Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “But…” and Trish went on to tell Rhonda all about the phone calls. “So, Red and I’ll be on national television.” She finished her tale. “Awesome, huh?” She turned her head. “Oh my gosh, Amy’s out in the van.” She bounded to her feet. “What a creep I am!” The two girls pounded down the stairs to find Amy sitting in the kitchen sharing a cup of coffee with Mrs. Seabolt. “I forgot you.”

  “No foolin’. But don’t worry, this bodyguard knows how to take care of herself. You ready to go home now?” She glanced at her watch. “It’s after ten.”

  Once in the car, Amy asked, “How did it go?”

  “She was calling me,” Trish laughed.

  “Good. I like happy endings.”

  Trish’s last thought before dropping into the canyon of sleep was about Red. She’d forgotten to call him in all the uproar. Tomorrow, she promised herself. I’ll call him tomorrow.

  But Thursday passed in such a blur, Trish managed to forget several things, including calling Red. With a win and two places at the track, she felt pretty good, and when there’d been no contact from The Jerk, she felt even better.

  She groaned when she heard the clock strike nine. Kentucky was two hours ahead, so Red was already sound asleep. She’d be seeing him before she’d have a chance to talk with him.

  “You got a minute?” Amy paused in the door of Trish’s bedroom.

  “Sure.”

  “Want to hear some good news?” Amy settled down on the bed. At Trish’s nod, she continued. “I talked with the chief.”

  “And?” Trish prodded her to hurry.

  “And I get to go!” Amy pummeled the pillow she’d nestled in her lap. “I’m going to Kentucky! And it’s on someone else’s dime.”

  Trish applauded her friend’s excitement. “What does Kevin think about it?”

  “My loving and extremely understanding fiancé says to have a great time. Says he’s pea green with jealousy, but I’m not to pay any attention to that, just go and take care of you.” Amy grinned at Trish, leaning back in her chair with her hands locked behind her head. The blonde nodded and her eyes grew dreamy. “He’s a pretty special guy, that man of mine.”

  “I’m glad. Both ’cause you’re coming and ’cause he’s so special. When do I get to meet him?”

  “Probably when you—we—get home.” Amy returned the pillow to its rightful place. “He’s still in L.A. teaching at the Academy. These long-distance relationships are the pits.”

  “You’re telling me,” Trish agreed, thinking again of the phone call that never was.

  Trish awoke feeling sure she’d run a hundred miles during the nightmare. Who was it that kept chasing her all night but managed to keep his face hidden? Or did he have a face? She lay in bed, trying to remember. You’d think by now she’d have recognized him anywhere, she’d looked over her shoulder so many times to see him about to grab her.

  Just thinking about it set her heart to thundering again. She swung her feet to the floor and staggered down the hall. Feeling run over by a truck was getting to be a habit.

  She jumped when her mother knocked on the door to remind her she’d better hurry. A car horn set her pulses to pounding. A slamming locker slammed her heart against her ribs. Even at the track, she kept wanting to look over her shoulder. She hurried from the women’s dressing room out to the saddling paddock. Today for sure she didn’t want to dwell on the sound of shots echoing in the cavernous building. But she’d heard them and she hadn’t forgotten the sound.

  “What’s happenin’, lass?” Patrick laid a hand on her knee after giving her a boost into the saddle.

  Trish stared down into his faded blue eyes, surrounded by the crinkles of a man used to the out-of-doors. “Just more of the same—nightmares—can’t forget what went on here.”

  “Well, now, you concentrate on that filly ’neath you and the race ahead. Let Amy worry about lookin’ out for you. ’Tis her job, that’s what.” He patted her knee again. “And I’ll be prayin’ extra guardian angels round about you besides.” He winked at her. “And ye’ll be knowin’ nothing gets through them.”

  “You’re right.” She stroked her hand down the filly’s bright sorrel shoulder. “Come on, girl. Let’s just give it the best we’ve got.” When they trotted out beside the pony rider, Trish lifted her face to the breeze coming off the river. On around the track, she could see the sliding sun painting the cloud strata with a lavish brush of reds and oranges, tinged with purple and gold. The filly snorted and tossed her head, setting her mane to bouncing and Trish to chuckling.

  “You’re ready, you are.” Her voice took on its cadence of comfort, gentling both herself and the filly she rode.

  Since she’d come in fifth in the last race, Trish settled into the saddle, determined to win. The filly she rode had missed a win by only a nose her first time out, so winning wasn’t a pipe dream. “Please, God, take good care of us.” Her murmured prayer fit into the song she’d been crooning up till then.

  The filly burst out of the gate and hit her stride as if she’d been running for years. Trish let two duelers take the lead coming out of the first turn and hung off the pace only a length. Down the backstretch she held her place, the filly seeming content to obey her rider. With two furlongs to go, Trish loosened the reins and commanded the filly to fly.

  With powerful strides she did just that. They blew by the remaining leader as if the horse had quit, still picking up speed when they crossed the finish line.

  “And that’s number three, Money Ahead, owned by John Anderson and ridden by Trish Evanston, winner by two lengths.” The announcement crackled over the speaker.

  “Way to go.” Genie Stokes cantered beside Trish as they rounded the turn back to the grandstand. “You have any idea she’d be that fast?”

  “No, Anderson raced her in Minnesota because we weren’t sure about opening here. Patrick took over a month ago.” Trish brought her down to a trot. “She sure can run.”

  “Told you to just concentrate.” Patrick beamed up at her when he took the rein to lead them into the winner’s circle.

  “Did you think she’d be that fast?” Trish leaned forward to speak for Patrick’s ears only.

  “I’d hoped so. John seems pretty set on her.”

  “Excellent ride, Trish.” Anderson greeted her with a broad grin. “Pretty nice, isn’t she?” He rubbed the filly’s nose. “And look, I don’t have to worry about being bitten.”

  They posed for the picture and Trish leaped lightly to the ground. “Not like our friend Gatesby, huh?”

  “Friend, right.” Anderson shook hands with a fan. “Thanks, yes, we’re thinking of running her at a mile.” He turned back to Trish. “If there were only some way of breaking that monster.”

  “We tried. Gatesby just thinks it’s a game and he likes to win.” Trish stepped back off the scale. “You bought yourself a winner there. See ya.” She headed back toward the women’s jockey room, Amy falling in beside her.

  “Trish, could you sign my program?” The question came from both sides of the walk. Trish smiled, joked with her fans, and signed programs. She turned to leave when a deep voice drew her back.

  “How about signing my program?”

  Trish looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Smiling, fringed with sooty black lashes, the kind of eyes girls die for and guys get—total unfairness in the distribution of features. His smile bordered on the punch-in-the-solar-plexus type.

  “Sh-sure.” Trish caught her lip between her teeth. Since when did smiles become so contagious? “There you go. Thanks for coming today.”

  “Oh, you’ll see me again; you can count on it.”

  Trish felt a little shiver at his words. Who was he?

  Chapter

  11

  Who was that?” Amy sounded like Trish felt. Out of breath.

  “Got me, but if Rhonda’d been here, she’d have fainted dead away. What a gorgeous guy!”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I wonder if the
talent scouts from Hollywood have seen him?”

  “Amy, you’re engaged, remember?”

  “You bet I do, sweetie, but there’s no law against lookin’, and he’s definitely worth looking at.” She pushed open the door to the dressing room and held it for Trish. “You have any idea who he is?”

  “Never saw him before in my life and probably won’t again.” Trish tossed her helmet down on the bench. “Did you see that filly take off? What I wouldn’t give for three of her in my string.” Trish shucked her silks and pulled off her boots. She had two races before she’d be up again. While yakking with the other jockeys was always fun, she pulled out her government textbook. The week she returned from Kentucky she’d have some big tests, and there wouldn’t be much time to study once she got to Kentucky.

  She finished the day with a place and headed out to the parking lot for her car. Most of the fans had gone home, leaving the cleaning crew to sweep up the debris. Sounds echoed in the concrete hall. Trish shivered. Sounds, including shots, still echoed in her head.

  “You as hungry as I am?” Amy asked from right beside her shoulder. Trish flinched. “Okay, what’s happening?” Amy could switch from friend to protector within the blink of an eye.

  “Just remembering. I hate this feeling of wanting to look over my shoulder all the time and being afraid to.”

  “Don’t blame you. All I can say is it will eventually go away. Just takes time.” Amy scanned the parking lot. “Trish, anyone would feel the way you do with what you’ve been through. I know I sound like a broken record, but don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “Now you sound like my dad.” Trish unlocked the van door and swung her bags in.

  “I take that as a compliment. From all I hear and see, that man was one wise fellow. Makes me wish I’d had someone like him in my life.” She fastened her seat belt. “Let’s get outta here. I could eat a—whoops, guess I won’t say that anymore. Cow—that’s right. I could eat a cow.”

  “Burgers okay?”

  “Nuh-uh. I want real food. Steak, baked potato, Caesar salad, the works. Or will your mom have dinner ready?”

  “She always has something I can warm up, but she knows I usually stop on the way home. Too hungry to wait.”

  “Good then, we’ll start with an appetizer that’s quick. Lead me to it.”

  After a dinner that left them both stuffed to the gills, Trish felt only like falling into bed when they finally got home. She glared at the stack of books on her desk, promised them time the next day, and hit the sack. Her three praises—“Thank you for keeping me and all of us safe today, thank you for the win on the filly, thank you for Amy”—left her asleep before the amen.

  Morning dawned cold, wet, and windy, but by the time silver cracked the eastern horizon, Trish had already taken two mounts on their designated trips around the track. While her slicker kept out the worst, both wet and cold slipped down the back of her neck. When she dismounted at the barns, she clapped her arms around her chest a couple of times and tucked her hands into her armpits.

  “Man, I’m gonna race in California or Florida next year. This is the pits.” She stamped her feet to get the circulation moving. “I think my nose is froze clear off.”

  “Can’t be.” Brad led up her next mount. “It’s still running.”

  “Thank you so very much, Mr. Observant. You got any other words of wisdom for me?”

  “No, but I’ll buy breakfast soon as we’re done. Having Amy here speeds things up, so we can get warmed up faster.”

  Trish waved to the blonde scraping down the last horse she’d ridden. “Don’t you wish you’d stayed home in bed?”

  Amy shot her a dirty look.

  Trish waved again and raised her knee into Brad’s waiting cupped hands. Once mounted, she pulled her neck down into her shoulders, turtle style. “See you guys. You might make me a cup of hot chocolate while I’m gone, Brad. Your coffee’s strong enough to knock Gatesby here over.”

  The gelding tossed his head and jigged to the side at the sound of his name. “You don’t like the miserable weather either, do you?” Trish patted his neck and smoothed a lock of mane to the right side. “Well, let’s get it over with so we can both go back to the barn. You at least get a nice warm stall—I get more horses to ride.”

  By race time the clouds hung low, but the rain had ceased. Trish glared up at the glass-fronted stands. For sure there’d be no racing if the fans had to brave the weather like the entertainment did.

  Everyone out took the first turn cautiously. No matter how hard the maintenance crew worked, today the track would be muddy. Trish thanked the Lord above that she rode a mudder. Her mount didn’t care what the weather was like; in fact, the wetter the better. He didn’t mind mud in his face, but he’d rather be in front slinging it.

  Trish let him take the lead, holding him back so that he wouldn’t wear out. “Think you’re part mule, old man,” she sang to his twitching ears. “You’d probably run straight up a mountain.” He won by two lengths.

  When Trish met Bob Diego in front of the grandstand, he nodded his approval from under a wide-brimmed western hat. “You rode that just right, mi amiga. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Trish smiled for the camera and baled off. “See you for the eighth.” She picked up her sidekick and trotted back to the locker room. “Thank God for showers.” She stood under the driving water for ten minutes before she felt warm enough to leave.

  Back up in the third, the overcast had deteriorated to a mist. Patrick gave her a leg up, along with a reminder. “Be careful out there. Coming back in one piece is more important than winning.”

  “You’re not telling me anything new. I hate weather like this.” Her mount shook his head. “And he does too.” The call of the bugle floated back into the dim, spoke-wheeled saddling paddock. “Pray us some angels. We may need them.”

  Trish wished more people would train their horses decently, or scratch those who hated the rain, when it took three tries to get one stubborn creature into the starting gates. His whinny of alarm set everyone’s teeth on edge, not helped by the rain now drifting in sheets across the track.

  She breathed a prayer of relief when everyone made it around the first turn with only a couple of minor slips. Down the backstretch, she kept her mount to the outside, off the pace by a length. Going into the turn, the two jockeys on either side of her made their moves. She heard the slap of the bats over the grunts of horses giving their best and the pounding hooves.

  The horse on the inside slipped, caromed off the rail, and banged the animal beside Trish. Like dominoes, the force sent her mount staggering for footing, slipping and slopping in the treacherous mud.

  Trish clung with all her might, her arms taut like steel bands, trying to keep her horse on his feet. Her heart thundered like the horses behind. An animal screamed. A jockey yelled.

  But Trish had her horse straightened out again and running free. She shot a glance over her shoulder. Two down at least, other back runners pulling wide to keep from injuring either themselves or those down. By the time they reached the finish line, her mount was favoring his left foreleg.

  “Thank God you kept him to the outside like you did or you’da been right there in the middle.” Patrick took the gelding’s reins and shook his head. “My heart was in me mouth, that it was.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “I don’t think too bad. Both horses got up again and the jockeys were up and walking.” Brad bent down to check out the gelding’s foreleg. “This guy’s gonna need some ice.”

  “Looks like those guardian angels you prayed for had their hands full back there.” Trish dismounted to ease the weight on her horse. “Do you know who went down?”

  “Genie was one and a young apprentice the other. He shoulda knowed better than pushin’ at that point.” Patrick shook his head. “These young pups put too much on winnin’ and not enough on giving their horse a good ride.”

  “That was too close.” Amy fell
in beside Trish after she stepped off the scale.

  “You won’t catch me arguing with that.” Trish shivered. “I’m freezing.”

  Genie Stokes was already in the shower when Trish got back to the dressing room. “You okay?” Trish called above the water’s rush.

  “I will be. One good thing about mud—it helps cushion your fall.” She turned off the taps and poked her head out the curtain. “I could smack that kid right up alongside the head though. What a stupid move.”

  “They gonna file a grievance?”

  “Doubt it. ’Bout the time I calm down, I’m gonna give him a grievance or two.”

  “I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

  “Yeah, then you’d have to get your sorry butt over here in the mornings and work your own horses.” She disappeared back behind the curtain.

  “Right.” Trish rejoined Amy on the bench and pulled off her boots. She felt like a major mud blob herself, and she’d stayed on top of her horse.

  She only managed a show on Diego’s horse in the feature race of the day. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. I almost scratched her myself. She doesn’t like the mud too well.”

  “Horses around here should get used to it.”

  “They say mudpacks are good for the complexion, no?” Diego tipped the brim of his hat.

  “Gracias, amigo. I’ll keep that in mind.” Trish turned to head for the showers. “See you in Kentucky.”

  Trish signed a couple of programs and thanked her fans for coming, all the while trying to keep a smile on her face and the shivers from ruining her signature. She’d just turned to leave when a deep voice stopped her.

  “If you don’t mind?” The gorgeous guy from the day before took up more than his share of space on the other side of the fence. In the gloom his shoulders looked broader than a football player’s. And his eyes—those incredible eyes.

  “Who should I make it to?” Trish couldn’t resist smiling back.

  “No matter, your autograph is enough.” His voice—what could one call it but sexy?