by ANDREA SMITH
“Christ, Tylar! You pack a punch for a little gal,” he laughed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to catch you off guard like that." He was a grinning fool; I knew why.
“Gonna help Jenna take in her laundry?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Maybe,” he replied with a grin. “Hey, how ya feeling? Hear they got you scheduled over at the Belle with the old ladies next week. Drag, right?”
“I’m feeling back to normal and to answer your second question, ‘yes’ and ‘definitely’ on the third one. I’m hoping to shorten that assignment some when Trey gets back.”
“I wouldn’t count on that too much.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He's been a royal pain in our asses ever since what happened last Friday with you and all. That man, for all we’ve seen him in the last three years, has outdone himself this last week, giving us all extra projects. But, most of his time was spent at the hospital with you. How did he find the time?”
“Well, you don’t look any worse for the wear."
“Yeah, I got the stamina,” he grinned, flexing his muscles for me. “I can take anything ‘ole rich boy dishes out. Poor Clint though, he has him working 12-hour days between here and the Belle. Clint’s busting his ass getting ready for this weekend. Oh,” he added, “just so you know, his royal highness didn’t permit any of us to go see you in the hospital. He felt it might be upsetting to you. He made that damn clear to all of us.”
“Yeah? What was that was about?” I murmured, clearly puzzled about Trey’s motives.
“Who knows? We all felt bad and were worried. We wanted to come up.”
“Don’t worry about it, Luke. It’s all good.” I smiled at him.
“You’re headed to the barn, I see.”
“Yes. I’m late for my date with Derringer. Have fun Luke!”
I grinned devilishly in the direction of Jenna’s cottage as I half turned away to continue down the path.
“Be careful,” he warned.
“You too.”
Derringer was pleased with my visit. Someone had been taking good care of him. His stall was clean and he'd been brushed to a glossy sheen. I spent several minutes talking with him and rubbing his neck. I felt content having visited him.
Once back at my cottage, I made some microwave popcorn and sat down to watch Jezebel’s race DVD. My cell phone rang. I snatched it off the kitchen counter, noting the same phone number as the previous night.
“Yes?” I answered in a clipped tone.
“Bad time?”
His soft, silky voice always unnerved me. I could handle his ‘mad’ voice and his ‘attorney’ voice, but this one made me melt.
“No, not really,” I responded coolly. “I was just popping some corn, getting ready to watch a DVD.”
“What did you do today, Tylar? Were you a good girl?”
Objection: Leading the witness!
“If you're asking me if I sat tight as ordered, then the answer's no, I didn't. I spoke with Ray, got my assignment for next week. Let’s see, I did a couple of loads of laundry and cleaned the cottage. Oh and I took some carrots down to Derringer. There, satisfied?”
“Not as satisfied as I’d like,” he commented playfully.
Oh really?
“Do you have enough food to last in your fridge until I get back?” he questioned.
“Oh, that was you? Yes, thanks, Trey,” I replied. I could feel his smile over the phone. I was betting that his dimple was showing. He liked it when I used his first name.
"Are you still there?” smooth and silky asked. “Our connection seems much better tonight, don’t you agree?”
“Hmm. Yeah...I mean, yes.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“I’m good, for now.”
“Well, all right then. Please get your rest. And I'll see you soon.”
“Okay then, see you soon… Trey?”
“Yes, Tylar?”
“Never mind, it’s nothing.”
I miss you, Trey.
“Okay then, sweet dreams."
I miss you, Tylar.
I spent the next three hours studying last season’s races with Jezebel. I had her moves down to a science by the time I finally collapsed into bed.
The following day was full of preparations for opening day at Le Belle Vie racetrack. I worked out with Jezebel early in the morning. Her time was improving steadily. Post positions were conducted prior to the race in a draw. I was keeping my fingers crossed that Jezebel would get an outside position. She tended to do better with fewer distractions as what was more typical with a middle post position. Jezebel was a late breaker, which meant an outside position would be to her advantage.
Since most of the jockeys were men, I dressed in the ladies’ restroom over in the paddock area. Most of them were riding in a couple of the races this evening on different horses; I only had to focus on Jezebel in the fourth. Andy had given me the jockey silks for Jezebel; the Sinclair Stable colors were purple and gold. I changed my cap cover to purple to match the silks. I made my way into the paddock area where Andy was tacking Jezebel. The post positions were in, we drew number eight.
“Yes!” I screamed, hugging Andy as he spun me around. Jezebel would race one spot in from far outside, ideal for this horse.
“Tylar?” someone called out behind me.
Holy horse shit!
I was afraid to turn until he repeated my name. It was Clint's voice and he sounded pissed.
“Hey, Clint,” I said going over to him and giving him a hug.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice now having more than just an edge to it.
Christ! A junior version of Trey here!
I stated the obvious, “Riding Jezebel in the fourth.”
“Are you nuts?” he yelled at me. “Do you know how much more trouble I'll be in with him if I allow you to do this?”
Did he say allow? Allow? Oh, hell no.
“First of all Clint, you don’t have the responsibility for deciding what I'm allowed to do or what I'm not allowed to do, got it? Secondly,” I continued on a roll, “He doesn’t have responsibility for deciding what I'm allowed to do, or what I'm not allowed to do on my own personal time!”
Clint was fuming. At any moment I fully expected smoke to curl out of his ears, they were beet red. Andy had walked away from our argument and for that I was grateful.
“He sure as hell does if you’re riding a Sinclair horse!” He was furious. People were starting to look over at us. Andy seemed unperturbed from the distance. I tried another approach.
“Clint, look,” I said quietly to him, “nobody has to know that you saw me, right? And hey, they have me listed under a different variation of my name, so it'll be easy enough to say that you didn’t recognize it on the roster if you have to right?"
Clint pulled a program from his back pocket. He skimmed down through it, and then looked back up. “Jockey: T.J. Preston?”
I smiled proudly. “I know, right? Tylar Jamie Preston, T.J. for short.”
“Oh yeah, I see what you mean Tylar. That'll throw somebody off for, gee, like a full 10 seconds?” He was quickly becoming more exasperated with me. Trey must’ve really made his life miserable this past week. It was clear that I wasn't going to win Clint over.
“Do what you have to do Clint; I guess our friendship means very little to you. Besides that, Trey’s out of town so there's really nothing you can do about it anyway.”
I turned my back to him and walked back over to help Andy finish cinching up the outer girth on Jezebel. When we finished I turned back around, relieved that Clint was nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER 10
I loved the pageantry of horse racing as much as anything else. I loved jockeying. It had always been a part of my life, starting as far back as junior high school. I was fortunate that during my years in college I'd been afforded opportunities to ride and train in racing and dressage.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the
loudspeaker, introducing the horses, their owner, trainer, and jockey in that order. Socrates was scheduled in this race in the number four post position. The bugle sounded the familiar chords in three successions.
“And the horses are entering the track for this evening’s featured first race in the Annual Kick-off Stakes Amateur Challenge here at the beautiful Le Vie Belle Race Track!’
I saw Socrates wearing the Sinclair Stables signature purple and gold colors, jockey astride in matching silks. Clint rode the escort horse, Trafalgar, as was customary for the trainer as the horses were introduced onto the track.
“In the number four position, we have Socrates, owned by Sinclair Stables, trained by Clint Cavanaugh, piloted by Luis Cappezio.”
I looked over at Clint. He was busy trying to get Socrates maneuvered into step using Trafalgar. Socrates was skittish and not handling the reigning well. Nine horses took their places at the gate. Clint and Luis were struggling getting Socrates into his post position inside the gate. That was never a good sign.
Once all of the horses were secured in their post positions, the trainers left the track on the escort horses. After a few minutes, the buzzer rang out and the gates opened with the loud pounding of quarter horse hooves sprinting onto the turf track. There was so much advance preparation for a race that lasted less than a half-minute with any luck.
The announcer had to have the ability to talk faster than an auctioneer, which was no easy task with some of the names given these horses. There were a lot of bets being placed at the windows. This was a fairly lucrative business for the owners.
Socrates came in second; no shame there. A horse from Alexandria, Virginia took the purse, clocking at 32 seconds.
There was a 10-minute break between each race, giving people time to place their bets. Clint would be busy for a little while, getting Socrates back to the paddock and rubbing him down. Maybe luck would hold out and he wouldn’t come back out before my race.
The third race finished. Andy and I checked and rechecked the saddle and girths to make sure everything was tight and secure. Jezebel was calmer than either of us, it seemed.
“Good Luck, T.J.,” Andy teased me. “Don't get overly concerned if she’s not first out of the gate, she works into her stride in about eight or nine seconds when she’s on the outside post.”
“I know, I got it,” I laughed, “I watched her race DVD, remember?” He was making me more nervous with his fussing.
“Oh, the horse to beat is Lucky Lulu; she’s number three on the inside.”
The announcer started the introductions for the fourth featured race in the series for this evening. I lowered my goggles as we were being announced onto the track. Andy rode his buckskin horse, Jubilee, escorting Jezebel and me onto the turf.
“Jezebel is number eight out of the nine horses competing in the fourth leg of tonight’s Amateur Kick-off Stakes Challenge. She races for Sinclair Stables, trained by Andy Graham, and in the irons, T.J. Preston.”
We had no problem getting Jezebel into her post position. Once the last horse was in, there was a minute’s pause before the buzzer sounded and the gate lifted. True to Andy’s prediction, Jezebel wasn't quick to break out of the gate. I decided to do what I was trained to do and let the announcer play it back to me.
“And runners away in the challenge!” I heard him yell into the microphone, echoing across the track. “Lucky Lulu broke well on the inside; Cosmos is quickly out in the middle of the pack. Here comes Jezebel well into stride from the outside! Now just to the inside, it’s Lucky Lulu; Jezebel is gaining on the outside! Now it’s Lucky Lulu! Cosmos drops to the back. It’s Jezebel and Lucky Lulu nose to nose! And it is…Jezebel across the finish! Jezebel has won the Kick-off Stakes Amateur Challenge in race number four!”
Oh my god! We did it! We did it, Jezebel!
The best part was a chance to earn another $15,000 in the bonus race. I checked Jezebel’s clocked time: 29 seconds, the fastest so far. Andy ran over to me and lifted me off of Jezebel, twirling me around in a circle.
“You did it T.J.!”
“We all did it, Andy! Thank you so much for taking a chance on me!”
“You're a natural for this. Jezebel knows it too.” He slapped me lightly on the back a couple of times as we led Jezebel back to the paddock. I was thrilled! I wanted Trey to be proud of me. Jezebel was the first winner’s purse taken by a Sinclair horse so far this evening. There were only four more races to go.
“I’ll see you back here in about an hour okay, Andy? I have a few things to take care of in the meantime.”
“Sure thing,” he answered. “Take a break and get psyched for the next one, hear?”
I went to the locker room and pulled my gear off placing it in my locker. Trey would be back tomorrow and I could hardly wait to tell him how well I raced this evening. Part of me secretly hoped that none of the other Sinclair-sponsored horses took a purse tonight, but that was kind of selfish, not to mention unsportsmanlike, so I chastised myself for thinking like that.
Bringing my focus back to reality, I pulled out my phone and noticed I had a text message and several missed calls. It had been on vibrate for most of the day. I stared at the screen. It was Trey. I was afraid to read the text. I realized now that Clint had probably been in touch with him, telling him that I’d planned to race Jezebel. I gathered courage and opened the text message:
What in the hell do u think u r doing?? I'll deal w/u as soon as I get back!
Trey had clearly found out about tonight’s races. No mystery there.
Thank. You. Clint!
I was pissed; Clint had turned me in. Andy was pacing when I returned to the paddock. For a moment I worried that he'd received orders from “mission control” to strike me from the race. “Where have you been?” he asked, panicked. “I was scared you had slipped out on me!”
I felt relieved. He simply was succumbing to pre-race jitters. He knew nothing of Trey’s displeasure with the jockey.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I replied. “What did I miss?”
“Two of the eight horses in the bonus race represent Sinclair Stables,” he said proudly. A pang of disappointment shot through me and I reminded myself once again to stop thinking like that and to be happy for the Sinclair team.
“Really? That’s great!” I lied. “Who else?”
“Ariel,” he replied.
That was good news. Luke was Ariel’s trainer. “I’m really glad; I still want Jezebel to beat them all,” I admitted.
“No argument from me on that T.J.!” Andy said as he helped me up into the racing saddle. He mounted Jubilee and we rode on out to the infield. Andy explained that the post selections were determined by best times clocked. Jezebel had the second best time in the earlier series, so we would get second choice on post positions.
“Who has first pick?” I asked.
“The winner of the sixth race, Paradox,” Andy replied.
Paradox’s trainer made first selection and wanted the third spot from the end. Andy selected the same spot that Jezebel held during the first race. As it turned out Ariel was in the position just outside of Jezebel. I didn’t know the jockey, but this was certainly making it interesting to be neck and neck with Ariel on one side and Paradox on the other.
The announcer started the introductions again, going through the line-up, horse, owner, trainer, and jockey. Andy escorted Jezebel and me back out onto the track. I wanted to giggle as we were announced this time as “Rookie Jockey, T.J. Preston.” Within minutes all of the horses were at the gate; the escorts had cleared the track. I pulled my goggles down and took position ready for the sound of the buzzer and the lifting of the gate. There seemed to be some sort of a delay in raising the gates. The announcer had stopped his banter as well. What now?
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? There has been an adjustment made to the bonus race line-up this evening. The number seven horse, Jezebel, has been scratched from the competition by the owner. Acc
ording to racing rules, the horse finishing with the next best time as the horse currently in the gates with the least best time of all the feature race winners this evening is eligible to take the number seven slot. That horse is Socrates. At this time, we ask that Trainer Graham and Jockey T.J. Preston remove Jezebel from the track.”
I was not only freaked, I was humiliated. Andy was back at my side within seconds, getting Jezebel backed out of the gate, leading us toward the paddock. I ripped my cap and goggles off as we passed Clint escorting Socrates and his jockey up onto the infield area beside the track. I threw him the most hateful look I could muster, too angry to say anything.
Andy was eerily quiet as he took the reins from me and walked Jezebel into the stables off of the paddock. And then my questions were answered—all of them. Andy handed off Jezebel’s reins to one furiously angry, blue-eyes-blazing Trey.
Holy Shit.
Trey dismissed Andy; “I’ll take it from here.”
Trey quickly untacked Jezebel and led her to her stall. He turned and addressed me, leaning in. I was mere inches from his beautiful, but very angry face. “What do you have to say for yourself T.J.?” he seethed, putting emphasis on my jockey name.
I was distraught and humiliated that it had come to this. How could I've been so stupid? I'd actually thought he would be proud of me. He'd crushed me with that one show of power.
“Why’d you do it, Trey? How could you do that?” I could tell my demeanor had entirely thrown him off. He'd expected a fight. He hadn't expected this from me. I couldn't bring myself to argue with him. I'd wanted him to be proud, maybe even recognize my worth for something, but I'd failed miserably.
The part that hurt the most was that for Trey this was nothing more than his need to control me; someone he barely knew. It was apparent to me that his need for control surpassed any wants or needs of anyone else. That's where we were fundamentally different. I'd wanted to succeed for him; I'd wanted to show him that in some way I was worthy of his respect and maybe his affection. Trey wanted something totally different— it was all about control.
I looked up at him, searching his eyes for a clue as to why he would embarrass and humiliate me like this. He clearly didn’t care. He gazed down at me, the anger completely gone from his face. It was replaced by something else that was unreadable. It wasn’t pity, regret, or compassion even; it was something I didn’t recognize.