11.
There was a light drizzle in the morning, and Cindy couldn't believe it. It was as if the rain was perfectly timed to the stakes races, and as she sat on Sunday's back all she really wanted to do was forget the pre-race work and curl up on the sofa inside the main office. Instead, she saw Josie riding one of the allowance horses Whitebrook had running that day down the middle of the track, and she urged Sunday into a canter, coming up alongside them.
"Beautiful morning," Josie commented, frowning at the sky. "I heard it's supposed to get worse later today."
"That is not what I wanted to hear," Cindy sighed, despite Sunday's obvious preference to running in the mud. The track was already a little greasy, and Sunday was having no problem at all with the footing, but Cindy never liked running in the mud.
The gray colt let out a playful little kick before skipping ahead of Josie, making Cindy throw her weight back and draw him toward the outside. Sunday slowed to a trot and bounced eagerly, as if knowing what day it was. They hadn't even taken away his hay net at the barn yet and Sunday was acting up as if he had counted down the days to the King's Bishop.
Cindy let the colt back into a canter and finally a light gallop, scowling into the sprinkling rain that splattered against her arms and soaked into her clothes. Josie was silent next to her, letting the gelding underneath her stride out and settle into his gallop, tugging gently on the reins as they moved into the far turn.
As they came into the homestretch, Cindy could see figures standing all along the grandstand and the outside rail, but she didn't take good notice of them. She caught sight of a few large television cameras and finally, when they neared the gap, she found Jack and David watching her from the rail. The two men were standing far from each other, neither taking any notice in the other.
Cindy gave them both a disapproving glance before easing Sunday and coming off the track, riding out a playful buck and rear that the colt seemed to think was necessary. Cindy jumped off of Sunday's back and strode up to Jack, leading the colt along before the groom got to them.
"What's going on?" she asked, staring at Jack and glancing inadvertently at David, who wasn't looking at them or even paying attention from what she could see.
"Nothing," Jack shook his head. "Nice morning work."
"Thanks," Cindy said, feeling the groom's presence at her shoulder. She jumped when he asked her in a mixture of Spanish and English if she'd like to give up the horse to him any time soon. Cindy relinquished the reins with a huff.
"What's going on?" Cindy asked again, nodding behind Jack, who didn't turn around.
"Nothing," he repeated, getting one of Cindy's patented bullshit looks.
"You have to know that I'm not going to buy that anymore," she informed him, watching David push away from the railing and walk back up to the stables after Sunday. Cindy diverted her look back to Jack, who didn't look like he was going to budge.
"Cin, there is nothing to talk about," Jack said, moving them out of the way as several horses walked on and off the track. Cindy sighed as the rain picked up, coming down from the sky in larger drops and slapping against her bare arms. She watched him through the rain, knowing full well that he was going to refuse to tell her anything, which both angered her and frustrated her to no end.
"Jack, that's not fair," she told him straight out this time. So many times she had just shrugged and walked away, chalking it up to another irritating facet of Jack's personality. He didn't talk when he didn't want to, but this time Cindy had more at stake than mere curiosity.
"What?" he asked her, alternating between looking down at her and up at the rain. They were slowly getting soaked, but Cindy didn't seem to take notice.
"You heard me," Cindy said, throwing her arms up with annoyance. "Unlike all the other times you've pulled the whole 'nothing' deal with me, this isn't going to be so easy. I want to know what's going on."
"Why are you so interested?" Jack asked, blinking as a large droplet of rain made contact with his scalp, the cool water running down his forehead to be brushed away casually.
Cindy let out a frustrated sigh. "Jack, come on!" she exclaimed rather loudly, then dropped her voice when she noticed a groom had turned to survey the conversation. "I am riding today. The least you could do is tell me what to expect from the media about Murmullo."
Jack didn't seem to respond to that, so Cindy took a step toward him, getting a raised eyebrow in response.
"I've been working with David all summer," she informed him. "You need to freaking tell me what was said."
At that, Jack seemed to wake up and he also took a step forward, surprising Cindy into jerking her head up higher to look at him.
"Yeah, about that," he said, making her frown deeper. "How's that working out for you?"
"Jack," she said, surprised at his tone. It was her turn to look questioning, but instead of asking him what he meant she just gave him a startled silence.
"I'm not going to get into it," Jack shook his head, pushing his tanned hands through rain soaked dark hair. Water ran down his arms as the rain started to get stronger. Cindy could feel wetness clinging to her eyelashes, but she didn't do anything about it. She was too busy looking like a deer caught in headlights. Automatically she jumped at the notion that Jack and David hadn't talked about Murmullo. They had talked about her.
Jack turned on her and started to walk back to the barn.
"Jack!" Cindy called to him through the rain.
"There's nothing on Murmullo," Jack answered over his shoulder. "I wouldn't let that concern you."
With that, he disappeared into the stable row. Cindy was left standing in the rain, listening to her pounding heart.
Hours later Cindy stood in the paddock for the Fourstardave. Her heart was residing uncomfortably in her throat, and every time she saw Jack move a muscle she felt like she wanted to throw up. Silvan moved easily and fluidly in the rain, his nearly white coat darkened by the water and the clouds, but his relaxed presence had no effect on Cindy. Every particle of her body was attuned to Jack, and what Jack was doing. She couldn't stop herself. It didn't help matters that Lucas was absent - called away by his family - which left only Jack to give her directions.
The rain was steady and slow, the drops slapping against Cindy's helmet as she stood silently. She could see Sarah McCormick further down the row of jockeys and trainers, wearing the colorful green and purple silks of Italian Affair's owners. Italian Affair, a large bay colt, was a grade two winner on turf and looked like the most logical choice for favorite. Cindy watched the colt and jockey for a moment before Sarah turned, glancing back down the row of jockeys to give Cindy a small smile. Cindy smiled tightly back and turned away suddenly when she felt Jack behind her.
"He's easy," Jack said quietly behind her. "You've got gate three, so if you break sharply he should carry you straight to the lead. You have that down and he'll rate himself through the backstretch to have enough to ride along home. Got it?"
Cindy nodded wordlessly. She was used to front running horses, and Silvan seemed composed enough to pull off a wire-to-wire victory. She couldn't feel the raindrops on her anymore because Jack was holding the umbrella just over her head. He was close enough for her to hear him talking softly, but she didn't turn around.
"You're not thinking about the horse, Cin," he said, seeming to understand everything going on. "Just forget about everything else, alright?"
Cindy snorted softly, wondering how he could possibly think it was that easy. She had been speculating for hours, and couldn't even grasp what David had told him.
"We'll talk later," he said, close enough to make her stiffen, her body betraying more than she wanted to admit to him just yet.
"Okay," Cindy said, watching as Silvan stopped in front of her, the groom giving them expectant looks. Jack lifted Cindy into the saddle effortlessly and she found herself on Silvan's back, readying herself to run instinctively. Silvan moved forward eagerly, the other horses in the race tossing their wet heads and swishing drops of water from their tails.
They entered the track with the other seven horses, the third in the post parade to the gate. The race was a mile and a sixteenth on soft turf that was just firm enough to be acceptable for racing. Silvan was steady under her, and the other horses danced up and down as they warmed up.
Cindy didn't care at the moment. The horses, Silvan, the race ahead of her did not matter. She was only about six minutes away from looking at Jack again, and she couldn't really stand it.
"Look alive, Cindy," Sarah called as she trotted by on Italian Affair, the bay colt high stepping on the grass and prancing quickly.
"I'm alive as I can be," Cindy said, slowing Silvan at the gate. "Considering."
"Pretty disgusting weather," Sarah agreed, not really realizing what Cindy could be referring to. "Good thing this baby likes this turf."
Cindy nodded as Italian Affair went into the gate, following closely on Silvan. She busied herself as she always did, pulling down her goggles and readying the colt to run. Silvan looked out the gate curiously, picking his dark ears. Cindy vaguely remembered that this was a Heavenly Choir colt, a sibling of Joy, but the realization quickly dimmed once they were out of the gate.
Silvan shot forward like a bullet, pushing and thrusting out of the group of colts and older horses. Cindy barely encouraged him, feeling him settle into his own pace once they had established the early lead. She could feel her heart pounding in time with the colt's strides. The rain continued its lazy fall over the track as they cut through the water, kicking up mud and grass. Cindy didn't feel any of that. Silvan was in front to stay.
They crossed the finish line an easy two lengths ahead, and they stood in the winner's circle for less time than usual because of the rain. Cindy didn't take two glances at Jack before she had tugged the saddle from Silvan's back and left with a flourish of raindrops.
The rest of the day went much the same. Cindy watched herself come in fourth on Fifty Shy in the Travers, the Baffert colt obviously exhausted and nowhere near willing to put in his all. Linebacker had stolen the show, inching away from Fresh Tactics in the final yards of the race. Cindy had never been close.
Standing in the paddock for her last race of the day she noticed that it had stopped raining. The track at Saratoga was shimmering and washed anew by the water, but Cindy hardly felt any of the invigorating freshness. Through most of the day she had accumulated an impressive amount of grime, and with the mud and the smell of horses she felt as though she had had her fill. Her face and hands were as clean as she could make them, but overall she was dirty and she was tired, not to mention nervous as hell.
Casually she twirled the long racing crop in her fingers, feeling the burned lettering on the handle. The leather was still wet from the recently ended rain, and her fingers slipped over it as she dropped the small piece of equipment on the ground.
Before she could pick it up, another hand reached into her way and did it for her, lifting it up with a slight shake to rid it of any additional dirt it might have come in contact with. Cindy hesitated just slightly, staring at David with a slow calm as he handed the crop back to her.
She took it wordlessly and turned away, watching Sunday Punch make his circuits around the paddock. He was spotted in the brief moments of light; his dappled coat flashing and dulling as the clouds raced overhead, scattered by the wind.
Cindy felt a loose hair work its way out from under her helmet and she pushed it back. She could see Jack approaching on the left, and out of the corner of her eye she could see David standing unyieldingly to her right. Instead of talk to either of them, Cindy simply fidgeted with her crop, clenched and unclenched her jaw, and breathed a sigh of relief when Sunday stopped in front of her so she could vault onto his back.
They left the paddock without so much as a look back. The other seven horses were filed into the post parade and Cindy settled Sunday with them, the rise and gentle fall of the colt's hooves against the track becoming the only thing she could hear. They warmed up into the turn, and loaded into the water-streaked starting gate, twitching excitedly with the explosive attitudes of sprinters.
Sunday Punch squealed in the gate and banged twice before the doors opened. Cindy didn't hear the bell, but rose with the colt as he launched himself forward and out, sprinting down the backstretch.
It seemed like a fractured stretch of seconds to Cindy, and all at once she was reduced to a passenger. Sunday had catapulted to the lead and was speeding toward the turn, setting fractions with quick and efficient strides. The rest of the field chased after him, clumping into a group as though safety in numbers really applied in racing.
Cindy sat quietly on the gray's back, smiling at the relative ease of the race and thinking about how nice it was to not get hit in the face with mud. Sunday was coming down to the wire on a hand ride, and Cindy was not yet concerned that he had begun to slow on the lead. Then she suddenly realized they were an eighth of a mile away from the finish line and she could hear the sound of another horse closing quickly on the outside.
She never had time to react before Streamline was bounding by her, the colt's green and gold colors of Townsend Acres slipping quickly by. Cindy suddenly threw her body into the race and brought her crop down on Sunday's flank, but her effort was too late. Sunday launched into the race, reacting sharply to the whip as Streamline took a length lead, followed by two more -- Brokenhearted and Only Man. The two shoved past and around Cindy, sliding in front at the wire. Sunday Punch was a stunned fourth, his race ruined as Cindy stood shakily in the stirrups and wondered what had happened.
This wasn't what a first class jockey did, and she sat meekly in the saddle when she realized it. Sunday was in route to win, and she had sat there frozen.
The gray colt had slowed down on his own, and Cindy shook herself back to life. She could see the colt's groom waiting for them and she slowed Sunday at the grandstand, ignoring the angry bettors and the belligerent shouts of those who had had too much to drink and lost. Her booted feet landed on the muddy track and she ripped the saddle from the colt's back, turned on her heel, and strode purposely away, letting the angry yells roll off her back like the rain.
Cindy never wore a watch, so as she sat in the large, beautiful lobby of the hotel she had no clue what time it was. There was a glass of gin and tonic in front of her, and she quietly twirled it around on the glass table. She didn't look up; making condensation rings on the glass seemed more interesting.
Jack was sitting across from her, looking around the lobby at nothing in particular. They had not talked about what they had come to the lobby to talk about, although at this point Cindy was confused about what they were even going to discuss. There was her horrible performance in the King's Bishop, and there was the second, more ominous topic that she preferred to leave alone. Either way, silence seemed to be dominating the conversation.
Cindy looked down at herself, brushing her hands over the hem of her red tank top and down her expensive blue jeans. She scratched an irritable itch on her bare ankle and wished her sandals weren't hurting her feet. She had almost erased why she was sitting there before she looked up and caught Jack looking at her.
The blush that hit her cheeks was instantaneous, and she glanced away quickly. When he didn't say anything, and didn't stop looking at her, she cleared her throat and took a sip of the drink.
"You know," she said, starting off a little awkwardly. "We could yell about the King's Bishop instead of not saying anything."
"Would you prefer yelling?" he asked, and she shrugged.
"Almost," she told him flatly, taking another sip.
"I'm not going to yell," he said, running a hand through his hair and then leaning forward. "I'm just wondering what the hell happened."
"It was my fault," Cindy began, and stopped when she saw that smirk he commonly gave her.
"I know that, Cin," he said, and she groaned.
"Okay! But I just couldn't get settled and everything happened at once and I was just not prepared for this day to turn into what it did," Cindy said, pinning him now with her eyes.
"Oh, so now it's suddenly my fault that you couldn't concentrate on the race," he said, giving her a short laugh. "Now I've heard everything."
"Jack, that's not fair. You can hold all of this crap over my head that I'm not even in control of and hint away that you're pissed at me and what the hell did you expect?"
"A good ride from a top jockey," he told her without hesitation, and Cindy sat back in her seat with a slam.
"Oh, it's just that easy," she said sarcastically.
"Yeah, it's just that easy," he repeated, nodding.
"Can we just discuss what I came here to discuss?" Cindy asked. "Because this isn't helping."
"Fine," he said, getting up and leaving the drink. He looked at Cindy, who stared back up at him from her seat. "Let's go."
Cindy stood in the elevator, her back pressed against the wall and her eyes glued to the flashing numbers above the door. Jack stood next to her, staring at the floor instead of the numbers, and she could hear him shifting his weight and breathing quietly.
Since the King's Bishop had been listed as official, Cindy had been in a state of panic. After she had cleaned up in the showers after the race he had met her outside the jockey's room and asked her to meet him at his hotel to talk about everything. Now that she was en route to the talk, Cindy was feeling ridiculous and nervous, but mostly self-conscious. She quietly tugged her blond hair behind her ear and looked over at Jack as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open.
"Number 634," he said, and she nodded mutely, following him down the hallway.
She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped into the suite after he opened the door, trying to ignore her hammering heart and look composed at the same time. She walked into the room, surveyed the couch and the second room beyond where she could see the foot of a bed and a couple of suitcases sitting on the floor, before sitting down in one of the arm chairs and looked at him expectantly.
"So?" she asked when he seemed to hesitate. She was tired of waiting and dragging it out. If he had something to say she wanted to hear it.
"You want a drink?" he asked, and she forced herself to not scream.
"Yes," she said instead, taking the small glass he handed her and swallowing a gulp of the stiff liquid inside. She made a small face and put the glass down on the table, watching him carefully.
"I really don't know where to start," Jack said, collapsing on the sofa across from her. Cindy leaned forward, taking the glass and looking into it. She took another drink.
"What do you want to know?" Cindy asked, deciding to take a plunge. It was about time something was made clear, and if now was the time, Cindy thought, so be it.
"I want to know the truth about you and David," he said, and Cindy let herself smile wryly.
"Why? Did you hear some fantastic rumor?" Cindy asked sarcastically, not understanding why she suddenly had decided to test him.
"Yeah," he said. "From the horse's mouth, so to speak."
Cindy couldn't help but laugh.
"And what did he have to say? I'll bet it was just astonishing."
"Are you just trying to make this bad?" he asked her instead.
"No," Cindy said, taking another drink. "You were the one who wanted to talk about it."
"Well, we're talking about it."
Cindy nodded and got up, walking over to the couch and sitting down next to him. He looked at her questioningly and she gave him a little smile. He was still wearing his clothes from the race, and the dress shirt looked like it had had enough. It was wrinkled, half unbuttoned to the T-shirt underneath, and the sleeves rolled to his elbows, but Cindy liked that about Jack. He had a way that made looking rumpled extremely eye catching. All of a sudden she could feel her crush on him come rushing to the surface, and she had to glance away as she began to talk.
"He kissed me," she said, locking her eyes on the table in front of her and keeping them focused on that instead of Jack. "I didn't want him to, but he did it anyway. And that's pretty much the beginning and the end of the story."
"Yeah?" he asked, as though he didn't quite believe it.
"Well, yeah," Cindy said, suddenly looking back at him. "Why? What did he say?"
"Not that," Jack told her, and she sighed.
"Little son of a bitch," she muttered, rubbing her eyes and leaning back on the sofa after she grabbed her drink and downed the rest of it.
"Look, Cin," he said. "It's not my place to police you."
"You don't," she told him simply as she got up and went to the small fridge, rummaging through it. Suddenly she felt like drinking, as if clouding her brain enough would make her forget the lies David told.
"Well, I feel like an older brother here," he said.
Cindy snorted, inspecting the vodka label on the small, plastic bottle she held in front of her. "You're hardly an older brother to me."
"Which brings me to my other point," Jack said, and Cindy shook her head, closed the door to the fridge, and carried a few small liquor bottles back to the sofa with her.
"Which is?" Cindy asked him, ripping the seal on the vodka bottle and taking a quick swallow. Jack waited for her to stop wincing before he took the bottle away from her and put the lid back on.
"Just keep up with me for a few more seconds and then you can drink yourself sick, okay?"
She paused and nodded at his blue eyes.
"Okay," he said. "He said he couldn't compete with me. Want to tell me what that means?"
Cindy looked longingly at the bottle he held in his hand before looking up to meet his eyes, swallowing deliberately. This wasn't how she wanted things to go, and she quietly cursed herself for being so careless with David. Now Jack knew everything; even the small secrets she hadn't allowed herself to say out loud more than once. So she decided to play it off.
"Right," she said, waving her hand in the air as though she was drunker than she really was. "He thinks I'm madly in love with you, or something like that. Because I didn't want him, I guess. And since you don't give me a chance to reject you because you don't kiss me out of the blue, that means I love you? I don't know, Jack. I'm pretty confused."
"I can see that," he said, giving her a wary look as she smiled and reached for the small bottle again, prying his fingers off of it and taking it back.
"Everything good now?" Cindy asked, acting a little more peppy than she had intended. In truth, she thought she was going to die from the anxiety of being found out.
"Good enough," Jack said, picking up a bottle from the table and tapping it against hers. "Cheers."
Cindy grinned at him, lifting the small bottle in salute. "Cheers."