DANGER AT THE TRACK!
As she climbed painfully to her feet, Carole saw Garvey walking calmly toward her, a small smile on his wide, ruddy face.
“What happened?” she gasped, doing her best to brush the dirt off her jeans.
Garvey stopped in front of her, his hands on his hips. “I’ll tell you what happened,” he said in a dangerously cool voice. “A little girl got herself into a situation she shouldn’t have. And she almost got hurt. There are lots of ways to get yourself hurt around here. Gives you something to think about, doesn’t it?”
If the trainer would allow her to be thrown from a horse, what else would he be willing to do to shut her up if he thought it was necessary?
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THE WINNING STROKE (American Gold Swimmers #1)
by Sharon Dennis Wyeth
COMPETITION FEVER (American Gold Gymnasts #1)
by Gabrielle Charbonnet
THE GREAT DAD DISASTER by Betsy Haynes
THE GREAT MOM SWAP by Betsy Haynes
BREAKING THE ICE (Silver Blades #1)
by Melissa Lowell
SAVE THE UNICORNS (Unicorn Club #1)
by Francine Pascal
THEY’RE TORTURING TEACHERS IN ROOM 104
by Jerry Piasecki
WHAT IS THE TEACHER’S TOUPEE DOING IN THE FISH TANK?
by Jerry Piasecki
RL 5, 009–012
HORSE RACE
A Bantam Skylark Book / September 1997
Skylark Books is a registered trademark of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and elsewhere.
“The Saddle Club” is a registered trademark of Bonnie Bryant Hiller. The Saddle Club design/logo, which consists of a riding crop and a riding hat, is a trademark of Bantam Books.
“USPC” and “Pony Club” are registered trademarks of The United States Pony Clubs, Inc., at The Kentucky Horse Park, 4071 Iron Works Pike, Lexington, KY 40511-8462.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1997 by Bonnie Bryant Hiller.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-82570-4
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada.
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.
v3.1
I would like to express my special thanks
to Catherine Hapka for her help
in the writing of this book.
Contents
Cover
Other Skylark Books You Will Enjoy
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
“HOW DOES IT GO?” Stevie Lake asked. “It’s something about a horse with a funny name. George Washington? Winston Churchill?”
Her two best friends, Carole Hanson and Lisa Atwood, ignored her. They were busy watching the lush, beautiful landscape rolling past the car windows.
“Look at that,” Carole said, sounding a little breathless.
Lisa didn’t have to ask what she meant. She, too, had seen the white-fenced field of bright green grass they were passing. Several Thoroughbred mares were grazing near the fence while their foals frolicked nearby, chasing and nipping at one another playfully.
“I can’t believe we’re really in Kentucky.” Lisa sighed happily.
The driver of the car, Deborah Hale, glanced over and took in the sight. “Those are some big babies,” she commented. Deborah was a newspaper reporter. She was married to Max Regnery, the owner of Pine Hollow Stables in Willow Creek, Virginia. Pine Hollow was where Stevie, Carole, and Lisa had met and become best friends. It was also where they had formed The Saddle Club, which had only two rules: Members had to be horse-crazy, and they had to be willing to help each other out whenever and however it was necessary.
“They are big,” Carole agreed, turning to get a last glimpse of the foals as the car continued past the field. “Most of them are probably at least five months old. They’ll be ready for weaning in a month or so.” It was late August, and Carole knew that future racehorses were usually born early in the year and weaned sometime around October. Of the three horse-crazy girls, she was the horse-craziest. She liked to know everything there was to know about everything having to do with horses.
“Poor babies,” Lisa said. “I always feel sorry for them when they cry for their mothers.” Weaning was when a young horse was taken away from its mother and switched from mare’s milk to more adult feed. The weanlings usually cried and complained for a few days before settling down.
By now Stevie had stopped humming and was leaning forward to look over Carole’s shoulder at another field of mares and foals. All three girls were sitting in the backseat, which had made Deborah joke that she felt like a chauffeur. “I know what you mean, Lisa,” Stevie said. “But weaning is necessary.” She grinned. “All those big, strong, fancy racehorses would look awfully funny heading out for the starting gate with their mommies trotting along next to them.”
The others laughed at the image. “Well, I’m still glad that Maxi and I won’t have to go through anything like that,” Deborah joked. Maxi, short for Maxine, was her three-month-old daughter.
Lisa gave her a sympathetic look. “It must be hard leaving her behind for this trip, isn’t it?”
“It is hard,” Deborah agreed. “It’s the first time I’ve been away for more than a few hours since she was born.” She shrugged. “But Max will be home to take care of her, and my editor really wanted me to come out here to research this story. I’ve been trying so long to get more experience reporting at the track that I didn’t want to turn her down.” She sighed. “Even though I miss my daughter like crazy already.”
Carole nodded understandingly. “I know what you mean. I miss Starlight already, too.”
Her friends laughed, and Carole gave them a surprised look. Maybe most people wouldn’t think that missing her horse could be compared to missing a new baby, but to Carole it made perfect sense. After all, Starlight was a very special horse.
Suddenly a strange look crossed Stevie’s face and she sat up as straight as her seat belt would allow.
“I’ve got it!” she shouted. “Paul Revere.”
Carole and Lisa turned to stare at her, and Deborah glanced in the rearview mirror.
“What?” Lisa asked for all of them.
Stevie grinned sheepishly. “Paul Revere,” she said. “That’s the name of the horse in the song I was trying to think of.” She hummed a few bars. “It’s from the musical Guys and Dolls. The whole song is about betting on horses. It’s very funny.”
“I’ve seen that,” Carole said. “My dad loves the movie.”
Lisa just rolled her eyes. “That’s very interesting, Stevie,” she said dryly. “But can’t we end the sing-along for now? I, for one, am dying to hear more about
the story Deborah’s going to be researching while we’re here.” They had left home very early that morning, so the three girls had spent the first part of the trip sleeping. Then, when they woke up, they spent the next part of the ride talking about the wonderful summer they had just spent riding and having fun. That, of course, had reminded them that school would be starting in just a couple of weeks, and they had spent some time discussing that. Then Stevie had started trying to come up with racing-themed songs. The upshot was that in all the hours they had been traveling, The Saddle Club had hardly had time to talk about the reason for their trip. Deborah was going to a racetrack in Kentucky called Bluegrass Park to research her latest assignment, and she had invited The Saddle Club to come along with her.
Stevie quieted down, and Deborah nodded agreeably. “Well, you all know it’s a feature story on up-and-coming young trainers,” she began.
“Right,” Carole said. “And one of them works for Mr. McLeod, right?” David McLeod owned a racing stable not far from Willow Creek called Maskee Farms. The girls had gotten to know him and his beautiful Thoroughbreds during several previous visits. They had also taken a trip to Maryland to see one of his fastest horses, Monkeyshines, race in the famous Preakness Stakes.
“Right,” Deborah confirmed. “You’ve all met Mr. McLeod’s regular trainer, but this weekend I’m going to be interviewing his assistant trainer. His name is Garvey Cannon, and he’s only been working at Maskee for a couple of months. But he’s supposed to be awfully good. Mr. McLeod let him bring some of his most promising two-year-olds to Bluegrass while he and the head trainer are out in California.”
Carole shook her head. “I still can’t believe Thoroughbreds start racing when they’re only two,” she said. “That makes Starlight seem practically ancient, doesn’t it?” Starlight had been only four years old when Carole first got him. And she had thought that was young!
“I guess it’s a good thing Starlight’s not a racehorse,” Stevie joked. “Otherwise his career would probably be nearly over by now.”
“Not necessarily,” Lisa protested. “He might just be ready to start his second career.” The others laughed. They knew Lisa was thinking about Prancer, the horse she usually rode at Pine Hollow. Prancer had been one of Mr. McLeod’s racehorses, but a weak bone in her foot had ended her career on the track. Now she had a new career as a lesson horse.
Carole glanced out the window as they passed another field, where a lone horse gazed out over the fence at them. “It’s too bad our friends won’t be at the racetrack this time,” she said. Then, realizing that she might sound ungrateful, she glanced at Deborah. “But this trip is going to be great anyway,” she added quickly.
Deborah laughed. “Don’t worry, I know what you mean,” she said, turning the wheel a little to avoid a rock. “I’d like to see the old gang, too, especially Eddie and Stephen.” Eddie was a Maskee groom, and Stephen was Mr. McLeod’s usual jockey.
“I don’t think that’s who Carole was thinking of,” Stevie put in with a grin. “The ones she’s going to miss are Hold Fast and Monkeyshines.”
The others laughed while Carole blushed. She had been thinking of the two horses when she had spoken. “I’ll miss the people, too,” she said defensively. That just made everyone laugh even harder.
“Anyway,” Deborah said when the laughter had quieted down, “the usual gang—people and horses—are out at one of the California racetracks for some important stakes races. But Mr. McLeod didn’t want his younger horses to miss their chance to run, and he didn’t want to ship them all out to California, so he sent them to Kentucky with Garvey.” She shrugged. “That’s lucky for me, since several of the other trainers I need to interview will be at Bluegrass Park this weekend, too.”
“Why do they call Kentucky the Bluegrass State, anyway?” Stevie asked, looking out the window again. “The grass here all looks pretty green to me.”
Carole rolled her eyes. “Don’t change the subject, Stevie,” she ordered. “We’re talking about horses, not grass.”
“I thought we were talking about trainers,” Lisa said mischievously.
Deborah laughed. “Actually, I was just getting to the horses,” she said. “Maskee has about half a dozen horses at Bluegrass right now, but there are a few very promising youngsters in the bunch. One in particular is a filly named Cookie Cutter.”
“Oh, let me guess,” Stevie said immediately. “Um, her mother’s name is probably Dessert, right? And her sire must be Chocolate Chip. Or maybe Mixing Bowl.”
The others giggled at the guesses. They knew that sometimes the owners of Thoroughbreds came up with names for their foals by combining both parents’ names. “How do you know Cookie Cutter is named after her sire and dam?” Carole teased. “Maybe Mr. McLeod was just feeling a little hungry when he came up with the name.”
“Actually, Cookie Cutter is named after her parents,” Deborah said. “But your guesses are a bit off, Stevie. Her dam is Baker’s Dozen, and her sire is Swordplay.”
“Sword—Oh, I get it.” Stevie grinned. “Cookie Cutter. That’s clever.”
But Carole was less interested in the horse’s name than the horse herself. “Is Cookie Cutter as fast as Monkeyshines?” she asked.
“It’s a little early to tell that,” Deborah said. “In fact, it’s a little early for anyone to be talking about Cookie Cutter at all, since her very first race is the day after tomorrow. It’s unusual for an unraced horse to be so highly regarded. But her bloodlines are excellent, and she’s shown a lot of speed in her workouts.”
“You sound like an old pro talking about this stuff, Deborah,” Carole said admiringly.
Deborah shrugged. “I know some of the lingo, but I’m still no pro,” she said honestly. “I’m learning, though—as fast as I can.” She paused, and a very interesting twinkle came into her eye as she glanced at the girls in the rearview mirror. Stevie noticed it and wondered what it meant. “For instance,” Deborah continued, “did you know that there are people at the track whose only job is walking horses to cool them down after a workout?”
Carole nodded. She knew that from her previous visits to the racetrack. “They’re called hot-walkers, right?”
“Right,” Deborah said. She paused again. “Well, as soon as I heard that the Maskee barn was a little short-staffed because the regular people are out in California, I started thinking: Who do I know with experience walking horses who would be willing to pitch in and help out?”
Lisa gasped. “You mean …?”
Deborah nodded, taking her eyes off the road just long enough to glance back at the girls again. This time all three of them saw the twinkle in her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I volunteered you to be hot-walkers while we’re here this weekend.”
All three girls started talking at once, thrilled at the idea of helping care for Mr. McLeod’s beautiful Thoroughbred racehorses. For a second nothing they said made much sense, but they knew Deborah wouldn’t mind.
Stevie was the first to regain the power of coherent speech. “This is going to be great,” she declared.
“I hope so,” Deborah said, smiling. “It’s going to be hard work, you know. Garvey has only two full-time grooms working with him this weekend, which makes them really short-staffed. He may need you to pitch in as unofficial assistant grooms, too.” She paused again, and her smile grew broader. “I guess that’s probably why Mr. McLeod insisted on paying you the going rate for hot-walkers.”
“What?” Carole could hardly believe it. Mr. McLeod was actually going to pay them to do something they would gladly do for free? “He doesn’t have to do that!”
“But he can if he wants to,” Stevie put in quickly, shooting Carole a look. Stevie was famous for spending her allowance as quickly as she got it. She was always in need of extra cash.
“Actually, he insisted on it,” Deborah said. “After all, if it weren’t for you girls, he’d have to hire people locally to do the work. But before you get too excit
ed, I’d better warn you that hot-walking is just about the most menial job there is at the track. It doesn’t pay a lot.”
But when she told them how much they’d be getting, Stevie let out a whistle. “That sounds pretty good to me,” she said.
Lisa nodded. “It’s more than I make baby-sitting,” she admitted.
“And wouldn’t you rather baby-sit horses than humans anyway?” Carole put in.
Deborah smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Does that mean you’d rather muck out stalls than play with Maxi, Carole?” she teased.
Carole shrugged and grinned. “It’s a toss-up,” she teased right back. Then she leaned back in her seat and returned to watching the gorgeous Kentucky landscape rush by. “Money or no money, it was awfully nice of you to ask us along on this trip,” she told Deborah.
“I can’t take all the credit,” Deborah admitted. “As soon as I mentioned the trip, Max suggested I take you with me.” She laughed. “Actually, he sort of insisted. Then he mumbled something about back-to-school blues and moping girls …”
The Saddle Club exchanged glances. They had been awfully depressed about returning to school after such an exciting summer—even Lisa, who actually liked school most of the time.
“Poor Max,” Lisa said. “We must have really been driving him crazy if he went out of his way to send us on such a great trip. What are the odds of that?”
Deborah gave her a surprised look. “ ‘What are the odds of that?’ ” she repeated. “Where did you pick up that expression?” It wasn’t a phrase Lisa used every day of the week.
Lisa grinned. “Hey, we are heading for the racetrack, right?”
“Who cares about the odds or why he did it?” Carole put in. “The important thing is that we’re here. Right, Stevie?”
But Stevie wasn’t paying attention. She was singing again. “ ‘Camptown ladies sing this song, doo-da, doo-da.’ ”
Carole rolled her eyes. “If you don’t know the words, why bother to sing the song?”
But Lisa recognized the song from her piano lessons. “Those are the words, Carole,” she said. She joined in to sing with Stevie for the next line: “ ‘Camptown racetrack five miles long, oh, doo-da day!’ ”
Horse Race Page 1