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.”
She sat next to him and took a large gulp of lemonade. It was tart and sweet at the same time, and she licked her lips with enthusiasm. At least she’d eat good here. “Okay, so what do we do?”
He studied the book for a few minutes, tapping the pencil. She kept quiet and waited for the elaborate plan. “We bet. Did you bring money?”
Gen blinked. “I left in my wedding dress, remember?”
He winced. “Oops, sorry. I’ll front you for today.”
“Oh gee, what a great friend.”
“But that means I get ten percent of any money you make.”
She released the straw from her lips and gasped. “That’s not fair! That’s robbery! What type of person are you, taking advantage of the weak and uneducated?”
He kept his gaze trained on the book, muttering under his breath as his pencil made scratches and notes in the margin. “You’re the strongest woman I know and wicked smart. You’ll be taking advantage of me by the end of this day.”
She sniffed haughtily, even though the compliment was nice. She batted her lashes coquettishly. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout betting on no horses, Mr. Wolfe.”
He looked up as if annoyed she’d broken his concentration. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”
“What’s the hard way?”
“I educate you on narrowing down the field until you decide what horse is best for you. We calculate speed ratings. Check breeding, trainers, jockeys. Look at their past performance. See if they dropped in class. Glance at the odds. Then make an overall pick using all that information.”
She shuddered. A root canal sounded more fun than that. “What’s the easy way?”
“You look at the names and numbers and bet on your favorite.”
“Sold. The easy way it is. Give me the form.” His suffering sigh told her he was disappointed in her choice but she didn’t care. She certainly didn’t have to worry about her weight anymore, so while he took his time gathering all the useless information, she’d make her way through the food carts.
Gen glanced down at the list of horses. Disappointed Dreamer. The inner bell rang and she stabbed her finger at lucky number four. “That’s the one.”