Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) Read Online Free PDF

his friend, Clint retraced his steps. He looked
everywhere but could not locate the woman from Chicago. Giving up, he figured
she’d gone back to her motel. Wyoming racing probably didn’t measure up to her
standards.
     
    - o -
     
    Cassie jammed the
gears in her truck in her effort to get out of the Downs parking lot before
anyone else could notice her. What the hell did she care if he had women draped
all over him? Mr. Know-It-All probably had drooling women lined up like so many
widgets.
    What a spectacle
she’d made of herself! She was supposed to be a sophisticated Chicago social
worker. Whenever she was around Clint Travers, which was far too often, she
felt like a klutz. Somehow he did it to her on purpose.
    Well, she certainly
hadn’t come to Wyoming to get involved with a man. And never would she find
such an arrogant philanderer attractive or appealing.
    Pulling
to a stop in front of her motel, Cassie rested her head against the seat. “Who
am I kidding?” she grumbled. “Travers is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever come
across. He exudes sexuality.”
    What
would it feel like to run her fingers through his shaggy black hair? Would his
touch be rough or gentle? Why did she act like some half-baked adolescent whenever
she got near him? She wanted to go home. Damn Dad and his dreams.
    Cassie dozed off in
her truck dreaming of a dark haired cowboy coming to the aid of his fair
skinned cowgirl. With one arm, he hoisted her up to ride in front of him. Together
they rode off toward the setting sun.

 
    It was race day. It
might as well have been Judgment Day.
    In the post parade,
Hope was up on her toes, full of vigor, certainly more eager to run than in her
previous races. Checking the odds board, Cassie grudgingly acknowledged that
Travers had been right. Her filly had been bet down to even money. She didn’t
bother going to the betting windows. No horse, not even her own, deserved such
short odds. Too many things could go wrong in horse racing: stumbling out of
the gate, a bad step, blocked by other horses and so on. No, even odds were not
justified.
    Sitting alone in
the grandstand area designated for owners and trainers, Cassie worked at
calming her gnawing stomach. A couple acquaintances wished her horse a safe
trip. Most folks ignored her for the interloper she was.
    The California
horse looked good, but didn’t appear nearly as classy as Hope. And its breeding
was second or third rank. But that horse had proven it could win—more than she
could say for Hope, or for herself.
    She took a deep
breath trying to steady her nerves. She glanced down at her twisted program. When
working with a troubled kid, she was long on patience.
    Waiting for a horse
race was quite different. Everything was in the hands of the jockey now. She’d
given him instructions in the paddock and then hurried to her seat.
    She saw a familiar
brown Stetson near the rail. From that vantage point, Clint Travers was
watching the horses load into the gate. Cassie scowled. Maybe she displayed
even less patience with that man.
    “They’re all in,”
the track announcer said. Then the clang of the gate opening penetrated the
stillness. Cassie watched her filly break cleanly and move immediately to the
front. The California horse broke well but couldn’t keep up with the pace Hope
set.
    It seemed too easy.
The horse who had struggled to compete at Arlington led by six lengths on the
back turn. She crossed the finish line ten lengths ahead of the second place
horse.
    “My god, is she
that good?” Cassie mumbled, hurrying down the stairs toward the track. With a
beaming smile, she attached the lead rope to Hope’s bridle and led the
victorious filly into the winner’s circle. She was handed a small trophy and a
red and white blanket was placed across Hope’s withers. She felt the eyes of
the crowd: the pleasure of bettors who made the right choice, the awe of some
horse people, and the resentment of others.
     
    - o -
     
    Clint