Golden Filly Collection One (26 page)

This time she hadn’t met the horse before the race. While she knew her father’s advice was sound, she also understood that pre-meets weren’t always possible.

Her mount had drawn the number five position. Right in the middle of the pack. Bob Diego stood to the side of the trainer as Trish entered the stall.

“Good afternoon.” His voice had the precise inflection of one to whom English was a second language. “Permit me to give you a leg up.”

Trish smiled at him. “I’d like to meet your horse first, if that’s okay?”

Diego nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Be my guest. This old man here is called Hospitality, otherwise known as Hoppy. He’s five years old, won some, lost more, and back after an injury in California. He likes to come from behind, but is never pleased with a muddy track.”

Trish stood quietly in front of the leggy blood-red bay and let him explore first her hands, then her arms and up to her helmet. His breath in her face signified approval, and she extended a hand to rub along his head and up to his ears. He had the chiseled bones and large eyes of a mature horse, not the teenage look of her own string. She brushed his forelock aside and rubbed between his ears.

“You’ve made a friend for life,” Diego said. “He doesn’t usually take to newcomers quite so easily.”

Trish listened hard to the trainer’s reply, trying to pick out words she knew from the rapid Spanish.
Muy bueno
she knew meant very good.

Trish mounted and settled herself in the saddle. So he didn’t like mud. Well, he’d get a lot of that today if they came from behind.

Hoppy tugged against the bit as they filed on the post parade. Trish rose in her stirrups, testing his mouth, feeling him bunch under her. His ears twitched in perfect time to her singsong.

As they entered the gates, she stroked Hoppy’s arched neck. His ears pricked forward. He blew, tensed for the shot, and exploded from the gate. Within four strides he broke ahead of the pack and leaped for the first curve.

Trish crouched over his shoulders, giving him all the encouragement she could while keeping a firm hand on the reins. She didn’t want him to tire before the stretch, but he was running with his head up. He tested the bit, lengthening his stride when she relaxed even a little.

As the marker poles flashed past, Trish listened for her competition. At the three-quarters point the pair running a length behind made their move. With hooves thundering up on both sides of her, she loosed the reins. Her mount’s surge of power carried him another length ahead. He seemed to be laughing as they crossed the finish line two lengths ahead of the mud-covered second-place contender.

“So you don’t like mud in your face, eh, Hoppy?” Trish laughed as she pulled him down to a canter. “And you like to come from behind. Sure fooled me.” She turned him back toward the winner’s circle. “And your owner.”

“Sorry, Mr. Diego,” she said as she slid to the ground. “Keeping him back when he’d broken so clean just didn’t seem the right thing to do. And he was having too much fun in front.”

Bob Diego smiled and nodded, but Trish could feel his black eyes assessing her.

He’ll probably never ask me again, since I didn’t follow his directions.
She snapped her goggles up to her helmet.
But I just knew what the horse wanted. And needed. And we won.

After the trainer led Hospitality away to the testing barn, Trish fell in step with Bob Diego as he spoke. “You have the insight, that special gift, do you not?” He rubbed his chin between forefinger and thumb.

“Wha…what do you mean?”

“It’s rare. That ability to get the best out of a horse. Some say they can read the horse’s mind or else the horse can read theirs. Whichever. It is not important how, but that you can.”

Trish took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Mr. Diego. About the gift, I mean. I always thought it was only because I was around our animals so much; they know me and I know them. But your horse today…well, I’m just glad I didn’t make a mistake.”

Robert Diego nodded. “Now, about this next race.”

Trish could feel the explosive energy of the colt she mounted next. He fought her all the way to the post and back to the starting gate. “Now, if you think you can get away with all this, you’re crazy,” she instructed his twitching ears. “I ride Gatesby, and you don’t have a chance on winning the sneakiness trophy next to him. Settle down. Your time is coming.”

When they entered the gate, the colt snorted and reared. Trish backed him out and walked him in a tight circle, all the while using her voice and hands to calm the fractious beast. “You’re wasting your energy,” she commanded. “Now just behave and let’s get on the other side so you can run.”

She felt him relax. They stopped for just a moment, time for both of them to expel a deep breath. This time he settled for the break, his weight on his haunches as it should be.

This was the first time Trish and her mount were caught in the middle of the pack. As they rounded the first turn, she pulled him back and out of the box of surging horseflesh and swinging bats. The colt shook his head at the restriction but settled again at the sound of her voice.

She could hear Bob Diego’s voice in her ear. “I like my horses to come from the rear. Save them for the stretch, then use the whip if you have to.”

First one, then another horse dropped back as they rounded the far turn. The pace had been stiff, but when Trish let up on the reins, the colt extended his stride. He was running easily, ears flicking both to hear his rider and to look forward.

With the final two horses neck and neck in front of them, Trish let the colt have his head, her hands on the reins to support, not control him. They swept across the wire, winning by half a length.

“You did it!” She felt like hugging the prancing horse.
And no whip.
The thought brought a grin of satisfaction. The other two jockeys had laid on the whips for all they were worth, but her mount won.

They posed for the pictures and Trish gave the colt one last pat. “Congratulations.” Diego shook her hand. “That one, he gave you a hard time at first, no?”

“We had a bit of a discussion about who was boss. Guess I convinced him we should work together.” Trish stepped off the scale and handed the saddle to the trainer. She wiped a chunk of track off her cheek. “But coming from behind on a muddy track…well.”

The owner laughed. “I have one tomorrow in the fourth. Can you ride for me again?”

“Sure.”

“He’s a problem sometimes. Seems to do better with a woman on him. This will be his third race, but he’s never won. If he doesn’t at least show, I’ll enter him in a claiming race next.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Here.” His smile gleamed beneath a well-trimmed mustache as the man handed Trish an envelope. “Tell your father he’s done a good job, both as a trainer…and as a father.”

“Th—thanks,” Trish stammered her surprise.
If he only knew.

Jason Rodgers joined her in the winner’s circle after Trish rode his horse to win also. It had been an excellent day, if only she could tell her dad about it.

Even though Trish changed clothes as fast as she could and Brad drove more than the speed limit, it was dark when they turned at the Runnin’ On Farm sign.

“You want me to ride Gatesby?” Brad asked as they trotted down to the stables. The dark house and vacant drive had given Trish a brief relief. No one else was home yet.

“No, I better. Just help me saddle up. David must be at the hospital yet, so if you’d feed it would sure help.”

Trish had just dismounted from her final circuit when David stomped up. “How come you’re so late? You should have been done hours ago. What’s been going on?”

Anger and guilt clipped each word as Trish turned on her brother. “Who made you my boss?”

Chapter

07

W
here were you?”

“Where do you think?” Trish faced him—hands on her hips, her jaw tight and eyes flashing.

“You rode after all.”

“You bet I did. We
need
the money, haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“How…who…?”

“Who cares? I rode and I won. Someone in this family has to be making some money. You know how much everything costs. And I didn’t miss school.”

“No, but you lied to Mom and Dad.” David grabbed her arm.

“No, I didn’t. They didn’t ask and I didn’t say anything. But I could have had another mount if I had skipped. Dad says to use my gift and I am.” Trish whirled away. “I’m doing the best I can, David, so leave me alone.”

“All right! I will! Just don’t come crying to me when they find out.”

“Yes,
Mother
.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Oh, r-e-a-l-l-y. You’re so bossy. Think you always know what’s

best.”

“Stupid kid.”

“Takes one to know one.” Trish couldn’t believe they were hollering at each other like this. She and David never fought. But right now she felt she could strangle him with her bare hands. Calling her stupid. All the feelings of guilt and resentment rushed up from her toes and erupted.

“Leave me alone, David Lee Evanston!” she yelled. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“And what’ll you do about it, if I don’t?” Red flamed up into David’s face. His fists bunched at his sides, ready to punch. Instead of at her, he slammed one fist against the barn wall.

Trish froze. Tears welled behind her eyes, clogged her throat, and spilled down her cheeks.

David grunted with the pain. He doubled over, cushioning his injured hand with the other.

“David, I…I’m sorry.” Trish put her hand on his shoulder.

David stepped back. “Haven’t you done enough?” Clamping his hand against his chest, he headed for the house.

Brad held Trish while she cried. As the deluge dried to drips, she pulled away and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I just don’t know what else to do,” she finally muttered. “We need the money. Dad’ll understand.”

“When are you going to tell him?”

“When he gets home, so we can talk by ourselves.” She drew another shuddering breath. “Well, I better get at the horses.” She looked around, as if coming into new territory from a far land.

“I put them all away.”

“Thanks.”

“We need to feed. I don’t think David will be back down.”

“I know. Hope he’s icing that hand.” Trish chewed her lip. “Do you think he broke anything?”

“You’re lucky he didn’t break you.”

Trish nodded. Her deep breath snagged on a clump of tears still stuck in her throat. “I’ll do grain and you get the hay.” She felt like a ton of alfalfa sat on her shoulders. If she didn’t start moving, her knees would buckle under the load, and once she went down, how would she ever get up?

David’s door was shut when she finally got up to the dark house. She warmed two bowls of leftover spaghetti in the microwave, buttered some French bread, and poured two glasses of milk. After arranging all the food on a tray, Trish carried it down the hall and tapped on David’s door.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve brought dinner.” She bent one knee to balance the tray and struggled with the doorknob. Almost upsetting the milk, she kicked the door open with her foot. “Whew, that was close.”