“I told you they were a good match.”
Cole grinned. “You and he are a good match, too. And he’s lasted a lot longer than the others. Is there something I should know, Susannah?”
She arched a pale blond eyebrow. “Maybe. We’ll see how he does today.”
“With the horse, or with you?”
Her grin went supernova at that. “Oh, he’s already done fine with me today.”
Cole chuckled. “The day’s barely started, Susannah.”
Her answering smile was dazzling. “I know,” she said, punctuating the words with a wistful, hopeful sigh. “There are still so many hours of it left to fill.”
“Don’t exhaust the poor guy,” Cole warned her. “He’s got a big race today.”
Susannah waved a careless hand. “And he’ll be in excellent spirits for it, I assure you.”
They watched Silk Purse make another circuit of the track, her glossy gray coat turning first silver, then gold, as the early morning sun washed over her. It was a Very Good Sign, another indication that the fates were smiling down on them. Cole just had a good feeling about the day. And the horse. And the race. And about every damned thing else in the universe. As the sun rose higher in the sky, so did his spirits, and when another of his and Susannah’s horses placed in the fourth race, he began to feel almost invincible.
As the time drew closer for the horses in the Derby to receive the call to the gate, Cole and Susannah made their way to the Director’s Room to watch it. The elegant—and very exclusive—restaurant was open only to the wealthiest and best connected track patrons. It was a thing to behold, with its finely carved pine walls designed in the 1700s and its crystal chandeliers dating to Regency England. Must have cost a fortune to import it all, Cole thought as he entered the richly appointed room. But then, richness was evident all around him here, in the patrons as well as the decor. It wasn’t unusual to find movie stars, pro athletes, and business tycoons milling about with the owners and trainers, especially on Derby Day.
Had someone told him twenty years ago—hell, five years ago—that he would someday feel right at home hobnobbing with the Thoroughbred elite, Cole would have laughed in that person’s face. Not because he hadn’t thought he had what it took to be a power player, but because he’d had no desire to join such ranks. He’d spent his life scoffing at the rich and famous, thinking them shallow and superficial and undeserving. Now he was one of them. And truth be told…
Well, hell, Cole thought as he and Susannah shouldered their way toward a window. It was a damned nice place to be.
The moment before the start of a race was even more magical a moment than the one before dawn. It was almost as if the world came to a stop in those immeasurable, cumbrous seconds. As if sounds, smells, and sights all smudged into a blur, bulging with fear and hope, expectation and anticipation. As Cole watched Silk Purse make her way toward the starting gate, he could feel all of those things humming just beneath his skin, accelerating his senses to the point where everything around him seemed almost surreal. Something exultant and potent vibrated in his chest, pressing harder as his horse entered the gate. In his mind, he could hear the metallic click of the latch closing behind her, then the muffled, anxious murmuring of the horses as they readied themselves for flight. And then, then—
“They’re off!” cried the announcer through the speakers, and Cole felt the air whoosh from his lungs, as if he were the one pummeling the dirt beneath his feet while he ran with all his might.
“Go, baby, go,” he murmured under his breath, voicing what had become the official slogan of the Thoroughbred industry, so often had the words been muttered over the years.
Without even realizing he was doing it, he began to bounce on the balls of his feet, his eyes never leaving Silk Purse. She left the gate strong but was quickly squeezed out when the horses on each side of her pulled ahead. She dropped to fourth, then fifth, then sixth. But Cole wasn’t worried. Her favorite part of a race was the final length, the straightaway after the last turn when she just seemed to be overcome with a burst of energy that sent her down the stretch like a cannon shot. Esteban knew that, too, so the jockey bided his time with the animal, steering her into an opening whenever he saw a break. Gradually, she moved ahead, into fifth, then fourth, then third place. Cole held his breath as horse and rider rounded the final curve, and then—
“Oh, yeah,” he breathed solemnly. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. You go, girl. You go.”
Silk Purse exploded at that point, Esteban pulling her to the outside so she could run at will. This was what Cole had recognized in the animal that no one else had seemed to see yet. Her unmitigated love of running, the sheer joy the animal seemed to feel when she had the room and opportunity to just run.
And, man, did that horse run.
By the time she reached the finish line, Silk Purse was a full two lengths ahead of the second-place horse and the crowd around Cole was screaming in surprise. He, too, let out a cry that came from the very deepest part of his soul, the place where he stored all his hopes, desires, and dreams. He turned to Susannah and kissed her full on the lips, a gesture born of nothing more than pure euphoria. Then the two of them erupted in boisterous laughter, clinging to each other’s shoulders as photographers, sportswriters, and news crews pressed around them, shouting questions, snapping pictures, and thrusting microphones between the pair.
For the moment, Cole ignored them all, looking at Susannah instead. “We’re going to the Kentucky Derby,” he
