Golden Filly Collection One (40 page)

Chapter

03

S
pitfire’s leg didn’t get better.

Two days later, Trish trotted down to the barn as soon as she’d changed clothes. Each of the horses nickered at the sound of her voice. Dan’l tossed his head, begging for attention. Trish gave him a piece of carrot and stood rubbing his ears for a minute.

“You old sweetie, you.” She stroked his nose and smoothed his coarse gray forelock. “I haven’t ridden you for so long, I can’t remember the last time.” Dan’l rubbed the side of his head on her shoulder.

Next door, Spitfire banged a hoof against the door.

“Stop it, you’ll re-injure that leg!” she ordered the pure black colt as she offered him his piece of carrot. The heavy canvas ice pack was still Velcroed in place around his right foreleg. The pack reached from his ankle to well above the hot knee. Water leaked down over his hoof and into the straw.

Trish inhaled the familiar aroma of horse and straw with overtones of liniment. Spitfire draped his head over her shoulder, his eyes drooping as she rubbed his cheek and behind his ears. Firefly nickered for her turn, and beyond her Gatesby snorted and thumped the wall.

Caesar parked himself at Trish’s knee, hoping for some attention too.

“You gonna just stand there moonin’ around or what?” Brad’s teasing voice broke into Trish’s thoughts. “Where’s David?”

“I don’t know. His car was gone and Mom and Dad are off somewhere too.” She gave Caesar a shove to get him off her foot. “I’ll take Gatesby and you work Final Command, then I’ll do Firefly and you can give Dan’l a gallop. He’s been getting lazy lately.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her. “Anything else, ma’am? You want me to—”

“Knock it off, is what I want.” Trish shook her head as she entered the tack room. “Can’t you ever be serious?”

“Maybe, why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced back at him at just the wrong moment. Gatesby slipped in a quick nip and jerked his head up, ears back, ready for his scolding. “Ouch! Now see what you did?” This time she’d grabbed the horse’s halter before yelling again at Brad.

Both Brad and Gatesby wore the same “Who me?” look.

Trish rubbed her upper arm one more time before Brad gave her a leg up.

“You watch him now.” Brad unsnapped the lead shank as Trish straightened the reins.

“Thanks a lot—now. If I’da been paying attention to him earlier, I wouldn’t have this bruise.”

“Yeah, you’d think you’d have learned by now.” Brad sidestepped as Trish nudged the colt forward. “Hey, you trying to make him step on me by any chance?”

“Make him? Whatever gave you that idea?” Trish’s laugh floated back on the breeze. “Hurry up and we can gallop together.”

Spitfire looked clearly dejected when all the other horses were out and he still stood in the stall. Trish gave him some extra affection as she measured out his grain. “Sorry, fella, but you gotta get better. Maybe tomorrow David’ll take you out for a walk.”

After dinner that evening they finished decorating the noble fir that David and Marge had bought. When they placed the angel on the treetop, it nearly touched the slanted pineboard ceiling. A fire crackled in the fireplace; fat, red winterberry-scented candles flickered on the broad mantel, and Christmas carols drifted from the stereo.

“Needs something more on the left side,” Hal pointed from his recliner. Marge attached a shimmery red bell and a revolving star to the branches he suggested and stepped back to inspect her handiwork. All the ornaments they’d collected through the years twinkled in their own special places.

Trish hung the last of the crocheted and starched snowflakes, then sank down, her legs crossed, in the middle of the floor. She propped her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists, the better to gaze at the tree. Each year the ritual was the same, and she loved every minute of it. She glanced over at the manger scene displayed on a low table to the side of the front window. When the tree lights went on, the star of Bethlehem above the stable would light up too.

Marge settled onto the arm of Hal’s recliner. “Okay, David, turn them on.”

For an instant Trish held her breath, then let it out as the twelve-foot tree shimmered into glory. “Oh-h-h, isn’t it beautiful?” She felt the old, familiar tightening in her throat. All the colors, the special ornaments, the lights both twinkling on the tree and reflected in the window, all of the pieces came together to make each tree they’d had the most beautiful ever. She swallowed around the lump as she looked at her father. And most important, the family was all together.

Hal cleared his throat. “That’s got to be the most perfect tree we’ve ever had.”

“That’s Mom’s line,” David said.

“Then I’ll say it too,” Marge replied softly. “Truly, this is our most beautiful tree ever.” She laid her cheek on the top of Hal’s head.

That night in bed Trish thought about their gathering around the tree.
We were all a bit weepy,
she thought.
But that’s okay. Tomorrow night I’ll put my presents under the tree.
She chuckled to herself.
And I’m not going to put name tags on them so no one can guess which is theirs.
She thought of the beautiful eagle wrapped in silver paper and a royal blue ribbon.
Dad’ll never guess this time!

With Christmas break only a week away, Trish burned the midnight oil to finish her two papers.

“Trish, it’s after two o’clock,” Marge said one night.

“I know, but I’m nearly done.”

Marge frowned as she shook her head. “You know if you weren’t riding so much, you’d have time for your studies. How many times have we reminded you that school
has
to come first?”

Trish gritted her teeth. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mom, I didn’t ride after school this week. I spent my extra time at the library.”

“Well, you just can’t leave things to the last minute like this.”

“Right.” Trish leaned back in her chair. She clamped her lips on the rest of the things she’d like to say. “Good night, Mom. These go in tomorrow, on time.”

“I’ll just have to make it up over vacation,” she told Rhonda one evening on the phone. “Just think, I’ll be able to ride the entire weekday programs, not just a couple of races after school. That way I can get my bank account back up.”

“And since Christmas is on Monday, we can go shopping on Tuesday because you don’t have racing that day. Maybe that jacket’ll still be there.”

Trish stretched as she hung up the phone. This was going to be a fantastic vacation! And tomorrow morning she’d be able to ride Spitfire around the track, even if it was only at a walk. His leg hadn’t been warm for two days now.

“Can you help me with some more baking tomorrow?” Marge asked as Trish poured herself a glass of milk.

“Yep. I’ll get the morning workouts done early, and I don’t have to be at the track until two.” Trish wished she hadn’t mentioned the track when she saw a frown wrinkle her mother’s forehead. “I’ll have plenty of time. You haven’t made sugar cookies yet, and I’ll do the Rice Krispies bars too.”

“And fudge.” David took the milk carton out of her hands. “We need lots of fudge.” He poured his glass full and chose a brownie off the plate Marge had left on the counter.

“You can help us decorate the cookie trees and stars and stuff. You missed out last year,” Trish told him.

“Just make extra fudge. With lots of nuts in it.”

Marge and Trish laughed together at the silly grin on David’s face. “Seems to me we sent several care packages of fudge to you at college last year.” Marge indicated the milk carton on the counter and pointed to the refrigerator.

“Yeah. And I had to fight off half the dorm to get any.” David ducked his head as he reached for the carton to put it away. “I thought maybe Trish wanted more.”

“Ri-ght!” Trish rinsed her glass in the sink and set it in the dishwasher. “See you in the morning, brother dear.”

She paused a moment in front of the tree.
That is the most gorgeous tree we’ve ever had.
She heard her father cough as she passed his closed bedroom door. He’d gone to bed right after dinner.
God, please make him completely well,
she thought as she fell asleep.

Trish helped with the baking Saturday morning. The house smelled so good she hated to leave. At the track she’d already had one win before she joined her father and John Anderson in the saddling paddock. The gelding Final Command pricked his ears and blew in her face before rubbing his forehead on her silks.

Trish snapped rubber bands over her cuffs to keep the wind from blowing up her sleeves. While the sky was clear, the temperature was dropping and the wind felt like it was blowing right off a field of snow.

“Trish.” John Anderson tapped her knee. “I want you to do something today that I know you’re going to disagree with.”

Trish stopped gathering her reins and stared first at John, then at her father. Her dad nodded.

“What is it?”

“I want you to use the whip on him. We all know that this old boy just likes to run with the bunch, so when you get him up with the front runners like you did last time, I want you to go to the whip. Make him
want
to win.”

“But…but you know he—I…” Trish swallowed the rest of her argument. At her father’s nod, she patted the horse’s neck and unclenched her jaw. “If you say I have to.”

As soon as they trotted onto the track, the wind knifed through Trish’s winter silks and the long johns she wore. Her nose was already dripping as they passed the grandstand on the parade to post, and only the horse’s warm neck kept her hands from freezing.

“Well, old boy,” she said as he walked placidly into the starting gate. “Don’t blame me, but they said we gotta light a fire under you. I promise you this, you run like we both know you can and I won’t have to use the whip.”

By the time the last stubborn horse finally entered the gate for the third time, Trish couldn’t keep from shivering. But as soon as the gates clanged open and the field surged forward, she forgot the cold.

The gelding ran easily, about midway in the pack as the horses spread out by the halfway point. At Trish’s urging, he gained on the fourth place, then the third.

“Come on now,” she shouted at the four-furlong marker. “Go for it!” The gelding lengthened his stride to catch the second-place horse, hanging on the tail of the leader.

Trish hesitated for only an instant. She brought the whip down on his shoulder at the same time that she shouted, “Go!”

The gelding bolted forward. Trish whapped him again. With his ears flat against his head, the horse pounded across the finish line, nose and nose with the gray who’d been leading.

“A photo finish!” Trish galloped him a bit farther around the track before pulling him down and around. “Well, I guess we gave it our best shot. Maybe I should have given you the whip sooner.”

The gelding shook his head. Trish kept an eye on the board as she walked him in circles. The icy wind sneaked past her concentration and made her shiver.
Man, it’s cold.

“And the winner is number five—” Trish ignored the rest of the announcement and trotted the gelding over to the winner’s circle. She gave him one more pat as she slipped off.

“I hate to say I told you so, but—”

“He told you so,” Hal finished, laughing. “Good job, Tee. We always knew this old bugger had a win in him.”

“Congratulations and thanks.” Anderson shook Trish’s hand. “Just think, we don’t even have to worry about bruises with this guy.”

Trish hugged her saddle to block the wind when she stepped on the scale. And she still had another ride to go.

After a place in the eighth race, Trish jogged back to the stables to ride home with David and Brad. They had the gelding all loaded, but dusk was falling by the time they drove away from the track. David turned the heater on full blast when he felt Trish shiver beside him.

“Sure glad I’m not riding tomorrow if it stays this cold.” Trish rubbed her hands in the warmth pouring from the vents. “Maybe we’ll have snow for Christmas.”

“That’s all we need.”

Trish got her wish. Thick snowflakes drifted down while the Evanstons enjoyed Christmas Eve dinner. By the time they left for church, the ground was white.