Golden Filly Collection One (24 page)
“Trish, let me finish.”
“Why bother? All you do is try to take away the thing I love most.” Trish turned her head, struggling to keep the tears back.
“Listen to me, I was trying to explain…” her mother went on. “I didn’t want you racing at all, but I went along with
our
horses. Your father said you can race for other farms, but you have to talk it over with him. That’s not my idea, but he
is
your father.” The deep furrows creased her forehead. She spit the words out as if she were holding something back. “No matter how hard I try to talk sensibly with you, you get upset.”
“I didn’t start this.” Trish thumped back on her pillow. “Racing is
not
a waste!”
“That’s enough!”
“No! If I got a job at the Burger Palace, you’d think that was okay. But I made more money in one race…than…than…” Trish couldn’t think far enough. “And you call it a waste. We
need
the money. You know that.”
“That’s enough. If you can’t talk to me without yelling…”
Look who’s talking,
Trish corralled her thoughts.
Just leave me alone.
She glared at her mother through tear-filled eyes.
Marge stood to leave. “Genie Stokes will be working all the horses at the track in the morning. David will do the chores both here and at The Meadows. And you will go to school…
on time for a change.
” The click of the closing door sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.
Great.
Trish rolled on her side and pulled the covers up.
I’m the only one who’s ever ridden Spitfire. Let ’em find out the hard way.
I am
going to ride.
But what about Wednesday?
her little voice asked.
She shrugged off the thought and drifted to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, Trish realized her dreams hadn’t been pleasant ones. She felt like she’d been in a battle all night. What
would
she do about Wednesday? How would she get to the track? She’d given her word to Mr. Rodgers. She wouldn’t be missing any school.
But
she didn’t have her parents’ permission. What would they do when they found out? They really needed the money; she knew the bills were stacking up. But her mother didn’t want her racing at all. Let alone for another stable—and on a
weekday
.
The arguments chasing each other around her brain made her want to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head.
SHE HATED FIGHTING!
So, she needed to apologize to her mother and ask for forgiveness. That was just as bad. The thoughts were a flock of scavenger crows tearing her peace of mind to pieces.
“I’ll drop you off at school on my way to the track.” David joined the family at the breakfast table. For a change Trish wasn’t grabbing peanut butter toast on the run.
“I’ll be ready in five minutes.” She set her cereal bowl in the sink, then went back to the table, where Marge sat drinking a cup of coffee. “Mom, I’m sorry I yelled at you last night. I…”
“Me too.” Marge drew her daughter into the circle of her arm and hugged her. “Have a good day. And, Trish, I
am
proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom. Give Dad a hug for me. When do you think he’ll be home?”
“Probably Wednesday afternoon.”
“Oh.” Trish nodded. The hand of fear grabbing her throat kept her from saying anything else. “Gotta run. See ya.”
What was she going to do? Halfway to school she turned to David. “I need a favor, big brother.”
“What now? More chemistry?”
“No. I need a ride to the track on Wednesday right after school.”
“What for?”
“To ride for Rodgers. He asked me on Sunday after he was so pleased with the race. He wanted me to ride twice but one was during school. This one’s about four.”
“Have you asked Mom and Dad?”
“No. But we need the money.”
David shook his head. “Trish, I won’t lie for you.”
“It’s not exactly a lie…just not telling them everything.”
David shot her one of his big-brother looks. “You better call Rodgers and tell him you can’t.”
“Thanks for nothing.” Trish opened the door when the pickup stopped at the curb. “You’re all heart.”
Now what do I do?
she thought as she crossed the wide sidewalk to the school entrance.
Shock stopped her dead in her tracks as she stepped through the doorway. A computer banner, the block letters filled in with crimson and gold, said “Way to go, Trish. On to the Derby.” The banner stretched from post to post. Another sign hid half the trophy case.
All the way to her locker, students congratulated her. Even the principal said congratulations when he passed her in the hall. Another sign, this one announcing “#1 Jockey,” taped her locker closed.
Rhonda leaned against her own locker. “So, what do you think?”
Trish just shook her head. “You guys are awesome.” She carefully removed the taped sign so she could get into her locker, and folded it to save. “You must have spent all night on this stuff.”
“I had lots of help. In fact, it was Doug’s idea.”
Trish blinked. “Come on.”
Rhonda nodded. “Yup.” She leaned real close. “I think he likes you.”
The funny glow in Trish’s middle stayed through the day. So many kids stopped by their table at lunchtime that Brad threatened to eat somewhere else—in peace. And when Trish aced a chemistry quiz, she felt like she’d used her eagle’s wings to top a mountain.
When the final bell rang, she took the sign from the shelf in her locker, grabbed the books she needed, and headed for Brad’s Mustang.
The Runnin’ On Farm pickup was parked at the curb, motor idling. David pushed open the door. “Hustle, Trish. There’s trouble at the track.”
W
hat happened?” Trish tossed her books in the cab.
“Spitfire threw Genie. He’s gone crazy. Won’t even let me near him.”
“Is he hurt?” Trish slammed the door behind her.
“No! Just nuts!”
“Where is he?”
“We got him back in his stall. But he still has the bridle and saddle on. I dropped Genie off at the hospital to have her shoulder X-rayed. She’s hurting pretty bad.”
“Have you talked to Dad yet?”
“Yeah.” David cruised through a yellow light. “He said to get you, and get that crazy horse home tonight if we can. Who knows when Genie can ride again.”
Trish shook her head. “You better slow down. A ticket isn’t going to help us any.”
David let up on the gas but shot her a dirty look.
“Hey, it’s not my fault. If they’d just let me work the horses like we’re all used to, things would be fine.”
“Yeah, and if Dad wasn’t sick, I’d be in Pullman and not worrying about all this…this stuff. I’m not a trainer. How’re we gonna load him?”
“Spitfire’ll behave for me.” Trish chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“You better hope so. You didn’t see him go crazy like I did.”
“Let’s bring Gatesby home too,” Trish continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Dad’ll know of someone else to work the other two. They’re easy to manage.”
Trish leaped from the truck as soon as it stopped at the racing stables.
“Be careful, Trish,” David hollered after her as she sprinted to Spitfire’s stall. Both halves of the door were closed. A rapid tatoo of hooves on the wall and a high-pitched scream left no doubt that Spitfire hadn’t forgotten the incident.
“Hey, fella, easy now. You know better than to act like this.” Trish slid back the bolt on the top half of the door. A hoof slammed against the wall again. “Come on, Spitfire. This is me. I’m gonna open the door and let some light in.” Trish followed her words with actions. Spitfire whinnied, but the sound was more greeting than anger.
As the light hit him, he tossed his head, ears laid flat. The bit jangled. His nostrils flared so wide they glowed red in the dimness. The whites of his eyes glimmered against his black hide.
“You’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t you?” Trish leaned on the stall door. She kept her tone low and her body relaxed, as if nothing were wrong.
Spitfire exhaled, the whuffle sound blowing through his lips. He shook his head, his forelock brushing from side to side. After an all-over shake that set the stirrups clapping against his sides, his ears pricked forward. The colt stretched to sniff Trish’s proffered hand and blew again, as if letting out all the tension. Finally he stepped forward to drape his head over Trish’s shoulder.
“Good boy.” Trish rubbed behind his ears and down the arched neck. Dried lather and sweat crusted his fine black coat. A raw spot on his lower lip from fighting the bit hadn’t had time to scab over. Spitfire trembled when Trish opened the lower door and stepped inside the stall. “Let’s get this bridle off.” She worked as she talked and slipped the web halter back over his nose. As soon as the colt was cross-tied, she checked his legs for swelling.
“Want some help?” David asked from the door.
Spitfire laid back his ears and stamped one forefoot.
“No, let me get him cleaned up and calmed down. Then we’ll see. How’re the others?” Trish removed the saddle and slung it over the stall door.
“Gatesby missed me today but bit Genie a good one, so he’s about normal. Genie worked all three of them before she and Spitfire got into it.”
As David and Trish talked, she could feel Spitfire relaxing. She brushed while she spoke, finishing one side and moving around to the other.
“She sure has that touch,” Trish heard someone say to David outside the stall. “I wouldn’ta’ gone in there with that black for nothin’.”
“He really put on a show,” another voice chimed in. “How’s Stokes?”
“I don’t know.” The voices faded away.
Trish finished grooming Spitfire and went to the tack room for tape to wrap his legs. She hung up the saddle and bridle and dug a handful of grain out of the bin.
On the way back, she stopped at Dan’l’s stall. The gray nickered and rubbed his forehead against her shoulder. As he lipped the grain from her hand, Trish rubbed his ears and the poll of his head. “You old sweety, you’d never do anything like that, would you?” Dan’l’s eyes closed in bliss. “You don’t get nearly enough attention here.” Trish dropped a kiss on his nose and went back to working with Spitfire.
The black rested his weight on three legs so a rear one could be bent and relaxed completely. His head drooped as far as the cross-ties allowed. Eyes closed, he slept, worn out from all the excitement.
What a change,
Trish thought as she leaned on the door.
You just don’t like another rider, do you? I didn’t realize how much you are my horse.
“But you know,” she continued her thoughts aloud as she swung open the door, “you’ve got to let another jockey ride you, just in case something happens to me sometime.” Spitfire shook his head. Trish chuckled as she squatted to firmly wrap the white tape from fetlock to just below the knee.
“The trailer’s here.” David kept his voice soft, but Spitfire flicked his ears.
“Okay. We’re ready. Come on in and take one of the ties so we both have hold of him.”
As David entered the stall the colt raised his head. David held out a palm of grain. Spitfire munched happily, as if the day’s events had never happened. He whuffled, then licked David’s hand for the salt.
“You coulda behaved like this earlier, you know.” He rubbed the droopy black face and ears. David unclipped the ropes and handed one to Trish. Spitfire thumped his way into the trailer without even a glance at the other activities in the area.
“Let’s get Gatesby. We’ll walk him double-tied too.” Trish knotted the lead ropes with a bow that could be pulled loose with just a jerk on the end of the rope. She patted Spitfire on the rump as she pushed him over so she could get out. “
Thank you,
God,” she breathed as she strode down the ramp.
Gatesby nickered a greeting. His black ears touched at the tips they were pricked so far forward. When Trish reached for his halter, he rolled his eyes and tipped his head sideways, ready to nip.
“Knock it off!” Trish clipped the lead ropes to the halter ring while David held the opposite side of the halter. “You just have to get your licks in, don’t you?” Gatesby dropped his head, asking for an ear rub. Trish obliged, all the while keeping a wary eye for any shenanigans.
Gatesby stepped smartly out of the stall when David swung open the lower door. Ears flicking to catch all sounds, including Trish’s comforting voice, he ambled between them, until his front feet thudded on the trailer gate.
The ropes burned through their hands as the bay lunged backward.
“Oh, for pete’s sake!” Trish clutched the remaining rope in her hand. “You’ve done this before.” As one, she and David jerked their lead lines. Gatesby shook his head. Trish smacked him on the nose as his front feet started to leave the ground. “Now behave yourself!” The bay shook all over and pricked his ears again. When he blew in her face, Trish shook her head and led him forward. This time he thumped his way into the trailer with laid-back ears.
“Ow-w!” Trish yelped. She slapped the bay’s shoulder. “Get off my foot!” The sneaky look on Gatesby’s face told Trish he’d stepped deliberately. She shoved against his shoulder to force him to move over and limped out of the trailer. “One of these days you’re gonna be dog food,” she muttered as she pulled off her boot and massaged her toes.
