Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I’m thinking you better not let him loose in the paddock this time,” Adam suggested. “He might jump and strain that knee even more. Soon as you’re done, Trish, there’re cold drinks and dinner up at the house. Martha’s been looking forward to your coming.”

  Trish walked Spitfire a good half hour before she let him loose in a stall deeply bedded with straw. She Velcroed the newly filled ice pack around his leg and gave him a last pat as he buried his nose in the grain bucket. “Pig out, fella, you earned it.” Spitfire blew molasses-smelling grain in her face and went back to his meal. “Thanks.” She wiped the mixture of grain and slobber off her nose. “I needed that.”

  She reached down and petted the two black and tan dogs that met her at the stable entry. They gamboled in front of her, darting back for more ear scratchings and nipping at each other to get her attention. Trish laughed. This was like home, only their collie Caesar had a lot more hair.

  Trish took a deep breath as she strode up the brick walk to the stucco ranch house. Curved arches shaded the entry and served as a trellis for flaming bougainvillea. On the trip down, she’d learned that the sweet smell came from the orange trees lining the sides of the house. She also remembered the swimming pool in the backyard. Maybe she could get a dip in before they left in the morning.

  “I have a proposition for you,” Adam Finley said after they’d finished a barbecued steak dinner. “How’d you like to come down here and ride for me this summer? I know your season up there will be done by the end of April, and after the races back east and school’s out, you could bring some of your string down here.” He nodded at Hal. “Then she could ride for both of us.”

  Trish stared from the rosy-cheeked man to her father and back again. “I—ah—it would—ah…” She had no idea what to say. This would for sure be a chance to build a reputation in the big leagues. And their horses were every bit as good as those in California. Spitfire had just proved it. She raised stricken eyes to her father. What would her mother say about something like this? She’d just as soon her daughter quit racing altogether. Trish sighed. Her mother would never let them do this.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hal said as he leaned his chair back. “Marge and I’ll have to give this some thought. You know, with this bout of cancer and all the chemotherapy treatments, I have a hard time being away from home much, and, well, Marge isn’t too excited about Trish’s racing as it is.” He rubbed his chin. “I had thought about coming down for a race or two.”

  Trish stared at him in astonishment. He’d not mentioned to her about coming back to California so soon.

  “The purses are better than Longacres in Seattle, and since they’re going to tear that track down, the only other races up in our neck of the woods are Yakima and the county fairs,” Hal continued.

  “Besides that, man, your colt has put you up in the big leagues. You’d be doing him an injustice not to race him again with horses of equal caliber,” Adam reminded him.

  “I know,” Hal agreed.

  “On top of that, it would be wonderful to have a young girl around again,” Martha added. “We’ve plenty of room for you in our condo in San Mateo.” She patted Trish’s hand. “I’d promise your mother to take good care of you.”

  “Thank you,” Trish said. Her smile didn’t begin to relay the pleasure she felt at the warm invitation. Just think, living in California for the summer.

  Don’t think about it, her little nagger said. You know it’s impossible. Remember, you have chemistry to make up too.

  The next morning in the truck, Trish felt cranky and out of sorts. She knew it was the letdown after all the excitement, but that didn’t help much. A nap did though.

  “Bay Meadows sounds wonderful,” Trish broke the long silence the next morning after their overnight in Ashland.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  “I know. Mom won’t…”

  “Trish, she can’t help her worrying. You know as well as anyone that we’re involved in a dangerous business.”

  “And she doesn’t think her daughter should be racing.” Trish felt the resentment dig at her good mood. I’ll never tell my kids to be careful, she promised herself.

  “You finished your homework?”

  “Now you sound like Mom.” She caught the puzzled look her father sent her. This time it was a good thing he couldn’t always read her mind.

  “Just thought maybe you’d like to drive.”

  Little fingers of guilt pinched her. She should have noticed he was getting tired rather than sitting there griping. They made good time though, arriving home about three o’clock Tuesday afternoon.

  It felt good to be home.

  Brad—David’s best friend, who worked for Runnin’ On Farm—and Rhonda drove in just as Trish led Spitfire into his stall after a walk that loosened them both up.

  “Hi, guys.” Trish flashed them a grin as she unsnapped the lead shank. “You didn’t waste any time getting home from school, did you?”

  “Look who’s talking.” Rhonda threw her arms around her friend. “How was the trip?”

  “Rhonda’s described the race in detail,” long, lean Brad said. “And I’ve read all the newspaper articles, which I kept for you. Now I want to hear your version. And answer the big question.”

  Perpetual-motion Rhonda couldn’t keep still another minute. “When do you leave for the Derby?”

  Brad gave her a pained look. “No, that’s not it. Are you going for the Triple Crown?”

  Trish shrugged. “Dad says take it one step at a time. He’ll decide on the other two only if we win the Derby.”

  “Not if. When.” Rhonda poked Brad in the side. “We—none of us, nobody says ‘if.’ We only say ‘when.’ Trish and Spitfire are going to win the Kentucky Derby. No doubt about it.”

  That night in bed, Trish wished she could feel more secure about the big race. “All I can do is ask you to help us,” she prayed. “You know everything that can happen between here and there. Please keep Dad healthy and make his next treatment go easily. And we can’t go if Spitfire’s leg isn’t all right, so please take care of that too.” She thought for a time. “Thank you for a safe trip home and for the win. Father, help change my mother’s mind about my racing. Help her quit worrying so much. Thanks. Amen.”

  When she thought back to the evening just passed, she hugged a happy glow to herself. Marge had made a wonderful homecoming dinner and they’d talked about the trip, the race, and the people in California—everything except the proposal from Adam Finley. She knew her father would choose the best time and place for that. However, she’d had to bite her tongue to keep from blabbing to the other three musketeers down at the barn.

  Wednesday morning she was back in the groove, nearly late to school. She rushed in the main door and skidded to a stop. “On to the Kentucky Derby” proclaimed a banner strung between two posts. Another one across her locker said she was “#1 Rider.” Trish folded that one and struggled with her combination lock. The bell rang before she got her books switched, so she was late to class. English lit stood as a body and applauded.

  Trish could feel the heat all the way from her toes to the top of her head. “Thanks,” she croaked as she slid into her desk.

  That afternoon she received a standing ovation when her name was announced as a jockey at Portland Meadows. She was riding to the post on her first mount and could feel the waves of approval wash over her from the grandstands. She raised her whip in the air and waved, thankful for the brisk wind blowing the heat away from her face.

  All the jockeys she’d met offered their congratulations and best wishes for the first Saturday in May. Genie Stokes, who sometimes rode for Runnin’ On Farm, summed it up in the dressing room: “We’re all rooting for you,” she said. “Your dad has worked long and hard for this chance. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy, and his daughter is no slouch.”

  It didn’t hurt to win two races and place in a third either. Trish hurried home to work the hor
ses there. David and Brad had already taken care of them all, even contrary Gatesby.

  “And we didn’t get any new bruises,” Brad bragged as they walked back up the rise to his blue Mustang.

  “How’s Spitfire’s leg?” Trish leaned down to scratch the insistent Caesar as she asked.

  “Still warm as soon as he walks on it much,” David answered.

  “Did you lead him with Dan’l?” He was the horse that had trained her as she exercised him.

  “No, just walked him around the area. Dad said to take it real easy, not even let him out in the pasture.”

  “Well, we gotta go. See you guys.” Brad and Rhonda slammed their car doors shut. Trish and David waved good-bye and turned toward the house.

  “How’s Firefly?” Trish reached her arms above her head and stretched to pull the tiredness out of her muscles.

  “No swelling. Hasn’t been any for some time.”

  “Wouldn’t it be something to take her to Kentucky with us, to run the Oaks?” Trish leaned against the deck railing. “I wonder if Dad’s thought about that at all?”

  “He said she was done for this year because of the shin problem.”

  “I know. But she is such a great horse, and the Oaks runs the day before the Derby. It’s only for three-year-old fillies. She hasn’t really had a chance to prove what she can do.”

  “Trish, don’t get any off-the-wall ideas.”

  “Well, it’s worth thinking about.” She shoved open the sliding glass door. “And talking about.” She heard retching coming from her father’s bedroom. I forgot! The thought tore at her. Dad’s sick from his treatment and all I could think about was my day—my wins. What kind of daughter am I? She tiptoed into the darkened bedroom.

  Hal lay with one hand across his forehead. His eyes flickered open when he heard Trish whisper his name. “I’m doing okay,” he said. He reached again for the basin on a chair beside his bed. The biting odor of bile from his dry heaves made Trish swallow and wish she hadn’t bothered him.

  Sure you are, her thoughts jeered at his words. You’re just fine and dandy.

  Hal wiped his mouth and smiled past the green tinge to his face. “Really, Tee. This time isn’t anything like the last one. I’ll be up and going by tomorrow. Now, tell me about your day. I hear there was a surprise waiting for you at school. And how did you do at the track?”

  Trish filled him in, her excitement returning as she told him each detail. She paused at the end and licked her bottom lip. “Have you thought about taking Firefly with us to Kentucky?”

  “You never quit, do you?” Hal patted his daughter’s hand.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be a whole lot more expensive to take two horses.”

  “No, just plane fare, entry fees…”

  Trish heard him but continued. “It’s just a shame she’s never raced against horses as good as she is, and since she missed out on Santa Anita…”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Marge called from the kitchen.

  “Go eat.” Hal turned on his side.

  When Trish checked on him later, he was sound asleep.

  Trish had five mounts for Saturday’s program. That was after morning works at Runnin’ On Farm. Her father had surprised—and thrilled—her when he told her to gallop Firefly also. He’d been up and around, just like he promised.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” he’d said when Trish grinned down at him from the dark filly’s back. “Let’s see what happens.”

  Even though they didn’t have a horse running that day, Marge and Hal drove Trish to the track.

  “Meet you at the front gate after your last ride,” Marge said. “We’ll all go out for dinner.”

  Trish nodded and grinned her agreement, then dog-trotted off to the dressing room.

  The sun kept ducking behind clouds coming from the west as though afraid to be seen too long in one place. Trish thought of the constant warmth of California as she snapped the rubber bands around her cuffs to keep the cold wind from blowing up her silks. The track was wet but not muddy.

  “Be careful on that far turn,” owner Bob Diego said as he gave her a leg up for the second race of the day. “Keep off the rail, it’s worse there.”

  Trish nodded. She leaned forward and stroked the neck of her mount.

  “And, Trish, I cannot tell you how pleased I am for you and your father. You rode an excellent race.”

  “Thank you. I still get excited when I think about it.”

  Trish again felt the warmth of his words as she moved the horse into the starting gates. All the animals seemed keyed up. She had to back her mount out and come into the gate a second time. But the horse broke cleanly and surged to a secure spot in second. Trish held him there until the last furlong of the short race, moved up on the lead, and with hand and voice encouragement, swept under the wire ahead by a length.

  She won the next one for Jason Rodgers also.

  “We missed you,” the tall, always perfectly dressed Rodgers told her in the winner’s circle. “But we’re sure proud of you. Not many riders make a mark like you did down south. And thanks for a good win today. Meet you here again in an hour or so?”

  Trish grinned at him. “Sounds good to me.” And that’s exactly what she did. She and another Rodgers horse won the fifth.

  “Looked like you had a bad time on that far turn,” Rodgers said after the pictures had been taken and the horse led away to the testing barn.

  “Yeah, we got caught on the rail and bumped around a little. The maintenance crew needs to work that spot some more.”

  Trish stood in line for the scale after changing silks again.

  “So how does it feel to be back after a win like the Santa Anita?” veteran jockey Phil Snyder asked her.

  “Cold.” Trish hugged her saddle closer. “I loved the sun down there.”

  “And winning?” Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes.

  “You should know.” Trish grinned back at him. She leaned closer to whisper, “I loved every minute of it, even when I was terrified at going against the big-name jockeys. You couldn’t exactly call them friendly but”—she shrugged—“I met Shoemaker. And beating the others—well—”

  “You can’t wait to do it again.” They laughed together.

  “How’s your new baby?” Trish asked as they walked toward the saddling paddock.

  “Growing like a weed,” Phil said. “I’ll have him up on a horse before you know it.”

  Trish felt the tension in her mount as soon as she approached the saddling stall. She knew this was the first race for the colt because she’d talked to the owner earlier. The horse tossed his head and rolled his eyes when Trish reached to stroke his neck.

  “Easy, fella,” she crooned to him. “You don’t have to act this way. Come on now.” The colt stamped his foot but calmed as she kept up her easy monologue. When she mounted, she could feel him arch his back as if to buck. She stroked his neck, murmuring all the while. “You certainly live up to your name, don’t you?” She gathered her reins and nodded at the owner. Spice of Life couldn’t have been more descriptive.

  “Watch him closely,” the trainer said as he handed the lead shank over to the woman riding the horse that would parade them to the post. “And you be careful, Trish.”

  Trish felt the horse settle down about halfway to the post, and when they cantered back toward the starting gates, he quit fighting the bit. His gait smoothed out, so she didn’t feel like she was riding a pile driver.

  “That’s a good fella,” she sang to the flicking ears. “Whoops! Not so good! Whoa now!” Her commands seemed to spin off into thin air as the frightened colt backed out of the gates as fast as he should have been breaking forward. The handler led him back in.

  Spice of Life snorted and shook his head. Trish settled herself in the saddle. She’d almost been ready to bail off.

  “Come on, fella, let’s concentrate on running, not tearing things up.” The horse seemed to finally hear her and stopped shifting around.
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br />   “Good job, Trish,” Snyder said from the stall to her right.

  “Thanks.” Trish concentrated on the space between the horse’s ears. Now to get him running straight. The gates swung open and the colt hesitated before he lunged forward. His stride was choppy, so Trish held him firm to give him a chance to catch his balance.

  When she finally had him running true, the field was bunched in front of them. As they rounded the first turn, Trish caught the six horses running together. When she tried to swing the colt around the outside, he fought her. He checked, stumbled, gained his feet again.

  At that same moment a horse somewhere in front broke down. As he crashed, a second horse fell over him. Bodies flew every which way. Spice of Life smashed into the screaming and kicking mass of downed horses and riders. Trish felt herself flying through the air.

  Chapter

  02

  Relax! flashed from Trish’s mind to her body. By now it had to be a conditioned response, or it wouldn’t have happened in that split second of catapult time.

  She struck the ground at the same time her mount did. The screams of horses and humans echoed in her ears as she plowed through the soft dirt and bumped against a fallen horse’s back. Then all went black.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out. Drawing air into her lungs took major concentration. She wiggled her fingers and toes, doing a body check while she waited for her head to clear. She heard someone moaning. Someone else was either cursing or praying in rapid Spanish. A horse snorted nearby.

  The sound of a motor whining around the track must surely be an ambulance. It was.

  Trish rolled into a sitting position but quickly dropped her head between her knees. She wasn’t sure which was worse, a rolling stomach or a woozy head.

  “Just stay where you are,” a male voice ordered softly. “We’ll get to you as soon as we can.”

  While it seemed like forever, it was only a minute or so before Trish could open her eyes and focus on the carnage around her. A horse lay just beyond her feet. It must have been what she bumped against. It hadn’t moved.