Regret Not a Moment

by Nicole McGehee

  Turning to John, she put her arm through his and said, “Shall we return to our places?” She was once more the gracious society lady. The race was now in the hands of McClintock—and Firefly.

  Back at their seats, Devon looked down at the Racing Form in her hand. There were ten entries in the race—nine, now that Fearless Leader had been scratched—and each came from a farm with an excellent reputation. Her horses had not been favored to win. That honor went to the Vanderbilt’s colt Rainmaker. The track odds against Firefly had been twenty-four to one the last time Devon had checked. The odds changed from moment to moment as gamblers continued to place their bets. Booming over the background noise, the loudspeaker announced that Fearless Leader had been scratched from the race. Within ten minutes the odds against Firefly had jumped to sixty-six to one. That was because when two horses with the same owner ran in the same race, the odds against them were identical by regulation. The gambler won the same amount no matter which of the two horses placed. Without Fearless Leader driving up the chances of a win, gamblers were not willing to put their money on the lone Willowbrook filly.

  Devon could barely contain her excitement when the starting gun sounded. She immediately leapt to her feet and brought the binoculars to her eyes. McClintock was doing just as she had instructed. Firefly was in the lead—flying down the track like a fury. There was a theory that a winning filly ran not toward the finish but away from the pack of colts chasing her. A panic run. But Firefly was in control—that was clear even from the stands.

  Rainmaker had started at the end of the pack, but as he passed the first furlong he began to pick up speed. Devon could see the Vanderbilt jockey whipping him now—not frantically, but enough to let him know that it was almost time to exert himself.

  “And in the lead it’s Willowbrook’s Firefly, followed by Tornado and Jungle Girl,” said the track announcer. “In the middle of the pack, we’ve got Rainmaker nose to nose with Salt and Pepper; close behind is Fake It, Now’s the Time, and Sugar ’n Spice. Trailing by two lengths is Sassafras.”

  No sooner had the announcer finished this chant than Rainmaker surged forward. The voice on the loudspeaker raised its pitch in excitement.

  “Look at this move by Bob Vasquez on Rainmaker. He’s pushing past Salt and Pepper, now Jungle Girl. And Tornado takes the lead, with Firefly in second place and Rainmaker behind by a length. Now moving ahead!”

  Devon, oblivious to the screams around her, concentrated all her attention on the three lead horses. As Rainmaker drew nearer to Firefly, he turned his head slightly, looking into the filly’s eyes. It was a common form of confrontation in wild-horse packs. Fillies almost always backed down. And, with a sinking heart, Devon saw Firefly falter for a moment as Rainmaker edged past her. It was Rainmaker and Tornado nose to nose.

  “It looks like it’s not going to be a filly today,” said the track announcer.

  “No!” Devon whispered to herself. And on cue, Firefly, finding herself falling behind, pushed forward, her competitive spirit apparently overcoming her natural submission to the male. Rick McClintock was whipping her frantically and she was responding with all her heart. She was gaining, gaining…

  “I can’t watch!” Devon heard Sydney cry beside her. But Devon could not look away.

  “It’s Rainmaker in the lead as they approach the finish, Firefly neck and neck with Tornado. Now Firefly’s passing Tornado!”

  Devon could hear the excitement in the announcer’s voice as her filly pushed past all the others. All the others except Rainmaker. He was holding his lead.

  “We’re going to win!” John exclaimed jubilantly.

  Devon held her breath. Held it… The track announcer crowed, “And it’s an amazing finish with Willowbrook’s filly Firefly in first place, bringing glory back to a venerable name!”

  CHAPTER 25

  THE next day Devon appeared at the track, impatient to discuss with Willy the training regimen he had in mind for Firefly’s bid in the Kentucky Derby.

  She found him on his knees unbandaging the filly’s legs, studying them for injuries. His back was to her and he did not see her approach, but a broad grin broke out on Jeremiah’s face at the sight of her.

  “Miz Whitney’s already been down here offering to buy her,” Jeremiah announced without preamble.

  Willy looked up from his work just long enough to mumble his usual grumpy, “Mornin.”

  “Well, I hope you told her she isn’t for sale.” Devon smiled.

  “We told ’er,” Willy said, standing upright and facing Devon.

  Devon was a little amused. Despite their victory, despite the percentage of Firefly’s prize purse that Willy would be awarded as Willowbrook’s trainer, he still did not seem able to smile.

  “Well, I’m here as threatened,” Devon joked.

  Willy studied her as if he did not know what she was talking about.

  “How do you want to work out our collaboration on Firefly?” Devon asked, more seriously.

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Exasperated by his deliberate obtuseness, Devon said, “To get her ready for the Derby.”

  “I’m not runnin’ ’er in the Derby,” Willy said flatly.

  Devon stared at him, incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

  “Fearless Leader’ll be fine by then. It was nothin’ serious.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, but Firefly won the Blue Grass Stakes.”

  “She faltered.”

  “She won!”

  “I don’t want to risk somethin’ like that happening for a race as important as the Derby,” Willy said. And with an air of finality, he kneeled to examine the filly’s rear legs.

  With a voice like ice, Devon said, “I would like to speak to you in private.”

  Willy did not interrupt what he was doing.

  “Now.”

  The tone of her voice made Willy turn and look at her over his shoulder. The expression on her face brought him to his feet.

  “Follow me,” Devon commanded, leading him up to her empty owner’s box. They made the five-minute trek in hostile silence.

  Once they were seated, Devon said in a calm voice, “I do not believe that you are weighing fairly each horse’s chances for winning.”

  “When we made this deal, you said it would be my call. I choose Fearless Leader.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s run faster in practice than Firefly did yesterday. His injury will be fine. He’s a colt. I think he’s got the best chance of winnin’ the Derby. Firefly, on the other hand, faltered yesterday when Rainmaker challenged ’er. She fell behind.”

  “For a split second. Anyway, I learned from that. I’ll run her with blinkers next time.”

  “It’s a good idea, but fillies don’t win the Derby.”

  “Regret won,” Devon said in a reasonable voice.

  “Aye,” Willy acknowledged. “The only one.”

  “Firefly will do it,” she insisted more emphatically.

  “The choice was mine, you said. I made my choice.”

  “But it’s totally capricious!” Devon said. “You’re just trying to prove something—to prove that you’re the power at Willowbrook. Well, I won’t have it! Firefly can win the Derby!”

  Willy jumped to his feet, outraged that his objectivity as a trainer had been challenged. “If I thought Firefly would win, I’d run ’er and you know it!”

  Devon, just as angry, pushed back her chair with such force that it fell over. She leaned closer to Willy and glared into his eyes, her eyebrows forming a furious line, like dark storm clouds over an aqua sea. “Your reasons for thinking she won’t win are absurd. They’re based on some rigid rule about fillies and colts. Trainers like you are why more fillies haven’t won the Derby!

  “Now, I agree that she had a momentary problem,” Devon said, her voice trembling from the effort to calm herself, “and I believe blinkers will solve it. Plus we’ll work with her in practice on it. But her time beat th
e track record! Willy, for God’s sake, she can win!” Devon stamped her foot to emphasize her last words.

  “I’m not convinced of that!” Willy yelled, tearing his baseball cap off his head and slapping it against his thigh in frustration.

  “Well, you don’t have to be!” Devon yelled back.

  For a moment, they were both too taken aback by her furious words to say anything.

  Devon took a long, shaky breath and continued in a quieter voice. “I respect your opinion very much, but you haven’t worked with Firefly like I have. What it comes down to, Willy, is that I’m the owner. I know we had an agreement, but I can’t let you do something I completely disagree with. If you want to run Fearless Leader, fine. He’s a great horse. But I’m running Firefly, and that’s my final word on the subject.”

  “Then we’ve got nothin’ more to say, have we?” And without waiting to be dismissed, Willy slammed the baseball cap onto his head, turned, and stomped away from Devon.

  The guest cottage of Mr. and Mrs. Cooper Lyle III’s estate was so pleasant that Devon was beginning to think of it as home—at least for the time she was in Kentucky. After a long day at the track—more tiring than usual because of her fight with Willy—Devon was looking forward to relaxing with John over a cold drink on one of the white wicker lounge chairs overlooking the cottage’s tiny private pool.

  She immediately felt the tension slip away from her as she turned into the long, dogwood-lined driveway of her friends’ estate. So vast was the Lyle’s property that it took her another few minutes to reach the little circular driveway in front of the cottage. Devon closed the door of the borrowed Packard and hurried into the cozy living/dining area calling John’s name. The floral chintzes, cheery brass accessories, and pastel colors acted as a balm on her frayed nerves.

  “In here, Devon,” John called from the bedroom, a fluffy blue and white affair that looked sunny even on cloudy days.

  “Hello, love,” Devon said wearily, giving her husband a kiss. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the leather trunk on the floor. It was open and John’s valet was carefully folding his master’s clothes into it, each layer meticulously lined with tissue paper to prevent wrinkling.

  Devon, startled, asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready to go home, of course,” John replied matter-of-factly.

  “What do you mean? It’s still several weeks until the Derby.”

  “Yes, I know, but you said that if Firefly wasn’t to run that you would come to New York with me. I asked Alice to prepare your things as well. I believe she’s doing some laundry at the main house.”

  Devon frowned, puzzled. “But Firefly is running.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Devon was too dumbfounded to say more.

  John turned to his valet. “I can finish up here, Wilkes, why don’t you go and prepare your own things.”

  “Very good, sir,” said the manservant, quietly closing the door behind him as he exited.

  “I had a visit from O’Neill today,” John said, busying himself with some toiletries on the cherry wood chest of drawers.

  “How dare he!” Devon cried, furious.

  John cocked an eyebrow. “How dare he talk to his employer?”

  Devon moved so that she stood directly beside John. He was forced to meet her eyes.

  “What did Mr. O’Neill have to say?” Devon asked in a tone that was abnormally quiet. So quiet, in fact, that John could tell she was attempting to keep her voice from rising.

  “He related your conversation of this morning.”

  Devon squared her shoulders and fixed John with a glare. “O’Neill related our conversation and now you’ve decided we’re to go home?”

  “I have,” John said.

  “On what grounds, may I ask?” Devon enunciated each word sharply in order to ensure that her sentence was coherent. Otherwise, she was afraid she would spew forth a stream of vituperative babble. She was outraged that Willy should have involved John in their dispute, but what absolutely stunned Devon was that her husband was siding with him! Humiliating her! The betrayal almost made Devon feel physically ill.

  John straightened and faced Devon, his posture rigid. “On the grounds that I agree with his decision to run Fearless Leader in the Derby. That I agree with him that we should run only one horse in the Derby, and that I agree that Firefly has less chance of winning.” John said all this in a reasonable tone, but his fists, jammed into the pockets of his linen slacks, were clenched tightly.

  “Well,” Devon said, her voice rising in pitch, but growing no louder, “I disagree with his assessment. And I am at the track every day,” she added pointedly.

  “Yes, I know.” There was a pause. John’s resentment was obvious to Devon. “You are indeed at the track every day. You have, rather unbecomingly, I might add, attempted to usurp the authority of one of the best trainers in the world. We should count ourselves fortunate that he didn’t quit over this ridiculous dispute.”

  The words were like a punch in the stomach for Devon. Never had John been so ugly to her. Never had he complained about her involvement with racing, other than to say that he missed her in New York. On the contrary, he had encouraged her in her interest. Now John was like a stranger to her—revealing an autocratic side that Devon had never seen before. His attitude made her more defiant.

  Devon placed her hands on her hips and took a step closer to John. “We should be grateful to Willy?” To be dictated to by an employee?”

  “One of the most competent.”

  “I agree. But that still does not make him the owner of Willowbrook Farm. If I were a man, he perhaps wouldn’t like my involvement, but he wouldn’t think of disputing it.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. Nevertheless, you are not a man. You are my wife. And I stand with O’Neill on this issue.”

  “How can you say that? Yesterday, you said the decision of which horse to run was mine and O’Neill’s!”

  “That was before I heard his side of things.”

  “But you haven’t even heard my side of things yet!”

  “O’Neill explained your rationale.”

  Devon’s fair complexion flushed red-hot as the blood pounded in her temples. “So now you’re allowing that man to speak for me without even listening to what I have to say,” she hissed.

  “All right,” John said calmly. He sat on the edge of the bed and crossed his arms, a look of mock expectancy. “Tell me your rationale.”

  Devon wanted to slap the expression away. Her palm itched to do it, but she controlled herself. Finally, she decided to ignore the sarcasm of his expression and proceeded to explain why she believed Firefly could win the Derby. By the time she had finished, she was a little calmer. “And,” she concluded, “if she wears blinkers, I believe we can avoid the problem we saw at the Blue Grass Stakes.”

  “What you’re saying may be true,” John conceded, “but I’ve already made my commitment to O’Neill.”

  At these words, Devon took a step backward as though she herself had been slapped. “So your commitment to O’Neill is more important than my views?”

  “You made a commitment to him, too,” John pointed out.

  “That is correct,” Devon said in a tight voice. “I don’t like to break a commitment and it’s not something I usually do. However, I believe he is being old-fashioned and superstitious in his idea that a filly can’t win the Derby. Firefly proved herself, but he won’t admit it. He’s just being stubborn.”

  “So are you,” John pointed out. “Dammit, Devon, why are you making this a personal quarrel—it’s strictly a business decision. I’m going with the decision of the man I pay to give me his best judgment.”

  Raising her voice, she cried, “But Firefly won the Blue Grass Stakes! Won! If she had only come in second, I would agree with Willy, but she won! I don’t see the dollars-and-cents wisdom of not running a proven winner.”

  How could she make her husband realize the logic of wha
t she was saying? He seemed so distant. Kneeling next to the bed, she pounded a fist into the mattress near John’s thigh. “Don’t you see? I trained Firefly. By myself. I’m not the novice at this that I was when I began. Of course O’Neill is one of the best and I don’t want to lose him. But I don’t want to be controlled by him either. Firefly has all the heart in the world. She can win the Derby. I’m sure of it. She’s never had any health problems.”

  John suddenly softened. “I know you believe that,” he said, stroking Devon’s hair, “and it may even be true. But I can’t let you undermine O’Neill’s authority.”

  “You keep repeating that!” Devon jumped to her feet in exasperation. “I’m not a child who has to be taught my rightful place, but that’s how the two of you are treating me,” she said bitterly.

  What was most hurtful about the men’s attitude was that it seemed to indicate that they had no respect at all for her, despite her proven ability. On the other hand, one part of her acknowledged that she had made a commitment to let Willy pick the Derby horse. But that had been before Fearless Leader’s injury. Before Firefly’s victory. Who could have foreseen such a juxtaposition of events?

  “Can’t you see, John? This way, you’re undermining me! Willy should not have come to you behind my back. That was wrong. He and I work together every day. You aren’t involved in the farm. Every time I ask you to be, you say you haven’t the time.” Devon’s voice became more vehement as she went on. “Why now should he suddenly come to you as though you were a higher authority?”

  John cleared his throat uncomfortably. He seemed to be searching for just the right words, but there was no way to soften the blow of what he said next. “The fact of the matter is that I bought Willowbrook before our marriage. Willy came to work for me with the understanding that he would be in control of the racing operation. I believe strongly, Devon, in the principle of delegating authority to those I hire for that purpose—and not undermining them on a whim. And let me add, ungentlemanly though it may be to remind you, that I am, in fact, the highest authority at Willowbrook.” Devon opened her mouth, angry retort ready, but John interrupted. “And remember, the first day I brought you to Willowbrook, you and I together told O’Neill that he’d have complete control of the racing operation.”