Adelaide, the Enchantress Page 3

  She spoke briefly to the trainer and owner, managing to avoid the few photographers snapping pictures. She knew it was a forlorn hope that news of her consistent wins wouldn’t reach Killaroo, but she was nonetheless determined to avoid publicity as much as possible.

  Just four more weeks…

  She returned to the changing room, exchanging the blue and yellow silks for the gold and red colors of her second mount. Storm helped her to change in silence after brief congratulations on the win, and after her offer of finding a snack for Addie was calmly refused.

  Then to the saddling paddock again with her lighter saddle and no lead in the pockets; this horse was one with no wins in his short career, and so the handicappers had assigned him no extra weight. She listened to the trainer tell her to do her best, his tone depressed, then mounted up and headed out onto the track.

  Addie knew well that she had no business in carrying on two very strenuous careers at the same time. It took a surprising amount of physical stamina to ride a racehorse, and she knew she was asking for trouble in not saving her strength for racing.

  The worst days were those on which she rode in every race, and during the past few weeks she had grimly learned just what complete physical exhaustion felt like. But she knew her own limitations, knew that whatever it took she would find in herself. Somehow.

  The horse she rode in this race, improbably named Catch Me If You Can, was a notorious lagger, unwilling to push himself even to stay with the field. Addie concentrated even before the start, trying to connect with the young stallion’s mind and literally give him the will to win.

  Without really thinking about it, she knew that horses were telepathic, knew that many caught the will to win from the small riders on their backs. She could feel the resistance in this young horse’s mind, his lazy disinclination to run.

  Unfortunately for Catch Me If You Can, Addie had more than enough will for both of them. She’d never ridden him before, but that didn’t matter. From the instant the horses leaped to the start, she was pushing him fiercely, her mind commanding him, her entire body working to urge him to run.

  He was dead last at the start, a bit awkward and uncertain because he wasn’t being allowed to run as he usually did. But he couldn’t ignore this rider, this small being on his back. Within ten strides he was running fully for the first time in his life, ears flat to his head, neck stretched, long legs working more smoothly. He moved up through the field, passing the other horses slowly but steadily. And when they flashed across the finish line, the lazy stallion had a nose out in front.

  Addie felt her own strength drain in a sudden rush as she slowed the horse. She felt the tremor of muscles pushed too far and breath that was a harsh rasp in her throat. But she was pleased with the win, and happy for a young horse who was, with some surprise, conscious of applause for the first time; he’d run better next time out, she knew, because of it.

  Another of the horses cantered past Addie as she headed for the winner’s enclosure, and the jockey waved his whip at her in a mock threat. He also called out a somewhat unflattering remark on her parentage in a cheerful voice.

  Addie grinned at him and shrugged, knowing he had been the favorite, but also aware that the other jockeys regarded her with respect for her skill. And no one could win all the time.

  She went through the routine of unsaddling, weighing out, and speaking to a delighted owner and a somewhat stunned trainer. She was heartily begged to ride the horse in the future, and accepted a ride two weeks away without further committing herself.

  Tiredly, she headed back for the changing room. She showered and changed into jeans and a light blouse, absently promised Storm she’d eat something, then left the valet to deal with the equipment and clothing.

  Shane was outside, waiting for her.

  “I won some money,” he said lightly, smiling at her. “And I was hoping you’d go out with me somewhere to celebrate the wins.”

  “I’d like that.” Addie was a little surprised by her instant acceptance, and frowned briefly. “Let me check on Resolute first, all right?”

  “Certainly.” He fell into step beside her as they headed for the barns. “You threw that second horse over the finish line,” he added casually.

  “He didn’t want to run at first.” She was noncommittal. “But he has the ability; he just needed shaking up a bit.”

  “Come to the States and ride our horses,” Shane invited her in a light tone. “Half our stable needs shaking up.”

  Addie laughed, but shook her head, and Shane looked down at her in concern. She was tired, he knew, and he could feel her frailty in spite of her smile and the obvious physical strength she had shown earlier; she had used that strength unstintingly in driving that last horse to win, and it had taken a great deal out of her.

  “Why do you ride?” It was an abrupt question.

  She glanced up at him as they turned into the hall of the barn where Resolute was stabled. After a moment she answered briefly, “Because I can.”

  Shane had no chance to probe that somewhat inadequate response, since they reached her horse’s stall then. A short, still powerful elderly man was standing before the stall, his leathery brown face seamed by time and currently wearing a frown. He was dressed somewhat roughly and held an apple in his hand.

  “How is he, Bevan?” Addie asked as they reached him.

  The man started in surprise and looked at them quickly, his frown vanishing. “He’s fine, Miss Addie.”

  Addie clearly heard the same constraint in his voice that Shane did, for she looked at him sharply. But she said only, “Mr. Marston, Bevan.”

  “Sir.”

  Shane nodded a greeting, listening as Addie explained that Bevan was a retired trainer who had helped her to raise and train Resolute. She checked her horse and Sebastian, giving both a pat before turning back to the trainer. It occurred to Shane that Bevan seemed uncomfortable, even uneasy, but it was hardly his place to question the man.

  It was Addie’s place, and she did so. “Bevan, what is it? You’re upset about something.”

  The trainer hesitated for an instant, then said in a colorless voice, “There was a bloke standing here when I came, holding this apple out to Resolute. He dropped it and ran when he saw me.”

  Addie reached out to take the fruit, turning it in her hands. Then she caught her breath sharply. “You didn’t know him, Bevan?”

  “No, miss.”

  “All right, then.” Her soft voice was as colorless as his. “If you can stay tonight, Bevan—”

  “Of course I can, Miss Addie.”

  “Right.” She nodded slowly, still gazing down at the apple. “I’ll be here early in the morning. I’ve left food for Sebastian with Resolute’s grain. And, Bevan, open a new sack of grain for the evening feed, will you, please?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Addie turned away abruptly, and Shane, silent throughout the exchange, fell into step. “What’s wrong with the apple?” he asked quietly as they came out into the late afternoon sunlight.

  She hesitated, then handed it to him without a glance. And Shane, too, caught his breath when he saw what was almost completely hidden in the sweet fruit.

  “A razor blade!” He looked swiftly at her, but Addie showed no expression. “My God, that’s so brutal! We’ve had things like this happen in the States, though not, to my knowledge, involving horses.” Then he stopped and remembered what she’d said about the feed. “You—you don’t believe it was just a vicious trick, with Resolute chosen randomly, do you?”

  Addie paused by her jeep, looking at it blindly. “Let’s just say I believe in being careful.”

  “You should report this.”

  “No.” Her voice was unexpectedly stiff. “No, I don’t want it reported. I’ll take precautions—and that will put an end to it. Probably just some sadistic kid with lousy taste in jokes.” She took the apple from Shane, swiftly picked the wicked blade from it, and tossed the apple into a nearby trash basket.
The razor went into a small box of other sharp tools in her vehicle.

  Shane, no fool, knew when he was being warned off a subject. He accepted the warning, for the moment, at least. “Well, it’s your horse,” he said easily. “Now, where would you like to have dinner?”

  Addie started a little. “Dinner? Oh, wherever you like. Somewhere casual, please; I travel light on the circuit, so I never pack dressy things.”

  “Fine. We can go in my rental car, and I’ll take you home afterward.”

  “I’m staying in a hotel.” All her attention seemed to have returned to him. “Home is Killaroo Station in New South Wales.” She hesitated. “I’ll need my jeep in the morning—”

  “I’d be glad to pick you up and bring you to the track.” Shane thought briefly of Tate’s expression when he had explained between the afternoon races that he was staying in Melbourne tonight and would find a hotel room; the younger man’s response had roused in Shane an urge to knock that chilly, knowing smile down his throat. He pushed the thought away. “In fact, I’ll check with your hotel for a room myself, since I’m also staying in Melbourne tonight.”

  “I’ll need to be here at dawn,” she warned.

  “I’m horse-people too, remember? I haven’t slept past dawn in thirty years.”

  “All right then, and thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He watched her lock up the jeep and pocket her keys, then took her arm courteously as they headed toward the parking area near the stables.

  Shane didn’t try to fool himself into believing that manners had compelled him to take her arm; he was, in fact, very well mannered. That had little to do with it, however. He had taken her arm because he knew he’d go out of his mind if he couldn’t touch her even in a polite and casual way. And though it might have seemed just that outwardly, he was very conscious that there was nothing casual in his reaction to the touch.

  He felt a sizzling jolt when he touched her, his breath catching oddly and his head becoming curiously light. The strength of his own feelings disturbed him, not in the least because she seemed almost too frail to withstand the powerful force of such vital desire. And it did no good at all to remind himself that she was quite obviously a strong woman; her soft voice, small size, her shimmering halo of silky red hair, and magical gift with animals made her appear ethereal, and all his male instincts urged him to believe in frailty rather than strength.

  Shane had always taken his attraction to women lightly in the past; he enjoyed their company, whether casual or intimate. He had a great many female friends, and the lovers in his past tended to remain firm friends after affairs had ended. Though in a position of comfortable wealth and gifted with blond hair and green eyes that caused the American tabloids to persist in referring to him as “the sleekest, sexiest Thoroughbred in racing circles,” Shane had never cared much for casual sex.

  Not since his experimental teens had he taken a woman to bed without first having genuinely liked her—and if those invited declined, they never lost Shane as a friend.

  What he had seen and heard of Addie, he certainly liked. He liked the frank gaze of her dark eyes, her quick smile and fluid grace. Her voice held a strange power to move him; and her gift with animals and—apparently—people fascinated him.

  Yet, for all that, he knew almost nothing about her. Nothing to explain why his very bones seemed to dissolve when she looked at him or spoke to him. Nothing to explain the rabid fear he only just had managed to control while watching her race. Nothing to explain this urgent, driving need to touch her.

  Shane knew what desire felt like, and he had even known the feeling to occur spontaneously when first meeting a woman—but that was like comparing the rumble of thunder to the violence of a hurricane.

  You’ll frighten her to death, he told himself fiercely. If he let go. If he gave in to desires urging him to tumble them both into the nearest bed and violently explore these feelings he had never felt before…

  She was too gentle and frail, he told himself, to respond to that kind of savagery. Too magically ethereal to want anything but tenderness and gentleness.

  Shane knew dimly that he was already placing her on a pedestal, already setting her like some Greek goddess on an Olympus where an earthly hand could never mark her.

  And he hardly heard the inner voice reminding him that the ancient gods and goddesses, for all their divinity, had been remarkably human at heart and quite definitely earthy in their passions.

  Beneath the magic.

  Chapter 2

  For the first hour after leaving Flemington track, Addie gave Shane no reason to doubt his curiously stubborn belief in her frailty. She was quiet, saying little; she was not abstracted, yet at the same time she seemed as if a part of her were somewhere else.

  She talked to him casually and easily, asking politely if he had seen this and that in Melbourne and offering a few opinions as to where to go for the best food.

  For his part, Shane damped down his own powerful urges, listening to her voice more than to her words and watching her whenever possible. He also watched, as they entered a small and quiet restaurant, how other people reacted to Addie. The restaurant was one she had visited only a few times before, she had said, and yet the waiters seemed to hover over her anxiously and there had been an odd momentary silence, almost a catch of breath, as they had made their way to the table.

  Addie didn’t seem to notice. But she noticed something else.

  “You’re very quiet,” she said, smiling. “Is it the company, or jet lag?”

  “Definitely not the company.” He tried to shake off the spell of her apparently unconscious sorcery. “How many races for you tomorrow?” he asked almost at random, still coping with his own conflicting impulses.

  “Six.”

  He felt his heart stop. “Six.” The word came out flat and toneless, and he cleared his throat. “You’ll have an exhausting day, then.”

  Addie’s dark eyes studied him and she frowned. “You don’t approve of female jockeys?”

  Shane forced a smile. “If I answered, I’d be saying I had a right to approve or disapprove—which I haven’t. No, it isn’t that. It’s just…someone very close to me was killed years ago in a race.”

  “I’m sorry, Shane.” She didn’t seem aware of using his first name; her frown lingered. “You’re still in racing. Still involved with the sport.”

  He knew what she was asking, and toyed briefly with the impulse to say he feared for any jockey. But that wouldn’t have been the truth. Jockeys, on the whole, accepted their risks: what Shane feared was that anyone he cared about should accept those risks.

  He waited until their food was placed before them, then smiled at her ruefully. “Yes. And the nightmares stopped years ago; I can watch most races without a tremor. Unless I’m close to one of the jockeys. Or want to be.”

  Watching her intently for a reaction to that, Shane could read nothing from her faint smile. But he was startled by her blunt question—blunt, that is, in the context of his own thoughts about her frailty.

  “Are you looking for a vacation fling? No. I forgot. It isn’t a vacation for you, is it?”

  He blinked. “No. No vacation. And I’m not looking for a fling. I just…” Want to take you to bed, dammit!

  Addie was a little surprised by how startled he seemed to be and wondered if he thought she was too forthright. Unaware of other people’s reaction to her, she didn’t consider that Shane had been led somewhat astray by the very ancient male instincts to protect a seemingly delicate flower.

  She debated briefly, too honest with herself to doubt she was tremendously attracted to this green-eyed man. Time was against her; she had so very much to accomplish in these next weeks, and that would allow little time for anything else.

  In a careful tone she said, “I’d like very much to go on seeing you, Shane. But I have to say I’ll be rather occupied during the next few weeks. Until the Melbourne Cup. But if we’re at the same tracks and races—”


  “We can spend some time together?” He smiled quickly. “I’ll make sure we are. When are you going to Sydney?”

  “I’ll start day after tomorrow.” She was relieved, and silently ordered herself to guard her tongue in the future. No more blunt questions or comments; he obviously didn’t care for them, and until they knew each other better…“By rail—it’s faster, and Resolute will have time to settle down before the race on Saturday.”

  “I haven’t seen the Sydney races yet,” Shane murmured. “Would you object if I came along?”

  “Of course not. Are you—” She frowned faintly. “Are you staying with the Justins?”

  “I have been.” He watched her, wondering about her relationship with Tate. On the surface it seemed hostile on his part and wary on hers—and yet there had been that momentary sharing of some lighter, more friendly emotion. “I believe I’ll be following the races now, though, so I’ll probably change over to hotels.” Rather abruptly, he added, “Tate wants Resolute, I gather.”

  They had been eating as they talked, and Addie took time to sip her wine before replying. “Yes, he does.”

  “What else does he want?” It was a shot drawn almost at random with nothing but his own vague instincts to guide his aim, but Shane saw at once that he had scored a direct hit.

  Addie looked across the table at him, her eyes flickering with surprise and a fleeting unhappiness. “He’ll hate that,” she murmured. “Hate that you saw it.”

  Shane felt something in him tighten. “I see. Then he is in love with you.”

  She stirred a bit and sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. Whatever he feels, he hates it.”

  He drew a silent breath and braced himself. “Hates it because you don’t feel the same?”

  “I can’t help it.” She seemed to be speaking to herself. “I’ve known him all my life. But he doesn’t stir my blood.” Abruptly, she flushed and looked down at her plate.

  Shane was so relieved he nearly groaned, but a part of him was also startled again. Her explanation for not returning Tate’s feelings was clear enough—but definitely sensual in the choice of words. And she was obviously embarrassed by it.