Eleven
Istared at the clothes hanging in my closet. On one side were the items I loved and suited my personality and style. On the other side were all the ones my mama had bought. Every now and then, she managed to find something I liked, but those made up a small section on her side. The rest made me feel like a woman in her sixties—or what I imagined they wore. After all, all the country club members Mama associated with wore a similar fashion.
It wasn’t often that I was stuck on what to wear. Mama wasn’t around to strongly suggest an outfit, so why was I staring at her side of my closet?
The security gate chimed, and I jumped.
I opened the app that let me access the video feed to see who was there. My heart dropped to my toes at the badge being held up in front of the camera.
“Yes?” Thank goodness there was no video feed on my end. Still, I clutched my robe closed.
“Piper McKinney?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Bob Tracker from the Racing Medication and Testing Consortium. The RMTC. Can I come in to speak with you, please?”
Did I have a choice?
“Sure.” I pressed the button to open the gate, then grabbed a pale blue T-shirt from the shelving at the end of my closet and reached for some jeans. After dressing, I made my way to the front door.
Was Mr. Tracker the same guy who was investigating Bolt Brook? Would Tuck be next on his list to interrogate? The questions tumbled in my brain as I struggled to draw in a slow breath and not let anxiety have full court in my mind.
Breathe and bring every thought captive under the obedience of Jesus Christ. Don’t conjure up endless possibilities that may never occur. Breathe.
I tacked on a Help me, Lord because I wasn’t feeling any calmer by the time I opened the door and stood face-to-face with Bob Tracker.
“Ms. McKinney. Sorry for the intrusion.”
I motioned him forward. “May I get you something to drink? Glass of water? Sweet tea?” I would’ve offered coffee, but my percolator broke last week, and I hadn’t found the opportunity to buy a new one. Not when I knew I could just ride over to Tuck’s and grab a cup if I was really desperate. Fortunately, I wasn’t a huge bean drinker.
“No, thank you, ma’am. I promise this conversation will be short.”
Would it really? I sat across from him, slipping my hands into my lap so I wouldn’t be tempted to fidget. “How can I help?”
“Are you aware of the allegations against Bolt Book Thoroughbred Farm? Especially regarding Ian McKinney, your adoptive father?”
“Not the full extent, but yes, I saw the news like everyone else.”
His head tilted. “Interesting. They didn’t tell you prior to the media being made aware?”
Had they been informed before that? Was that why they seemed so distant the past few weeks? My mouth dried. “No, they didn’t.”
Mr. Tracker wrote in a notepad, and this time my stomach dropped to my toes.
“Have you ever witnessed them giving illegal substances to their animals?”
“No, never.” At least I could be assured of that. Though the judgmental stare in Mr. Tracker’s brown eyes suggested he wasn’t impressed by the clarity in my voice.
“Will you submit your horse”—he looked at his notes—“Dream to testing?”
“What? Why?” My pulse kicked into a gallop. Did I need a lawyer present?
“We’re aware of the wide reach of the McKinneys. Considering you’re their adopted daughter and a former employee, we’d like to be assured you’re not continuing in their practices.”
I reared back. “You concluded your investigation already?”
“Well, no, but results are due back any day.”
Oh no, oh no, oh no. What do I do? Say?
If I told Mr. Tracker no, would he think I was hiding something? Was it better to consult a lawyer first?
Lord?
“Ms. McKinney?”
“Fine.” I licked my lips. “You can test him.”
“Where is he currently stabled?”
“He’s with his trainer, Tucker Hale.” Sorry, Tuck. “He lives on the farm next door.” I pointed instinctively as we both stood.
“Good. You can take me there, and I’ll draw some blood for testing.”
“All right. When will you get the results?” I slid my sweaty palms against my jean-clad thighs.
“In a week or two.”
“Will this prevent him from racing in the Jeff Ruby Steaks?”
“No. You can race, but if the results come back positive, any win may be taken away.”
Good thing I knew Dream was clean of illegal substances. “Will my name end up in the news as well?”
Mr. Tracker’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Our department wasn’t who alerted the press. I’m assuming that was just a reporter doing their job.”
Great. So if someone was snooping around my property and saw the RMTC emblem on Mr. Tracker’s car, they’d drag me through the mud too?
When we stepped outside, I locked the door behind me and headed for my truck. “You can follow me.”
“I’d rather not. I don’t want you alerting Mr. Hale to our arrival.” He gestured toward his vehicle. “I can give you a ride there.”
I held back a huff but got in the passenger seat of his car.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, Tuck was walking up, his face a perfect mask of indifference. His gaze flicked to mine, roaming up and down my body as if to assure himself I was okay. I gave a slight nod of my head and quirked my lips to show I was more annoyed than anything. Tuck’s shoulders dropped, and he turned his attention to the RMTC agent.
“You’re Tucker Hale?” Mr. Tracker asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“With Ms. McKinney’s cooperation, I’m here to take a blood sample from her horse, Dream. He needs to be tested for illegal substances.”
“I see. Do you plan on testing my own horses as well?”
Mr. Tracker pursed his thin lips. “That’s not necessary considering you don’t own any racehorses. However, considering you’re a former employee of Bolt Brook, it could shed a good light on you and other employees. After all, we will find out if laws have been broken and who did so—however many guilty parties there may be.”
Yikes. Why was this guy spreading doomsday propaganda so eagerly?
“I also have a few questions for you,” Mr. Tracker continued. “It’ll all go very quickly, I assure you.”
Right, because taking me from my farm to Tuck’s was so quick.
Y’all are neighbors.
Could I tell myself to shut up?
“Very well,” Tuck said.
He led Mr. Tracker to the stables. As we walked, the RMTC agent asked Tuck the same questions he asked me. After taking samples from all the horses, Mr. Tracker left with a wave.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered.
“The wave or the drug tests?”
“All of the above?” I turned to look at Tuck. “He told me not to call ahead.”
“No worries.” Tuck shrugged. “Not like we have anything to hide.”
“It still feels invasive.” I wrapped my arms around myself.
Tuck looped an arm around my shoulders. “God’s got us. Mr. Tracker and the RMTC will see we don’t dabble in that stuff and all will be well. We’ll ride off into the sunset, headed for Turfway Park.”
“I can’t believe how this day started.” Could I lean into his shoulder? Drop my head on it and relax into his embrace? Surely those were friendly reactions.
Keep telling yourself that.
“Life’s always full of surprises,” Tuck said.
“Hey, Mr. Tracker told me the RMTC didn’t talk to the press.”
“Then who did?” Tuck drew back, looking into my eyes.
A certain journalist had repeatedly asked me invasive questions searching for the “good stuff.” The drama that would sell. But other than being adopted by white parents, my story was pretty boring. Could he have found out about the RMTC and created this drama?
My body flashed hotter than the fireworks at Eastbrook’s annual Fourth of July festival. “Aaron Wellington the third,” I growled through my teeth as I flung Tuck’s arm off my shoulders.
“Why would he do that?” Tuck mused.
“I’m going to—”
He grabbed the back of my shirt before I could stomp away. “Deep breath, Piper.”
My breath came in spurts as I attempted to keep marching forward.
“Piper Imani McKinney.” Tuck wrapped an arm around my waist. “Don’t go making a scene.”
I froze. Couldn’t help it as my insides turned to liquid fire under his touch. Though Tuck was just trying to keep me from going off, the hold was effective at turning on my hormones and alerting me to a man worth swooning for.
I swallowed. “I’m okay now.”
“You sure?” he asked, his breath caressing my cheek.
Great, now I’d have to get away to hide the goosebumps pebbling my skin. “Peachy.”
He dropped his arms, and I took a couple of slow steps away from him until I could turn and face him without either wanting to look demure or like I was objectifying him. That was wrong, right? Men didn’t want to be treated like a piece of meat and the whole gambit, but holy Hannah, my insides were still taking repeated falls onto a fainting couch.
Don’t ask me how that’s possible. Just recognize it is.
“You don’t look peachy.” He leaned forward, studying my face. “Your eyes look glassy or something.” He placed the back of his hand against my forehead. “You’re kind of warm too.”
Yes, Tuck. Glassy eyes and heated skin is what happens when a woman is attracted to a man. Ugh. Why did he have to be genuinely concerned?
“Tucker Hale, get back,” I snapped. I moved his hand off my forehead, acting offended. Seriously, what was a girl to do when the man who made her pulse race kept encroaching on her bubble?
“Good grief. It’s Aaron you’re mad at, not me.”
“I’m not mad. Besides, what if I’m wrong?”
Tuck snorted. “Always a possibility, but that guy ... I don’t know, but I’d proceed with caution.”
“He’s an award-winning journalist.”
“And I go to church every Sunday.” Tuck smirked. “Doesn’t mean a thing. Either one of us could be thinking or acting in the flesh.”
I laughed. “Tuck, you don’t think or act in the flesh. I’m pretty sure you have heaven on speed dial with the way you handle things. Slow and methodological. I bet you check with God on everything.”
“Listen.” His eyes darkened. “Just because I don’t go around running off at the mouth or acting hotheaded doesn’t mean I don’t have my battles.”
He took a step forward, his gaze taking in my every feature. At least, that’s what his attention looked like. It was all I could do to keep myself from swaying forward.
He raised his hand, then stepped back, letting it drop to his side.
I stood there for a moment, too stunned to do anything. What was that? Had he been about to...Was he looking at me like...
My brain restarted, and I gathered some wits. “I’m sorry, Tuck. I shouldn’t have assumed life is easy for you.”
It’s just that from the outside looking in, his life seemed idyllic. Parents who loved him and helped him grow into the wonderful man he was. A farm that was a tad better than mine. I mean, he already had a racetrack. Not to mention he was friends with a Hollywood A-list actor and a YouTube star.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you were mostly teasing.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck.
Despite his show of grace, my insides were still unsettled. Whether it was because Tuck had seemed irritated before that strange show of... attraction? Or something else? I didn’t know.
“Are we good?” I asked softly.
“Always,” he said solemnly.