Golden Filly Collection One (70 page)
“Hi, Mom.” Trish caught the phone on the first ring again that night. Hal had eaten dinner and dozed off. Trish and her mother talked about what was happening at home and the track before Trish asked Hal to pick up the extension. “See ya, Mom. Next week, right? Here’s Dad.” She hung up before she could hear her mother pause—or decline.
“Your grandparents are coming here for the Derby,” Hal told her when she went in to kiss him good-night. “They’ll be here next Friday.”
“Good. What about Mom?”
Hal just shrugged his shoulders.
A nightmare attacked Trish again that night. This time it was a replay of the family reliving the accident at Portland Meadows. In the dream her mother cried—forever. Trish licked her dry lips and forced her eyes open. Another race was coming up—a big one. Was she ready for it? How would she control the butterflies that already flitted when she thought ahead?
She hated to close her eyes again.
Remember the name of Jesus?
Her little voice was being helpful this time. What a nice change.
Trish closed her eyes and let the name of Jesus in big letters scroll across her mind. There He sat, smiling at all the children. She could never resist smiling back. And going right to sleep.
She’d just walked Spitfire back from another schooling session the next afternoon when a voice yelled to her. “Hey, Trish! Ya got company!”
M
om, you came!” Trish flew down the aisle and threw herself into her mother’s arms. “And David.” She strangled him with a hug next. “You guys are really here!”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier your father was sick?” Marge whispered into her daughter’s ear as she hugged Trish again.
“He wouldn’t let me.”
Marge sighed. “I figured as much. How bad is he?”
“Better.” Trish turned to her brother. “Some track, isn’t it, Davey boy. Wait’ll you see the rest. I can show you around after I feed the kid here.”
Spitfire nickered when he saw David. “Hey, old man. You remember me, huh?” Spitfire bopped David’s Seattle Mariner’s baseball hat onto the dirt aisle. David picked it up and dusted off the brim. “Sure does. He act this way with anyone else, or does he save it all for me?”
Trish laughed at the sneaky expression on Spitfire’s face. “He loves you, that’s all.” She showed David where they kept everything and measured out the evening feed.
“Hi, Trish, need some help?” Red stuck his head in the door.
“No, thanks. Hey, meet my family. They just got here. Mom, David, this is Eric Holloran, better known as Red. He’s a jockey here.”
“Pleased to meet y’all.” Red shook hands.
“How’d you do?” Trish asked.
“One win, a place, and a fourth. My checkbook is singing for joy. You still need the boys in the morning?”
“No, David here needs to work his muscles. And I’m glad you did well.”
“Gotta run. Nice to meet y’all.” He hesitated. “Can I buy you a Coke or something?”
“Thanks, but we’re heading for the hotel as soon as we finish chores. Dad doesn’t know they’re here yet.”
“Okay. See ya.”
David looked from the retreating jockey to Trish. “Is there something going on here I should know about?”
Trish felt a blush creep up her neck. “David!”
Marge leaned against the half wall, smiling at her daughter. “He seems like a very nice young man.”
David snorted. He dumped the feed in Spitfire’s box. “Let’s go see Dad.”
“You guys wait out here,” Trish said twenty minutes later as she dug in her pocket for the hotel key. “Dad needs a good surprise.” She opened the door to the dark suite. “Dad?” She flicked on the light switch by the door.
“In here.” Hal’s voice sounded as if he just woke up.
“There’s someone here who needs to talk with you.”
“Okay, just a minute.”
Trish clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles that bubbled up like a shaken soda can. She glanced at David to see the same look on his face. Marge had her tongue stuck in her cheek.
Hal wore his robe over a pair of jeans and was brushing his hair back with his hands as he came around the corner. The look on his face made the secrecy well worthwhile. He hugged Marge first, and with her tucked against his side, he wrapped his other arm around his son’s neck and squeezed hard.
Trish could also tell from her dad’s look that he was thinking, “Thank you, God,” just like she was. Her mother had come, fear or not. They were together, the way they should be. Trish felt a weight float away from her shoulders that she hadn’t realized was so heavy.
They ordered room service and sat around catching up for the next couple of hours.
“Good news,” Marge said at one point. “Grandpa and Grandma are coming for sure; said they wouldn’t miss it. They’ll arrive on Friday.”
“Will they stay long enough to go sightseeing with us?” Trish asked.
Marge shrugged. “Got me. You know what a rush they’re always in to get back to their volunteering. I think they’re busier now than when they were working.”
Trish fell asleep that night with a smile on her face. Her family was all together.
“This area doesn’t look at all like I expected,” David said as he and Trish drove to the track the next morning.
“I know. The bluegrass country is really around Lexington. But wait till you see the Ohio River. It’s huge. We haven’t been anywhere yet since Dad got sick. Maybe this weekend.” She parked by their barn. “We need to get you a badge later.”
If it weren’t for the difference in scenery, Trish would have felt as if she were home. She and David worked together like the team they’d become since their father’s illness began. Having her brother there made her even more aware how much she’d missed him.
“Slow gallop now,” David reminded her as he gave her a leg up. Spitfire stood quietly. “Is he feeling all right?” David nodded at the horse.
“Sure, why?”
“Well, he—he’s quieter. Not such a clown.”
Trish leaned forward and smoothed Spitfire’s mane to one side. “I don’t know. He seems to realize this is serious business. But you missed out on a real tantrum with the thunderstorm. Like at the airport. He
doesn’t
like loud noises.”
It had rained during the night and the morning air smelled fresh-washed and rose-petal soft on Trish’s skin. She walked the colt once around the track, staying close by the outside rail. The rising sunlight sparkled on the twin spires above the grandstand.
At the second round, they broke into a slow gallop. Spitfire settled into the rocking gait, ears pricked, always aware of the horses working around him but not concerned. Trish relaxed along with him. There was no place on earth she’d rather be.
Red saluted her with his whip as he galloped by.
Trish pointed out the sights on the backside as she and David jogged over to the track kitchen for breakfast. On the way back they stopped at the office for his badge.
At ten the farrier arrived with his tools to shoe the colt. Spitfire stood like a perfect gentleman, only rubbing his forehead on Trish’s chest as she held him.
Saturday morning after the chores were done, Hal called Trish and David into the office. “I think it’s time we brought in someone else to help us,” he said. “Now, I don’t want you to think it’s because you haven’t been doing a good job. You know better than that.” He smoothed back a lock of hair that fell over Trish’s cheek. “I just think we need to make life easier for all of us, and thanks to Spitfire’s win at Santa Anita, we can afford it.”
“You have someone in mind?” David asked.
Hal nodded. “His name is Patrick O’Hern. Trish met him earlier this week. He had a tremendous reputation until…”
“Until—” David interrupted a long pause.
“Well, he—ummm—”
Warning bells went off in Trish’s mind. Her father was on his helping-others mode again. What had Patrick done?
“He became an alcoholic after his wife died and his whole life fell apart.” Hal said the words in a rush, as if he couldn’t wait to get them out. “But with God’s help, he’s turned his life around. I feel privileged to work with him. The man knows more about horses and racing than—”
“It’s okay, Dad.” David nodded and shrugged at the same time. “We trust you. If you think Patrick is who we need, that’s great. Right, Trish?”
Trish nodded. “Sure. I liked him.” But a squirmy little doubt dug in at the back of her mind.
“It’s settled then. I’ll page him and see if he can meet us up at the track kitchen.”
The meeting with Patrick went according to Hal’s plan. The man would start work on Monday.
The pace stepped up after the weekend. It seemed there were more reporters each day. Trish began to wonder where they all came from. All the Derby entries were now on site. As Trish watched the other horses work, she tried to compare them to Spitfire.
“You’re just prejudiced,” David said after one of her comments about the bad temper of the chestnut called Going South. His trainer had posted a sign warning visitors to keep back.
“Where’d you ever get that idea?” Trish tried to look innocent, but the mischief dancing in her eyes gave her away.
They all fell easily into the new routine. Since Patrick stayed on the grounds, he fed Spitfire in the morning so Trish and David could sleep in a bit later. Then David mucked out the stall while Trish took Spitfire out on the track. The colt and Patrick hit it off from the first moment Patrick slipped the black a carrot chunk.
