Secretariat Reborn by Susan Klaus

“Do you work here? I don’t mean the cafeteria. I mean at the track—ah, with horses. I mean you’re dressed like you work with horses.” He gulped down some air, aware he sounded like an idiot.
    Her smile was easy and full. “I know what you mean,” she said, her voice restraining a laugh. “I’m a trainer.” She raised an eyebrow. “And judging by this expensive shirt, you must be an owner.”
    “I have one, one horse, I mean. I have, a-ah several shirts.” He now felt like slapping himself.
    Why was he losing it? He was normally confident, felt he could talk intelligently with women and dazzle them with his looks and charm. But with this girl he was flustered and totally disarmed.
    She finished wiping his shirt. “When you get back to your hotel, rinse this in cold water. I think it’ll be all right.”
    “Thanks. Um—my name is Christian. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
    “If we do, I hope you’re not carrying coffee,” she jested and turned away, gliding through the restaurant, disappearing beyond the doors that led to the tack and gift shops.
    Christian lumbered outside.
That went well. Came across like a moron. If she saw me again, she’d run
.
    At the hotel, Christian managed to get Kate up before eleven and halfheartedly asked if she’d like to have lunch at the clubhouse and watch some races. She declined, saying she wasn’t up for it. Theyheaded home with Kate sleeping most of the trip. She woke when they reached the outskirts of Sarasota.
    He drove out to her Longboat Key condo and pulled into the bottom-floor garage, parking alongside her Porsche. He grabbed her bag, and they rode up the elevator in silence. At her condo, she unlocked the door, dropped her keys and purse on a side table, and sashayed in.
    He placed her bag just inside the doorway and stood outside. “Kate, I’ll talk to you later,” he called.
    She turned and wrinkled her brows. “Aren’t you coming in?”
    “I told you, I’m worried about my father. I’m heading straight for Ocala, but I’ll be back in a few days.” She walked back toward him, and he expected a good-bye kiss.
    “Fuck you, Chris,” she said and slammed the door in his face.
    He gazed upward at the ceiling. “That’s it. That’s it.” He breathed. “I’m done.”



CHAPTER SEVEN
    At six in the evening, Christian pulled into Ocala, stopping at a Kentucky Fried Chicken to pick up supper before going to the farm. Entering the house, he called to his father.
    “Christian, is that you?” his father answered from his bedroom.
    Christian walked into the room and held up the bucket of chicken. “Thought I’d bring dinner.”
    His father slowly swung his legs around and sat up. “I told you not to come up here,” he complained. “You should be in Miami, checking on your horse. He’s more important.”
    “That’s your opinion, not mine. Besides, I just came from Miami.”
    His father’s eyes lit up. “How is he? Did the trainer breeze him yet?”
    “The colt is fine, Price worked him, and said he should do well in his maiden race.”
    “Damn right,” his father said and stood. “That colt is probably the best horse in his stable. What was the time?”
    Christian hesitated and fearing the mediocre time might upset his father, he lied. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
    Hank gave his son a disapproving stare. “Christian, you need to remember these things. The breeze time determines the race that he’s fit to run.”
    Over dinner, they discussed other aspects of the colt’s training. Christian mentioned the minor speed cuts on the horse’s back legs and slight weight loss. His father wasn’t too surprised. He got a kick out of hearing that the exercise boy had called Hunter a Cadillac.
    Christian sensed that his father was willing himself to stay alive long enough to see the colt run, believing the win would make up for his fatherly failings. After dinner, Christian crashed, wiped out from driving and getting only