Racing Toward Love (Horses Heal Hearts Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  RACING TOWARD LOVE

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  RACING TOWARD LOVE

  Horses Heal Hearts Series Book Two

  KIMBERLY BECKETT

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  RACING TOWARD LOVE

  Copyright©2019

  KIMBERLY BECKETT

  Cover Design by Melody A. Pond

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-821-0

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Ms Joanne Hyland for her advice and invaluable information about the world of thoroughbred horse racing. I also want to thank my faithful Beta readers, Kim Mallio and Donna Finlay, without whose help this story would not be nearly as good. Finally, I want to thank author Jeanne Oates Estridge, who provided me valuable advice and encouragement, and who helped me make this book a much better read.

  Prologue

  Captain Ian Stafford looked up from re-checking his gear one last time to see his friend and British Special Air Service teammate, Sergeant Major Neil McCauley, approach with an expression of concern. “So, Captain, what do you think of our American friends?”

  Ian tried to suppress the smile that threatened to appear on his face. His SAS squad had been asked to team up with a U.S. Navy SEAL team to track down and capture, or if necessary kill, a local Taliban leader who intelligence had indicated was located in Helmand province in southern Afghanistan. The target was responsible for a number of terrorist bombings that had killed several innocent civilians in the area.

  In theory, his SAS team and the American SEAL team were supposed to work together seamlessly. Unfortunately, past experience with Navy SEALS had left his team with a bad taste. The last mission they undertook with a SEAL team ended with one of the SEALs taking a bullet due to unnecessary heroics. The only reason the man was alive today was because Neil had disobeyed a direct order and risked his life to divert the Taliban fighters’ attention. He drew fire away from the injured man, so he could be rescued.

  Ian was encouraged this time because these SEALs seemed at the outset to be more professional. Granted, the SEAL team they were paired with for this mission was typically American, full of bravado, and itching for a fight. However, their leader, Navy Commander Scott Miller, was a true professional. Miller could have been the model for a Navy recruiting poster. He was at least six feet two inches tall, with blond hair, and a square, chiseled jaw. His clear, slate blue eyes could cut with a glance if one of his men displeased him in any way.

  He was certainly a cool operator. At first he came across as low key, with a soft, southern drawl one of his men explained sprang from his Kentucky roots, but Ian could tell from the beginning that his team clearly respected him. It only took a simple word or gesture from him, and the team went from a raucous group of misfits to a professional military team—focused and ready for action.

  Their SAS commanding officer, Major Roger Davis, was no slouch either. Ian considered him to be the best CO he had ever worked for. Ian drew comfort from the fact that Major Davis seemed impressed with these SEALs as well.

  “I don’t know, Neil,” Ian responded. “This team seems different. I think we can trust them.”

  Neil frowned. “I certainly hope so. I’m not risking my life to save a glory hog again.”

  “You don’t have much room to talk, Neil,” Ian responded. “I’ve seen you take risks I’d never take, and for what?”

  Neil fidgeted uncomfortably. “I can’t deny the thrill I get from the adrenaline rush when we’re in the midst of a firefight. Truth be told, I’ve always been an adrenaline junkie. My parents weren’t at all surprised when I joined the SAS. My girlfriend wasn’t so thrilled. She was certain my reckless nature would get me killed.”

  “I heard that she’s broken up with you. Are you OK with that?”

  Neil grimaced. “I just got her ‘Dear John’ letter yesterday.” He drew himself up and forced a smile. “Not to worry, Ian. I’m not suffering. In fact, I’m ready for my next conquest.”

  Despite Neil’s brave words, Ian sensed his girlfriend’s rejection hurt Neil more than he would say. He also feared that now Neil had no one waiting for him at home, he would become even more reckless—as if he had a death wish. “Are you sure, Neil? I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances because your girl’s not waiting at home for you.”

  Neil brushed off Ian’s concern. “Don’t worry, Captain. I lead a charmed life. So far, no matter what crazy stunt I’ve pulled, I’ve survived just fine. You worry too much, Sir.”

  Ian had flinched at the implied criticism in Neil’s voice. As team members and friends, the two had shared the highs and lows inherent in the life of a Special Forces soldier, but ultimately, it was Ian who was the officer and second-in-command—Neil’s superior. That distinction had come between them before when Ian had censured Neil for his reckless behavior in the field. Neil, of course, paid little attention and gave only lip service to Ian’s directives. Ian had decided long ago that Neil’s recklessness was an aspect of his personality that Ian couldn’t control, but that didn’t prevent him from trying on a regular basis. He hoped this
day, their last before returning home, would be the day he would be successful.

  His unit had joined with the SEALS at Camp Bastion, a sprawling military installation complete with an airfield that housed about 2,000 British troops. British involvement in Afghanistan would soon be over, and he would be stationed closer to home—thank God! How tired he was of endless sand and extreme heat only a camel could love.

  As second-in-command, Ian’s job was to ensure the unit worked together as a single, cohesive team. He had been working with this team for nearly two years. Today, it was almost as if they could hear each other’s thoughts—they were that close. The team was up for the challenge. This being the team’s last mission before returning home for a well-deserved rest, Ian felt especially responsible to make sure everyone returned home in one piece.

  Major Davis approached, followed closely by Lieutenant Commander Miller. “All right, men, it’s time. Let’s go.” As a unit, the men all left their tent and loaded into the chopper that would take them to the location of their mission.

  The chopper dropped them at an isolated point about a mile from their final destination. From there, the SAS and SEALs walked steadily toward the village. It wasn’t long before they reached their destination.

  As he walked cautiously down the garbage-strewn street, sweat dripping down the back of his neck and his throat choked with the ubiquitous dust, Ian immediately knew something was wrong. Normally, when troops entered this village, they would be surrounded by children laughing, playfully engaging the troops, and looking for small tokens like pens or coins they could keep as souvenirs. The fact that the streets were deserted, and no children played barefoot in the dirt surrounding their homes, put Ian on edge. He constantly scanned the surrounding houses for any sign of movement or glint of metal that might indicate a threat.

  Suddenly, sniper fire rang out from the rooftop of a nearby building, and the SEAL next to him fell to the ground, killed instantly by a bullet to the head.

  “Sniper! Get down! Get down!” Ian’s voice mingled with the other troops all shouting, “Take cover—anywhere you can find it!” He scrambled to shelter in the doorway of a nearby home that had been long deserted and searched the streets for the rest of his unit. More shots rang out and bullets raised puffs of dust near his feet. Since at least one of the shooters had zeroed in on his location, he was stuck here until his team neutralized the sniper or snipers.

  He could see the other members of the team were also pinned down by gunfire, and there was no specific target they could shoot back at. It was time to call in air support. He located his comm unit and notified Camp Bastion that they were under attack. He provided their coordinates and requested back-up and air support—a helicopter or even non-weaponized drone with a camera would do. They just needed to know where the enemy was, so they could take them out.

  After what felt like hours, a chopper arrived and easily dispatched the three or four snipers that had pinned them down. After the chopper left the area, an eerie silence descended, which would lead the uninitiated to believe all was safe, but Ian knew there was a good chance that the helicopter might not have taken all the snipers out. He looked cautiously out from his cover. To his horror, Neil, sporting a huge grin on his face, was sauntering toward him as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Did you see those SEALs run for cover?” Neil shouted. “What bloody cowards. I’ll make sure they never live that down once we get back to base.”

  “You bloody, stupid bugger!” Ian shouted. “Get down! You don’t know for sure if they got them all yet.”

  Neil rolled his eyes as if mocking Ian’s concern.

  Furious at Neil’s disrespect, Ian broke from his cover and ran toward Neil to tackle him to the ground. As soon as he started moving, a shot rang out, and Neil staggered to the ground. He clutched at the gaping wound that had opened his throat.

  “No!” Ian cried. “Neil!” He rushed to where his friend had fallen and tried to staunch the massive flow of blood, but Neil’s life blood gushed between his fingers and onto the dusty ground.

  Ian vaguely heard another shot ring out, but he was too absorbed in caring for Neil to care who or what had been shooting.

  Ian cradled Neil’s head in his lap. Neil’s bright blue eyes, once full of mischief and life, stared lifelessly at the cloudless Afghan sky. His best friend was gone. For the first time since Ian had arrived in Afghanistan, he lost the iron clad mask of composure he had been hiding behind for months and cried out in anguish. He was still sobbing Neil’s name as they dragged him away from his friend’s lifeless body.

  Chapter 1

  Six months later

  Megan Brady’s stomach fluttered as she parked her car in front of the Rusty Nail Pub just outside of Woking near Guildford. There were no other buildings nearby and very few cars in the lot. She had to admit that the location was ideal for a clandestine meeting, but the atmosphere clearly favored the men she was supposed to be meeting. The pub was practically deserted, so there wouldn’t be anyone to help her should the encounter go badly.

  Megan gripped the steering wheel of her father’s car as she debated whether she should even go in. This wouldn’t be easy, primarily because the party she was there to meet was expecting her brother Stephen and would not be happy she had come in his place.

  “OK, Megs,” she whispered under her breath. “You’re here now. There’s no going back. Let’s do this.”

  She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the car door.

  Megan entered the pub and was immediately assailed with the stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Although smoking had been banned in bars in the U.K. for years, it appeared this establishment didn’t abide by government rules. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, drab interior. Getting her bearings, she slowly walked to the bar. She was somewhat surprised to see she was the first to arrive. No one resembling the party she was supposed to be meeting was in the pub. There were only a couple of other patrons in the place, none of whom took any notice of her. She walked over to the bar and sat down.

  The bartender looked at Megan curiously. Apparently, few people other than locals frequented the Rusty Nail. He approached cautiously and asked, “What can I get for you?”

  Megan knew she needed all of her wits about her if she was going to survive a confrontation with the organization that was threatening her family, so she ordered a soda.

  The bartender cast her an even more curious stare and dispensed the soda, placing the glass in front of her.

  Just as the bartender served Megan her drink, the pub door opened, and Megan quickly turned. A tall, good-looking, well-built young man with sandy blond hair cut in a distinctive military style entered the pub. Megan watched with interest as his gaze scanned the interior of the pub as if to memorize every detail of the place and its inhabitants. Once he had completed his sweep of the room, he made his way to a table. The bartender walked over to take his order, and Megan overheard the man order a steak and potato pie and a beer. The bartender served him the beer right away.

  She surreptitiously watched the man as he sipped his beer and waited for his food. This wasn’t the person she was there to meet. For one thing, he wasn’t looking for anyone; he just went about his business. It appeared he was reading a booklet of some sort, but he occasionally looked in her direction. Obviously, he was just as curious about her as she was about him. Did he live nearby? Or was he just passing through? She wasn’t very familiar with this area, but she was fairly certain there weren’t any military bases in the vicinity.

  A door slammed in the back of the pub, drawing her attention. Four large, burly men emerged from the shadows. They scanned the room but quickly focused on her. As one, they moved toward her. The apparent leader, the largest of the four with a jagged scar down one side of his face, sauntered up to Megan and leered at her.

 
“I’m surprised to see you here, Miss Brady,” the man said insolently. Megan noticed immediately that he spoke with a distinctly Irish accent. “We have business with your brother. Where might he be?”

  Megan hoped the men couldn’t see how fast her heart was beating as she dug deep and found the courage to respond in a clear, firm voice. “Stephen sent me in his place.” She squared her shoulders and looked at the leader defiantly. “My father asked me to give you a message. Neither Stephen nor my father will accept your bribes. Seabiscuit II will run his race at the Epsom Derby. We will not agree to lose intentionally as your boss has requested. We ask that you accept our decision and leave us alone.”

  Megan watched as the man’s expression slowly changed from lascivious to enraged. In truth, her father didn’t even know she was there, and he probably would have tied her up and locked her in her room if he had known she had talked Stephen into allowing her to take his place for this meeting. However, when Stephen had approached her and told her that members of the O’Reilly crime family had tried to bribe him to throw the Epsom Derby, one of the richest races in Britain and the second race in the British Triple Crown, she easily fell back into her familiar role of big sister and protector and persuaded him to allow her to take care of things.

  She was now seriously regretting that rash decision. Feigning a bravado she didn’t feel, Megan looked toward the pub entrance. “Now that I have delivered my father’s message, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have to go.” Megan left some cash on the bar to pay for her drink and started toward the door.

  The leader, who unbeknownst to Megan was the O’Reilly family patriarch’s nephew and chief enforcer, Colin Fitzpatrick, grabbed Megan’s arm and hauled her back toward him with enough strength that she lost her balance and fell into him. She shoved both arms against his massive chest, trying to push herself away from his brutal embrace, but he only laughed at her ineffective struggles.