Brad, part-time stable hand and full-time friend, kept his six-foot frame out of range of Gatesby’s teeth. “Need any help?”
“Yeah, a few minutes ago. Where’ve you been?” Trish’s smile took the sting out of her words.
“Sor-ry.” Brad touched his fingers to the bill of his Seattle Sonics cap.
“What can I do to help you, ma’am?”
Trish tossed him the brush. “You could finish while I go get the saddle.”
Brad handed the brush back to her. “I’ll get the saddle.”
“Can’t understand why nobody trusts you,” she spoke to the colt as she slipped the bit into his mouth and the headstall over his ears. “Hard to believe you’re the same ornery goof that greeted me.”
“Now, you be careful with him,” Brad cautioned as he boosted Trish into the saddle.
“Brad, even you’re beginning to sound like my mother. Is worrying a contagious disease?”
Brad sidestepped a sneaky nip by Gatesby. The look Brad flashed Trish spoke volumes.
Trish walked the colt out to the track at Portland Meadows. Dawn whispered its presence through a crack in the eastern cloud cover. The morning breeze, fresh from the rain during the night, carried the aroma of horse and hay and—Trish sniffed again. Mm-m-m-m. Bacon already frying over at the cafeteria. If only I could spend all my mornings here at the track instead of rushing off to school. She shrugged. Well, at least Saturday is better than never.
Gatesby pricked his ears and tugged at the bit.
“Sorry, fella, but the boss said walk today and jog the last lap. You get to run this afternoon.”
And run he did. Gatesby hated dirt kicked in his face, so when Trish gave him some rein he surged around the outside as though the other horses were out for a Sunday trot. He won by a length and a half with his ears pricked forward and head up.
He didn’t try to nip anyone until his owner, John Anderson, failed to pay attention to him in the winner’s circle. When he turned his back on the colt he paid with a bruise.
“I swear he’s laughing,” Trish said after she scolded the colt. “Look at his eyes.”
“I think I’d be better off watching his teeth,” Anderson said, rubbing his shoulder. “You’d think I’d have learned by now. That was a good ride, Trish. You’ve really brought him along. Thanks, Hal.” The two men shook hands and David trotted Gatesby back to the testing barn.
“See you later,” Trish said as she headed for the dressing room. She had three more mounts on the day’s program.
When she met her father for the ride home, she’d brought in a second win and a place, but her final mount faded at the six-furlong mark on the mile race.
“He just wasn’t in condition.” Trish tossed her sports bag in the back as she spoke. “What’s wrong with trainers that don’t keep their horses up to their peak?”
“Well, that one just wasn’t ready after an injury. You know it takes time.”
“Do I ever know. But then he shouldn’t have entered the horse.”
“True. But sometimes owners put the pressure on, Trish. You know there are countless reasons why a horse is entered—or scratched. Besides, what are you grumbling about?”
Trish flashed her father a guilty grin. “I hate not being in the money.”
Hal chuckled. “I know how you feel.”
“What do you think about Firefly? David’s been keeping the ice packs on both her front legs, so she shouldn’t have shin problems. We’ve made sure she’s in peak condition.”
“You never know.” Hal shook his head. “Just happens sometimes, especially with two-year-olds. They’re still growing, and racing too. We’ll bring her home and give her plenty of rest.”
And then she won’t be ready for Santa Anita, Trish finished in her mind.
“Santa Anita is more than four months away.” Her father read her thoughts again. “You know how things change for horses; you just do the best you can and pray for the rest. God cares about our business, Tee. You know that.”
Trish nodded. Her father had such faith. Maybe strong faith came when you got old.
The next morning in church they sang Trish’s favorite song. All the way home the words repeated in her mind. “And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings….” We’ll have to name a colt that sometime.
All afternoon Hal looked like he was guarding a secret.
“All right, Dad, what’s going on?” Trish nailed him as they walked back up from the barns.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Da-ad!”
“Can’t a person just be happy?”
“Sure. But you look like the night before Christmas.”
“Well, Christmas is coming.”
“That’s not it and you know it.”
“I’ll never tell.” Hal distracted her by pointing to a V-formation of mallard ducks flying overhead. Their quacking echoed and drifted on the evening breeze.
The two stopped to watch as the birds angled west to the swamp beyond the horse pastures. Needle-topped fir trees stitched the sunset in place and a maple cradled a bird’s nest in its naked arms. Caesar, their sable collie, shoved his nose into Trish’s hand and whined softly.
Trish absently stroked his head, watching as the sun slipped its bindings and slept beyond the horizon. She inhaled the moment, then leaned her head against her father’s shoulder.
“It’s times like this I wish I were an artist.” Hal hugged her with both arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. “God sure makes a wondrous world, doesn’t He?”
Trish nodded, afraid words might break the spell. The molten gold of the sun flowed into pinks and fuchsia, washing the gray clouds with flaming color.
“Dinner’s ready,” Marge called from the house.
Trish and Hal turned, and with matching steps, arms locked, they stepped over a puddle and kicked the mud off their boots before mounting the three concrete steps to the back deck.
Hal couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eye through dinner. David and Trish exchanged puzzled glances. What is going on?
Marge hummed a little tune as she cut the apple pie she’d baked for dessert. “Anyone for a la mode?” She paused at the refrigerator door.
Trish groaned at the thought of the scale at the track. But then, she was down a pound or two—she shrugged as she glanced at her father. He nodded vigorously. Trish cast her yes vote along with the others. It had been a while since they’d had apple pie and ice cream.
“Well, Trish, do you have your report for the week?” Hal asked, savoring the pie.
She nodded. Each time her father asked for a report it brought back memories of when she’d ridden without permission. While the family meetings weren’t always easy, even she had to admit that some of the strain had disappeared with everyone talking things out.
It’s good to feel trusted, isn’t it? her little voice whispered. Trish could only agree.
“I’m caught up on all my homework,” Trish began. “And I’ve started one of the two papers due before Christmas break. I need to do some more research for the one on constitutional amendments before I begin writing.”
“And your grades?” Marge took another sip of coffee.
“Nothing less than a B since I dropped chemistry.”
“Good.” Hal smiled at her. “How many rides do you have this week?”
Trish ticked them off on her fingers for a total of thirteen. “And if we could get Anderson’s gelding Final Command to want to win as much as he likes running with the winners, it’ll be a great week.”
Hal nodded. “Let me think on that. Marge?”
“I mailed the entries for both Santa Anita and the Kentucky Derby.”
Trish knew how hard it was for her mother to do that. Marge had been against the idea of racing on distant tracks from the beginning. But she went along with the family decision. She’d also taken over all of the bookwork and accounting since Hal had become sick.
Marge spoke again. “All the bills ar
e paid and we have some money in the savings account again.”
“Thanks to the two of you.” Hal beamed at David and Trish. “Because of all your hard work, we have something special for each of you. David, you will now be on a regular employee basis. We’ll pay you each week, just like we pay Brad and the other employees.”
“Are you sure we can afford that, Dad?” David’s eyes sparkled with hope.
“Yes, son. I’m just sorry it’s taken so long. Maybe your missing college this year won’t be a total waste—at least not financially.”
“Thanks, Dad, Mom.”
“And, Trish, all the money you earn riding will be yours to keep.”
“Dad!”
“That’s right. You’ve been a tremendous help. And if we need money again—we know where to find you.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Thanks!” Trish leaped from her chair to hug both her parents.
“That’s not all.” Marge picked up two envelopes. “These are for you too. Call it a bonus or reimbursement—whatever.” She handed one to each of them.
Trish opened hers first. “Five hundred dollars!” Her mouth dropped open in shock. She stared at David. His look matched hers as he gaped at the check in his envelope.
Hal smiled. “You both earned it. I just wish it could have been more.”
Marge cleared her throat. “You’ll never know how much we appreciate you both and all that you’ve done.” She reached across the table to squeeze their hands. “Thank you.”
“Just in time for Christmas shopping!” David stuffed his check back in the envelope. “And my car needs new front tires. I’ll stop by and check on prices tomorrow.”
“Maybe you could drop Rhonda and me off at the mall at the same time.” Trish pushed her chair back. She paused for David’s nod before heading to the phone.
“We’re on,” she announced on her return. She hugged first her father, then her mother. “Thanks a lot. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about Christmas presents this year.”
What to buy for each one whirled in her mind through dishes and homework. After shutting off the light in her room, she stared at the reflection of the yard light on her ceiling. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “help me find the perfect present for my dad this year. Something with meaning. And help me find it tomorrow. I don’t have many chances to shop. And thank you for making him better. Amen.”
A sweater? Huh-uh. Shirt and tie? Na-aa. New jacket? He sure needs one. Maybe. Trish fell asleep before the list got any longer.
The next day she turned more ideas over in her mind during her spare moments. It had to be the perfect gift.
“You’re not going to spend all that money, are you?” Rhonda pushed her new glasses up on her nose.
“I don’t know.” Trish stuffed her books in her locker. “Let’s get some lunch, I’m starved.” For a change they were ahead of the crowd pouring into the lunchroom. They picked up their loaded trays and crossed the room to their favorite table.
Brad folded his lanky frame onto the stool next to Trish. “You two broke the speed record getting in here today. What’s up?”
“Christmas.”
“Not for over two weeks, last time I looked at a calendar.”
Rhonda rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Shopping—you know, as in buying presents? I suppose you’ve got yours all done!”
“Right. And wrapped.”
“Already?” Trish’s voice squeaked in surprise. She coughed and took a swallow of milk to ease her throat.
“Hey, don’t go into shock over it.” Brad thumped her on the back. “Some of us have learned to be organized.” He ducked the balled-up napkins they threw at him. “Can I help it if some of us are more perfect than others?” He leaned way back to avoid the milk Trish threatened to pour on his head. “Now, ladies.” He held up both hands as if to fend them off. “Don’t mess with me, you may get hurt, you know.”
“Ri-ght!” Trish picked up her tray. “Come on, Rhonda, we wouldn’t want to get hurt, would we?”
A few minutes later they were combing their hair at the mirror in the rest room. No matter how much Trish brushed hers, the ebony strands bounced up around her face. She clipped the longest strands back and shoved her brush back into her purse. “Hurry out after class. David is meeting us right out front.”
Rhonda picked up her purse. “We haven’t gone shopping like this since before school started. We never have time for anything anymore.”
Hours later, when Trish still hadn’t found just the right gift for her father, she groaned as she shuffled the packages she’d already bought. “Let’s get something to eat. I’ve about had it.”
“Burgers or pizza?”
“Neither. Let’s get a sandwich at Nordstroms. That’s in about the middle of the mall.”
Exhausted, they tucked their packages under the table and sank down in the chairs. “How come I get more tired shopping for a couple of hours than riding all day?” Trish rubbed an aching foot. “And I still don’t have anything for my dad.”
“Are you going to buy that turquoise ski jacket for yourself?” Rhonda asked just before the waitress brought their order.
“Depends on how much money I have left. That’s over a hundred dollars—on sale.” She took a long drink of her Diet Coke.
“It looked good on you.”
“I know, and my other one’s falling apart. Maybe I better put a new jacket on my Christmas list.” She took a bite of her BLT. “What do I get my dad?”
They tossed ideas back and forth as they munched on chips. Nothing seemed just right; nothing was even close to right. Trish glanced at her watch. “We’ve got half an hour. Let’s go.”
She found it at the top of the escalator. Artists and craftspeople had set up booths throughout the mall, creating a holiday feeling. Trish almost walked on by. Sculptures weren’t on her list of possibles.
But the eagle appeared to fly free. Each feather in the carved wood seemed alive, with the wind riffling through it. Trish stroked the eagle’s head and across an extended wing. The grain of the wood lent color and depth. The song whispered through her mind, “Raise you up on eagle’s wings…”
She was afraid to look for the price.
Rhonda picked the carving up and checked the sticker on the bottom. “Oooh-h.” She flinched.
“How bad?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
Trish closed her eyes. This was the perfect gift. She thought about the jacket she’d tried on. She couldn’t afford both.
With a deep breath she pulled out her wallet. “Do you have a box for the eagle?” she asked the woman behind the counter.
Trish tucked her prize down in the middle of the Meier and Frank shopping bag. How could she keep such a secret till Christmas? Her dad had always guessed what she’d gotten him before. But not this year. This was the perfect gift. It would be a fantastic surprise.
But all surprises aren’t so wonderful, as Trish learned after breezing Spitfire around the track on Wednesday.
“His right knee is hot,” David informed her at the dinner table. “Did he stumble or anything when you were running him?”
Chapter
03
Spitfire’s leg didn’t get better.
Two days later, Trish trotted down to the barn as soon as she’d changed clothes. Each of the horses nickered at the sound of her voice. Dan’l tossed his head, begging for attention. Trish gave him a piece of carrot and stood rubbing his ears for a minute.
“You old sweetie, you.” She stroked his nose and smoothed his coarse gray forelock. “I haven’t ridden you for so long, I can’t remember the last time.” Dan’l rubbed the side of his head on her shoulder.
Next door, Spitfire banged a hoof against the door.
“Stop it, you’ll re-injure that leg!” she ordered the pure black colt as she offered him his piece of carrot. The heavy canvas ice pack was still Velcroed in place around his right foreleg. The pack reached from his a
nkle to well above the hot knee. Water leaked down over his hoof and into the straw.
Trish inhaled the familiar aroma of horse and straw with overtones of liniment. Spitfire draped his head over her shoulder, his eyes drooping as she rubbed his cheek and behind his ears. Firefly nickered for her turn, and beyond her Gatesby snorted and thumped the wall.
Caesar parked himself at Trish’s knee, hoping for some attention too.
“You gonna just stand there moonin’ around or what?” Brad’s teasing voice broke into Trish’s thoughts. “Where’s David?”
“I don’t know. His car was gone and Mom and Dad are off somewhere too.” She gave Caesar a shove to get him off her foot. “I’ll take Gatesby and you work Final Command, then I’ll do Firefly and you can give Dan’l a gallop. He’s been getting lazy lately.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her. “Anything else, ma’am? You want me to—”
“Knock it off, is what I want.” Trish shook her head as she entered the tack room. “Can’t you ever be serious?”
“Maybe, why?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced back at him at just the wrong moment. Gatesby slipped in a quick nip and jerked his head up, ears back, ready for his scolding. “Ouch! Now see what you did?” This time she’d grabbed the horse’s halter before yelling again at Brad.
Both Brad and Gatesby wore the same “Who me?” look.
Trish rubbed her upper arm one more time before Brad gave her a leg up.
“You watch him now.” Brad unsnapped the lead shank as Trish straightened the reins.
“Thanks a lot—now. If I’da been paying attention to him earlier, I wouldn’t have this bruise.”
“Yeah, you’d think you’d have learned by now.” Brad sidestepped as Trish nudged the colt forward. “Hey, you trying to make him step on me by any chance?”
“Make him? Whatever gave you that idea?” Trish’s laugh floated back on the breeze. “Hurry up and we can gallop together.”
Spitfire looked clearly dejected when all the other horses were out and he still stood in the stall. Trish gave him some extra affection as she measured out his grain. “Sorry, fella, but you gotta get better. Maybe tomorrow David’ll take you out for a walk.”
Golden Filly Collection One Page 25
