Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  Gatesby decided he wanted the lead. He drove past the other horses as if they were still in the starting gates. With a three-length lead coming out of the first turn, Trish tightened her reins. But it was like trying to stop a freight train with a leash.

  Down the backstretch and into the turn. She checked over her shoulder to see the field a furlong behind. Down the stretch she let him go. Gatesby was still picking up speed when he crossed the wire.

  It was into the turn again before Gatesby paid much attention. “Fella, you can get up on the wrong side of the bed any race day if this is what you can run like. Wait till Anderson hears about this. Sure sorry he’s away on a business trip.”

  “Just went along for the ride, didja?” Patrick’s blue eyes twinkled up at her.

  “And to think you almost scratched him.” Trish stroked Gatesby’s arched neck. “He coulda gone for another quarter or maybe a half mile. And I felt like using the whip was getting him in the gate. What a brat!”

  Taylor was waiting for her. “Good race.”

  “Thanks.” Trish signed a program for a man next to Taylor.

  “You feel like a cup of hot chocolate?”

  “I wish. I’m up in the next two. Sorry. Maybe another time?”

  “You’re on.”

  Now why did I say that? Trish shook her head. Do I really want to get to know him? Do I need another man in my life? She shook her head again. “Men!”

  But Taylor wasn’t around when she finally exited the jockey room after the last race of the day. Trish wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad. Actually, all she wanted was home and a long hot bath.

  Thanksgiving Day turned out to be all that Trish could hope for and more. They fed over three hundred people and sent leftovers home with their guests. The students handed out 398 coats and 602 blankets, besides another fifty-some sleeping bags.

  “I’ve never seen so many turkeys in my life.” Marge joined Trish with her friends all crashed at one of the tables.

  “If I never peel a potato again it will be far too soon.” Rhonda studied the bandage on one finger. “Do you realize that ten of us peeled potatoes for three hours?”

  “Be glad you weren’t carving the birds.” Doug was stretched out flat on one of the benches. “And I thought hoisting hay bales was hard work.” He laid a hand across his forehead. “Someone want to carry me out to the truck?”

  “So much for big, strong basketball players.” Rhonda pointed at Jason, sacked out on another bench. “What a bunch of wimps.” She got to her feet and took only two steps before flinching. “Let’s go home before I crash too.”

  Christmas bore down on them like a runaway team. Finding presents for the men in Trish’s life wasn’t easy. All David really wanted were more shorts and T-shirts. One did not find shorts, tanks, and tees in Vancouver or Portland in December, so she gave him a gift certificate. She finally decided on a coffee-table book on the history of Thoroughbred horse racing for Red. The pictures were stunning, so Trish bought one for Patrick, then went back for another for her and her mom. She wanted one on their coffee table too.

  It took two shopping trips before she found the perfect sweater for Doug. Since they weren’t really going together—only all the kids at Prairie thought so—she debated on buying him a gift at all, but then he was one of her good friends. Rhonda bought a similar one for Jason.

  Trish and Marge spent one evening buying gifts for the family they’d adopted off the Christmas tree at church. With seven kids and the father out of work, this family was hurting badly. After buying the groceries on the list, they included another ham and a fifty-dollar gift certificate for the grocery store. Trish made stockings for each of the kids and tucked a twenty-dollar bill in the toe of each furry red gift.

  When they dropped their stack off at church, the entryway was nearly full of gifts. The youth group had volunteered to deliver all the presents on Saturday.

  “Wish I could help.” Trish stood beside Pastor Ron, their youth minister.

  “I think you already did your share.” He looked over his shoulder at the monstrous pile in the corner. “Did you leave anything at the toy store?”

  Trish grinned up at him. “A little. But it sure was fun. Now I know how parents must feel when they’re buying dolls and stuff for their kids.”

  “I hate to ask this, but we have one family that wasn’t adopted.”

  “No sweat.” Trish took the slip of paper from him. “We’ll take care of it.” She glanced down at the paper. What did you buy for a grandfather in a wheelchair? The two grandkids he was raising would be easy.

  By the time she’d finished her shopping and wrapping, Trish could hardly get into her room. Since they’d decided on no tree, she mounded the presents all up in front of the living room window. They called the UPS truck to pick up all the ones to be shipped, including those to Florida. By the time the truck left, the mound had sunk to manageable proportions.

  Even though they were leaving on Sunday, Trish agreed to ride in three races on Saturday. The cold, windy day made her question her better judgment. After the second race, Taylor waved to her, greeting her like a long-lost friend.

  “Hey, Trish, I’ve missed you.” His smile lit up like the sun parting the clouds.

  “Thanks.” Why could she never think of anything brilliant to say to this guy?

  “Since it’s almost Christmas, how about joining me for a hot chocolate after you’re finished? The fifth’s your last, right?”

  Trish nodded. “All right. Meet you here after I change clothes.” His smile warmed her clear to her frozen toes. Whyever had she waited so long to take him up on the invitation?

  Winning three races that day made her float six inches above the ground anyway. And the look of envy Genie gave her made her giggle. She was meeting about the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

  She was still floating when she got home. Taylor was nice, she’d finally gotten over her lazy tongue, and he hadn’t pressured her for a date…even though she could tell he wanted to.

  “He’s kind of old for you, isn’t he?” her mother asked that evening.

  “He’s twenty-one. It isn’t like I’m planning on marrying him or anything.” Trish grinned at her mother. “I just had a cup of hot chocolate with him. No big deal.”

  Christmas carols on the stereo and a crackling fire filled the silence of the pine-scented room. Will I go out with him if he asks? He won’t ask. Sure he will. He had that look in his eye. Speaking of eyes, his are gorgeous!

  Trish sighed. “Mom, did you ever like more than one guy at a time?”

  “Sure.” Marge looked up from her knitting. “Lots of times.”

  “Was Dad one of them?”

  “Nope. When I met him I knew it was the real thing and I never looked at another man again.”

  “How did you know?”

  “When you meet the right man, there’ll be no question in your mind.” Marge laid her knitting in her lap. “Trust me, you’ll know.”

  Trish sat back into the peace of the room with peace in her heart. She started counting the things she could be thankful for. Her mother—they’d come a long way. Friends—both guys and girls. Her horses—soon she’d see Spitfire. Miss Tee, a beautiful home, money to do what she wanted. Even her father feeling closer than usual. She closed her eyes. And The Jerk hadn’t been heard from in weeks.

  The next day she came home to two dozen roses—one dozen red and the other white. The card said, “Did you think I’d forgotten you? Merry Christmas.”

  So much for being thankful about not hearing from him. She tossed his card into the fire. As she’d said before, he had good taste. But who was he? While she tried to joke about it, a little worm of fear dug into her mind and stayed there.

  Chapter

  11

  And you didn’t call the police?”

  Trish held the phone away from her ear so David’s yell didn’t break her eardrum. “Well, I did eventually. Listen, big brother, I will not…cannot�
�whatever—keep getting scared every time I get something from him. I called Parks and they did the usual and still nothing. At least I love roses. I don’t care who sends them to me.” She winced at his groan.

  “We’re not being careless, son.” Marge’s voice held all the calm of the ages. “But I guess you get immune after a while.”

  “And careless.” David refused to back down.

  Trish flinched again. That’s exactly what Parks and Amy had said. “So, we’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “No, on Tuesday, late.”

  Trish wound the cord around her finger. “I thought you got done early.”

  “I do, but one of the professors wants me to help finish this research project. I can’t turn down an opportunity like that.”

  “Congratulations. You must be pleased to be asked,” Marge said.

  Trish wished she could have said that, but all she could think of was how much longer till they were all together.

  “I was already working with him, we just thought this phase would be finished sooner.”

  When they hung up, Trish pasted a smile on her face and joined her mother back in the living room. She was happy for David—really she was.

  “So, how’d it go?” Rhonda and Trish were sitting cross-legged in the middle of Trish’s bed, knees touching, with a big bowl of popcorn in the middle. It was the night after Trish had returned from Florida.

  “Super. But let me tell you, even with a tree and presents, Christmas doesn’t seem like Christmas in eighty-five-degree sunny weather.” Trish pulled down the neck of her T-shirt. “See, I even got a tan line.” She dug out a handful of buttery corn and nibbled one piece at a time. “You’da thought our coming gave Gram and Gramps the best present ever, but their condo is so small, I wouldn’t want to live there.” She scrunched her eyes in thought. “Except for the pool and beaches—maybe it’s worth it.”

  “Did you go snorkeling?”

  “Yeah, but the water right there isn’t real clear. We needed to drive down to the Keys for good water.” She tipped her head to one side. “Or at least that’s what they told us. I coulda stayed in the water all day. I loved snorkeling. The fish, the light—you’d love it. It’s a whole new world.”

  By the time they’d caught up on all their news, the numbers on the clock clicked over to one. Trish groaned. “And I told Patrick I’d ride in the morning. What an idiot.”

  “Do you have any mounts in the afternoon?”

  “Of course. Four of them. Wouldn’t it be awesome to win a hundred percent like I did before I left? Three up and three in the winner’s circle. I liked that.”

  “Maybe tomorrow night the Four Musketeers can go out for pizza.” Rhonda’s voice kind of floated, as if she were nearly asleep.

  “Sure.”

  “Maybe you’ll see ole hot-fudge eyes.” A wisp of a giggle said Rhonda still inhabited the land of the awake. Answering took too much effort.

  The remainder of Christmas vacation flew by at breakneck speed. Trish both won and lost at the track; Taylor never showed. She figured he must have gone home for Christmas. The four musketeers, together with Doug and Jason, attended the New Year’s eve lock-in for the teens at church. Having been up all night, Trish slept most of the next day. Football had never been her thing, though Brad and David could be heard hollering in front of the television.

  When Trish finally wandered out of her room, she found her mother with her head in the closet and stuff flying out.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning closets. What does it look like?” A pair of half-worn shoes landed in the box marked “Goodwill.”

  “David, you ever going to wear this again?” Marge held out a leather jacket.

  “Nope, too small.” The jacket hit the Goodwill box too.

  “Mom, is this some New Year’s resolution or something?” Trish caught a tube of tennis balls. They hadn’t played tennis in years, so the balls were flat. Another addition to the box.

  Marge wiped her hair off her forehead with a sweep of her forearm. “No. I decided I had to do something really busy or today would drive me nuts, so…” She waved her arm at the accumulation. “A woman in my group said this helped her, so I thought I’d try it.” At the question on Trish’s face, Marge nodded. “And yes, it has. I cleaned out some boxes of your father’s clothes that were still in the closet. Somebody should be using his things.” Marge picked up one box and put it back on the shelf. “And when I’m all done with this, I’m going to fill the bathtub and soak while I cry it all out.” She handed Trish another box. “Put that one in the hall, please.”

  Marge scooped up a mound and stuffed it into the washing machine. “So if you kids want dinner, you either make whatever you want or order pizza.” She nudged another mound with her foot. “David, you need to come sort this.”

  “Brad and I were just going down to do chores.”

  “Fine, this will take only a minute.”

  Trish and David swapped looks of pure astonishment. Was this their real mother or had some alien taken over her body during the night?

  Trish joined the guys on their way down to the barn, after David had finished sorting. That seemed the safest of all her options. She had to admit, this New Year’s Day was different than any other.

  Having David with them at the track the next day made Trish feel as if old times hadn’t disappeared forever. But when she pulled only one win out of four mounts, she accused him of jinxing her.

  “Sure, blame it all on me.” David tugged on her braid. “Was it my fault you let them box you in like that? And when that nag stumbled coming out of the gate—I tripped him? Come on, Tee, you can do better than that.”

  She did; she punched him in the shoulder. David grabbed her and rubbed the top of her head with his knuckles.

  Trish wrapped both her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his chest. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  David propped his chin on the top of her head. “Hey, it’s only six months till your graduation. I’ll be home again before the middle of May—that is, if I don’t go work for Adam Finley.”

  Trish jerked free and studied his face. “You’re kidding—right?”

  “Margaret Finley bakes mighty good pies.”

  “Mom’s cinnamon rolls are better.”

  “You better come home and chase away all the guys who are after her.” Brad kept step with them on their way to the parking lot.

  “Brad Williams, you—you.” Trish gave him a dig in the ribs with her elbow. The three of them locked arms and marched out the gate. “Why? Who else likes me?” Trish stopped in the act of stepping up into the truck. Brad gave her a boost and climbed in beside her.

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  She elbowed him again. “Rat.” She watched the smug look on his face. Was there really someone else who had a crush on her?

  Trish had barely settled back into the school-track-study routine when Donald Shipson called to say he felt Firefly was ready to be shipped home.

  “Unless you just want to leave her here and see if she is ready for breeding later in the season.”

  “You think she’ll be well enough?” Marge, Trish, and Patrick were all on the line.

  “I’d rather wait, give her a year. Let her get strong and grow some more.” Patrick gave his opinion.

  “Is she limping still?” Trish had a hard time getting the picture of Firefly in a cast out of her mind.

  “Somewhat. Actually, yes. She could stay here that long, you know.”

  “Thanks, Donald, but all things given, maybe we should ship her back here. She may never do for a broodmare; we all know that.”

  Trish felt her heart hit the bottom of her belly. Please let her mother be worrying for nothing. Surely the filly would recover enough. She had the fight to get well, but everyone even doubted that. “Would another surgery help?”

  “I’ve thought of that too. How about if we have her X-rayed again and then make a de
cision based on what Doctor Grant says?”

  The three on the Runnin’ On Farm line agreed.

  “Okay, then. I’ll make the arrangements and let you know.”

  When they hung up, Trish meandered into the living room. “Sure wish she could run again. First Spitfire and now Firefly. We lost our two best entries this year.”

  “Hard to say you lost Spitfire, my dear. He ran himself right out of contention.” Marge tapped her chin with the end of her pen. “But I know you miss them. One thing I’ve been trying to learn is to go ahead and grieve for the losses—that it’s okay to feel sad for the things that go out of our lives.”

  “I know one thing that I won’t feel sad about when it goes out of my life.” Trish propped a hip on her mother’s desk.

  “The Jerk.” They said it together and then slapped hands. As Trish left the room, she threw a grin over her shoulder. “You know what, Mom? You’re pretty cool—for an old lady, that is.” She ducked around the corner before the throw pillow could hit her.

  Saturday at the track, Trish heard a familiar voice after her win in the first race of the day.

  “That’s the way to start the new year.” Taylor leaned his elbows on the fence rail.

  “Sure is. How ya doin’?” Trish realized she was happy to see his smiling face.

  “Did you miss me?”

  His question caught her by surprise. “Ah—umm.” There went her brain, checking out again.

  “I had to go home for Christmas.” He leaned closer. “I have something I want to show you.”

  Trish waved to Genie, who was waving her toward the jockey room. “I have to go. See you later.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  When he waited for her at the end of her last race, Trish knew she’d go up to the clubhouse where they could sit in comfortable chairs and get to know each other without all the noise around them.

  “Let me go change,” she said in a rush. “And then I need to talk to Curt Donovan also.”

  “Not bad.” Curt checked his notes for the day. “Two wins, two places, and a show. Should have been three wins.”