Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Come on, girl, you can do it.” Trish willed the filly forward. She could see the finish line. “Come on.”

  Firefly stretched again. Her hooves and heart thundered together. She inched in front. By a nose, by a neck. They won by a length.

  “Thank you, Father!” Trish yelled to the heavens, her whip raised in salute.

  She pulled the filly down to a gallop, then a lope, and turned back to the front of the grandstands. To the winner’s circle.

  “You did it, girl. I knew you had it in you.” She stroked the filly’s neck.

  David got to her first. He thumped on her knee, failing miserably at racing decorum. He led them through the fence and over to the raisers.

  Marge and Adam met them in the winner’s circle. Trish sniffed back her tears until she saw her mother’s face, wet with joy.

  “Good ride, my dear.” Adam looked up at her and nodded. They lined up around Firefly and posed for the official pictures. The camera flashed. Trish leaped to the ground and more cameras flashed. Trish stepped on the scale, all the while her heart singing, Give God the glory, glory.

  “You sure got your answer,” David said as they walked Trish back to the jockey room for her things.

  “Yep, that I did.”

  As she came out, a reporter stopped her. “Got a minute, Trish?”

  Trish looked at him in surprise. “Sure, why?”

  “This is your first win since the Belmont, right?” Trish nodded. “I’ve been following your career,” the young man said. “Think we’ll head this ‘The Comeback Kid.’ You’ve had a hard time and I want you to know I’ve been rooting for you.”

  Trish swallowed her state of shock and answered a few more questions.

  “Is that right about a possible endorsement for Chrysler?”

  “What?” Trish blinked at the question. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I have my sources.” His grin said he wouldn’t tell her.

  “Well, it’s news to me.”

  “Here’s my card. When you know more, would you give me a call?”

  Trish shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

  “endorsement!” David choked on the word.

  “Yeah, right. He’s got his wires crossed, that’s all. Can we get something to drink? I’m dying.”

  That night in bed, Trish thought back to the winner’s circle. It was like she was standing off to the side so she could see everyone there. David held the reins, standing in front of Firefly’s shoulder. Adam, Martha, and Carlos stood behind on the raisers. Just in front of the filly’s head stood her mother, and behind her shoulder, a man with a smile to dim the noon sun.

  She could finally picture her father with the family. And what better place than in the winner’s circle?

  Monday evening David drove Trish to the College of San Mateo. “Now, I’ll be sitting out here praying for you. Tee, you’re going to do fine. Just remember to ask for help; pray your way through this.”

  “But I need a B to get a C out of the class.” Trish clamped her lips on her moan. I’ve got to pray my way through this. She squared her shoulders and marched into the classroom.

  An hour and a half later she returned to the car, sank into the seat, and closed her eyes.

  “Rough?”

  “Yeah.” Sprinklers sang on the lawn. Trish sniffed. They’d mowed the grass recently. She took in a deep breath. “Davey, my boy, there were only two questions I had no idea about. And only a few I had to guess on. I think I did it.”

  “Mom’s waiting at the Finleys’. They think we should go for hot fudge sundaes. What do you think?”

  “Yes!” She turned the ignition. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  That night Trish and Marge sat out on the deck before going to bed. “I am so proud of you,” Marge said after letting the night silence steal over them.

  “Me too.” Trish looked up at the stars over the eucalyptus trees. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think I learned something.”

  “Only one thing?” Marge chuckled. “What is it?”

  “I think when things get tough, all you can do is grab God’s hand and slog through.”

  “True, that’s the best way.”

  “And if you slog long enough, you’ll come out of the mist…” She paused. “And into the sunlight.”

  “Ah, Tee, you are wise beyond your years.”

  The breeze set the leaves above them to whispering.

  “I have something for you to take to Pastor Mort.”

  “What?”

  “A letter, and the title to the other convertible. He can use the money from it however he wants, but it’s to be a memorial to Dad. That okay?”

  “Trish, that’s more than okay. You truly are your father’s daughter.”

  Trish was sure she heard a chuckling on the breeze.

  I’d like to thank all those kids who read my books and beg for more. Writers need readers. We’re all in this together. That’s part of being in the family of God. Hoorah!

  To my mother.

  Cheerleader, friend,

  confidante,

  and my shining example of

  love in action.

  Chapter

  01

  Why is it when everything finally starts going great again, something changes? Tricia Evanston chewed on the question as she settled into her favorite green canvas director’s chair in Adam Finley’s office at Bay Meadows Racetrack. She heaved a sigh of relief. Morning works had gone smoothly—for a change. But something wasn’t right. Like a hunter sniffing the air, she could sense it.

  Her brother David entered, rubbing his shoulder. “That horse should be sent to the glue factory.”

  Trish tucked her chin to hide the smile she couldn’t resist. Gatesby was up to his old tricks. David had forgotten to duck.

  “He’s just playing.” She toyed with the end of her dark, thick braid to keep from chuckling at the disgust on her brother’s face.

  “Yeah, well tell him to go play somewhere else, with someone else.”

  “Now, be honest. Think how much you’ll miss him.” She waved a hand to encompass the early morning track activity. “And all the rest of this when you’re stuck in a library studying your brains out.” Trish leaned back in her chair, one booted ankle crossed over the opposite knee. “Think of all the chemistry and yucky stuff you have to do.”

  “You forget. I like chemistry, not like someone else we all know and love.” David tapped on the toe of her dusty boot.

  “Here, you two. Have a bagel. We bought extra this morning in honor of David’s last day.” Owner/trainer Adam Finley opened the cardboard box and pulled the lids off the plastic containers of cream cheese. “I bought some of each so you children wouldn’t have to fight for your favorites.”

  “Children! I like that.” Trish bounded to her feet and tried to muscle David away from the box. “I want the raisin bagel with raisin-walnut cream cheese.”

  David grabbed her choice and held it up in the air. “What’ll you give me?”

  “A sock in the gut, you goof.” Trish drew back her fist.

  “Children, children, I thought we settled this long ago.” Marge Evanston sailed through the door, shaking her head and grinning at the same time. “You’d think they’d act more grown-up by now, wouldn’t you?” She winked at Adam, who watched the mock fight with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “And you thought we invited you here for a serious meeting, right?” Adam smiled his welcome and rose to offer Marge his chair.

  “Right. Trish, David gets to choose first. He probably won’t be able to find bagels in Tucson, not that he’ll have any time to look.” Marge snagged a plain bagel out of the box and applied the vegetable cheese spread to the circular bread.

  “He always gets to choose first, just ’cause he’s bigger.” Trish retrieved her bagel from her brother’s grasp and handed him the one she knew he liked best. Licking cream cheese from her fingers, she pulled an orange juice from th
e refrigerator in the corner and leaped for her chair before David could steal it.

  “You two sure are…”

  “Full of the dickens?” Trish tried to look innocent.

  “Better than what I was thinking.” Marge slapped David’s fingers away from her cup of coffee. “Thanks, Adam.” She acknowledged the poured coffee. “Have they been like this every morning?”

  “Naw. I think that finally winning a race has gone to Trish’s head. And David? Well, you know what happens when you get on the wrong side of Gatesby.”

  Marge groaned. “The wrong side or any side. Did his teeth break the skin this time?”

  David shook his head, his mouth too full of bagel to answer.

  Trish swallowed. “What do you mean, gone to my head? I was fine till he showed up.” She licked more cheese from her fingers and eyeballed her brother. The glow inside her had nothing to do with the spices in the cream cheese. Yes, she had won yesterday. She and Firefly. Finally. But today the good feeling came just because her family was together.

  If only—she clamped a lid on the thought. If only usually triggered memories of her father, who’d died just as she and Spitfire won the Belmont, and thus the Triple Crown, in June. Now at the end of August she could sometimes think of him without crying. She rolled her eyes upward and sniffed quickly. She didn’t want to make the others feel sad today. David would leave in the morning for Tucson, Arizona, for his second year of college.

  “Okay, let’s get down to business.” Adam pushed papers aside to set his coffee mug on the scarred wooden desk.

  Trish blinked one more time. She’d won—barely.

  She cocked her ankle over her knee again and locked her hands behind her head. Wouldn’t it be something if they let her take Spitfire out of retirement and train him for the Breeder’s Cup? Oh, to race the big, black colt again at Churchill Downs! She could feel the wind on her face…hear the crowd. She brought her attention back to the present with a thump.

  “What do you mean, something funny’s going on at Portland Meadows? I thought the season was a go…starting in September like always.”

  Marge shook her head. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this until we got home, but there have been rumors.”

  “What kind of rumors?” Trish leaned her elbows on her denim-clad knees.

  “Like the track won’t open, for one thing.” David wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But, you know, we’ve heard that before.”

  “So, what’s new?” Trish stared from her mother to her brother and over to Adam.

  “Some say it’s just bad management, but…” Marge twisted her wedding ring on her finger.

  “But…?” Trish felt as if the starting gun was about to go off and her mount wasn’t ready.

  “But I don’t know.” Marge lifted a troubled gaze to her daughter. “I have a funny feeling, but I haven’t had time to follow through on anything.”

  “What does Patrick think?” Since her father had hired the old jockey as trainer, Trish had grown to trust the Irishman’s opinion.

  Marge looked to David, as if seeking help.

  “He thinks we should leave these horses down here until things are straightened out. Maybe ship some others down if we have to.” David combed restless fingers through his dark, curly hair.

  “But how could I ride then and still go to school?” Trish clamped her teeth against the rush of dread. They couldn’t close The Meadows. They just couldn’t. Not now when she’d finally won again and decided God wanted her to keep racing.

  “That’s why I haven’t said anything. You know what your father always said about borrowing trouble. You could fly down here on the weekends, I guess.” Marge shrugged. “There are no easy answers, Tee.”

  “But is the Thoroughbred Association doing anything about the situation?”

  Marge shrugged again. “As I said, I haven’t had time to follow any of this to the source.”

  Trish could tell her mother was feeling a bit pushed about the entire situation. What a bummer. Here she was, just beginning her senior year at Prairie High School. She couldn’t miss a lot of classes this year. It was too important. Besides, she and her forever-friend, Rhonda, had so many plans.

  “There’s nothing you can do about it now,” David said just before he stuffed the last of his bagel in his mouth. “We need to talk about the Breeder’s Cup.”

  “Aye, that we do.” Adam brushed a hand over his shiny dome, fringed by a fluff of white hair. “I plan on taking two horses to run that weekend, and I think Firefly has as good a chance as any in the Down’s Handicap on Saturday. She ran well yesterday, and both Carlos and I think she’s just coming into her own. I’d be glad to take her with us about ten days ahead, and Trish can fly in on that Thursday or Friday before.”

  “Who would you get to work them for you?” Trish hated the idea of someone else riding her horses in the morning. She should be the one doing that. She sneaked a peek at her mother.

  “Don’t even think it.” Marge didn’t crack a smile.

  Trish shrugged. “As Dad always said, ‘It doesn’t hurt to dream.’” She turned to Adam. “Wouldn’t it be something if we could run Spitfire in the Breeder’s Cup? That was another of Dad’s dreams, you know, having an entry in the Breeder’s Cup.”

  “Sorry, Trish, you know our syndicate would never go along with that. Spitfire’s too valuable at stud to risk an injury. Just think, maybe in three years you’ll be running one of his sons at Churchill Downs.”

  Trish cupped her hands around her elbows. “Won’t that be something?” She gave a wriggle of anticipation. “What if one of his colts, or even a filly, won the Triple Crown? I can just see it now.”

  David snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. “Calling Trish…come in, Trish. We’re talking about right now. You can dream about another Triple Crown on your own time.”

  “Oh.” She flashed her brother a brilliant grin. “Okay, okay, back to the present. You already know I would love to take Firefly to Kentucky.” She turned to Adam.

  “How about asking Red to ride for you? I’m sure he’ll be riding there then.” Trish felt a tingle race around her middle and gallop out to her fingers. Red Holloran had to be the nicest—no, not a good enough word—the sexiest, that’s what Rhonda called him, sweetest, most fun.…She clamped off the words. Face it, she really liked that certain redheaded jockey. Just think, if she could spend two weeks back there…Her mind took off again.

  “What about keeping the rest of our horses down here until we know what’s happening up in Portland?” Marge asked. “Patrick suggested you might race the others too if Portland Meadows doesn’t open.”

  Trish reentered reality with a thump. She carefully hid her thoughts behind a nod and a smile. If nobody else in their family was going to fix things at Portland Meadows, she’d look into it. There had to be a way to have racing in Portland this winter.

  “That’s decided then.” Adam started writing on a pad on his desk. “I’ll be sending my entries in today. You better do the same. I have extra forms here if you’d like.” He dug in the file cabinet to his left and pulled out a file folder.

  With the forms filled out, Marge rose to her feet. “Thanks, Adam, for all the care you’ve given us. You have no idea how much your friendship and advice, let alone keeping Trish down here, has meant.” She extended her hand, but instead of shaking it, Adam pulled her into a hug.

  “You’ve become like family to us, my dear. We couldn’t have done any differently.” His voice cracked on the words.

  Trish felt that old familiar lump take up residence in her throat again. It threatened to choke her when she recognized the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes. She hugged her knees to her chest. Outside, down the line of green-painted stalls, a horse whinnied. Another answered.

  “Thank you.” Marge stepped back and drew a tissue from the pocket of her tan slacks. After blowing her nose, she tucked the tissue back and picked up her purse. “Martha and I are going to church.
Anyone care to join us?”

  “I’ll go.” David made a bank shot into the trash with his napkin and stood up.

  “Tee?”

  “I need to be back by noon. I ride in the fifth and seventh today.”

  “Good. Then we’ll be able to worship together for a change.” Marge turned to Adam. “You coming?”

  “I’m right ahead of you.” He stepped outside and told Carlos, the head groom, he’d be leaving.

  When they all walked back to the parking lot, Trish shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. After today, it would be just she and her mother. She cut off the sad thoughts and nudged David with her hip. Teasing him always made her feel better.

  “We need to call the Shipsons to ask if we can come,” she said to her mother as they reached the cars.

  “Later—after church.”

  Trish forced her mind to concentrate on the service. Her thoughts kept skipping ahead to the visit with Spitfire. Every time she left him, she was afraid he would forget her.

  Marge handed Trish the hymnbook as they rose to their feet. The look she gave her daughter left no doubt that she knew where Trish’s mind roamed.

  The young pastor stepped into the pulpit and looked over the congregation. His gaze seemed to stop at Trish, as if speaking right to her. “Let not your heart be troubled.…In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you.” He closed the Bible and leaned forward.

  Trish gritted her teeth and kept her eyes on the speaker. That had been one of her father’s favorite passages. He often spoke of his Father’s mansions. But when she tried to picture him there, she always felt the tears.

  “What a comfort,” the pastor said, “to know we will see our loved ones again. They are there waiting for us. Cheering us on. You know that chorus the children sing? ‘Heaven is a wonderful place.’ What a promise Jesus gave us!”

  Marge slipped her hand into Trish’s. She took David’s on the other side and squeezed. Shoulder to shoulder, the three of them faced forward, still a family in spite of their loss.