Golden Filly Collection One (76 page)
David tossed Trish the car keys. “Pick me up after evening feed.”
“I’ll bring him back.” Red turned his teasing gaze up to Trish. “That way you can study without interruption. Then maybe we can all go to a movie later.”
Patrick walked Trish to the car. “Sure you’ll be all right now?”
“Thanks for the stories.” Trish leaned on the open car door. “You always make me feel better.”
“Now, you’d be a-tellin’ me if I can help?”
Trish nodded. “Thanks again.”
Tuesday morning dawned heavily overcast, with predictions of rain. Even the breeze felt wet in her face as Trish galloped Spitfire around the track. While she kept him controlled, he still had a sweat-popping run. As she walked him around to cool him down, Trish thought back to the night before.
The three of them had gone to a movie, and sitting next to Red made her feel warm and restless. Until he took her hand in his—then she just felt warm. A feeling that was just right. David had punched her lightly on the arm on the way out of the theater. Just thinking about it sent a blush to her neck. So far she hadn’t seen Red again this morning. How would she act? What should she say?
S
he didn’t have to say or do anything. Trish didn’t see Red all Tuesday morning. Or that afternoon.
“And what might be botherin’ my girl today?” Patrick asked after lunch at the track kitchen.
“She’s in love.” David dodged Trish’s well-aimed fist. “First love.” He ducked again.
Laughter twinkled from Patrick’s sky-blue eyes. “And I wouldn’t have to be a-askin’ who the young man might be.”
“I’m not in
love.
” Trish ignored the blush she felt creeping up her neck. “I’m in…like.”
Patrick and David looked over their shoulders at each other, then fought to keep from exploding.
“If you two can’t act any more mature than that, I’ll just go on back to the hotel and get to work.
Somebody
has to be an adult around here.” Trish rose to her feet, her chin tilted in a determined don’t-mess-with-me angle.
“Tricia Evanston?”
Trish stopped before she bumped into the young man she recognized as one of the jockey agents.
“Yes.” She set her tray back down on the table.
“My name is Jonathan Smith.” He extended his hand. “Do you have a minute?”
Trish nodded as she shook his hand. “Sure. You want to talk here?”
“This will be fine.” He nodded as Trish introduced David and Patrick. “Good to see you again, Patrick. Glad to have you back.” He settled into the chair on the other side of Trish. “Is it true that you haven’t signed with an agent?”
Trish nodded. “I haven’t needed to. In Portland I had all the mounts I could handle.”
“Well, a trainer came and asked me to get you to ride for him tomorrow afternoon.” Smith checked a paper he took from his pocket. “That would be in the third race. Are you interested?”
“Of course.” Trish leaned forward. She clenched her fists to keep her hands from clapping.
“You understand that you’ll need to sign a contract with me?”
Trish nodded. She had known that one day it would come to this. But she thought she’d have to find an agent herself—not that one would find her. And in Kentucky.
Jonathan pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “It’s very simple, really. You can look it over if you like.” He handed Trish the typed form.
“I’d like my father to read this, if that’s okay.” Trish scanned the simple document. Her eyes stopped at the paragraph that detailed the fees. While twenty-five percent was normal, she hated giving the agent that much of her winnings.
“Dad’s not here,” David reminded her softly.
Trish caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “You need this signed before tomorrow?”
The man nodded.
“One thing you should know. I don’t take a jockey fee when I ride Spitfire, or any of our own horses, for that matter. That means you wouldn’t get any money either.”
Jonathan tipped back on the legs of the chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, appearing to be deep in thought. “Usually an agent gets his cut on any ride.” He thumped his chair back solidly on the floor. “Let’s be honest, Tricia. You are in a strong position to win the Preakness or at least come in the money. That makes you a valuable property, to me or any other agent. And face it, I’m in the business to make money too. But I can only charge you for the mounts I get for you.” A smile worked its way up to his eyes. “One thing I’ll make sure of, you’ll be racing more and more for farms other than your father’s.”
Trish handed the contract to David. “What do you think?” she asked as he and Patrick finished reading it.
“It’s standard,” Patrick replied. “And besides, if he doesn’t do a good job for you, you can fire him and hire someone else.”
Trish grinned at the twinkle she saw dancing in the old man’s eyes. She reached across the table and pulled a pen from David’s pocket. After signing her name, she handed the paper back to the agent.
“Thank you.” Jonathan refolded the paper and put it back in his pocket. “I’ll see if I can get more mounts for you before you leave—Thursday, right?”
Trish nodded. “Early, most likely.”
“And you want to ride at Pimlico.” It was more a statement than a question.
Trish nodded again.
“Good. I’ll be talking with you.” He shook hands with her and the others, and strode out of the room.
Trish settled back against her chair and stretched her arms above her head. “Well, that’s done.” Doubts chased each other through her mind like kids playing tag.
“You needn’t worry about whether you did the right thing, you know,” Patrick said, reading her mind. “As long as you’re under age and all.”
“He’s right,” David added. “Dad could cancel the contract if he thought you weren’t being treated right.”
Trish frowned. “But I gave my word.”
“I know,” Patrick said. “Just be rememberin’ that Jonathan works for
you
. You don’t work for him.” He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “And now, I’ll be getting back to our prince, and you can get back to your books. The day’ll be gone before we know it.”
Returning to the hotel, Trish hit the books with a flourish. She read two chapters for history, then started on
War and Peace
for English. It didn’t take long to realize she should have started the book much earlier. She was still trying to figure out who all the characters were when the phone rang.
“Jonathan Smith here,” the man responded to her greeting. “I have another mount for you tomorrow, if you’d like it. Seventh race, a claiming for fillies and mares.”
“Great—uh, let me check something.” Trish shuffled some papers by the phone. “Dad’s put in a claim for Sarah’s Pride in that race. Will that be a problem?”
“Shouldn’t. That’s not the horse I have for you. You’ll take it then?”
“Yes—and thanks.” Trish could feel a smile stretching her cheeks, causing bubbles of happiness to rise and float above her head. As they popped, they showered giggles all over her.
Wait till I tell David—and Red.
When she thought of Red the bubbles bounced higher.
And Dad. If only he were here. I’ll have to call him tonight.
Two mounts for Wednesday. In Kentucky—at Churchill Downs. Not bad for a sixteen-year-old kid from Vancouver, Washington—definitely
not
the horse capital of the world.
Trish had a hard time getting back into
War and Peace.
Good thing I read fast,
she thought as she drove to the track to pick up David,
or that book could take a year.
She waved at the guard on the gate and drove back to barn 41. Spitfire nickered as soon as she whistled; a horse on the other side of the barn answered him. David, Red, and Patrick lounged in the tack room.
“How’d you do today?” she asked Red.
He shook his head. “Good thing they pay something for those of us who don’t come in the money. Otherwise my bank account would be in reverse.”
“Like that nag you had in the last race?” David asked as he stretched his hands above his head.
“You gotta understand, boy,” Patrick got in his digs, “that horse couldn’t even go backward—it just quit.”
Trish grinned at the teasing. It was nice not to be the brunt of it for a change. “What races are you in tomorrow?”
Red squinted his eyes, trying to remember. “Think I have three so far. First, fifth, and seventh.” He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Shame you’re not up in the third. Then I could beat you in two races.”
Red thumped his chair back on all four legs. “You got another mount? Way to go! That calls for a celebration! Come on, I’m buying you a supersize Diet Coke. You two wanna join us?” He threw an arm around Trish’s shoulders and waited for an answer.
Patrick and David looked at each other and shrugged, slowly pulling themselves up from their chairs.
“You’re sure we won’t be in the way?” Patrick’s face looked uncharacteristically innocent—almost cherubic.
Trish felt like stomping on his foot, but the weight of Red’s arm seemed to lock her jaw and her feet. He tugged her around, and she kept pace with the three of them as they walked to the car.
They ordered dinner, and the time passed in a haze of laughter. Patrick topped every story anyone started. The waitress must have thought they were high on something. They were—on happiness.
That night Trish called Rhonda. She broke out in giggles as she told her about Red.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“I guess so. Remember your teasing me about Doug Ramstead last fall?” Trish twirled her hair around a finger. “And I never even got to go out with him.”
“Yeah. He’s still a hunk too.”
“Well, Red’s
here.
Wish you could meet him. He and David pick on me about as much as Brad and David did, but it’s different. Really different.”
“I miss you,” Rhonda wailed.
“Yeah, me too. David’s flying home for Brad’s graduation. Wish I could. Just think, one more of our musketeers is done with Prairie High. Only you and I’ll be left.”
“Yeah. And you’re never here.”
When Trish hung up half an hour later, she winced at the thought of the phone bill. Talking from halfway across the country wasn’t the same as a mile away. She lay back on her bed and thought of all the news Rhonda had told her about school. If only Rhonda could come to Kentucky. It seemed as if school and Vancouver were in another life.
Distance does that,
she remembered her father saying.
Thinking about him made Trish jerk upright and dial Runnin’ On Farm. There was no answer. She checked her watch. Nine-thirty eastern time meant six-thirty at home.
“David.” She stood and walked into the living room, where he was watching television. “There’s no answer at home. Where do you think Mom and Dad are?” A frown wrinkled her forehead.
David blinked awake and rubbed his eyes. A yawn caught him before he could answer. He checked his watch. Seeing the time brought him instantly awake.
“You suppose they’re at the hospital?” He ran a hand through the dark curls that fell on his forehead.
Trish walked across the room to the window and stared out, her teeth tugging her bottom lip. “David, remember that bad feeling you had? Well, I’ve got it now.”
