Golden Filly Collection One (5 page)

“Bit of a rodeo, huh?” Brad asked as she snapped the bay’s lead rope to the hot walker.

“I guess.” Trish rubbed her shoulder. “He’s a spooky one.”

“You sure you want to work him today?”

“Have to.” Trish chewed her lip. “We told Mr. Anderson we’d have his horse ready for the first race.”

“But, Trish—”

“He’ll calm down as soon as he gets to move around some. He always does.” She turned toward the pastures. “Come on, Caesar, race you to the mares.”

A frown creased Brad’s forehead as he hefted the handles of the manure- and straw-heaped wheelbarrow. “Speaking of spooky,” he muttered. “Girl, sometimes you worry me. There’s nothing wrong with a little wholesome fear.”

Having put the incident from her mind, Trish loped across the emerald turf. Two colts raced to the end of their pasture. The three mares in the adjoining paddock ignored the young frolicking in favor of lazy dreaming under the maple tree.

After a quick inspection, Trish patted the sorrel mare’s shoulder and started back toward the barns. One of the mares coughed.

At the second cough, Trish wheeled back and checked each animal, ears, eyes, and nose. The sorrel with three white socks coughed again, stretching her nose toward the ground.

“Now what?” Trish stroked the animal’s satiny neck. She listened carefully as the mare breathed in and out. “No wheeze, old girl. You just trying to get some extra attention?” Trish chewed her lip as she watched and listened to the animal another minute.

“Remind me to watch her, Caesar old buddy.” She patted the dog trotting beside her. “That’s what Dad would do.” She paused at the gate to the yearling pasture. Two of the colts raced back along the fence line. They plowed to a stop before her, then extended their muzzles to sniff her proffered hand.

Trish laughed at their antics, but her attention zeroed in on the gray filly dozing against the back corner.

“What is this?” she questioned herself. “Sleepy time. Cough time. It’s supposed to be training time. And I don’t have time for anything else.” Briefly she checked the filly for wheezing. She sounded fine. No mucus in her nostrils. But her eyes were droopy.

“Lethargic is the word.” Trish closed her eyes to better recall symptoms she’d read in the medical dictionary. Only influenza came to mind. “I’ll keep a close eye on you two,” she promised with an extra pat. “We can’t afford any sick animals.”

Like well-trained puppies, the two colts dogged her footsteps back to the gate. When Trish snapped a lead shank on the colt named Samba and led him out of the gate, the other tried to follow. Caesar drove him back with a sharp bark.

“Thanks, old buddy.” She swung the gate closed. “I can always count on you.” Samba shook his head, then tried dancing in a circle. Playfully he struck out with a snowy forefoot.

“Nope. I’ve had enough of that kind of behavior today.” Trish snapped on the rope. “You settle down right now.” The chestnut colt rolled his eyes in mock panic, then ambled along beside her to the stable.

After Trish cross-tied him in an empty stall, she headed for the tack room to get an old soft bridle with a snaffle bit.

“Need some help?” Brad wiped the sweat off his forehead. He parked the wheelbarrow in the breezeway. “That’s one job done.”

“Thanks, Brad.” Trish rubbed the worn bit. “You can be his distraction.”

“Great. First I’m a barrow-pushing slave and now I’m a distraction.

When do we get to the fun stuff?”

“Like?”

“Oh, like racing two horses around the track. Eating cookies. Drinking Coke. You know, the important things in life.”

“Yeah, I know. Your resident tapeworm is acting up again.”

“Yup. I’ve gotta feed Fred at regular intervals.” Brad patted his flat stomach. “Poor Fred.”

“You nut. Forget Fred. We’ve gotta put the bit in Samba’s mouth now.”

The colt didn’t bat an eyelash as Trish showed him the bridle with the silvery bit. He sniffed the leather, then looked over at Brad. Trish held the bit carefully to keep it from jangling as she rubbed the chilly metal against the colt’s nose. He blinked and tried to shove his muzzle against her chest. Before he knew what happened, Trish had inserted a finger in the space behind his teeth, pried open his mouth, and slipped the bit in place. At the same time, Brad slid the headstall over the animal’s ears.

The colt snorted. He rolled his eyes, then shook his head. The bit and bridle stayed in place. With a sigh, Samba lowered his head again and nuzzled Trish for the treats she always carried in her pockets.

“Boy.” Trish let out the breath she’d been holding. “That was easy.”

She palmed a sugar cube. “Here, you earned that, fella.”

“Good job, partner.” She shook Brad’s hand as they left the stall. “We did it. We’ll come back later and take that off. Give him time to play with the bit for a while.”

“Now for the cookies?” Brad gazed soulfully toward the house.

“Nope. Now for the racetrack. You take Anderson’s filly and I’ll take the rowdy Gatesby.”

“Maybe you should skip him today,” Brad suggested. “You’ve already had one round with the beast.”

“Nah-h. He just needs the exercise. Besides, we were supposed to work him into the starting gate today.”

“So?”

“We’ll need extra hands to do that. Let’s just take him up to the gate.” Trish studied the colt, now pacing placidly around the ring. “That will give him a chance to look it over.”

“Okay, boss lady. Let’s go.”

Within minutes they had the two animals saddled and ready. The bay colt stood calmly until Brad boosted Trish into the flat racing saddle. Before she could finish gathering the reins, the bay exploded. He reared, then pounded both front feet into the shavings. As Brad grabbed for the bridle, the colt lunged away from him.

Trish clamped her legs and tangled her fists in the colt’s mane. “Whoa!” she commanded as she tried to tighten both reins, remain in the saddle, and get control of the plunging animal.

“You crazy idiot!” Brad muttered as he leaped again. “Calm down!” This time he clamped his fist around one of the reins where it clipped to the bit. He jerked savagely. With a last snort, the bay stood still, his eyes rolling white.

“Would you lead him to the track?” Trish whispered as she fought to stop the trembling in her hands.

“You’re as crazy as he is,” Brad growled. “Put him away for now.”

“No.” Trish was adamant. “He’s got to learn he can’t act like this. He can’t develop bad habits.”

“Trish!”

“No, I’m okay. Lead us out there, then come with the filly. We’ll trot a couple of laps, gallop a few more, and then take them to the gates. Maybe he’ll get the idea when he sees how easily the filly handles the gates.”

Brad glared up at her. “Come on, then, stubborn.” He pulled on the bridle.

“You talking to me or the horse?”

“Take your pick,” Brad said without turning as he left them on the dirt track, then added, “Trish, be careful.”

Willingly, as though he’d never caused a ruckus in his life, the colt struck out in a smart walk.

After both horses had cantered the track several times, Trish pulled the colt back to a walk, waiting for Brad to catch up. “Let’s go round once together at a good clip, then breeze ’em once. Okay?”

“Fine with me,” Brad replied, his grumpiness gone with the feel of obedient horseflesh beneath him. “Do you want me to push her?”

“Yeah. Let’s give this colt a run for his money.” She slapped her mount lightly on the shoulder.

At the marker, Trish gave the bay his head. “Come on, fella. You wanted to run so bad, so here goes.” With a lunge he lengthened his stride, then settled into the rhythm. His pace quickened steadily as he heard the filly coming up on the inside. Trish tightened the reins, allowing the filly to pull even at the shoulders, then the nose.

The bay tugged at the bit, begging for a looser rein. “Okay, boy. Let’s see what you can do.” Trish let him have his head.

Slowly the bay inched ahead of the filly. First by a nose, then a neck.

As the filly dropped behind them, Trish tightened the reins, slowing the animal’s driving pace. Within a few strides, both animals were back to a slow gallop.

“Pretty good, wouldn’t you say?” Trish shouted, riding high in the saddle.

“Mighty fine.”

They slowed both animals to a walk. “Let’s go work the gates while this guy is too pooped to fight.” As they reached the entrance into the center field of the oval track, Trish heard a car horn. “We’ll do this another time.” She trotted back toward the gate, Brad beside her. David came up to meet them.

“How’s Dad?” Trish slid to the ground.

“They’re still at the hospital.” David’s voice caught in his throat.

“Trish, it’s bad.”

“How bad?” She couldn’t speak above a whisper as she rubbed the bay’s nose.

Chapter

05

I
t can’t be bad,
Trish thought as she stared at David with unseeing eyes.
I’ve been praying—praying for this mess to be healed right away. Or at least for there to be some medicine to take care of it. Dad says God can take care of anything. Now Dad’s the one that’s sick. None of this makes any sense.
She shook her head. Her fingers automatically smoothed the horse’s silky hide as she leaned against the colt’s shoulder.

“Trish?” David spoke softly at first.

“Um-m-m.”

“Listen to me.” This time he shook her arm.

“I’m listening.” Trish glared at him. “You’re not saying anything.”

“You were a zillion miles away.”

“Well, I’m here now, so tell me what you’ve found out.”

“Here, Trish,” Brad interrupted. “Let me take your horse with mine and get them cooled out.”

“No. I’ll come.” She led the colt toward the stables. “Come on, David. We can walk and talk at the same time.”

“Dad has cancer.”

“Cancer!”

“In his lungs. That’s why he’s been coughing all this time.”

“But people
die
from cancer!” Trish grabbed her brother’s arm. “David, you’re crazy. That can’t be. I prayed—”

“Trish,” David interrupted her frantic words. “Let me finish.”

“No, David! Dad’s not going to die. We’ve got too much to do here.

The horses to train; the season’s about to open. This is our year to win.

No! He can’t have cancer. No! No way!”

As Trish’s voice raised to a shout, the colt’s ears flattened. The whites of his eyes flashed.

“Trish!”

“No!” Unaware of anything but the pain crushing her heart, Trish jerked the reins.

Slashing black forelegs parted the air as the angry colt blasted his resentment at her thoughtless treatment. He reared, pounded the ground with furious hooves, and reared again.

When he came down the second time, David leaped to seize the bridle. Trish tightened her hold on the one rein; the other flapped in the fracas. Together they brought the quivering colt to a standstill. As one they calmed him, their words running soothingly together.

“I’m sorry, fella,” Trish mumbled as she stroked the flaring nostrils.

“I forgot all about you. I know you can’t understand, but things are really bad for us right now. Easy, I won’t ignore you again.”

Gatesby stamped one foreleg and blew—hard.

“You’re okay now.” David stroked the steaming neck on the off side.

“Boy, that was close.” Brad dismounted to walk with them.

Keeping a wary eye on the horse, Trish asked, “David, are you sure the doctors said it was cancer?”

“Yeah.” David bent his head. “I’m sure.” Silently they each contemplated the horror until David blew his nose. “They’re doing a biopsy tomorrow, but the X-rays show a growth in both lungs. I saw them.” He stopped the horse to face Trish. His red-rimmed eyes pleaded for her understanding to be quick. “They’re huge. They said it’s a miracle he’s kept on so long.”

“But when Aunty Bee had cancer, they just operated and took it all out.”

“I know. I…well, you go talk to them tonight. Dad is expecting you.

We’ll go in as soon as the chores are done.”

Trish shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“What did you say?”

Trish and the colt walked faster.

“Trish!”

“No, David. I just don’t have time. I have a pile of homework, entry forms have to be filled out, I have to…” As they reached the barn, Trish snapped the two-way ties on to the colt’s bridle. She filled a bucket with warm water and reached for the sponge and scraper. She wiped a hand across her eyes to clear the blurring. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I just can’t.”

David shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Tee. Of course you can.” He picked up a scraper and the two guys copied her actions as they worked with the filly. Steam rose in a fluffy cloud when they rinsed the sweat off both horses. Off to the side, Caesar watched patiently, his dark brown eyes tracking Tricia as she swiftly groomed the colt.

On the hot walker, Spitfire nickered for attention.

Trish didn’t see or hear any of it.
Think about it later,
one side of her brain cautioned.

Now, God! Heal my dad now!
the other side screamed back. Her hands slowed as the war in her mind raged on.
I should have made him go to a doctor when his cough first started…. Why didn’t Mom do something?…Why…oh, God…WHY?