Golden Filly Collection One (64 page)

“No, not really. Every vet has those. But maybe I should think of an equine specialty. I’ve sure gotten plenty of practice around here.”

“And you’ve done an excellent job,” Hal said. “You seem to have a sixth sense for what’s ailing a horse like Trish does for riding. Maybe you should think about Tucson. Their equine research program is outstanding.”

Besides the guilt that continued to nag her, Trish had two more things to think about when she went to bed. At least when David had been at Washington State University, they’d been able to go visit him. Arizona was a long way away.

Her thought switched to the scene at the table. Her grandparents had been invited to see her race. When they’d visited last summer, her grandmother hadn’t been excited about Trish riding the Thoroughbreds. In fact, she worried more than her daughter. Was worrying an inherited disease?

And was it really fair to ask so much of her mother? It was true that racing was the main topic of conversation in their home.
Why can’t she love horses as much as Dad and I do—or at least like them
?

It isn’t the horses,
her inner voice reminded her,
it’s your riding—in races.

“Thanks a bunch!” Trish took a deep breath, held it to the count of ten, and let it all out. Her shoulders and rib cage seemed to melt into the mattress.

Light from the mercury yard light showed her half-full suitcase on the chair. In the morning she’d ride Spitfire for the last time before Kentucky.
Please, God, make everything go all right tomorrow
was her last conscious thought.

Spitfire was ready to play when she got down to the barn in the morning. He snatched her riding gloves out of her back pocket when she bent over to pick his front hoof, and tossed them in the corner.

“Whaddya think you’re doing?” Trish scolded him.

Spitfire rolled his eyes and gave her a nudge when she bent over to pick up her scattered gloves. She caught herself before she went sprawling in the straw.

“Da-v-i-d.” Trish called in the reserves.

“What’s wrong?” David leaned over the stall door.

“Just hold on to his head, okay? He thinks he’s Gatesby today.”

“Or a clown in the circus?”

“Take your pick.” Trish looked down at the tool in her hand. “Better yet, here.
You
pick and I’ll hold.”

They quickly had the colt cleaned and saddled. Trish waved as they trotted off to the track. Spitfire spooked at a gopher mound and shied when a bird flew up. He snorted and pranced, nostrils flaring red-pink as he tugged at the bit.

“You might as well give up,” Trish told him. “You’re not running today, just jog and loosen up.” He danced sideways, reaching, pleading for more slack.

Each time he tugged, Trish pulled him down to a walk again. “See, I warned you.” He shook his head. The next time she loosened the reins, he jogged peacefully all the way around the track and back to the barn. Mist had dampened both his hide and Trish’s face. She could see steam rising from her horse when she slid to the ground.

“You better hustle or you’ll be late for school,” David greeted her.

“I think I should stay home until we get him on the plane.”

“Dad said school.”

Trish groaned but gave Spitfire one last hug before she raced for the house. Caesar beat her by one leap onto the deck.

“I’m hurrying.” Trish correctly interpreted the look Marge gave her.

She slid into her seat at school just as the final bell rang.

“That was close,” Rhonda whispered from across the aisle. “Thought maybe you’d decided to go along.”

“Don’t I wish.” Trish opened her book.

“Put your books away and take out paper.” The teacher turned to begin writing on the board. “This quiz will count for twenty-five points.”

The class groaned, Trish adding her share.

She’d just started the last question when an announcement came over the intercom. “Will Tricia Evanston please report to the office.”

Trish and Rhonda stared at each other.

“Don’t panic,” Rhonda ordered.

“Yeah.” Trish grabbed her books and dashed out the door.

“Your mother will be here to pick you up. There’s an emergency at home.” The secretary looked sympathetic as she gave Trish the message.

Chapter

08

T
rish flew out the door. She jerked open the car door before Marge brought the vehicle to a full stop.

“Trish, don’t panic. No one’s hurt,” Marge said as Trish bounded into the seat.

“Then what…?”

Marge laid her hand on Trish’s knee. Her quiet voice calmed her, the same way that Trish’s voice quieted a nervous horse. “They’re having trouble loading Spitfire, so instead of fighting with him, Dad said to go get you.”

Trish slumped in the seat.
They should have let me stay home with him in the first place,
she thought, but was wise enough not to say it aloud. Her stomach returned to its normal place, rather than remaining parked up in her throat. “Man.” She shook her head. “That message scared me out of a year’s growth.”

“Sorry,” Marge answered as she looked both ways before pulling out onto 117th Avenue. “I didn’t mean for them to scare you, just have you at the door by the time I got there.”

“When they call your name over the intercom, you die, no matter what.” Trish fluffed her bangs with her fingers. “Everybody in school is gonna wonder what’s wrong now.”

“In our case, it’s what you do right. And that’s handle Spitfire.”

Please make it that simple, Lord,
Trish prayed all the way home.

She leaped from the car before it completely stopped beside the pickup by the stables.

“Where is he?”

“Easy, Tee.” Hal came from behind the horse trailer. “We put him back in his stall. He’s all right.”

Trish took a deep, calming breath before she walked up to Spitfire’s stall. He poked his head out the door just as she reached for the latch. A silent nicker tickled his nose. He wuffled in her face, then rubbed his forehead on her chest.

“You crazy animal,” Trish crooned as she rubbed his ears and smoothed the coarse black forelock. “What’d you cause such a fuss about?” She adjusted the travel sheet that rode high on his neck.

“Well, let’s get this over with.” Hal stopped beside her. “You and David both take the leads, even though he looks calm as a kitten right now. I don’t know what your magic is, Trish, but it sure works.”

“Just love.” Trish kissed Spitfire on the nose.

The colt stepped out calmly when Trish swung open the stall door. He draped his head over her shoulder and only hesitated at the edge of the ramp. After a gentle tug on the rope, he followed Trish right into the trailer.

“Don’t even say it,” David growled as he slip-tied the lead rope.

“You mean, I told you so?” Trish hid her grin as she tied her rope. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She patted Spitfire’s shoulder and slipped out of the trailer.

Hal and David lifted the gate in place and threw home the bolts.

“I think you’d better go with us to the airport,” Hal said. “Just in case. We’re late now so let’s get a hustle on.”

“You be careful now,” Marge said as she hugged Hal one more time. “And call me as soon as you get settled.”

“I will. And I’ve plenty of help on call so you needn’t worry.”

“Easy for you to say,” Marge muttered under her breath.

Hal hugged her again. “You’re doing great.” He climbed up into the cab. “Let’s roll.”

Trish felt as if she were in one of the old Westerns. Her dad was the wagonmaster with “Let’s hit ’em up and roll ’em out,” but that wasn’t exactly what he said.

“Make something good for lunch,” Trish called as she waved to her mother.

David poked her in the ribs with his elbow. “Smart aleck.”

“You remember what school food is like. If I’m home, I take advantage of it.” Trish settled herself between the broad shoulders of the two men. Good thing they had a large pickup.

The drive over the I-205 bridge to the airport passed with Hal giving them last minute instructions for the horses at home.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” he finally said. “You know what to do. And, Trish, you won’t have time for anything. Saturday’ll be here soon.” He turned the truck into a driveway marked Eagle Transport.

A guard stopped them for their names, then waved the truck through after giving Hal instructions for finding their plane. It was the only one on the concrete in front of the hangars. A ramp led up to a wide cargo door on the silver body of the aircraft. An emblem of a flying eagle adorned the vertical section of the tail.

Hal parked the trailer near the ramp and pulled his briefcase from behind the seat. “You two wait here until I get checked in. Don’t let me forget my suitcases.”

“Is he excited or what?” Trish turned to David with a serious look on her face.

David shook his head. They could hear Spitfire moving around in the trailer. A jet roared up into the sky from the east-west runway just beyond the loading area. They could hear the trailer creak in protest to Spitfire’s shifting.

“You better get back there with him.” David peeled out the door. “You know he doesn’t like strange noises.”

Spitfire whinnied when Trish opened the front door and ducked under the bar to stand beside him. At the roar of another jet under full thrust, he threw his head up as far as the ties permitted.

Trish sang her comfort songs to him, stroking the colt all the while. She rubbed his ears and neck, feeling the sweat popping out from his tension. Spitfire rubbed his head against her shoulder and shuddered when another plane took off.

“Keep up the good work, Tee,” Hal said as he stuck his head in the door. “We’ll get the tack boxes loaded first. How’s he doing?”

“Better. Just like schooling at the track. Maybe we should have brought him here a few days ago and let him get used to the noise. Walked him through the process.”

“Too late now. We’ll be just a few minutes.”

She could hear him giving orders to David and someone else. Spitfire flinched when the tack boxes screeched during the unloading. Another jet took off. This time the colt just shifted his feet. Trish checked the thick leg wraps that David or her father had secured on all four legs to keep the horse from injuring himself. The crimson and gold travel sheet covered Spitfire from behind his ears to his tail.

“You look good,” she murmured to his drooping ears. He only jerked his head when another jet lifted off. “They sure send plenty of planes out of here.”

“Okay, Trish.” David stopped at the door before going to the rear to drop the ramp. “We’re ready.”

“This is it, fella.” Trish jerked the loose end on her lead shank and freed the other. David slipped in on the other side as soon as the ramp was down. “Here.” Trish handed him one of the ropes. “Okay, Spitfire, back up.”

Once out on the concrete, Spitfire raised his head and looked around. David and Trish let him look, watching his ears and eyes for any sign of tension. When he relaxed, they started walking toward the plane ramp. Spitfire looked from side to side, observing the activity around him.

When Trish and David started up the padded ramp, he followed like a docile puppy. Until another jet, a huge one, thundered into the air not a hundred yards away. Spitfire reared. As he went up, Trish let the rope slip through her fingers, then leaped for his halter when he came down. His feet slipped.

Trish flinched at the pain in her leg where the colt’s flailing legs had struck her. But she didn’t let go and didn’t stop talking to him.

When he tried to go up again, she clamped her hand over his nostrils.

“No!” Her order penetrated the black’s fears. His front feet stayed on the ground this time. They stood at the edge of the ramp, the horse and Trish both shaking, and David scolding the colt under his breath.

“That was close.” Hal kept his voice low and soothing. “Walk him around a bit and let’s try it again. He was fine until that plane took off.”

Trish didn’t have any spit to swallow. Her mouth felt like she’d been sucking on cotton balls. She nodded, and coaxed Spitfire to follow her.

When they approached the ramp again, Spitfire followed them up and into the dimness.

“Good fella,” Trish encouraged him. “Just keep it up now until we get the stall up around you.” They tied their ropes to one side of a padded wooden stall that was guy-wired in the center floor of the plane. Quickly, the airline crew bolted and wired the remaining three sides around the shivering colt.

Eyes rolling, nostrils flaring, Spitfire tossed his head when Trish started to leave the stall. His tail twitched and all four feet created their own staccato dance step.

Trish stepped back to his head and kept on rubbing, soothing him with her voice and hands.

“How close to packed is your suitcase?” Hal stroked Spitfire’s neck under the soaking sheet.

“Why?”

“I don’t think you better leave this stall. I’ve got a tranquilizer along but I hate to use it. You never know how he might react. So-o-o, the way I see it, we better take you along.”

Trish rose on tiptoe to kiss her father’s cheek. “What’s Mom gonna say?”