North Oak 5- Far Turn

by Ann Hunter

  Contents

  Copyright

  Series Titles

  TITLE PAGE

  HOMECOMING

  THE VIRUS

  COLD PIZZA

  DANCE IN PLACE

  CHAUNCEY

  HER BOYFRIEND

  EPIDEMIC

  DYING TO LIVE

  MENDING HEARTS

  #LIFEGOALS

  ROMP

  GUN SHY

  TWITCH

  BEFORE YOU GO

  MILE HIGH CLUB

  JERSEY GIRLS

  INFAMY

  MISS AUDACIOUS

  GROUNDED

  ONCE UPON A SUMMER

  METEORIC

  THE SWAN

  ALTERCATION

  FOR KATIE

  THE WRITING ON THE WALL

  THIS KISS

  SWEET SIXTEEN

  DARK HORSE

  Be the Change

  Fan Ann

  About the Author

  Graphic Designer: Andrew A. Gerschler

  Artwork by Nichole Bryant

  http://chicken-priestess.deviantart.com/

  Published in 2017 by Rebel House Ink/P. Gerschler. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher.

  North Oak #1: Born to Run / By Ann Hunter

  North Oak #2: Yearling / By Ann Hunter

  North Oak #3: Morning Glory / By Ann Hunter

  North Oak #4: To Bottle Lightning / by Ann Hunter

  North Oak #5: Far Turn / by Ann Hunter

  North Oak

  #1: Born to Run

  #2: Yearling

  #3: Morning Glory

  #4: To Bottle Lightning

  #5: Far Turn

  #6: Dark Horse (Fall 2017)

  #7: Against the Odds (Spring 2018)

  NORTH OAK

  5

  FAR TURN

  Ann Hunter

  HOMECOMING

  Fifteen-year-old Alexandra Anderson drummed her fingers rapidly against her school desk. Her gaze shifted between the clock, which couldn’t possibly tick any slower, and the open window in her schoolroom. The sweet spring air flowing in, along with the obnoxious singing of birds, didn’t help her nerves. Promenade had been away at Oaklawn Park since just after Christmas, and now he was coming home to train for the Kentucky Derby.

  The colt had been cleaning up his races. Having both the Breeders Futurity and Breeders Cup Juvenile wins under his girth, it was as though something had clicked in his mind and made him unstoppable. His berth into the Kentucky Derby was assured.

  Alex chewed her lip. Why couldn’t the day finish sooner? What if he was home already? What if she missed welcoming him back?

  She tucked her hair behind her ears, and locked her fingers behind her neck, aware of tiny droplets of icy sweat forming. She almost felt feverish waiting for the clock to strike three. The bell finally rang, and she bolted from the room. Her backpack swung wildly when her fingers nearly missed the straps; books and papers scattered. She reached to grab it, but another hand brushed hers in a rush to pick up the mess.

  “Here, let me.”

  Alex bumped heads with her classmate, Katie Chapman.

  “Sorry,” Katie said, still trying to help Alex shove her school life back into the cavern of educational despair.

  “No, it’s okay,” Alex breathed, fighting back frustration. Her gaze trailed the other students leaving class. So much for being first out the door.

  Katie slid the last of the stray papers into Alex’s bag and rose with her. “Have you thought about going out for the cross country team? You always seem to be in a hurry.”

  A wry smile wrestled its way to the corner of Alex’s mouth. She liked running with Katie during gym, but she had enough on her plate without adding an extracurricular sport. She sealed the heavy bag with a forceful zip, in hopes it would all just disappear. “I gotta go. Talk later?”

  Katie nodded. “Sure.”

  Alex didn’t bother stopping by her locker to drop her stuff off. She merely raced to the front doors of school and practically burst through them. An old, blue pickup truck idled at the curb. The driver rolled his head toward her, and smiled behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. He pushed them down the bridge of his nose, revealing brown eyes.

  She hopped into the cab, with scarcely an eye roll. Dejado Augustun always looked kinda goofy, no matter how hard he tried to be cool.

  “Is he home yet?” she asked breathlessly, while buckling her seatbelt.

  Dejado shifted the gears of the truck, and shook his head. “Not yet, but he left Oaklawn around noon.”

  Alex’s best friend, Carol Daves, sidled in between them. Alex shut the door behind her.

  “Is he home yet?” Carol asked.

  Alex beat her head against the headrest. “We just had this conversation, slowpoke.”

  Carol buckled her own belt, eying Alex. “Angsty much?”

  The truck rolled forward and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. She rolled the window down a crack and closed her eyes against the cool air washing over her face. Her mind wandered to the last time she’d seen her big, brown colt.

  North Oak’s head trainer, Joe Hendricks, had given Promenade some well-deserved time off after winning two major races back-to-back. The colt was starting to fill out and look like a racehorse at last. He put a little weight on in the two months he spent at home. Joe might argue Promenade had gotten fat, but Alex thought he looked mighty.

  She wondered how he would look in person, after she had spent the last three months watching him win on T.V. Valentines Day could not have been made sweeter than seeing him reel off an easy takeover in the Southwest Stakes, followed by a lucky win on St. Patricks in the Rebel Stakes. And now it was killing Alex to know he was somewhere between Memphis, Tennessee and Hamlin, Kentucky.

  Dejado turned the radio on and tuned in to an oldies station. Alex winced as he began singing. “Please stop,” she said.

  He glanced at her, one dark eyebrow raised.

  “You sound like a cat in heat,” Alex said, turning the radio off. “Except it’s in heat, because it’s on fire. And it’s on fire because it’s in Hell.”

  Carol jabbed her in the ribs.

  Alex reached for her side where the offending elbow had struck her, and rubbed sorely. “Don’t hate the messenger.”

  Carol leaned forward, and put the radio back on, cranking it up and singing loudly. She winked at Dejado who joined in.

  Alex sank in the bucket seat, pressing her hand over her face like it would drown out the noise.

  “Come now, Ishmael,” Dejado said in his smooth British accent. “It’s Frankie Valli. Nobody hates Frankie.”

  “Big Girls…” Carol practically hollered, “Don’t Cry-yi-yi”

  Now Alex was positive they were trying to get on her nerves. They were both singing badly. On purpose. She rolled the window all the way down. The roar of wind sounded better than they did.

  Her mind drifted to Promenade and the midnight ride she had stolen on him a year and a half ago, before Steven North, owner of North Oak, had tried to sell him in the fall yearling sale. The memory of the wind rushing by helped quell the noise in the truck. What a ruckus they must have made rolling through North Oak’s black gates, jamming out with the windows open.

  When she jumped from the cab in front of the Showmans’ old farmhouse where she lived, she scanned the paddock across the way, searching for Promenade. The light breeze grazing over the bluegrass heralded only its vacancy.

  Alex’s shoulders fell. Was it too much to hope the delivery truck drove a little faster? She mou
nted the steps, tossed her backpack aside, and raided the fridge. Cade and Hillary, the people she was slowly coming to accept as parents, were probably out in the barns. Both foaling and breeding season were in full swing. As the farm’s breeding manager, and head veterinarian respectively, Cade and Hillary had their hands full.

  Alex grabbed a pack of soda from the fridge, some cheese sticks, and a bag of chips, and headed back outside. She dropped to the top step, and ripped the chips open. Carol and Dejado joined her. They each tore a soda free from the plastic rings. Needless to say, Alex wasn’t going anywhere until that trailer arrived with her horse.

  He wasn’t technically hers, she reminded herself as she munched, but he’d chosen her and that was saying a lot for a colt who really only cared about who brought him his meals. She’d never forget the moment she’d become his; the look he’d given her, right in the middle of the yearling sale when North Oak desperately needed money to stay afloat. It was the worst time for him to do it. Yet there he stood, having picked her out from a dense crowd, and called for her and her only. The way everything had fallen silent, one of the bidders had asked, “That your horse?”

  How could she deny it? She was his, and he was hers, and that’s all she needed to know.

  Alex tipped the aluminum can back against her lips and sucked down the soda, relishing the cool burn of syrup and carbonation. Despite some anxiousness still clinging to her, it was somewhat settling to be with her two closest allies. She wasn’t sure what to call Dejado, even as he smiled over his shoulder at her. She also didn’t want to admit he was growing on her. He just… she didn’t know… confused her?

  She glanced at the back of Carol’s head, crowned by a glint of light on her dark walnut hair. Alex knew how she felt about her. Carol had been with her through the worst of the last two years. Any closer, and they’d have the same heartbeat.

  And then Dejado came crashing in on their perfect little duo, flashing that dorky smile, and generally being a pain in the neck. Or so Alex thought. She pressed the toe of her worn out still-barely-red chucks between his shoulder blades and nudged him hard enough to send him off the porch step. She laughed behind her soda can.

  He shielded his eyes as he lay on his back, grinning up at her. He never seemed to be cross with her. How were they both so patient with her when she erred so often on the side of criminally sadistic?

  The way the light hit him just then, lit up his own youthful innocence— just there, in the corner of his cheek. Alex took another sip of soda, unsure whether the heat in her cheeks was caused by the sun or not. Carol smirked and nudged her knee, winking. Alex playfully shoved her back.

  A whinny in the distance shifted their attention. All eyes locked onto the road leading up to the Showmans’ house. A white truck rumbled along, kicking up a little dust and gravel around its tires. The trailer it hauled echoed again with a whinny, and Alex was on her feet at once.

  Promenade was home.

  THE VIRUS

  Promenade backed off the trailer, his dark hide shining in the late afternoon sun like an old burnished penny. He swung round at once, pausing only to lift his head and take in his surroundings. His ears perked, and he locked onto Alex with that wild stare he had; eye whites blending with his wide, rocket blaze. He whinnied and pawed the ground, looking like the million-dollar prince that he was.

  Hillary showed up not a moment too soon, ready to assess him after his journey. As she signed the paperwork and talked to the delivery team, she gave permission for the colt to be passed off to Alex.

  Alex grinned, taking the lead from the delivery handler and thanking him. Promenade snorted, and nipped her pockets with absolutely no regard. She dug out the treat she’d been saving for him, and he bumped his head against her chest while munching the food down.

  Carol and Dejado both pushed off from the porch to join Alex’s side. Carol laid a hand on the colt’s neck.

  “He looks great.”

  Dejado was greeted by a false nip. He gnashed his teeth back at the colt, laughing at the haughty look Promenade returned to him.

  Alex rolled her eyes. Boys.

  The old trailer creaked as the delivery team closed it up, then rumbled away with the roar of the truck. Promenade whinnied again, this time answered by other horses in the farm’s distance. He danced restlessly, and Alex circled him, swelling with pride.

  Hillary motioned her head in the direction of the training barn. “Let’s get him settled in.”

  They followed her to the stable where Promenade bugled once more, and squealed as he touched noses with Chauncey, the gelding in the stall beside his. Alex hauled on the lead, trying to pull him away. She got a smart swat in the face from the colt’s bright white tail, even as his neck remained craned toward the other horse.

  Hillary shook a bucket of grain she had run ahead to grab from the feed room, and Promenade was enthralled at once. He dove into it, practically knocking her over, as she staggered into his stall. Alex released the lead shank from his halter, and patted his rump hardily.

  Food, hormones, checkin’ out the other ‘kids’; if ever there was a teenager, Promenade had become one. Not so long ago, Brooke Merrsal, granddaughter of North Oak’s head trainer, had told Alex that one day Promenade would become all muscle, testosterone, and adrenaline— the most beautiful monster on four legs. They would use his attitude to their advantage, teaching him to funnel all that power. With a few stakes wins under his girth, he was well on his way.

  “Could I sleep out here with him tonight?” Alex asked.

  Hillary gazed at her sternly. “It’s a school night.”

  Alex opened her mouth to protest, but Hillary cut her off. “Spring break is just around the corner. You can spend time with him then.” She crossed to Alex, and touched her arm. “I know you missed him. He’s home to prep for the Derby. Let’s keep both of you focused, okay?”

  Alex glanced to Carol and Dejado, peering through the other side of the stall bars at her. Her shoulders slumped, a wordless okay. She patted Promenade again and followed Hillary out. Hillary shut the stall door, secured the latch, then turned to Alex, Dejado, and Carol.

  “Since you’re all here, would you like to help me finish my rounds? I’ll get us a pizza.”

  Dejado’s eyes went wide with obvious giddy. He had a certain penchant for ‘filthy American food’ as he lovingly called anything junk food related.

  Carol shrugged. “Sure.”

  Alex looked back at Promenade, still face deep in his bucket snuffling out the last of the grain, and sighed. Sometimes life felt a lot like hurry up and wait.

  Dejado walked backwards, practically licking his chops. “Goat cheese and sardines.”

  Carol wrinkled her nose. “The spring dance is right before break. Think you’ll go?” she asked Alex.

  Alex stuffed her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “I dunno. Getting dressed up isn’t really my thing.” She shifted her gaze to Carol. “Plus, people.”

  “I mean,” Dejado groaned, “goat cheese and sardines!”

  Alex squinted at him. “You’re gross.”

  He clutched his belly like she’d punched him in the gut, or maybe he was still hungry for his pizza. “You kill me, Ishmael.”

  Alex smirked. “Goat cheese, chicken, and spinach, man, but that’s as freaky as I’m getting with you tonight.”

  Dejado broke into a big grin and spun on his heel. She wondered if he realized she and Carol totally noticed his triumphant mini fist pump.

  She shifted her focus back to Carol. “I guess you’re going, huh?”

  “I want to, but I don’t want to go by myself.” She batted her eyes at Alex, and playfully nudged her. “Pretty please?”

  Alex wasn’t sure if she could ever say no to her.

  They followed Hillary to the foaling barn where broodmares were stabled until their new foals arrived. The barn was the same size as the others on the farm, but the stalls were extra large, so there were fewer of them. It was also located clo
ser to one of the more quiet paddocks where newborns and their dams could spend their first few days together bonding peacefully.

  Hillary slipped into one of the stalls of a mare whose belly was still big and wide. She ducked under the mare, checking her udders. “She’s waxing up,” Hillary announced. “Someone hand me a wrap from my bag, please?”

  Dejado was on it straight away, rummaging through her gear bag that Alex was sure was secretly a bottomless pit. He produced the gauze vet tape Hillary requested and handed it to her. Hillary wrapped the mare’s tail as the mare munched contentedly from her feed bucket.

  “What’s that for?” Carol asked.

  Hillary smiled. “Since she’s all bagged up, she should foal in the next day or two. I’m wrapping her tail to keep it out of the way for when that happens. It will help keep things clean around all the lady parts.”

  Alex snorted in laughter at Dejado’s blush. Lady parts.

  Hillary patted the mare’s shoulder, and moved on to the next stall. Venus Galaxies, winner of the Breeders Cup Distaff a few years ago, stood sleepily with her head in the corner.

  She had birthed a wine-dark colt recently, with a bright snip on his velveteen nose. The only resemblance he bore to his half-sister, Venus Nights— born the year before— were his pitch black legs, mane, and tail, along with a cloak of midnight along his back. A sharp contrast by far, fading into his bright cherry mahogany underside. He reminded Alex of one of Mr. North’s old bottles of brandy.

  “He’s so sweet!” Carol crooned.

  Alex smirked.

  The colt lay in the straw, and raised his head to look at them, then fell back in the bedding to continue his nap. His dam tossed her head slightly, probably relieved. Hillary entered the stall to run a quick, basic physical on Venus Galaxies. The foal was too irresistible not to pester. Both Alex and Carol followed behind and knelt beside him, relishing his soft fuzzy baby coat beneath their fingertips.

  Even at this young age, he was already getting used to humans and the imprinting that had been started on him. His tail swatted the straw and he licked his lips. Alex watched his ears twitch, and his eyes roll back to get a look at them. She noted how his big sister had been more skittish than he was right now.