Page 35
Ten minutes later, they were inside the gate. Fiona turned to her right, moving toward a sign that directed people to the box seats.
He caught her hand, stopping her. “We have general admission tickets, not a box, remember?”
“Oh yes.” She flushed and turned to head back the other way. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I’m sure your father has a box.” He glanced at her. “I assume all horse owners do.”
She paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The box seats were not visible from where they stood. “Yes, I’m sure he does.”
He frowned. “You don’t remember being here?”
To his surprise, she nodded slowly. “Not here necessarily, but I remember standing in front of a window to watch the horses race on the track below.”
“The Derby?” The photo of her standing with her father in the winner’s circle confirmed she’d attended that race. Interestingly, the race was always on the first Saturday in May, roughly five months ago, which meant she’d joined her father at the Derby shortly after breaking off her engagement to Tristan Crowley.
Had that been a strategic move on her part? To show the horse-racing world she’d moved on?
She stood still for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, I’m sure it was the Derby. I remember the sign, but not the actual race itself.” She frowned and shrugged. “Seems odd though. You’d think I’d remember Fiona’s Folly winning the race.”
“Remembering being at the race is still great news.” Submerging Fiona into familiar surroundings seemed to be working. He was glad they’d come, even if he didn’t love the crowds of people milling about.
“Yeah.” She drummed up a smile. “I guess we should try to find our seats. I hate to admit it, but I don’t think I’ve sat in the general admission section before.”
“Probably not.” He caught her hand. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
“You’ve never attended a race?”
“Nope.” He didn’t want to tell her he’d never considered attending a horse race because he didn’t care for how the horses were treated. He’d liked knowing the jockey who’d ridden Fiona’s Folly hadn’t used his switch, but he knew that was an anomaly.
Riding crops or switches, better known as whips, were used by most jockeys. Just the thought of beating on a horse to reach the finish line faster than all the others made him sick to his stomach. No animal deserved that.
More proof that he would never fit into Fiona’s world. And if he were honest, he’d admit he didn’t want to fit in with that type of existence.
Rich horse owners, box seats, lavish spending, winning millions of dollars on one race . . . none of that appealed to him. In fact, quite the opposite. The only reason he’d even seen Fiona and her father in the winner’s circle was because he’d wanted to get a bite to eat after a trip to the local grocery store. The race was plastered on every screen in the pub.
Doc wasn’t poor by any means. He’d banked most of his soldier’s salary while he’d been deployed overseas. And he’d purchased the cabin for a rock-bottom low price and poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into fixing it up. He enjoyed his modest living conditions. He was financially stable, without any debt, but that was also far from being wealthy. At least, in a material sense of the word.
His riches came from his teammates. From the peace and quiet of sitting on his porch sipping coffee in the early morning dawn. Too many of his fellow soldiers had died five and a half years ago.
And that grim knowledge had him savoring every moment of his life.
He was just starting to wonder if his fallen teammates were in a better place up in heaven with God when he saw a woman wearing a bright-yellow dress with a yellow hat drop like a stone just a few yards in front of them.
His instinct was to rush forward to offer assistance, much like he had as an army medic. The way she’d dropped straight down had reminded him of seeing a soldier doing that after being shot.
The pattern of the yellow dress had his blood running cold. The injured woman was wearing the same dress Fiona had purchased yesterday off the rack in a local store. And even from here, he could see the blood staining the fabric a bright crimson.
She’d been stabbed!
Grabbing Fiona’s hand, he spun away from the injured woman. His only goal was to protect Fiona from the assailant by getting lost in the crowd.
Before whoever stabbed that innocent woman discovered he’d targeted the wrong person.
9
Fiona’s pulse spiked as Doc abruptly changed directions, pulling her directly into a thick crowd of people. She stumbled and frowned, trying to figure out what had caught his attention. “What’s going on?”
“Lose the hat.” His terse voice was not reassuring. “Now!”
