by Rhavensfyre
“I do.” She gave him a quick hug, an action completely out of character for her, then turned back to look at the familiar yet different face again. “I love it.”
She more than loved it; she loved how it made her feel.
Her mother’s cowboy hat lay on the table next to the mirror. She picked it up and covered her beautiful hair beneath the wide brim, then turned her head from side to side. With the hat on, she looked much like herself. She smiled an apology at Geoffrey’s look of horror, then pulled the hat down tighter above her ears, regretting having to hide all of Geoffrey’s wonderful work.
Thanks, Mom, she whispered to herself—strangely anticipating the dreaded confrontation with Belinda once she saw how short her hair was. Oh well. She shrugged. The woman is already mad at me, what more can she do? Somehow, the thought of Belinda being angry with her wasn’t as scary as it had been this morning. Before she could think further on this odd development, her father appeared at the window, beckoning her to the waiting truck.
Something fell out of her jeans pocket and clattered onto the floor when Rohanna pulled out her money to pay the cashier. Geoffrey bent down and retrieved it from under the counter, then held it in the palm of his hand for a moment before handing it back to her. “Here, sweetie, you don’t want to lose this.”
“Thanks, Geoffrey.” Ro plucked the cross-shaped stone from the hairstylist’s hand and stuffed it back into her pocket. She had just found the fairy stone, she didn’t want to lose it.
“It’s very pretty, Ro. You should find someone to mount it on a chain for you. It would make a nice necklace,” he suggested. “Then you won’t risk losing it again. Maybe your grandmother will do it for you?”
“Really? You think it’s that pretty?” Ro asked, concentrating on the cashier as she counted out her change. She didn’t want to keep her father waiting any longer.
“Yes. A unique pendant for a unique girl.”
Geoffrey’s parting words were lost in the sound of tinkling bells. He waited until Ro and her father drove away before clapping his hands together and readying himself for the next customer. There was nothing else for him to do. The stone had found her, it was up to Rohanna to keep it close.
CHAPTER SIX
“Hey Ro, I was going to buy you ice cream at the track, but since we’re already in town, do you want to hit The Creamery instead?”
Ro gaped at her Dad; of course she wanted ice cream from the best place in town. “Really? You have to ask?”
Then she turned a sly eye towards him. “Do we still get to go to the track?”
“Of course. I have to meet a man about a horse, and I know everyone will be thrilled to see you.”
Rohanna whooped loud enough to be heard in the next county.
Ro’s dad laughed, truly laughed as if he was happy again, and when he did that she didn’t even care about the ice cream. It was her birthday, and she had somehow gotten her wish for the day. That didn’t keep her from buying a double scoop of rocky road on a waffle cone with whipped cream. It took both hands to keep it balanced, and even if her eyes proved to be bigger than her stomach, she was willing to give it a try.
She was in heaven when her father told everyone there that it was her birthday because the lady behind the counter added extra cherries and sprinkles for free. Once back in the truck, Ro found another reason to love her new haircut; she didn’t have to pick hair out of her ice cream as they drove down the road.
They followed the winding road back to the racetrack barns, pulling into the back lot reserved for trainers and owners. A familiar body popped out of the small guard shack and waved them through the gate without checking their passes. Rohanna waved back, excited to see that her old friend was still there.
Ray had grown some since the last she was here—not taller, but certainly wider. Ro had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with his fondness for the hot sausage sandwiches that Dora, the food vendor, gave him for free every time she passed by. The guard shack looked smaller than she remembered it, small enough to not look very comfortable for a man that large to squeeze into. Rohanna grinned. Maybe that was why Ray sat down on the stool outside the shack door, his clipboard perched precariously on the window ledge, rather than going back inside where it was cool.
Her father parked the old pickup near the stables. A long line of trucks, most of them connected to horse trailers of various sizes and shapes, hid the long building from her, but she could smell the horses and taste the excitement that always seemed to flavor the air there. Most of the trailers were plain white, with a few bronze and black ones mixed in for color. The more expensive trailers matched their trucks. Covered in chrome and fancy paint jobs, they put some of the older, rust-trimmed trailers to shame.
Small clouds of tan dust billowed up behind each horse that trotted by. Ro’s faded blue jeans were rapidly turning an even lighter color from the dust settling on them as she followed her father through the wide rows of stalls. Every fourteen feet or so a dark square broke up the solid wooden wall of the building where a line of elegant heads peered curiously out from most of the split stall doors.
The racetrack was always a busy place, filled with people walking across the dirt and grass, full of purpose and self-importance. The horses pranced by as impatiently as the people holding their lead lines, eager to get to their race on time, while jockeys dotted the landscape in their brightly colored outfits. Human butterflies gracing a field of otherwise bland humanity. Ro was shocked to find out that the jockeys were shorter than her now. The last time she was here, she had to strain her neck to look up at everyone.
Her father marched towards one particularly tall bay mare just ahead of them. She stood proudly, her intelligent dark brown eyes surveying the steady stream of horses and humans passing her by. She ignored the small group of men surrounding her, much as a queen would ignore her retainers unless needed. In contrast to her calm demeanor, the men were arguing in that animated way only old friends could manage to pull off—arms waving and fingers stabbing the air above them.
A thin, dark man stood slightly off to one side, his grey pinstripe suit and posture marking him as someone out of place in the stable area. He oozed superiority with every look and gesture, and Ro instantly disliked him. Neither he nor his suit seemed to be holding up very well in the hot dusty aisle. He didn’t seem very happy to be there, and Ro could tell that despite his apparent disdain for the men surrounding him, he was paying keen attention to their conversation. Sweat ran freely off his forehead in small streams, as if the warmth of the day was slowly melting him away in dusty rivulets. If it wasn’t for the continual dabbing with a limp handkerchief, a motion that was bordering on becoming a nervous tick, his shirt collar would certainly be closer to the reddish tan of the dust that swirled around them all.
Rohanna grinned when another familiar face looked up from examining the mare’s front leg. Relief flashed briefly across his otherwise grim features when he saw her father standing there, then lit up when he saw Ro. Frown lines disappeared like magic and a wide welcoming smile transformed his face. There was no mistaking her father’s best friend. Buddy looked a little more worn and weather-beaten than she remembered, but otherwise he hadn’t changed a bit.
“Ro!” he bellowed. Buddy stepped out of the ring of men, his arms open wide.
“Buddy!” Ro launched herself away from her father. She sprinted across the dry, dusty distance between them, kicking up her own small dust cloud behind her. Buddy enveloped her in a crushing hug, spinning her around once before letting her down. Thrilled at seeing Buddy again, Ro forgot that she was supposed to be thirteen going on thirty, not the silly child she used to be.
“Whoa there, Little Bit,” he said with a laugh. He stepped back to look her up and down, one eye squinting against the light. Ro felt a bit self-conscious when he paused momentarily on the old straw hat sitting low on her forehead, sure that Buddy would note her shorn hair and comment on it. Ro giggled at the semi-serious inspectio
n, clapping her hands over her mouth to smother the threatening laughter. Buddy’s face looked exactly how it did when he was looking over a horse, and Ro couldn’t help but feel like one of Buddy’s prize racehorses.
“Not so little, anymore, are ya? I swear you’ve grown a foot since I last saw you. Guess I’ll have to find you a new nickname now.” Buddy nodded at her father. His voice, though still friendly, became all business. His country drawl tumbled roughly across a gravelly voice that seemed perpetually hoarse.
“It’s been a long time, John,” Buddy said. He thrust his large, square hand out to shake her father’s. “But, I’m glad you decided to come by on such short notice. I need a second opinion on this filly, and the rich idiot who owns her won’t listen to me.”
Buddy nodded his head in the direction of the bay mare behind him, then spit his annoyance into the dry earth.
“I don’t see what I can do that you can’t, Buddy. You’re just as good as me when it comes to picking winners.” He peered over Buddy’s shoulder at the mare standing placidly in the midst of the swarm of men.
Momentarily forgotten, Ro listened to the men talk. The clear tones and slight lilt in her father’s voice sounded so different from the soft country drawl of Buddy’s voice. Ro followed her dad and Buddy while they continued to talk quietly. Introductions were made, then her father took a closer look at the mare. He checked each leg, running his hands across her hide with a practiced touch. The filly snorted and dropped her head, relaxing under her father’s calming hands. Ro found herself staring directly into a pair of liquid brown eyes that reflected only gentleness and calm beneath long brown lashes and half-closed lids.
Ro’s father was discussing the mare with the rest of the group. Her lineage was impeccable, and her practice runs had been impressive. One of the men asked a question.
“Is she sound to race?”
“Yes, technically she is.”
Ro could hear the reluctance in her father’s voice to say so. The more they talked, the harder it was for Ro to separate the heated voices as they discussed the fate of the mare. It was all quite silly to her. Petting the mare’s satiny muzzle, Ro spoke before she could think.
“But she doesn’t want to race,” she stated calmly. Seven pairs of eyes turned and looked at her. Under such scrutiny, Ro felt over matched. She wanted to run but her feet wouldn’t move. Ro didn’t care what the other men thought, but her father’s frown worried her.
“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. Her apology was lost when the filly’s owner started yelling.
“What do you mean, she doesn’t want to race? It’s what she’s bred for—what she’s trained for!” The man’s voice rose to a high screech, his arms flailing wildly around him. The filly’s head swung up and towards the loud noise, dancing lightly away from the irate man.
What did I say to set him off? Confused, Ro backed away from the scared filly and the angry man.
“You.” The man spoke venomously, stabbing a sharp finger at her father’s chest. “You’re supposed to be a professional. According to him, you’re the best.” The offending finger gestured angrily at Buddy, then swung around until it pointed directly at Rohanna. “The track is no place for a girl, especially one with an opinion!”
A creeping flush travelled slowly along her father’s neck and along his cheeks, his lips pursing so tightly they were nothing but a thin white line beneath his nose. He was angry, very angry, but so far had said nothing to the man before him.
It was a supreme act of self-control, especially when Ro knew he could darn well toss the smaller man around like a bale of hay if he had a mind to. The longer her father stayed silent, the more worried Ro became. She was sure her dad would burst if he didn’t breathe soon.
Ro felt her own anger rise in defense of her father. How dare this ratty little man speak to him like that? Ro stepped out from behind the safety of her father’s back. Jaw thrust forward, every line in her small body spoke defiance and anger. Ro was discovering that it was easier to swallow your fear if you were angry enough, and her anger now gave her the courage to shout back at the man.
“You heard me. She doesn’t want to race, and if you do race her she will lose. Her heart’s not in it, and it’s just plain cruel to force a horse to race if they don’t have the will to do it!”
That did it. The man stopped yelling and just stood there, sputtering. His face turned an unhealthy shade of red, like a ripe cherry. Ro wondered if he was going to keel over right then and there. Before he could catch his breath for a second run, Ro’s father stepped up and placed his hand on Ro’s shoulder. He spoke softly, his voice barely loud enough to hear even a few feet away. Every metered word was uttered in a careful voice that would have been a warning to a smarter man.
“I agree with my daughter, sir. The mare is sound in every way, but like my daughter said, she hasn’t the heart to run. I’m sorry that I—we haven’t been of more use to you.” Tipping his hat at Buddy, he guided Ro away from the men.
“Let’s go, Ro.”
“Yes, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Don’t fret over it.”
“You aren’t angry with me?”
“No, I’m not angry with you.” A muscle twitched along his jaw as he spoke, telling her that he was still angry, just not at Ro. He looked down at her and smiled. “Come on, let’s get something to eat a little more substantial than ice cream.”
Ro’s stomach growled, making them both laugh.
They walked in silence after that, heading towards the track restaurant that served the private boxes reserved for special guests. Ro took advantage and ordered an old favorite she rarely got at home, hot dogs and French fries. As her father chatted with the waitress, Ro turned her attention to the horses as they posted for the first race.
“Ro.” Her father brought her attention back from the field beneath them. “I’m not mad at you—okay? Sometimes people just don’t like to hear the truth, and it upsets them. That man back there, he’s put a lot of money on that filly just to place her in a stakes race. If she doesn’t win, he’s going to lose his investment. Losing that kind of money can make someone a little crazy.”
“She’s going to lose,” Ro said without a single ounce of doubt. “I feel bad for her.”
The waitress arrived with her food just in time. It all smelled wonderful, and she tucked into the treat like she was starving. Her dad just shook his head at her before reaching over and stealing a handful of fries.
“Now, let’s have a look at that haircut you’ve been hiding. I need to know how much trouble we’re in when we get home,” he said. Rohanna held her breath while he made a show of wiping his hands off on a napkin. She blew it out a relieved sigh when he looked up at her with a playful gleam in his eye. Ro took off her hat and placed it on the table, then waited.
“Ah, yes.” Rohanna’s father cleared his throat and leaned back in the chair. “That’s different. I like it, Ro. You know, you look more and more like your mother every day.”
“Wow, you think so? Thanks, Dad,” Rohanna said around a lump in her throat. Before the moment became awkward, her father pushed away from the table and stood up.
“Hey, I’ve got to take care of something real quick, then we’ll head out, okay?”
“Sure, I’ll be fine,” Ro answered. She was perfectly safe where she was, and he wouldn’t leave her for long. Tearing into the messy hot dog covered in sauerkraut and mustard, Ro turned her attention back to the track just as a field of brown streaks thundered past. The jockeys perched precariously atop their mounts were urging them to go faster—to win. Ro could feel the excitement of the crowd. The roar of a few thousand voices extorting their favorite to pull ahead was almost deafening—even from where she was. She shared in the cheers, urging the horses on without caring who won, simply reveling in the joy of the race itself. Sometimes she would pick a horse on a whim as they trotted past, noting the color of the rider’s jersey. Most of the time, they won
.
In the next race, the bay filly her father had inspected trotted by on the way to the gate. Ro already knew the outcome before the horn sounded, but she had to watch anyway. The filly finished a dismal last, despite the desperate urgings of the jockey liberally and shamefully applying the whip to her unwilling frame.
When her father returned, Ro found the courage to ask him what would happen to the filly since she lost.
“Well, if she’s lucky, someone who needs a good broodmare will bid on her in the stakes race. Otherwise, she’ll go home with her owner. She’s a fine mare,” he said. “She’d make an excellent broodmare in the right hands.”
“I hope someone buys her,” Ro said. “He’s an awful little man and doesn’t deserve to own her.”
“I hope so, too, Ro,” he said. “Now, let’s get home before it gets dark out.”
Rohanna made a face. They had been having such a grand day she had almost forgotten about Belinda. Her good mood started to dry up long before the old truck turned into their driveway, and for good reason.
Belinda was waiting for the two of them when they got home, every inch of her height exuding displeasure and anger as she looked down at Ro. Her father patted her back and sent her to her room, not as punishment, but as an escape from the escalating pressure building between the two adults, forecasting an impending explosion she could sense like a coming storm. Ro had no desire to be anywhere near the thunder rumbling between them. From the stern set of her father’s jaw, she knew tonight would be different from other nights. Tonight her father wasn’t going to back down.