Riding Star

by Stacy Gregg

  “That brown mare looks good,” Alice said, pointing to a horse that was being taken down to the sixth furlong marker by her jockey.

  “She is good,” John Conway said. “Too good for you. That’s one of my mares – Scandal. I’m expecting her to run in the Oaks this summer.”

  He pointed over at a skinny-legged chestnut that was currently putting up a fight on the concourse as his jockey tried to convince him to step out on to the sandy loam of the track.

  “Now that’s more your speed. That chestnut is one of Tommy Doyle’s horses. He’s run in three graded races so far since he turned three years old – and he’s been last in every single one of them.”

  “No surprise,” Daisy said. “He looks like he doesn’t even want to set foot on the track!”

  The little chestnut Thoroughbred was putting up such a fuss, it took two handlers, one on either side holding his bridle, to convince him to leave the concourse.

  Once he was out on the track the little chestnut showed no more inclination to move forward than he did before. When his jockey attempted to ride him round the track at a steady gallop, the horse kept napping and at one point he actually stopped dead in his tracks and spun round!

  “Did you see that?” Alice was wide-eyed.

  “Well at least we know he can turn,” Daisy said.

  “Yeah, but do we want a gelding?” Emily asked. “I thought they had to be mares.”

  Georgie watched as the chestnut pulled up to a halt and a man in a grey tweed coat walked over with a stern look on his face to talk to the jockey.

  “I say if the price is right, then a gelding is fine,” Georgie said.

  She turned to Mr Conway. “Is that Tommy Doyle?”

  John Conway nodded. “Right now, I’d say if you were to offer him the price of a bullet it would save him the cost of putting one in that horse.”

  “Is he kidding?” Emily whispered, horrified.

  Georgie knew that John Conway’s comment probably wasn’t far off the truth. A gelding that didn’t have any value as a racehorse couldn’t even be turned out to breed more colts and fillies. If he couldn’t run then he was useless and worthless.

  “I’ll be back in a second,” Georgie told the others. She ducked under the railings of the fence and strode out across the track towards Tommy Doyle and the skinny chestnut Thoroughbred.

  Tommy Doyle was a short, stocky man. From his height Georgie guessed that he had probably been a jockey once, but you could tell by his width that it must have been a long time ago. He wore his fedora cap low over his sunken eyes, and he pushed the hat back now so he could get a good look at the young girl who was walking towards him, calling his name.

  “Mr Doyle?” Georgie smiled. “Hi, I’m Georgie Parker. I’m a friend of John Conway’s.”

  Tommy Doyle nodded. “Listen, miss, whatever girl-guide club you’re selling cookies for, can this wait? I’ve got my hands full at the moment here.”

  Georgie wasn’t about to be put off. “Mr Conway told me your horse has come last in all three of his races so far.”

  “He told you that, did he?” Tommy Doyle didn’t exactly look thrilled to hear it. Georgie realised she’d better cut to the chase before he told her to get lost.

  “I’m looking to buy polo ponies and I thought that since he wasn’t doing so well as a racehorse you might want to sell him to me.”

  Tommy Doyle looked at her in disbelief. “Are you trying to make me an offer on my horse?”

  “Uh-huh,” Georgie said. “If you’re interested in selling him.”

  “Oh, he’s for sale all right.” Tommy Doyle took his hat off and ran a hand through his oiled-back hair. “What sort of money are we talking about?”

  Georgie took a deep breath. “A hundred and fifty dollars.”

  It was a cheeky offer and she knew it, but as far as she was concerned she had nothing to lose. Right now the chestnut gelding standing in front of her was on a major losing streak.

  Tommy Doyle put his hat back on and looked Georgie in the eyes. “I’ll sell him to you for five hundred,” he said.

  “Two hundred is my best offer,” Georgie replied.

  “Four hundred.”

  Georgie took the envelope out of her coat pocket. “Two hundred – cash in your hand and I’ll take the horse with me.”

  Tommy Doyle shook his head in disbelief. The bare-faced cheek of this girl!

  He put out his hand for Georgie to shake. “You’ve got a deal,” he said.

  *

  Georgie was shaking with excitement as she walked back over to the other girls. “I just bought a horse!”

  The others couldn’t believe it when Georgie told them the bargain price she had paid.

  “What’s his name?” Emily asked.

  “I don’t know,” Georgie had to admit. “I forgot to ask!”

  The chestnut’s name turned out to be Saratoga Firefly.

  “Well, that’s his racing name,” the jockey told the girls as he unsaddled the little chestnut and handed Daisy the reins, “but back at the yard we call him Spinner.”

  “Why?”

  “He likes to turn round in mid-gallop. Does a full one-eighty on the track!”

  “He’s got good conformation,” Daisy assessed. “Look at those hindquarters.”

  “He’s got a keen look in his eyes too,” Emily agreed. “Haven’t you, Spinner?”

  “I don’t think we should call him that,” Georgie said, stroking the chestnut’s face. “He needs a proper polo pony name. Something short and easy to remember on the field.”

  “How about Lucky?” Alice suggested, “As in, he’s lucky he’s not pet food.”

  “How about Marco?” Emily suggested. “You know, like Marco Polo?”

  The others groaned at the joke, but the name seemed to stick.

  “How are we going to get him home?” Alice asked. “He’s too big to fit on the back of the pick-up with me and Emily.”

  “Mr Conway has offered to truck the ponies for us,” Georgie said. “He says he can fit seven ponies onboard.”

  Daisy dug her cash out of her pocket. “I better start shopping,” she said to the others. “I’ll meet you back here later with my new polo string.”

  Emily followed along after Daisy. Georgie and Alice took Marco off to tie him up to the Conways’ truck, and by the time they returned to the railside there was a new group of Thoroughbreds coming out for their trackwork.

  In amongst the group of jockeys Riley emerged on to the track on a big black horse that Georgie recognised straight away.

  “That’s Talisman.” She pointed the big, black gelding out to Alice. “I rode him the last time I was here.”

  Georgie gave Riley a wave as he rode past and he diverted course and brought Talisman over to the railings.

  “Have you bought anything yet?” he asked.

  “One chestnut gelding,” Georgie said.

  “I thought they had to be mares?”

  “We’ve loosened up our criteria,” Alice replied.

  Riley nodded. “I’ve been asking around in the stables. Apparently Bart O’Malley has a couple of horses that have been on a mean losing streak.”

  “Which ones are they?” Georgie asked.

  Riley scanned the track. “Look for Bart’s stable colours – purple and red diamonds. I can’t see them out here right now. But they’ll be around.”

  He smiled at Georgie. “I better go breeze Tally before Dad catches me slacking off.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Georgie said. She watched Riley as he rode off at a trot on Talisman. When he reached the first furlong marker Riley rose up into his stirrups, asking Talisman to move up into a gallop, and then he began to work the horse round the track.

  Riley was a naturally confident rider, utterly at ease in the saddle. He never seemed to do much, but somehow he got the best out of a horse. She watched as he asked Talisman to step up the pace as they came round to the final three furlongs. As they passed another horse, a
big bay, she saw Riley bend down a little lower over Tally’s neck, his hands urging the big black on. Tally surged forward and now he was thundering home in the straight, Riley perched up on his back, looking like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be. Georgie remembered that night at the School Formal when Riley had turned up out of the blue, all dressed up in a suit, his dark hair slicked back off his face. He’d come, despite his feelings about the snobbish Blainford elite, making the effort just to be with her. Now, watching him ride, she felt guilty for putting him through that. Riley didn’t belong at Blainford. Out there on the track now, riding for all he was worth, that was Riley as he was meant to be. Was that why he hadn’t called her after the dance? He’d always tried to tell her that they were from different worlds.

  “Georgie?” Alice grabbed her arm. “Come on! Are you going to stand there staring at Riley all day or are we going to the stables to find these horses?”

  *

  Bart O’Malley did have two mares that he was apparently trying to get rid of. There was a skittish young bay, only about fifteen hands high with not much in the way of muscle and a slight ewe neck.

  “She’ll be all right once we feed her up,” Alice insisted. “I like her.”

  The other mare was a dark brown standing at fifteen-three, which made her a little big for polo, but the girls decided she would do.

  “How much do you want for them?” Georgie asked the russet-haired trainer.

  “Neither of them are going to win a race,” Bart O’Malley admitted, “but the brown mare has good bloodlines. I could put her in foal and get a good colt out of her, so I’m in no hurry to sell.”

  “He’s bluffing,” Alice muttered to Georgie. “He wants to sell them – you can tell!”

  Georgie frowned. “All I’ve got left is three hundred dollars for both horses,” she said to O’Malley. She dug her hands in her coat pocket and showed him the envelope. “Cash money.”

  O’Malley shook his head. “Not enough,” he said flatly.

  “Walk away now!” Alice hissed to Georgie.

  “What?” Georgie was shocked when Alice grabbed her arm and almost dragged her off.

  “Fine by us!” Alice called back to O’Malley as she stormed off down the corridor with Georgie in tow. “There are other horses, you know!”

  The girls had barely gone halfway down the corridor when O’Malley called them back.

  “All right, all right! You got yourself a deal.” Georgie handed him the money and the girls took a horse each.

  Georgie couldn’t believe what had just happened. She’d never bought a horse before in her life and today she had just bought three!

  “I hope this polo thing works out,” she told Alice, “otherwise I’ve just lumbered myself with three washed-up racehorses!”

  “You’re not the only one,” Alice said. “Look!”

  Daisy and Emily were walking towards them, each of them leading two horses.

  “We’ve bought them!” Emily was trembling with excitement.

  Georgie shook her head in disbelief. “I think we’ve all gone mad.”

  It wasn’t until she was loading her three new Thoroughbreds on the truck that it occurred to her: Badminton House now had its own polo team – and it would never have happened if Kennedy Kirkwood had kept her paws off Georgie’s Barbour!

  Chapter Eight

  On the road back to Blainford Georgie and the other girls were full of stories of their wheeling and dealing. It wasn’t until they were unloading the truck that the reality of what they had done finally struck them.

  As Georgie watched Riley leading the Thoroughbreds down the ramp she felt a wave of fear rising up inside her. These weren’t pony-club ponies – they were bona fide racehorses. They stood there twitching and trembling with nerves, their eyes out on stalks as they surveyed their new environment, and all Georgie could think was that this might be the biggest mistake of her life.

  She didn’t know a thing about training Thoroughbreds and transforming them into polo ponies. Daisy and Emily, both with two new horses apiece, didn’t have a clue either! Between them, the girls had seven skinny, young creatures straight off the track, all gangly legs and wild eyes.

  “They don’t look like polo ponies, do they?” Georgie said.

  “No,” Daisy agreed. “They don’t.”

  “OK, so they need an extreme makeover,” Alice said, “but that’s why they were so cheap.”

  Georgie wasn’t so convinced. How were they going to train these Thoroughbreds for polo when it was hard enough to handle them on the ground?

  The worst of the bunch by far was Marco. The chestnut gelding had been a nightmare to get on the horse truck in the first place and he came racing down the ramp tense and flighty. Georgie had to grapple with him to hold him still as Emily and Alice took the mares off to the other end of the stable block, and as soon as they were out of sight the gelding started going bonkers. Panicky about being left alone, he began whinnying, his head held high as he danced from side to side. It was almost impossible for Georgie to hold him as he swung his hindquarters about, trotting anxiously on the spot as if he had hot coals beneath his hooves.

  “Give him here,” Riley stepped in and took the leadrope out of Georgie’s hands. “He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with bad manners.” He squared up to the gelding and spoke gently but firmly to him, giving a sharp pull on his halter to get his attention. Marco flung a foreleg out, defiantly striking at Riley, but the boy remained unrattled. He began to walk the horse alongside him round the yard. Marco had his ears back at first and kept trying to pull away, but every time the horse tried to act up, Riley was one step ahead of him, anticipating the Thoroughbred’s next move and correcting him calmly but firmly until the gelding was walking docile as a lamb towards his loose box.

  “He’s not a bad horse,” Riley insisted to Georgie as he opened the door to the loose box and let Marco inside, slipping his halter off and then bolting the bottom half of the door shut. “He’s got real good bloodlines, but the jockeys in Tommy Doyle’s stable didn’t understand him. They let him think he was the boss.” Marco turned round in his stall and came back to Riley now, ears pricked forward as he stuck his head over the door. “See?” Riley smiled as he gave Marco a pat. “He just needs to learn some respect and know his place.”

  “That’s funny,” a voice behind them said. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  Georgie turned round and saw James Kirkwood standing there, glaring at Riley.

  “I would have thought it would be common courtesy to ask permission before you walk in here as if you own the place.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Riley replied. He looked at Georgie. “Who is this guy?”

  James stepped forward and abruptly stuck out his hand – as if he was a businessman introducing himself in a meeting instead of a fourteen-year-old boy. “I’m James Kirkwood,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

  Riley looked at the hand and then reluctantly shook it. “I’m Riley Conway.”

  “Riley, Riley…” James said the name as if he was trying to remember where he’d heard it before. “Hey, you must be the guy who took Georgie to the School Formal?”

  “Yeah,” Riley said. “That’s right.”

  “Riley is helping me with the horses,” Georgie said.

  “And you’re helping yourself to the Burghley stables?” James said.

  “Badminton House doesn’t have its own stable block,” Georgie replied. “We’ve got permission to be here. The headmistress told us to put them—”

  Riley interrupted her explanation. “I don’t think James really cares about the horses being in his stables, Georgie. I think he doesn’t like the fact that I’m here with you. Isn’t that right?”

  James gave Riley a smart-alec look. “Hey, no. I think it’s great that Georgie has got someone like you to do her menial work for her.”

  James had a cocky look on his face as he reached ou
t and put his arm round Georgie’s shoulders. “As long as my girl is happy, that’s fine by me.”

  Georgie stiffened at this sudden display of affection, but James ignored her discomfort and kept his arm firmly round her, staring intently all the while at Riley.

  “I better go now, Georgie,” James said, releasing his grip at last. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for our date. Pick you up at six?”

  Georgie watched in astonishment as James sauntered off. Then she turned back to Riley. He looked really angry.

  “You’re going out with him? You have a date?” he asked her, his voice strained with disbelief.

  Georgie didn’t know what to say. “He bought cinema tickets.”

  “So now you’re going to the movies with that snotty little trust-fund creep?” Riley said, looking hurt and bewildered.

  Georgie got defensive. “Well, what was I supposed to do? Wait forever for you to pick up the phone?”

  She could feel herself making the whole thing worse, but didn’t know how to stop. “You never even called me after the Formal!”

  Riley scowled at her. “And you only call me when you want help with your horses,” he said. “James is right. As long as I know my place like the rest of the staff around here, everything will be just fine.”

  “What?” Georgie couldn’t believe it. “Riley! Don’t be stupid.”

  “Why not?” Riley shot back. “I feel pretty stupid right now. Running around after you, getting you and your friends into Keeneland Park and helping you to buy your horses and all the while you’ve got your hot date lined up for tomorrow night.”

  “That is so not what it’s like!” Georgie insisted. “You vanished off the face of the earth after the dance and then you turn up with flowers and then disappear all over again.”

  “Because,” Riley said, his voice trembling with anger, “I knew it would be like this, Georgie. You’re at this fancy school surrounded by rich kids like him and I don’t fit in. How am I supposed to compete with a guy like James?”

  Riley dropped the halter and leadrope to the ground as he walked away.

  “I’ll see you around, Georgie.” “Riley, wait!” Georgie called after him. “Don’t go. I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”