Lulu Flannery loves living in her hometown, Louisville,
especially during the weeks before the Kentucky Derby. The
lavish fundraising parties, the famous horse owners and
trainers in town for the event all add to the excitement of
the crowd as the city fills with tourists. Lulu always just
watches the Derby on television though, since she doesn't
really care for horses. She's happy to concentrate on her
work as a glass artist, which keeps a roof over her head,
although that roof could use new shingles. A rental agent
convinces Lulu to stay with a friend and rent out her
bungalow for two weeks to a horse racing fan. Although the
money is too good to pass up, Lulu is concerned about
having a stranger stay in her home, especially when she
discovers who it is!
For Cole Early, this is the year he's going to win the
Triple Crown. He already has a celebrity reputation
as "King Cole" the well-dressed, handsome horse trainer,
and when his horse wins the Derby in a few weeks, he will
be on his way to success. Cole didn't anticipate that no
hotels would be available for miles around Louisville
though, and he's finding the little bungalow he rented to
be a bit distracting. He's intrigued by his fantasies of
the woman who lives here, imagining from her possessions
that she's captivating, exotic and passionate. When he
finally meets Lulu, he's surprised by the reality, but not
disappointed. Lulu and Cole couldn't have less in common,
except for the attraction developing between them!
This novel takes the actual Derby house rentals in
Louisville and imagines a fabulous romance developing from
the situation. The writing captures the spirit of the
Kentucky Derby, although actual scenes featuring horses are
minimal. The author's note at the end clarified which
tourist attractions are fictitious or based on actual
locations, which readers appreciate when learning about a
new locale through fiction. With well-developed,
entertaining characters and humorous dialogue, FAST AND
LOOSE will keep you reading until the end of the race.
Thoroughbred trainer Cole Early needs a place to stay
while his horse is preparing for the Kentucky Derby. With
Louisville booked solid, he snaps up the snug little
bungalow his real estate agent miraculously finds.
Glass artist Lulu Flannery has agreed to rent out her
house for Derby, but quickly begins to worry. What if her
boarder is someone like that rowdy “King Cole” person who
keeps popping up in all the places she seems to be? A guy
like that could really mess with a girl’s feng shui.
But it isn’t Lulu’s feng shui that Cole is interested in.
Especially after he discovers she’s the mysterious woman
whose house is filled with such sensual indulgences.
What’s a guy gotta do to bring the passion out of the self-
possessed Miss Flannery?
Excerpt
Chapter One
Nothing brought more joy to Cole Early’s heart than
watching the day dawn from the railing of a racetrack. As
he sipped strong black coffee from the cardboard cup in
his hand, it occurred to him that Santa Anita was one of
the most glorious tracks for doing just that. At barely
six a.m., the crisp yellow sun was cresting the St.
Gabriel Mountains in the east, spilling over the shallow
green peaks to limn them with gold. A trio of tall date
palms stretched high over the grounds of the track between
Cole and the foothills, black silhouettes against the
young sunlight, their broad fronds fluttering in the cool,
early April breeze.
It was that magical moment between darkness and light,
night time and day, when anything–anything–seemed
possible. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the mixed aromas of
damp dirt and expensive equine, a fragrance found nowhere
else in the world but at the track. His chest filled with
something big and undefinable, a sensation he’d never
quite been able to identify, but one that made him feel as
if nothing in his life would ever go wrong again. Only at
the track did Cole feel it. There was just something about
the confidence of the owners, the arrogance of the
trainers and the dominance of the Thoroughbreds all
meeting and commingling that spawned a force of energy
that was almost a living, breathing thing.
He opened his eyes again and let that energy wash over
him, bathing in it as if it were the fountain of youth–
which, quite honestly, he couldn’t say it wasn’t.
Thoroughbred racing was ageless, the sport of kings for
centuries, a place where any Average Joe could, with one
lucky bet, become a king himself. And Cole should know,
since it hadn’t been that long ago that he was an Average
Joe himself. Now he was one of the top Thoroughbred
trainers in the country, dubbed nothing less than “King
Cole” by the racing media.
These days, he could afford to look the part, too. His
dark hair was expertly and expensively cut to seem
carefree and cavalier, and his suits were tailored by one
of LA’s finest couturiers. Today’s was a dark olive that
matched his eyes, paired with a dress shirt and necktie,
both silk, that were the color of Fort Knox gold. His
Bulgari sunglasses were tucked into his breast pocket
beside another scrap of gold silk, this one perfectly
folded with three points showing, just as his tailor had
shown him how to fold it. His shoes were Gucci, his
wristwatch was Movado, his underwear was Parah. Hell, even
his grooming products bore a European name whose
pronunciation he’d had to look up on the Internet.
Cole really didn’t give a damn about his physical
appearance, but having been thrust into the media
spotlight two years ago with a sensational win at the
Pacific Classic, he’d consciously begun to cultivate an
image as a player. It wasn’t an image anymore, though.
Cole Early was a player. A major player. And his status
was only going to explode in… He glanced at his watch,
also gold–real gold–turning it a little to catch a shaft
of gilded sunlight. In roughly ten hours and fifty-two
minutes.
Any day at the track was a good one, as far as he was
concerned. But this day was going to be his best yet.
Because this was the day that Silk Purse, the filly Cole
had trained from infancy to three-year-old, was going to
win the Santa Anita Derby.
He was as certain of that as he was his own name. He
didn’t care what the handicappers were saying. The thirty-
eight-to-one odds on the horse right now only meant Cole
would be that much richer at day’s end after plunking down
the cool ten grand on the animal he always slid through
the pari-mutuel window, figuratively speaking, whenever he
had a horse running. Of course, all his bets were handled
by electronic transaction now, so large had they become,
something that took a lot of the tradition and fun out of
the racing experience. But the end result would still be
the same. Three hundred and eighty grand if the odds
didn’t change by race time. Not to mention a nice share of
the winning purse, worth three-quarters of a million
dollars itself.
Even better than the money, however, was the fact that
when Silk Purse crossed the finish line ahead of all the
other horses, she’d qualify for the Kentucky Derby, four
weeks from today. And that race, more than any other right
now, was the one Cole wanted to win. Because it was the
first jewel in the Triple Crown, which he was determined
would belong to Silk Purse. That would put the horse in an
elite group of only eleven other Thoroughbreds–and put
Cole in an even more elite group of only nine other
trainers–to win the distinction. And it had been three
decades since the last ones, Affirmed and Lazara Berrera,
had managed it.
As recently as a week ago, Cole hadn’t been confident of
today’s win. But something had happened to the horse over
the last six or seven days, and the new kid exercising her
had a way with animals that had made Silk Purse seem
happier somehow. Cole could just feel victory in his gut,
and his gut had never steered him wrong. The filly might
not be as experienced as some of the other horses running
today, and she faced a gender bias the other entrants
didn’t. But she hadn’t lost a race yet. She wasn’t a
favorite among the bettors and bookies, but by God, she
had more heart than any horse Cole had ever encountered.
And he’d met more than a few animals with potential,
because he’d been training Thoroughbreds since he was a
teenager. Silk Purse was going to go all the way to the
Belmont finish line, or his name wasn’t–
“Cole Early!”
He turned at the summons to see Susannah Pennington, Silk
Purse’s owner, emerging from the paddock with her hand
lifted in the air. She was dressed for Derby Day in a
short, clingy red skirt and white frilly blouse, an
enormous red straw hat encircling her platinum hair like a
halo. It was a mystery how she navigated the damp earth on
spike heels, also red, but damned if she didn’t manage it
with grace and style, picking her way carefully over the
uneven sod.
Cole returned her wave as he watched her approach,
appreciating, as he always did, the length of bare leg
extending from Susannah’s short skirt. At fifty-two, she
was ten years his senior, a dynamo in the field of high
finance and a self-made millionaire many times over, just
as he was himself. She owned three other horses in
addition to Silk Purse, all of them fillies, all of them
sharing her initials, and all of them stabled and trained
by Cole at Early Farms in Temecula. Silk Purse showed by
far the most promise, though a one-year-old, Sinful
Pleasures, would perform very nicely when she started
racing in another year or two.
“How does our girl look this morning?” Susannah asked as
she came to a halt beside Cole and assumed the position–
weight shifted to one foot, arms resting on the track
rail, fingers loosely clasped, her gaze focused on the
gray filly who was now running on the far side of the
track.
“Poetry in motion,” Cole told her. “She’s really taken to
the new kid exercising her. What’s his name again?”
“Jason.”
Cole nodded. “You should pay him more, make sure you keep
him around.”
“Done,” Susannah immediately agreed, just as she always
immediately agreed to Cole’s suggestions.
“She and Esteban have clicked extremely well, too,” he
added, giving well deserved props to the horse’s jockey,
Esteban Santos. “I like him. He’s been good for her.”
“I thought you said he was too inexperienced,” Susannah
reminded him, smiling, since she’d been the one who’d had
to convince Cole to give the young jockey a chance.
Susannah had a thing for young jockeys, though, and Cole
had been afraid she only wanted Esteban to ride Silk Purse
because he was her current lover.
“I stand corrected,” he told her. “The kid’s got talent.
And heart. Just like the horse, come to think of it.”
“I told you they were a good match.”
Cole grinned. “You and he are a good match, too,” he told
her. “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 other 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 Directors’ 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 and 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 happy 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 horse as she readied herself 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 and his
desires and his dreams. He turned to Susannah and kissed
her full on the lips, a gesture borne of nothing more than
pure euphoria. Then the two of them erupted in boisterous
laughter, clinging to each other’s shoulders as
photographers and sports writers and news crews pressed
around them, shouting questions and 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 told her
with a huge grin. “And then to the Triple Crown. There’s
nothing–nothing–that can stop us now.”
#
Okay, so there was one thing that might stop them, Cole
was forced to acknowledge later that night. Or, at the
very least, stop him.
“What do you mean there are no rooms left in Louisville?”
he cried into the telephone as he poured himself a second
celebratory brandy. “It’s a big city. There must be a lot
of hotels.”
He heard his travel agent, Melissa, sigh on the other end
of the line. Although her agency had closed two hours ago,
he’d called her on her cell phone and dragged her out of a
wedding reception to make his travel arrangements for his
trip to Louisville at the end of the month. Hey, he threw
a lot of business Melissa’s way, and she’d told him
herself to call her anytime he needed her services. And
hell, she had two other sisters who’d be getting married
someday. It wasn’t like this was her only chance to be a
maid of honor.
“There are indeed a lot of hotels in Louisville, Cole,”
she told him, the statement punctuated by what sounded
like the ruffle of some stiff fabric. “Hang on a minute,”
she added. “I have to shift the phone to my other ear on
account of there’s this big-ass bow on my shoulder that’s
about to put my eye out. Yeah, sure I can wear this piece
of crap dress again someday. Hah.” He smiled as he waited
for Melissa’s voice again. “There, that’s better. But
there are also a lot of out-of-town visitors in
Louisville,” she added. “Derby is the biggest time of the
year for travel to that city. I’m telling you, there are
no rooms left. Nothing. Nada. Nil. El Zippo.”
“What’s Susannah doing for lodging?” he asked, knowing
Melissa handled her travel account, too.
“She’s staying with some friends of hers in Shelbyville.
And their son in Lexington is going to share his apartment
with Silk Purse’s exercise boy. But Susannah had to call
in a couple of favors even for that.”
Cole blew out an exasperated breath. “Can’t you find a
hotel for me in Lexington?” he asked. “That wouldn’t be so
bad. It’s only an hour away.”
“Lexington is also full up.”
“Frankfort?”
“Full.”
“Southern Indiana?”
“Full.”
“How about–”
“Cole,” Melissa interrupted, “there are no rooms within
two hours of Louisville. You should know better than
anyone how important the Kentucky Derby is to the
Thoroughbred industry. People make hotel reservations a
year in advance for that. I even tried the flea bag
motels. I’m telling you, there is nothing left, hotel-
wise.”
Something in her voice made it sound as if all were not
lost. “Hotel-wise,” Cole repeated, hopefully. “You say
that as if there are alternatives to hotels. What? Like
could I get a condo or something? That’d be fine.”
“There are no condos to be had, either,” Melissa told him.
But,” she added just as he was opening his mouth to say
more. “I can get you a house.”
“A house?” he repeated, having never considered such a
possibility. Now that he did, however, he kind of liked
the idea. There would be more privacy in a house. More
freedom. More room to stretch out. Of course, most
furnished rental houses sucked when it came to decor, but,
hell, he wouldn’t be there all that often. And it wasn’t
like he hadn’t lived in dumps before. Years ago, granted,
but he didn’t mind slumming for a couple of weeks.
“Yeah, a house,” Melissa said. “Evidently a lot of the
locals who don’t care about the Kentucky Derby–”
Don’t care about the Kentucky Derby? Cole thought
incredulously. How could a person not care about the
Kentucky Derby? Especially someone who lived in the same
city where it took place every year? That was just…wrong.
“–will clear out of their houses,” Melissa continued, “and
rent them out to people who can’t find hotel rooms or who
just want the comfort of a house instead. Some of the
houses that go up for grabs are pretty nice, too. Six and
seven bedrooms, some of them. Stately old manors. Or new
McMansions in gated communities. With country club
memberships. Access to pools and golf courses. We’re
talking massive luxury for some of these places.”
Cole perked up considerably. Now that was the way to spend
time at the Derby.
“Unfortunately, those are all gone,” Melissa said.
Of course.
“Besides,” she continued, “the houses that go up for grabs
are only available for the two or three days surrounding
the race, and I know you and Susannah are planning to be
in Louisville for a couple of weeks. So I did some calling
around after you called me, and I found a guy who
specializes in Derby rentals. He said could guarantee me a
house for the two weeks preceding the race in an area
called the Highlands which, according to him, is a very
nice neighborhood, parts of which are very upscale. And
lucky for you, Cole, he said there are lots of restaurants
within walking distance of just about every street.”
“Walking distance,” Cole repeated distastefully. She
called that lucky? Nobody in southern California ever
walked anywhere. That was even more wrong than not wanting
to be in Louisville during the Kentucky Derby.
“Anyway, I’ve got the house on hold until midnight our
time,” Melissa said, “but after that, it’s going to be
gone. As it was, I had a hell of a time finding that one.
I sincerely doubt you’re going to find anything else,
Cole. You really came down to the wire on this.”
“Very funny,” he replied, though he had to admit that the
racing metaphor was apt. He really should have booked a
hotel the minute he realized Silk Purse had even a tiny
chance of winning Santa Anita. He just hadn’t wanted to
jinx it, that was all. Booking a room before having the
win in their pocket had just seemed like the perfect way
to ensure Silk Purse didn’t win.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
“Don’t you want to know how much it’s going to cost or
hear about the amenities?” Melissa asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told her. “I need a place to stay.
Whatever you have to do to get this house for me, do it.
At this point, I’ll take what I can get.”
I love to learn about new places via my reading! And it's great that Ms. Bevarly includes a note about the spots that are "real" and those from her imagination! (Fresh Fiction 5:08pm March 18, 2008)
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy