Golden Filly Collection One (38 page)
Once he was running smoothly, she brought him up along the outside. They went into the far turn in fourth place with Trish encouraging him to reach for the leaders.
The horse on the rail slipped and bumped the one next to him. That horse went down, the rider flying over his mount’s head.
Trish’s horse skidded. He shied to the right. Trish caught herself, arms wrapped around his neck and nearly on his head.
The colt slipped again but veered around the jockey in the mud. Trish scrambled back in the saddle and yelled in his ears. “Now get on with it, we’ve still got a race to run.”
The horse bobbled again but straightened out and crossed the wire with a show. “Third place is sure better than a fall,” Trish consoled both him and herself as they cantered around to the winner’s circle.
Her hands were still shaking when she stripped off her saddle and stepped on the scale.
“Bad ’un out there,” the steward said. “You handled him real well.”
“Anyone hurt?” Trish shivered and ducked her chin in her collar.
“Not so’s you’d notice. One good thing about the mud, it cushions a fall.”
“Yeah, well thanks.”
But that was awful close,
she thought.
Good thing Mom wasn’t here to see that one.
By the end of the day Trish was nearly frozen, and exhausted, but higher than the flagpoles standing at attention in the infield. Three wins on four mounts. And in weather like this. She ignored the shaking and hugged the happiness to herself as she trotted out to the car where her father waited for her. David and his best friend, Brad Williams, who worked for their Runnin’ On Farm, would load the horses in the trailer and meet them at home.
Hal snapped his seat upright when Trish turned her key in the lock. By using every moment to rest, he was able to keep up the restricted schedule the cancer treatments imposed on him. “Congratulations! You set yourself a record.”
“I can hardly believe it.” Trish tossed her sports bag in the backseat, then slid into the driver’s seat. “And Firefly won a good purse too. That should help the old checkbook.”
“It will. You hungry?”
Trish shot him a tolerant look. When wasn’t she hungry after a day of racing? “Are you?”
Hal nodded. “But you know Mom will have dinner ready.”
Trish took a deep breath. She mentally finished his thought.
And she’ll be worrying about us too
. “So we’ll go to the drive-in window. I won’t tell if you don’t.” The entire family had an unwritten pact. Anytime they could get food into Hal, they did. The chemotherapy killed his appetite along with the disease.
The rain had stopped by the time they crossed the I-5 bridge between Portland and Vancouver. Car lights reflected off the wet girders and shiny asphalt. Trish sipped her Diet Coke. The warmth of the car and the pleasure of her father’s company mixed with the day’s wins to create a perfect moment in time. She shot a thank-you heavenward.
“I think we’ll do it,” Hal said, slurping his chocolate shake dry.
“Take Firefly?”
“Um-m hm-m. We’ll check out the stakes book when we get home. The Santa Anita Oaks for fillies on Saturday would be a great race for her. Taking two won’t be much more expensive than one.”
“Does Bob Diego have room in his van for more than one?”
“Should have. I think he’s taking just one horse.”
Trish felt like hugging her father. Taking their colt Spitfire to the Santa Anita Derby in Southern California was exciting enough, but riding three mounts at that track?
Wowee! What if all our horses win?
She corrected the if.
What’ll we do when they all win?
Not only would the money be fantastic, but not very many women raced at that prestigious track. And few of those ever won.
She resolutely pushed aside thoughts of what her mother would have to say. Marge had been even more against her daughter riding since the incidents with the jockey striking their horses during several recent races.
Hal patted her knee, knowing her thoughts. “It’ll be okay, Tee. I’ll handle your mother.”
Trish flashed him a grateful smile.
Surprisingly, Marge didn’t have a lot to say, other than “Congratulations” accompanied by a quick hug. She just shook her head when Hal mentioned taking Firefly along to Santa Anita. But her tight jawline revealed more of her true feelings.
Trish overheard her mother talking to her father when she passed their room on her way to the bathroom later that night.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Marge said. “You and Trish will do what you want to do anyway. You
know
how I feel. It’s bad enough for her to race here, but California and then Kentucky scares me to death.”
Trish shut her bedroom door. She didn’t want to hear any more. Her mother’s fears always managed to take some of the joy from her racing.
The next morning the Evanstons sat in their usual pew at church, right behind the Seabolts. Rhonda winked over her shoulder at Trish. The two had been best friends since kindergarten.
When the pastor spoke about not being afraid, Trish wanted to nudge her mother.
How much easier life would be if Mother weren’t such a worrier!
Pastor Ron repeated the verse. “Be not afraid, for I am with you.”
Trish’s mind flitted back to the times her horses had been struck. By the third incident, she’d known what fear was. And anger. But it hadn’t slowed her down any, in spite of Marge’s anxiety.
Trish shook her head. Why couldn’t her mother quit worrying?
She shuddered again when her father’s name was said during the prayers for healing. Why did
everyone
have to know their business? Now people would ask about the chemotherapy and her father would tell them how things were going. It made her want to melt into a little puddle and seep into the ground. It was
so
embarrassing.
“I’ll be over after lunch,” Rhonda promised as they left the church. “Then you can tell me all about yesterday. Three wins. Awesome!”
“And you can quiz me for our history test. I
hate
memorizing dates.”
“Both of you can muck out stalls in your spare time.” David grinned as he interrupted them. “Keep you from getting bored.”
“Right!” Rhonda and Trish laughed when they said the word at the same time.
That afternoon the weak sun split the clouds just above the western horizon as the girls headed down to the barns to visit Miss Tee, Trish’s two-month-old filly.
She nickered at the sound of Trish’s voice. While she still dashed behind her mother when strangers approached, she came forward when Trish called. Rhonda stood still and let the filly come to her. She extended the grain in the palm of her hand. The filly nibbled the oats, her soft nose whiskering Rhonda’s palm. With a final lick not a trace remained.
Trish hugged her baby and scratched behind Miss Tee’s tiny, pointed ears. The foal rubbed her head on Trish’s chest.
“You are so-o-o lucky,” Rhonda said. “She’s about the prettiest thing around. And what a sweetie.”
“I know. She’s special all right. And she should be fast. Look at Spitfire. Miss Tee’s his full sister.” Trish turned and stroked the mare. “You’ve done a good job, old girl.” The mare shifted to rest the other back foot and leaned her head against Trish for more scratching.
After one last pat, Trish snapped a lead rope on the mare’s halter and handed the shank to Rhonda. “Here, you lead her and I’ll bring Miss Tee.
She’s not too happy yet when I lead her by herself. This way we’ll fool her. Let’s take the trail to the woods.”
“Take your time, the work’s all done anyway,” David called as they trotted down the two-track dirt road.
“Thanks, we will.” Rhonda grinned at Trish. “Has he always been so bossy?”
“He’s gotten worse.” Trish tugged on the lead rope. “Come on, Miss Tee. You need a run.”
Half an hour later the girls came back up the rise with the horses. Trish was still puffing when she unsnapped the leads and put the mare and her foal back in their stall. She took a deep breath. “I’ll get the feed if you’ll fill the water bucket.”
Rhonda’s deep breath matched Trish’s. “Boy, we need to do some running again. I can see weight training isn’t enough.”
“Yeah, and I haven’t even had time for that lately.”
“How come you had the afternoon off?”
“They scratched my two rides yesterday. One had shins and the other spiked a temperature. Maybe it’s this yucky weather.”
The weather became the topic of conversation at dinner that evening when Hal talked about their nomination for the Santa Anita Derby. At his mention of sunny California, Trish closed her eyes for a moment and tried to remember what warm sun felt like on bare skin.
“Maybe I can get a tan while we’re down there.”
Her mother’s frown made Trish bite her lip.
“I’m sending in our nomination for the Kentucky Derby also,” Hal said. “That six hundred dollars includes the rest of the Triple Crown too.”
The Kentucky Derby!
Trish ignored the thought of Belmont and the Preakness. It was like her dreams could only reach so far.
“Even if we don’t get to go, better six hundred now than forty-five hundred later.”
“They sure up the fees when the race gets closer,” Trish said, leaning on her elbows. “Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Since when did fair count?” Marge muttered as she rose from the table. She clattered the dishes into the sink and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Racing here is bad enough, but clear across the country? There are so many things that can go wrong. Driving over the mountains. Transporting a horse in an airplane. All the time Trish will miss from school. And how are we going to keep up with everything else around here? David isn’t a superman, you know.”
“
Mom
.” David shook his head. “We’ll do just fine. They’ll be going to California over spring break, and we just won’t race any of our horses then. By the time they leave for Kentucky, the racing season here in Portland will be over.”
Marge sat down again and slumped in her chair. “As far as I can tell, the season is never over around here. For the first time in my life, I swear I’ll leave home if I don’t hear something besides horse racing.”
Hal took her hand. “You don’t mean that.”
“No, probably not.” She shook her head. “But then I never dreamed my daughter would be racing Thoroughbreds around the track either. And scaring me to death. Like an idiot, I thought we’d be doing a few girl things together.” She shook her head again. “Crazy, huh?”
Trish bit her lip. Would she and her mother
ever
see eye to eye?
G
atesby was unhappy.
Trish stared the cantankerous bay right in the eye. “Now, you listen to me.” Her tone brooked no argument.
Gatesby snorted. He tossed his head and reached for her shoulder with bared teeth.
Trish smacked him on the nose with one hand and caught his halter with the other before he had time to jerk his head back. “I mean it. I have no time for your mule-headed mean mood. Now, you behave!”
Gatesby blew in her face as if to apologize. He dropped his head so she could reach his favorite scratching place. Trish obliged.
“You dunderhead. I don’t know why we put up with you.” She gave him another pat, clipped both lead lines to his halter, and began a quick grooming so she could saddle him for the morning work.
Brad, part-time stable hand and full-time friend, kept his six-foot frame out of range of Gatesby’s teeth. “Need any help?”
“Yeah, a few minutes ago. Where’ve you been?” Trish’s smile took the sting out of her words.
“Sor-ry.” Brad touched his fingers to the bill of his Seattle Sonics cap.
“What can I do to help you, ma’am?”
Trish tossed him the brush. “You could finish while I go get the saddle.”
Brad handed the brush back to her. “I’ll get the saddle.”
“Can’t understand why nobody trusts you,” she spoke to the colt as she slipped the bit into his mouth and the headstall over his ears. “Hard to believe you’re the same ornery goof that greeted me.”
“Now, you be careful with him,” Brad cautioned as he boosted Trish into the saddle.
“Brad, even
you’re
beginning to sound like my mother. Is worrying a contagious disease?”
Brad sidestepped a sneaky nip by Gatesby. The look Brad flashed Trish spoke volumes.
Trish walked the colt out to the track at Portland Meadows. Dawn whispered its presence through a crack in the eastern cloud cover. The morning breeze, fresh from the rain during the night, carried the aroma of horse and hay and—Trish sniffed again.
Mm-m-m-m. Bacon already frying over at the cafeteria. If only I could spend all my mornings here at the track instead of rushing off to school.
She shrugged.
Well, at least Saturday is better than never.
Gatesby pricked his ears and tugged at the bit.
“Sorry, fella, but the boss said walk today and jog the last lap. You get to run this afternoon.”
