Golden Filly Collection One (29 page)

She hugged her dad, squeezed her mom around the waist, and slid into her chair. Her grin felt like it might crack her face. “Waffles!” The grin got wider. “Thanks, Mom.” Crispy golden waffles were joined by two strips of bacon and an egg, easy-over, just the way she liked it. Trish buttered her waffles and poured the syrup.

“You could say grace first.” Her father smiled.

Trish grinned back at him and silently bowed her head. All she could say was
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“See you at the track.” Her father hugged her before she picked up her bag and boots. David honked the horn. “In the winner’s circle.”

“Be careful,” her mother added with a hug. Worry lines still creased her forehead.

“Sure, Mom. And thanks for the good breakfast.” When Trish glanced back, Marge had leaned into the protective circle of Hal’s arm. Trish suppressed the wish that her father could come along, and hung her silks behind the seat. “Let’s go,” she said, slamming the pickup door.

Trish could see the outline of the sun through the clouds as she trudged the path to the dressing room. Horses for the first race of the day were being led to the saddling paddock. Her mom and dad hadn’t shown up at the track yet, but she, David, and Brad had Spitfire and Gatesby in prime form. After the ruckus he’d caused the evening before, Gatesby had clowned around, tossing David’s hat, dribbling water on Trish’s back when she tried to pick his hooves. Trish smiled at the memory.

“You look happy.” Genie Stokes caught up with her.

“I am. Dad says he’ll be here today.” Trish grinned at the other jockey. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Stiffens up some.” Genie swung her arm in an arc. “But the pain is gone. That Spitfire sure didn’t like having someone else on his back.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. By the way, you heard what they’re saying about you?”

“No. Who?”

“Oh, here and there. They say either you’re luckier’n anyone or you just talk those horses into winning. Not too often someone comes along with that special touch, but I think you got it.”

“I…I just do what seems best.” Trish shifted her bag to her other hand. “Are the other jockeys…?”

“Well, there’s some griping. You know how people can be—but most everyone is glad for you. They know about your dad and all.”

Trish slowed as they reached the slanted concrete tunnel to the dressing rooms. “Thanks, Genie. You’ve helped me a lot.”

“Just repaying the favor. You know your dad has helped plenty of people around this track. Both with advice and money when times are tough. Me included. He’s a good man.”

Trish felt a glow of pride. She’d always known her dad was the best. Genie’s words just proved it. “Thanks.”

At the whiff of dressing room, her butterflies woke up and began their warm-up routine just like the one she was about to perform. Trish had forgotten to appreciate their long nap. They’d even slept through a waffle breakfast. What a day!

Spitfire nickered when he saw Trish waiting in the saddling stall. He seemed to dance on the tips of his hooves as he followed David. Head up, ears pricked, he caught the attention of the railbirds, those watching the saddling process. At their oohs and aahs, he lifted his nose higher, like a movie star with fans.

“You silly.” Trish laughed as David tied the slipknot in the stall. “You think everyone came just to see you.”

Spitfire nodded. He shoved his nose against her chest and snuffled her pockets. Trish held out both fists. When he licked the right one, she gave him the hidden carrot.

“I dare you to do that with Gatesby.” David fastened the saddle girth.

“Sure. And lose my hand. How could I ride then?” Trish smoothed Spitfire’s forelock. When he begged for another carrot, she laughed and pushed his persistent nose away. “After you win.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Now give it all you’ve got, Spitfire. We need the money.”

David boosted her into the saddle. “Watch that far turn. It seemed wet.” He patted her knee. “You can do it.”

“Did you see Mom and Dad?”

“They’re up in the box.” David backed Spitfire out and handed the lead shank to Brad mounted on Dan’l. He patted Spitfire on the rump. “Go get ’em.”

As the bugle blew parade, Spitfire danced to the side of the gray. He flung his head up at the flags snapping in the breeze. When the crowd roared, he turned his head, accepting their accolades.

“Should have named you Prince or King.” Trish laughed in sheer joy. “Or maybe Ham.”

Brad laughed with her as he released the lead. “Ham he is. See you in the circle.”

At the post position, Spitfire settled for the break. Within three lengths after the shot, he was running easily at the head of the field. No other horse even came near him. Trish felt like they were out for a private gallop. She heard the announcer call Genie Stokes as rider of the secondplace finisher.

“Congratulations,” Trish called as they cantered their horses back to the circle.

Genie stopped her mount. “Did he even go all out?” She pointed her whip at Spitfire.

“I don’t think so. But he sure had fun.” Trish smoothed Spitfire’s mane. “He wasn’t too happy about quitting.”

“You might be thinking first Saturday in May.” Genie grinned. “He’s some horse, even if he doesn’t like any other riders.”

Trish felt a tingle go up her spine and then race down again.
The first Saturday in May. Kentucky Derby Day.
While she and her dad had dreamed about it, someone else mentioning it made the dream more of a reality.

She slipped from her horse’s back and removed the saddle. Standing between her father and David with Spitfire’s head over her shoulder felt right. This was where they all belonged—in the winner’s circle.

“Congratulations, Tee.” Her father kissed her cheek. Spitfire nudged Hal away, as if he were jealous. Laughter from the crowd, another popping flash, and then Trish got on the scale. She could get to like this.

Trish changed silks, weighed in again, and joined David and Gatesby for the next race. “What’d you feed these guys today?” she asked after the colt tried to pick the silk covering off her helmet. When she scolded him, the horse gave her his
Who—me?
look.

“They’re sure full of spunk today. Leading him over here was tougher than an hour on the weights. And that was with Brad on the other lead. All you’ll have to do is point him in the right direction and hang on today.”

“Thank you for making my job sound so simple.” Trish thumped her brother on the head with her whip. “Is Anderson here?”

“Up in the box. He came by the stable, but says you know Gatesby better than he does. So just do your best. Dad says since you’re on the outside, stay there. And he’ll see you in the circle again. He said to tell you this could get to be a habit. A nice habit.”

“Yep.” Trish gathered her reins as David led them out. Gatesby didn’t think he should wait until the end of the line. All those horses in front of him and…

“Knock it off, you big goof.” Trish pulled him back to a walk. When he crowhopped, Brad jerked on the rope. Trish snugged the reins down until Gatesby’s chin met his chest. Even then, he pranced sideways instead of walking.

“How’re your arms?” David released the lead.

Trish laughed. “See ya.”

“In the circle.”

Gatesby walked into the gate flat-footed and settled for the break, all business now that the time was at hand. When the gates clanged open, he erupted, running flat out within four strides. Trish kept him on the outside, letting the field spread itself. Gatesby pulled on the bit, running smoothly, his concentration focused on the horses ahead of him.

As they passed the halfway pole, Trish gave him more rein. He passed the third-place runner, caught the second, and reached for the first as they entered the final stretch.

“Now, go for it!” Trish commanded. “Come on, Gatesby!”

“And the winner by a nose, number seven, Gatesby, owned by John Anderson and ridden by Tricia Evanston.” The announcer confirmed what Trish already knew. She had won again. And Gatesby had lived up to her expectations. “Good boy! You were great.”

“Knock it off, you dummy,” Trish hissed at the horse when John Anderson flinched. Gatesby acted as though the bruise on Anderson’s shoulder had nothing to do with him. So what if he was in the winner’s circle. A shoulder right next to his nose was too good a target to pass up.

Anderson rubbed the bruise as David led Gatesby away to the testing barn. “He never gives up, does he?” John turned to Hal. “Thought you could break him of that.”

Hal and Trish looked at each other and shook their heads. “We tried. At least he doesn’t bite hard anymore. Just nips.” Trish stepped off the scale. “He thinks he’s being funny.”

“Some joker. Thanks, Trish. You did a good job.”

As Anderson disappeared into the crowd, Trish joined her mom and dad at the rail. Hal sank back into his wheelchair. “That’s enough for one day.” He looked up at his wife. “Ready to go home?”

“Sure was good to have you here.” Trish walked beside him. “Even if Spitfire doesn’t like that kissing stuff.”

Hal chuckled. “He’s your horse all right. See you at home.”

Trish felt a letdown after the next race. She brought Bob Diego’s horse in second. While the owner was pleased, Trish missed the winner’s circle. But she knew she’d ridden a good race. The horse had done his best too. The winner had just been better.

“Hey, two out of three’s not bad.” Brad joined her in the lawn chairs in the tack room. He handed her a can of soda. “Drink this and let’s get out of here.”

It was hard to hit the books after such an exciting day. But when Trish thought of her bed, she remembered the discussion from the night before. Her grades
had
to stay at a B or better. The cards on the wall caught her eye. “Give thanks.” “He cares for you.” She picked up her pencil.
Chlorine, Cl; Chromium, Cr….

The next morning in church Trish chose to pay attention. The praise hymns suited her mood. Praising God wasn’t so hard when her father was next to her in the pew. During the offering they all sang a new song, “He will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of God.” She listened hard for the words. The tune seemed planted forever in her mind. She decided to look up the verse later.