“Fine. You gonna tell me?”
“Nope. First rule of the road—keep on going and don’t look back.” The shadow over his face told her he’d experienced pain she couldn’t imagine. Gen didn’t want to. Right now, she trusted him to do what was right. The security of such trust humbled her, but if she tried to express it he’d only shrug the whole dialogue off and get embarrassed. Instead, she accepted his direction for the second day and nodded. “Then I’m ready to find out.”
“Let’s drive.”
The rain had stopped in the middle of the night. The day was hot, the top was down, and Gen let the wind tear at her hair, whip her face, and bathe her in sensation. Blue sky whizzed by streaked with cotton-ball clouds. Once again, there wasn’t a lot of talking. Wolfe pumped up the radio as Imagine Dragons sung about demons and they headed into town.
The memory hit hard. David driving toward Newport for a getaway weekend. The excitement that curled in her belly, knowing they’d finally be alone without hospital beepers or prying eyes. She’d stared at his godlike profile and wondered again how she’d gotten so lucky to have him notice her.
The car had hit something in the road and the tire blew out. They’d spent hours on the side of the road, on Memorial Day weekend, waiting for Triple A. Gen was used to mini disasters and approached life with a sense of humor. But as she watched David get more and more surly, the knot in her stomach began to tighten. When the car was finally fixed, he’d accused her of flirting with the mechanic. Told her if she hadn’t been distracting him, he would’ve seen the debris in the road. The attack was finely launched, with cutting sarcasm but delivered with an angelic grace that confused her. By the time they got to the bed-and-breakfast, she was apologizing and not really understanding what it was for.
It was only the beginning.
Gen rubbed her arms, suddenly peppered with gooseflesh. Why hadn’t she seen the manipulation before? Had it always been lurking? Their relationship unfolded so fast it was hard to keep up, but he consistently told her how much he loved her. Wanted to protect her. Wanted her to do well in her career and as his mate. How could that have been bad?
Bad enough you escaped through the church window, her inner voice snapped. Bad enough every night he came home you were a nervous wreck, making sure you did everything perfectly.
Not now, she answered. I’m not ready for this now.
Fine. But when you are, I’ll give you some hard truths.
“Are you cold? I can put the top up.”
Gen turned. He stared at her with assessing eyes. “No, I like it. Just the crazy voices in my head screwing with me again. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded. “Get them all the time.”
“What do you do to make them stop?” she asked.
Wolfe concentrated on the road, but she knew he saw much more. “Make the music louder.”
Gen smiled. And cranked up the volume.
When they finally reached their destination, Wolfe slowed to a crawl, inching toward the racetrack. Horse racing? Ugh. Why hadn’t she guessed? She hated gambling; she always lost.
“Really, dude? First my groom, now all my money? This isn’t fun,” she said glumly.
He sent her a sharp glare. “Has anyone ever showed you the true beauty in horse racing? The adrenaline rush? The pounding of horses’ hooves as they break away from the gate? The screaming of the crowds? Saratoga Racetrack is one of the most famous, and the home of the great Travers Stakes. Champions have raced here, and people travel from all over to be a part of it . . . Are you yawning?”
She delicately patted her mouth. “I went horseback riding once and didn’t like it.”
He rolled his eyes. “You won’t be riding these horses. Just betting on a winner. Though you’re probably the right size to be a jockey.”
Gen huffed out a breath. “That was low. I thought you liked making money, not losing it.”
“I never lose at the track.”
“I’m gonna be bored. This is gonna be just as bad as the fishing disaster.”
“Get moving, Gen.”
She did, sighing and whining a bit and dragging her feet like a cranky toddler. The crowds were lined up and streamed from the sidewalk, chattering with enthusiasm. Rolled-up books were tucked under their arms, and they pointed tiny pencils at the pages, talking odds and breeding and trainers. The tangy scent of earth and horse manure rose to her nostrils as she and Wolfe paid and walked through the elaborate wrought iron gates.
The scene surprised her. Instead of a bunch of men smoking and huddled around a small track, it was like a slice of old-town America burst around her. Concession stands selling homemade lemonade, hot pretzels, and various snacks were set up along the twisting sidewalks. A festive band played at the entrance, with children dancing and laughing to the beat. Large trees shaded areas of picnic benches where television monitors were scattered about. The air practically sizzled with energy while the broadcaster spoke about scratches and listed the horses in the race with both advantages and disadvantages. Women dressed in gorgeous dresses and elaborate hats strolled past her in elegant glory. Funny, it felt more like a picnic event than a dirty track.
“How could hard-core gambling attract so many wholesome family members?” she asked, trotting after him. He bought two racing forms, some pencils, and a large cup of lemonade. Then headed toward a bench.
“Because horse racing is a respected sport. August is the only month the track is open, so many families stop here on vacation on the way to Lake George. It’s one of the only tracks you can see the jockeys and horses up front and stand right near the gate to see the race.”