Something to Talk About

Dear Reader,

I grew up just south of Saratoga Springs, New York, site of one of the prettiest racetracks in the country. As a teen, I often worked as a model during “Breakfast at the Track,” tooling around from table to table to tell breakfast patrons in the grandstand’s clubhouse about designer outfits. During that time, I had the pleasure to meet many people from around the country who came to summer in Saratoga for the August racing season. I met jockeys and trainers, horse owners, socialites and die-hard racing fans, all of whom fascinated this farmer’s daughter who grew up on the banks of the Hudson.

So I couldn’t wait to re-create that world for readers in Something to Talk About. Set on a Kentucky horse farm and rooted in the small racing community that transports itself to Saratoga every year, this book has been a pure pleasure to write, evoking lots of fun memories for me. I hope you enjoy the thrill, the beauty and the power of the Thoroughbreds, and, most of all, I hope you enjoy the passion of the people behind them.

Happy reading!

Joanne Rock

JOANNE ROCK

is a three-time RITA® Award nominee who didn’t think to indulge her love of writing when she went to college, instead opting for a communications degree and a business minor involving far too much accounting. Only after venturing into the real world did she realize it would have been wiser to study what she liked best so she could enjoy her life’s work. Heading back to university for a graduate degree in English literature, Joanne penned her first novel while she was also writing her thesis. It took the rejection of six completed novels before she sold her first book, but she never regretted the career choice based on a labor of love. Today Joanne lives in the Adirondack region of upstate New York with her husband and three sons, and she is thrilled to pen contemporary and historical romances for Harlequin Books.

Visit her Web sites, www.joannerock.com or www.myspace.com/joanne_rock to enter monthly contests and learn more about her work.

To my mom and dad

Thank you for allowing me to have so many

cool life experiences at a young age, without which I

wouldn’t have half as much material for my stories!

In particular, for the sake of this story, thank you

for the rides to Saratoga, long before I had my license,

so I could be a part of the glittering horse-racing world

if only for a few hours at a time.

Many thanks to my friend from the Bluegrass State,

Jan Scarbrough, who provided me extra insights on

Thoroughbred racing and horses in general. Any errors

in regard to my horse-trainer hero are strictly my own.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

“But you’d really like this guy. Honest.”

Amanda Emory had grown accustomed to fending off suggestions on her love life from girlfriends and her well-meaning mother. But listening to dating advice from her nine-year-old son seriously pushed the limit.

“Kiefer, I’m sure he’s a very nice man.” Distracted by the sight of the movers carrying her sons’ bunk beds up the stairs of the small condo unit they’d purchased, Amanda called instructions for placing the furniture she’d picked out with her husband mere days before he died. And damn it, didn’t those memories still catch her when she least expected them?

“He’s not just nice, Mom.” Kiefer stole a granola bar out of his younger brother’s hand as he settled himself at the island separating the light-filled kitchen and a living room overrun with boxes. “He trains the horses and he can ride like the guys in cowboy movies. He knows everything about horses. Seriously, Mom. Everything.”

Amanda retrieved a new granola bar for Max, her six-year-old, who had already found friends in the condo next door and was happily showing the other kids his latest creation with a building set among the piles of boxes. Amanda gave Max two extra treats for his friends and then tried to focus on Kiefer’s latest matchmaking effort.

Although Dan had been dead two years, Kiefer’s quest to see his mother remarried hadn’t started until about three months ago, after he’d seen some movie about kid spies who—in the subplot—tricked their widowed parents into meeting and falling in love. In short order, Amanda had been steered toward Kiefer’s soccer coach, the librarian at his school, a neighbor in their building back in Los Angeles, and now this…a horse trainer?

“He works with horses?” She settled into the seat next to him at the counter and swallowed back a pinch of motherly guilt that they hadn’t spent much time together in the mayhem of moving halfway across the country to Woodford County, Kentucky. She’d had so much more on her mind than she could ever burden her boys with, but not for the world would she want them to feel they were anything but her top priority.

For now, she waved the deliverymen upstairs to settle the dresser wherever they wanted.

“He’s the best. I watched him working with one of the colts while you were setting up your new office Friday.” Kiefer scrubbed a finger over a gold fleck in the granite countertop, his dark-brown hair falling sideways over one eye like his father’s. This summer, her oldest son seemed to be all arms and legs, his body growing faster than his meals could fill it out. “I’m going back tomorrow after school.”

“Are there other kids who watch the horses then?” She hoped Kiefer would make friends in their new hometown. Having lived in suburban L.A. all her life, she was a little intimidated about uprooting her family to move to a community that was both rural and—to a large extent—wealthy. She’d chosen a neighborhood in Twisted River, removed from the immediate domain of Quest Stables, which was both her new employer and a megamillion-dollar business.

Kiefer shrugged.

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter.” He peered up at her with the earnest eyes of a child who hadn’t quite mastered the preteen ability to mask his feelings. “I don’t like the other kids here anyway and I’m helping you…you know. Meet people.”

Amanda’s heart squeezed tight that her firstborn had been put in a position where he felt that he needed to take care of her. He sounded years older than he was, even if the scrapes on his elbows and the jelly stain on his shirt gave him away as the kid he deserved to be.

“I appreciate you, baby.” She hugged him tight, grateful that he still let her. “And I think it’s great that you want to look out for me, but I promise you when the time is right, I’ll think about socializing.”

That much was true. And she didn’t have the heart to share her fear that the opportunity might not come for a very long while. She didn’t know why no one had turned her head in the two years since her police sergeant husband had been gunned down in a drug bust, but the grief counselor from the LAPD had assured her that it was okay to mourn on her own timetable and that healing would come when her heart dictated.

Kiefer looked ready to argue, his brow knitted in concentration as if he were reaching for the right words, when Max and his new pals came barreling over. They each waved some kind of airplane they’d made with Max’s new construction set, although the little girl’s plane looked more like a flying bunny rabbit.

While Amanda doled out praise for all the creations, Kiefer somehow disappeared. The movers shouted for a clear path into the dining room as they wheeled in a small hutch on a dolly.

Kiefer’s matchmaking would have to wait, although his penchant to fix her up wasn’t nearly as troublesome to her as his lack of effort to meet kids his own age. But since she wasn’t exactly the Mingle Queen herself, how could she blame him?

The phone on the kitchen wall rang as the kids flew their toys into the laundry room. Amanda picked it up on the first ring, grateful her number was working. They’d been camping out in the condo for almost a week while waiting for the moving truck, but the phone company had somehow overlooked them until today.

“Hello?”

Silence answered her.

“Hello?” She swallowed down an old panic, knowing sometimes it took a moment for telemarketers to come on the line. She’d been scared by that phenomenon before.

But still no one answered. The silence mounted. Expanded. And then click. The line disconnected as the other party hung up.

In an instant, two years’ worth of worry came flooding back. Her knees buckled. She’d moved halfway across the country to escape the possibility of revenge from a drug gang. Dan had killed one of the group’s members before taking a fatal bullet himself, and the dead man’s brother—Benny Orway—had promised revenge at his trial two years ago.

Amanda had uprooted her kids before the guy was released from prison a week ago, unwilling to take any chances with the kids’ safety. But she’d started receiving late-night hang-up calls the month before she’d relocated. The calls spooked her, making her all the more grateful for the job offer in Kentucky.

As she hung up the phone, her hands shook just a little, even as she told herself hang-ups happened all the time.

“Mrs. Emory?” one of the movers shouted from the front hall, his arms full of garment bags that must have spilled out from one of the boxes.

“Coming.” Willing her heart to quit racing, she put one foot in front of the other to address a crisis so much easier than the one she’d run two thousand miles to escape.

But as the silence of the phone call echoed in her ears, Amanda hoped she’d run far enough.

Normally, Robbie Preston didn’t mind Mondays.

He liked hard work and he was devoted to making his family’s business, Quest Stables, the best Thoroughbred facility in the country. And although his family thwarted his efforts half the time, this Monday their maneuvering ticked him off more than usual.

“Marcus is making the rounds, Robbie.” His sister, Melanie, breezed into the stable office after her morning workout with Leopold’s Legacy. The horse had been destined to be a Triple Crown Winner for Quest before a DNA test revealed the sire of record, Apollo’s Ice, was not the biological sire, and Legacy had been banned from racing in North America.

At five feet tall, Melanie had turned her love of riding into a full-fledged profession as a jockey, a gig that ensured she had no competition from within the Preston clan.

Unlike him.

But since his sister was the only member of his immediate family to have even a small amount of respect for his skills as a trainer, Robbie tried to keep his cool when she brought up his least favorite topic.

“I hope no one expects me to lead the welcoming committee. I’ve managed to avoid him since our confirmation at Del Mar.” He poured himself a cup of coffee from a pot someone had started long before dawn. The stables ran on an early schedule, and most of the animals were in the paddocks or on the exercise track by sunrise.

The new trainer had been in residence at Quest for the last few weeks, but Robbie had purposely found other things to do than ease the transition for the guy. They’d had a hard enough time working together at the Del Mar races. But he knew the time had come to officially accept Marcus, no matter how awkward the meeting might be.

“Please tell me you’re not going to create an international incident.” Melanie dropped into a chair across from the office’s main reception area, which lately saw very little traffic outside of the stable staff. On days when prospective clients wandered through the stable area to check out Quest’s boarding and training facilities, the coffee would have been a whole lot fresher than the brew Robbie choked down this morning. Although, in all fairness, it might have been his own bitterness he tasted more than any java.

“Who’s creating an incident?” He stalked around the office to work off the edges of an anger he’d tried hard to stuff down this last month. “I’m here, aren’t I? Putting in my hours for the greater good despite a slap in the face that couldn’t have been more direct. I know it’s not Marcus’s fault he won the head trainer slot and I know he’s damn good at the job.”

He scuffed his toe across the hardwood floor covered by a few thick wool throw rugs. And although the office was attached to the stables, the room lacked any scent of horses since it was outfitted to impress visitors. A few framed photos of Quest’s most famous equine residents lined the walls.

“I know that too, but you would have done as well or even better considering you’re as obsessive about your work as you are about—oh—everything else you’ve ever tackled.” Melanie slid her feet out of her riding boots and tucked them under her. “Remember when you decided to take up cliff-diving?”

“Whoa. Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a knack for backhanded compliments?” Still, Robbie took some solace in his sister’s opinion, since she knew horses as well as anyone, and her endorsement meant a lot, even if it was sandwiched between insults. “And for your information, three emergency-room visits in one summer builds character.”

“I seem to remember Dad saying it built a thicker head.” She flashed him an evil grin and socked him gently in the gut as he paced past her chair.

He paused long enough to pull her hair gently in a reflex gesture—a remnant of their days as kids that had long ago turned into a sign of affection.

“You know I’m twenty-eight and that’s still what the old man sees?” He looked out the window onto the front paddock area, which was more for show than anything, the greens immaculate even if summer was quickly sliding into fall. “Even when I train a Derby winner like Leopold’s Legacy, Dad fixates on the fact that I broke my nose twice in a season.”

“I’m not touching that one.”

Turning back to Melanie, he watched her tip her head back in her chair and study him with assessing eyes, her delicate size belying a nature every bit as fierce as his.

“Neither am I.” He looked back out the window in time to see Marcus Vasquez—-a trainer who had come to Quest from Australia’s Lochlain Stables, run by Robbie’s cousin—walking toward the offices with a woman Robbie had never seen before.

“What do you mean?” Melanie rose to join him at the window.

Robbie was surprised it took a bit of effort to tear his gaze away from the pretty woman talking to the new head trainer. Her short hair blew around her face, the dark locks sunkissed with lighter streaks. She wasn’t necessarily beautiful, but something about her face fascinated him. Her easy laughter reminded him of all the ways his life had grown too uptight. Too frustrating.

“I mean I’m not sticking around for another year of Preston dramas when this family is hanging on to financial security by its teeth.”

He’d been angry about a lot of things in the past few months and it had all come to a head when his father had imported Marcus from halfway around the world even though Robbie had more than enough qualifications for the job. Considering Quest’s reputation had been called into question when the Jockey Association withdrew Leopold Legacy’s status as a Thoroughbred, given his uncertain paternity, the stables could have benefited from the cost-saving measures of hiring a family member.

“Please don’t make any hasty decisions—”

Impatience fired through him and he found himself concentrating on the pretty brunette’s smile to ease the rush of anger.

“This isn’t hasty. I’ve had plenty of time to think it over and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather not sit at the dinner table with people who don’t respect what I do. I’ll continue my training duties, but I’m going to get a place in town.”

“You know what that will do to Granddad?” Melanie lowered her voice as Marcus approached the door to the small office and the mystery woman turned in another direction.

Who was she? The question was far more pleasant than the one about what his disappearance from the house would do to their eighty-six-year-old grandfather, Hugh Preston. The patriarch of the clan wasn’t always in residence since he liked to indulge his passion for racing by touring the nation’s tracks and betting on new horses with a few of his cronies. But when he settled back into life at Quest Stables, he always made it a point to seek out Robbie and share stories from his days as a young immigrant fresh off the boat from County Clare, Ireland.

His tales of hard work had inspired Robbie his whole life. And instead of looking at Robbie’s hot-headed nature as a defect, Granddad liked to say Robbie simply had inherited the passionate nature of the Irish. The old man’s words had often been a balm during his teenage years when Robbie and his father had been at odds more times than he could count.

“You don’t fight fair,” he complained, wondering how Melanie could have zeroed in so easily on Robbie’s only reservation about moving off the Quest compound.

“With all the stress this family is under lately—especially Granddad at his age—I can’t afford to fight fair.”

Robbie would have liked to argue that Granddad wasn’t growing frail of heart just because the rest of him was aging, but the door to the office opened.

Steeling himself to be civil, Robbie came face to face with the man who’d stolen his future out from under him.

Marcus Vasquez had been raised in Spain and his dark hair and eyes reflected the heritage. He had a reputation as a hardworking, practical man. Even Robbie’s grandfather respected him, so at least Marcus had that much in his favor.

“Marcus.” Robbie thrust out his hand and willed himself not to give in to a primitive urge to crush the guy’s fingers. “Good to have you at Quest.”

“Thank you.” Marcus shook his hand easily, making direct eye contact before he nodded to Melanie. “I’ve enjoyed finding my way around here.”

Instead of being back in Australia running Lochlain Stables where he damn well belonged. When Quest’s previous head trainer, Daniel Whittleson, had left the job to work at Lochlain, he had recommended Marcus as his replacement. Robbie knew that—at thirty-two years old—Marcus wouldn’t be vacating the Quest head trainer position anytime soon.

“I hope you’ll let me know if I can help you with anything. Daniel left during a difficult time, considering the uproar around Leopold’s Legacy.” Until the mystery of Leopold’s Legacy’s parentage was solved, the horse had had to be withdrawn from racing and Quest’s reputation teetered on the verge of ruin.

Hell, their financial stability teetered on the verge of ruin right along with it since their reputation had attracted the owners who paid big fees to have their horses stabled and trained here.

“Daniel and I have spoken extensively.” Marcus’s eyes veered briefly to Melanie’s sock-clad feet. “I think I have things well in hand by now, but I appreciate the offer.”

Beside him, Robbie sensed his sister straighten. Tense.

Hell, she couldn’t be any tenser than him. Was Marcus implying he didn’t need help running the training operation?

“Some of the trainers might have ideas about what approach to take next.” Diplomatically, he did not mention his own opinions. “Now that Legacy is out of racing—”

“There is no reason to believe Legacy is done. The horse was on the verge of a Triple Crown win.”

A muscle kinked in Robbie’s shoulders.

“But if he’s not allowed to race again, shouldn’t we have a plan for developing the next Triple Crown winner?” There was so much potential in the stables at Quest, but the most time and money was spent on a handful of top prospects.

“I would think we are always planning for that.” Marcus gave a stiff nod to both of them. “Right now, we’re lucky to be racing any horses at all. My priority is keeping all of our horses in top condition until this scandal with Legacy is cleared up.”

With that, he left the office, stalking off to the stable or paddocks or wherever he was needed. Robbie’s blood simmered at the guy’s casual attitude about plans for the future.

“This guy is the salvation of Quest’s future?” he asked himself as much as Melanie.

She slid back into her boots and said nothing for a long moment.

“He’s done well since he’s been here. We just need to give him a chance.” She finally said the polite thing, but Robbie could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

He left the stable office in a black mood, determined to get the hell out of Dodge today. He might not relocate all the way into Twisted River in deference to his grandfather, but he could at least move his things into one of the cabins where the other trainers lived.

That was all he was around here, anyway. Marcus’s arrival had proven Robbie wasn’t a Preston on the fast track to success in the family business. He’d always stood a little outside the family, so he might as well live that reality now. If not for his devotion to the horses he’d raised himself, and a passion for racing, he would have left long ago. And really, if not for his grandfather, Robbie might have been tempted to take a few of his horses and start up a small stable of his own.

It was still something to consider.

And he would. Right after he went into town to lift a toast to his displaced status. A day like this one surely deserved a drink.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Robbie remembered why he shouldn’t drink.

He’d had a hell of a time drowning his anger until all hours, but since he didn’t cut himself any slack on his workday, he’d rolled out of bed with a hangover to face the same problems he’d left the day before.

Now, he finished exercising one of the colts Daniel Whittleson had purchased for the stables and passed off the reins to a groom. The horse was fast, his carriage solid, but the animal was peaking too fast.

“How many more are you going to take out?” a child’s voice called to him.

Robbie turned to see a scrawny kid watching him from the fence around the practice yard. His spiky dark hair was lighter at the tips, and the boy looked like a mini surfer dude with his tanned skin and board shorts. He wore flip-flops and a faded T-shirt under an open sweatshirt.

Robbie couldn’t remember seeing him around before, although with Quest’s extensive staff, there were certainly plenty of kids who lived on the property.

“Who wants to know?” Robbie strode closer to the fence, not minding a break. Besides, he’d served enough time standing at that fence all by himself in his youth to appreciate being the odd man out.

Hell, for that matter, welcome to his life today. He never had quite caught up to Brent and Andrew, his two older brothers, in the old man’s eyes.

“Kiefer Emory.” The boy straightened his skinny shoulders, though his feet remained planted on the lowest wooden rail. “I’m learning about horses. You sure ride a lot of ’em.”

Robbie couldn’t identify the accent, which didn’t have the softened vowels of a Kentucky native.

“I’m a hands-on trainer, so I like to ride them to test their skills.” He leaned against the fence and soaked up the September sun. His hungover eyes finally seemed to be recovering from the perpetual squint he’d had earlier in the day. “And I’m Robbie Preston, by the way. Nice to meet you.”