Golden Filly Collection One (79 page)
Fred read her feelings and said, “Not to worry. This place may not be as fancy as the Downs, but wait till you see how they treat you here. You and that black colt of yours are stars now, and Mel will take good care of you.”
“Mel?”
“Here he comes now. Mel Howell is chief of security for the Maryland Racing Association. He has a headful of tales you won’t believe.”
Trish watched the man with military bearing approach them. His smile erased any stiffness as he stuck his hand in the truck window to shake hands with Robertson.
“Good to see you, you old horse hauler. Been some time since you made it all the way to Baltimore.”
“Ah know. But ah brought you someone mahghty special. Tricia Evanston, meet Mel Howell. That’s her brother and trainer in the car behind us.”
“Welcome, Tricia. I’ve been looking forward to meeting the young lady who’s set everyone on their ears. I hear you won yesterday too.”
Trish felt as if she’d just met an old friend. “Thank you. It’s hard to believe I’m really here.”
“Well, let’s get you settled. Spitfire’s stall is all ready. Fred, you know the way to the stakes barn. I’ll ride in the car so I can meet the others.”
Robertson eased the van through the gate and past several barns that glowed a faded rose in the evening light. The stakes barn was last, at the northernmost corner of the backside. It sported a fresh coat of tan paint with white trim. Potted shrubs and freshly raked sand aisles set the stakes barn apart from the gentle decay of the other barns.
As soon as the truck stopped, Trish leaped down from the cab and swung open the doors to the van. Spitfire nickered and tossed his head. Sarah’s Pride turned her head as far as the tie-downs allowed and joined the greeting.
“You two ready to go for a walk?” Trish asked as she palmed a piece of carrot for each. “Bet you’re hungry too.” As soon as she heard the ramp clang into position, she slipped the knot on Spitfire’s lead and led him toward the door. She started down the ramp, but Spitfire paused in the opening. His challenging whinny floated on the evening air. Horses answered from barns on two sides of them. He trumpeted again, pawing the straw in the truck with one front hoof.
“Show-off.” Trish tugged on the lead. Spitfire shook himself, then followed her down the padded ramp, his hooves thudding a rhythm that hinted at excitement.
“Yours is stall number ten. We left it in sand like your father requested, and there’s plenty of straw in place. We’ve put your filly in the barn there.” Mel pointed to the barn that nearly formed a T with the stakes barn, except for the drive between them. He turned to Patrick. “Sure is good to see you back in the business. We saved you a spot upstairs in the same barn, if that’s okay.”
“Good to be back.” Patrick tipped his hat off his forehead. “Looks like most of your boarders are already here.” He gestured to the horses that watched out their stall doors.
“Only two more after you. The guards are all in place. You can sleep easy tonight.”
Trish kept an ear on their conversation and an eye on the trailer where Sarah’s Pride had joined David at the doorway. Like Spitfire, she announced her arrival and waited for the responses. Then she danced down the incline like a little girl let out to play.
Trish and David walked the two horses around the stakes barn several times while Patrick oversaw the tack box moving and prepared the evening feed.
Fred waited until they had the horses bedded down and had hauled Patrick’s suitcases up to his room. He shook hands all around and stopped at Trish.
“Ah’ll be praying for you,” he said softly, “and yuh daddy. It’s been mah privilege to be your driver.”
Trish started to shake his hand but instead threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you. You made both our drives a lot of fun—and I even learned something. Lots of things, in fact.” She stepped back in time to see a tear brighten his eyes. “Wish you could stay for the next trip.”
“Me too.” He pulled his hat on his head. “Y’all take care now.” With a final wave he climbed back into his truck and drove off.
Trish watched until the taillights cleared the gate. She seemed to be saying an awful lot of good-byes lately.
As the truck drove out, a long white limo pulled in and drove right up to the barn. A uniformed man stepped out.
“I’d like you to meet your personal driver for the time you’re at Pimlico,” Mel said. “Trish and David Evanston, this is Hank Benson. Hank is a police officer here and volunteers to drive on his off hours.”
Trish felt her jaw drop open and hang suspended.
A limo—and driver—for us?
She turned to David. He was trying to remain cool. He kept his jaw in place, but he couldn’t talk either.
“Well, that’s a first.” Patrick shook his head. “Ya been flummoxed, I’d say. Downright flummoxed.”
Trish forced her eyes off the limo and asked, “Flummoxed? Patrick, you made that word up.”
“Me?” Patrick had his most-innocent look firmly in place—if the laughter shaking his shoulders didn’t dislodge it. “You know, lass, poleaxed.” At her look of total confusion, he turned to Mel for help.
“Surprised. Shocked.” Mel pushed his white Pimlico hat back on his head and shrugged.
“Right.” Trish shook her head. Adults didn’t always make sense.
“I’m pleased to meet all of you.” Hank Benson smiled around the circle. “Now, if you’d like, I’ll put your suitcases in the trunk.”
“You can leave your car here,” Mel told David. “Just take your gear and lock it up. No one will bother it.”
While David went to get their suitcases, Mel said, “I’ll be around after morning works to take you and David on a tour of Pimlico. If you have any questions, we can answer them for you then. There’s a good restaurant at the Crosskeys, and of course a kitchen here at the track for the morning.”
Trish couldn’t keep from giggling as she settled against the soft leather seat in the limo. Her fingers itched to push all the buttons on the panel to see what they were for. The TV was obvious. There was also a stereo, and a mini-refrigerator stocked with soft drinks and ice.
“Trish, knock it off,” David hissed. “You’re as bad as a little kid.” His fingers ignored his own words and pressed a button that rolled down the window between them and the driver.
“Anything I can help you with?” Benson’s voice sounded metallic over the intercom. “Help yourselves to drinks and snacks. Glasses are behind that sliding panel if you’d like ice.”
Trish melted back against the seat after fixing her Diet Coke. “Now
this
is the life.”
Hank Benson clicked the intercom back on. “We’ve been following your career, Trish. My daughter, Genny, thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”
“How old is she?” Trish tried to rest her glass casually on the leather arm beside her.
“Twelve, and horse-crazy is far too weak a description of her. Says she’s going to be a jockey just like you. Maybe sometime while you’re here she can meet you.”
“Sure. Would she like to meet Spitfire too?”
“Do kids like ice cream?” Hank chuckled. “She has pictures of the two of you on her bedroom walls.” He swung the long vehicle into an underground parking garage and stopped in front of the glass doors marked Entrance. “Now let’s get you settled. What time would you like me to pick you up in the morning?”
“Would five be okay?” David suggested.
“You know, you can sleep in a bit if you want. Morning works last until nine-thirty.” Hank slid out of the driver’s side and came around to open the passenger door. “Might as well take it easy while you can. Besides, the reporters will mob you once you’re at the track.”
Trish felt her butterflies take a dive. She still didn’t feel comfortable talking to the press.
What if I sound like an idiot?
“Six would be great.”
The bellboy showed them to connecting rooms. “You can still order from room service,” he said, “but the dining room is about to close.”
David thanked him, even remembering to give him a tip. He handed Trish a menu and studied one himself. As soon as they’d called in their order, Trish dialed Runnin’ On Farm to let her parents know they’d arrived safely.
There was no answer.
T
ry the hospital,” David said.
“I thought sure they’d be home by now.” Trish ran her hand through her bangs.
“I know, but try.” David dug in his billfold for the number. “Here.”
Trish breathed a sigh of relief when Marge answered the phone to Hal’s hospital room. “Hi, Mom. What’s happening?”
“You guys made it okay?”
“Sure. How’s Dad?” Trish held the phone away from her ear so David could hear too.
“He’s better tonight. Here, you can talk with him.”
Trish held the receiver so hard her fingers cramped. “Hi, Dad. We miss you.” She tried to swallow the gravel in her throat so her voice would sound normal.
“Hi, Tee. I miss you guys too. Is David there?” Hal’s voice sounded faint, as if he were far away from the phone.
“Right here.” David cleared his throat.
“Now I don’t want you to worry, but we won’t be coming until Saturday. We should have test results back tomorrow and then we can leave. Mom’s booked the tickets for Saturday morning.”
“You sure you’re not holding out on us?” Trish couldn’t keep her tone light. While her father sounded calm, something inside her felt like screaming.
“We’ll talk about all that’s happened when we get there. Both horses shipped okay?”
“Yeah, and settled in fine.” David tilted the receiver so he could talk easier. “Patrick is great. We couldn’t do it without him.”
“Wait till you meet Mel Howell,” Trish added. She couldn’t just listen, she had so much to tell her dad. “Oh, and wait till you see our limo! David and I almost got lost in it.” She felt her butterflies leap for joy when her father chuckled softly.
Trish hadn’t begun to touch on all she wanted to say before her father said he’d see them Saturday and hung up. She sank down on the edge of the bed.
“Did he sound weaker, or am I just making things up?”
David started clipping his nails. The clicking sound was distracting and annoyed Trish.
“David!”
He took a deep breath and looked up to meet Trish’s stare. “Yes. And no, you’re not making things up. I’ll—” A knock on the door interrupted him. “There’s our dinner.”
Trish felt her stomach rumble as a waiter rolled in a white cloth-covered table. Silver domes covered the plates and a trio of yellow daisies bobbed in a bud vase. Even their Diet Cokes were served in crystal goblets.
When the waiter raised the domes, Trish snickered at the cheeseburgers and fries. They should have ordered steak or chicken. The table was much too fancy for burgers.
David tipped the waiter and sank into a chair. “I can’t decide if I’m just beat, or really starved.” He offered Trish the ketchup first, then doused his fries with it. “I should have ordered a chocolate shake. We earned a treat today.”
Later, in bed, Trish flicked off the lamp. Light from an outside spotlight outlined her window where she hadn’t pulled the drape all the way shut. At home the yard light always cast friendly shadows into her room. Vancouver seemed so far away. About as far away as God right now.
