Golden Filly Collection One (11 page)

Trish felt like crying for David. She knew how much he had been looking forward to school again. His dream of veterinary medicine just got put on hold—for who knew how long—and he was talking about it so calmly. Mom was too. Amazing.

“I know.” Marge sipped her coffee. “I’ve thought maybe I’d have to look for a job.”

Trish unconsciously dropped her spoon into her empty cereal bowl.

The only other sound in the room was the bubbling fish tank.

“Well.” Marge pushed her chair back. “I’d better get going. Maybe they’ll let me bring Dad home today. Thanks, David.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Trish, do you think there’s any chance you can clean your room today?”

Trish felt the sarcasm bite. “I’ll try.”

“And maybe get some extra sleep—in your bed instead of on your desk?” Marge patted Trish’s shoulder. “We don’t need another sick one around here, and let’s face it, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends and then some.”

Grateful to be let off so easily, Trish just nodded.

“Brad will be over about ten,” David said after their mother left the house. “Why don’t you see what you can do about your bedroom between now and then? I’ll get at the stalls and haul the gate onto the track.”

“Okay.” Trish drained her glass of milk. “David?”

“Yeah?”

“Things sure are a mess, aren’t they.” It was a statement, not a question.

Trish glared at the disaster in her room. “Horses are more important any day,” she muttered as she sorted the dirty clothes into one gigantic heap. She glared at a poster on her wall that said “I’d rather be riding.” After switching her wet jeans from the washer to the dryer, she dumped her shirts in the washer and went back to strip her bed. “Might as well do it right,” she continued muttering to herself.

Within an hour, she had accomplished miracles. There was a floor there after all. By the time she vacuumed the carpet and hung up her newly washed clothes, she heard Brad’s car in the driveway. “Well, at least Mom won’t be able to holler at me for a messy room.” Trish pulled on her boots and jogged down the slope, relieved to hear horses nickering instead of a vacuum cleaner roaring.

The three of them worked the horses in the same order as the day before. Since morning workouts had been done before breakfast, Trish put Spitfire into a slow gallop just twice around the track. He only snorted at the iron contraption taking up part of the dirt track and kept on at his easy gait.

They followed the same routine at the gates too. Everyone paraded through after Dan’l. The old horse acted bored, his quietness calming the others.

Trish kept up her one-way conversations, all the words and cadence praising Spitfire for a fine performance.

“We’ll close the rear gate,” David said. “He’s doing so well that we’ll go ahead and release the front gate at the same time. You be ready, Trish. Let him get the feel of starting.”

At David’s signal the gate screeched closed. Both horses were penned on all sides. Trish felt Spitfire tremble. He laid back his ears but calmed as she talked to him, her hands steady on the reins.

“Okay, Brad.” David spoke in a level voice. “Be ready, Trish.”

As the gate clanged open, Trish loosed the reins and shouted, “Go, Spitfire!”

Spitfire didn’t need a second invitation. He bolted from the gate like a pro, running straight out within four strides. Trish stood in her stirrups to bring him back to a canter after they passed the second furlong post.

“Wow!” She turned him back toward the gate. “You are some fella.”

“That was great.” David cantered with her on the three-year-old. “Let’s try it again, now that he knows what’s going to happen.”

They ran through the starting three more times, and with each release, Spitfire smoothed out his strides. He entered the gates willingly, only his dancing front feet relaying his anticipation. Trish made him stop flatfooted before the gate released so that he’d get used to waiting in case another horse was cantankerous.

“Just wait till Dad sees you,” she murmured into the flickering ears. “He’ll be so proud of you.”

They switched horses at the stable, unsnapping Gatesby from the exerciser. As if testing her mood, he nipped at Trish’s shoulder. She jerked on the lead rope. The colt rolled his eyes but walked flat-footed beside her. Trish was careful to keep her feet well ahead of his. Gatesby made a practice of stepping on human toes.

Trish could hear her father’s voice in her head:
You’ve got to watch him at all times. Gatesby’s just not as careful with his feet as he should be.
Trish thought the bay was more intentional than careless. Somehow they had to break him of the nipping. If he was as persistent in winning as he was in being a pain, Gatesby could be a Derby winner.

When he trotted by the starting gate, Gatesby laid his ears back and spooked to the side. Trish was prepared, her knees clamped and hands firm on the reins as she pulled him back to a walk.

“Now, behave yourself,” she scolded as she circled the horse around the metal monster. When he quit snorting she continued around the track, passing the gates several times until the colt ignored them.

Gatesby followed Dan’l through with only a few tosses of his head, but when the time came to stand with the front gate closed, he reared at the screech. Trish smacked him hard with the side of her fist, right between his ears. “No!” she commanded at the same instant. Gatesby dropped back to all fours and shook his head.

“Try it again.” She had him reined down so tightly his chin nearly touched his chest. When the gate screeched closed, the horse quivered from ears to tail, but he stood. Trish backed him out and walked him around in a tight circle. “Let’s get some grease on that thing,” she called to Brad. “It’s the noise that’s spooking him.”

She turned and trotted her mount around the track until the guys were finished. This time Gatesby only danced in place. Trish settled herself more firmly in the saddle. “Okay, Brad, let’s do it.” As the gate swung open, Trish loosed the reins and shouted, “Go!”

Gatesby paused only a fraction of a second before he leaped at the command. He stumbled on the off forefoot as he cleared the chute but regained his footing in a stride and was running free.

Trish’s grin, as she cantered him back to try again, revealed her pleasure. “One more time, then try Dan’l next to him.”

Gatesby broke clean the second time and only snorted when Dan’l walked into the stall next to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to quit while we’re ahead?” David asked as he settled himself for the lunge.

“Race you two furlongs.” Trish grinned over her shoulder. “He’s plenty warm enough.” She stroked the horse’s sweaty neck with one gloved hand.

David hesitated. “You’re on.” He whispered to Dan’l’s twitching ears,

“Go for it, old man. When that gate opens, go for it.”

Eyes straight ahead, Trish saw the gate swing and felt Gatesby lunge at the same instant. He nicked the gate. Stumbled. Tried to regain his footing. But before Trish could blink, the momentum from his lunge slammed them into the ground.

Trish could feel herself flying through the air, her reflexes commanding her to relax.

She tried.

“Tricia! Trish!”

She could hear the voice, but so faintly she wasn’t sure where it was coming from.

“Call 911.” She heard no more.

“Oh shoot,” Trish mumbled as she pulled herself toward the circle of light somewhere above the black dungeon she floated in. The landscape paled like dawn breaking faint on the horizon. “We did it that time, didn’t we?”

“Trish? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Brad, I’ll live.” Trish opened her eyes. The light blurred on her goggles. She pushed them up, relieved to see the darkness was caused by dirt on the lenses. She spat some grit out of her mouth.

“How’s Gatesby?” She cleared her throat.

“Limping, but all right.”

“Well, now I know what it feels like to be knocked out.” Trish wiggled her fingers and flexed her feet. Everything worked. It hurt to breathe deep; in fact, she felt like she’d just been slammed into concrete, not a soft dirt track.

“Where’s David?”

“Calling 911.”

“Oh no. Why’s he doing that?”

“Trish, you were out cold. What did you expect him to do?” Trish raised her head.

“I don’t think you should move. You know they say accident victims shouldn’t be moved.”

“Brad, for crying out loud, I’m no victim. I just fell off a horse.” She leaned on one elbow.
Ow, that hurt. Not a good idea.
“Here, help me up.”

“No, just lie there.”

“I have a lump of dirt poking me in the back, the ground is cold, and all my limbs move. Slowly, but they work.” She unbuckled her helmet. “Just help me sit up.”

Brad slid one arm under her shoulders and cushioned her back as she leaned against him. She pulled her helmet off.

“Good thing I ride with that, huh?” She tossed it aside.

She blinked at the flashes of light in her peripheral vision. Nope, shaking her head was not a good idea either. She could feel strength returning as she drew in deeper breaths.

“Mostly, I think I had my breath knocked out.”

“Trish, it was more than that. You were
out
.”

“Well, go tell David…”

“Here he comes. You tell him.”

“How is she?” David slid to a stop beside them. “They’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

“David,” Trish groaned. “Call them back. I’m only bruised, not broken. I don’t want—” The wail of a siren broke her sentence. “Oh no. What’s Mom going to say now?”

Chapter

11

B
ut, Mom, I haven’t broken anything.”

“What do you call anything? Possible concussion, badly shaken up.

Who knows what internal damage. You can hardly move.” She spun to nail David with her glare. “What’s the matter with you, David? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did.”

“After the medics left.”

“But, Mom, what could you have done? All I could think of was getting medical help when Trish didn’t come to.” David twisted his class ring on his finger. “You were too far away to do anything. And after they checked her over, they carried her up to the house.”

Marge rammed her hands in her pockets and went to stare out the window. “And the paramedics said they didn’t think X-rays were necessary?”

“That’s right.”

Trish needed comfort, not this. She could feel the tears damming up behind her eyes again. As she fought them down, the pressure seemed to fill her whole head. She shut her eyes against the pain. A tear squeezed out under a closed lid and trickled down her cheek.

Her mother turned in time to see it. “Oh, Trish, I’m sorry.” She dropped down on the side of the bed and wiped her daughter’s face with a tissue. “But you scared me half to death.” She gathered Tricia into her arms. “I’ve always been so terrified something like this would happen. Or worse.”

Trish clamped both aching arms around her mother’s waist and let the tears come. She cried until the pounding drum in her head forced her to lie down again.

Marge handed Trish a handful of tissues and wiped her own eyes with another. “Are you sure nothing is broken?”

“I’m sure, Mom. But I hurt all over. David says I landed flat out.”

“David, go call your father. I’m sure he’s worried sick by now.” She turned back to Trish. “Would you rather sleep for a while or would you like a hot bath first? That would help the aching.”

Trish tried to think, but her brain felt fuzzy and she couldn’t keep her eyes open. “Later,” she mumbled. She wanted to ask how the colt was but her mouth refused to cooperate.

She slept soundly for five hours, her mother checking her daughter’s eyes several times for possible signs of a concussion. Those times were only a vague memory. It was thirst that woke her. Trish chewed the grit between her teeth for a moment, opened her eyes very carefully, and sighed with relief. The thumping behind her eyes was only a vague impression now.

“Ouch! Ow-w-w!” Every muscle screamed in protest when she tried to sit up.

“Need some help?” her mother asked at the door to her room.

Trish nodded, very carefully.

“I’ll get some epsom salts in a hot bath started.”