Barn Kitty started purring.
“He was still fighting the booze when he came to work for Meg and me. He’s a fine trainer, Dawn. I honestly don’t know another horseman whose opinion I respect more. Or for that matter, one with such a mouth.”
Gibyag’s stay was short. He’d been the last to track, heading out just as it started to sprinkle, and returned in a downpour. Dawn and Tom hosed his legs, scraped him off and covered him with two blankets. Dawn attempted to hand-walk him then, while Tom rushed to finish his stall. The path down the middle of the shedrow was soon a slippery, sloshy mess. She almost got stepped on twice, through no fault of her own or Gibyag’s. And with each pass, she became wearier.
When Tom waved her in, they quickly rubbed Gibyag down and put a dry blanket on him, and were headed for a much-needed cup of steaming-hot coffee. Suddenly, from under the eaves appeared three figures in slickers, smiling like a sunny day.
Hunter-jumper people. It had to be.
“Excuse me...”
It was a man and two women. The man’s accent was lovely.
Dawn smiled. “Yes?”
“We’re with the Foxborough Hunt Stable and scouting for new talent, so to speak.”
Dawn was amazed at how they always came in groups of three, regardless of which stable they were from. Equally amazing, was how they always seemed to look alike and almost always had an English spokesperson. A tall, lanky one.
“Are there horses for sale in this barn?”
“I don’t believe so.”
One of the women stepped forward. “That handsome gent you were just walking. The gray. Is he negotiable?”
Dawn couldn’t help smiling again. Two English accents. “I don’t think so,” she said. And they all turned in the direction of Gibyag’s stall, just in time to see Tom backing out of the one next to it, zipping up his jeans.
No problem. The trio didn’t seem the least bit ruffled, as if urinating in a stall was proper horsemen’s etiquette. Tom smiled as he walked by them, and the two women smiled back as the man spoke to Dawn. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to inquire with the gray’s owner to see if...”
Ben emerged slowly from the tack room upon hearing this. “Make me an offer and I’ll contact him, but I can almost guarantee you he won’t sell. He’s worth more as a racehorse.”
The trio sloshed their way down the muddy path and peered in at Gibyag. “He looks pretty sound,” the man surmised. “Mind if I feel his legs?”
“Not at all,” Ben said, adding his own rendition of an English accent. “He’s as sound as a bell of brass.”
Dawn walked into the tack room and exchanged a knowing smile with Tom. Ben loved it when hunter-jumper people came around, although he’d never admit it. They always brought out a little of the old horsetrader in him.
While the eldest of the women held onto Gibyag’s halter, the man went over him very carefully, skillfully. Meanwhile the drumming rain on the tin roof had stopped, and the youngest of the three made a decision. You could see it in her face. She wanted this horse. All she needed was a slight nod of approval from the man, and then she turned to Ben.
“How old is he, please?”
“Eight.”
“What tag does he run for?” the man asked, coming out under the webbing and trying to appear less than anxious. Gray horses were dear as jumpers, not to mention one standing healthy at seventeen-two.
“Thirty-five hundred.”
“I’ll give you that for him.”
Ben smiled, definitely enjoying this. “I’m sure you would. But he’s sitting on a win. His share of the pot’ll be close to twenty-seven hundred. I won’t even bother my owner unless you match that, the claiming price, and then some.”
The man stroked his chin, thinking for a moment. “I’ll give you seventy-five hundred for him.”
“I’ll ask. Stop back later.”
The young woman inquired about the horse’s name.
“It’s Gibyag,” Ben said, smiling when the girl’s eyes lit up at the sound of it.
“Oh, that’s beautiful. He looks like a Gibyag.”
Ben shrugged. He didn’t know there was such a thing. This was when Dave arrived with a dozen donuts, an apparent annoyance to the threesome until Ben indicated that he was Gibyag’s owner.
As Ben took Dave into the tack room to discuss the offer, Tom exited in a hurry. He had a thing about avoiding any and all owner-trainer negotiations. He tipped his hat to the two women in passing, melting the generation gap with his Marlboro Man smile. And vanished.
Dawn always took Tom’s lead when becoming scarce was in order, and sat down on a bale of straw in the shedrow to wait. Ben emerged a few minutes later, a good time for her to hurry in and get the donuts.
“The price is twelve thousand...firm.” He motioned over his shoulder at Dave. “The man really doesn’t want to sell.”
“Will you give us a moment?” the gentleman said.
Ben nodded, and when they huddled, winked at Dawn as she slipped past them to sit back down on the bale of straw. The conference didn’t last long.
“We’ll pick him up in the morning,” the man said. “Is it all right if I give you a check for him now?”
Dave said a check was fine. Ben looked it over then and handed it to him, and the deal was made. Ben said he’d have the papers ready for them tomorrow, and they shook hands.
As the three walked away, Dawn overheard the older woman telling the man about what a steal Gibyag was, and how she probably would have given a few thousand more for him if they’d asked for it, that he was probably worth it, and...
Dawn wolfed down the rest of her donut, called Ben out, and motioned for him to walk with her down the shedrow. “I need to show you something in the fifth stall,” she said, for Dave’s benefit.
Ben couldn’t imagine what, as he followed her. The fifth stall was empty. Since it was so late in the year, they’d been using it just for icing horses.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Dawn whispered. “I just didn’t want Dave to think...”
When she told him what the woman had said, Ben smiled. “Listen. He could’ve been claimed for thirty-five hundred, and there’s no guarantee he would’ve won. We just got twelve thousand with no risks. Every time you lead a horse his age over there, you take a chance. A bigger chance. Who knows how many more trips he had.”
“But...?”
“Look at it this way. Surviving all the trainers he has, he deserves to retire sound. Besides, between you and me, he should be a hunter. He’s got the personality for it.”
Dawn didn’t disagree. She just didn’t understand. “But he’s a good racehorse. And like you said, he’s still sound.”
“Right.” Ben nodded. “And you want to know why? Because he never ran hard enough to hurt himself. He’s a Thoroughbred, Dawn, but that don’t mean he wants to be a racehorse. If you could ask him, he’d probably say so. And let’s not forget the most important thing here. The smile on that little girl’s face.”
Dawn marveled. He was such a softy.
“Why, he’ll be pampered and never want for anything. He’ll have it made, and I say God bless him.”
Dawn smiled, and as he walked back to the tack room, thought about what he’d told her a long time ago about class.
“And another thing,” Ben said, stopping and looking back at her. “You say they would’ve given a few thousand more. Then the way I figure it, we split the difference. Because Dave had already agreed to take a few thousand less.”
Gibyag shipped the following morning, less than a month from the day he’d arrived, and with just two weeks left in Dawn’s first racing season. She was looking forward to the time off, but admittedly, was going to miss the track. Most of the trainers at Nottingham shipped elsewhere to race after the meet, but not Ben. Occasionally he shipped a horse to another trainer for the winter, but more often than not, they were given the time off and turned out. Tom planned on migrating to Florida, as
he did every year, and Dawn was going to work on her book. Her novel.
She sighed, remembering the day Ben suggested she write it, that morning, as if it were yesterday. “How’s a hundred-fifty a week to start. That’s pretty standard. Plus you’ll get stakes.”
“Stakes?”
Ben nodded. “Kinda like a tip when a horse you groom wins.”
Dawn hesitated.
“What? Not enough money?”
Dawn shook her head. No, it wasn’t the money. Actually, it was everything but the money.
“You’ll get afternoons off when there’s nothing in. You and Tom can rotate feeding, plus Mondays and Tuesdays when there’s no racing. It’ll be a lot of work. Hard work. And I have to be able to count on you. So if you don’t think...”
Perhaps hard work was exactly what she needed. Because maybe, just maybe, if she worked as hard as she possibly could, she’d be able to distance herself from her past and give some meaning to the future. How insane, she thought. What was working at a racetrack going to do? How would it help? How would anything help?
“What’s the problem?” Ben said.
“Nothing. I guess I uh, just wish I knew more about what I was doing.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn,” Ben said. “And you’re going to love it.”
He’d sounded so positive, never a doubt. And with the season almost over now, she had to admit, she did love it. All of it.
Ben told her that every year, when it got close to the end of the season, he always thought of retiring. “Sometimes I sit here and wonder if I want to come back. Especially when the years haven’t been as good as this one.”
He looked from her to Tom, then shrugged and stared off, and they both knew he was thinking about Meg now, the summer she died. Dawn reached over and squeezed his hand, and he glanced at her for a second, then nodded, and took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.
“Yep, it’s been a good year,” he said, and he wasn’t just referring to the six stakes Beau won, or how well most of the other horses had done. “There’s gonna come a day when I will retire though. And I’m gonna sit on my front porch, maybe even get me a rocking chair, and do nothing but watch Beau’s offspring grow. Lord knows the Ohio breeding program could use a good stud.” He sighed, then smiled and put his glasses back on. “But Beau’s not done with this racing business yet, and neither am I.”
“Well, you can count me in for next year,” Dawn said.
Ben grinned. “I never doubted it for a second.”
Tom didn’t like it when the old man got sentimental, because it made him feel sentimental then, and that wasn’t in keeping with his image. He was glad it had passed. He propped his feet on the tack trunk, tipped his hat back, and pulled a toothpick out of his shirt pocket. “Well, I’ll be back. That is, unless some rich broad holds me down and won’t let me go. Hell, maybe she’ll have a daughter, or a sister, or maybe a Momma that’s richer.” He raised his eyes, liking the sound of that, and went right into his own version of “Momma’s gonna buy me a new pair of shoes.”
Dawn had been an eager apprentice, and had learned about as much as an aspiring horseman could. She’d bathed, brushed, done up, and picked and shoveled her fair share. She’d been kicked, broken a finger, and sprained an ankle in the process. She’d weathered rain, heat, hail, and snow...sunshine and a flood. And all the while, had become more attached to Ben and Tom, and deeper and deeper in love with Beau Born.
She’d had the pleasure of standing in the winner’s circle on many occasions, but learned to accept the reality of returning to the barn a loser on even more. She found out firsthand what it was like to have a horse she was fond of claimed from them, had seen numerous horses come and go, and even managed to get talked into betting a week’s pay on a horse that couldn’t lose, but did. She’d been teased, set-up, laughed at, laughed with, and cared about, and somewhere in the midst of all this she’d started to put her life back together. Of course she’d be here next year. The racetrack was a part of her now.
They were down to one race.
The Overton.
And Beau was favored to win.
Chapter Four
Ben always breezed Beau a half mile two days before a race to get him tight, to bring his conditioning to a peak, and as usual, Tom and Red had to help Miguel pull him up.
“Jesus!” Miguel jumped off at the gap and walked along with Ben. “I have a strangle hold on heem! Look!” Deeply etched grooves from the reins were still visible in his palms. “I say no one will beat heem.”
Ben wished the man would talk slower. His accent made him hard enough to understand. “Just don’t come to the paddock...”
“No problem, Mr. Miller. I am straight.”
Ben glanced at him, wondering. Half the time he could swear the man was higher than a kite.
“Thank you for naming me on heem. I tell my agent no more you take me off the Miller horse.”
Ben nodded sarcastically. “I don’t suppose looking up Beau’s ass in the Ballymore had anything to do with convincing him, now did it?”
Miguel didn’t answer, knowing anything he’d say would only aggravate Ben more. Besides, it was true. He waved instead, and ducked into one of the barns.
“Agents,” Ben told Dawn, “most of them anyway, are nothing but handicappers with a part-time job.” Another of his pet peeves.
“Do they ever pick the right horse?”
“Sometimes,” Ben said. “But it ain’t often.”
A person didn’t have to be around Ben long to know who and what he liked and didn’t like. He was brutally honest and always said what was on his mind. Always.
Dawn gave Beau a quick bath, since the temperature was dropping, and after scraping him off, covered him with two blankets and offered him a drink of water. He played with it, smacking his lips and splashing her, his lack of thirst another indication of his fitness.
From under the eaves of the barn, Ben watched as Dawn hung Beau on the walking machine, and was deep in thought, contemplating the days ahead, when she appeared at his side.
“I still don’t understand why you named Miguel back on him. Tom says he’s the biggest doper on the track, and will stiff a horse in a minute if...”
“You don’t always have choices, Dawn.”
This was the same answer he’d given her before. “Why? Why not?”
Ben glanced at her, then sighed and explained, reluctantly, because the fact of the matter bothered him as well. “Miguel fits Beau better than any rider here. He’s a tough horse to ride and Miguel gets the job done. It’s as simple as that.”
“But he wasn’t on him in the Ballymore, and...”
“That race was a little easier than this one, and don’t forget I named him on the horse. I wanted him then, and I want him now. This late in the year and what with the track the way it is, I’ve got to take my best shot.”
“What if he holds him?”
Ben smiled. “Claimers are where you have to watch him. He’s too smart to stiff a horse with this much money involved.”
Dawn nodded hopefully, thinking, we’ll see, and just then a large bay horse came running down between the barns. No tack, no halter, no direction. And drawing shouts from points near and far.
“Loose horse!”
“Loose horse!”
“Shit!”
“Loose horse!”
Always, as with any loose horse, you either try to catch it or get out of its way. The safest route is just to get out of its way, but it could very well be your horse next time, so...
“Turn the machine off!” Ben yelled. Dawn was already headed for the switch. All the horses started going crazy in their stalls. Beau started rearing, then leaping in the air and kicking out. Ben couldn’t get near him. And damned if the loose horse didn’t trot right up between the two of them.
“Turn it back on!” Ben yelled. “Turn it on!”
Dawn hit the switch again.
Majorama snapped the top of her webbing,
leaning all her weight against it, kicking and bucking. Dawn ran to shut the bottom door of her stall. When she turned, her heart sank.
Beau was pulling back on the walking machine arm, striking out at the loose horse, and the loose horse was striking back. Ben was helpless. He couldn’t even begin to get close to them. With each strike, one would then leap. The machine would yank Beau forward. He’d fight it, yanking back, and would strike again. Then down through the barn area came Tom on Red, leading Third Time A Lady.
One look, and he yelled for Dawn to come get her. He jumped off Red and slapped him on the rear. Red trotted down the shedrow and into his stall, and Dawn led Lady quickly in the opposite direction.
“Whoa...” Tom said, arms spread as he approached the machine. By now, Bob Graptor had come out of his barn and was attempting to do the same from the other side.
“Whoa...easy now. Whoa...”
Something spooked the loose horse. It jumped low to the ground. Beau squealed! And the two of them struck at each other again.
“Oh shit!” Tom said under his breath. It would’ve been too much to hope that it could’ve been a filly or a mare. It was a goddamned stud horse. Battle lines drawn. “That’s just great!” he said in a soothing voice as he advanced. “Let’s talk about who’s got the biggest balls.”
Beau stomped the ground.
The loose horse stomped back.
“Easy now...” Tom came around the inside of Beau, figuring it to be the only option at the moment, with both horses squared off, necks bowed and squealing. Timing his move precisely, he grabbed Beau’s halter, yanked back on it, and with the other hand, reached up and grabbed hold of the loose horse’s ear.
No horse alive likes its ears handled, let alone one head-shy, as a lot of stud colts are from being continuously corrected since the day they were born. It started backing up in high gear. Toward the barn. Through the ditch. And into the shedrow...with Tom still holding onto its ear.
“Go ahead, cocksucker!” Tom kept saying. “Go ahead!”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 4