Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I know you’re disappointed.” Trish leaned against the cedar-paneled wall.

  With the cups clanked into submission in the kitchen, Marge was now attacking the sofa cushions.

  “But I know this is the right thing for me to do. And if you tried to see it from my point of view, you’d agree.” Could looks really send daggers?

  Marge strode over to the fire and poked until sparks flew up the chimney in fear.

  “Mom, stop all this and talk to me.”

  She threw in a log, then another.

  Trish sat down on the arm of the sofa. Marge now leaned against the mantel, her head resting on her arm. Dad, where are you? I need you so. Right now. Trish chewed on her bottom lip. It would be so much easier to just agree with her mother right now. Say, “Sure I’ll go to college.” But the thought made her heart stop.

  Can’t you see that I’m first and foremost a jockey? That’s my gift, my calling. And after that I may want to be a trainer, like Dad. Or maybe I’ll ride until I’m fifty. She stared at the rigid line of her mother’s back. Or maybe I’ll just…just…

  Just what? even her nagger didn’t seem his usual naggy self. You have to go with what’s right for you, kid.

  Trish blinked her eyes. Had she heard right? What would her father do in a situation like this? She rubbed her sore ribs with one hand and her chin with the other, trying to remember.

  Dad had always walked over, put his arms around his wife, and said, “No matter how we decide on this, just remember that I love you.” Trish fought down the boulder that instantly clogged her throat. She ordered one foot to lead the way and the other to follow. One step at a time, as if she were just learning to walk, she crossed the room.

  She put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, no matter how much we go round on this, just remember that I love you.” The words started hard and got easier as they went. “I hate fighting and either one of us being angry.”

  The shoulder under her hand shuddered. Marge turned, tears caught on the tips of her eyelashes, and she wrapped Trish in a mighty hug.

  “Would you consider sending out applications in case you change your mind?” Marge finally asked after they both snagged tissues from the box and blew their noses.

  “It would be a waste of their time—and mine. Guess I made the final decision on the plane. I can always go to college later, but my career as a jockey is really building. I should be riding full time now, but I won’t because I promised you I’d give my senior year priority. And that’s what I want to do too.” Trish sank down on the hearth. She watched her mother’s emotions play hide-and-seek with the firelight flickering across her face.

  “I can’t say I’m happy about this.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “But I do honor your decision about what to do with your life. Your father and I always said we wouldn’t force our career decisions on you kids. You do what you feel called for. Our job is to see that you have the most information possible to make a wise decision.”

  Trish breathed a sigh of relief.

  Marge went on. “But you’ll have to give me some time. I always dreamed of both you kids graduating from college and exploring new fields. Guess I thought that would make your life more secure. I need time to let go of that dream and tune in to yours. You know that racing is not the safest of sports.”

  “Mom, you’re the best. I know you’re angry.…”

  “I’d prefer to say upset.…” A grin tugged at the corner of Marge’s mouth. “And please remind Brad and Rhonda of that fact.”

  “Oh, I will.” Trish glanced over at the picture-perfect- plumped sofa cushions. “And I’m glad you took out your ‘upset’ on those instead of me.”

  Marge laid an arm across Trish’s shoulders. “Me too.” She snapped off the lamp as they passed it. “But I won’t promise not to try to change your mind once in a while.”

  Trish had no trouble coming up with three things to be thankful for that night. In fact, her list stretched beyond ten before she dropped off.

  Since morning stiffness made dressing take longer, Trish bailed out of bed before her alarm went off. She checked the blazing pink scar three ribs down from her left armpit. Every day both it and raising her arm improved. If she really had to, she could probably ride all right next week. Maybe next Saturday she’d head for the track with Patrick and ride for morning works.

  She brushed her teeth and opted for leaving her hair down. Raising her arms to braid it still hurt too bad.

  Wearing the denim skirt, silk blouse, and boots she and Rhonda had bought in California always raised her self-confidence a notch, and getting back in her own red convertible added another. It seemed like years since she’d driven it, what with the time it spent in the shop for a new paint job. Thinking of the keyed scratches on her car brought back the thought of The Jerk. She shuddered. Where was he? Who was he? Why was he doing this?

  When she got to Rhonda’s she wrote in her notebook, “Call Amy.” It was time they nailed this creature, whoever he was.

  Rhonda talked nonstop all the way to school, which was nothing new, bringing Trish up-to-date on everything that had happened. Doug Ramstead, the star quarterback, had pulled a hamstring and missed the last game, but they won anyway.

  “He’s been asking about you.” Rhonda raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  “He sent me a couple of cards while I was in the hospital.” Trish had her blinker on to turn into the Prairie High parking lot.

  “I told you once and I’ll tell you again: If you’d give that guy half a chance, he could really like you.”

  “Yes, Rhonda.” Trish completed the turn. “But I like Red, remember?”

  “But he’s so far away.” Rhonda threw up her hands. “We could double-date if you’d—”

  “We’ll see, okay?” Trish parked in what had become her usual place. “Right now I gotta set up a schedule for making up the midterms I missed. I promised my mom I’d keep my grades up, but I hadn’t planned on being gone a whole month.”

  Trish waved and greeted all her friends as she made her way to the office to talk with Mrs. Olson.

  “You sure do lead an exciting life,” the smiling counselor said. “I’ve talked with all your teachers and we’ve made up a schedule: one test a day after school, starting tomorrow.” She handed Trish a paper with the list. “You think you’re ready for that?”

  “Much as I’ll ever be. Lying flat on your back gives you plenty of time to study.”

  “What a scare you gave us all. You aren’t planning on racing yet?” Mrs. Olson reached for a pink slip and filled it out, since the warning bell had already rung.

  “Probably next week but never during school.” Trish got to her feet. “Thanks.” She picked up the pink slip and headed for class. Back to normal. Now Kentucky seemed a world or two away.

  When Trish and Rhonda entered the cafeteria for lunch, the guys at their table stood up and cheered. Trish felt the blush starting under her collar and blazing across her cheeks. A wolf whistle came from across the room. Trish could feel every eye in the place gazing at her as if she stood under a spotlight.

  “I’m gonna murder those guys,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to smile at the same time.

  “I told you. Doug likes you.” Rhonda nudged Trish from behind to get her moving forward in line.

  By the end of lunch it was as if she’d never been away. Jason sat on the other side of Rhonda, laughing and teasing like he’d gone to Prairie all his life, not just the last few months as an exchange student. Doug, the dream of nearly every girl in school, sat on Trish’s right, teasing her into laughing so hard she flinched.

  “Ribs, huh?” He leaned closer and said softly, “I broke mine once; hurts like crazy.”

  “It’s even worse when I laugh or cough, so cool it.” Trish nibbled on a carrot stick. “When I’m gone, I forget how crazy you guys are.”

  He turned to look her in the eye. “Well, how about not being gone so
much?” His deep blue eyes crinkled at the edges. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  A shiver ran up Trish’s spine. Maybe Rhonda was right after all. “Thanks. I’m glad to be here, and all in one piece.”

  Doug picked up her books and walked her back to her locker. He leaned one arm against the tan metal door next to hers. “You think while you’re laid up, you might find time to see a movie or something with another laid-up jock?” His gaze met hers, then skipped away. Two books fell off the stack in the bottom of the locker and hit the floor. Doug dropped to his knees and picked them up, holding her gaze as he handed them back. “Please.”

  “But I…”

  “Just as friends.” He stuck his fingertips in the front pockets of his jeans. The warning bell rang.

  “Sure, why not?” Trish grabbed her notebook and slammed the locker door closed. “I’m free Saturday night. What’s playing?”

  “Got me.” He laid a well-muscled arm across her shoulders.

  “No horror or gross stuff.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I have to be at the track at five-thirty. That’s before sunrise, you know, so I can’t stay out late.”

  Rhonda came up beside her and poked her arm. Trish knew it meant “I told you so.” Trish poked her back.

  Officer Amy Jones drove into the Runnin’ On Farm driveway right behind Trish. She leaped from her sporty green car and threw her arms around Trish. “Hi, kid. I know, I’m hugging carefully.” Her actions followed her words. “It’s so good to have you home. I wanted to stay longer, but the powers that be thought you’d be safe enough in the ICU.”

  Trish just hugged her favorite police person back. She didn’t try to break into the rushing river of words. She’d never heard Amy run on like this in all the time they’d spent together.

  “Trish, you scared the life out of me.” Amy gripped Trish’s shoulders with both hands. “And there was nothing I could do for you. That’s when I knew I had to let God in. Only He could take care of you, and I had to be able to ask.”

  Trish clasped Amy’s hand and squeezed. “Thanks for the cards and flowers—and all the prayers too.” She opened the door and motioned for Amy to go in first. “As you can see, they worked.”

  After greeting Marge and accepting her offer of freshly baked snicker-doodle cookies, Trish and Amy settled in the living room. Amy checked her watch. “Since I’m on a stakeout tonight, we better get busy.”

  “Not just a friendly call, huh?” Trish nibbled her cookie.

  “Nope, I wish. But we need to nail this guy before he does any real damage.” She handed Trish a list of names. “These are all the people we’ve investigated while you were gone.”

  Trish glanced down the list. “Doug Ramstead? Brad? You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Nope. In my business no one is exempt.” Amy looked down at her list. “See name number sixteen? He’s the jockey who whipped your horses during a couple of races last year.”

  “I know. Emanuel Ortega.” Trish looked up from the list. “He went and raced at Yakima last summer. We’re not friends, but he’s never done anything like that again.”

  “At least, not that you know of.”

  “Right.”

  Trish felt a squiggle of doubt worm its way into her mind. Was everyone she knew a suspect? How could she live with that? “I bet it has something to do with Kendall Highstreet, the developer. Forget my friends and ask him.”

  “We have, let me assure you.” Amy shook her head. “He’s clean.”

  “What about his friends and family?” Trish set her Diet Coke down with a clink. “The people who work for him?”

  Amy gave her what could only be called a police officer’s patient-but-don’t-be-dumb look.

  “I’m sorry.” Trish leaned back in the recliner. “You’ve already done that, and I should trust you to do your job.”

  “You got it.” Amy leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Trish, please, keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if you see anything unusual. Immediately if not before.”

  Trish sighed. “I’d hoped it was all over.”

  “So did I. So did I.”

  After Amy left, Trish wandered down to the barns to visit with her four-legged friends. Caesar, the farm collie, danced by her side, yipping, then running ahead and yipping again. His feathered tail beat a cadence against her legs when he returned to her side. Trish bent over to get her quick tip-of-the-nose lick.

  “Easy, fella. I did wash my face this morning.” She buried her fingers in his snowy ruff and swung his head back and forth, the loose skin pushing wrinkles up to his ears and over his pointed head. The sable collie planted his front feet on her shoulders and tried for her nose again. Trish had always said he had the fastest tongue in the West, and in her absence he’d not lost his touch. After what could never be enough roughing, he dashed off and yipped again, running circles around her at lightning speed.

  Trish planted her hands on her hips and laughed aloud at his antics. They had come so close to losing him. Had that poisoning been the stalker too? Or was it just an unfortunate accident? “Sure wish you could talk, fella.”

  Her three-tone whistle floated off on the evening breeze when she rounded the long, low barns and headed down the lane to the paddocks. White board fences lined both sides of the grassy lane, split by two wheel ruts cut through to the bare dirt. All the home stock lined the fence off to the left, as if spectators at a ball game. Whinnies and tossing heads greeted her next whistle.

  Down at the far end, old gray Dan’l, the retired Thoroughbred who’d taught her much of her racing skills, stamped and whinnied repeatedly. He’d been her friend long before Spitfire was foaled. Dan’l was the first Thoroughbred her father had bought at a claiming race, back when he only trained for other owners. Right now Dan’l was letting the world know that he for one was glad she was home.

  Trish gave out carrot treats down the line, taking an extra moment with Miss Tee and Double Diamond, the two yearlings. “Hey, that’s enough.” Trish grabbed Miss Tee’s halter after the filly gave the young colt a nip on the shoulder. “I gave you both some, you know. You don’t have to be piggy.” The filly’s nostrils flared and she tried to jerk her head away.

  Double Diamond sidled right back up to the fence and reached over, sniffing Trish’s shoulder and checking out her pockets.

  “Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” Trish dug out a carrot for him with one hand, keeping the other on Miss Tee’s halter. “Hope you remember your lessons as much as you do where the treats come from.” She gave them each a last pat and worked her way down through the broodmares to Dan’l.

  “How ya doin’, old man?” He snuffled his way up her arm and checked out her hair, her shoulder, and her pocket. A silent nicker rippled his nostrils, then he dropped his head so she could reach his ears more easily. When she turned so he could rest his head over her shoulder, he sighed in contentment. Only he and Spitfire had adopted this position as their own. Trish gave him another hunk of carrot and rubbed his ear and down his cheek. Caesar sat at her feet, nose raised, sniffing the evening breeze. A pheasant rooster called from the brush at the edge of the woods.

  Trish felt the peace of the evening seep into her heart and spirit. A narrow band of gold broke through and tinted the overcast on the western horizon. The pheasant called again. Dan’l stamped a front foot and bobbed his head, encouraging her to keep stroking him.

  The sound of a car in the drive sent Caesar barking up the lane. “Gotta get you guys some feed.” She stepped away from the fence and horse and started to trot up the lane. Within two strides, she thought the better of it and walked fast. She had a lot to do, including studying for tomorrow’s government exam. At least she was getting the hardest one out of the way first.

  That evening Marge had left for a meeting at church. When the phone rang, Trish shoved back her desk chair and crossed the hall to her mother’s bedroom extension to answer it.

  “Runnin’ On Farm.�
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  A silence met her ear. “Hi, this is Trish.”

  A sinister chuckle sent shivers racing up and down her spine. A scratchy voice she’d hoped never to hear again said, “Welcome home. I’ll be seeing you.”

  The line clicked dead.

  Chapter

  07

  Trish didn’t wait for the dial tone. The receiver clattered into the plastic stand. Her heart did triple time.

  The phone rang again. She stared at it as if it were a rattler, buzzing its tail. Second ring, third. She reached out her hand, sure the thing would bite. She lifted the receiver to her ear. “Runnin’ On Farm.” She could barely get the words past the cotton filling her mouth.

  “Trish, is that you?” Rhonda asked. “You sound awful.”

  Trish could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart. “He called,” she croaked.

  “Who ca—oh no, not The Jerk?”

  Trish curled herself into a ball in the middle of her mother’s bed. “I—I have to call Amy. C-c-can you come over?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

  As soon as she had the dial tone, Trish punched in the numbers for Amy’s home. An answering machine suggested she leave a message. Trish stuttered and stammered her way through a message and hung up. Where was Amy? Where had that creep called from? Was he near? What if he had a car phone and was right down the road?

  “God, I’m so scared!” She clutched her arms around her knees. “Help me, please.” Trish huddled for a few more minutes, practicing her deep breathing to relax. For a change she was glad for the ache in her ribs. The pain made her think of something besides The Jerk lurking out there somewhere to get her. When her heart had settled back somewhere near its proper place, she let her hands, arms, and shoulders relax. “Thank you, Father. This feels much better.”