“So you just ponied horses?”
“No, actually the first ten or fifteen years, I was an exercise boy. Somewhere along the line I got my trainer’s license and did okay from what people tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Booze. It clouded my memory.”
“What made you stop drinking?”
Tom looked at her. “A drunk driver. Me. I almost killed someone, a little boy.”
“Is this boy okay?”
Tom nodded. “Thank God” he said, and paused. “Jesus, how many times have I said that thank God?”
Randy pulled up next to the barn, got out of his truck, and walked inside. Tom welcomed the diversion. “Is everything okay?” Randy asked. Lights on in the barn at this time of night was not the norm.
“Yeah,” Tom said, motioning to the task at hand.
Wendy smiled. “He’s doing a very good job.”
Randy chuckled. “He’s a perfectionist to a fault.” He glanced in at All Together, a habit. She pinned her ears. She never did forgive him for all the treatment she endured in healing her leg injury. “I love you too,” he said, when she turned her backside to him.
Tom glanced up as Randy sat down on the bench just inside the tack room.
“Dawn got a great video of Beau.”
Randy nodded and yawned. It was nice, just sitting, the sounds of the horses munching hay, sighing. “I just came from Shifting Gears.”
“How is everything there?”
“Oh, full.” Randy yawned again. “I don’t know how those women do it.”
“Shifting gears?” Wendy said.
Tom finished up the second boot and set is aside. “It’s a Thoroughbred Rescue, Rehab, and Re-home farm. They go above and beyond.”
“Are there a lot that need rescued?”
“One is more than I care to see,” Randy said. “They get their share, but they have success stories too.”
Tom nodded. “I told Karen I’d come get on that Ricochet mare when she’s ready. She’s going to be tough first couple of times under saddle.”
“Be tied on,” Randy said. The mare had a reputation on the racetrack for rearing and was ruled off for flipping in the paddock.
Tom nodded.
“Well, I’m going to call it a day. Good night, you two.”
“Good night, Randy.”
Wendy picked up her boots. “Are they good to go?”
“Let them dry overnight. You should probably wear them tomorrow to get them formed to your feet while the leather is still soft.”
Wendy smiled. “Maybe I’ll sleep in them.”
Tom laughed. “I’ve done that.” He walked with her to her car. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, closing her door when she got in behind the wheel. He hesitated. “It’s nice getting to know you, Wendy.”
“You too,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a busy morning, a rainy morning, a crazy morning. A full moon hovered high above the dark swirling clouds. “Now that’s just not normal,” Tom said, astride Red standing just outside the shedrow, decked out in a slicker, plastic cover on his hard hat, and waiting for B-Bo. “Come on, Dawn! Let’s go!”
B-Bo would not take the bit, which could and would, be another bad omen, had this not been a consistent habit of his. She stuck her finger in the soft area between his teeth, pressed, tickled. Sometimes it worked. Not today. She heard Tom and Red slosh-sloshing their way down the shedrow. “Sometime today would be nice,” Tom said.
Dawn gave him a look and tried again, pressed and tickled the opposite side of B-Bo’s gum. He opened his mouth. Not all the way, but enough. Juan Garcia stood in the doorway of the tack room, waiting. When Tom turned Red back around, Juan stopped a groom hotwalking a horse coming around the corner. Dawn led B-Bo down the shedrow, handed him to Tom, gave Juan a leg up, and stepped back out of the way.
“I could be home dry and warm writing a racetrack novel,” Dawn yelled after them.
Tom looked back at her, the rain dripping in streams off his hard hat, and started singing, “Ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby, nothing like the real thing….”
Ben had walked up to the racetrack about ten minutes earlier and was holed up in the kitchen peering out the steamy window pane. “I’m too old for this,” he said to himself. When he spotted Tom on Red leading B-Bo down through the barn area his face lit up. The rain was supposed to stop later this morning and not rain again until late Sunday. Being a closer, B-Bo liked an off racetrack. If the weatherman was right for a change, the track would be in ideal condition.
At the moment, the track was sloppy but hard on the bottom, not torn up yet. It was early. B-Bo was done up in all fours, rundown patches adhered. His tail was tied up so as not to get muddy, standard racetrack practice. He was dancing and prancing.
Ben walked outside and over to the tiny overhang on the back of the track kitchen. Juan gave him a thumbs up. Ben nodded and glanced at the swirling dark clouds, the moon. There were some that didn’t believe in the practice of breezing a horse the day before a race. But Ben was “old school,” particularly with a colt as big and strong as B-Bo. He’d laid the groundwork with B-Bo and he was fit enough to run two races back-to-back. This breeze was just to put him on his toes and get him focused.
B-Bo knew the routine and was all business. As Tom ponied him around to the backside, he got more and more on the muscle with each stride. The plan was to breeze 3/16ths of a mile down the lane. As they approached the far turn Ben stepped out from under the eaves into the downpour, watched as Tom turned them loose, watched as Juan dropped him down on the rail, watched as B-Bo ate up the racetrack and galloped out strong.
The clocker’s phone rang. Ben picked it up.
“B-Bo, was that a work, Ben?”
“Nope, just putting a little air in him.”
“Impressive,” the clocker said. “Glad I didn’t have to report you to the owner for not calling in the work. I hear he’s a real son of a bitch.”
Ben laughed.
Dawn had B-Bo’s stall done, had Wee Born ready to pony, and did a trade-off of the two horses with Juan’s help. “I be back in half hour,” Juan said, ducking immediately into B-Bo’s stall to take a pee.
Dawn hosed B-Bo’s chest, legs and stomach, scraped him off, and threw a cooler sheet on him. She had a bucket of fresh water hanging on the hook up by the tack room and after walking him a lap around the shedrow, let him have a drink. He smacked his lips, splashing her.
“As if I’m not wet enough,” she said. She walked him around and around the shedrow, stopping each time to let him drink if he wanted, and put him in his stall about twenty minutes later when she saw Tom coming back with Wee Born.
“You have to tack Whinny.” Whinny was Winning Beau’s nickname.
Dawn took Wee Born over to hose her off. She was covered in mud from head to toe. “How is that possible?” The filly rubbed up against her. “Oh Lord.” Now Dawn had mud all over her.
Tom dismounted Red and the pony walked down the shedrow and into his stall. Tom grabbed the tack for Winning Beau, did her legs up and tail, saddled her, and then walked down to help Dawn scrape off Wee Born. “What time’s Juan coming back?”
Dawn pushed up her soggy sleeve to look at her watch. “About ten minutes.”
Tom put a cooler on Wee Born and wiped off her face with a towel.
“I’ll get her stall real quick,” Dawn said, handing him the lead shank. “Here.” She hurried and did the filly’s stall, made a big pile in the center, then switched and took Wee Born next time around so Tom could haul out the piled manure and straw with a pitchfork. In a hurry, doing it this way and not with a muck basket worked well, but it was way too heavy for Dawn to lift, so Tom always did it. As he was heading out to the manure bin, Wendy came walking down between the two barns. He looked at her. “It’s a shitty job, but someone has to do it.”
She chuckled. He looked like he was
in costume, covered from head to toe in slicker, plastic pants, and plastic covered hard hat.
“Look at you in them boots,” he said. “Looking good, woman!”
Wendy laughed. Business suit, socks up to her knees, boots and all. “Is Dawn here?”
He nodded, motioned to the barn, and then motioned for her to look out. Dawn was walking Wee Born around the end of the shedrow and the filly was all wound up.
“Loose horse!” someone yelled from a barn away.
Dawn hurried and led Wee Born into her stall to wait. At Tom’s urging, Wendy rushed into the tack room. Tom went out into the road, looked one way then the other in the rain and saw the horse coming. He and two other grooms corralled the horse between the barn and the building that housed the restrooms.
“Easy, easy…whoa…whoa….” Tom got a hold of the horse’s lead shank and turned him over to one of the grooms. “We got him!” he yelled to Dawn above the din of the rain pelting the roof. Dawn led Wee Born out of her stall and continued walking her, Wendy waited in the safety of the tack room amidst all the activity. Tom finished Wee Born’s stall, bed it, filled her haynet, dumped her water bucket, filled it with fresh water, and motioned the stall was ready.
Juan ducked under the eaves of the shedrow, no gutters, drip-drip, and shook off the rain. He glanced in the tack room. “Morning.”
Wendy smiled. “Good morning.” Tom finished tacking Whinny, led her out of the stall, handed the reins to Juan and whistled for Red. He moseyed out of his stall and down the shedrow. Tom gave Juan a leg up, then mounted Red, took hold of the filly’s rein and off they went to the track. He glanced back at Wendy when she peeked out from around the edge of the tack room door.
“What time are we looking at doing the offices thing?”
“Twelve-fifteen.”
“I’ll see you then!”
Wendy sucked back into the tack room when she saw Dawn leading Wee Born around the corner a final time, waited until she’d put the horse in its stall, and walked down to talk to her. “I thought I’d come get the video and save you the trip. I knew with it raining….”
“Thank you,” Dawn said. “It’s on the shelf above Ben’s desk. It came out really good. I put it to music.”
Wendy took off toward the tack room, slipping and sliding as she dodged other horses and hotwalkers, and Dawn hurried down to do Winning Beau’s stall. With a little luck, she’d have it done before they got back and a moment or two to sit down and have a cup of coffee.
It didn’t happen.
With all the sounds of the heavy rain on the roof and still operating off the high of breezing, B-Bo got all wound up in his stall and broke out in a sweat. Dawn blanketed him with a clean, dry sheet and started walking him around the shedrow again. With the downpour and no use of walking machines, by now it was a convoy of horses being cooled out under the shedrow. By the time Tom and Juan got back to the barn with Whinny, B-Bo had calmed down a little, but not enough to put him away. Dawn kept walking him, Tom took care of Whinny, and it started raining harder.
“Fuck this!” Tom said.
Dawn looked back over her shoulder at him. He was two horses behind her. “My sentiments exactly,” she said. “Kinda sorta.”
Tom laughed.
Another two laps and Dawn put B-Bo back into his stall, kept the cooler on him, and watched him for a moment. When he started eating hay out of his hay net, she slish-sloshed her way to the tack room, hugging the stall fronts to stay out of the horses and hotwalkers way.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, finally, and it was cold. “Damned timer.” She tossed the rest of the coffee out into the rain, made another pot, and walked down to check on Red. Tom came back around with Whinny. “Do you want him un-tacked?”she asked. Red had eating with his bridle on down to a science. He was happily munching hay.
“Here, I’ll do it. Take Whinny. She just needs a couple more turns.”
Red got dried off and a good rubdown. His stall had already been cleaned, fresh water, hay, so all was well with him. As mornings go, aside from the rain, he’d had it easy. “What time’s Johnny coming by?”
“Nine,” Dawn said. “Is Ben staying up at the kitchen?”
“No, he walked over to the secretary’s office for something.”
“In this rain?
Tom nodded, hauling Red’s soggy saddle down the shedrow. It weighed a ton. “We need to get that old man a golf cart.”
“He won’t drive it.” Dawn stood staring at the coffee pot, it was still dripping. The aroma was intoxicating. “Come on, come on.” After an agonizing wait, she poured them both a cup.
Tom sat down on the cot. “What did Wendy want?”
“The video,” Dawn said, sitting down next to him. She studied his profile as he sipped the piping hot coffee. Next to Randy, Tom was about the best-looking man she’d ever seen, in a rugged, hard-life cowboy kind of way. And deep down, he one of the sweetest, kindest men she’d ever known. “You really like her, don’t you?”
Tom looked at her and smiled. “Well, see that’s just it. I honestly don’t know what it’s really like to like a woman.”
“What? Excuse me.”
“Don’t look at me like that. You don’t count.” They both laughed. “But I do enjoy being with her, though it’s kind of usual with her being my age and that we actually talk.”
“True,” Dawn said. He’d always gone for younger women and probably did very little talking. “This is called a relationship, Tom. Welcome to the real world.”
Tom glanced at her and smiled. “Maybe I’m just getting old.”
She smoothed his wet hair back. “I’d like to think maybe you’re just growing up.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“If you say so,” Dawn said, smiling.
Tom finished his coffee and walked down to tack Born All Together - nicknamed Batgirl for all the times as a two-year old when she acted like she thought she could fly. Johnny was due any minute.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ben walked into the secretary’s office and shook off the rain. He had on a full raincoat, rain hat, goulashes over his boots, waterproof gloves, and still felt chilled to the bone. He sneezed, blew his nose, and sneezed again.
He was curious to see if Brubaker had pulled all his horses’ papers. He glanced around the room, unsure of whom he wanted to ask. He needn’t worry. Joe Feigler looked up from taking entries and announced to the world. “There’ll be very little competition for Native Beau Born in tomorrow’s feature, now with Brubaker gone.”
Ben sighed. It had been a nine-horse field, with Brubaker having two horses in as an entry. Down to seven. “There’s no such thing as a sure winner,” Ben said, and shook his head. Talk about talking trash, he said to himself. I sound like the owner of the track, talking down my own horse. He motioned to the Stewards’ office and walked past the counter. There were three racetrack Stewards, judges so to speak, at Nottingham Downs. Two of them were hired by the racetrack, one appointed by the state.
All three looked up when Ben entered the room. “Good morning, Ben!”
“Good morning! I’m checking to see which one of you is planning to build an ark and if I need to make a reservation?”
The men laughed.
“Actually,” Ben said, “I’m just checking in.” He’d known all three men for years. “Everything all right?”
The three men nodded.
“Well then.” Ben smiled. “Keep up the good work.”
All three men nodded again, all three men said, “Thank you.”
Ben looked back before leaving. “By the way,” he said. “Just so you know…I don’t hold any grudges.” He looked into the eyes of each man. “I believe the decision you made against me was wrong, but I respect that you were following rules. I want you to know that.”
When Ben stepped outside it was still raining but showing signs of letting up. Off in the distance there was a glimmer of clear blue sky. As he walked to the gap by
the track, he relived that day of the ruling. It was his one and only violation ever on the racetrack, and for all practical purposes, not his fault.
The day of the race, Tom Cajun, a horse he’d claimed for Gloria, was the favorite but had to be scratched by the track veterinarian late when Ben noticed a swollen area on Cajun’s neck. The horse was also showing signs of lethargy. Turns out, someone got to him, trying to throw the race by tranquilizing him. It was not Ben nor anyone associated with Ben’s stable. But the horse was in Ben’s care, hence the ruling and fine.
He chuckled, thinking about Gloria. The woman wooed him for months, but Ben was “un-wooable” as he put it. He fixed her up with the gate guard, Charlie, and the rest is history. The two of them married and moved to Florida after a couple of years. They became family and visited at least two to three times every year and stayed in Randy and Dawn’s guest room. It worked out good, them staying there. Ben had plenty of room, but there were no women allowed in Meg’s kitchen. No.
Tom Cajun was thankfully fine and went on to win six more races until his retirement as a six-year old. He’s a riding horse now. That day though, Gloria cried her heart out. Ben had to make her leave the barn and go home. She didn’t want to leave Cajun’s side, was afraid someone was going to come back and….
Ben walked along, thinking. The track Stewards had a thankless job and generally weren’t thought of very kindly by the people they were charged with overseeing. The rules of racing, from ownership to groom, pony boy to jockey and trainer to entry clerk in the racing secretary’s office, no one escaped their constant monitoring. Every race run and every license applied for needed their approval. They were the officials of racing and did not take their job lightly. Rules are rules and they were there to enforce them.
“Hey, Ben,” said a trainer in passing.
“Morning.” Ben walked on. Were people getting friendly again or was it his imagination? He glanced ahead and saw Tom leading Batgirl onto the racetrack. Johnny was adjusting his goggles. Ben stopped and leaned against the rail, figuring he might as well just watch them gallop from here. He drew a breath and sighed. All this walking back and forth was either going to kill him or get him ready for an old-man marathon.
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 65