Page 43 of Hats off to Love

The second incident I heard about was with my mother the day of Mrs. Whitlock’s party. Grabbing my phone, I google barn fire at Shaded Oaks Farm, Louisville. Immediately, articles pop up. The date of the fire was Wednesday, March 23rd. Looking at the race schedule again, I see this was just before the Louisiana Derby, where the purse was also one million dollars.

I heard about the third incident the day before I went to Stokes’s work function, which makes that April 7th. This time a horse from Blanton Farm was hijacked on the side of the road while heading to a farm in Florida to get ready for the Florida Derby, another million-dollar purse.

And now with the fourth incident, another case of laminitis, something definitely isn’t sitting right with me. The last race of the series two championships to qualify for the Derby is Lexington. Grabbing my phone, I pull up the race to see what horses ran in it. Sure enough, I don’t find Smooth Jazz, which means this must have happened last week. Granted, that purse is only 400,000, but still. While the points earned are lower at twenty, eight, four, and two, if a horse is on the fence to qualify for the Derby, placing high in this race would be a must.

Sterling Bells Farm, Shaded Oaks Farm, Blanton Farm, and Bluegrass Fields Farm—these are four of the top farms in Louisville. Each consistently has a horse to run in the Oaks and the Derby, and if I’m being honest with myself, all signs point to sabotage, not coincidence.

If those farms were targeted, Whitlock Farm has to be next.

Chills race down my arms and fear nearly steals the breath from me. Moving toward the back office with my phone, I hit Stokes’s name while my blood races through my veins.

He picks up on the second ring. “Hey. You okay?” His voice is deep and familiar. It instantly begins to calm the uneasy energy coursing through me.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask him, pacing around with my heart in my throat.

He chuckles. “Because you’ve never called me, and I’d just assumed pigs would fly before you ever would.”

I hesitate and think about this because he’s not wrong. I’ve never called him.

“Well, maybe something is wrong.” I start chewing on the skin on the end of my thumb.

“What do you mean?” There are a few clicks on a keyboard and then some papers being shuffled in the background.

“Can you come over tonight?” I’m certain he’s also thinking I’ve never truly invited him over before either.

He pauses, and silence fills the line.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can wrap this contract up.”

Instantly the anxiety in my chest lightens. Stokes is a good critical thinker. He’ll be able to hear what I’m saying and stay as objective as possible. He’ll be able to tell if I’ve put way too much thought into this or if I’m possibly onto something.

“Okay, great. Are you hungry?” I ask, peeking out to the shop to see if I’m needed. The two women are still trying on hats, and on the other side of the store, two younger girls are trying on fascinators while snapping pictures in front of the rose wall.

“I will be by the time I get there.” He chuckles again.

That sound . . . why do I love that sound? For so long, it would grate on my nerves. It meant he was in some way making fun of me, laughing at me, but lately, it’s felt more like he’s laughing with me, like together we somehow share an inside joke against the world, a joke that makes me feel special.

“Okay, once these people leave, I’m going to close up, and order food.”

“Sounds good. You sure you’re okay?” he asks one last time.

“I am. I just need to talk something through with you to see what you think.”

“All right. Then I’ll see you in a bit.”

Warmth and elation trickle through my veins. Who would have thought I’d ever get this excited to see Stokes Whitlock? Not me.

“Thank you, Stokes.”

“Hey, Rosie?” he says just before I hang up.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you called me.”

17

I make it upstairs five minutes before Stokes will arrive. My place is a mess, and I let out a deep sigh as I glare at the dishes in the sink and some shipping boxes with new supplies that I just stacked up against the wall. I wasn’t expecting company, but it is what it is, and I don’t have time to pick up. I’m ordering dinner from the Italian place down the street when I hear Stokes’s voice through the wall. My neighbor must have let him in, and now he’s heading up the stairs. Those toddler butterflies start jittering, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m going to see him or if I’m just nervous about the crazy conspiracy theory I’ve concocted in my mind. I stare at the door, waiting, and then there’s the knock.