[[ lexington, kentucky ]]

[itwasjustified]

[ "you brought me breakfast." ]

After a morning spent wandering the International Museum of the Horse, Raylan has soaked in more than he ever forgot about the history and role of the horse in modern civilization.

He can also rattle off the last dozen Derby winners in chronological and alphabetical orders now -- something he cheerfully subjects Reese to during the drive to Keeneland.

It's all gently rolling meadows, green grass, and picturesque white fences as they near the track; once Raylan pulls into the entrance and joins the long line of vehicles inching toward the designated parking lots, he fights the urge to (mis)use his badge to cut to the front.

Patience wins out, and fifteen minutes later, they're strolling through the main gate. The paddock is a smorgasbord of old money, new money, and laughing college students. Amid the riot of summery dresses, skinny jeans, seersucker, three-piece suits, and every fashion statement in between, Raylan directs Dani's attention to a pocket of grooms, owners, trainers and jockeys. A moment later, a bay trots out on a lead, sporting a cardinal-red blanket emblazoned with the number 11 in white stitching.

"Think that one looks like a champion?"

Comments

[notenlightened]

She snorts quietly against the lip of the cup, taking a brief sip.

"Where are we headed now?"

[itwasjustified]

He takes one last look around the paddock, and nods in the direction he just left.

"Through there, and then out to the track. There's benches in the lower level, seats in the stands."

He lifts the Racing Form in his free hand.

"Have you taken a look at one of these before?"

[notenlightened]

She peers at it, then shakes her head.

(One thing about Dani Reese: she knows when and when not to admit to inexperience.)

"It's important, I'm guessing."

[itwasjustified]

"It is."

Once they wind their way around milling pockets of people, Raylan opens the tabloid so Dani can take a look at the horses running in the first race.

It's all there: name, number, jockey, past performances, odds.

"This one," he says, pointing at No. 8, Lickety-Split, "is the long shot, but I'll put two dollars down on anything that's fifty-to-one, just in case."

[notenlightened]

"I knew you were a risk-taker," she teases, taking another sip of the refreshing lemonade (and using the opportunity to hide her smirk behind the rim of the cup).

[itwasjustified]

"Am I?"

He's bemused, and makes no attempt to smother the lazy interest in his eyes.

"What gave you that impression?"

[notenlightened]

"I'm good at reading people," is her explanation.

She lowers her cup slightly, the amusement in her eyes masked by the sunglasses on her face.

"For starters."

[itwasjustified]

"And here I thought I was a closed book. Guess I've been livin' a lie for years."

[notenlightened]

"I'm only glad you could be supplied with a wake-up call."

She glances out to their surroundings, downplaying the inevitable punchline.

"You know, before it's too late."

[itwasjustified]

He chuckles, soft and low.

"Clearly, you were meant to come to Kentucky and lead me to this great awakening," he says, all quiet amusement and whiskey drawl.

He angles the Racing Form toward her.

"So work some more of that magic, detective -- who's it gonna be in the first race?"

[notenlightened]

"Don't get too philosophical on me," she shoots back. "This is only, what, our second date?"

She's biting back her grin as her eyes scan over the form - then, she points toward one with a finger.

"That one."

(It's possible she may have just picked at random.)

[itwasjustified]

"Dingoes for Breakfast."

A beat.

"All right, then."

Fighting a laugh, he makes for a nearby betting window, and places ten dollars on Reese's choice to win with a near-straight face.

"Let's go see how you do," he says, gesturing toward the sunny track.

[notenlightened]

"Ridiculous name," she mutters, but truthfully, she'd almost picked it for that reason alone.

She's fighting back her own smirk as she glances out toward the track, squinting down towards the starting gate and looking for her bet.

[itwasjustified]

"Believe it or not, there's even worse ones."

Raylan side-steps a bench to take advantage of an empty length of railing. Leaning on his elbows, he spots Reese's horse in blue and gold.

"At least he's a looker."

[notenlightened]

"Are you checking out a horse?"

She's not even bothering to hide the smirk by this point.

[itwasjustified]

"Gives a whole new spin to chasin' tail, don't it?"

[notenlightened]

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," Reese mutters, and punctuates the sentence with another sip of lemonade.

[itwasjustified]

He chuckles, lifting his own glass.

"You started it, detective. I'm just followin' the rock on its way down the hi-- "

Before Raylan can say hill, the starting bell clangs. The horses spring from the gate, and the crowd cheers.

[notenlightened]

For the most part, Reese remains a calm, passive observer, the expression on her face barely changing as the horses spring from the gate, thundering past in a rumbling of hooves.

She keeps her eyes on the blue-and-gold, fingers barely tightening on her lemonade.

[itwasjustified]

"Oh, c'mon," Raylan says, mostly under his breath.

"C'mon, c'mon -- "

Noise from the crowd swells as the horses approach the final turn, and Dingoes for Breakfast cuts closer to the rail, nosing past the horses in third and second place.

Seconds later, Reese's horse is vying for the lead, streaking toward what's sure to be a photo-finish.

[notenlightened]

The excitement of the crowd is audible, palpable. A man next to her crumples the racing guide in his fist, the paper crackling loud in her right ear.

Calmly, Reese takes another sip of her lemonade, squinting slightly toward the finish.

It's too close to tell; she can barely make out the sight of her bet amongst other the other horses just behind.

[itwasjustified]

Raylan's eyes are narrowed, but there's no way to tell which horse nabs the lead.

A minute passes, then two, and the announcer's voice booms over the babbling crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen -- "

The last few lengths of the race are replayed on the giant screen mounted in the greenspace in center of the track.

"It's Dingoes for Breakfast by a nose!"

[notenlightened]

It's plainly obvious by this point that Reese isn't the type to get easily excited - and hard to decipher a squint between a brief smile.

"I won," she murmurs, in completely even tones.

[itwasjustified]

Crowd reaction is mixed; a handful of groans are heard, along with a chorus of ohmigods from a group of what looks like sorority sisters.

"You are remarkably collected for a woman who's just gotten considerable returns on an eight-to-one bet to win."

[notenlightened]

Reese is too busy trying to hear him over the squeals and other high-pitched exclamations from said sorority sisters to even realize what she's heard, exactly.

"Takes more than that to get me excited," she explains, with a half-shrug.