Golden Filly Collection One (50 page)

“Okay.” He drew Trish over to the fireplace and sat beside her on the hearth. “I know this is throwing you right now, Tee, but here’s what I suggest. I’ll call Genie Stokes tonight and ask her if she can come out here tomorrow afternoon. We’ll try her up on Spitfire with you standing there to help control him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Trish leaned over and pulled a tissue from the box on the end table. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and tossed the tissue in the fireplace. With each movement, she sat straighter, shoulders back and head up.

She took a deep breath and paused for a moment, thankful deep breathing didn’t hurt anymore.
After all, two weeks isn’t forever. I made it this far, I can go the distance.

“What if we hooded him?” She thought for a long moment about her idea, her chin resting in her hand. She’d braced her elbow on her knee. “Maybe he’ll be okay if I lead him around for a while.”

“That’s my girl.” Hal patted her knee.

Trish called Rhonda as soon as school was out. “Bad news, buddy,” she said. “I’m recasted.”

“Oh no-o-o.” Rhonda’s moan echoed through the receiver. “How could they?”

“Real easy. He just wrapped that gooey stuff round and round and said, ‘See you in two weeks.’”

“Can you ride anyway?”

“No. I tried that idea out on him but no go. Rhonda, I was so mad I felt like punching him or something. He’s ruining my life! At this rate, the racing season will be over before I get back up on a horse. We shoulda made you ride Spitfire all along so he would allow someone else on his back.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“Well, I’m
not
going to take a nap! I’ve got horses to groom and a filly to train. And Double Diamond is almost as cute as Miss Tee. Come on over.”

“Can’t. I have horses to work too, you know.”

“I know. Just had to give you my
wonderful
news. Yuck!” Trish hung up the phone.
Will raise you up on eagle’s wings.
Like a melting snowbank, the song trickled through her mind. She stopped in front of the mantel in the living room and stroked the carved feathers on the eagle’s wing.

“Thank you for the healing going on in my arm,” she whispered in prayer that night. “And in my Dad.” She thought a moment. “And in my mind. Amen!”

Genie Stokes drove in the drive right after Brad dropped Trish off the next afternoon. Genie opened her door and stepped out. “Tough luck, Trish. I sure know how you’re feeling.”

“Come on in. I don’t know where Dad is, but Mom probably has the coffeepot on. How’ve you been doing?” Trish led the way up the walk.

“Not bad now that the weather’s cleared up. We were all really sorry to hear about your accident. You never know what will happen next in this crazy business. Hi, Mrs. Evanston. Mm-mm, it smells wonderful in here.”

“Hal and David will be right back. You’ve got time for a snack if you’d like. There’s coffee, hot chocolate…”

“Diet Coke, juice.” Trish dug caramel off the wax paper and stuck it in her mouth. “And cinnamon rolls.”

Down at the barn half an hour later, David saddled Spitfire and held him for Genie to mount. Trish stood right beside the colt’s head, scratching his ears and explaining what they were going to do.

Hal boosted Genie into the saddle.

Spitfire snorted. He laid his ears back.

“Easy, fella, you don’t mind what we’re doing,” Trish consoled.

Spitfire threw his head up, ripping the reins from Trish’s hand.

“Get back, Trish!” Hal barked the order.

“Spitfire, no!” Trish clamped her good hand over the horse’s muzzle. The colt snorted. His eyes rolled white. He jerked his head back, forcing Trish to stumble to the side. She went down on one knee, still trying to calm the horse with her voice.

“Trish, Trish,” Hal muttered as he lifted her to her feet.

When Spitfire’s front feet left the ground, Genie vaulted lightly to the dirt.

“Let’s try the hood.” Trish turned to get her father’s reaction.

“We’ll try it, but I don’t think it’ll do any good.” Hal shook his head. “I just can’t take the chance on his injuring someone.”

Trish soothed the trembling horse. “Come on, fella, no one’s gonna hurt you. You know we wouldn’t do that.” She led him around in a circle until he rested his head on her shoulder.

He was worse with the hood in place. He lashed out with both front and back feet as soon as Genie settled in the saddle. Nothing Trish said or did made any difference.

“That’s it,” Hal said. “I’ll scratch him. Thanks for trying, Genie.”

“Don’t worry, Tee,” Hal said at dinner that night. “The forced rest won’t hurt him any. We’ll think about a race in early March, just depends.”

Yeah,
Trish thought.
Depends on how my arm does. Why didn’t I have Rhonda ride him once in a while when we were training him? Then we wouldn’t have this problem.

The countdown to cast-off narrowed to three days, then two and finally it arrived. But this time Trish wasn’t so confident. The doctor had said the two weeks was minimum.

“I’m scared,” Trish told Rhonda and Brad in the lunchroom. “I can’t stand the thought of more time in this thing.” She thumped on the cast with her left hand. “What if…?”

“Knock it off.” Rhonda took another bite of her tuna sandwich. “This is the day. After three-thirty you will be a free woman.”

“That’s it! Rhonda has spoken.” Brad patted her on the head as he stood to take his tray back. “Your mom picking you up?”

Trish nodded. “Sure hope you two are right.”

They were. The X-rays showed the bone had mended.

Trish winced as the doctor cut off the cast. That whirling blade was awfully close to the skin on her arm.

“Now, don’t go falling off any more horses.” The doctor grinned at her. “And take it easy on that arm for a while. You may still have occasional pain if you over-extend yourself.” He handed her a red rubber ball. “Use this to rebuild those muscles. Just clench and release it. Start with about five at a time and work up.”

“Thanks.” Trish stuck her arm in the sleeve of her sweat shirt and zipped up her jacket with her right hand. She felt like she was floating out the door.

“You want to stop for a celebration sundae?” Marge asked as they got back in the car.

“Nope!” Trish shook her head emphatically. “I’m going home to take an hour-long shower and wash my own hair. Then I’ll call Rhonda and tell her the good news.”

Marge chuckled. “Hope the hot water lasts that long.” They headed for home. “But remember, the doctor said to take it easy at first. I think that means no riding for a couple of days at least.”

Trish refused to comment. Her mother’s worrying would
not
take the spangle off this day.

The shower was everything she’d dreamed it would be. She stood with her back to the spray, enjoying the feel of hot water pounding on her neck and shoulders. She felt really clean for the first time in two months. When the water cooled, she turned off the tap and wrapped a towel around her head, drying off with another.

She could hardly find the mirror in the steamy bathroom, but she saw enough to compare her right arm to her left. It was definitely thinner. And all that dry, flaky skin? Yuck! She slathered on hand lotion, then studied the scar.

“Well, at least it’ll shrink with time. And a suntan.” She nodded at the grinning face in the mirror. “And
you
are going to California in five weeks—to get that suntan.”

Back in her room she found she needed her left hand to snap the closure on her jeans. But now she had two hands that worked together to button her shirt and tie her shoes. She felt like cheering at the thought of being back in
real
clothes.

She squeezed on the red ball while she waited for Rhonda to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

Trish deepened her voice. “Rhonda Seabolt, you’re talking to a free woman. This prisoner has dropped her chains.”

“All right!”

When they hung up half an hour later, Marge extended a hand to pull Trish up from her place on the floor, propped against the cabinets. “Well, free woman, how about setting the table? Your dad and David are on their way up.”

“What smells so good?” Trish lifted the lid on a steaming kettle. “You made spaghetti! Yum-mm.” She stretched both arms above her head. “And this time I won’t make such a mess eating it.”

The next afternoon Trish headed for the barn as soon as she’d changed clothes. She dug carrots out of her pocket and fed each horse down the line, only spending a minute or two with each, until she reached Spitfire’s stall, where he was cross-tied and already saddled.

“Hello, fella, looks like you’re ready to go.” She smoothed his forelock and scratched his cheek.

“Dan’l and I already galloped him a couple of rounds to take the edge off him. He’s gotten real used to being led around the track.” David joined her in the stall. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

Trish just shook her head. Another worrier.

After the first lap at a walk, she loosed the reins enough to let Spitfire jog the next round. Two new unpainted boards in the fence replaced those she’d broken in her accident, making it easy to tell where she’d gone airborne.

“What a bummer,” she said as she stroked Spitfire’s neck. “If I
never
do something like that again, it’ll be too soon.” Spitfire’s ears flicked back and forth, listening to her voice and checking out everything around them. “I don’t know which is better, the shower yesterday or riding today.”

Spitfire snorted.

“Yeah, you’re right. This is better.”

“No, it’s too soon!” Marge slammed her hand down on the kitchen counter a week later. “Your arm isn’t strong enough for you to race yet. Trish, this time I won’t back down.”

“But, Mom!”

“No. I don’t care what you say. The answer is no!”

“Dad?”

Hal shook his head. “I’m afraid your mother’s right.”

“But other jockeys get back up with casts and braces and all kinds of things.”

“It’s different if you have to earn your living riding. You take more chances that way.” Hal shrugged.

“But that’s not the case here.” Marge crossed her arms. “Give it at least another week.”

“That’s the day I ride for Bob Diego, on the mare he’s taking to Santa Anita. I
have
to do that!”

“Okay.”

Hal stroked his chin. “Think I’ll put Gatesby in the third race that day. That’ll give you two mounts and that’s plenty for your first day back. Working everybody here will give you enough exercise in the meantime.”

Gatesby was up to his usual tricks when they loaded him in the trailer on Friday night. He flipped David’s baseball cap off his head and snorted with the first thud of his hooves on the ramp.

“Life is never dull with you around, is it?” Trish kept one hand on the horse’s halter as David tied the knot and tugged it tight.

“Get over, horse.” David slapped the bay’s shoulder. Gatesby had swung his weight so David was pinned against the side of the trailer. He pushed and thumped him again before Gatesby moved over. The horse turned, looked over his shoulder, and nickered at Trish and David as they left the trailer.

“Same to you, you stubborn, ornery hunk of…”

“Now, David.” Trish swallowed her giggle. “Remember what Dad says. Patience is a virtue.”

“Yeah, patience.”

Trish slid the bolt home after they raised the tailgate. She’d had a few names for Gatesby herself when her arm was casted.

Real, honest-to-goodness sun brightened the windy March day as Trish bagged her silks and packed her sports bag. Yellow daffodils lined the walk, nodding and bowing her out to the car. Caesar yipped and frisked around her, acting like a puppy on the loose.

“You have everything?” Marge asked as she slid into the passenger’s side.

Hal grinned over his shoulder at Trish. “Of course she does. Portland Meadows, here we come. Tricia Evanston is back!”

And being back felt like a huge hunk of heaven. Trish couldn’t stop grinning. She laughed when Gatesby tried to nip David in the saddling paddock and beamed at Brad when he took the lead rope. Flags snapped in the breeze and Mount Hood speared the eastern sky. Gatesby pranced for the surging crowd. He arched his neck, ears pricked forward. He was ready to run.

“You’ll do great!” Brad gave Trish the thumbs-up sign when he passed the lead over to the handler at the gate.

The field of eight entered the starting gate easily. Trish gathered her reins. A few butterflies flipped around in her midsection, reminding her that they were still resident.

The gates swung open and Gatesby hesitated enough to put them a half a length behind the others. Trish kept him on the outside, giving him time to hit his stride.

“Okay, fella.” She loosened the reins and leaned forward. “Let’s make up for lost time.” Gatesby stretched out. One by one he passed the field now strung out going into the turn. He pulled even with the third-place runner, then the second as they came down the home stretch.

The jockey on the gray in front went to the whip as they thundered down the last furlongs.

Gatesby pulled even with the horse’s shoulder, then they were neck and neck.

“Go, Gatesby!” Trish shouted.