?’
    ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he replied, abruptly turning back to the television. The race had already started, but Doug didn’t appear to be taking any of it in.
    Frankie wavered.
    ‘Was it something I said?’
    ‘No, no. I thought Rhys Bradford had retired after he smashed up his leg last year, that’s all. But steer clear of him, Frankie. Those Bradfords are bad news.’ He sighed wearily and looked over at the mantelpiece above the stone fireplace. Frankie sagged as realisation dawned on her. It wasn’t her job or Rhys Bradford or the fact his bet in the Arc appeared to be trapped at the back of the field that was upsetting him. She followed his gaze to the photographs on the mantelpiece. She was in some of them, in family shots, and there was one of her smiling gap-toothed and freckled in her third year school portrait. But the majority of the pictures were of a boy, honey-blond like Frankie, and lanky, always grinning at the camera. There winning the 13.2hh and Under pony race at Ascot; there clearing a sparkling red and white show jump on their old pony, Toffee; there standing with the winning owners when he won his first point to point. Throughout the photos, Seth’s boyish good looks matured from skinny seven-year-old to strong twenty-three-year-old. And there the photos