“Sure.” His voice stayed close. “But, Trish, I’d really like to take you.”
“Thanks.” Trish spun her straw in her milk carton. “I’d like to go with you.”
Doug pushed his chair back and stood, at the same time dropping a hand to her shoulder. “See ya.”
Trish watched as the broad-shouldered quarterback made his way across the room with his tray. You’d think he’d be a snob with all the attention he gets, she thought. But he wasn’t. His smile was as real as the hay bales he’d hoisted. And he even said hi to the giggly freshman girls, most of whom pushed Trish’s patience to the limit. Going out with Doug Ramstead would be fun. But. There was always that but during racing season. Morning workouts came too early for her to stay out late. But just this once…
Rhonda poked her in the ribs. “Did he really ask you out?”
“Listening in, huh?” Trish turned her attention back to the table.
“Not really.” Rhonda shrugged, then leaned closer as Trish toyed with another bite of lettuce. “You going?”
“I don’t know.” Trish glanced up to find Brad staring at her from across the table. “It’s still a week away.”
“David and I thought the four of us would go together—like always,”
Brad said. “It’ll be his last night home.”
“Of course!” Trish thumped her fist on the table. “How could I forget?”
“All that hunk had to do was say hi, Rhonda laughed, “and your—”
“And my brain went into orbit,” Trish finished for her. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Well,” Brad rocked his chair back on two legs, “that’s the way it looked to us, huh, Rhonda? You two were sitting pretty close—”
“Brad Williams, I—”
“Now, don’t get your Irish temper up, Tee. It’s not good for your digestion.” Brad ducked as Trish faked a pitch with her milk carton.
“Sometimes you two go too far.” Trish picked up her tray and joined the line to leave it at the dish window.
“Do you want a ride home after school?” Brad asked as they headed back to their lockers. “Or do you have something going?”
“No. I mean, yes, I want a ride home. The bus takes too long. I’ve got to lunge some colts this afternoon and Dad’s gonna shoe…” Trish abruptly stopped as she remembered the scene in the stall that morning. With her notebook clutched to her chest, she rubbed her arms as if to warm herself.
“You okay?” Rhonda touched her arm.
Trish turned from staring into the trophy case without seeing. “Ummm-mm.” She nodded. “See you later.” She turned the corner to her locker. Only three classes to go. Maybe, just maybe, she thought. No, not maybe. She could hear her dad telling her to be positive. She had his words memorized: When you want something really bad, picture it in your mind as already happening. He’d drilled it into her since she was tiny. Picture it in your mind.
Trish swung her locker door open and leaned into the island of shelter it created. She scrunched her eyes shut. The picture she forced onto the backs of her eyelids was familiar: her father kneeling in front of a gray gelding, taping the forelegs. Whistling off-tune. Breathing easily.
Until the coughing attack.
God! Help! her mind screamed. She grabbed her chemistry book and dashed toward the classroom, unaware of the people she bounced against. Make him better; make him better. Her mind pounded the beat for her feet.
Trish gritted her teeth to keep the tears from falling. Better wasn’t good enough. Please, God, I don’t want him to be sick. He’s always said, “You can do anything.” Please!
She slid into her seat as the bell rang.
“Hand in your assignments,” the teacher said. “And turn to page 51.”
Trish forced her mind to the job at hand. Her groan joined the universal lament of students unprepared.
I forgot it was due today! her thoughts took over again. I haven’t even started it. Great. I’d planned to do it during second period and lunch hour. He’ll never let me turn it in late, either. She looked at page 51. Without the first assignment finished, this one could have been written in a foreign language. In fact, some of the symbols were.
Trish shook her head. And David thought chemistry was fun. She sank lower in her seat and tried to pay attention.
The next class was no easier. By the final bell she’d responded with a blank stare to the teacher’s question, mumbled “I don’t know” because she couldn’t think, and been accused of daydreaming.
The drive home wasn’t much better. Even Rhonda didn’t indulge in her usual chatter as Brad drove up the curving driveway at Runnin’ On Farm. The pickup was gone. David’s car was missing too.
Maybe Mom’s shopping. Tricia’s mind clutched at any idea.
Caesar barked a welcome. Except for him, the place was deserted.
“Do you want us to stay?” Rhonda asked.
“No.” Trish shook her head. “I’ve got too much to do.”
“I’ll be back over as soon as I change,” Brad said, ignoring her comment. “I know you’ll need some help if your dad’s been gone all day.
And besides, he may not feel much like working in the barn after being at the doctor’s.”
“I’ve got a dentist appointment,” Rhonda said, “but I can come after that.”
Trish nodded, grateful for caring friends. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
“No. I’ll be right back. I haven’t gotten to exercise horses since David’s been home for the summer. He took my job away, remember?”
Trish waved as the blue Mustang pulled away, then leaned over to hug the regal collie. “Mom? Dad?” she called as she opened the front door.
The stillness of the empty house wailed “No one home.”
Chapter
04
Trish dropped her books on the entry table and headed into the kitchen for food and messages. David’s note, stuck on the fridge door with a strawberry magnet, read, “Trish, Mom called from the hospital. They admitted Dad and she needed someone with her.”
Slowly Trish removed the note and read it again. It was pretty plain. “They admitted Dad,” she said aloud. Then, her mind reasoned, the doctors think it’s serious too. ’Course, that way he can get better faster. But the hospital…only Grandma went there—and she died. Absently, she chose an apple from the bowl on the table, opened the fridge door, took out the milk, and poured herself a glass. She felt like a mechanical doll, doing routine things without thinking.
You said You could take care of everything, God. How about this? Can you really heal my dad, like he says you can? Please, if you could just make it be something simple…They’ve got medicine for everything now. Just let him get the right medicine and come home. I need him!
Eating her snack with little enjoyment, Trish made her way to her bedroom to change clothes. The mess was still as she’d left it. No good fairies came during the day to repair the damage.
Trish dropped the apple core in the wastebasket. On a huge poster on her wall, three Thoroughbreds raced for the finish line, reminding her of the animals and stalls that needed to be taken care of.
“Good thing Brad is coming,” she muttered. “There’s lots to be done.”
She glanced around at the piles of clothes, dirty and clean all jumbled together. The unmade bed invited her to take a nap, but instead she tossed her pants and shirt on one of the mounds and scrambled to find a clean pair of jeans. A car horn sounded as she pulled a cut-off sweat shirt over her head.
“Coming,” she shouted out the open window, then dashed down the hall to find her boots. At least they were by the door where they belonged.
The horn sounded again.
“Brad, you idiot, I’m coming,” she muttered to herself. Once out the door, she trotted to where Brad lounged against the fender of his metallicblue Mustang. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“Fast?” He held up his watch for her to see. “It’s been forty-five minutes. W
hat have you been doing? Daydreaming?”
“Uh—huh—I mean, no.” Trish shook her head. “David went into Vancouver to be with Mom. They admitted Dad to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry, Tee.” Brad touched her shoulder. “You want me to drive you in there?”
“No! Not now.” She stared off at the stables. “I mean, uh, someone has to do the chores around here. We can’t all be running in to the hospital.” Trish cleared her throat as she leaned down to stroke the insistent Caesar. “Besides, Dad needs me here. There’s so much left to do before the season starts.” She took a deep breath, silently promising herself to think about that later.
“Well, then let’s get at it.” Brad bowed. “Brad Williams, horse feeder, trainer, mucker-outer, at your service.”
“The pay’s not so good.”
“Madam, I am c-h-e-a-p labor. What I do, I do for love.” Way off key, Brad crooned one of the latest hit melodies.
“Yeah, love of Mom’s cookies.” Trish grinned at his antics.
“Speaking of which…”
“No way. You get paid after you work, not before.”
“You heartless slave driver.” Brad tried one more pleading look. “Oh well.” He bent over to talk to Caesar. “See how she picks on me?” The dog licked Brad’s nose, and he brushed it off with the back of his hand. “Well, let’s get at it.”
“He’s crazy, isn’t he, Caesar?” Trish shook her head. The three of them, two long-time friends and the dog, jogged down the slope to the stables. The three white buildings looked peaceful in the late afternoon sunshine.
A chorus of whinnies greeted Trish’s whistle. All down the line, horses’ heads turned to greet her from the stable doors. Spitfire, in the near stall, tossed his head and wickered again. Dan’l, not to be out done, banged the door with his front hoof.
“Some greeting.” Brad laughed.
“You guys just want out, don’t you?” Trish rubbed Spitfire’s soft black nose. He pushed against her shoulder, then nibbled at her hair. “Careful, goofy, you bit me yesterday.” Trish rubbed his ears and stroked down the muscled neck. In the next stall, Dan’l reached as far toward her as his stall door permitted. His nostrils quivered in a soundless nicker.
“You old sweetheart.” Trish rubbed his nose and on up to his favorite spot, just under his forelock. Dan’l draped his head over her shoulder, content to be scratched.
“What do you need me to do first?” Brad joined her in stroking the old gray.
“Let’s get them on the hot walker, then you can muck out the stalls. I’ve gotta work with the younger colts and check on the mares. Those other two haven’t been worked yet either.” She waved toward the two horses they were training for a new breeder.
“Fine with me.” Brad grabbed the handles of the deep red wheelbarrow and followed her to Spitfire’s stall.
Trish released the bolt and led the high-stepping black toward the hot walker, a circular exerciser that the horses moved themselves. She snapped the dangling lead rope to his halter and as she left slapped him lightly on the rump. The black reared slightly in sheer exuberance, then danced obediently around the worn track.
The girl smiled at his antics. “You’re really something,” she chuckled, pride in her eyes. Dan’l whinnied sharply and struck the door again. “I’m coming. I’m coming. Hang in there a minute.”
After Dan’l and a bay filly joined Spitfire on the creaking hot walker, Trish approached the last stall on the west arm of the stable. “Hey, knock it off,” she scolded the bay colt. “You’re gonna beat the door to death.”
The colt glared at her, wild-eyed. Slowly Trish unlatched the stall door.
“Easy now. Sorry you’re the last.”
The colt snorted. Trish slipped inside the door, then waited by the wall for him to calm down. “Easy, boy, easy now,” she crooned, her voice gentle like a song. “You’re just wasting time. If you’d behave you’d be outside already.”
With a toss of his head, the colt stepped forward for the lead rope to be snapped to his halter. Trish rubbed his ears, then swung the door open and led him out.
Just as they cleared the door, a small piece of white paper tumbled by on the breeze. With a high squeal, the colt reared and struck out with one foreleg. The force jerked Trish off her feet.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she muttered as her boots hit the ground again.
Her arms felt like they had grown two inches. This time, as he reared again, she let the rope travel through her fingers. When he started down again, she seized his halter and smacked him on the nose.
Surprised, the colt shook his head and kept his feet planted on the ground.
“You finished smarting off now?” Impatience laced her voice. “That paper was nothing and you know it.”
The colt looked around as if surprised at his own actions.
“Bit of a rodeo, huh?” Brad asked as she snapped the bay’s lead rope to the hot walker.
“I guess.” Trish rubbed her shoulder. “He’s a spooky one.”
“You sure you want to work him today?”
“Have to.” Trish chewed her lip. “We told Mr. Anderson we’d have his horse ready for the first race.”
“But, Trish—”
“He’ll calm down as soon as he gets to move around some. He always does.” She turned toward the pastures. “Come on, Caesar, race you to the mares.”
A frown creased Brad’s forehead as he hefted the handles of the manure- and straw-heaped wheelbarrow. “Speaking of spooky,” he muttered. “Girl, sometimes you worry me. There’s nothing wrong with a little wholesome fear.”
Having put the incident from her mind, Trish loped across the emerald turf. Two colts raced to the end of their pasture. The three mares in the adjoining paddock ignored the young frolicking in favor of lazy dreaming under the maple tree.
After a quick inspection, Trish patted the sorrel mare’s shoulder and started back toward the barns. One of the mares coughed.
At the second cough, Trish wheeled back and checked each animal, ears, eyes, and nose. The sorrel with three white socks coughed again, stretching her nose toward the ground.
“Now what?” Trish stroked the animal’s satiny neck. She listened carefully as the mare breathed in and out. “No wheeze, old girl. You just trying to get some extra attention?” Trish chewed her lip as she watched and listened to the animal another minute.
“Remind me to watch her, Caesar old buddy.” She patted the dog trotting beside her. “That’s what Dad would do.” She paused at the gate to the yearling pasture. Two of the colts raced back along the fence line. They plowed to a stop before her, then extended their muzzles to sniff her proffered hand.
Trish laughed at their antics, but her attention zeroed in on the gray filly dozing against the back corner.
“What is this?” she questioned herself. “Sleepy time. Cough time. It’s supposed to be training time. And I don’t have time for anything else.” Briefly she checked the filly for wheezing. She sounded fine. No mucus in her nostrils. But her eyes were droopy.
“Lethargic is the word.” Trish closed her eyes to better recall symptoms she’d read in the medical dictionary. Only influenza came to mind. “I’ll keep a close eye on you two,” she promised with an extra pat. “We can’t afford any sick animals.”
Like well-trained puppies, the two colts dogged her footsteps back to the gate. When Trish snapped a lead shank on the colt named Samba and led him out of the gate, the other tried to follow. Caesar drove him back with a sharp bark.
“Thanks, old buddy.” She swung the gate closed. “I can always count on you.” Samba shook his head, then tried dancing in a circle. Playfully he struck out with a snowy forefoot.
“Nope. I’ve had enough of that kind of behavior today.” Trish snapped on the rope. “You settle down right now.” The chestnut colt rolled his eyes in mock panic, then ambled along beside her to the stable.
After Trish cross-tied him in an empty stall, she headed for the
tack room to get an old soft bridle with a snaffle bit.
“Need some help?” Brad wiped the sweat off his forehead. He parked the wheelbarrow in the breezeway. “That’s one job done.”
“Thanks, Brad.” Trish rubbed the worn bit. “You can be his distraction.”
“Great. First I’m a barrow-pushing slave and now I’m a distraction.
When do we get to the fun stuff?”
“Like?”
“Oh, like racing two horses around the track. Eating cookies. Drinking Coke. You know, the important things in life.”
“Yeah, I know. Your resident tapeworm is acting up again.”
“Yup. I’ve gotta feed Fred at regular intervals.” Brad patted his flat stomach. “Poor Fred.”
“You nut. Forget Fred. We’ve gotta put the bit in Samba’s mouth now.”
The colt didn’t bat an eyelash as Trish showed him the bridle with the silvery bit. He sniffed the leather, then looked over at Brad. Trish held the bit carefully to keep it from jangling as she rubbed the chilly metal against the colt’s nose. He blinked and tried to shove his muzzle against her chest. Before he knew what happened, Trish had inserted a finger in the space behind his teeth, pried open his mouth, and slipped the bit in place. At the same time, Brad slid the headstall over the animal’s ears.
The colt snorted. He rolled his eyes, then shook his head. The bit and bridle stayed in place. With a sigh, Samba lowered his head again and nuzzled Trish for the treats she always carried in her pockets.
“Boy.” Trish let out the breath she’d been holding. “That was easy.”
She palmed a sugar cube. “Here, you earned that, fella.”
“Good job, partner.” She shook Brad’s hand as they left the stall. “We did it. We’ll come back later and take that off. Give him time to play with the bit for a while.”
“Now for the cookies?” Brad gazed soulfully toward the house.
“Nope. Now for the racetrack. You take Anderson’s filly and I’ll take the rowdy Gatesby.”
“Maybe you should skip him today,” Brad suggested. “You’ve already had one round with the beast.”
“Nah-h. He just needs the exercise. Besides, we were supposed to work him into the starting gate today.”
Golden Filly Collection One Page 3