Piper shrugged. "I'm a minimalist. I don't need much." She knew she was being flippant, but this whole senseless confrontation brought out the worst in her.
"A minimalist with a luxurious room, three square meals a day, servants to wash your clothes and clean your room, a stable of horses for you to exercise, and a benefactor known as a father to pay for everything you have."
"Everything except paying for jockey school," Piper cried. Sucking in a breath to check her temper, she said in a restrained voice, "Actually, I've been thinking about getting an apartment and working at a bigger training center, maybe hiring on as an exerciser at one of the major racetracks."
Her father let out a sarcastic grunt. "When you do, be sure they know you're green."
"I'm not green."
"You would be at a racetrack. There are rules. Horses get loose. Accidents happen when new riders start galloping there without sufficient experience or without telling trainers and other riders they're new."
"You know I can handle horses. I've ridden rank, hard to control horses here, some so high spirited they about pulled my arms off, and when I'm thrown I get back on and keep going. At a racetrack I'd get a salary. Even if I went freelance, if I rode six to eight horses a day and did the grooming I'd make enough to rent an apartment and pay my bills, and somewhere along the way a trainer would realize I'm actually a good rider and hire me to jockey their horses."
Nana, who'd been sitting quietly on her usual tufted Victorian chair, straightened her back and jabbed her cane against the floor in agitation. "What you should be doing, my girl, is getting this ridiculous idea of being a jockey out of your head and going to college!"
"The world doesn't revolve around a college degree, and college won't make me a jockey," Piper shot back. "And if it means moving out of this house, that's what I'll do. Anne moved out and she's managed just fine."
Nana gave a sharp, "Hurrumph!" planted her cane against the floor again and said, "Anne got herself pregnant and ended up marrying a cowboy when she could have gone to college and met a man with means."
"Joe's taking good care of Anne and Joey, they're happier than any couple I know, and they have a community of friends and family to turn to if they need help. And Joe's a very nice guy. Y'all might find that out if you'd take time to get to know him."
Harrison gave an ironic huff. "I know enough. Those Cajuns are all alike. All they're interested in is having loud parties."
"They're called fais do-dos and they're family get-togethers," Piper fired back, her voice rising with her irritation.
"Since when do you know so much about what goes on over there?"
Piper was tempted to tell him where she spent the afternoon and evening and who she was with in the shed row, but after having explained away her resale dress by saying she'd been to a funny-dress party, she decided to err on the side of moderation. "Since part of my match race agreement with Henri Broussard was to exercise his racing quarter horses for a couple of weeks if I lost the race. Which means I won't be exercising more than two or three horses a day here until then, so Mick will have to factor that in. Of course, if you and Mick recognized me as a feasible jockey I might be able to work up some enthusiasm here."
"Wait a minute! You're going to the Broussards every day?"
"Yes, and I'm loving it. As for knowing what goes on, in case you forgot, Anne's married to a Broussard and I've taken the time to get to know him and the others."
Harrison eyed her, warily. "Which others?"
"Joe has five brothers."
"Then listen up. I may have one daughter married to a Cajun, but I'll see hell freeze over before seeing another." Turning abruptly, he marched out of the room.
***
The following morning, after Piper finished galloping Henri's horses, she saw that Edgar Robichau had joined Henri and Ace at the training track. She was disturbed to see that he wore a helmet and safety vest, held a whip, and had his racing saddle propped on his hip. The thought that he'd been hired to exercise Rags and maybe ride her in her next race had Piper's heart thumping in dismay. She wanted to ask questions but realized she wasn't a part of the equation.
Unable to quell the need to learn at least what was about to take place, she said to Edgar, "Is there going to be a match race here today?"
Edgar shook his head. "Henri asked me to take the filly out to stretch her legs."
"Rags?" Piper said, glancing at Henri, hoping she'd read things wrong, that maybe he had a quarter horse filly in the stable that Edgar would be exercising.
Henri nodded. "She's settled in and it's time to get her back on track. She'll be racin' in another claiming race in a couple of weeks."
Piper looked at Ace with a start. "You want to get rid of her?" she asked, feeling her hopes and dreams unraveling with the thought of Rags, her special baby, being claimed and ill-treated, and ultimately coming to an untimely end.
"No, I want her to win the race and the $14,000 purse," Ace replied. "Odds will be heavily against her since it'll be her second-time maiden claiming race, so it's unlikely anyone will claim her with a $9000 claiming price, but she needs a win so we can move her into the local stakes races as a Louisiana-bred filly sired by a standing Louisiana stallion."
Piper figured Ace was right about no one claiming Rags with her unappealing looks and miserable racing record. She also knew her father would be livid when he learned what was in store for Rags later. Putting her in a stakes race would draw attention to the big-eared, mouse-brown, misfit progeny of Ramblin' Man and the prospect of future Ramblin' Man offspring looking like her. "You're pretty confident for someone with a filly that's spent the last two weeks lounging around in a foot of rice straw after losing every race she's run," she said to Ace. "What makes you think she'll win this one?"
Ace caught his grandfather's eye. "Word came down from the top that she's got it in her, and I've already bet my money on it."
"You've bet on the upcoming race?"
"No, I sank $5500 claimin' her and I aim to recover it and then some."
Piper bit back the urge to pitch her rationale for being the one to exercise Rags instead of Edgar since she knew Rags in a way Edgar didn't, but it was a dead end. Edgar was primed and ready to ride, and Henri was calling the shots.
After shrugging out of her vest and removing her helmet, she said, "Then I guess I'm finished for the day."
When she turned to grab her saddle and pink bag off a bench and leave, Ace took her arm to stop her. "Hang around. It could be entertaining. Beauty was peeved when I went to check on her, peeked up at me with one eye and closed it again, letting me know she wasn't finished sleeping."
Aware of the big hand wrapped around her arm, Piper squared her shoulders and ratcheted up her chin to curb the flutters in her chest, and said, "She's been called Rags since she was born. Calling her Beauty will confuse her."
His hand still holding her arm, Ace said in a quiet, thoughtful voice, "Rags are throwaways, and when I claimed her that's what she was. Is that how you think of her?"
Piper found herself blinking rapidly, like a girly girl, which irritated her. "I'll never think of her as a throwaway, but Beauty doesn't work. It's superficial and she'll know you don't mean it."
Ace released her arm. "She won't know unless she looks in a mirror, but right now all she knows is she's not finished snoozin' and anyone aimin' to exercise her better be ready for a rough ride." He turned to Edgar, who raised his whip and said, "Bring her on. I'm ready."
Piper started to tell Edgar that Rags was apt to throw a full-fledged tantrum if whipped, then decided to keep her mouth shut and see what Edgar, a top pro, would do. She'd gone round and round on the subject of whipping Rags with Mick and lost the argument every time because Mick was of the typical mindset that without using the stick the horse wouldn't try, that the threat of pain was the trigger to getting the best out of a horse in the homestretch.
She glanced at Henri, who said nothing, and she suspected his position was t
he same as Mick's. Ace was more right than he knew though. Rags hated working in the early morning and whips made her as obstinate and inflexible as a human two-year-old.
Gator, the youngest of the Broussard brothers, whose job was to groom and hotwalk the racing horses, which now included Rags, led her out of the stable and tacked her up with Edgar's racing saddle and turned her over to Henri, who said to Edgar. "Start her out in a jog to warm her up, then a three furlong gallop at around 42 seconds."
Edgar nodded. "Got it."
Gator gave Edgar a leg up and Edgar turned Rags onto the track, but when he raised his whip and gave her a sharp swat to get her jogging, Rags threw the equivalent of an equine temper tantrum, bolting forward then swerving and zigzagging down the track like a crazed horse fleeing a predator. When Edgar attempted to rein her in, she bolted and ran faster. When he tried to steer her to the right, she swerved left. Pulling her around had her raising her nose high in the air, fighting the command and veering sharply in the opposite direction. When Edgar tried to gain control by giving her several sharp smacks with the whip to get her running straight, she arched her neck and dug in her hooves, coming to an abrupt halt while throwing Edgar sharply forward, then took off down the track as if stung by a swarm of bees.
Ace, who watched intently as Rags charged around the track with her ears flat back while fighting Edgar's commands, said to Henri, "She's got a fire in her belly but it's not for runnin'. It's for gettin' rid of a rider who's forcin' her to do something she doesn't want to do and she's feedin' off Edgar's frustration."
"You're beginnin' to get the picture," Henri said. "She wants to run but on her own terms, which is why she's turned her competitive instincts against her rider. That's also why she's been losin' races." Cupping his hands around his mouth, Henri called to Edgar as Rags barreled down the track towards them, saying, "Toss the whip and let her go. No commands."
Edgar tossed the whip and did as Henri instructed, and Rags took off down the track, running toward the infield as if about to jump the rail. Finding no resistance from Edgar, she dropped that ploy and raced full speed down the track. On careening past Henri the second time and getting no order to stop, Edgar allowed Rags to continue around the track while gaining speed, her unchecked pace slowed only by her free-for-all weaving and swerving all over the track. Whether because she was liberated to do as she pleased or because she was still attempting to dislodge Edgar was anyone's guess. Either way, Rags's ears were no longer flat. Instead, she was racing with them flapping around with her speed, a filly running on her own terms.
After four laps around the track, the equivalent of two miles of flat-out running against no resistance, Rags came to a halt and stood panting, yet her ears remained up. Still, Edgar gave no command but sat waiting for what the filly would do next, which was to turn out of the track and saunter over to the shed row, where Edgar dismounted.
"Give her a treat," Henri called out.
"I'll get her toy." Piper rushed over to her pink bag and retrieved the chicken and offered it to Rags, while saying, "Good girl. Here you go."
Rags bobbed her head in excitement, and with an exaggerated arch of her lips, took the toy in her teeth and started shaking it vigorously, the rash of squeaks bringing a round of laughter from the onlookers.
While Rags continued flapping the rubber chicken, Henri turned her over to Gator and said, "Unsaddle her and walk her around the shed row to cool her down."
"Come on, muffinhead," Gator said with affection, seeming amused to be hot-walking a filly with a rubber chicken bobbing up and down in her mouth, which had the rest of them chuckling.
As the ruckus diminished while they walked down the shed row, Piper said to Henri, "If you want, I'll hose her down when Gator's through hot walking her. She loves it when I do because I let her play with the water."
"Go ahead then," Henri replied. "Stall her afterwards and come back here and we'll talk."
Fifteen minutes later, as Piper hosed Rags, allowing her to bite the water emerging from the hose while cooling her down in a way the filly loved, she could barely contain her excitement that Henri might be considering letting her exercise Rags. His words definitely sounded hopeful, which would also give her a chance to prove she was the right jockey.
After shutting off the hose and scraping the last of the water from Rags's coat, Piper reached into her pocket, and finding a peppermint, unwrapped it and held it up. Rags let out a little whinny of excitement, and opening her mouth wide, stuck out her tongue, where Piper placed it.
As she crunched on the candy, Piper said, "Okay, Sleeping Beauty, now you can finish your nap." She led Rags into her stall, where the filly acknowledged Gumbo with a horse-goat head nuzzle, then lowered herself onto her bed of fresh rice straw, gave a long sigh of contentment, stretched out on her side and closed her eyes. When Piper didn't leave at once, Rags opened one eye halfway, as if peeking out the way Ace described, then gave another sigh, one of slight irritation, and closed her eye. Taking the hint, Piper left the stall and headed down the shed row.
On rejoining the men, she found them gathered around Edgar's truck and Edgar saying to Henri, "Thanks for the match race and the workout. I've got to get back to the family. Tomorrow we're headin' for Florida and Gulfstream Park so we can settle in for the winter racing season."
Which answered Piper's main question. Edgar would not be exercising Rags.
Henri slapped Edgar on the back. "You plan to come visit your folks anytime soon?"
Edgar shrugged. "Slot me in to ride that thoroughbred filly in a race and I just might give it some thought." He shook Henri's hand, wrapped Ace on the shoulder and swung up into his truck, leaving Piper standing with her stomach in a knot with the thought that Edgar Robichau had just stolen her chance to break into racing. And she had only two weeks to convince Henri she was the better match for Rags.
Turning her attention to Henri, she waited for him to initiate whatever was on his mind, which he did. "The filly hasn't been handled right," he started in. "First off, whips should be used only for giving instruction. Nothing sours a young racer quicker than bein' punished for runnin' its heart out. Smart horses figure it out quickly."
"I know, and it's been a bone of contention between me and my father's trainer," Piper said. "From Rag's angle, why give it everything she's got when she's being flogged, so instead of running faster she slows down, and I know that's half the reason she'd been losing races."
Henri looked at her with curiosity, and interest. "When she was a weanling, how did she act with the others?"
"If you mean was she an alpha female. Absolutely. Whenever they raced around the pasture in a group she was very aggressive about bulldozing her way to the front. If she were in a herd of wild horses, she'd definitely be lead mare."
Henri peered down the track, his expression introspective. As if visualizing what had taken place shortly before, he said in a reflective tone, "She's got it in her to run like the wind, but she can't be pushed or she'll push back. And she needs gate trainin'. Ace told me she refused to run at Evangeline Downs a couple months back. Tracks and bettors don't like this so she's gotta be re-schooled or she'll lose her gate card. Those old walk-up starts were a better way to go. Just walk up to the line and run when the bell rings, but those days are gone."
Piper had a newfound respect for Henri Broussard, who understood horse's minds, unlike Mick, who trained by force and subjugation. And there was no question, Rags was a mentally gifted horse. "I agree with everything you said, but my father's trainer's from a different school, and horses like Rags act up because of it."
"Can you follow orders?" Henri held Piper's gaze and waited.
"If you're asking if I'd follow your orders when exercising Rags, yes. I'm used to being on autopilot when given instructions, even when I disagree with the trainer."
"Then be ready tomorrow mornin' to start workin' her. Ace'll help with the gate trainin'. He knows the way we do it here, and you'll be paid for exercisin' h
er and the others. We'll go over details in the mornin'." Henri walked away, leaving Piper staring after him in shocked surprise.
"It looks like you got your way," Ace said.
Piper glanced over at Ace. "I won't deny my goal all along has been to exercise Rags. Like I told you, she was my baby, the little foal I breathed life into, and I thought eventually my father and Mick would see in her what your grandfather sees."
"So I'll ask you again. Was dancing with me yesterday part of your plan to get me to put pressure on my grandfather to put you where you are now?"
"That's absurd, but since you brought it up, did you put pressure on him?"
"No, Edgar did."
"Why?"
"Because he thinks you're a good jockey."
"I'm surprised because he didn't handle Rags the way I would've. Rags is a playful horse, and when force is used on her it takes away the fun and she balks, which is why she threw a conniption fit out there with Edgar."
"Actually, Edgar did what my grandfather asked, ride the way most jockeys would so he could see how she'd behave, which was what he expected, especially after I relayed what you told me about the time she plowed her way through the field and came out battered. He knew then she couldn't be forced against her will. I wish I'd been clocking when she took that last run around the track today though. By then she'd forgotten about Edgar and was in it for the sheer thrill of runnin'."
"I know the feeling. It's that hot-rodding thing and the mind-boggling high you get during the homestretch, only Rags was the hot rod and she was firing all cylinders."
"Speaking of which, there'll be several match races here next Sunday and a fais do-do afterward. Maybe you'll come to the fais do-do and wear that dress again."
"Would that slot me in as a possible jockey for Rags when she runs in two weeks?"
"That's for my grandfather to decide, and Robichau just threw his hat in the ring."
"But you could have some influence, maybe put in a good word for me."
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 9