Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  “She sure has that touch,” Trish heard someone say to David outside the stall. “I wouldn’ta’ gone in there with that black for nothin’.”

  “He really put on a show,” another voice chimed in. “How’s Stokes?”

  “I don’t know.” The voices faded away.

  Trish finished grooming Spitfire and went to the tack room for tape to wrap his legs. She hung up the saddle and bridle and dug a handful of grain out of the bin.

  On the way back, she stopped at Dan’l’s stall. The gray nickered and rubbed his forehead against her shoulder. As he lipped the grain from her hand, Trish rubbed his ears and the poll of his head. “You old sweety, you’d never do anything like that, would you?” Dan’l’s eyes closed in bliss. “You don’t get nearly enough attention here.” Trish dropped a kiss on his nose and went back to working with Spitfire.

  The black rested his weight on three legs so a rear one could be bent and relaxed completely. His head drooped as far as the cross-ties allowed. Eyes closed, he slept, worn out from all the excitement.

  What a change, Trish thought as she leaned on the door. You just don’t like another rider, do you? I didn’t realize how much you are my horse.

  “But you know,” she continued her thoughts aloud as she swung open the door, “you’ve got to let another jockey ride you, just in case something happens to me sometime.” Spitfire shook his head. Trish chuckled as she squatted to firmly wrap the white tape from fetlock to just below the knee.

  “The trailer’s here.” David kept his voice soft, but Spitfire flicked his ears.

  “Okay. We’re ready. Come on in and take one of the ties so we both have hold of him.”

  As David entered the stall the colt raised his head. David held out a palm of grain. Spitfire munched happily, as if the day’s events had never happened. He whuffled, then licked David’s hand for the salt.

  “You coulda behaved like this earlier, you know.” He rubbed the droopy black face and ears. David unclipped the ropes and handed one to Trish. Spitfire thumped his way into the trailer without even a glance at the other activities in the area.

  “Let’s get Gatesby. We’ll walk him double-tied too.” Trish knotted the lead ropes with a bow that could be pulled loose with just a jerk on the end of the rope. She patted Spitfire on the rump as she pushed him over so she could get out. “Thank you, God,” she breathed as she strode down the ramp.

  Gatesby nickered a greeting. His black ears touched at the tips they were pricked so far forward. When Trish reached for his halter, he rolled his eyes and tipped his head sideways, ready to nip.

  “Knock it off!” Trish clipped the lead ropes to the halter ring while David held the opposite side of the halter. “You just have to get your licks in, don’t you?” Gatesby dropped his head, asking for an ear rub. Trish obliged, all the while keeping a wary eye for any shenanigans.

  Gatesby stepped smartly out of the stall when David swung open the lower door. Ears flicking to catch all sounds, including Trish’s comforting voice, he ambled between them, until his front feet thudded on the trailer gate.

  The ropes burned through their hands as the bay lunged backward.

  “Oh, for pete’s sake!” Trish clutched the remaining rope in her hand. “You’ve done this before.” As one, she and David jerked their lead lines. Gatesby shook his head. Trish smacked him on the nose as his front feet started to leave the ground. “Now behave yourself!” The bay shook all over and pricked his ears again. When he blew in her face, Trish shook her head and led him forward. This time he thumped his way into the trailer with laid-back ears.

  “Ow-w!” Trish yelped. She slapped the bay’s shoulder. “Get off my foot!” The sneaky look on Gatesby’s face told Trish he’d stepped deliberately. She shoved against his shoulder to force him to move over and limped out of the trailer. “One of these days you’re gonna be dog food,” she muttered as she pulled off her boot and massaged her toes.

  David slammed the tailgate in place. “Let’s feed so we can get outta here.”

  “Easy for you to say, you can walk.” Trish flexed her foot.

  Both horses seemed glad to get home when Trish and David led them to their stalls. The workout passed without a hitch, but by the time all the animals were fed, dusk had deepened into darkness. Trish spent a few precious minutes playing with Miss Tee before she limped up the rise to the dark house.

  The message light flashed on the phone when she walked into the house. Bob Diego had two mounts for her on Wednesday. Trish called him back. “I’d love to,” she said.

  That night in bed the argument took over her mind again. One side demanded, You’ve got to tell your parents about the mounts on Wednesday. The other side blasted back, You can’t. They’ll never let you ride. “But we’ve got to have the money!” Trish turned her pillow over and smashed it with her fist. There was no insurance. She’d heard her mom and dad discussing the medical bills. The hospital had eaten up their savings just like the cancer ate up her father’s body. And they had no income. Her dad wasn’t training enough horses. That only left the purses they won and her percentage as a jockey.

  But you have to tell them, her nagging voice intruded. You can’t lie, you know you can’t. And besides, how are you going to get to the track?

  Trish flipped onto her back and locked her hands behind her head. When she tried praying, the words seemed to bounce off the ceiling and fade like falling stars on a clear night.

  Well, God. She took a deep breath. You promised to take care of us, but as far as I can see, you’re not doing too good a job. She paused, an idea tiptoeing into her mind. Maybe my being offered mounts is God’s way of taking care of us. She grinned with satisfaction as she turned on her side. Of course! She ignored the muttering of her nagger as sleep hit her like a sledgehammer.

  David had broken all speed records to get her to class before the bell. She hadn’t even had time to stop at her locker, just run from the car to class in spite of her sore foot.

  Spitfire hadn’t been feeling too well that morning either. There was some swelling in his front leg and tenderness in a rear hock where he’d probably banged himself in all the ruckus.

  “Serves you right,” Trish had scolded him. All she needed was a lame horse right now.

  The lunch bell rang before she saw Brad. She leaned her forehead against her locker. The cool metal eased the pressure she felt building behind her eyes.

  “Now what?” Brad stopped beside her.

  “More problems.”

  “Is it your dad?”

  “No…yes…well, sort of.”

  “That tells me a lot.”

  “Come on, you guys.” Rhonda joined them. “The food’ll be all gone.” The look on Trish’s face stopped her. “Now what?”

  “I’ve been asked to ride in two races tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Wow! That’s great.” Rhonda looked from Trish to Brad, who shrugged his shoulders.

  “But you know what Mom’s said about riding.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Rhonda paused. “So what are you gonna do?”

  “Ask Brad to take me to the track.”

  “Naturally.” Brad shook his head. “What did David say?”

  “Plenty. But the bottom line was no way.” Trish raised her head, her jaw clenched tight. “I have to get there. I gave my word….” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And we need the money.”

  Brad rubbed his forehead with one tanned hand. “I’ll take you,” he said finally. “But I think you should talk this over with your dad first.”

  “I can’t. What if he says no?” Trish started down the hall. “Are you guys coming or what?” She walked backward so she could watch her friends catch up to her. “Thanks.”

  “So. When are you going to tell your dad?” Rhonda asked as they entered the lunchroom.

  “Not till I have to, I guess.”

  Chapter

  06

  Study halls are usually intended for studying.

&nbs
p; What a joke! Trish felt like smashing her books to the floor. I can’t study today. She stared out the window. The Oregon liquid sunshine misted the trees at the corners of the quad. The dismal outside matched her dismal inside. I’ll just have to tell them I have something after school tomorrow.

  But that’s a lie! Her nagger wriggled out from under his rock.

  Trish pushed her fingers through her bangs. I can’t help that.

  You’ll be sorry.

  So, what’s new? I already am. But I have to ride. We need the money.

  What if you lose?

  Trish’s pencil lead snapped against her paper. That hadn’t entered her mind before. She slid from behind her desk and headed for the pencil sharpener. She glanced at the clock. Five minutes till the bell. What a relief.

  At Runnin’ On Farm, wind blew the drizzle into sheets that drifted across the track during the afternoon workout. While her windbreaker provided some protection, it failed to prevent icy water from dripping down the back of her neck. Her nose ran faster than the horses.

  She pulled the saddle off Gatesby and slung it over the door. “Good job, fella.” The pat on his neck spoke more warmly than the words. Gatesby shook; drops from his mane spattered her face. “Way to go.”

  “I’ll finish here.” David set down his bucket with scraper and water.

  “You go on up and get warm.”

  Trish nodded. “You need me anymore?”

  “Nah. I’m almost done. Mom wants us to come to the hospital for dinner.”

  “Okay. But we can’t stay long. I’ve got a ton of homework.”

  “You’re awfully quiet, Tee.” Hal leaned forward in his wheelchair. The four of them sat around a small table in the hospital cafeteria. They’d already discussed the horses both at the track and home.

  Trish took a deep breath. “I…ah…”

  Tell him! her nagger commanded, the voice so loud in her ears she was afraid her father had heard it.

  “Ah…when are you coming home?”

  “Not till Friday, it looks like. I think the doctor likes having me here.”

  Hal smiled. “Think I’ll start charging him for the racing tips.”

  Trish grinned at him. “Yeah, I think you better. Make your fees as much as his.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Come on, David, let’s hit the road. My books are waiting.”

  “I’ll be home soon,” Marge said.

  “Bye, Dad.” Trish hugged her father. Instead of the usual horses and hay, he smelled like hospital. That old familiar boulder blocked her throat. And he was so thin. His navy blue robe hung on his bony shoulders. “Get better.”

  “I love you, Tee,” he whispered in her ear.

  Don’t say that! she almost screamed the thought as she left the room. God, when are you going to make him better?

  Trish felt the load lift from her shoulders as she walked down the hall. Friday—he wouldn’t be home until Friday. Now she wouldn’t need to lie.

  The next day flew by. Trish felt like someone had cranked up her treadmill to sprinting speed. She’d packed boots and helmet in her duffel bag and told David it was some stuff for Rhonda. She’d lied after all, but at least not to her parents.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Brad asked when she slid into the front seat of his Mustang.

  “Too late to back out now. Those owners are counting on me. Where’s Rhonda?”

  “She took the bus home.”

  “At least it quit raining.” Trish broke the long silence on the drive to Portland. Butterflies took turns doing aerial flips in her midsection.

  “But the track may still be muddy. Trish…” Brad turned to face his friend as she opened the car door. He’d stopped right in front of the gate closest to the dressing rooms.

  “It’s okay, Brad. I’ll be careful.” She paused and stuck her head back in the door. “Meet me here right after the seventh race, okay? I’ve gotta gallop Spitfire and Gatesby as soon as I can get home.”

  “Are you Tricia Evanston?” a young man in a black windbreaker asked just as she reached the locker room.

  “Yes.”

  “Here’re your silks. Bob’ll meet you in the paddock as soon as you’re dressed.” He handed her the shiny black-and-white shirt and helmet cover.

  “Okay. Thanks.” Trish took the hanger and pushed open the door. The now-familiar, liniment-scented steam tickled her nose. Even though this was only the fourth race of the day, the room had already adopted the cluttered look. It reminded Trish of her own room. Except for the smell.

  “How’s Genie?” she asked one of the other jockeys.

  “Should be back by the weekend. Good thing she only dislocated that shoulder rather than pullin’ the muscles or breakin’ it.” The jockey twisted her long blond hair and pinned it on top of her head. “You’re Tricia Evanston, right?”

  Trish nodded.

  “And it was your horse that threw her?”

  “Yeah. Spitfire doesn’t seem to like anyone else on his back. I didn’t know he was such a one-person horse. Sure sorry Genie got hurt.”

  “Happens to the best of us.” The woman settled her helmet in place. “You take care now.”

  The brief conversation left Trish feeling both bad about Spitfire and happy Genie was okay. She would take care…but she needed the win.

  This time she hadn’t met the horse before the race. While she knew her father’s advice was sound, she also understood that pre-meets weren’t always possible.

  Her mount had drawn the number five position. Right in the middle of the pack. Bob Diego stood to the side of the trainer as Trish entered the stall.

  “Good afternoon.” His voice had the precise inflection of one to whom English was a second language. “Permit me to give you a leg up.”

  Trish smiled at him. “I’d like to meet your horse first, if that’s okay?”

  Diego nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Be my guest. This old man here is called Hospitality, otherwise known as Hoppy. He’s five years old, won some, lost more, and back after an injury in California. He likes to come from behind, but is never pleased with a muddy track.”

  Trish stood quietly in front of the leggy blood-red bay and let him explore first her hands, then her arms and up to her helmet. His breath in her face signified approval, and she extended a hand to rub along his head and up to his ears. He had the chiseled bones and large eyes of a mature horse, not the teenage look of her own string. She brushed his forelock aside and rubbed between his ears.

  “You’ve made a friend for life,” Diego said. “He doesn’t usually take to newcomers quite so easily.”

  Trish listened hard to the trainer’s reply, trying to pick out words she knew from the rapid Spanish. Muy bueno she knew meant very good.

  Trish mounted and settled herself in the saddle. So he didn’t like mud. Well, he’d get a lot of that today if they came from behind.

  Hoppy tugged against the bit as they filed on the post parade. Trish rose in her stirrups, testing his mouth, feeling him bunch under her. His ears twitched in perfect time to her singsong.

  As they entered the gates, she stroked Hoppy’s arched neck. His ears pricked forward. He blew, tensed for the shot, and exploded from the gate. Within four strides he broke ahead of the pack and leaped for the first curve.

  Trish crouched over his shoulders, giving him all the encouragement she could while keeping a firm hand on the reins. She didn’t want him to tire before the stretch, but he was running with his head up. He tested the bit, lengthening his stride when she relaxed even a little.

  As the marker poles flashed past, Trish listened for her competition. At the three-quarters point the pair running a length behind made their move. With hooves thundering up on both sides of her, she loosed the reins. Her mount’s surge of power carried him another length ahead. He seemed to be laughing as they crossed the finish line two lengths ahead of the mud-covered second-place contender.

  “So you don’t like mud in your
face, eh, Hoppy?” Trish laughed as she pulled him down to a canter. “And you like to come from behind. Sure fooled me.” She turned him back toward the winner’s circle. “And your owner.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Diego,” she said as she slid to the ground. “Keeping him back when he’d broken so clean just didn’t seem the right thing to do. And he was having too much fun in front.”

  Bob Diego smiled and nodded, but Trish could feel his black eyes assessing her.

  He’ll probably never ask me again, since I didn’t follow his directions. She snapped her goggles up to her helmet. But I just knew what the horse wanted. And needed. And we won.

  After the trainer led Hospitality away to the testing barn, Trish fell in step with Bob Diego as he spoke. “You have the insight, that special gift, do you not?” He rubbed his chin between forefinger and thumb.

  “Wha…what do you mean?”

  “It’s rare. That ability to get the best out of a horse. Some say they can read the horse’s mind or else the horse can read theirs. Whichever. It is not important how, but that you can.”

  Trish took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Mr. Diego. About the gift, I mean. I always thought it was only because I was around our animals so much; they know me and I know them. But your horse today…well, I’m just glad I didn’t make a mistake.”

  Robert Diego nodded. “Now, about this next race.”

  Trish could feel the explosive energy of the colt she mounted next. He fought her all the way to the post and back to the starting gate. “Now, if you think you can get away with all this, you’re crazy,” she instructed his twitching ears. “I ride Gatesby, and you don’t have a chance on winning the sneakiness trophy next to him. Settle down. Your time is coming.”

  When they entered the gate, the colt snorted and reared. Trish backed him out and walked him in a tight circle, all the while using her voice and hands to calm the fractious beast. “You’re wasting your energy,” she commanded. “Now just behave and let’s get on the other side so you can run.”