Golden Filly Collection One (32 page)

“One or so. I ride in the third and fifth.”

“Good. David, I want you to bring all the horses home today. I know that’s not the best, but it will be easier for you to have them all here. Plus we won’t have to pay the extra help at the track.”

David nodded.

“And, Tee, how about showing off that little filly of yours right after breakfast?”

“Um-m-m.” Trish scrunched up her face. “I’ve got something I have to do first.”

Surprise raised her father’s eyebrows. “Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Trish attacked her room with a vengeance. Some clothes ended up on hangers for the first time in days while others landed in the washing machine. The jumbled bed took on a completely new look when the bedspread was smoothed into place. And her desk—there really was a flat surface under all those papers.

An hour later she folded her underwear and stacked it in the proper drawer. A quick swipe with the dustcloth and even the chest of drawers shone. “God, help me keep this up,” she prayed as she looked around the orderly room. “Even I can’t stand the mess anymore, let alone Mom.” She gathered a pile of shirts off the chair and headed for the laundry room. “I’m ready.” She turned the dial to start the last wash load.

Miss Tee still spooked when someone else tried to approach her, but she came right up to Trish. The bright morning sun made her blink as Trish led the mare out of the barn and turned her loose in the paddock. When the mare snorted and rolled in the wet grass, the filly danced over to Trish and, hiding on the opposite side from Hal, rubbed her forehead against Trish’s arm. When she peeked around to keep that strange man in sight, Trish chuckled. Hal coughed. Miss Tee darted away, her hooves skimming the grass. She skidded to a stop behind the standing mare, then peeked out, her nose and ears visible through her mother’s tail.

“She’s a beauty, all right.” Hal leaned against the fence, resting his elbows on the board rail. “But she should be with her bloodlines. Full sister to Spitfire. Only shame is her birthday. She’ll be barely three months old January first.”

“Yeah, but legally she’ll be a year. It’s crazy that all Thoroughbreds are considered a year old on January first, no matter when they were dropped.” The filly tiptoed back to Trish. She reached around, tentatively sniffed Hal’s arm, and shook her head.

Hal laughed. “Come on, Tee. We’ve got work to do.”

Just for a moment, if she didn’t look at her father, Trish could pretend things were just as they used to be. But then he coughed again. He turned toward the house, his once-broad shoulders hunched against the chill of the morning, and his face slashed with new lines and gray like the fog.

But at least he’s down here with you and not in the hospital,
her nagger reminded.
Don’t you ever take a nap?
Trish snapped back, but then smiled at herself. She knew she needed to remember to be thankful.

That afternoon she won both races. Both owners seemed as pleased as she was. The best part was that her father had watched from the special bleachers built by the barns for owners and trainers to observe morning workouts.

Trish could feel her Irish temper flare when he told her what he’d heard. The jockey whose horse went down the day before had filed a complaint against Trish for knocking him down.

“You can’t prove someone struck you,” Hal said when Trish fumed. “I told them what happened, but…”

“No good.” Trish drew circles in the shavings with her booted toe. She chewed on her bottom lip. “At least my side is written down too, right?”

Hal nodded.

Trish was silent as they loaded Firefly and Dan’l. She checked Final Command’s legs before leading him into the trailer. At least he hadn’t been hurt in the accident.

But it wasn’t an accident.
She climbed into the truck cab beside her dad.
We were slashed on purpose.

The organ was playing her song when they entered the church sanctuary the next morning. Trish hummed along. Eagle’s wings. She sure needed them. She glanced at her father. So did he.

After church she took her Bible and checked the concordance. Isaiah 40:31. She looked up the verse and wrote it down—twice—on two cards.
“But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

Her father was sound asleep in his recliner. Trish slipped the card into the Bible lying on the end table by his chair. Picking up the quilt, she covered him gently.
Wish you could come along, Dad. I need you there. And get better. I need you here.
She felt the plea so powerfully, she was afraid she’d spoken out loud. Then Trish changed clothes and left for the track. She had three mounts ahead.

A stiff breeze had the flags on the infield snapping. That same western breeze trailed mare’s tails across the washed-out blue sky. While bringing in more wet weather, it had also helped dry the track.

Trish took time with her first mount. She hadn’t ridden the mare before, but Rodgers had assured her the horse had every chance of being in the money. Still, she was a long shot on the boards.

“Well, old girl, let’s go for the top. You’ll look good in those pictures.” Trish gathered her reins and settled her goggles in place. She needed a win as bad as the horse. Thoughts of the whip from the day before flitted into her mind as the gates closed, but she shut them out and concentrated on her mount.

That concentration paid off—handsomely. The purse was a large one. But Jason Rodgers still handed her an envelope. “I can’t believe it,” he said after the pictures were taken. “You brought her in two lengths ahead of the favorite.”

“She just wanted to run,” Trish laughed with him. “And I let her. Thanks for…for…” She touched her pocket.

Rodgers nodded. “Tell your dad hello for me.”

By the end of the sixth race, Trish was jubilant. Two wins, a second, and no whip. Surely yesterday had been a freak.

Her good humor lasted until the family meeting that evening. Even though her mind knew she would be grounded for her chemistry grade, her heart kept hoping her parents would change their minds. They didn’t.

If I hear “It’s for your own good” one more time, I…I…
To not race was
not
for her own good, she was sure, and it
would
hurt the entire family. They needed her share of the purses.

Calling Jason Rodgers and Bob Diego were two of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. “I’m sorry, I can’t ride for you during the week,” she said. To answer their
why
s she was tempted to blame her parents, but honesty won over. “I let my grades go down, but I can still ride Saturdays and Sundays.” She felt like slamming the receiver down but instead grabbed her jacket and slammed out the door.

Caesar shoved his cold nose into her hand, but after no response, he trotted beside her down to the dark stables.

“It’s just not fair,” she sobbed into Dan’l’s mane. “I’m trying my best and it just isn’t good enough. It’s not fair.”

An hour later, all cried out, she slipped back into the house and crawled into bed. “God, you said you would help me. Where are you?”

“It happened, didn’t it?” Rhonda didn’t need more than one look at Trish’s face to know. “Until when?”

“My grade comes back up. And today we have the conference with Mrs. Smith.” Trish leaned against her locker. “You’d think all my good grades would count for something, but no. One crummy…I hate chemistry!”

Trish felt like she was invisible as Mrs. Smith and her parents discussed her grades, her exhaustion, her future grades, and what she planned to do with her life. Nobody asked her.

She swallowed a smart remark. When she shifted in her chair for the third time, her father turned his head and winked at her. A warm glow, like a hug, circled her heart.

She caught herself just before a yawn. That’s all she needed. To fall asleep during the conference.

“So, we’ll set up a conference with our counselor, Mrs. Olson, the principal, and Trish’s other teachers, if that’s all right?” Mrs. Smith asked.

Trish jerked completely alert.
Now what?

At her parents’ nod, she continued. “Would tomorrow be possible?”

“No.” Hal shook his head. “I have another treatment tomorrow. I won’t be in any shape for a meeting. How about Thursday?”