Golden Filly Collection One (69 page)

Trish unhooked the web gate and slipped into the stall just as Spitfire reared, slashing the air with his hooves. She felt the wind of it on her cheek.

“Easy now, come on, Spitfire. We’re here.” She grabbed for his halter, all the while murmuring his name and comforting words.

Eyes rolling white, nostrils flared red, Spitfire trembled under her calming hands. The rain pounding on the roof above them drowned out her voice to any but the horse’s ears. But that’s who the singsong was for.

“Here, Trish.” Hal handed her a lead shank. “Run the chain through his mouth in case you need some control.”

Trish did as she was told, and finished just as lightning turned the stable area blue-white. Spitfire threw up his head, but Trish clamped one hand over his nose and clutched the strap tight against his jaw with the other. She hunched her shoulders, waiting for the coming boom.

The crack sounded right overhead. Spitfire’s front feet left the ground, but Trish stayed right with him. “Easy, boy, come on now. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.” He quivered as she stroked his ears and neck. Sweat darkened his hide.

“The storm’s heading east, so maybe this won’t last much longer.” Hal stood on the opposite side of the colt, copying Trish’s calming actions.

“Hope so. You sure this building’s safe?”

“Lightning goes for the high points. The two spires on top of the grandstand would attract it away from here.”

Trish sniffed. “What’s that funny smell?”

“Ozone. From the lightning. That last one was right above us.”

“Thanks.”

Spitfire snorted like he was relieved too. When the thunder rolled again, it was far enough away that he only flinched. The rain changed instruments from kettledrum to keyboard, singing off the eaves and thrumming on the gravel.

Trish took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if her hand shook of itself or because it strangled the colt’s halter. She unclamped her fist and flexed her fingers.

Spitfire draped his head over her shoulder, shaken by an occasional quiver, just as a person shuddering after a crying spell.

Hal handed Trish a brush, and started on the other side with another one. “Let’s get him dried off.”

“You okay here?” one of the track assistants asked.

“Now we are.” Hal left off brushing and stood at the door.

“Yours wasn’t the only horse shook up.”

“Yeah, we don’t get thunder and lightning much at all at home, and never like that.”

“You need anything, you let us know.” The man moved off.

Now that Spitfire was calmed down, Trish realized she was soaked. She hadn’t been able to run between the drops during that downpour. She looked up from her brushing in time to see her dad shiver from the breeze that whipped down the aisle. He’d gotten wet too.

“How about we go back to the hotel and get into some dry clothes?” She finished the brushing and gave Spitfire a last pat. “Come on, Dad.” Shivers attacked her too as soon as she left the warmth of the stall. “Turn the heater on.” She flicked the knobs herself as soon as she got into the car.

The heat pouring out the vents didn’t make Hal quit shivering. Trish bit her lip as she heard his teeth chatter on a bad shake. “You want me to drive?” she asked.

“No. I’ll hit the shower as soon as we get to the hotel, and you can make some coffee. Hot liquid inside and out oughta do it.”

Trish turned the shower on as soon as she entered their suite so the bathroom could steam up. She filled the automatic coffeepot, and when it quit gurgling brought a cup to her father, who was still in the shower.

“Your coffee’s here on the counter.”

“Thanks, Tee.”

Trish noticed the message light winking on the phone. When she dialed the desk, they told her there was a package downstairs for her. By the time she got back up, the shower was quiet.

“Dad?”

“In bed. How about bringing me another cup of coffee?”

Trish poured a cup and carried it in to him. “My stuff came.” She plopped the package down on his bed. “Think I’ll study for a while since the sun’s hiding. You gonna sleep?”

“Ummm. Can’t believe how cold I got. I forget that my internal thermometer doesn’t work the way it used to, thanks to the chemotherapy.”

“Want something to eat or anything?”

“No, thanks.” He handed her the cup. “Oh, maybe you better hand me those antibiotic pills in the amber bottle. Between the dust and the rain, I better be safe than sorry.”

Trish wrote a paper for English, read two chapters in her history book, and took a nap. Her father was still sleeping when she got up, so she left him a note and drove back to the track to feed Spitfire.

“Where’s your daddy?” asked the man at the gate. “He all right?”

“I hope so,” Trish answered.

Spitfire was glad to see her, but it sure was lonely without her father.

The sound of his coughing greeted her when she opened the hotel room door.
Oh, God, what do I do now?
Trish thought of calling her mother, but what good would that do? She knew her father would just tell her to be patient; he’d feel better in the morning.

But he didn’t.

Trish had set her alarm for six, and when she went to check on him, her father admitted to a temperature.

“Should we call a doctor?” Trish crossed her arms, hugging her elbows.

“No. Just give the antibiotics time to work. But I better stay in bed today. Trish, I can’t tell you how terrible this makes me feel.” The old, ugly rasp was back in his voice.

“No problem. I’ll get someone to help me at the track. We can order room service for you.”

“I don’t feel much like eating. Maybe some orange juice and toast when you come back.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Are you sure you can handle things out there?”

“Da-ad. It’s not like I haven’t done all those chores before.” She set two glasses of water on his nightstand. “Drink. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Trish hated to ask for help. Thoughts of how to take care of the horse and clean out the stall all at the same time nagged at her. She waved at the guard when she drove in and parked the car. Spitfire greeted her with his usual nicker. She poured his feed in the bucket and leaned against the colt’s shoulder while he ate, trying to figure out what to do.

“How’s your dad?” a familiar voice asked from the door.

Trish turned. One of her resident butterflies took a leap of pure joy.

“Hi, Red. He’s fi—how’d you know something was wrong?”

“Guard said your dad wasn’t here last night or this morning. I knew he wouldn’t leave you alone here unless something was really wrong.”

Trish swallowed the lump that threatened her throat. “He got wet in that rainstorm—chilled—and now he has a fever.”

“So he’s in bed?”

Trish nodded.

Eric appeared to be thinking hard. “Tell you what, I’ll be right back.” He dog-trotted up the aisle and out the barn.

Trish carried her saddle and bridle to the stall. Gallop was on the chart for Spitfire’s work for the morning. She’d just have to take this one step at a time.

She was ready to mount when Eric reappeared—with help.

“Meet Romero and Juan.”

Trish smiled at the two dark-haired young men.

“They’ll clean out the stall while you ride. Then help you wash him down if you’d like. They’re good with horses.”

“Thank you.” Trish nodded at each of them.

“Oh, they don’t speak English,” Red added.

“
Gracias,
” Trish felt her tongue trip over the simple word. You’d think she’d never taken beginning Spanish, let alone three years of it. But then, words like
pitchfork
and
manure
hadn’t been part of the curriculum either. She headed for the tools stored in the tack box.

“I’ll see you out on the track,” Red said as he gave her a leg up. “Don’t worry about these guys. They know what to do.”

“Thanks.” Trish stared down into eyes blue enough to drown in. She adjusted her helmet and nudged Spitfire forward. Her throat felt dry. She wasn’t coming down with something—was she?

It was almost possible to forget her worries with the breeze fresh in her face and Spitfire tugging at the bit. She kept him to a walk for half a circuit, then let him slow-gallop. He didn’t fight her for more this morning, as if he knew she had enough to think about. Eric, mounted on a feisty gray, walked a circuit with her.

Later, she realized how much she enjoyed his teasing. Laughing felt good, but a clean stall and extra hands to help her wash the colt down and walk him out felt even better.

“You going for breakfast?” Eric showed up just as Trish had said her last
muchas gracias.

“No. I need to get back to my dad. Thanks for finding me help.” Trish opened her car door. “See ya.”

Red leaned on the open door. “Where y’all staying?”

“The Louisville Inn. Why?”

“I’ll call you later to see how things are going.” He touched a finger to his helmet and trotted off.

Trish fixed a tray of food at the hotel buffet and carried it up to the suite. Her father was still asleep. She’d heard him coughing and wandering about several times during the night.

“Dad?” She moved things aside and set the tray on the nightstand. “I brought you breakfast.”

“How’s Spitfire?” Hal turned on his back and looked at her with real awareness for the first time since the chill. He cleared his throat.

Trish propped a couple of pillows behind his head and handed him a glass of orange juice. “He’s fine, I’m fine, and you’re looking better.” She lifted the plastic dome off the plate and set the tray across his knees. “I’ll go make some coffee.”

She caught herself humming as she filled the pot. Amazing how her father’s feeling better put a song in her heart.

“How are you handling everything?”

“Fine. Red brought me two stable hands and they cleaned out the stall while I worked Spitfire. Then I held him while they washed him down. I tried to talk some with them, but my Spanish is so slow they must think I’m an idiot.”

Hal smiled around a bite of scrambled eggs. “I’m so proud of you, I can never begin to tell you how much. Thanks for the breakfast. Food tastes good this morning—finally.”

Trish brought him a cup of coffee. “I’m going back to school Spitfire after the day’s program starts. Since that’s what you had on the schedule, I see no need to change it.”

“Have you talked with your mother?”

“Not since Monday.” Trish curled up in a chair and sipped her orange juice. “I’ll call her tonight. You sound better, so we won’t be lying.”

“I’ll take it easy today, but tomorrow I should be able to help. Tee, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should hire Patrick O’Hern, that ex-trainer I introduced you to the other day. That would take some of the pressure off you.”

“Why not wait and see? My two helpers are doing fine.” Trish nibbled a piece of toast. “Not to change the subject, but Equinox is stabled right next to us. He’s kind of high-strung.”

“If we hired Patrick, he could become a permanent employee. We’ve been understaffed too long.”

Trish looked at her father closely. He was serious about this. “We’ve gotten along okay up to now.”

“I know.” Hal handed her the tray. “I can’t eat any more. I’ll rest awhile, then get a shower. Can’t believe how weak I am again.”

“You were sick, running a fever, what’d you expect?”

“Yes, Dr. Evanston.” A smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “How’s your homework coming?”

“That’s where I’m going now.” She took the tray and placed it outside their door. Then, with books spread around her on the sofa, she attacked the list of assignments. That way she was able to blot out the idea of someone strange joining Runnin’ On Farm.

When the phone rang, she about leaped out of her skin. What would she say to her mother? She picked it up before it could ring again. At the sound of Red’s voice, she heaved a sigh of relief.

“Dad’s sleeping again but feeling some better. Got him to eat a little.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Trish felt a warm glow in her heart. It was nice to know that someone cared. “No, but thanks. I’ll be back later for schooling. Good luck on your mounts today.”

She hung up the phone and stared at the framed print of the great horse Secretariat on the wall. The horse seemed to be looking right at her. It was a friendly look.

“You want some lunch before I go back?” she asked several hours later. Besides her homework, she’d written cards to Rhonda, Brad, her mom, and David.

Hal had taken a shower and was almost sleeping again. “No, thanks.”

“How about if I call room service and they bring you a tray in about an hour?”

“Okay. But maybe you should put off the schooling.”

“We’ll be fine. Oh, and Spitfire needs new shoes, or the ones he has reset. One’s loose.”

“How about Friday?”

“Sure.” Trish dialed room service and ordered soup and more juice for her father.

Back at the track, the second race was being run. She and Spitfire just hung out for a while. She sat crosslegged in the corner of his stall, stroking his nose and scratching his ears. He nibbled on her fingers and blew in her bangs. She heard a whinny from the stalls behind them.

“Sounds like someone else has arrived.” Spitfire raised his head and answered with a nicker of his own. “Sure, sure, tell him how good you are.” She tickled the whiskers on his upper lip.

Schooling went as smooth as a well-rehearsed play. Spitfire followed his lines perfectly as they trailed behind the horses heading to the paddock for the fourth race. She stood him in the stall for a while, then walked around the paddock, pointing out the Chrysler Triple Crown emblem on a white wall and all the bright flowers. Spitfire seemed to understand every word.

“Look at that black,” someone in the crowd commented.

“Which race is he in?”

Trish wanted to tell them but kept walking Spitfire.

Red waved to her before the trainer boosted him into the saddle. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. Good luck.” Spitfire played with the chain on his lead strap when the mounted horses left the paddock to meet the ponies lined up just outside the tunnel. Another parade to post had begun. The crowd flowed back to find their seats.