Julie turned and came into his arms. “Of course you did.” She lifted her lips to his, and the kiss clung for a long moment that had his pulse racing faster than any thoroughbred. “Thank you for rescuing Janice from the clutches of Mr. Mercer.”
“Wait just a minute,” Janice protested. “Custis didn’t have to rescue me. I handled the situation myself.”
Longarm chuckled and told Julie, “She sure did. Had poor old Leon shaking in his spats.”
Janice gently edged Julie aside and gave Longarm a kiss too. “But you were right there to help me in case I needed it,” she whispered. “I appreciate that, Custis.” Her hand dropped to his groin. “And I like to show my appreciation in tangible ways.”
Over the next hour, both sisters showed their appreciation in ways so tangible that by the time they were through, Longarm felt as if he’d been turned inside out and drained of every bit of vitality. It was almost enough to distract him from the real reason he had gotten mixed up with these racing folks in the first place.
Almost …
After the night he’d spent, he had every right to feel groggy, but he woke up clearheaded and alert the next morning. He knew now what he had to do. This case was winding down at last, and he was more than ready for it to come to a successful conclusion.
The train reached Carson City around the middle of the day after that. Longarm had been to the capital city of Nevada many times, but he still enjoyed the clear, cool air and the majesty of the Sierra Nevada rising just to the east of town. The state capitol building with its white dome rising into the blue sky was an impressive structure as well, having been built some ten years earlier of native stone and massive wooden beams. Longarm could see the capitol from the train station. He could also see the racetrack on the eastern edge of town. As usual, it was the immediate destination of most of the people who disembarked from the train.
Longarm stuck with Senator Padgett and Leon Mercer, also as usual. Mercer hadn’t been able to meet Longarm’s eyes squarely ever since the night before last, but Padgett didn’t seem to notice his assistant’s embarrassment. Padgett wasn’t the type to be too observant of the people who worked for him, Longarm thought. As long as they did their jobs and kept things running smoothly, that was all the senator cared about.
While the horses were getting settled in, Longarm wandered around the racetrack, familiarizing himself with the layout of the stands and the adjacent buildings. By the time Padgett was ready to head for the hotel, Longarm knew where everything was. He was satisfied that he would be able to find his way around in the dark.
The hotel was not far from the capitol, and Padgett had been able to book a suite of rooms. As Longarm walked into the sitting room, carrying his war bag and Winchester, he said, “I’ll bunk out here on that big ol’ sofa in the corner, Senator. You and Leon can each have a room to yourself.”
“Why, thank you,” said Padgett, the words sounding more sarcastic than sincere.
Longarm didn’t care. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t have to worry any more about riding herd on this arrogant politician.
The race was scheduled for the following afternoon. Longarm snatched a moment before it started to find the Cassidy sisters in the crowd. He gave each of them a hug and kiss, then said, “I’ve got a good feeling about this race, ladies. My hunch is that when it’s over, you’re going to have yourselves a winner.”
“I hope so,” Julie said fervently. “Matador’s workouts yesterday afternoon and this morning were excellent. If he’s ever going to do it, it might as well be now.”
“Of course he’s going to do it,” Janice said. “You just wait and see!”
“I’ll be pulling for him,” Longarm promised. “Now I reckon I ought to get back to the senator.”
He hesitated a moment longer, looking at the beautiful, anxious, hopeful faces of Janice and Julie Cassidy. If there was any justice in the world, he thought, Matador would come through for them today.
He made his way back to Padgett’s box and found the senator fidgeting nervously with a cigar, waiting for the race to begin. “Where have you been?” Padgett snapped at Longarm.
“Just wishing Miss Julie and Miss Janice good luck today,” said Longarm. He noticed how quickly Leon Mercer averted his eyes at the mention of Janice.
“Wishing them luck?” said Padgett. “Don’t you think you ought to be hoping Caesar wins instead?”
Longarm took his seat in the box and suppressed the surge of irritation he felt. “Senator, I reckon you’ve forgotten … just because I’m following you around trying to make sure you stay alive, that doesn’t mean I’m working for you. The Justice Department still pays my wages.”
“Of course, of course,” Padgett grumbled. “I just thought that since you’re sitting in my box, you ought to root for my horse.”
“Well, I wish you luck too, Senator. I wish everybody in the race luck.” Longarm held up his hands, palms out. “Other than that, I’m impartial.”
“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.” Padgett stuck the cigar in his mouth and clamped his teeth down on it. “This is the worst part,” he said around the cylinder of tobacco, “waiting for the race to start.”
A few minutes later, the horses were brought to the starting line. The crowd filling the grandstands rose to its feet. The colors of the jockeys’ silks were bright in the afternoon sun. Longarm had no trouble picking out the green shirt worn by Cy and the red shirt that Matador’s rider sported. Both horses were toward the middle of the line. Not the Most advantageous position, but not the worst either.
The stillness of anticipation, of hundreds of held breaths, fell over the track as the starter prepared to fire his pistol. When the sharp crack sounded, the horses surged forward in a mighty burst of muscle and sinew. A many-throated shout rose from the crowd.
Longarm had seen enough of these races by now to be aware of some of the patterns that developed. He saw the fast starter kick out to the front of the pack and build up a short lead that soon began to shrink as the horse faltered and the others in the race came on more strongly. He saw the horses that liked the turns and those that preferred the straight-aways assert themselves in those places. The lead changed hands several times, and each time Longarm knew that that particular horse wouldn’t be able to hold it. They each fell back in turn, and others took their places. Caesar and Matador continued to run just ahead of the middle of the pack. Both horses were strong finishers, Longarm knew, and they were both staying in position to make their move.
Once around the track, then twice, and now the horses were in the final circuit. As they approached the last turn, Padgett leaned forward, his face brick red, and bellowed, “Now, Cy! Bring him on now, damn you!”
Cy couldn’t have heard that shout over the thunderous pounding of hooves down there on the track, but as if Padgett’s words had reached his ears, he began working the quirt harder on Caesar and drove the big blood bay forward at renewed speed. As the horses swept through the final turn, Caesar lunged toward the leaders, knifed among them, then darted ahead, wresting control of the lead for himself. Matador was still six horses back entering the home stretch.
Longarm bit back a groan. It looked as if Caesar was going to win again. He had honestly hoped—had felt certain—it was Matador’s day at last.
That was when a streak of chestnut-brown lightning erupted down the track, passing horse after horse. Matador was coming on; his jockey had held one last spurt of speed in reserve. But would it be enough now, or had it come too late? Longarm found himself yelling, “Come on, Matador, come on!” as the chestnut drew closer and closer to the bay. He ignored the glower that Senator Padgett sent his way and kept cheering for Matador. The finish line was close, maybe too close for Matador to catch up. His head was even with Caesar’s rump. Caesar was losing something, though, Longarm saw suddenly. The big bay’s gait wasn’t quite as smooth as it had been a second earlier. Cy should have waited to make the move, Longarm realized. Caesar didn’t have enough left to hold off Matador’s charge.