“Do you guys believe in religion or anything?” he asked.
They both shared a look. “Umm, we went to church when we were younger. We believe in God.”
“Good. Pray hard we win. ’Cause if we don’t, it’s gonna be a disaster.”
GEN CLUTCHED THE TICKET in her hand and trained her gaze on the field of twelve. Number six was dark brown, with a beautiful silky mane and stocking legs. His jockey wore navy blue. When he trotted past her on the way to the gate, she noticed the spring in his step, and thought it was a good sign.
Until he slammed his head against the gate and refused to go in.
Wolfe’s expression made her palms sweat. He looked a bit worried. He never looked like that. She was so used to him being in control of every situation, the idea he could be nervous about her losing a silly race made her wonder why she was making such a big deal of it.
Because.
David didn’t believe in chance, or luck, or God. Once she had. After two years of being with him, she didn’t know anymore. He had consistently showed her how science was a tool, how odds were calculated and coincidence was just a blip on the monitor screen that really meant nothing.
Slowly, she’d begun to lose her sense of magic. Rationally, she realized the six horse was nothing but a target of her current heartache, an attempt to regain a mysterious emotion she believed may have died.
Simply put, she didn’t care.
Gen needed Phoenix Rising to win.
They finally got him loaded into the gate. A few precious seconds ticked by. The doors exploded open and they were off.
The field was a mass of pounding legs clustered together in a tight herd. Phoenix was in the middle of the pack, holding his own but not doing spectacularly. She chewed on her lip while the guys yelled encouragement at the horse and the field rounded the first bend. Dirt flew. Ears pinned, the navy flag streamed in the air, slowly inching forward.
From the back of the pack, the eight horse flew past the mishmash and took the lead. Damn. He was gray. She’d heard about gray horses being lucky.
Phoenix held his own, and as they neared the second turn, the space between them closed. Ten inches. Six. Four. Three.
Ed screamed, “Go, you motherfucker! Go!”
Neck and neck, they neared the finish, the jockeys’ whips nipping their flanks, hooves digging in, eyes fierce with the lure of victory.
They flew over the finish line together.
“Did he win?” Steve screamed. “Did he win?”
“I don’t know! Fuck! I don’t know!” Tom moaned, pacing back and forth. The crowd muttered in excitement, all trained on the board in front, waiting for the results. Ed didn’t speak, just stared at the field.
Heart beating madly, Gen choked for breath, and then a warm, firm grip surrounded her. She looked down, and Wolfe’s fingers clasped hers, as if they had always belonged there.
Wolfe smiled. “He won.”
“How do you know?”
Those beautiful blue eyes darkened with a whisper of something deep. “I just know.”
The word photo disappeared from the screen.
Number six, Phoenix Rising, was posted in the first slot.
Number eight was listed in the second.
“We won.” Ed turned toward her, pure joy skating over his face. “We won, Gen!”
He grabbed her and spun her around, breaking the hold of Wolfe’s grip. The guys whooped and shouted, spilling beer and pounding backs in a whirlwind of activity. When they showed the magic tickets, she came out with thirty thousand dollars and an IRS form. Ed pocketed two grand.
She walked in a daze as the boys celebrated, talking about champagne and dinners and bar hopping. Wolfe walked beside her and stopped at the front gate. “You’re coming with us, right?” Ed asked. “You’re my lucky charm. Let’s get some dinner and relax. Get to know one another.”
Steve and Tom stood behind, trying to be cool. Wolfe took a step back and said nothing.
Uh-oh. She caught the interested gleam in Ed’s eye and wondered how she’d once again trapped herself into hurting another man. Still, it had been an incredible day and she’d never forget him. Gen raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
“I just broke off an engagement, Ed,” she told him. “I’m a wreck. But today, for a few hours, I forgot. I had a blast and I’ll never forget you, but I have to go home now.”
She waited for puppy dog eyes and a crestfallen expression. Instead, he nodded, brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her palm. “You’re a hell of a woman. Thanks for today. It was a sign for me, too. Tracey wasn’t for me.”
“And you’re a hell of a man. You deserve more.” Gen smiled, said good-bye to the other guys, and made her way back to the car with Wolfe. A strange lightness poured through her, as if the universe had just told her things would work out. Maybe not right away, or next week. But Phoenix Rising had won, against all the odds, and maybe there was magic in the world after all.
“You okay?”
She glanced toward him. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, hands wrapped around the wheel. Ready to take her away from any demons following them. What would she do without him?
“Yeah. I won more than you today.”
“You did.” He started the ignition and pulled out.
“Where are we going now?”
“Prime rib, baby. On you. Up for it?”
She settled back in the leather seat and grinned. “Hell, yeah.”
Nine
WOLFE KNEW EXACTLY when the guilt hit.
They’d just ordered their meal at Mouzon House. Offering fresh farm-to-table food in an intimate setting, the place was perfect for conversation, quiet, and culinary genius. Wolfe’s background in Italian dining taught him one thing. Simple didn’t mean average. A five-star dish was based on quality ingredients used to showcase the flavors without a lot of fancy stuff getting in the way.