Born Of The Bluegrass. Darlene Scalera

it was more than track superstition that made a trainer reluctant to break up a good horse-groom team. Everyone knew the stories of perfectly healthy horses dropping dead for no reason after being separated from a favorite groom. So when the woman had offered to come to Hamilton Hills with the colt, he’d said yes. In fact, he hadn’t even been surprised when she’d asked. She seemed to need the horse as much as the horse needed her. Now Reid needed them both.

      He headed toward the barns, passing the small white building with peeling red trim that was the workers’ canteen. It should’ve been closed down, but it seemed like such a small tribute to the workers who had remained, faithful to the ideal that had been Hamilton Hills.

      He passed the equine swimming pool, remembering his brother’s pleasure when it had been built, back when he had mortgaged all their futures, before the bloodstock market collapsed. The pool was empty except for leaves; the underwater treadmills and Jacuzzis used to treat the racehorses’ strains and sprains long gone. The private veterinary hospital was shut down also as were two-thirds of the barns, their residents having been led several years ago through the mist, across the fields to the auction block at Keeneland Racecourse.

      He rounded the half-mile training track his father had built years ago when he tired of shipping a hundred yearlings daily to a rental track eight miles away. This year, there were only thirty-two yearlings in the training barn. Yet, last season, there had been only eighteen.

      One side of the heavy double-wide door on Barn 4 was rolled back, the smells of sweet clover, oil soap and leather meeting Reid as he entered. Smells that had washed through his dreams since he was a child; smells that were now becoming like home to his own nephew.

      Several stalls down from the entrance, Bennie Montano was leveling the dirt floor with a wooden rake, humming softly. He looked up as Reid came in.

      “Morning, Bennie.”

      The man leaned on his rake. “Morning, boss.” Dust danced in the sunlight trying to pierce the cool, dim interior.

      “Everybody settling in?” Reid referred to the horse and the woman, both who’d arrived in the van yesterday.

      The dark-eyed man looked at Reid. “She’s a woman.”

      Reid looked at the man who’d been grooming at Hamilton Hills since Reid was a boy. After Reid’s father died, it was Bennie who’d brought Reid to the barn, gave him a shot from the bottle of rye he always kept buried deep in the bran barrel and sat with him until the day was nothing but barn lights and deep blue sky.

      “That’s true. The groom’s a young woman,” Reid said in a tone that asked if that would be a problem.

      “Personally, it don’t matter to me. The women seem to have a way about them with the horses, taking care of them as if they were their own kids. And this one, she’s skinny but strong. You can see the way she looks at that horse, she thinks of the animal like family. But…”

      Reid frowned, waited for the man to continue.

      “This crew is all men, and some of them might not be as gentlemanly as me.”

      “Her father was a racetracker. She told me she was practically born on the backside. I’m sure she’s seen the less gentlemanly aspects of the shedrow and knows how to take care of herself.” Reid’s frown deepened.

      “Then, there’s the other old-timers. They’ll be wondering why some spanking new sweet young thing gets the new hope.”

      Reid scowled at his head groom. “She’s been grooming this colt for over two years. I brought her here for the horse.”

      Bennie eyed the other man. “We don’t need no more trouble.”

      The old man was right. Women were common in the racing world, but a young, pretty girl in the middle of an all-male crew could cause problems. Reid should’ve realized that even before Bennie brought it up. If he’d been thinking straighter, he would’ve told the girl no when she asked to come aboard, but he had wanted her, truth be told. He had wanted her for the horse.

      “There’ll be no trouble. Should you see signs otherwise, I want to know about it, understand?”

      Bennie nodded.

      “Is she here?”

      “She’s down in number 20 with the new hope.”

      Reid strode to the barn’s far end, angry with himself and his own shortsightedness. The girl had come eight hundred miles. He wasn’t going to tell her to turn around and leave. He could find her something at Keeneland, but, bottom line, he didn’t want her to go. He needed her here. He wanted her here, he realized as he moved through the shadows and sunbeams.

      He would keep an eye on her and the men, he decided as he passed too many empty stalls. His crew were good men, but still Bennie was right—they were men, and the new groom was a young, single, attractive woman. Hamilton Hills didn’t need any more trouble.

      He heard her voice like a lullaby before he reached the stall almost at the end of the wide lane. She spoke too softly for him to hear the words but he knew from the singsong rhythm, she was promising the animal only good things. Past the half-opened stall door, he saw her. She was at the horse’s side, speaking into that huge black neck that blocked Reid from her view. The light turned the animal’s coat blue and the straw gleamed. He heard a wistful, sad note in the soft song now as he moved toward the stall and wondered what sorrows this young woman had. The horse watched him as he approached, then swung his head and curved his neck around the woman in a horse hug. Not wanting to startle the woman, Reid made his steps heavier.

      “Good morning.”

      He sensed rather than saw her fear. If a filly, she would have been skittish and difficult to manage. The colt also felt her nervousness and swung his head up, shuffled his front feet. The woman had been brought here to keep the horse calm. Bennie was right. He’d made a mistake, but he’d deal with it later. Right now, he wanted to calm the woman—and the horse.

      She’d already become aware of her charge’s shift in mood and had begun the soft crooning that lulled him. Reid saw the calm come over the animal as if bewitched, and he marveled at this wisp of a woman’s power. The horse eyed him.

      “So you two made it?”

      “Yessir.” She kept distance between them.

      He shook his head. “I’m Reid, Dani. Just Reid.”

      She nodded, not looking at him.

      “So what does our fella here think of his new home?”

      “Clover hay, sweet feed, Kentucky bluegrass.” She smiled her gentle smile and patted the horse’s cheek. “He’ll be happy here.”

      “What about you?”

      She looked at him, her eyes again startled as if unaccustomed to questions about herself. He looked away from her mouth, away from her slightly parted, full lips that struck him as particularly vulnerable. The sense that it was a mistake bringing this woman here became stronger. “You’re all situated?”

      She nodded, stroking the horse’s neck.

      “Everything satisfactory?”

      “Yessir.”

      “Reid,” he reminded.

      “Reid,” she dutifully repeated.

      Something in that soft utterance stopped him. He looked at the woman for several silent seconds before dismissing the sensation. Still Bennie’s dire predictions lingered in his mind.

      “You’ve met some of the crew? You rode down with them, right?”

      Her hand stilled on the horse’s coat. “Yes.”

      “And you’ve met a few more since you got here?”

      “Yes.” Her long hair was sleeked back across her crown in her customary braid, and as opposed to the horse’s dark gleam, it turned fawn in the