Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “You all right, lass?” Timmy kept his voice soothing and his hands busy stroking up around Firefly’s ears.

  “I will be.”

  Firefly dropped her head and sniffed the ramp. She sucked in a deep breath of air and, on the exhale, nuzzled Trish’s arm.

  “You ready for more?” Trish raised her gaze to the sky above, catching the flight of a flock of birds against the deep blue. “Sure wish we had some wings here about now.”

  Timmy grinned at her and nodded. “That would be good.” He waited a moment. “You ready?”

  Trish nodded. “Okay, girl, all the way.” She stepped farther up the ramp and tugged gently on the lead.

  Firefly planted her feet and leaned back on her haunches.

  “Come on, Firefly, you know better than this.” Trish tugged again. The filly’s ears were laid back.

  Trish released the tension on her lead.

  Firefly leaped forward. She slammed into Trish in the rush.

  No! Trish kept the scream in her head as she spun off the ramp.

  Chapter

  05

  Trish grabbed for the rail, the door, anything. Her hands raked across metal.

  She kept falling.

  “Oof!” even with a cushion of strong arms and a broad chest, Trish felt the jolt clear through her. She opened her eyes to see Dr. Grant grinning at her as he set her back on the ground. “Th-thanks. That was close.”

  “Glad I could be of service.” The doctor’s grin wobbled, looking about like Trish’s legs felt. “Young lady, no wonder your mother is getting gray hair. If you’d have crushed those ribs again, she’d have strung me up.”

  “Hardly.” Trish put a hand to her side and leaned forward to breathe more easily. At the same time she rubbed her stomach to get it back down where it belonged. If she looked as pale as she felt, she knew she was in trouble. “She’s used to me. Besides, it wasn’t my fault. Firefly just got tired of hobbling.” Trish stepped up on the ramp and entered the van to find her filly rubbing against Timmy with her bony forehead.

  “You okay, lass?” Timmy ducked under the filly’s neck to check Trish out.

  “I will be. Let’s get this show on the road.” So I can lie down for a while was the thought deliberately kept unspoken.

  “Why don’t you go sit in that chair and let us take care of your horse?” Kim joined Trish beside the filly.

  “I will as soon as we get her settled.” She turned to Dr. Grant. “Thanks for all you’ve done for her—and for being such a good catcher.”

  “Glad we could help.” Dr. Grant gave Donald an assist with the quilted traveling sheet, smoothing a hand down Firefly’s back after securing the last of the buckles. “Hope to see you at Churchill Downs again next year.”

  As soon as they were underway, Trish let herself sink into the canvas chair against the far wall. She closed her eyes, gently rubbing her side at the same time. That seemed to ease the pain. What she wouldn’t give for some aspirin right then.

  The trip to BlueMist passed without any further incident. At one point Timmy touched Trish’s shoulder and pointed to a pile of horse blankets. She roused herself enough from the drowse she’d been hovering in and curled up on the pads. How come pain can make you so sleepy? The thought never had time for an answer because she sank beyond drowse like a stone falling into a pool.

  Trish spent the next day alternating between Firefly’s and Spitfire’s stalls. During a thunderstorm in the afternoon she stayed with Spitfire. While he’d gotten somewhat used to the crashing storm, loud noises still spooked him.

  “easy, fella, it’s just thunder,” Trish crooned to him after a particularly close strike. Her eardrums still echoed from the boom. If you were home, you wouldn’t have to put up with such stuff. The thought made her wince. Her mother had called last night wondering when Trish was flying in. They’d agreed on Saturday, only the day after next.

  If only Spitfire could be brought back to Vancouver. Trish leaned her forehead against his neck. “Guess that’s the price of fame,” she whispered. “Only how come it has to hurt so much?”

  Spitfire turned and nuzzled her shoulder. When that didn’t get her attention, he lipped the braid hanging down her back.

  “Ouch.” She pushed his nose away. “You don’t have to get so rough.” He threw his head up and rolled his eyes, the whites gleaming bright in the gloom. “Sure, I know, you’re scared to death.” Another flash of lightning glinted through the windows. “Hang on, here we go again.” She turned so he could rest his head over her shoulder and place a hand over the ridge of his nose.

  Trish counted. But this time, the thunder took five seconds to boom after the lightning flash. The storm was quickly moving away from them. Spitfire only flinched, his hide rippling beneath her hand.

  Once the rain let up, she crossed the gravel parking lot to the quarantine barn, where Firefly occupied a double stall so she could have plenty of room to move around. José, one of the grooms, stayed with her to make sure she didn’t try to lie down.

  “How ya doin’?” Trish asked the aging former jockey.

  “Not bad. She’s a good horse, that one. Shame she won’t run again.”

  “At least she’s alive.” Trish stroked the filly’s neck. “Much as I’d love to see her on the track, she’ll make a good broodmare.” She tickled the filly’s whiskery upper lip. “Won’t you, girl?” Firefly snuffled Trish’s pockets looking for her treat. When she found the right one, she nosed harder. “Okay, okay, be patient, will you?” Trish drew the carrot out of her jacket pocket and let the horse munch away. The crunch of carrot coupled with the water dripping through the downspouts sang a kind of tune. One of peace and contentment.

  Trish took her American government textbook out of her book bag and sank down in the corner of the stall to study. “You can take a break now if you’d like. I’ll be here for an hour at least.” She listened while José left the building. When his footsteps faded, she leaned her head back against the wall. Firefly snuffed Trish’s hair and then rested her nose against Trish’s shoulder, the horse’s eyes drifting closed.

  Trish let her book dangle between her bent knees. Vancouver, Portland Meadows, Prairie High School—they all seemed light-years away. What would it be like to stay in Kentucky? She’d be closer to major tracks, that’s for sure. Probably even head down to Florida when Donald shipped his string down there. She could be at BlueMist when Spitfire serviced the mares that other breeders would bring in. Spend time in the foaling barns. Go to school.

  She shook her head. No, her senior year took priority. She shut off the daydreams and reopened her book. Graduating with her friends was important. After all, she’d never be seventeen again. She had plenty of years to race.

  Now she sounded like her mother. Trish’s snort made Firefly jerk up her head. “Easy, girl. You can go back to sleep. I’ll be careful.”

  She called Rhonda that evening to let her in on the latest plans.

  “You mean you’re finally coming home?” Trish could just picture Rhonda, flat on her bed with one knee cocked over the other.

  “You mean you’ve missed me? What about that tall, handsome basketball player who takes all your spare time?”

  “Jason is rather nice.”

  “Nice?” Trish choked on the word. “I’ll tell him what you said.”

  “You know, he plays basketball every day after school, and he’s even found a weekend league. So, it’s like I never get to see him.”

  “Right!”

  “Besides that, I’ve had shows nearly every weekend. Which reminds me—you haven’t seen me jump once this fall.”

  Guilt dealt Trish a blow to the midsection. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault, but I qualified for the Pan Pacific, so you better clear those days. That’s my entry into the big time.”

  The two chatted a few more minutes before Trish hung up. Yeah, it was time to go home. She’d missed out on a lot.

  Friday night Red arrived right on tim
e to take her out to supper. “How does Barney’s Ribs sound?” he asked on their way down the steps.

  “Sounds good to me. We don’t get real southern barbecued ribs in Vancouver.”

  “That’s what I thought. Then maybe a movie—or just a drive?”

  “Up to you.” She wanted to add, I just like being with you, but the words stuck in her throat. She’d have thought with her being in Kentucky she would have seen more of him, but a popular jockey didn’t have a lot of extra time. Now, if she’d been at the track…

  Before their dinner was served, Red had signed three autographs, and when the fans realized Trish was with him, they kept both jockeys busy.

  Trish smiled at a young girl who had braces glinting on her teeth and who swore she’d be a jockey someday just like Trish. “Spend all the time you can learning to ride and handle horses,” Trish told her. “Any kind of horse. And keep up your schoolwork so you get good grades.” Trish could hardly believe she’d said that. Must be her mother’s coaching coming out.

  By the time they left the restaurant, it was too late to do more than head back to BlueMist. The golden harvest moon sailed above the tops of the trees, gilding branches and rooftops and casting deep shadows.

  “Wish you could stay here.” Red took her hand in his.

  “I’ve thought about it. The Shipsons invited me too.” The warm fuzzies inched up her arm and around her heart. Was this what love felt like?

  “And?”

  “And I have to go home. Mom needs me, and so does Runnin’ On Farm. Besides, I want to graduate with my class.” She laid her head on his shoulder.

  “But you’ll come back?”

  “Of course. But I’ve got a lot of races to run out there, you know.” She smiled up at him. “You could come west and ride.”

  “It would have to be California.”

  “I know. Portland doesn’t pay very well. But the Meadows has been good to me.”

  Red snorted.

  Trish knew he was thinking about the mess at the track when she’d been shot at. “But that’s all over now.”

  “Sure.” He snorted again.

  The thought of The Jerk snapped her head up from its resting place. “We’re going to get him.” She put all the confidence she could into her reply.

  “It better be soon.” Red kissed her good-night and hugged her close. “I gotta admit I worry about you. Please be careful, will you?”

  Trish nodded against his shoulder. Why did saying good-bye always make her eyes water?

  He dropped another kiss on her nose before opening the door to the mansion for her. “See ya.”

  She watched him jump down the steps and jog to his pickup. When the taillights disappeared down the drive, she entered the house and shut the door behind her. Major sniffing all the way up the stairs kept the tears at bay.

  Trish stood in Spitfire’s stall the next morning, fighting back the tears, glad Timmy had thought to leave them alone. Saying good-bye to him was never easy. “I know I’ll see you again in a few months, so you just behave yourself, you hear?”

  Spitfire nodded. He nosed her pocket for the carrot he smelled and blew carrot perfume in her face while he munched. It was when she left the stall that he kicked up a fuss. He snorted and stamped his front feet, then let out a piercing shriek.

  Two other stallions answered him from inside the barn and another from his paddock outside.

  “Knock it off, you goof.” Trish returned to the web gate and shook her finger in front of his face. “You know better than that.” Spitfire tried to rub his forehead against her chest, but Trish pushed him away.

  “He’ll settle down soon as you’re out the door.” Timmy unhooked the web and entered Spitfire’s stall. “You take care of yourself now, lass.”

  “You suppose he knows I’m leaving for Vancouver?”

  “I believe he understands a lot more than we give him credit for.” Timmy smoothed the stallion’s mane. “Have a good trip.”

  Saying good-bye to BlueMist was getting harder each time. Trish kept reminding herself she was lucky to have two—no, three, when you include California—places to call home.

  “You’ll come again—soon?” Bernice reached over the back of the seat of the Cadillac and patted Trish’s knee. “Since you’re now our daughter too, we’ll just have to bribe Marge to let us have you more often.”

  “You could attend college here in Kentucky, you know.” Donald caught her eye from his rearview mirror.

  Trish grimaced at the thought. “I’m not sure about college. I know my mom plans for me to go next fall, but I’d rather ride. I can go back to college any time.”

  “Or part time. Some of the jockeys do that.” Bernice turned in her seat so she could see Trish.

  “It’s hard to know what to do.”

  “Rest assured, God will let you know, if you ask.” She rested one arm on the back of the burgundy leather seat. “And, my dear, you certainly have all kinds of options.”

  Trish nodded. “I know.” She knew this discussion would be coming up at home and her mother would not be as understanding. To Marge, education was the most important thing, right up there next to faith. No matter how much her mother was now involved in the horses and managing Runnin’ On Farm, changing her views on college would be like stopping the mighty Columbia River with one hand.

  In fact, the college discussion came up the next evening. After attending church in the morning, Trish spent the afternoon at the track. Now she was sitting in her father’s recliner in front of a blazing fire in the fieldstone fireplace that covered most of one wall in the living room. Brad Williams lay stretched out on the floor, studying for one of his college classes. Rhonda Seabolt, queen of the couch, was pushing her flyaway red hair back so she could wrap a band around it. Her government book lay open in her cross-legged lap.

  Marge brought in cups of hot chocolate and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “Now this is as pretty a picture as I’ve seen anywhere.” She offered the tray to each of the kids.

  “Been a long time, hasn’t it?” Brad pushed himself upright and took a cup along with a handful of cookies. “Thanks, Mrs. E. You sure know the way to a man’s heart.”

  “Sure. Give you cookies and you’ll do anything.” Trish snapped her book shut and set it on the end table. This was one of those times when she felt sure if she turned her head quick enough, she’d see her father standing right behind her chair—or rather his chair. She could almost feel his hand on her shoulder.

  “You talked to David lately?” Brad asked around a mouthful of cookie.

  Trish could tell that, as usual, they were all on the same wavelength. The four teens—Trish, David, Brad, and Rhonda—had been inseparable for all their growing-up years. That’s why Marge called them her “Four Musketeers.”

  “He’ll be home for Thanksgiving. Says he loves college in Tucson.” Marge took her place in her rocker.

  “I’m thinking of going there next year.” Brad dropped his bombshell into the peace and watched it explode.

  “You are!” Trish and Rhonda could have been one person.

  “The more I think about it, the more I’d like to become a vet too. David and I could build a practice together.” He popped another cookie in his mouth.

  Trish and Rhonda swapped startled looks. “But you never…” “I thought you…” Their comments overlapped. Trish set her mug down and leaned forward.

  “All right, buddy. When did this all come about?”

  “Just lately. I really like helping Patrick with the horses, like I always have, and yet I can’t see myself as a trainer.”

  “So you decided on veterinary.”

  “With a specialty in horses.” He wrapped both arms around his bent knees. “I’m sending off my application tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of applications…” Marge gave Trish one of those this-is-your-mother-reminding-you looks that Trish hated.

  “I’ve filled out three,” Rhonda said. “Cal-Poly in San Luis Obispo
, Washington State University, and Cal State, Davis.” Rhonda chose another cookie from the plate on the coffee table in front of her. “All have good jumping programs. I’ll take my horse right with me.”

  All three of them looked at Trish.

  “I don’t think I’m going to go to college.” Trish raised her chin slightly in her don’t-mess-with-me look. But her eyes pleaded, Please understand.

  Chapter

  06

  The log in the fire snapped like a rifle shot.

  “I don’t think so.” Marge planted her elbows on the arms of the chair. She sucked in a deep breath.

  Trish could tell her mother was fighting to keep her cool. Glancing over at Rhonda was a mistake. Her best friend’s head shook back and forth and her eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline. Brad seemed to be counting the threads in the weave of his jeans.

  “Anyone for more hot chocolate?” Trish had to clear her throat at the end of the sentence. Marge shot her a glance fit to fry eggs. Brad and Rhonda shook their heads.

  “We better be headin’ out.” Brad set his cup on the raised rock hearth in front of the fire, then thought better of it and stood to cross the room, placing his mug carefully on the tray.

  “Yeah, yeah, we better.” Rhonda copied his moves.

  Chickens! Getting while the getting’s good. See if I ever bail you out of a family hassle again. But Trish didn’t say it, she just nodded. She got to her feet and followed them to the door.

  “Thanks for the treats,” Rhonda called back.

  Marge kind of grunted.

  “In the morning?” Brad paused.

  “Sure,” Marge answered. The one word carried the edge of a newly sharpened knife.

  “Thanks for nothing, guys.” Trish muttered to her friends’ retreating backs.

  “See you in the morning, like usual?” Rhonda’s question floated back, threading its way through the mist. Rainbows circled the mercury yard light that glinted off the droplets frosting Brad’s metallic blue Mustang.

  Trish took in a deep breath of the cold, wet air, wishing she could go anywhere but back to where her mother could be heard clanking cups. She shut the door and returned to the living room. What was that phrase she’d heard, something about a good offense being the only defense? That wasn’t quite right but who cared? Right now she had to deal with a very unhappy mother.