Golden Filly Collection Two (90 page)
Trish had barely settled back into the school-track-study routine when Donald Shipson called to say he felt Firefly was ready to be shipped home.
“Unless you just want to leave her here and see if she is ready for breeding later in the season.”
“You think she’ll be well enough?” Marge, Trish, and Patrick were all on the line.
“I’d rather wait, give her a year. Let her get strong and grow some more.” Patrick gave his opinion.
“Is she limping still?” Trish had a hard time getting the picture of Firefly in a cast out of her mind.
“Somewhat. Actually, yes. She could stay here that long, you know.”
“Thanks, Donald, but all things given, maybe we should ship her back here. She may never do for a broodmare; we all know that.”
Trish felt her heart hit the bottom of her belly. Please let her mother be worrying for nothing. Surely the filly would recover enough. She had the fight to get well, but everyone even doubted that. “Would another surgery help?”
“I’ve thought of that too. How about if we have her X-rayed again and then make a decision based on what Doctor Grant says?”
The three on the Runnin’ On Farm line agreed.
“Okay, then. I’ll make the arrangements and let you know.”
When they hung up, Trish meandered into the living room. “Sure wish she could run again. First Spitfire and now Firefly. We lost our two best entries this year.”
“Hard to say you lost Spitfire, my dear. He ran himself right out of contention.” Marge tapped her chin with the end of her pen. “But I know you miss them. One thing I’ve been trying to learn is to go ahead and grieve for the losses—that it’s okay to feel sad for the things that go out of our lives.”
“I know one thing that I won’t feel sad about when it goes out of my life.” Trish propped a hip on her mother’s desk.
“The Jerk.” They said it together and then slapped hands. As Trish left the room, she threw a grin over her shoulder. “You know what, Mom? You’re pretty cool—for an old lady, that is.” She ducked around the corner before the throw pillow could hit her.
Saturday at the track, Trish heard a familiar voice after her win in the first race of the day.
“That’s the way to start the new year.” Taylor leaned his elbows on the fence rail.
“Sure is. How ya doin’?” Trish realized she was happy to see his smiling face.
“Did you miss me?”
His question caught her by surprise. “Ah—umm.” There went her brain, checking out again.
“I had to go home for Christmas.” He leaned closer. “I have something I want to show you.”
Trish waved to Genie, who was waving her toward the jockey room. “I have to go. See you later.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
When he waited for her at the end of her last race, Trish knew she’d go up to the clubhouse where they could sit in comfortable chairs and get to know each other without all the noise around them.
“Let me go change,” she said in a rush. “And then I need to talk to Curt Donovan also.”
“Not bad.” Curt checked his notes for the day. “Two wins, two places, and a show. Should have been three wins.”
“I know. But he just didn’t have any kick left there at the finish.”
“And the other one did. But a nose-to-nose duel like that—the spectators loved it.” Curt scratched his forehead with the end of his pen. “You heard any more from San Mateo?”
Trish shook her head. “I’ll let you know if I do.”
“When,
Trish, when—not if. You gotta think positive.” Curt tucked his notebook in his pocket. “You better get going. Lover boy awaits.”
Trish could feel the heat dye her cheeks. “Curt! You—” But her brain couldn’t find words fast enough.
“Hi.” Taylor fell into step with her as soon as Curt trotted off to talk to someone else.
“Sorry I took so long.”
“You hungry?”
“Starved. How’d you know?”
“I always was after a game. You want to eat first or can I show you my surprise?”
Trish ignored her rumbling stomach. Agreeing to see whatever it was that made him so excited was much more polite. “Your surprise.” She had to jog to keep up with his long strides.
They headed out the front entrance and across the parking lot. Off on the horizon, a line of gold still reflected up on the gray clouds. The encroaching darkness set some of the parking-lot lights flickering on. At the far northwest corner, a black Corvette was parked across two parking spaces.
“Whoa, what a set of wheels!” Trish reached to smooth a hand down the gleaming hard top.
“No, don’t touch it.”
She jerked back as if she’d been stung by a bee. She looked up at the man grinning at her.
“You’ll set off the alarm.” Taylor punched in a code on the remote in his hand. “Now you can open the door.”
When Trish did as he said, the aroma of new car and leather interior met her like a fine perfume. She sniffed and grinned back at him. Now that she was close enough, she could see the Corvette wasn’t really black, but a deep Bing cherry hue. The leather interior matched.
“Want to go for a spin?” He saw her hesitation. “We could eat at Janzen Beach. I’d bring you right back.”
Trish glanced at her watch. “I need to call my mom first. She thinks I’m at the track.”
“No problema.” He pointed to the cellular phone. “The car’s a Christmas present from my folks, the phone from Grandpa. Get in. I’ll show you how to use it.” Taylor walked around the car to open the door for Trish.
When she sat down, the seat wrapped around her, inviting her to sit back and relax. The dashboard looked like the cockpit of a jet airliner. Tape deck, CD player, car phone, the works.
“Did it take you two weeks to learn how to work everything?” Trish snapped her seat belt after puzzling the contraption out. She inhaled. “They ought to bottle the smell of a new car. I love it.”
When Taylor turned the ignition, the engine roared to life and settled into a lion-sized purr. “Call your mom. Just punch the numbers here and you’ll have her.”
Trish did as he showed her. “Maybe I’ll put one of these in my car someday. Talk about handy.” She waited through the message before Marge picked up the phone.
Trish explained what she was doing and waited for her mother to say “Fine,” but instead Marge hesitated. “Trish, I’ve never met Taylor, and you know that’s our agreement before you go out with someone.”
“But we’re not going out.” Trish bit her lip. How embarrassing! Taylor could hear every word. “Once we eat, I’ll be right home.”
The doubt hovered in Marge’s voice. “You be careful.”
Trish agreed and hung up the phone. “Sorry. I didn’t think before I agreed to come with you. How about if we just go to McDonald’s?”
“We can’t eat in the car.” Taylor put the machine into gear and eased forward. “Knowing me, I’d spill my Coke and—”
“Would be a shame to mess up anything this pretty.” She smoothed a hand down the side of the seat. “What a car.”
“That’s why I couldn’t wait to show it to you. Now, maybe you’ll go out with me sometime soon. I promise to come and meet your mother first.”
By the time Taylor had run through the gears on the freeway on-ramp and eased into traffic, Trish was wondering if maybe she should trade in her LeBaron. There was something magical about a Corvette.
When she told Rhonda all about it on the phone later, she could hear her friend flop back on her bed.
“Ol’ fudge eyes has a Corvette and wants to take you out—and you didn’t say, ‘Yes, yes, yes!’?”
“He
is
nice.”
“Nice! Nice! You say he’s nice? Compadre, you’re missing something upstairs.”
“Hey, remember, I like Red.…”
“And Doug.…”
“And I don’t need another man in my life.”
“You don’t have to be in love with him to go out with him—and his Corvette.”
“Rhonda, do you ever think of anything besides guys—and new cars?”
“Sure. But this is more fun. I been thinking about term papers and calculus equations and filling out scholarship forms. And I’ve been doing ’em—not just thinking about it. Some of us have to go to college next year.”
Trish felt a twinge of guilt, but only for an instant. “Speaking of books, I better get busy. See you tomorrow in church.” Trish hung up and ambled out to the kitchen to fill a plate for studying fodder. Sometimes she wished she could call Red, but the time difference, and never knowing where he was racing, kept her from it. She could write him a letter.
An hour later she stuffed the four folded sheets of paper into an envelope. She hadn’t mentioned the Corvette—and Taylor. Should she have?
“I don’t know.” She addressed the envelope and propped it against the lamp base. Talking on the phone was certainly much easier.
But when the phone rang a bit later, she didn’t run for it. Her mother would wait until the caller’s voice came on the machine before picking it up. What a hassle that was. Trish kept on reading her literature book. They were due for a quiz any time, and she was behind.
“Trish, it’s for you. Officer Parks.”
Trish leaped from her bed. Maybe they had finally found out something about The Jerk.
S
o Trish, I hear you’re seeing someone new,” Parks continued after the greetings.
“How’d you hear that?”
“Curt Donovan. He wondered if we’d checked into the background of Taylor Winthrop. Why didn’t you mention this person?”
“But I only had a hot chocolate with him one time and dinner tonight. What’s this ‘Am I seeing him’? He wanted to show me his Christmas present, that’s all.”
“So what do you know about him?” Parks’ voice sounded thoroughly entrenched in his official mode.
Trish took in a deep breath, willing herself to be patient. The man was only doing his job after all. “Taylor’s a junior at the University of Portland, he’s from southern Oregon someplace, he likes horse racing, is a frequent fan, and…” Trish couldn’t think of anything else to say. Surely Parks didn’t want to hear about deep brown laughing eyes, a dream of a Corvette, and a smile that could break a woman’s heart.
“When did you first meet him?”
Trish scrunched her eyes shut to remember. “September, I guess. At Portland Meadows. At first he just asked me to sign his program. Lots of people do that.”
