already scrubbed and filled his outdoor tub.
She buckled the halter and led him to his paddock.
Rambo’s pen was bare, stripped of grass, the dirt packed from countless hoofs. However, it was close to the jock barn so she lingered by the rail, keeping a watchful eye on the building.
Movement flashed in the aisle. A bucket rattled and a stall door slammed.
Obviously not all the jockeys were attending the new class, despite what Tami had said. Disappointed, Megan sagged against the rail. Rambo flattened his ears as though annoyed by her presence. Seemed she couldn’t even befriend a horse.
Green grass grew eight inches from the bottom rail, well out of his reach. She plucked a handful, tossing it over the fence as a peace offering. He blinked in surprise then stepped forward and gobbled it up.
Shading her eyes against the rising sun, she checked the time. Almost eight and the jock barn still wasn’t empty. However, Rambo no longer pinned his ears. In fact he looked rather hopeful. She picked more grass, enjoying his attention.
Finally a dark-haired student swaggered from the aisle, leaving the jock barn silent. She tossed one last handful of grass to Rambo, squared her shoulders and strode toward the empty barn.
The aisle was wide and cool. She paused a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the interior light. The horses contentedly munched hay, clearly accustomed to their morning routine: breakfast at six, another flake of hay at eight, groomed and saddled by ten fifteen, then on the track for an hour. Most of the exercise riders had advanced to riding with the jockeys, but she still didn’t know any of the students in this barn.
Her mouth tightened in frustration. Joey would have chuckled if he’d known she’d been assigned to the lowest riding group. Heck, she’d taught him to ride, hauled him to his first show, even coached him to a second in the State barrel racing. But he wasn’t here to laugh at the irony. Her stomach clenched with despair, the same gut-wrenching ache she’d experienced when her father had left.
What the hell happened to you, bro ?
She edged down the aisle and climbed the steps to the jock dorms. Pushed open the door and scanned the upstairs corridor. It was wide and well lit, with a similar layout to her dorm. However, she passed a large kitchen near the steps, complete with a fridge and coffee maker. There was no kitchen in her residence. If grooms or exercise riders missed meals, they were out of luck.
No wonder the jocks strutted as though superior. They were.
She stopped outside room thirteen and knocked softly, praying no one would poke their head out from an adjoining room. Silence. The room was probably empty. Holding her breath, she tried the knob.
Unlocked. Her breath escaped in a relieved woosh. She pushed the door open and slipped inside.
Joey’s room.
She stood unmoving, trying to feel his presence. But no matter how hard she tried, it looked and felt deserted. The bed had been stripped. The tiled floor gleamed. It was hard to imagine he’d ever slept here.
She crossed the room and pulled open the desk drawers. Empty but not wiped. The wood was stained, and several cracker crumbs were visible along with two paper clips. Good. The cleaning staff had rushed this job. Maybe she’d find something.
Dropping to her knees, she peered under the bed. The ridged end of a magazine, dusty and dog-eared, was shoved between the corner bed leg and the wall. She pulled it out, staring in triumph. Racing in California , last month’s edition. Strung-out druggies didn’t buy horse magazines. The last time Joey was using, he’d lost interest in everything.
She flipped through the pages, scanning the articles, eager to find any type of connection. He had read this, and now she would too. Every page.
She shoved the magazine in her back pocket and renewed her search. The police had been here but it was doubtful they’d looked very hard. After interviewing Ramon and Garrett, the
She buckled the halter and led him to his paddock.
Rambo’s pen was bare, stripped of grass, the dirt packed from countless hoofs. However, it was close to the jock barn so she lingered by the rail, keeping a watchful eye on the building.
Movement flashed in the aisle. A bucket rattled and a stall door slammed.
Obviously not all the jockeys were attending the new class, despite what Tami had said. Disappointed, Megan sagged against the rail. Rambo flattened his ears as though annoyed by her presence. Seemed she couldn’t even befriend a horse.
Green grass grew eight inches from the bottom rail, well out of his reach. She plucked a handful, tossing it over the fence as a peace offering. He blinked in surprise then stepped forward and gobbled it up.
Shading her eyes against the rising sun, she checked the time. Almost eight and the jock barn still wasn’t empty. However, Rambo no longer pinned his ears. In fact he looked rather hopeful. She picked more grass, enjoying his attention.
Finally a dark-haired student swaggered from the aisle, leaving the jock barn silent. She tossed one last handful of grass to Rambo, squared her shoulders and strode toward the empty barn.
The aisle was wide and cool. She paused a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the interior light. The horses contentedly munched hay, clearly accustomed to their morning routine: breakfast at six, another flake of hay at eight, groomed and saddled by ten fifteen, then on the track for an hour. Most of the exercise riders had advanced to riding with the jockeys, but she still didn’t know any of the students in this barn.
Her mouth tightened in frustration. Joey would have chuckled if he’d known she’d been assigned to the lowest riding group. Heck, she’d taught him to ride, hauled him to his first show, even coached him to a second in the State barrel racing. But he wasn’t here to laugh at the irony. Her stomach clenched with despair, the same gut-wrenching ache she’d experienced when her father had left.
What the hell happened to you, bro ?
She edged down the aisle and climbed the steps to the jock dorms. Pushed open the door and scanned the upstairs corridor. It was wide and well lit, with a similar layout to her dorm. However, she passed a large kitchen near the steps, complete with a fridge and coffee maker. There was no kitchen in her residence. If grooms or exercise riders missed meals, they were out of luck.
No wonder the jocks strutted as though superior. They were.
She stopped outside room thirteen and knocked softly, praying no one would poke their head out from an adjoining room. Silence. The room was probably empty. Holding her breath, she tried the knob.
Unlocked. Her breath escaped in a relieved woosh. She pushed the door open and slipped inside.
Joey’s room.
She stood unmoving, trying to feel his presence. But no matter how hard she tried, it looked and felt deserted. The bed had been stripped. The tiled floor gleamed. It was hard to imagine he’d ever slept here.
She crossed the room and pulled open the desk drawers. Empty but not wiped. The wood was stained, and several cracker crumbs were visible along with two paper clips. Good. The cleaning staff had rushed this job. Maybe she’d find something.
Dropping to her knees, she peered under the bed. The ridged end of a magazine, dusty and dog-eared, was shoved between the corner bed leg and the wall. She pulled it out, staring in triumph. Racing in California , last month’s edition. Strung-out druggies didn’t buy horse magazines. The last time Joey was using, he’d lost interest in everything.
She flipped through the pages, scanning the articles, eager to find any type of connection. He had read this, and now she would too. Every page.
She shoved the magazine in her back pocket and renewed her search. The police had been here but it was doubtful they’d looked very hard. After interviewing Ramon and Garrett, the
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