Golden Filly Collection One (65 page)

“Probably plenty, but I don’t know what else to do. David, unhitch the trailer so you can make better time. I’ll call home and make the arrangements. Trish, you just keep a lid on the kid here. I’ll be back to help you as soon as I’ve made the call.”

“Dad, you need to make a list of the things to tell Mom. Like, my silks are hanging in the closet, along with the hang-up clothes I planned to bring. My makeup’s in the bathroom, shampoo and stuff. Oh, and my sports bag.”

“We can buy things there if you need more.” Hal looked up from his list. “David can pick up your books and lessons at school and ship them, plus whatever else you need from home.”

“Is this gonna make Mom mad, or sick again?”

“No. It’s only two days early. Maybe a shock, that’s all. You forget, she’s really been praying about her worrying, and besides, she’s much better.”

“I know.” Trish chewed on her bottom lip.

“Anything else?”

Trish looked up to see her father smiling at her. She could feel the love shining from his eyes.

“No. I’m—we’re fine.”

Hal patted her shoulder and headed toward the door.

“Tell David to bring some carrots,” Trish called to his retreating back.

Spitfire shuddered again as another jet began its journey. “What are you gonna do when that’s us taking off?” Trish asked. “You won’t just hear it, you’ll feel it.”

Spitfire draped his head over her shoulder. His sigh matched the one Trish felt squeeze past the cotton in her throat.

Two more planes had lifted into the sky before Hal returned. “All set.” He handed Trish a soft brush. “See if you can brush him dry. I’ll get a dry sheet as soon as we’re airborne.”

“What did Mom say?”

“That she loves you and she’s praying for all of us.”

“Did you tell her how Spitfire acted?” Hal raised one eyebrow. “I’ll hold him while you brush.”

“We need to get this crate off the ground pretty quick.” A man from the airline approached Hal. “How long till your son gets back?”

Just then Trish heard a truck door slam. David bounded up the ramp, clutching Trish’s suitcase, plus Hal’s garment bag from the back of the truck. Marge followed right behind him with Trish’s garment bag and her sports bag.

“Mom!” Spitfire lifted his head when Trish raised her voice. “You came.” Trish’s grin lit the entire interior of the plane.

“You think I’d let you get away without a hug?” Marge reached over the stall and suited action to words.

Trish clung to her for a moment. “Thanks for getting all my stuff together. Good thing you told me to pack early.”

Marge smiled. “You call me tonight if you need anything else. And I’m sure they have stores in Louisville too.” She hugged her daughter again. “Just in case.”

“Excuse me, folks,” the airline representative interrupted. “The captain says he’s behind schedule, so we need to get the doors closed.”

“Behave yourself.”

“You talking to me or the horse?” Trish raised her eyebrows at her brother.

“Both.” David punched her shoulder. “See you at the Derby.”

Trish hugged her mother again. “Please come,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be the same without all of us together.”

“I know.” Marge’s hug bordered on the fierce side. “Take care of your dad.”

Trish felt that familiar lump in her throat when she watched her parents say good-bye. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t be together again soon. Why did she feel so close to crying? She wiped her cheek against Spitfire’s mane.

As they closed the doors, Hal climbed over the stall. “Just in case you need another couple of hands.”

Spitfire nosed Hal’s pockets. “Smarty.” Hal pulled out a carrot and broke it in chunks. Spitfire chewed the first piece as engine number one roared to life. He shifted front feet at the surge of number two. Head up, nostrils flaring, he ignored the carrot Hal offered as engine three thrust awake.

Trish pulled his head back down and rubbed his ears and cheek. Spitfire shuddered along with engine four.

“Easy, fella, easy.” Both Trish and her father kept up the easy flow of words, all the while alert for any sudden moves on the colt’s part.

The plane taxied forward, engines building as they turned onto a side runway and trundled down to the takeoff point.

Spitfire shifted restlessly. His front feet beat their own tattoo in the deep straw.

The plane turned again. The engines crescendoed and the plane shuddered as it built speed.

Spitfire shook. His muscles twitched and his eyes rolled white. But he stood firm under Trish’s loving hands.

With a final roar, the plane lifted off the concrete and thrust itself into the sky. Trish braced against the slant. Spitfire nickered and threw his head up as far as the ropes allowed.

“Easy, come on, it’s almost over.” Trish breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the plane level out. She yawned to release the pressure in her ears and looked over at her father. His look of I’m-sure-glad-that’s-over made her grin.

Spitfire took another piece of carrot.

“You’re glad too, aren’tcha fella?” Trish whispered in his ear. She smoothed his forelock, grateful she could unclamp her hand from the halter. She flexed her fingers.

“I’ll get some hay and water in here for him.” Hal climbed over the wall. “And how about something to drink for you too?”

“I could use that.” Trish yawned again. Her left ear popped this time. She frowned. “I think I liked the noise level better when I couldn’t hear.”

Hal chuckled as he rummaged in their supplies. He handed a dry sheet over the wall after the drinks. “You want some help changing that?”

Trish just shook her head. There was plenty of room to move around in the stall so who was he kidding? She’d been grooming horses since she was ten. She stripped off the damp sheet and brushed the now-weary horse down again. With the dry sheet buckled on, she stepped back to view her handiwork.

When Spitfire finally cocked one rear foot and dozed off, Trish sank down in the corner. She didn’t dare leave the stall in case something happened, but sitting sure beat standing. She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until she heard the engines change and the plane begin its descent into the Louisville airport.

Spitfire flinched when the wheels touched down, but other than that he remained quiet. Even when the men broke down the stall around him, he just watched, his head draped over Trish’s shoulder.

Hal took the other lead rope just in case, but Spitfire walked off the plane like he’d been traveling in such style all his life. He walked right into the horse van waiting for them. Trish unsnapped the ropes so Spitfire could inspect his new quarters. After a quick hug, she shut the door and leaped to the ground.

“How about dropping me off to pick up my rental car and then I’ll follow you to the track?” Hal asked the van driver.

“Sure.” White teeth flashed as a smile split the man’s fudge-colored face. “That’s a ma-aghty fine lookin’ colt you have there. Been hearin’ some about him.”

“Fred, this is my daughter, Tricia.” Hal laid a hand on her shoulder. “Trish, Mr. Robertson.”

Trish extended her hand as she’d been taught. Her fingers disappeared in the width of the man’s hand.

“Just call me Fred.” He tipped his hat after releasing the handshake. “You the young miss they all in a sweat about? Say you and that black colt maaght make racin’ history.”

Trish grinned back. “Winning the Derby will be kinda exciting.”

She heard little nagger snort.
Kinda exciting?

The three of them climbed up in the high cab. Trish felt the truck rock as Spitfire continued his inspection. She listened as Fred and her father talked about the area and what had gone on so far at the track. Nomatterwhat, the sorrel favorite they’d beaten at Santa Anita, had arrived the weekend before. Dun Rovin’, a Kentucky-bred colt that took the honors at Gulf Stream in Florida, had arrived on Wednesday. Equinox, the current favorite, was shipping in on Saturday.

Trish felt two shivers chase each other up and back down her spine. She was
really
in Kentucky. It wasn’t just a dream or a wish any longer. The race was two weeks from Saturday, sixteen days away. Sixteen days of butterflies.

“Trish, you ride with Fred in case you’re needed, okay?” Hal hesitated before shutting the truck door. At Trish’s nod, he slammed the door and waved.

“This your first trip here?” Fred turned off the engine.

“Uh-huh. My first racing season too. Spitfire’s the first colt we’ve had this good. Dad’s been training for a long time, but only in the Northwest.”

“And this colt brought you into the big time.” Fred leaned back against the door. “Y’all must be maaghty proud.”

“You been hauling horses long?”

“Seems like all my life. This way ah get to be part of the business.”

“Tell me about some of the horses you’ve seen.”

“Why, I hauled Secretariat himself. Now that horse, he knew he was king.” Fred chuckled. “Course ah was a bit younger then. Summer Squall, now he looked ma-aghty good too. You seen Seattle Slew, haven’t you?”

“No, but he’s Spitfire’s sire.”

Fred waved back when Hal walked from the car rental building to the burgundy four-door car. Fred turned the key and the engine surged to life. He hummed a little under his breath as he pulled out onto the road. “Now, ah remember when…” His stories kept Trish enthralled all the way to the freeway and over the surface streets following the signs to Churchill Downs. Huge trees shaded the houses along Central Avenue. Traffic increased as they neared the track.

“Last race about done,” Fred commented. “You watch ahead, we’re almost there.”

Trish checked her side mirror to make sure her father was still behind them. Horse trucks and trailers filled a lot on their right and concrete-block stables lined the chain-link fence on their left.

Fred shifted down and signaled his turn. They had arrived. The guard at the gate waved them through. Fred eased the truck down the main road running between stables.

Trish could see the track off to her right, the triple cupolas that marked the famed racetrack visible on the roof of the grandstand.

It seemed like they drove forever. Trish tried to see everything at once as Fred pointed out the steward’s office, the media building, the first-aid station, and finally barn 41. This barn at the back of the backside housed all the Derby contenders. With a green roof, white trim, and concrete block walls, the stable seemed to stretch out a mile. Everything looked freshly painted, even to the green and white sawhorses that marked parking restrictions.

Fred laughed softly. His contagious chuckle brought a grin to Trish’s face too.

“Well—” Trish took a deep breath and let it out. “Thanks for such a great ride.” She unbuckled her seat belt. The truck shifted as Spitfire moved around. He nickered.

“Y’all take care now, you hear?” Fred opened his door. “And I’ll be a-watchin’ you, ’specially in that winner’s circle.”

“Thanks.” Trish stepped down and went around the truck to unload. Two men already had their microphones in front of her father’s face, asking him questions. Trish helped Fred let down the ramp.

Spitfire whinnied, a shrill announcement that he had arrived. Horses down the lines answered.

“He’s tellin’ ’em, ‘Look out. Ah’m here.’” Fred chuckled again and shook his head. “That boy not gonna take nothin’ from nobody.”

“Back up,” Trish ordered when she opened the door. Spitfire nuzzled her shoulder and did as he was told. His flaring nostrils showed that he knew this was a strange place and he was ready to check it out. “Just take it easy now,” she talked as she snapped the two shanks on his halter, slipping one chain section over his nose in case he got rowdy.

Spitfire posed in the doorway. Head high, ears pricked forward, he surveyed his kingdom. He answered another whinny from a stabled horse, then blew in Trish’s face and followed her down the ramp.

“Are you Tricia Evanston?” a voice called.

Chapter

09

S
pitfire danced in a circle around Trish, effectively scattering the three people who waited. “Behave yourself now,” she ordered sternly. “Sorry, but he’s had a long day.”

“We’re in stall five, halfway down.” Hal checked the paper in his hand. “Let’s get the sheet off him, then you can walk him and get the kinks out while I get us settled.”

“If you’ve got as many kinks as I do, we’re in deep trouble,” Trish said as she led Spitfire after her father. The horse rubbed his forehead on her shoulder. He seemed to be walking on tiptoe as he paraded after her, eyes and ears checking out everything around him.

The colt shook all over like a wet dog when Hal pulled off the crimson and gold sheet and folded it to air over the open half wall that fronted the stalls. Hard-packed dirt aisles and shade from the overhanging roof kept the interior cooler than outside.

“Come on, fella.” Trish didn’t need to tug on his lead rope. As they left the building Spitfire raised his head and whinnied again. “Knock it off. You want to break my eardrums?” Trish watched him for any nervousness but Spitfire seemed calm. He was just letting everyone know he was there. They strolled up and down the wide areas between barns. Some were gravel, some deep sand. Some stables were decorated with hanging flower baskets, others displayed signs. Bandages, blankets, sheets, all the gear of any track hung drying on the lines strung between the posts on the half walls.