Golden Filly Collection One (51 page)

One more giant thrust and Gatesby pushed ahead to win by a nose.

“I think you just know how to stick your nose out straighter,” Trish said as she let him slow for the turn back to the winner’s circle. “You almost blew that one, you know.”

Gatesby tossed his head and jigged sideways.

“Good job, Trish.” John Anderson shook her hand and patted her shoulder. “I didn’t think you were going to pull it off that time.”

“I had my doubts too.” Trish kept an eye on Gatesby’s nose as they posed for the picture. “Watch it, Dad!”

Hal flinched away just in time. “You…”

“There aren’t enough names to call him,” David muttered as he clamped his hand on the reins. “Come on, horse.”

Trish felt wonderful to be back in the locker room changing her silks. The familiar steamy liniment smell, someone singing in the shower, friendly greetings and “welcome backs,” all combined to make her good mood even better.

She stroked the mare’s neck after Bob Diego gave her a leg up in the saddling paddock.

“You know how Marybegood runs,” Bob said. “She’s really ready and this is a good field for her. I think you should win it.”

“We’ll do our best.” Trish patted the mare’s bright sorrel neck again. “Won’t we, girl?”

Trish let Marybegood run easily in third place after a clean break from the gates. With a half a mile to go, she moved up into second and encouraged the mare to stretch out after they rounded the turn. Within two lengths they caught and passed the leader.

Suddenly Marybegood stumbled.

Trish caught herself, one foot out of the stirrup and her left arm clamped around the mare’s neck.

At the same time, she tried to keep the mare’s head up so they wouldn’t go down and be trampled by the hind runners.

Marybegood refused to put any weight on her right hind leg. As soon as the last horse passed them, Trish vaulted to the ground.

“Easy, girl, help’ll be here soon.” She ran her hand down the leg where swelling had already started.

The horse ambulance pulled up beside them.

“I think it’s broken,” she told them, hardly able to keep the tears from her voice.

Chapter

13

I
’m so sorry, Bob,” Trish said for the third time.

“Trish, look at me.” Bob Diego grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “This break is not your fault. There was nothing you could do; these things just happen.”

“Maybe if I’d…”

“No.” Hal placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have done anything differently. You stayed aboard and kept her from going down.”

“Will you have to put her down?” Trish bit her lip.

“I think not. The vet can pin it, and while she won’t race again, she’ll be an excellent brood mare.”

Trish breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I’ll see you after I change, Dad.” She turned back. “Where’s Mom?”

“In the car.” Hal raised his eyebrows.

And not very happy, I’ll bet,
the thought flitted through her mind.

Hal waited for Trish outside the dressing room. “Bob offered us his horse van for the trip to Santa Anita,” he said as soon as Trish met him. “But we’ll have a lot of talking to do to make this work.”

Trish nodded. “I know.”

Conversation never had a chance at life when they got to the car. It didn’t take a genius to tell a storm was coming.

Marge whirled on them as soon as they entered the house. “How many times have I said that racing is just plain dangerous? Today it was the horse that got hurt, but you could have been injured again. Hasn’t all you’ve been through taught you anything?” She paced back and forth, her arm slicing the air as she spoke.

Trish glanced at her father and understood his signal. She kept her mouth closed. If only she could have shut down her brain too. Her thoughts whirled like leaves caught in a feisty fall wind.

You’re not being fair. I wasn’t hurt this time. You can’t keep me safe by preventing me from racing. Mom, quit worrying!

Hal stepped in front of Marge to stop her pacing. He put his arm around her and Marge dropped her head on his shoulder.

Trish huddled in the corner of the sofa.

“It’s okay.” Hal rubbed Marge’s back and brushed the hair back from her face. “That was scary for all of us, but Trish did a good job out there. She’s an excellent rider, you know that.”

Trish went over to the recliner for the box of tissue and handed it to her mother. “Come on, Mom. Maybe it was all those guardian angels that kept me from falling.”

“Somebody sure did.” Hal led Marge to the sofa and sat her down, then sat beside her.

“I don’t want you to go to California,” Marge stated flatly after blowing her nose.

“I know.” Hal nodded. “But let’s talk about that later.”

Much later,
Trish finished the thought.
And I don’t even want to be around for it.

On the Thursday program, Trish had only one other mount besides Firefly. This would be the filly’s last race before Santa Anita. A drizzle blew in veils across the track as the filly danced her way to the starting gate. She broke clean and ran easily, holding the lead until about three quarters of the way around the track.

Trish felt Firefly falter.

Another horse caught them, driving hard on the outside. Firefly strained forward, throwing herself across the finish line.

“And that’s a photo finish, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the PA system.

Firefly seemed to be walking gingerly. Trish cut short any extra circling and stripped off her saddle outside the winner’s circle.

“Something’s wrong.” She stooped to run her hands down the filly’s front legs. They were already hot.

“All I can say, girl, is you got heart,” Trish murmured to Firefly as they posed for the picture.

“I think she won that by a whisker,” Hal said. “I’ll meet you down at the barn, David.”

Trish took a show with her next mount. As soon as she could get away, she trotted across the infield to the back lot.

“It’s shins again,” Hal answered her question as they met in the filly’s stall. “I’m afraid that does it for her this season.”

Another Santa Anita scratch,
Trish thought.
Are we caught in a string of bad luck, or what?

She dreaded the Sunday night family meeting that week. And it wasn’t because of her grades. The big discussion would be Santa Anita.

In church that morning her prayer was simple.
Make my mom let us go. Help her to stop worrying so much. Please, please, please!

Trish spent most of the afternoon on her homework so the evening would be free. She set the table without being asked and volunteered to make the salad.

Marge gave her a one-raised-eyebrow look and shook her head.

Trish caught the edge of a smile as her mother turned to stir the gravy. She tried to think of something to say while they worked together in the kitchen, but everything seemed forced or fake. Like,
You know, Mom, how would you like to go to Santa Anita with us?
Or,
How do you feel about your sick husband and young daughter driving that huge van all the way down I-5 to Southern California?
But Trish already knew the answers.

Dinner was quiet. Trish finally pushed her half-eaten roast beef and mashed potatoes to the side.

“You feel okay?” Marge glanced from Trish’s face to her plate and back.

“I’m fine.”

Sure you are,
her nagger chuckled in her ear.
Your stomach is doing flip-flops and your hands are shaking. But you’re just fine!

“Why don’t we have dessert later?” Hal shoved his plate toward the center of the table so he could prop his elbows in front of him. “No, leave the plates.” He laid a restraining hand on Marge’s arm as she started to rise.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s begin the discussion. David, I’d like to hear from you first.”

“I think we should go for it. Brad and I can handle things here while you and Trish are gone. We don’t have any of our horses racing that week so it should be easy.” He smiled an apology at his mother.

“Trish?”

“I won’t miss much school ’cause that’s spring-break week. If we don’t go, we don’t have much of a chance for the Kentucky Derby, and who knows when we’ll have a three-year-old as good as Spitfire again? I think he—we deserve the chance.”

“Marge?”

Marge took a deep breath. “I know all your arguments. I know this race is important to Runnin’ On Farm as a business. I know how strong you are and how quickly you can get sick.” She grasped Hal’s hand. “Mostly I know how terrified I am that something terrible will happen. Every scene imaginable has played itself over and over in my head.”

Hal covered her hands with his.

She continued. “And I know that the only thing holding you back is your concern for my feelings.” She looked around the table, holding the gaze of each for a few intense seconds. “So I say, when do you leave?”

Trish leaped from her chair, slamming it back to the floor in her exuberance. She threw her arms around her mother. “All right, Mom! You won’t be sorry, I just know you won’t.”

Marge hugged her daughter back. “I’m probably already sorry, but let’s get on with the planning.”

Trish picked her chair up and sank onto it.
We’re going! Please, God, with no more hold-ups. We’re going to Santa Anita!

“Thank you, dear. And I had all my arguments so carefully planned out.” Hal smiled at her.

“Way to go, Mom.” David patted her arm. “You and I can hold down the fort just fine.”

“The way I see it,” Hal continued after taking a deep breath and letting it all out, “is that we’ll leave early Saturday morning and stop in Yreka that night. We’ll drive to Adam Finley’s farm at Harrisburg on Sunday and stay over there to give Spitfire a rest. Tuesday we’ll drive on down to Arcadia. That way we can walk him Wednesday to get him and Trish used to the track, breeze him Thursday, and jog Friday. Then Saturday’s the race. We’ll start home Sunday morning, be back here by Monday night. What do you think?”

“All right!” Trish bounced on her chair.

“Well,
I
think we better get some motel reservations made and make sure you have all you need.” Marge counted the days on her fingers. “We only have five days to get ready. Trish, how many mounts do you have this week?”

“Two Thursday and one Friday. Looks like I’ll cancel the one for Saturday.”

“Good enough. Anything else?” Hal looked at each one of them. “Then what’s for dessert?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” was all Trish could say that night in her prayers.

The week took wings and flew off before anyone could catch it. On Wednesday Hal brought the horse van home and took Trish out for a driving lesson. He taught her about the extra gears with a floor shift and double-clutching to make down-shifting smoother. They drove high in the hills above Hockinson where Hal had her stop and start again in the middle of a steep grade.

“I’ve always said you were a natural driver.” Hal patted Trish’s knee as her shifting became smoother and her ear tuned to the sounds of the engine. “I think we better find you a good pillow though so you can relax. Even with the seat all the way forward, you’re straining a bit.”

“Need longer legs,” Trish said as she turned the van back into their driveway. “But I like driving this rig.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to.” Hal pocketed the key when she turned off the ignition. “But we’re prepared, just in case.”

They loaded the van, all but the horse, on Friday night. Hal had slept in the afternoon and been coughing at dinner, but he assured everyone it was just a tickle in his throat.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve packed extra lozenges and even antibiotics if I need them. Really, I’m fine.”

Trish could see worry lines deepen on her mother’s brow, but Marge didn’t give voice to her fears this time.

Trish was afraid she’d have a hard time going to sleep that night, but she conked out right after her head hit the pillow. The next sound she heard was her alarm. It felt like she’d just fallen asleep.

“Breakfast’s ready,” Marge called as Trish gave her hair a last brush through. She tugged her rust sweater in place and winked at the smiling face in the mirror.
On to Santa Anita!