by Ann Hunter
Alex frowned, picking at the skin around her cuticles. “Until the library doesn’t need you anymore and throws you to the pyre.”
“Then I guess I’ll be mulch and help grow the flowers.”
“Why are we talking about death anyway?” Alex sat beside her.
Carol grew quiet, gazing at their hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I had a dream last night.” Her eyes lifted, locking with Alex’s. “And you were in it.”
Alex’s eyebrows squeezed together.
Carol continued, “She had dirty-blonde hair and the kindest blue eyes. She looked like the winter sky.”
“That’s my Ash.”
Carol leaned back. “She put our hands together, the same way we always link our fingers, and she smiled. And I felt like, when she looked at me, that I’m supposed to take care of you.”
“Carol. I think we had the same dream.”
“How?”
Alex would never get tired of Carol looking like that, with her walnut waves blending into the earth, her violet eyes lost against a sea of blue bells, and the summer light dancing across her freckles.
“Do you think someone can be your soulmate, even if you can’t be together?”
“Why wouldn’t we be together? You’re my best friend.” Carol tucked her head against Alex’s outstretched arm, right above her shoulder. “I’ll always be there for you.”
A sense of peace washed over Alex as she gazed at their hands nearly touching. “You’re my anchor.”
Carol smiled and linked their pinkies.
And Alex was hers.
BLOOD AND ROSES
Twenty years prior…
Part of Joe wanted to believe in kismet or fate. It had happened to him twice now. Once with Dot, and again with Clay. Why else would a stranger pick him out of a crowd—out of a bar fight no less? There was nothing striking about Joe, other than a short stature and crude bend to his shoulders.
Joe didn’t think much of himself as he gazed into the hotel mirror, and straightened his tie. He had a couple of trophies packed away from his Tioga days, and thought that’s where they should stay. But in the five years he’d worked for North Oak, he never expected to be where he was right now.
Dot slipped an arm around his shoulders from behind, and kissed his freshly-shaven cheek. “Try to enjoy today. You earned it.”
She reached for his best dress jacket and helped him slide into it, smiling. “It isn’t every day you train a Derby horse.”
“Some days I wonder how I ever deserve you,” he said.
She caressed his cheek. “You don’t,” she teased. “But I love you in spite of it all. With my dying breath, Mister Hendricks.”
He kissed her firmly. Even after more than a decade of marriage, he still got a little dizzy every time their lips met. He blamed the perfume, but that wasn’t it at all. “You’re the reason we’re here,” Joe whispered to her. “It was all you.”
“I’m not so sure of that. You did the work. I think we just shared a dream.”
“Are you sucking face again?” Rowan whined as she entered the room. “We’ve got a race to catch.”
Joe and Dot chuckled, turning to their fifteen-year-old daughter. She held a coat for her mother. “Seriously, the two of you oughtta get a room or something,” Rowan said.
“Just a coupla Jersey kids in love.” Joe ruffled her hair as he walked to the door. He pulled it open and held it for them.
Joe stood in the shadow of Churchill Downs’s spires. He gazed up at them, realizing the magnitude of the history they’d seen. Now he was in the big leagues, rubbing elbows with the likes of celebrities and, in the case of the favorite Al Saaed, dignitaries. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, kid,” he said under his breath.
Dot took his arm and they headed in. His mind was set on the race ahead. He’d checked on North Oak’s entry earlier that morning, but he’d have to go back for him in a short while. The walk from the shedrow to the saddling area loomed, with no less pomp and circumstance than a procession of princes.
Clay was quick to meet them with passes to his clubhouse suite, and access to necessary areas.
“How’s my pony lookin’, Joseph?” he asked.
Joe tugged at his tie and cleared his throat, aware of all eyes on him. If he said anything about his worries of the colt busting a leg in the race, Dot would be quick to put him in his place, to stop being so pessimistic. “Alright,” Joe said. Now was not the time for jokes.
Dot rolled her eyes, half-smiling. “Would you go already and look after that horse. I can tell nothing else is on your mind.”
Clay nodded toward the backside of the racetrack. “Go on.”
Joe kissed both Dot and Rowan on the cheek, much to Rowan’s protest, “Pop…”
When he turned, he let relief wash over him, glad to get away from the maddening crowd. He glanced back at his family and boss. “He’ll take care of you.”
“Oh, don’t I know it,” Dot laughed, slipping her hand beneath the crook of Clay’s elbow.
Clay smiled back at Joe with a delighted nod. “I’ll see you in the circle.” He started toward the clubhouse, flanked by his lanky son, Stevenson.
Joe had no quarrel with watching Dot on the elder North’s arm. She was so beautiful, she looked like she belonged there anyway; surrounded by money and all the riches she and Rowan deserved. Taking a note from his father, Stevenson offered his arm to Rowan. Joe chuckled as she balked, giving the young man a scathing look. Atta girl. Joe may not believe he deserved Dot, but he was convinced no man was worthy of Rowan.
When Joe made it to the backside, North Oak’s grooms had just finished getting Indigo Force groomed and ready for the walk over. The gray colt appeared soft lavender in certain light, with dapples you could plunge your fist through. The idiot liked to dance, too. Strike out a long, lean leg when you lead him around, strutting like a peacock.
“Alright, you nut.” Joe looked at him with one eye squinted. “Here we go.”
Leading him over to the saddling area felt like it took longer than it did to walk from Dot to the barns. It definitely left Joe too much time to think and worry. He wondered how his starlet jockey was handling her debut Derby. It was a first for both of them.
Joe continually muttered under his breath as he cinched up the racing saddle and bridled his entry in the saddling area. The gray colt’s ears twitched from listening to Joe, to listening to the swarm of people huddling in the ring to see the runners.
Joe tried to keep his line of sight to his mount, instead of gawking at the massive Al Saaed throwing a fit a few stalls down. The bay snorted and blew, stamping his hooves and kicking at any passerby. Too rich, too spoiled for Joe’s taste, yet a wonderment all the same. He rubbed Indigo’s nose, grateful for the colt’s quiet curiosity and demeanor. The only thing Joe looked for now was his rider.
When sixteen-year-old Angelina North appeared, Joe couldn’t fight the smile on his face. She glowed in North Oak’s red and silver silks, with her dark copper hair tied neatly into a ponytail beneath her helmet.
Joe was struck by a pang, partly wishing it was Rowan in those silks, and partly because he loved Angelina as much or more than Rowan. Growing up, he’d never known you could envy and covet someone else’s kid.
“Ready?” He asked her, trying to fight the jumble of emotions. “Remember your instructions? Remember what we talked about this morning.”
“I dunno. Are his teeth stained rainbow?”
Joe, already about willing to pull his hair out, passed the reins to the valet and slid to the front of ol’ Indigo. He lifted the colt’s lip, then let it go. “Dammit, Angie.”
She laughed, moving to the horse’s side and offering her leg for a boost. “Hey, it’s good luck.”
“How many times have I told you not to feed him those things?”
Her impish grin was telling.
Joe huffed and hoisted her up. “Safe trip.”
She smiled warmly, touching the handle of h
er whip to her helmet in salute.
Joe settled in Clay’s private clubhouse suite after passing Indigo Force and Angelina off to the outrider. Inside, Joe was a ball of jitters. He hadn’t felt like this since his first race at Tioga. He put himself in check, refusing to let it show.
Dot leaned close to him as he pressed binoculars to his face. “You’re shaking.”
Joe grimaced.
She took his arm gently, and lowered his binoculars. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she murmured.
Dot bumped her hip against his subtly, and Joe finally smiled. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she entwined their fingers. Where would he be without her?
The crowd began singing My Old Kentucky Home as the horses emerged on the track.
“Thank you for this,” Clay said quietly as he lifted a glass of mint julep.
Joe nodded. “Just paying back a favor you did me at Monmouth.”
Really, saving someone’s life was no big deal. And the race was only a million dollar purse. No pressure. Right?
The track caller’s voice fluted into the suite through a speaker. “They’re all in line for the Kentucky Derby.”
A thick blanket of held breaths pressed through the room.
“And they’re off,” the announcer said as the gates opened and ten Thoroughbreds powered forward.
Joe clenched his teeth, watching Indigo Force get taken back off the pace like he’d told his rider. If the pace wasn’t too fast, she could move the colt up, otherwise she’d pin him mid-pack.
“Al Saaed, the favorite, is off to an early lead, followed by Bolton Rush, Hasty Profit, and Chalant Soul,” the announcer’s voice rang. “Then it’s two back to Indigo Force, Quantiful Maximus, and King of Strydesdale. Threepenny Opera and Atom Smasher trail the field.”
Angelina had settled him quickly. Joe could never get over her sense of pace.
“Chalant Soul moving up to challenge Bolton Rush, putting Hasty Profit behind them. Al Saaed continues to lead.”
Joe’s gaze stuck to Angelina and Indigo Force. She seemed to disappear under the colt’s skin. If it weren’t for the blood red silks contrasting against Indigo, you’d think he was riderless. Angie rode so close to him, it made Joe anxious and proud all at once. “That’s right, kid. Like I taught ya,” he whispered.
“They’re into the backstretch. The opening half in fifty-four and change.”
Three-quarters of a mile to go. Joe’s grip tightened on the binoculars.
“Threepenny Opera pushing on King of Strydesdale, and Indigo Rush continues to hold midpack with Quantiful Maximus. Atom Smasher can’t seem to get into the game. Al Saaed clings to his lead, with Chalant Soul closing in. Hasty Profit and Bolton Rush scuttle for third.”
“Hang in there,” Joe said under his breath. “Not yet. Stay chilly.”
Dot cleared her throat quietly, as if trying not to break his concentration. Though it seemed she couldn’t help herself, and did so again, reaching for her kerchief. She whispered her apology.
“They’re nearing the turn, Al Saaed is clinging to his lead. Chalant Soul breathing down his neck.”
A hole opened to the inside of Hasty Profit as the pack rounded for home. “Now!” Joe barked.
Indigo Force bulled through so fast they never saw him coming.
“Chalant Soul takes the lead with Indigo Force gunning for Al Saaed. It’s a hot contest between Al Saaed, Indigo Force, and Bolton Rush.”
Dot began coughing. She winced, and backed toward the door. Joe broke away from his hawk-eye view for an instance. “Where are you going?”
Dot waved, like she’d be alright, but continued coughing as she excused herself from the suite. Rowan went with her.
Something urged Joe to follow, but the announcer was practically screaming “Indigo Force demanding his run at Chalant Soul. Noses apart…. Indigo Force takes it!”
“Dot?” Joe called.
Clay clapped him on the shoulder, beaming. “Let’s go get our horse. I’m sure she’ll meet us down there.”
The gentlemen headed to the winner’s circle. Angelina started pulling roses from the blanket laid over her lap, and chucking them at her father, brother, and Joe.
After the picture, she passed the winner’s blanket to her trainer, all smiles. Dot and Rowan stood at the edge of the stairs to the winner’s platform looking on, but Dot’s cough was getting worse.
Joe turned to her, tossing her a rose. “Hey, Dottie. Everything’s coming up roses, huh?”
She crumpled, hacking spatters of red into a white kerchief.
HALF AS GOOD
Alex stared in the dark of her bedroom. Maybe this dream life was more life than dream. Maybe the stars shined for her.
Her alarm didn’t have a chance to go off. She hit the switch and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Ash was right. She was where she needed to be. And maybe she needed to start living that life everyone kept telling her she deserved.
She dressed quickly and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen on her way out.
Crickets still chirped in the thick morning air. Even though it was only five, the heat of the coming day was already announcing its presence.
Alex tied a sweatband over her brow, with her teeth sunk into the apple. She felt like a ninja.
The warm glow of lights from the training barn poured out, welcoming her before she even entered. She turned the corner, bracing in the doorway. If she wasn’t awake before, she was now. The hubbub of people and horses swarming about at this early hour stirred something in her. There was both a chaos and rhythmic control to the bustle. Was there any place else like it in the world?
Brooke called instructions to the grooms and riders preparing their mounts for the morning.
“Johnny, take Gold Duster. Mike, use the egg bit on Freestyle.” She turned. “Alex, I need you on Mags.”
Alex nodded. Brooke was perfectly capable of riding her own filly, Morning Glory, but seemed to prefer watching from the ground these days. Alex was more than happy to take the job. One step closer to riding Promenade, if Joe would just watch her ride Mags. She headed down the aisle where the bay stood in cross-ties, already tacked.
Alex cooed to her, sliding her hand over the filly’s bright haunches. Morning Glory swung her head around and nickered.
“Ready to play, pretty girl?”
Morning Glory shook her head and yawned.
“Story of my life,” Alex said, smoothing out the filly’s ruffled mane. She snuck the rest of her apple to her.
Brooke strolled up beside them, offering Alex a boost into the saddle. “Up you go.”
Alex mounted and patted the filly’s neck while Brooke undid the cross-ties.
“I’ll meet you at the gap,” Brooke said.
Alex nodded, securing the chin strap on her helmet. She steered the filly to the track, waiting for Brooke’s instructions.
Old Joe squinted at his stopwatch per usual. The whitewashed rail would probably look naked without him.
“Morning,” she called. He didn’t even look up. He wasn’t deaf. Alex wondered why she bothered.
She shifted in the saddle, looking for Brooke. The older girl walked out with Promenade and Alex couldn’t believe who was on his back.
Dejado.
It was an even bigger kick in the gut when Joe looked up and crossed to him, greeting him as though they’d been pals since the dinosaurs.
“What’s he doing?” Alex seethed.
“Pop thought he’d try him out.”
Brooke must have read Alex’s mind. What’s Dejado done to earn it? When would she get her turn?
“We’ve had this talk before, Al. Business as usual. Now I want you to take Mags out and…”
Alex listened passively, her eyes daggers on Dejado. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smiled. She bit her lip and gripped the reins tighter. Stupid, smug, @#$^ boy. His brownie point earnings just hit the red.
“Got that?” Brooke a
sked.
It didn’t matter what Brooke said. Promenade had chosen Alex. So why was that foreign guy on him? Any feelings from the other day when he’d tried to help her rescue Brooke vanished. Game on, dude.
Brooke swatted Alex’s knee. “Hey. You listening?”
“Like the C.I.A.” Alex regathered the reins. She bumped her heels into Morning Glory’s side and steered her down the track.
A moment later, Promenade and the dorky ball of peach fuzz trotted by. They gradually picked up the pace to a canter with a wave goodbye.
She sucked in a breath between her teeth. She couldn’t let Joe see her like this. He had to see she could stay professional. What did she care if Dejado rode Promenade? It wasn’t a sure thing. Brooke said the old man was only trying him out. Joe would never let Dejado jockey for him. It was just a workout. Simple as that.
Promenade wouldn’t like him better than he liked her. He didn’t like anyone better than whoever brought him his meals. If Promenade couldn’t care less, neither could Alex.
Morning Glory’s ears swiveled back, listening to Alex; tuned into her every muscle twinge.
Alex took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. The filly’s ears pricked forward again, and Alex stayed focused on the space between them.
But Promenade’s brown and white skunk tail taunted her like a flag that must be captured. Who was she kidding? She deserved to ride him. She knew him better than anyone else.
She tucked in low to Morning Glory, and sent her after him, kneading her knuckles against the filly’s neck. Mags picked up the pace eagerly, driving forward. It was the surge Alex loved, that pop of adrenaline she craved.
Who needed drugs when you had a racehorse beneath you?
The wind stinging her face, the thunder of hooves against the earth matching the own drumming of her heart, woke a sleeping giant in her every single time.
Promenade fought Dejado when they passed them. He buckled and propped, shifting into an awkward display of crow hops and bucks. Alex laughed. Let’s see how Joe liked them as a team now!
