Free My Bluegrass Baby by Molly Harper Page B

potential winner through some algorithm provided by her nerd posse.
    We chanced a look at both, sneaking through the paddock garden, which was as close
     as security would let us. Like all girls, I’d gone through a horse phase as an adolescent.
     Of course, the few times I’d ridden a horse, I’d either knocked my head on a low-hanging
     branch or led the horse right through a yellow-jacket nest, which was fun for neither
     of us. But visiting Churchill Downs always stoked those old pony-crush feelings. The
     horses’ freshly washed coats gleamed iridescent and seal-sleek in the morning sun.
     Their steps seemed mincing on their impossibly delicate ankles as the trainers led
     them back and forth to the warm-up track.
    “Makes you want to stamp cute little hearts on their butts and braid their manes,
     doesn’t it?” Kelsey sighed.
    “I think the owners would probably object to your turning their million-dollar horses
     into life-size My Little Ponies.”
    I was not at my most comfortable at the track. Before starting with the commission,
     I’d attended exactly one horse race, but that involved a pony getting away from a
     petting zoo at my grandparents’ church’s fall festival. Little Sammi Teeter and Dusty,
     her brave steed, “raced” all the way to the end of the road before anyone caught up
     with them. Now I was expected to know a little bit of everything about the history
     of the track, the meaning of the various colored silks, and why the race is limited
     to three-year-old horses. Because occasionally, the press asked random questions of
     people wearing official-looking name tags, and they really didn’t appreciate it when
     you said, “I’m not sure.”
    Everything was running smoothly in the hours before the official post time, when our
     guests had been invited to mill through the respectable suite we’d reserved in the
     Jockey Club and watch the preliminary races on the wall-mounted flat-screen TVs. It
     was impressive, but not so opulent that people started to question where their tax
     dollars were going. Knowing that Ray and any number of potential hirers and firers
     were watching us, Mr. Vaughn and I were actually cooperating and speaking civilly
     to each other.
    Snowy white peonies mixed with the traditional red Derby roses decorated the tables
     in low globe vases. The windows framed a sunny view of the Louisville skyline. Spring’s
     arrival was celebrated in the traditional way, with purchases of spiffy new suits
     and dresses in soft Easter tones. They reflected against the polished wood floors
     like fallen blooms, giving the room an impressionist Water Lilies look.
    The juleps were ice cold, the table linens crisp, and the canapés circulating at just
     the right pace. I was chagrined to see that Josh was meeting all the movers and shakers,
     but comforted myself with the fact that I already knew most of those people, and I
     was pretty sure they liked me better than someone they’d met only briefly while mildly
     intoxicated. Everything was going well.
    I should have known something was about to go terribly wrong.
    Just as I ended a rather pleasant conversation with the director of the Kentucky Horse
     Park, I felt a finger trailing down my arm. I shivered, feeling a clammy cold sensation,
     like someone was standing over my grave making dick jokes. I turned and groaned at
     the sight of the walking phallus in question.
    I hated it when people I disliked snuck up on me. Where was the Darth Vader theme
     music when you needed it?
    Tall and gym built, C.J. Rowley was handsome enough. His thick blond hair and lantern
     jaw would have made him gorgeous if not for the cruel slant to his mouth. Of course,
     he was dressed impeccably in a black suit and a tie with little horses on it. My hands
     itched to reach for it, but strangling a man with a novelty tie in a room full of
     witnesses could not be a good career move.
    Rowley had succeeded in making my life very difficult,