Richard watched Junior and Dusty leave with the man and stood staring for a moment. “This’ll work, I think. This’ll work.” He looked at Ben and started down the shedrow. “This’ll work.”
“No cameras down here all afternoon,” Ben said. “You hear me?”
Richard waved. “I hear you.”
Ben looked at Tom and Dawn. “Does he understand?”
They both nodded. It wasn’t often it was just the three of them sitting here in this tack room. All the memories of their years together, the conversations, the laughter, the tears, it was all there between them, swirling around them, and deep inside. They just looked at one another for a moment. The heart of Nottingham Downs, past, present, and future.
“You make me proud, old man,” Tom said, clearing his throat, his voice trembling. “You make me proud.”
Dawn gave them both a hug and wiped her eyes. “I want you to know, no matter what happens, today or tomorrow or whenever, I love you,” she said. “I love you both and I couldn’t love you more.”
~ * ~
Crimson Count made himself right at home in barn fourteen as did his groom Luis. “I be with horse all years,” he said to Tom. Alley Beau, in the stall next to him, appeared rather enamored with the colt. The two horses seemed to have a calming effect on one another. Wendy had called in one of the backside security guards that was off duty today to watch over the barn. When Crimson Count’s trainer Bill Maxwell arrived, somewhat unnerved as to why his horse was in this barn and not the receiving barn, Tom was on hand to explain the situation.
Bo-T was due to arrive any minute. Training was over for the morning. The horses were all back in their stalls and done up. Ben walked down the shedrow just as George pulled the van up outside the barn. Glenda had ridden with him. The two were planning to stay for the races. Bill Maxwell introduced himself to Ben. The two men shook hands, and Ben walked down to oversee Bo-T unload off the van. Bill Maxwell walked up beside him.
“So this is Bo-T.”
The colt let out a whinny.
“I saw his sire race once,” the man said. “Nice horse.”
Ben nodded.
“He travel okay?” Ben asked George.
“He traveled good. You wouldn’t even know he was there.”
George pulled the ramp down and climbed in and put a lead shank on Bo-T. The colt whinnied again, rocking the van. Ben noticed several people out of the corner of his eye standing just behind the van. He shook his head. It was a reporter and photographer. “I got an okay for a few photos,” the photographer said. “Do you want me to stand behind the truck?”
“No, “Ben said. “I want you to come over and stand next to me where he can see you.”
The photographer took his place next to Ben and snapped several shots of Bo-T walking down the ramp off the van, another one from the side as George led him into the barn, and another from behind as George walked Bo-T down the shedrow to his stall.
“Mr. Miller, do you have time for a few questions?” the reporter asked.
“A few.” Ben motioned for both him and the photographer to step into the tack room, and nodded at Bill Maxwell to follow.
“Do you mind?” The photographer pointed to the bridle with Bo-T’s name above it. Ben shrugged. It was hanging next to the bridle with Beau Born’s name above it. “This is nice.” He switched to his video camera.
At that moment Bill Maxwell realized that Beau Born had been Ben Miller’s. He listened as the reporter asked the question. “What’s it like to have a champion in your barn again?”
“Well,” Ben said. “I’d have to say it feels pretty good.”
“I understand there’s a possibility Beau Together, Bo-T, if you will, is targeted toward a stallion career.”
“Yes, that’s true. His first year of breeding will be Breezeway Farm. The fact is so will Crimson Count.” He nudged the woman toward Bill, who smiled a million-dollar smile, quite used to being in the limelight. “This is Bill Maxwell, Crimson Count’s trainer.”
“Well, lucky timing,” the reporter said. “Maybe I ought to go place a wager today.”
Tom started into the tack room and backed out, but not before catching the woman’s eye. He looked like the Marlboro man, she thought, in the flesh. “So, Mr, uh, Mr. Maxwell. What do you think your horse’s chance is today to beat Bo-T? I mean, after all, he is the track-record holder for 6 ½ furlongs.”
“I think it’s going to be a horse race. We’re going a mile. My colt’s fit. He’s coming off two wins.”
Ben gave him a thumbs up. Good answer.
“So, since this basically is a match race between these two horses, where will you be putting your money, Mr. Miller?”
Ben smiled. “I never bet against my own horse.”
“Well, there you have it,” the reporter said. “Ben Miller thinks he’s going to win. Bill Maxwell thinks his horse will win. It’ll be a race to watch.”
Right after the reporter and photographer left, the blacksmith showed up. He checked both Alley Beau and Bo-T and said they were good to go. Ben looked at Bill Maxwell. “You want him to…?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Brownie checked Crimson Count. “Everything’s good. He looks like he was done about a week ago.”
“Precisely,” Bill Maxwell said.
Randy walked down the shedrow, made his greetings and asked about Dawn. “Where is she?”
“She’s over with Wendy. They’re working on a video. She’ll be back soon.”
“She’s not answering her cellphone.”
“She left it in her rain slicker,” Tom said. “It’s been ringing off the hook.”
It had stopped raining around nine this morning. Randy retrieved the phone, said he’d take it to her, and phoned Wendy to let her know. He looked back at Ben and Tom. He didn’t say anything. He just looked back.
They both nodded.
Bill Maxwell looked at them.
“We’re all superstitious,” Tom said. “We don’t….”
Bill laughed. “I understand, totally. I’m the same way. Just so you know when it happens, this one time I was leaving the barn for a race and I thought I forgot something. I turned around, realized I hadn’t, and turned back around. We win that day. I haven’t gone over for a race since without turning around in a circle before I leave the barn.”
~ * ~
Tom tacked Red and led him down the shedrow. Alley had been done up all fours in Vetwrap, rundown patches applied. Because of the rain this morning, the track condition had been listed as slow for the first two races, but was drying and now cupping out a little. Dawn put Alley’s bridle on, rinsed her mouth, and tied her tongue.
“Let’s go,” Tom said, mounting Red.
Dawn led the filly down the shedrow and around back so she wouldn’t pass in front of Bo-T or Crimson Count and handed her over to Tom. “Bring her back safe.”
Tom nodded. Even though there was a racetrack guard on watch, Dawn still remained at the barn to keep an eye on Bo-T. The guard was there to prevent wrong-doing, not to watch out for a horse’s well-being. She looked in at the horse, didn’t dwell, grabbed the muck basket, and started cleaning Alley’s stall.
Crimson Count’s groom was sitting on a bench outside his stall, whittling. “What are you making?” she asked, as she passed him on the way to dump the muck basket.
He looked up and shrugged.
On the way back she stopped and watched him for a moment. It looked like it could be the handle on a cane. She imitated walking with a cane and he nodded. “El abuelo.”
“Ah, your grandfather.” Dawn smiled and walked on, thinking about the old-timers. They were probably all in their living room lined up in front of the TV anxiously awaiting the race. She heard Bud Gipson announce, “Don’t get shut out.”
It must be getting close to post time, she thought. “Run good, Alley. Run good.” It was over two weeks since she’d run last, a win. Dawn walked out to the road to hear the sound of the start
ing gate bell.
“And they’re off!” There was no sound after that so she went back to finish cleaning the stall, bed it nice and deep, filled the haynet, did the filly’s water bucket, and hung one in the shedrow. She walked back out onto the road, looked, listened, looked some more, and saw the horses canter past the kitchen. Their racing colors of green and white were never easy to spot this time of day against the backdrop of the infield grass.
She glanced over her shoulder at Bo-T, and then glanced again. What was he doing? Was he going to roll? She walked back to check on him. He’d laid down. This was a first, his laying down the day of a race, his laying down much at all during the day. She watched him for a moment, watched his breathing, watched his eyes, watched his bottom lip as it started to droop.
She heard a noise behind her and turned to see Tom leading Alley up to the barn. “She run fourth,” he said. “She never got ahold of the track. She fought it the whole way.”
Dawn walked out and took hold of her. Tom dismounted Red, loosened his girth and tapped Red on the butt. He walked down the shedrow into his stall. The filly was covered in dirt from head to toe; she even had dirt in her eyes. “This ain’t nothing. You should’ve seen Jenny.” The filly was still breathing hard and was all corded-up. Dawn took her bridle off. Tom put her halter on.
“I’ll get her. Go check on Bo-T.”
Tom looked at her. “Why?”
“I don’t know. He’s laying down.”
“What? Bo-T?” Tom walked slowly down the shedrow, leaned, and peeked inside Bo-T’s stall. The horse was not only laying down, but snoring. Tom looked at Dawn.
She motioned, whispering, “Is he okay?”
He peeked in again and walked back. “That’s weird. If it were B-Bo, it’d be normal, but not Bo-T.”
They gave Alley a drink and took her to the wash rack in clear sight of the barn, clear sight of Bo-T’s stall. She got a good suds bath. Tom scraped her off, wiped her down and blew the dirt and mud out of her eyes. Back at the barn, they put a cooler on her and gave her another drink. Tom decided to walk her up and down the road, rather than in the shedrow in front of Bo-T and Crimson Count’s stalls. Dawn hauled the water bucket out and hung it on the screw eye on the back of the barn facing the road.
The filly took a drink at each pass. Tom put her into her stall after about fifteen minutes, let her pee, and brought her back out. Dawn was just finishing up cleaning her bridle. “Did you think she was tying up?”
“A little. She seems fine now though.”
“How’s Ben?”
“He’s good. He’s in a good mood. Not her fault she’s so big and lanky and the track’s cupping out.”
Dawn nodded. “Is he coming back to the barn?”
“He says no. He’s going up to the clubhouse with Dusty and Cracker Jack.”
Dawn smiled. The filly was watching a calico cat meandering down the road between the barns. She lowered her head for a better look and snorted. Tom patted her on the neck, felt her chest, walked her a little while longer, and then put her in her stall. Dawn crept down the shedrow to check on Bo-T. He was still all stretched out with eyes closed and sound asleep.
Alley Beau rolled in her stall, stood up and shook off, then rolled again. Another good body shake. With a mouthful of hay, she walked to the front of her stall and looked out as if she hadn’t a care in the world and had never even left the barn.
Tom’s cellphone rang. It was Mim.
“She okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. She couldn’t get a hold of the track.”
“That’s what I figured. All right, just checking. We’re all with you.”
“Thanks, Mim,” Tom said.
“By the way,” she said. “Matthew finished the painting of Bo-T.”
Tom hesitated, just listening. Mim’s voice had cracked.
“He has the eyes and heart of a champion. That boy does too.”
Tom swallowed hard and couldn’t speak. Just this morning, he’d seen Matthew reach for the remote and miss it entirely.
“Wish him well when he leaves and don’t worry. He’ll find his way.”
~ * ~
With each race that afternoon, the track condition became faster and faster. The eighth race going a mile and 70 yards was won in a blistering pace of 1:41 and 2/5ths seconds.
“Let’s go!” Tom said. “The race is over.” George had walked back over to the barn in case he was needed. Dawn led Bo-T out of his stall, down the shedrow, and handed him over to Tom. Crimson Count followed their lead. His trainer did a complete circle before leaving the barn. He and the groom walked on both sides of the horse derby-style. Danno, the pony boy Bill Maxwell lined up for the race, rode his horse alongside. Dawn noticed several photographers along the way in the barn area. One stood at the gap leading onto the racetrack.
When Bo-T made a stallion kind of hrummph hrummph sound at a filly being led off the racetrack, Tom jiggled his rein and patted him on the head to divert his attention. “How can he smell her with all that Vicks up his nose? You be the man, Bo-T!”
George laughed.
“Did Dawn tell you he napped all afternoon?”
George nodded. ‘He’s been napping in the afternoons at the farm too, all stretched out and snoring. Just like B-Bo.”
Dawn walked next to him, her stomach cramping. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten this nervous over a race. Another photographer was stationed just inside the paddock entrance.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bud Gipson announced, “The horses for the fifteenth running of the Burgundy Blue Stake are entering the paddock. This race will be contested at a flat mile. For those of you who are visiting Nottingham Downs for the first time today, Beau Together also known as Bo-T, is the track record holder for six and a half furlongs here at Nottingham Downs.”
The old-timers were all glued to the television at T-Bone’s Place.
George took Bo-T from Tom, led him in, and Dawn headed for the ladies room. By the time she came back out, the horses were all tacked and being paraded around the paddock in front of the fans.
“He looks like a million bucks,” Dusty said.
Ben nodded. Bo-T was strutting his stuff.
Dawn walked up next to him.
Crimson Count was right behind Bo-T, putting on a show as well. “If we breed one of our mares to him,” Dawn asked, “would we get a gray?”
Ben smiled. “You’d have a good chance.”
“I like him. Don’t get me wrong, I want them to finish just the way they are now.” Crimson Count was behind Bo-T. “But I like him. I think things happen for a reason. If we weren’t running today, I’d have never even seen him.”
The jockeys came out of the room and walked toward their horse’s owners and trainers. “Hey, Bo-T,” Johnny said, when the colt was led past him.
Bo-T pricked his ears and gave a little buck.
Crimson Count reacted by stomping.
The fans loved it!
Bo-T was coming out of the three hole. Crimson Count, the four. Both were at even odds. Ben pulled Johnny close and looked him in the eye. “I want a win. But I also want him coming back even more.”
“I know,” Johnny said. “I know what’s at stake.”
“Riders up!”
The bugle sounded.
George gave Johnny a leg-up and led Bo-T out to the racetrack and handed him over to Tom. “You ready, Big Man?” Tom asked. “You ready?”
“He’s ready,” Johnny said.
As the horses paraded in front of the crowd, Bud Gipson announced the horses’ breeding and record of wins, places and shows. “These are all future sires. That’s the legacy of the Burgundy Blue. Place your wagers. Don’t get shut out.”
Dawn, Ben, Dusty, George, Glenda, and Cracker Jack all took their places at the fence. Dawn glanced up at Wendy. Richard was standing next to her. When they both waved, Dawn covered her heart. It was beating a thousand times a minute.
“The horses are
approaching the starting gate.”
Going a flat mile, the horses were right in front of the grandstand. Dawn pressed her head against the fence and took a deep breath.
Ben smiled at her. “He’ll be fine.”
She nodded and glanced in the direction of the track kitchen. Randy’s truck was parked next to the Ginny stand. Mark’s truck was parked right behind it. She took another deep breath.
“Crimson Count is the last horse to load,” Bud announced. “They’re at the post for the running of the Burgundy Blue Stake. They’re off!”
Dawn’s heart skipped a beat. This was her baby. This was his last race.
“Away cleanly, it’s Dunkirk Dave with an early lead. A length back is Rapid Essential with Top Banjo on his shoulder. Another length back it is Beau Together and Crimson Count running head to head. Then it’s Neighbor Newton, Hathaway Tam trailing the field into the first turn.”
Ben looked at the tote board, could see it fairly well. The first quarter was run in 23 and 2/5ths.
“Dunkirk Dave still leads by a length as they start down the backstretch. Rapid Essential is running second, Top Banjo third. Finding their stride and closing it’s Beau Together and Crimson Count. Hathaway Tom continues to trail the field by six lengths.”
Dawn strained to see over the tote board.
“He’s making a move,” Cracker Jack said, as tall as a mountain. “He’s making his move.”
“Dunkirk Dave reaches the half-mile mark in forty-six flat. Rapid Essential, Beau Together and Crimson Count are closing on the leader. As they start into the clubhouse turn, it’s Rapid Essential now taking over the lead with Beau Together and Crimson Count right on his shoulder, followed by Neighbor Newton, and Hathaway Tam.”
Dawn climbed up onto the fence.
“At the head of the stretch, Dunkirk Dave is dropping back. Rapid Essential is on the lead. But here comes Beau Together and Crimson Count, and making a big move out in the middle of the racetrack is Hathaway Tam.”
“Come on, Bo-T,” Dawn said.
Mim scooched to the edge of her seat. “Come on, Bo-T.”
“Rapid Essential is on the rail, barely holding on to his lead as here comes Beau Together and Crimson Count. It is Beau Together taking over the lead.
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