Golden Filly Collection One (25 page)
David slammed the tailgate in place. “Let’s feed so we can get outta here.”
“Easy for you to say, you can walk.” Trish flexed her foot.
Both horses seemed glad to get home when Trish and David led them to their stalls. The workout passed without a hitch, but by the time all the animals were fed, dusk had deepened into darkness. Trish spent a few precious minutes playing with Miss Tee before she limped up the rise to the dark house.
The message light flashed on the phone when she walked into the house. Bob Diego had two mounts for her on Wednesday. Trish called him back. “I’d love to,” she said.
That night in bed the argument took over her mind again. One side demanded,
You’ve got to tell your parents about the mounts on Wednesday.
The other side blasted back,
You can’t. They’ll never let you ride.
“But we’ve got to have the money!” Trish turned her pillow over and smashed it with her fist. There was no insurance. She’d heard her mom and dad discussing the medical bills. The hospital had eaten up their savings just like the cancer ate up her father’s body. And they had no income. Her dad wasn’t training enough horses. That only left the purses they won and her percentage as a jockey.
But you have to tell them,
her nagging voice intruded.
You can’t lie, you know you can’t. And besides, how are you going to get to the track?
Trish flipped onto her back and locked her hands behind her head. When she tried praying, the words seemed to bounce off the ceiling and fade like falling stars on a clear night.
Well, God.
She took a deep breath.
You promised to take care of us, but as far as I can see, you’re not doing too good a job.
She paused, an idea tiptoeing into her mind.
Maybe my being offered mounts is God’s way of taking care of us.
She grinned with satisfaction as she turned on her side.
Of course!
She ignored the muttering of her nagger as sleep hit her like a sledgehammer.
David had broken all speed records to get her to class before the bell. She hadn’t even had time to stop at her locker, just run from the car to class in spite of her sore foot.
Spitfire hadn’t been feeling too well that morning either. There was some swelling in his front leg and tenderness in a rear hock where he’d probably banged himself in all the ruckus.
“Serves you right,” Trish had scolded him. All she needed was a lame horse right now.
The lunch bell rang before she saw Brad. She leaned her forehead against her locker. The cool metal eased the pressure she felt building behind her eyes.
“Now what?” Brad stopped beside her.
“More problems.”
“Is it your dad?”
“No…yes…well, sort of.”
“That tells me a lot.”
“Come on, you guys.” Rhonda joined them. “The food’ll be all gone.” The look on Trish’s face stopped her. “Now what?”
“I’ve been asked to ride in two races tomorrow afternoon.”
“Wow! That’s great.” Rhonda looked from Trish to Brad, who shrugged his shoulders.
“But you know what Mom’s said about riding.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Rhonda paused. “So what are you gonna do?”
“Ask Brad to take me to the track.”
“Naturally.” Brad shook his head. “What did David say?”
“Plenty. But the bottom line was no way.” Trish raised her head, her jaw clenched tight. “I
have
to get there. I gave my word….” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And we need the money.”
Brad rubbed his forehead with one tanned hand. “I’ll take you,” he said finally. “But I think you should talk this over with your dad first.”
“I can’t. What if he says no?” Trish started down the hall. “Are you guys coming or what?” She walked backward so she could watch her friends catch up to her. “Thanks.”
“So. When
are
you going to tell your dad?” Rhonda asked as they entered the lunchroom.
“Not till I have to, I guess.”
S
tudy halls are usually intended for studying.
What a joke!
Trish felt like smashing her books to the floor.
I can’t study today.
She stared out the window. The Oregon liquid sunshine misted the trees at the corners of the quad. The dismal outside matched her dismal inside.
I’ll just have to tell them I have something after school tomorrow.
But that’s a lie!
Her nagger wriggled out from under his rock.
Trish pushed her fingers through her bangs.
I can’t help that.
You’ll be sorry.
So, what’s new? I already am. But I
have
to ride. We need the money.
What if you lose?
Trish’s pencil lead snapped against her paper.
That
hadn’t entered her mind before. She slid from behind her desk and headed for the pencil sharpener. She glanced at the clock.
Five minutes till the bell. What a relief.
At Runnin’ On Farm, wind blew the drizzle into sheets that drifted across the track during the afternoon workout. While her windbreaker provided some protection, it failed to prevent icy water from dripping down the back of her neck. Her nose ran faster than the horses.
She pulled the saddle off Gatesby and slung it over the door. “Good job, fella.” The pat on his neck spoke more warmly than the words. Gatesby shook; drops from his mane spattered her face. “Way to go.”
“I’ll finish here.” David set down his bucket with scraper and water.
“You go on up and get warm.”
Trish nodded. “You need me anymore?”
“Nah. I’m almost done. Mom wants us to come to the hospital for dinner.”
“Okay. But we can’t stay long. I’ve got a ton of homework.”
“You’re awfully quiet, Tee.” Hal leaned forward in his wheelchair. The four of them sat around a small table in the hospital cafeteria. They’d already discussed the horses both at the track and home.
Trish took a deep breath. “I…ah…”
Tell him!
her nagger commanded, the voice so loud in her ears she was afraid her father had heard it.
“Ah…when are you coming home?”
“Not till Friday, it looks like. I think the doctor likes having me here.”
Hal smiled. “Think I’ll start charging him for the racing tips.”
Trish grinned at him. “Yeah, I think you better. Make your fees as much as his.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Come on, David, let’s hit the road. My books are waiting.”
“I’ll be home soon,” Marge said.
“Bye, Dad.” Trish hugged her father. Instead of the usual horses and hay, he smelled like hospital. That old familiar boulder blocked her throat. And he was so thin. His navy blue robe hung on his bony shoulders. “Get better.”
“I love you, Tee,” he whispered in her ear.
Don’t say that!
she almost screamed the thought as she left the room.
God, when are you going to make him better?
Trish felt the load lift from her shoulders as she walked down the hall. Friday—he wouldn’t be home until Friday. Now she wouldn’t need to lie.
The next day flew by. Trish felt like someone had cranked up her treadmill to sprinting speed. She’d packed boots and helmet in her duffel bag and told David it was some stuff for Rhonda. She’d lied after all, but at least not to her parents.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Brad asked when she slid into the front seat of his Mustang.
“Too late to back out now. Those owners are counting on me. Where’s Rhonda?”
“She took the bus home.”
“At least it quit raining.” Trish broke the long silence on the drive to Portland. Butterflies took turns doing aerial flips in her midsection.
“But the track may still be muddy. Trish…” Brad turned to face his friend as she opened the car door. He’d stopped right in front of the gate closest to the dressing rooms.
“It’s okay, Brad. I’ll be careful.” She paused and stuck her head back in the door. “Meet me here right after the seventh race, okay? I’ve gotta gallop Spitfire and Gatesby as soon as I can get home.”
“Are you Tricia Evanston?” a young man in a black windbreaker asked just as she reached the locker room.
“Yes.”
“Here’re your silks. Bob’ll meet you in the paddock as soon as you’re dressed.” He handed her the shiny black-and-white shirt and helmet cover.
“Okay. Thanks.” Trish took the hanger and pushed open the door. The now-familiar, liniment-scented steam tickled her nose. Even though this was only the fourth race of the day, the room had already adopted the cluttered look. It reminded Trish of her own room. Except for the smell.
“How’s Genie?” she asked one of the other jockeys.
“Should be back by the weekend. Good thing she only dislocated that shoulder rather than pullin’ the muscles or breakin’ it.” The jockey twisted her long blond hair and pinned it on top of her head. “You’re Tricia Evanston, right?”
Trish nodded.
“And it was your horse that threw her?”
“Yeah. Spitfire doesn’t seem to like anyone else on his back. I didn’t know he was such a one-person horse. Sure sorry Genie got hurt.”
“Happens to the best of us.” The woman settled her helmet in place. “You take care now.”
The brief conversation left Trish feeling both bad about Spitfire and happy Genie was okay. She would take care…but she needed the win.
