She felt him relax. They stopped for just a moment, time for both of them to expel a deep breath. This time he settled for the break, his weight on his haunches as it should be.
This was the first time Trish and her mount were caught in the middle of the pack. As they rounded the first turn, she pulled him back and out of the box of surging horseflesh and swinging bats. The colt shook his head at the restriction but settled again at the sound of her voice.
She could hear Bob Diego’s voice in her ear. “I like my horses to come from the rear. Save them for the stretch, then use the whip if you have to.”
First one, then another horse dropped back as they rounded the far turn. The pace had been stiff, but when Trish let up on the reins, the colt extended his stride. He was running easily, ears flicking both to hear his rider and to look forward.
With the final two horses neck and neck in front of them, Trish let the colt have his head, her hands on the reins to support, not control him. They swept across the wire, winning by half a length.
“You did it!” She felt like hugging the prancing horse. And no whip. The thought brought a grin of satisfaction. The other two jockeys had laid on the whips for all they were worth, but her mount won.
They posed for the pictures and Trish gave the colt one last pat. “Congratulations.” Diego shook her hand. “That one, he gave you a hard time at first, no?”
“We had a bit of a discussion about who was boss. Guess I convinced him we should work together.” Trish stepped off the scale and handed the saddle to the trainer. She wiped a chunk of track off her cheek. “But coming from behind on a muddy track…well.”
The owner laughed. “I have one tomorrow in the fourth. Can you ride for me again?”
“Sure.”
“He’s a problem sometimes. Seems to do better with a woman on him. This will be his third race, but he’s never won. If he doesn’t at least show, I’ll enter him in a claiming race next.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Here.” His smile gleamed beneath a well-trimmed mustache as the man handed Trish an envelope. “Tell your father he’s done a good job, both as a trainer…and as a father.”
“Th—thanks,” Trish stammered her surprise. If he only knew.
Jason Rodgers joined her in the winner’s circle after Trish rode his horse to win also. It had been an excellent day, if only she could tell her dad about it.
Even though Trish changed clothes as fast as she could and Brad drove more than the speed limit, it was dark when they turned at the Runnin’ On Farm sign.
“You want me to ride Gatesby?” Brad asked as they trotted down to the stables. The dark house and vacant drive had given Trish a brief relief. No one else was home yet.
“No, I better. Just help me saddle up. David must be at the hospital yet, so if you’d feed it would sure help.”
Trish had just dismounted from her final circuit when David stomped up. “How come you’re so late? You should have been done hours ago. What’s been going on?”
Anger and guilt clipped each word as Trish turned on her brother. “Who made you my boss?”
Chapter
07
Where were you?”
“Where do you think?” Trish faced him—hands on her hips, her jaw tight and eyes flashing.
“You rode after all.”
“You bet I did. We need the money, haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“How…who…?”
“Who cares? I rode and I won. Someone in this family has to be making some money. You know how much everything costs. And I didn’t miss school.”
“No, but you lied to Mom and Dad.” David grabbed her arm.
“No, I didn’t. They didn’t ask and I didn’t say anything. But I could have had another mount if I had skipped. Dad says to use my gift and I am.” Trish whirled away. “I’m doing the best I can, David, so leave me alone.”
“All right! I will! Just don’t come crying to me when they find out.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Oh, r-e-a-l-l-y. You’re so bossy. Think you always know what’s
best.”
“Stupid kid.”
“Takes one to know one.” Trish couldn’t believe they were hollering at each other like this. She and David never fought. But right now she felt she could strangle him with her bare hands. Calling her stupid. All the feelings of guilt and resentment rushed up from her toes and erupted.
“Leave me alone, David Lee Evanston!” she yelled. “If you know what’s good for you.”
“And what’ll you do about it, if I don’t?” Red flamed up into David’s face. His fists bunched at his sides, ready to punch. Instead of at her, he slammed one fist against the barn wall.
Trish froze. Tears welled behind her eyes, clogged her throat, and spilled down her cheeks.
David grunted with the pain. He doubled over, cushioning his injured hand with the other.
“David, I…I’m sorry.” Trish put her hand on his shoulder.
David stepped back. “Haven’t you done enough?” Clamping his hand against his chest, he headed for the house.
Brad held Trish while she cried. As the deluge dried to drips, she pulled away and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I just don’t know what else to do,” she finally muttered. “We need the money. Dad’ll understand.”
“When are you going to tell him?”
“When he gets home, so we can talk by ourselves.” She drew another shuddering breath. “Well, I better get at the horses.” She looked around, as if coming into new territory from a far land.
“I put them all away.”
“Thanks.”
“We need to feed. I don’t think David will be back down.”
“I know. Hope he’s icing that hand.” Trish chewed her lip. “Do you think he broke anything?”
“You’re lucky he didn’t break you.”
Trish nodded. Her deep breath snagged on a clump of tears still stuck in her throat. “I’ll do grain and you get the hay.” She felt like a ton of alfalfa sat on her shoulders. If she didn’t start moving, her knees would buckle under the load, and once she went down, how would she ever get up?
David’s door was shut when she finally got up to the dark house. She warmed two bowls of leftover spaghetti in the microwave, buttered some French bread, and poured two glasses of milk. After arranging all the food on a tray, Trish carried it down the hall and tapped on David’s door.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve brought dinner.” She bent one knee to balance the tray and struggled with the doorknob. Almost upsetting the milk, she kicked the door open with her foot. “Whew, that was close.”
Only the clock dial glowed in the darkened room. Light from the hall showed David huddled on the bed, facing the opposite wall.
Trish set the tray down on the desk and switched on the lamp. “David, I’m sorry for hollering at you like that.”
“Yeah.” He flinched when he tried to push himself against the headboard. “Me too.”
Trish could tell he’d been crying. Was he feeling as wretched as she was? Did he ever get mad at God and the cancer like she did? If so, he never said anything about it. Was he mad that he didn’t get to go back for his second year in college? If only she dared ask him all these questions.
“Here’s your dinner,” she said instead, handing him the bowl and bread. “I’ll get some ice for your hand.”
As she wrapped the ice bag in a towel to hold it in place, she asked, “Do you think anything’s broken?”
David shook his head. “No.”
“What’s Mom gonna say?”
“I’ll just tell her it was an accident.” He spilled some spaghetti on his shirt.
Any other time Trish would have giggled at the look of disgust on his face. Her neatnick brother didn’t spill. But then he hadn’t had to eat left-handed before.
“David,” Trish paused, trying to choose the best words. “About
the racing…” She met his gaze, not willing to back down. “I…I wouldn’t have done it if we didn’t need the money so bad. It’s just like other kids who have jobs after school.”
“Yeah, but other kids have their parents’ permission.”
“I know. And other kids don’t make near the money I do.”
“That has nothing to do…”
“With it? Yeah it does. For us it does.” She picked up the empty dishes.
“I’m not gonna race forever—without permission, I mean. I’ll talk to Dad as soon as he gets home.”
“Are you going to ride again?”
She nodded. “Tomorrow.”
“You racing again?” Rhonda asked at the lunch table.
“Um-mmm,” Trish mumbled around a bite of tuna salad. “You want to come with me? You could help exercise in the evening too. Gatesby needs a rider, and it’s so late when I get home.”
“Okay. I’ve a show this weekend, so I won’t be jumping tonight.” She picked up her tray to leave. “You told your mom and dad yet?”
Trish shook her head. “Dad’s coming home Friday. I’ll tell him then.”
“Hard, huh?”
“Yeah. I’ve always told him everything. Last night David and I really got into it. I’ve felt like screaming at anything…and everybody. Or crying. But if I start, how’ll I ever stop? The only time I ever feel good anymore is when I’m on a horse.”
Trish really felt good after the first race. Another win. The horse exploded under her in the backstretch and they won by two furlongs. Mr. Diego slipped her an envelope with fifty dollars in it. That was on top of her share of the purse.
Her second mount was for Rodgers Stables, so she changed silks quickly. She was ready when the trainer brought a gray gelding into the saddling paddock.
“Hey, you look like Dan’l.” She waited for the horse to finish inspecting her. “He’s one of my best buddies.” She kept up a flow of conversation while she stroked the horse’s neck and head.
“Dundee’s been racing for three years,” Rodgers said when he joined them. “He had a bad spill last season and strained his shoulder, so this is his first time out again.”
Trish listened carefully to the instructions, but her hands never ceased their stroking and rubbing, communicating her care for the horse. Her favorite fragrance filled her nose—horse, along with dust and saddle leather.
The noise of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by jangling bits, stomping hooves, and the sharp whinny of a high-strung contender.
The gray blew in her face, his breath warm and damp. Trish mounted, feeling like she and the horse were already one. The gray settled deep on his haunches as the gate clanged shut. Trish stroked his neck one more time, the thrill of the moment tingling through both of them.
Dundee broke clean, but within four strides was trapped in the middle of the field. The only alternative was to pull back, away from the surging haunches in front and around them. Just as Trish tightened the reins, Dundee stumbled, clipped by another horse.
Trish instinctively held his head up, using all her strength and determination to keep the animal on his feet. He faltered. Stumbled again.
“Come on, Dundee,” Trish pleaded. “You can do it.” By the time he regained his footing, the field had left them a furlong behind.
Dundee straightened out again, ears laid back. Each stride and heave of his mighty haunches hurled them closer to the trailing pack. One by one, he passed the spread-out field. By the stretch he inched up on the third-place rider. Trish rode high over his shoulders, giving him every advantage.
“Come on, Dundee, you can do it.” She felt him reach further. He settled deeper, intent as they pulled into second place. They caught the front runner by the last furlong pole. Nose to tail, nose to haunches, nose to neck.
The other jockey went to the whip.
They flew across the finish line stride on stride.
“And that’s number four to win and three to place.” The announcer’s voice could barely be heard over the heaving of her mount.
“Sorry, boy, you gave it all you had. If the race had been even three yards longer, you’da made it.” Trish pulled him down to a slow gallop, then an easy canter as she swung back to the exit gate. Dundee pricked his ears and tossed his head.
“Some race, Trish.” Jason Rodgers met her at the weighing platform. “I thought for sure he was going to go down, but you kept him on his feet.”
“Sorry we didn’t win.” Trish stepped on the scale. “But that horse is all heart. He gave it everything he had, we just ran out of track.”
“I know.” Rodgers slipped her an envelope. “You earned it,” he said at her surprised look. “And I have a mount for you Saturday, and one on Sunday.”
“I’ll have to check what races we’re in.”
“I already did. Thanks, Trish.” He started to leave. “Oh, and say hi to your dad for me. Tell him thanks for raising such a promising jockey.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rodgers.” Trish waved as the tall man strode off.
“Are you Tricia Evanston?” A voice by her side brought her back.
“Yes.”
“Come on, Trish.” Rhonda handed Trish her bag. “Brad’s got the car waiting outside the gate.”
“Okay. Okay.” She turned to the slender woman who’d asked her name. “I’ve gotta hurry.”
“I’ll walk you out. How many races have you won now?” The woman fell into step beside Rhonda and Trish.
“Uh…” Trish counted in her head. “Six, I think.”
“And how long have you been racing?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“Why do you think you’re doing so well?”
“I just seem to understand the horses, I guess,” Trish said. “You a jockey?”
“No, I’m a…”
“Come on, Trish,” Brad hollered. “It’s gonna be dark soon.”
“Sorry, I gotta run.” Trish dashed across the gravel to Brad’s car.
“Who was that?” Brad asked as he drove out of the parking lot.
“Beats me.” Trish and Rhonda both shrugged.
When Trish settled deeper into the seat, the words of Jason Rodgers came into her mind. His compliment sure felt good. She pulled the envelope from her pocket and opened it. “A hundred dollars!” She swiveled in the seat to stare at Rhonda.
“Wow!” Rhonda grinned at the sight of the five twenty-dollar bills. “Hey, there’s a note too.”
Trish read it aloud. “I know things are tight right now for all of you. Hope this helps a little. Thanks. Jason Rodgers.” Trish felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. What a wonderful thing for him to do. If only she could show the note to her father right now.
At least she wouldn’t be visiting him tonight. It was hard enough to keep the information from him when they spoke on the phone. I never knew lying could take so much time and energy, she thought. What a mess I’ve gotten into.
The next afternoon Trish flew into the house. All the family cars lined the driveway. “Dad?” She dumped her books on the counter and headed for the living room. “Wow! It’s so good to have you home.”
Her father raised his recliner with a thump. There was no smile on his face. His arms remained at his sides.
Trish dropped to her knees beside the chair. “Dad?” her voice squeaked.
Hal handed her the sports section of the local newspaper. The headline read “Local Girl Rides to Win.”
Chapter
08
So much for a happy homecoming.
Trish skimmed the first paragraph, and knew. The photo of her and
Bob Diego in the winner’s circle was a dead giveaway, one she couldn’t argue with. She kept her eyes on the paper, but rather than read the rest of the copy, her brain scrambled for an out.
“Well?” Her father prodded.
“I was going to tell you as soon as you got home.” Trish dropped the paper on the hearth and straightened her shoulders. She
could feel the tears gathering at the back of her throat. She swallowed—hard. No crying this time.
“All I’ll say now, Tricia…”
She swallowed again. It had been a long time since her father used her full name, and in such a stern voice.
“…is that I’m—we’re”—he took her mother’s hand—“disappointed, deeply disappointed, in what you’ve done. I know you have to load those horses, so we’ll discuss this when you get home. Understood?”
Trish nodded. One glance at her mother’s flashing eyes and rigid jaw warned her that the discussion would not be comfortable. Trish looked at her father again. He’d leaned back in the recliner, eyes closed, as if he didn’t want to look at her.
Trish ran from the room before the tears spilled over. She would not let them see her cry.
David had an I-warned-you look about him when she got down to the stables. He’d already backed the trailer in place for loading.
Trish leaned against Spitfire, both arms around his neck. The colt bobbed his head and rubbed his chin against her back. With her cheek against his mane, she breathed in the comforting odor of warm horseflesh. The quiet stalls, except for Gatesby rustling straw in the adjoining box, offered her the peace of mind she needed to handle the hours ahead. Trish took a deep breath. Well, Dad. I did the best I could. I guess—no, I know I should have gone to you first, but I didn’t. All I can say is, I’m sorry. With the decision made, she clipped the lead to Spitfire’s halter and led him out and into the trailer.
“Want help with Gatesby?” David asked.
Trish nodded.
Ears flat, Gatesby threw up his head when she reached for his halter. “Oh, knock it off,” she ordered as she reached again, this time clamping firm fingers around the blue webbing. “We don’t need any trouble from you today.”
David snapped a lead rope on the opposite side as she paused before leading the colt out the opened stall door. Gatesby jumped around, rolling his eyes and spooking at anything that moved, including shadows. But at the echo of front feet on the trailer gate, he lunged backward. The bay planted his feet like trees. No matter what they tried—grain, a carrot, kind words—the horse wouldn’t budge.
Golden Filly Collection One Page 18
