Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I’ll remind you of that the next time your agent has to turn away mounts.” Red glanced up when someone called their names. “Let’s go eat. We can continue this discussion later.”

  As if I want to. Trish rose to her feet.

  By ten that night everyone’s tempers danced like sparks from bare wires touching. Spitfire reacted to the tension and shifted from foot to foot, tossing his head and even laying his ears back. Trish felt she could do nothing right, and by now the car had a second ding in it from one of the colt’s more determined protests.

  Joseph finally threw up his hands and shut the entire process down. “Get some sleep and we’ll start again at seven. Trish, it’s coming, so don’t tear yourself down. You learn really quickly for someone who’s never done this before. Besides, working with animals is always difficult.”

  Trish stared at him, total disbelief mirrored on her face.

  “Believe him, honey,” Lennie whispered when she took the silks and helmet off to wardrobe. “He doesn’t pass out compliments lightly.”

  Even so, Trish fell into bed wishing she were at any track in the world other than here. Freezing rain in Portland, or even taking a fall seemed preferable. Coming in last—well, not quite. She did hate to lose. She mumbled her three thank-yous and fell into the sleep of total exhaustion.

  “Heavenly Father, please get me through this day.” She whispered the plea before getting out of bed in the morning. “I can’t do this without your help. I’m not a model or an actress. I’m a jockey.” She rolled her head to the side. Outside the window was still pitch black. But she’d already shut off the alarm, so she had to get going. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” She repeated the verse three times. Her “amen” was echoed by a rooster crowing.

  “Rise and shine.” Amy tapped on the door. “Meet you downstairs.”

  “All right.” Trish threw back the covers. The rooster crowed again, sending his wake-up call echoing over the treetops. “All right, I said I was coming.” Trish headed for the bathroom. She could get used to having her own private bath. She could get used to a lot of the things here at BlueMist.

  Her heels clicking down the stairs, she caught herself humming the opening bars to her song. She needed some eagle’s wings today for sure.

  “We’re all praying for you, Tee.” Marge sat down at the breakfast table next to her daughter. “I watched for a while last night but I finally left. Joseph gives new meaning to the word perfectionist.”

  “At least he liked the clips of me riding Spitfire. That storm yesterday sent everything crazy.”

  “I just thank God no one was hurt. And a fire didn’t start.”

  “A fire would have had a hard time of it with all that pouring rain.” Trish drained her glass of milk and pushed back her chair. “See ya, Mom. Gotta go to work.”

  On the third take, she finally pulled everything together: lines, looks, and Spitfire’s ears pointing in the right direction. “Cut. Good job, Trish, and give that black beast an extra carrot.” Joseph pushed his hat farther back on his head and stretched his arms in front of him. “Okay, everyone, back after dinner. We’ll be outside again.”

  They spent the afternoon rehearsing Trish and Red together without the horse. By dusk Trish felt if she had to say the lines one more time, smile one more time, or stroke that stupid car, she’d bust out screaming.

  “No wonder models get paid a bunch of money. This is the worst job I’ve ever had.” She glanced over at Red, who was shrugging his shoulders up to his ears to loosen the kinks.

  “You ever washed dishes in a restaurant?” Amy asked. “Now that’s bad. I put myself through college working in a restaurant, starting with dishwasher. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven when I finally made waitress, and that’s no easy job either.”

  Trish shrugged off the twinge of guilt. “Does mucking out stalls count?” Then refocusing, Trish said, “We’ve gotta get this right tomorrow. I have four mounts on Thursday at Churchill Downs.”

  “And the weather has to cooperate.” Amy raised her face to the evening breeze. “You sure can tell fall is in the air.”

  The three of them marched up the steps of the big house. Smells to tempt angels wafted out from the kitchen. Sarah had been hard at it, they could tell.

  When morning came, it brought a fine mist.

  “Weatherman says sun this afternoon, so you two keep at it.” Joseph tapped his pen on his clipboard. “I want you back in the barn at ten, Trish. There’s one spot we need to reshoot. Won’t take long.”

  But it did. And the sun didn’t come out till late afternoon, leaving too-long shadows and too little time with light. Joseph was counting on the sun glimmering through the trees.

  Trish could feel Red’s tension when they walked back up to the house. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “It’s not your fault.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Guess I better just call my agent and get it over with. Here I thought I could work it all in.”

  “I know. I hate letting owners and trainers down too and I haven’t been winning consistently like you. Donald says you’re going to be a force to reckon with in a couple of years if you keep going like you are.”

  “Thanks for trying, Trish. I’ll see you later.”

  Bernice met Trish and Amy at the door. “Trish, there’s some mail for you. It’s on the table in the parlor.”

  Chapter

  14

  Trish felt her stomach bounce on her kneecaps.

  “I’ll get it.” Amy shifted into police mode from one breath to another. “You stay here.”

  “Is there a problem?” Bernice stared from Trish to Amy, her hand to her mouth. “Oh no, that’s why you’re with Trish, isn’t it—letters just like this.”

  “Just pray that’s all it is.” Amy said, her heels clicking out her concern as she crossed the hardwood floor.

  Trish followed Amy into the antique-furnished parlor but stopped at the doorway. She didn’t really want to see the thing. But then it could be from Rhonda or David or…

  Amy muttered a word that told Trish her bodyguard’s state of mind. For sure the letter wasn’t an “I’m thinking of you” card.

  “Let me see it.” Trish stiffened her spine along with her knees and crossed the room. Amy held the plain white paper by the corner. “Good luck,” the block letters read. “Did you think you could run away from me?”

  Trish’s stomach took another knee dive.

  “You go eat. I have some phone calls to make.”

  “Since Red is on the line in Donald’s office, you can use the home phone.” Bernice pointed to one set on a carved-walnut whatnot table beside a deep leather chair. “We’ll leave you alone.” She put an arm around Trish’s shoulders. “Come, dear. Let’s join the others in the dining room.”

  Trish let herself be led out of the room. They met Red coming out of the office. He took one look at Trish’s face.

  “What happened now?”

  “Another letter.” Bernice locked her other arm through his and drew them both forward. “We can discuss this over Sarah’s baked ham. Stewing about it won’t make one whit of difference. That’s a job for the police.”

  So will he show up at the track? Come here to BlueMist? Trish slapped a lid on her thoughts and took her place at the table. When Red held the chair for her, he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, and then seated Marge.

  Trish flashed him a look of pure gratitude. “Guess I’ve been having too good a time. Seemed like I was safe here.”

  “Yeah, in between rearing horses, lightning, falling trees, and a director who can shoot daggers at ten paces, it’s real safe here.” Red sat down on Trish’s other side.

  “Better all that than a harassing letter.”

  “You just forget all your troubles and enjoy my ham and yams.” Sarah set the platter of biscuits directly in front of Trish. “There ain’t nothin’ that a good Southern meal can’t
cure, child. You eat up and see.”

  Trish smiled up at the woman serving. One could never resist smiling with Sarah. “I suppose you baked pies again today.”

  “No, honey, I made apple cobbler. Wait till you try it.” She bustled back out after giving Trish’s shoulder a second pat.

  Donald said grace and began serving the plates from the platters in front of him. As usual, there was enough to feed each of them three times and still have leftovers.

  “I’m going to have to go on a diet when I get home, and I never have to diet.” Trish bit into a piece of ham. She’d take Sarah’s advice. Let the food do its work and Officer Parks do his.

  “I do. And after a meal like this, I should run ten miles. But I’m always too full.” Red forked another bite of ham into his mouth and closed his eyes in appreciation.

  The next day’s shooting took off from the first frame and stopped only for meals.

  “You’re doing it, kids,” Joseph said at one point. “That’s just the look I want.”

  Trish grinned at Red and hugged Spitfire, who acted like he’d been on camera all his life and what was all the fuss about? Maybe the modeling stuff wasn’t so bad after all.

  They took their places for the umpteenth time. They stood together between the two convertibles—one black, one red, front bumpers nearly touching.

  “Okay, roll it.”

  “Red is best.” Trish looked up at Red from under her eyelashes.

  “Nope, black.” His half-grin sent a shiver up her back.

  “either way, we’ll take LeBarons.” The words came out slowly, as if they’d been drenched in warm honey. Trish couldn’t take her gaze from his mouth, his smiling, curved lips so near.

  “Cut! That’s it! Talk about sizzle.”

  Trish blinked. Spitfire nudged her for attention. The mood shattered.

  “Okay, let’s set up for the next shots.”

  No matter how well it went, it was still ten o’clock that night before they finished. Trish had heard a phrase once—“drug through a knothole backwards.” Now she knew what it meant. And how it felt. They had to leave for Churchill Downs by seven in the morning.

  Red dropped a kiss on the end of her tired nose and left as soon as they finished shooting. He had horses to ride for morning works. The thought of riding five or six mounts before seven and most likely freezing in the process made Trish shiver in sympathy.

  She would enjoy her vacation just a little longer. If what she’d been doing could be called a vacation, that is.

  She gave a halfhearted thought to her books, the ones she’d carted so faithfully across the country. She’d been studying all right, but lines, not textbooks. Maybe she could write a term paper on the joys of modeling. Trish groaned at the thought. Was there any chance her teachers would give her an extension?

  One thought of The Jerk flitted through her mind, but there was a good side to exhaustion—she was too tired to care.

  The sun didn’t bother to get up early in the morning, and when it did, it dressed in gray clouds rather than golden beams. She’d slept right through her rooster alarm, so she had to hustle. She would take a shower at the track.

  Trish gave a last longing look around her bedroom. Since Marge and Bernice were driving over later, they would pack and bring her clothes. She hefted her sports bag and tried not to clatter down the stairs.

  Sarah met her with a food package at the door. “Land sakes, child! Y’all can’t go off for a big day like this on an empty stomach.”

  A horn honked from the drive. “Gotta run.” Trish took the gift and planted a kiss on the woman’s dark cheek. “Anytime you want to move west, let us know. Thanks for everything.”

  “I’ll see you at the track this afternoon. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  With the warmth of a last pat still on her cheek, Trish dashed out the door and down the steps.

  “I was beginning to think I was going to have to come haul you out of bed.” Amy opened the door to the shiny deep blue Cherokee. “As usual, we’re going in style.”

  Trish munched her breakfast, letting the conversation flow around her. Traveling with either of the Shipsons was a touring lesson in history, done in a most entertaining style. She could tell Amy was as charmed as she was.

  The first sight of the three cupolas on the rooftops of Churchill Downs always brought a lump to her throat. “Far cry from Portland Meadows, right?” She turned around when Amy failed to answer. If one’s face could register shock, Amy’s did. Mouth open, eyes wide. Yup, shock for sure. Trish felt a chuckle coming on. In spite of the low gray sky, this was going to be a super day. Wasn’t it? But a niggle of fear set her butterflies a-fluttering.

  “You all right?” Amy recovered enough to sense the change in Trish.

  “Sure. Fine.” But Trish caught herself carefully studying each person as they drove by, just in case they might be the one.

  So much for trust and faith, her nagger whispered in her ear. You claim God will take care of you, now let Him. Trish breathed deeply to relax. And it helped, in spite of the fact that increased oxygen accelerated the butterfly acrobatics.

  She was all right. Of course she was. Here at Churchill Downs she could be no other.

  The first face she saw when they reached the Shipsons’ barn belonged to her California trainer, Adam Finley. Trish leaped from the truck and flew into his arms.

  “Hey, it’s been worth the wait for a greeting like that. Let me look at you, now a world-class model no less. You have more talents than one person should know what to do with.” A smile wreathed his face like the white fringe of hair circled his shiny bald crown.

  “Right. You been kissing the Blarney stone or something?” Trish hooked her arm in his. “Come meet my friend Amy and then I get to inspect the string.”

  “Inspection, my foot. Firefly thought you were coming to take her out this morning. She’s been pining for you.”

  “Sure she has. I bet she gave that redheaded friend of ours a good workout.” Trish introduced Amy and Adam, then grabbed Amy’s arm. “You met the humans—now come see the important ones around here.”

  Firefly had stretched her head so far out of the stall she looked as if she might topple over. Her nickers demanded attention, giving vent to a full-fledged whinny when Trish didn’t respond quickly enough.

  “You silly girl, I think you missed me.” Trish handed Amy a piece of carrot. “Here, this sweetie will be your friend for life if you come with treats in hand. I should know.”

  “Right, you’re the one who spoiled her rotten.” Adam stood petting the gelding in the stall next to the filly so he wouldn’t feel left out. “This is your other mount for today. He’s looking mighty fine here—clocked out well.”

  Trish switched horses. “He does look good.”

  Amy stood next to Firefly’s shoulder, stroking the red-gold hide and adopting Trish’s habit of crooning sweet nothings into the filly’s twitching ears.

  “You’re turning into a real horse person,” Trish said.

  “I think I’ve always been one. That side of me just got put on hold, that’s all. You think Kevin would mind me having a horse?”

  “How should I know? He’s your fiancé. I haven’t even met him yet.” Trish left off with her filly and followed Donald Shipson down the line of curious horses.

  “This is your mount for the second race. You’ve ridden him before, and he’s improved a lot since then. By the way, you’ll be riding against Red in all three races.”

  “That should make for more fun. I love beating out my friends.”

  “You better head up to the jockey room.” Donald checked his watch. “You know how strict they are about check-in times.”

  Trish waved to Amy. “Come on, we gotta get going.”

  By the time they’d walked around the track, thunderheads reared above the skyline. Trish could see lightning flashing in the distance and hear the thunder muttering.

  “Will they race even if it storms?”


  “This track is so well maintained that it can handle a lot of water and still be dry enough to race. Sometimes they delay between squalls, though.”

  Trish tried to study while they waited for the program to begin, but she felt so restless she could hardly sit still. Up and down she paced, into the lounge between the men’s and women’s jockey rooms, where jockeys played cards or shot pool or just shot the breeze. She bought a Diet Coke and visited with Red. Then back to her books. What was wrong with her?

  “Good luck.” She gave Red a thumbs-up sign when he headed out for the first race. And when he won it, she went nuts along with the others. It was easy to tell he was a favorite in the women’s dressing room, for sure.

  When the call came for the second race, they took the escalator down and walked out the jockey passage together. While Trish heard her name cheered a couple of times, Red again seemed to be a special favorite of the crowd. She could tell why—his ready smile helped everyone enjoy their day.

  Her butterflies lodged in a traffic jam, right in her throat. Donald Shipson gave her a leg up and an encouraging smile. “This is just a race, like any other. No big deal.”

  Trish’s smile helped relax her entire body. “How come you always have just the right words to make people feel better?”

  “It’s a gift. Now, this old boy likes to set the pace, but he can’t today because Red will run you right into the ground if you let him.” At Trish’s nod, he continued. “And he needs the whip to kick into the sprint, so don’t hesitate to use it.”

  The bugle rose above the tall green roof of the stands and floated back down to the paddock. Donald handed her off to the pony rider, and out the tunnel under the stands they walked.

  While the gelding strutted his stuff for the crowd, Trish glanced at the grandstand. This was nothing like Derby day, when every seat was taken and the infield was full. And now, spectators huddled in blankets.

  Red saluted her with his whip from three horses over when the horses entered the starting gates. Trish nodded back.

  At the gun they broke clear. Trish forgot all but the horse she rode and the finish line six furlongs away. “Easy, fella,” she sang through the first turn. She looked to the right to see Red hanging even with her. Two horses ahead dueled for the lead. But out of the turn, she went to the whip just like Shipson said. Within strides she and Red had left the two front runners behind and drove nose to nose for the swiftly approaching tall white posts.