Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  Santa Anita, here we come, Trish thought as she stepped off the scales. And after that…

  That evening David turned to the sports section of the local paper. The headline read, “Jockey on Probation.” He read the article aloud. “Investigation has revealed that Emanuel Ortega, nineteen-year-old jockey at Portland Meadows, is the alleged attacker on Tricia Evanston and her mount on three occasions during the last several weeks.” David rattled the paper. “All right!”

  The article continued with a quote. “ ‘People like her keep the rest of us from riding,’ Ortega said. ‘She’s from a rich family and since she’s the daughter of a owner, she gets the breaks we don’t.’”

  “Rich!” Tricia burst out. She stared at her father. “Rich!”

  Hal shook his head. His laugh started down deep in his chest. David joined in, then Marge.

  “But we are, you know.” Hal tousled Trish’s hair as she sat at his feet. “We’re rich beyond measure.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to Adele Olson, Prairie High counselor and friend to students and their parents. Also to Tex Irwin, trainer at Portland Meadows, who so willingly shared his expertise. And thanks to Ruby MacDonald: reader, critiquer, and blessed friend.

  To my son Brian,

  my friend.

  Chapter

  01

  Icy rain trickled down her neck. Tricia Evanston, sixteen-year-old wonder jockey at Oregon’s Portland Meadows Racetrack, crouched higher over her mount’s withers. “Come on, girl,” she sang to the filly’s twitching ears. “Let’s do this one. You know we like winning.”

  The dark bay filly settled deeper on her haunches. Firefly’s ears pricked forward, nearly touching at the tips. She not only liked winning, she acted as if all the spectators came just to watch her. Besides loving to run, she was a natural performer.

  The horse next to them refused to enter the starting gate. The memory of slashing whips flitted through Trish’s mind. But the jockey who’d caused those accidents had been barred from the track.

  Trish sniffed. In the cold, her nose ran nearly as fast as the horses. “Come on, get him in,” she muttered.

  The rear gates slammed shut. Trish and Firefly both tensed for the shot. The front gates clanged open. The filly burst from the stall, her haunches thrusting them ahead of the horse on their left. Three powerful strides and they had the rail.

  Trish kept a firm hold on the reins. Pouring rain meant a slippery track, no matter how much sand the crew worked into the dirt. The marker poles flashed past. By the six-furlong post, Firefly was running easily in the lead. She never seemed to care if the track was muddy or dry. She ran for the pure joy of it. Trish loosened the reins and let the filly have her head. She won by a furlong and was still picking up speed at the wire.

  Trish laughed as she pulled her mount down and turned back to the grandstand. “You’re fantastic!” She stroked the filly’s wet neck, then rose in the stirrups for the slow gallop back to where her brother, David, and father, Hal, waited in the winner’s circle. “Shame there wasn’t a bigger crowd for you to dance for,” she teased her horse. “Too many people stay home when it rains.”

  Trish glanced up at the glass-fronted grandstand. The sheeting rain made everything look dreary. But with a win like she’d had, it was as if the sun shone brightly.

  Trish slid to the ground and unhooked her saddle, almost in the same motion. Firefly posed for the camera. David thumped Trish on the arm and her father gave her a quick hug.

  “We should take Firefly with us to Santa Anita,” Trish said, grinning at her father. “She needs a bigger crowd.”

  Hal nodded as he stroked the filly’s nose. “She sure struts her stuff. And she’s not even tired. What’d you do, just take her out for a Saturday stroll?”

  Trish laughed again as she stepped on the scale. “She was still picking up speed at the wire. I couldn’t believe it. David, you better give her a treat; she earned it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” David touched the rim of his hat in a mock bow. “You mind if we get out of the rain now?”

  Trish returned his arm thump. “At least you’ve got a dry stall to work in.” She looked skyward. “I’ve three more mounts—in this.”

  “Nobody said life was easy, or dry.” David tugged on the filly’s reins. “Come on, horse.” He stopped after they’d taken only a couple of steps. “You be careful, Tee. All those horses aren’t mudders like this one here.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  David shook his head and trotted off to the testing barn with Firefly.

  “He’s right, you know.” Hal fell into step beside his daughter.

  “Da-ad.”

  “I’m not being over-protective, Tee. I’ve seen some pretty nasty spills on days like today. Just keep your guard up.” He stopped at the entrance to the dressing rooms. “And, Tee, that’s not a bad idea.”

  Trish replayed his last comment in her mind as she entered the steamy room. She knew he’d been referring to her suggestion about Santa Anita. She and her father had that kind of mutual understanding. Sometimes it seemed they could almost read each other’s mind.

  Trish pulled her crimson and gold winter silks over her head. Her long-sleeved insulated underwear top was wet around the neck, but the waterproofed silks kept her body dry. She toweled the edges of her dark hair and, grabbing a brush out of her sports bag, gave it a good brushing. The longer length felt good.

  Trish stared longingly at the steamy shower room where someone was singing as she soaped. A quick glance at her watch settled it. No hot shower. She put on the black-and-white diamond-patterned silks and headed out for her next ride. On her way out the door she applied a thick coating of lip balm and grabbed a handful of tissues to stuff up her sleeve. She would need them for her runny nose.

  Rain blew over the track in sheets as they entered the gates for the sixth race of the day, Trish’s third. The race was for maidens under four, making it this colt’s first race. And he didn’t like the rain.

  “Don’t worry, fella, the rest of us don’t like this any better than you do, so let’s just get the job done.” A horse two stalls over reared and backed out of the gate.

  “Not now, you crazy thing.” Trish kept her mutterings in the singsong cadence that always soothed her mount. She tightened her shoulders up to her ears. Man, it’s cold, she thought.

  As the gates swung open, her mount slipped before regaining his footing. Trish kept his head up and let him gather himself together before urging him on. They were already two lengths behind the field.

  Once he was running smoothly, she brought him up along the outside. They went into the far turn in fourth place with Trish encouraging him to reach for the leaders.

  The horse on the rail slipped and bumped the one next to him. That horse went down, the rider flying over his mount’s head.

  Trish’s horse skidded. He shied to the right. Trish caught herself, arms wrapped around his neck and nearly on his head.

  The colt slipped again but veered around the jockey in the mud. Trish scrambled back in the saddle and yelled in his ears. “Now get on with it, we’ve still got a race to run.”

  The horse bobbled again but straightened out and crossed the wire with a show. “Third place is sure better than a fall,” Trish consoled both him and herself as they cantered around to the winner’s circle.

  Her hands were still shaking when she stripped off her saddle and stepped on the scale.

  “Bad ’un out there,” the steward said. “You handled him real well.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Trish shivered and ducked her chin in her collar.

  “Not so’s you’d notice. One good thing about the mud, it cushions a fall.”

  “Yeah, well thanks.” But that was awful close, she thought. Good thing Mom wasn’t here to see that one.

  By the end of the day Trish was nearly frozen, and exhausted, but higher than the flagpoles standing at attention in the infield. Three wins on four mounts. And in weather
like this. She ignored the shaking and hugged the happiness to herself as she trotted out to the car where her father waited for her. David and his best friend, Brad Williams, who worked for their Runnin’ On Farm, would load the horses in the trailer and meet them at home.

  Hal snapped his seat upright when Trish turned her key in the lock. By using every moment to rest, he was able to keep up the restricted schedule the cancer treatments imposed on him. “Congratulations! You set yourself a record.”

  “I can hardly believe it.” Trish tossed her sports bag in the backseat, then slid into the driver’s seat. “And Firefly won a good purse too. That should help the old checkbook.”

  “It will. You hungry?”

  Trish shot him a tolerant look. When wasn’t she hungry after a day of racing? “Are you?”

  Hal nodded. “But you know Mom will have dinner ready.”

  Trish took a deep breath. She mentally finished his thought. And she’ll be worrying about us too. “So we’ll go to the drive-in window. I won’t tell if you don’t.” The entire family had an unwritten pact. Anytime they could get food into Hal, they did. The chemotherapy killed his appetite along with the disease.

  The rain had stopped by the time they crossed the I-5 bridge between Portland and Vancouver. Car lights reflected off the wet girders and shiny asphalt. Trish sipped her Diet Coke. The warmth of the car and the pleasure of her father’s company mixed with the day’s wins to create a perfect moment in time. She shot a thank-you heavenward.

  “I think we’ll do it,” Hal said, slurping his chocolate shake dry.

  “Take Firefly?”

  “Um-m hm-m. We’ll check out the stakes book when we get home. The Santa Anita Oaks for fillies on Saturday would be a great race for her. Taking two won’t be much more expensive than one.”

  “Does Bob Diego have room in his van for more than one?”

  “Should have. I think he’s taking just one horse.”

  Trish felt like hugging her father. Taking their colt Spitfire to the Santa Anita Derby in Southern California was exciting enough, but riding three mounts at that track? Wowee! What if all our horses win? She corrected the if. What’ll we do when they all win? Not only would the money be fantastic, but not very many women raced at that prestigious track. And few of those ever won.

  She resolutely pushed aside thoughts of what her mother would have to say. Marge had been even more against her daughter riding since the incidents with the jockey striking their horses during several recent races.

  Hal patted her knee, knowing her thoughts. “It’ll be okay, Tee. I’ll handle your mother.”

  Trish flashed him a grateful smile.

  Surprisingly, Marge didn’t have a lot to say, other than “Congratulations” accompanied by a quick hug. She just shook her head when Hal mentioned taking Firefly along to Santa Anita. But her tight jawline revealed more of her true feelings.

  Trish overheard her mother talking to her father when she passed their room on her way to the bathroom later that night.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Marge said. “You and Trish will do what you want to do anyway. You know how I feel. It’s bad enough for her to race here, but California and then Kentucky scares me to death.”

  Trish shut her bedroom door. She didn’t want to hear any more. Her mother’s fears always managed to take some of the joy from her racing.

  The next morning the Evanstons sat in their usual pew at church, right behind the Seabolts. Rhonda winked over her shoulder at Trish. The two had been best friends since kindergarten.

  When the pastor spoke about not being afraid, Trish wanted to nudge her mother. How much easier life would be if Mother weren’t such a worrier!

  Pastor Ron repeated the verse. “Be not afraid, for I am with you.”

  Trish’s mind flitted back to the times her horses had been struck. By the third incident, she’d known what fear was. And anger. But it hadn’t slowed her down any, in spite of Marge’s anxiety.

  Trish shook her head. Why couldn’t her mother quit worrying?

  She shuddered again when her father’s name was said during the prayers for healing. Why did everyone have to know their business? Now people would ask about the chemotherapy and her father would tell them how things were going. It made her want to melt into a little puddle and seep into the ground. It was so embarrassing.

  “I’ll be over after lunch,” Rhonda promised as they left the church. “Then you can tell me all about yesterday. Three wins. Awesome!”

  “And you can quiz me for our history test. I hate memorizing dates.”

  “Both of you can muck out stalls in your spare time.” David grinned as he interrupted them. “Keep you from getting bored.”

  “Right!” Rhonda and Trish laughed when they said the word at the same time.

  That afternoon the weak sun split the clouds just above the western horizon as the girls headed down to the barns to visit Miss Tee, Trish’s two-month-old filly.

  She nickered at the sound of Trish’s voice. While she still dashed behind her mother when strangers approached, she came forward when Trish called. Rhonda stood still and let the filly come to her. She extended the grain in the palm of her hand. The filly nibbled the oats, her soft nose whiskering Rhonda’s palm. With a final lick not a trace remained.

  Trish hugged her baby and scratched behind Miss Tee’s tiny, pointed ears. The foal rubbed her head on Trish’s chest.

  “You are so-o-o lucky,” Rhonda said. “She’s about the prettiest thing around. And what a sweetie.”

  “I know. She’s special all right. And she should be fast. Look at Spitfire. Miss Tee’s his full sister.” Trish turned and stroked the mare. “You’ve done a good job, old girl.” The mare shifted to rest the other back foot and leaned her head against Trish for more scratching.

  After one last pat, Trish snapped a lead rope on the mare’s halter and handed the shank to Rhonda. “Here, you lead her and I’ll bring Miss Tee.

  She’s not too happy yet when I lead her by herself. This way we’ll fool her. Let’s take the trail to the woods.”

  “Take your time, the work’s all done anyway,” David called as they trotted down the two-track dirt road.

  “Thanks, we will.” Rhonda grinned at Trish. “Has he always been so bossy?”

  “He’s gotten worse.” Trish tugged on the lead rope. “Come on, Miss Tee. You need a run.”

  Half an hour later the girls came back up the rise with the horses. Trish was still puffing when she unsnapped the leads and put the mare and her foal back in their stall. She took a deep breath. “I’ll get the feed if you’ll fill the water bucket.”

  Rhonda’s deep breath matched Trish’s. “Boy, we need to do some running again. I can see weight training isn’t enough.”

  “Yeah, and I haven’t even had time for that lately.”

  “How come you had the afternoon off?”

  “They scratched my two rides yesterday. One had shins and the other spiked a temperature. Maybe it’s this yucky weather.”

  The weather became the topic of conversation at dinner that evening when Hal talked about their nomination for the Santa Anita Derby. At his mention of sunny California, Trish closed her eyes for a moment and tried to remember what warm sun felt like on bare skin.

  “Maybe I can get a tan while we’re down there.”

  Her mother’s frown made Trish bite her lip.

  “I’m sending in our nomination for the Kentucky Derby also,” Hal said. “That six hundred dollars includes the rest of the Triple Crown too.”

  The Kentucky Derby! Trish ignored the thought of Belmont and the Preakness. It was like her dreams could only reach so far.

  “Even if we don’t get to go, better six hundred now than forty-five hundred later.”

  “They sure up the fees when the race gets closer,” Trish said, leaning on her elbows. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Since when did fair count?” Marge muttered as she rose from the table. She clat
tered the dishes into the sink and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Racing here is bad enough, but clear across the country? There are so many things that can go wrong. Driving over the mountains. Transporting a horse in an airplane. All the time Trish will miss from school. And how are we going to keep up with everything else around here? David isn’t a superman, you know.”

  “Mom.” David shook his head. “We’ll do just fine. They’ll be going to California over spring break, and we just won’t race any of our horses then. By the time they leave for Kentucky, the racing season here in Portland will be over.”

  Marge sat down again and slumped in her chair. “As far as I can tell, the season is never over around here. For the first time in my life, I swear I’ll leave home if I don’t hear something besides horse racing.”

  Hal took her hand. “You don’t mean that.”

  “No, probably not.” She shook her head. “But then I never dreamed my daughter would be racing Thoroughbreds around the track either. And scaring me to death. Like an idiot, I thought we’d be doing a few girl things together.” She shook her head again. “Crazy, huh?”

  Trish bit her lip. Would she and her mother ever see eye to eye?

  Chapter

  02

  Gatesby was unhappy.

  Trish stared the cantankerous bay right in the eye. “Now, you listen to me.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  Gatesby snorted. He tossed his head and reached for her shoulder with bared teeth.

  Trish smacked him on the nose with one hand and caught his halter with the other before he had time to jerk his head back. “I mean it. I have no time for your mule-headed mean mood. Now, you behave!”

  Gatesby blew in her face as if to apologize. He dropped his head so she could reach his favorite scratching place. Trish obliged.

  “You dunderhead. I don’t know why we put up with you.” She gave him another pat, clipped both lead lines to his halter, and began a quick grooming so she could saddle him for the morning work.