Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  They both had laughed.

  The dogs bounded down the porch steps sounding like a herd of buffalo, in search of more mud puddles no doubt and Señor hosed down the porch. Liz came outside a short time later and sat down on her rocking chair next to Señor in his. She laughed at the site of all six dogs romping down through the pasture headed for the pond.

  “They’re bad,” she said.

  Señor nodded. “But in a good way. What a life they have. What a life we have.” He gripped the top of her hand gently. She patted the top of his hand and looked at him.

  “What’s the matter then?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s nothing to do tomorrow. We finished the painting today in the bathrooms. It’s all done up there.”

  “I know what you mean.” Liz sighed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  He looked at her. “These are our golden years, Liz. Or at least silver,” he said, referring to the color of their hair.

  “Yep.” Liz laughed and then sobered. “It’s like I want to plow a field or go feed an army. I want to make the biggest batch of stew you’ve ever seen and feed the world. I want to do everything! We have so much here. I want to give something back.”

  “You’ve always given something back, Liz. You were the best volunteer City Church ever saw.”

  “But I want to do more. Wait,” she said, on her feet and heading inside. “I want to show you something.” She came back with a pamphlet and opened it up. “Pastor Mitchell says…”

  “Pastor Mitchell?”

  “From the racetrack. He stops by to see the old-timers. I told him what I was thinking about and he says he knows what I mean and that’s why he goes on these missions every year. No preaching, no sermons, just offering a helping hand to those in need.”

  Señor read the mission name out loud. “Seniors Helping Others.”

  “See. You build,” Liz said. “You feed. You help others learn tasks. You commit for two weeks a year. There are places to go all over.”

  Señor nodded, looking for the locations.

  “I want to go to Appalachia. We can drive there.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “I have,” Liz said. “Do you want to go with me?”

  Señor smiled. “Have I ever said no to you?”

  ~ * ~

  Dinner was at Ben’s tonight, the menu; chicken Paprikash, cranberry Jello salad with fruit and nuts, and hard crusty rolls. Dessert was Millionaire’s Pie, Glenda’s mother’s favorite recipe. She’d made two.

  While waiting for everyone, Wendy decided to straighten up the living room. She folded Matthew’s sheet and blankets, tucked them under his pillows in the corner of the couch. He left them out all day. “Why put them away?” he’d say. “Ben doesn’t care.”

  She picked up Matthew’s sketch book lying on the coffee table. Once upon a time he had wanted to be an art major. She’d talked him out of it. She opened the sketch book and sat down slowly, staring at the drawing he’d been working on. The tree-line in the pasture was blurred, fuzzy, an odd stroke of pencil angle, not scribbled, but erratic. The horses were defined, but unfinished, parts missing....

  Oh my God, she thought, is this how he sees things?

  When she heard someone coming down the hall she quickly closed the sketchbook, laid it down, and walked into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Mom,” Matthew said, drying his hair with a towel

  Wendy looked at him and smiled, fought back tears.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” she wiped her eyes. “It’s just your hair. It’s so pretty.”

  Matthew shook his head. He most always wore his hair in a ponytail. It wasn’t often it was loose, and hung well past his shoulders, thick and black.

  Wendy tried to remember how old he was the day he said he didn’t want to cut it anymore. Thirteen? Fourteen maybe? Aside from a trim every so often, “Just the bottom, Mom,” he hadn’t cut it since. He was a handsome boy, slight in build like his father. Muscles were never their strong suit. She wished she hadn’t talked him out of pursuing art as a profession. His talent was a gift. What had she been thinking? And now with his eyes the way they were and no certainty for his eyesight in the future….

  “Mom, if you cry at dinner, so help me God, don’t you dare blame it on my hair.”

  Wendy laughed and wiped her eyes again.

  Ben walked in the door. It wasn’t dark enough outside for him to glow yet, but he was glowing indeed. “They’re all so happy over there. It just warms my heart.”

  Tom walked in behind him. One look at Wendy and he turned. “Ben, you have to stop making Wendy cry.”

  “It wasn’t Ben. It was my hair,” Matthew said.

  “Well, now that I can understand,” Tom said, putting his arms around Wendy. “It makes me cry sometimes too.”

  Matthew laughed. Ben laughed.

  Glenda and George arrived, then Dawn and Randy and the children. Carol had the evening off and was going with her lady friends to play Bingo. Liz and Señor arrived, Dusty arrived. They all went about the business of setting up dinner.

  When they sat down to eat, D.R. could hardly wait to share his news. “I know how to spell Brontosaurus Rex.” Sure enough, he spelled it out. Bro…n…to..s..aur…us … Rex.”

  “Good boy,” Randy said. “Who taught you that?”

  “I learned all by myself,” he said. “I taught myself.”

  “I know too,” Maeve said. “B r t s x.”

  “Almost,” Randy said, ruffling her hair. “Just slightly abbreviated.”

  “Abbreviated,” D.R. said. “Abb…rev, e..ate it.”

  Everyone laughed at the way he said “it” at the end, D.R. included, though he had no idea what had charmed the grown-ups. He liked being the center of attention. Liz volunteered her news next. “Randy and I…I mean Señor and I are going to do a mission trip to the Appalachians.”

  “Really?” Tom asked, with everyone looking on.

  “Well, we’re going to check tomorrow to see when and where we’re needed the most. Pastor Mitchell says we should make sure to ask a lot of questions first. He said he went on one of these mission trips once, and what was really needed the most was just funding. The people had all the repairs underway on their own. He said he ended up just getting in their way. I don’t want to get in anyone’s way. We want to be able to help.”

  Matthew looked at them. “Maybe I’ll go with you.”

  “That would be great,” Señor said.

  “Did Mark get off all right?” Ben asked.

  Randy nodded. “Which reminds me, Dusty, he mentioned Standardbred claiming races where the horse’s worth is dictated by times.” His mother looked at him. “Their claiming price is based on an average of how fast they run,” he added, for her benefit. “He says it doesn’t keep owners and trainers from claiming them, but as a rule, he thinks it deters some of the games associated with claiming.”

  “I got called into the Steward’s office once at the trotters,” George said. “My horse threw a big race with a big payoff. They said fine, if he throws two big races, you have to run him higher next time. They really watch things like that. It’s all about consistency. Longshots winning is not as common at the trotters unless there’s a pileup. It’s pretty hard to hold a trotter.”

  Dusty sat listening, the wheels turning in his mind. “I talked to our Stewards today just to feel ‘em out. They agree that the practices of claiming races are outdated, but they don’t seem too anxious to take it on.”

  Ben looked at him. “I’m right behind you, Dusty. You push and I’ll shove.”

  “If it’s the last thing I do,” Dusty said.

  They all nodded, smiling, knowing.

  “Where’s Richard?” Randy asked. It’s not as if Richard came every night, but with so much going on at the moment.

  “Vegas,” Wendy said. “He left early this morning and I haven’t heard from him since.”Almost as
if by magic, no sooner had she said that her cellphone beeped with a text message. She took it out of her pocket, looked at it, and chuckled. “It’s from Richard. It says he’s wining and dining.”

  “What’s that mean?” Señor asked.

  Wendy smiled. “Knowing him, it means he’s on the job.”

  “Pass the Paprikash, please,” Ben said.

  Liz looked at Wendy. “Wining and dining who?”

  Wendy shrugged. “My guess would be RJR Enterprises.”

  “Hope he finds out if they’re behind those articles,” Dawn said.

  Tom looked at her. “You’re awful quiet tonight. What’s the matter with you?”

  Dawn shrugged and then shook her head. “I’m just bothered by those articles. They’re lies and this is getting personal and we all know how I feel about that. I don’t like it. It makes me nervous.”

  “Why you nervous, Mommy,” Maeve asked, tugging on her shirt sleeve.

  “Oh, honey, it’s nothing. I’m nervous that Uncle Tom is going to eat all the Paprikash and I want some more.”

  Tom smiled and passed her the platter.

  “Me too,” Maeve said.

  Dawn dished out a serving for both and handed the platter back to Tom. When he winked at her, she smiled. “I know,” he said. “I know what you mean.”

  Randy looked at them both and nodded. Randy would protect Dawn with his life and right behind him would be Tom. He and Dawn weren’t blood-related, but they were as close as a brother and sister could ever be.

  Ben looked at all of them. “This isn’t personal and it’s not going to be. And if it does get personal, it’s coming to me. Now come on, eat. All of you. You’re giving me indigestion with all this talk.”

  “Indigestion,” D.R. said. “I n d i…ges…t..ion.”

  “Yes! Yes, little man,” Tom said, high-fiving him. “Yes!”

  As they ate it started to rain again, and it rained and it rained and it rained. With a big bolt of lightning, the power went out, so they lit candles around the living room and one in the main bathroom. Tom looked out the kitchen window at T-Bone’s Place. They’d lost power too, but some of the lights were on.

  “It’s good having Junior there,” Tom said.

  “What?” Ben looked at him in the flickering light of the candles.

  “He’s got the generator going.”

  “Good.”

  When a car pulled up to the farmhouse, Tom went out with an umbrella to protect Carol from the storm. “The power’s out everywhere,” she said, taking off her jacket. “Clear up past Monticello.”

  She sat down with the others in the living room amidst the glowing candles and joined in as they all told “Remember When,” stories. Even after both children were sound asleep, cuddled up next to Randy and Dawn, they were still sharing memories.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dawn was pleasantly surprised to not see an article about Nottingham Downs in the Morning Banter. Jason, the stable guard, smiled. “Like my momma used to say, when the devil comes charging, open the door wide and sometimes he might just go right out the back.”

  Dawn chuckled. “And they can just keep right on going as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I hear ya.”

  Tom had coffee made. Ben was sitting at his desk in the tack room. Dusty arrived shortly after Dawn. Then here came Junior.

  “Is everything okay at T-Bone’s Place?” Ben asked.

  “Yep.” Junior poured a cup of coffee and stood staring at the training chart. “We have three to gallop, one to walk, one to pony. Are you ponying or am I?” he asked Tom.

  Tom just looked at him for a moment. “You’re asking that because…?”

  Junior sipped his coffee. “Because you’re getting old. I’m just lookin’ out for ya.”

  Ben laughed. So did Dawn and Dusty. “What goes around comes around,” Ben said, and laughed some more. “God, I needed that!”

  Tom looked at them all and shook his head. “All right, screw all of you. I’m heading over to the Secretary’s office to see what’s going on and Joe had better not be late again. Pony Alley and I’ll be right back.” He started down the shedrow, pointing at Junior. “And don’t you be worrying about me being an old man. On your best day…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Junior said. “I hear ya.”

  Joe was on the job but in his usual-of-late frazzled state. Tom walked past him and into Wendy’s office, not wanting him to think he was checking up on him, which would probably only add to whatever frustrations the man was going through.

  Tom stood at the window looking out over the racetrack. Dew still covered the infield. He recalled Dawn saying once it was, “Like diamonds on green velvet.”

  He watched several horses being galloped, watched as one just about dumped its rider, and smiled at how the boy hung in there and righted himself. Feeling a little nostalgic after last night and all the reminiscing, he hoped when the day came to step down off his horse, that he’d know and that’d he’d handle it with the sense that Ben had. He hoped to be able to deal with life the way Mim was facing it. He hoped….

  “Shit!” he said. He saw a loose horse coming down the stretch, reins and stirrups flapping. He hurried outside, stood watching from the rail, and smiled when both outriders closed in on the horse and the one nabbed him.

  “Who was it?” Tom said.

  “Billy.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tom strained to look up the head of the stretch. Billy was walking back down the outside rail, mud from head to toe and limping a little. Tom waited to make sure he was all right, gave the boy a leg-up on the horse, and the outrider jogged them off and turned them loose.

  Tom walked back to the barn, arriving just in time to pony Batgirl to the track to gallop, Johnny aboard. Dawn watched as he led them down between the barns to the gap and then hurried to get her stall done, clean her water bucket and fill her haynet. Having only five horses at the track was almost like a vacation. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet and there were only three more horses to go.

  Randy stopped by. “Did I just see Richard?”

  “Yep, he’s back. He took the red-eye home.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “He wants to meet with all of us after the track closes. He said around ten or so. Can you make it?”

  “Where at? Over at the office?”

  “Yes, upstairs.”

  Randy looked at her. “Wow.”

  “Please try to be there. I have a feeling this is something really big.”

  Randy nodded. “If it’s at all possible, I’ll be there.”

  ~ * ~

  Joe watched a steady stream of management personnel board the elevator over a ten-minute period of time and stood trying to fend off a threatening panic attack. “What are they doing?” he said to himself. “What’s going on? Are they convening to fire me?”

  When Randy walked into the Secretary’s office headed for the elevator, Joe stared. This was highly unusual seeing Randy here, particularly this time of morning.

  “Is everything okay?” Joe asked.

  “Fine, fine,” Randy said, the doors closing.

  Joe gathered all the entries and sat down, watching the door, wondering, worrying, fretting….

  Dawn looked up when Randy entered the office and made room for him to sit next to her. Tom was seated over next to Dusty. Wendy sat at her desk, Ben at his.

  “Where to begin…” Richard said.

  Ben motioned for him to just dive right in.

  Richard cleared his throat. “Well, considering how it wasn’t difficult at all to meet with the head of RJR Enterprises, I can’t say for sure that they’re behind everything that’s been going on, but I’m pretty sure they are. I’m also pretty sure they’re not going to stop until they bring us down totally or we stop them.”

  “How?” Ben said.

  “Well….”

  “If this is going to be about us and slots, no,” B
en said.

  “Ben, it is about slots. It all comes down to slots.”

  Ben stood up to leave.

  “Ben,” Richard said. “You’ll have one more year, two at best without slots, and that’s an optimistic estimate.”

  Ben turned and looked at him. “This is a Thoroughbred racetrack, Richard. Not a goddamned casino.”

  Dawn looked from one to the other. “Richard, we’ve been over this. You know how Ben feels, so unless there is something new….”

  “There is,” he said. “Ben, please. Sit down. Hear me out.”

  Ben sighed and sat back down.

  “Here’s what I proposed. And this was going in as if I had no idea they’re trying to bring us down.”

  “What kind of proposal?” Randy asked.

  “I proposed we combine operations.”

  “No,” Ben said, shaking his head. “Nobody’s going to tell us what to do. They don’t know racing, not from our standpoint. They don’t know what we go through, what every horseman goes through.”

  “And they don’t want to,” Richard said. “You’re right. They could care less. Listen, I met this elderly lady on the plane with her friends. She loves Nottingham Downs, but she also loves the slots. If we had them here, do you think she’d go to Vegas? I don’t think so. We’d have Vegas here for her and her friends, for everyone. Ben, this isn’t going away. This is here to stay.”

  Ben shook his head.

  “What good are you going to do for racing, Ben, when the doors close? Slots will bring in more money, bigger crowds, higher purses, better horses.” He corrected himself. “A higher value of horse.”

  Ben looked around the room at Tom, Dawn, Randy, Dusty, Wendy. They were all looking to him.

  “Here’s what I propose,” Richard said. “We don’t have to have anything to do with them. We can let them run their operation and we run ours. We’re doing fine. With money from them and higher purses, we’ll start turning a profit. It’s a win-win situation. We don’t have to change anything. We are running Nottingham Downs the way we want to, the way that makes us all proud.”

  “And how do you ‘propose’ we do this?” Ben asked.