condition of Firehill Farm in the light of day, she had everything to lose if the colt didn’t come through.
Concern embedded itself in his brain and he made a silent vow to do whatever he could to ensure disappointment didn’t destroy her.
Emma reined in her horse next to the gate and dismounted. “He’s good and warm, Josh. Take him to the wall this morning.”
“You’ve got it.” Josh took hold of the reins while Emma unfastened the buckle on the halter she’d used to pony him and slipped it off.
“Break on the outside rail and move him inside, just like last time. If we get a bad gate pick, he’ll be ready to overcome it.”
Mac stepped out onto the track and approached Josh. “Rider up,” he called. He caught Josh’s foot and hoisted him onto Navigator’s back.
Josh put his feet into the irons on the flat saddle and gathered the reins in his hands.
“I wish this blasted fog would burn off,” Emma said. Leading her pony horse, she headed for the opening in the rail.
Mac followed, watching her tie the leggy black gelding up before moving over to stand next to him.
“Want to do the honors?” She opened her hand to expose a silver stopwatch. Every horse racer’s instrument of delusion.
It should have been a simple decision, but he wrestled with it anyway. The track time wasn’t going to lie, it was finite, a rock-solid indicator of what the horse was capable of.
“Sure.” He plucked the watch from her palm and saw a slight smile bow her lips.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d spent a considerable amount of time around racehorses.”
Caution glided through him. Would she have been old enough at the time to remember the feud that tore their fathers’ friendship apart?
“It was a long time ago, I was a kid. But you don’t forget something ingrained in your DNA.”
“Solberg was right then, you’re the man for this job. I’m glad you’re here.”
Mac stared over at her, at the surety in her whiskey-brown eyes as she searched his face with her gaze. His throat tightened. He could easily fall under her spell if he didn’t pull back.
He turned abruptly, waiting for the sound of the horse breaking from the far left end of the track.
The fog dampened the swish of the mock starting gate, but there it was, hoofbeats pounding Kentucky soil. He raised the stopwatch in front of him, feeling his heart rate shoot up. Closer … closer … the colt flashed in front of them.
Mac started the clock, listening to the horse thunder down the front stretch and into the first turn.
Emma put her hand on his forearm and shook him. “I told you he’s fast. I know he can win.”
Her excitement leached into him and he let a degree of the sensation move through his body. Focusing, he turned his head to the right and picked up the hammering of hooves as Navigator thundered his way down the backstretch.
He didn’t dare look at the time; instinctively he knew it would be incredible. Better to wait until the colt passed in front of him. Seeing would usher in believing, and then some.
There was trouble. Mac felt it first telegraph through the top rail pipe that ran the entire length of the racetrack. Seconds later Josh’s yelp of pain reached out through the fog.
“Something’s wrong!” Emma squeezed his arm.
Navigator galloped from the mist minus his rider and shot past them on the inside rail.
Mac pressed the stopwatch and shoved it into his pocket.
“Take Oliver and go find Josh, I’ll go after the colt!” Emma said. She ran through the opening in the gate.
Mac turned for the pony horse at the same time he heard her shrill whistle for the riderless colt.
He jerked the knotted reins loose from the rail, untied the pony horse, jammed his foot in the stirrup and climbed aboard. He hadn’t ridden in years, but riding a horse was like riding a bike. You never forgot.
Spurring him forward, Mac trotted through the gate and out onto the track. Josh was somewhere on the back turn. That’s when he’d felt the vibration of Navigator’s impact with the outside rail. He reined the gelding to the inside and eased him into a lope.
A hundred yards around the track the fog vanished, giving him a clear view of the back turn.
Josh lay in a crumpled heap next to the outside rail at the one-mile post.
Worry ground over Mac’s nerves.
The kid wasn’t moving.
He nudged the horse into a gallop and reined him in just short of the spot where he lay.
“Josh! Can you hear me, buddy?”
Mac bailed off of Oliver and dropped the reins.
Going to his knees, he put his hand on the kid’s shoulder.
Josh moaned, rolled to the left and tried to sit up, but Mac held him down with gentle pressure. “No way, stay put.”
Mac gritted his teeth, staring at the dazed expression on the young man’s dirt-smudged face, but it was the deformity in his right forearm and the protruding bone, that told him Josh shouldn’t be moved. He was going to need a trip to the hospital ASAP.
“I gotta catch the horse.” Josh tried to sit up again.
Mac pressed his palm into his chest. “Relax, Emma is taking care of it. She’ll catch him. You broke your arm. Stay still.”
Josh glanced down at his right forearm and went pale.
“What happened?” Mac asked, praying he could get the kid’s attention before he passed out cold.
“I couldn’t see when I hit the midpoint on the backstretch.”
“The mist?”
“A flash of red light hit me in the eyes—”
“A laser?”
“Could have been. But it must have targeted Navigator too, because he went wide and slapped the rail. I couldn’t hang on. I hope he’s okay.”
Mac looked up and saw Emma and Navigator materialize out of the mist and into the sunlight.
“Is Josh all right?” she hollered the instant she was within earshot.
He waited until she stopped ten feet out, holding Navigator by the reins and trying to calm him down.
“Broken arm. He needs an ambulance, and we need the sheriff. This was no accident. They were targeted with a laser. Blinded. Probably from somewhere in the woods.”
Mac
