Race Girl (9 page)

‘Didn't want you to,' Bucko laughed, ‘How ya been, Dennis?'

Dennis rocked back in his chair, resting his feet on a tipped-over milk crate. ‘Heard about the filly, did ya?'

‘Word 'round the pub is you took her as a partial payment from Nevins?'

Must be a bookie . . .
Tully thought, taking a step out from behind Bucko.

‘Hiya, Darlin',' the man said, letting out a low whistle. ‘That the Athens girl, Buckley?'

Bucko's body tensed and he took a step forward, urging Tully back. ‘Not here to chat.'

Dennis laughed roughly, rubbing a hand down his scraggly beard. ‘That fool Nevins's always gettin' in over his head,' he said. ‘I'd race her meself if I thought she'd go any good.'

Bucko balled his fists. Tully could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

‘Too much money and risk in it anyhow,' Dennis continued, ‘I'm happy where I'm sittin' on the side of the track.'

Taking people's money
, Tully thought, her heart sinking.
That poor little filly's gonna be stuck here . . .

‘Well that's the thing about this sport,' Bucko said, crossing his arms across his chest. ‘As old John Wilko said, ‘For all its flaws, one of horseracing's enduring qualities is that it gives everyone a shot. Commoners, Kings, cowboys,
and cowgirls
. . . all you need is a horse and some hope.'

Dennis huffed. ‘Someone like me's seen too much to waste time on hope,' he said, looking far off across the plain.

‘What were the doggers gonna give ya?' Bucko asked.

‘Two-fifty.'

Bucko shook his head. ‘Always have been a sly old bugger, haven't ya, Dennis? It woulda' been two hundred—we'll match it, and take her off your hands right now . . .' Before Dennis could answer, Bucko had turned to Tully. ‘But this is up to you, Tulls. You know how expensive a racehorse in training is, and this filly will need a lot of work. I have a good feeling about her, for you. But it's your decision. I'm not forcing you to take her.'

‘What?' Tully's eyes widened in shock, her body jolting upright. ‘
I
can have her?!'

‘We need another horse; we need one bad. I know your dad will come around, and let you ride again. And when he does, you'll need something decent to train on. To race. Plus, Greg is in desperate need of a girlfriend. But . . .' he shrugged. ‘It's up to you.'

Tully burst out laughing. ‘Oh my God!' she said finally, throwing her arms around Bucko's neck. ‘Yes, yes please! Of course I want her, Bucko. I'll pay you back as soon as I can get to the bank.' She squeezed him tight, then he turned back to Dennis.

His cordless was ringing again, but he wasn't reaching for it. ‘Go see if you can catch her,' Dennis said, his scowl softening a whisker. ‘She's a right brat of a thing—I'm not chasing her all over the paddock, strainin' my back again. If you can catch her, you can call her yours.'

Tully ran to the paddock, the halter over her shoulder, lead rope ready to go. She ducked around the end of the timber fence, through the barbed wire, scanning the neighbouring paddock to make sure there weren't any huge bulls or other dangers lurking there. Then she made her way through the prickly hitchhikers and other weeds to the back fence of the filly's paddock.

The filly watched Tully, but took a few steps back, keeping her distance. Tully stopped at a middle post, wishing she'd brought some treats to offer. She glanced down at the dirt, desperate to score some grass to at least entice the filly's interest. She pulled a long stream of air into her lungs, settling herself, praying her nerves would stay at bay. She had nothing to hand to entice this horse towards her, and yet, she needed to get her. Now.

Tully's fingers gripped the halter and before she'd even taken a breath to consider if it was a wise or safe move she'd ducked into the paddock, making her way over the rocky, uneven ground towards the filly. She clucked her tongue, raising her hands and lowering her shoulders into a passive stance. ‘It's okay, sweetie,' she said gently, locking eyes with the horse.

The filly raised her nose, snorted and pranced in a circle, tossing her head, jumping back a pace. Tully didn't retreat. ‘It's okay, girl,' she said, approaching in slow, small steps. ‘I'm here to help you.' She held out her hand as if she had a treat, hoping the filly would at least find the salt of her sweat appealing.

Tully stopped when the filly reared. Was she preparing to charge? Her heart stopped, expecting the horse to either bolt or come at her with the intention of running her down.

Tears of relief flooded Tully's body when the filly dropped her head and trotted straight up to her, stopping square and sniffing her hand first, then the halter, lead rope, Tully's hair, her cheek. Tully shook with elation and disbelief and a sudden fear of what she was taking on – of this new animal in front of her and this place she'd found her in. Her hand rose slowly and lifted the lead rope carefully over the filly's neck.

The filly hopped back when Tully first attempted to get her nose into the halter, but before Tully's mind had fully processed what was happening she was leading the filly across the paddock to the gate where a grinning Bucko waited.

He handed Tully a bucket about a quarter filled with fresh water. Tully slowly raised the bucket, offering the filly a drink.

The filly stared deep into Tully's eyes, before sniffing the rim of the bucket, then pushing her whole face in and proceeding to drink it dry, her ears flopping to the side and ticking forward with each gulp. Tully reached forward, gently stroking the filly's filthy, matted face. The horse had the most gorgeous, intelligent dark eyes, fringed with long, thick black lashes.

‘Easy, girls,' Bucko said, taking the bucket. ‘We need to try and introduce feed and water slowly. Don't want her to colic.'

Only the silver light of the full moon illuminated the paddock by the time Bucko arrived back with a hay bag. He used the hunting knife he wore on his belt when making the rounds of the farm to cut the baler twine holding the gate closed, swinging it open for them to exit. The filly eyed Bucko for a moment, shying back towards Tully, but stepped up for him when he offered her the hay bag and took the lead rope to guide her out of the barren paddock.

She jumped at the sound of Terror growling from under the house as Bucko lead her around, and practically dragged him up the ramp of the trailer, leaping in between the barriers in the tiny two-horse vehicle. Tully walked in beside her, keeping a steadying hand on her wither, ‘Atta girl,' she said softly, ‘Good, clever girl.' The filly's ears flickered back and forth, and she snorted loudly, pawing at the rubber matting.

She jumped again when Bucko brought the tailgate up, both ears pinned back. ‘It's okay, girl,' Tully said, running a hand down the filly's neck, feeling her agitation. Tears spilled hot down her cheeks, her heart swelling. ‘You're safe now.'

The filly's nostrils flared and she tossed her head, her eyes creeping around to meet Tully's. Then her ears flopped to the side and she buried her head back in her hay bag, ripping out a huge mouthful.

Tully begged Bucko to ride in the trailer, but he assured her the filly would be fine. He took Tully by the arm, leaving the filly happily munching at her hay bag, and they hopped into the ute. He pulled out of the driveway slowly, spinning in his seat a few times to make sure the filly was all right. Tully sat backwards, keeping watch through the little window in the front of the trailer on the bay ears, tinged red from the tail lights of the ute. ‘So how old do you think she is?' Tully said.

‘Can see that she's three going on four by the bottom numbers on her brand,' Bucko said, shifting up to second. ‘But her foal number for that year and her stud has been branded over. We'll have the vet check for a microchip, but my gut tells me he won't find one. There's little chance of ever finding out her parentage, but I'd bet my life she's from a decent bloodline. She's definitely got the Northern Dancer look to her, and there's something special in those eyes . . . Who knows, she could be the long lost cousin of Makybe Diva – she's Dancer's great-grand daughter , you know – o
r
Black Caviar, he's
her
great-great-grandsire. He's sired that many prominent stallions and mares it wouldn't be too far fetched to imagine that a horse with even a fourth generation drop of his blood had fallen through the cracks. Especially one with as much fire in her temperament as this little filly.'

‘Oh my gosh,' Tully said, her mind reeling through the colossal names he'd just dropped. ‘She
looks
like a runner. This is all so exciting. Thanks so much, Bucko! I know I'll be able to look after her. I'll pick up some more shifts – I'll do whatever.'

Bucko nodded, raising his eyebrows in a secret, chuffed-with-himself-kinda-way. ‘We'll have trouble getting her registered without parentage, but I know a few of the ladies in the office, and once they see her there shouldn't be an issue. I'll figure a way to get it sorted.'

‘Thanks again, Bucko,' Tully said. ‘But, um . . . you didn't tell Dad about this, did you?'

‘We will.'

Tully nodded. ‘I don't want to sound ungrateful, or anything, Bucko. But you could have kept her for yourself. Why help me?'

‘No one else's giving you a break, Kiddo.' He coughed, before muttering, ‘I feel like you're my own daughter, and I want to look after you.'

Tully reached across the cab of the ute, kissed him on his clean-shaven cheek.

‘Her name at the moment is ‘Filly',' Bucko chuckled. ‘What're-ya gonna call her?'

Tully thought for a moment, then glanced through the back window of the ute. The filly raised her nose from the hay bag, her lovely arched neck held proud, ears pricked, staring out across the highway. ‘Dahlia,' she said, swallowing down another wave of tears. ‘Avalon-Sky Dahlia.'

Bucko glanced away and Tully was sure she could see a tear glistening on his cheek.

★

‘Who the heck is that?' Tully's father hollered, stomping in an uneven line down from the house.

Tully gave Dahlia a pat on the nose, then left her settled with a bit more hay and water in her new stall and walked slowly over to meet him. ‘It's . . . a filly, Dad. Bucko and I saved her.'

‘And you intend for her to stay here?'

‘She's got good strong legs,' Tully said, glancing down at the scuffed toes of her Blundstones. ‘And she's a real firecracker, even if she doesn't look it right now. She just needs some loving, Dad. Poor girl.'

‘We need more horses, Gerald,' Bucko said, joining them in front of the ute and trailer. The yellow night-time lights shone out from the stables, giving the men's faces a jaundiced glow.

‘This your idea, Kyle?'

‘I'd heard that Dennis came across a decent filly – wasn't gettin' on with the boys, and doesn't have a brand to prove any bloodline, but we got her cheap. And she took to Tully straight away.'

‘He's right, Dad! She was
so
happy to leave that place, but then she wouldn't come out of the trailer for Bucko. She was so good for me, even walked straight into her new stall.'

‘I don't care if you got her for nothing!' Gerald turned on Bucko. ‘And why do you keep saying
we
—this girl certainly won't be riding it!'

‘But, Dad!'

‘This is all very sneaky, isn't it, you two?' Gerald threw his arms in the air, turned for the house. ‘You're grounded!' he pointed at Tully, then at Bucko, ‘And you're sacked!'

‘God, no!' Tully rushed towards her father, but Bucko caught her by the arm. ‘Let him go,' he said gently. ‘He'll see it clearer in the morning.'

Tully's stomach churned as she watched her father stalk off to the house, slamming the door behind him. Then she heard a whinny, spun around. Dahlia was standing tall in her stall, pawing at the shavings, tossing her head. A smile tickled Tully's lips, warming her heart and lifting her soul. ‘Comin', sweetheart!' she said, sprinting back to the stable to find an apple and some oats.

Once Dahlia was happily munching her treats, Tully helped Bucko give her a good looking over. Her legs were clean, miraculously, but she had a nasty long gash to her rump that had been hidden by mud and the dull light of dusk when they'd found her. Bucko got the vet kit out and Tully held Dahlia's head, feeding her apple and speaking to her softy as Bucko swiftly and skillfully cleaned the wound, then stitched it shut and covered it in amber-coloured iodine-based ointment. They gave her a few flakes of hay and fresh water for the night, and she dug straight in like she hadn't eaten in a month.

Tully double-padlocked Dahlia's stall door that night with a new lock Bucko gave her, and tucked the key in the hidden pocket inside her backpack when she made it to her bedroom at about 1am in the morning. Her whole body buzzed with excitement and disbelief of the day's events. None of it seemed real – her drive with Bucko out into the river flats – Dennis and his scary yard – the amazingly beautiful filly Tully could now call her own. All too surreal, too extraordinary to be real.