Trish and Rhonda stared at each other.
“Don’t panic,” Rhonda ordered.
“Yeah.” Trish grabbed her books and dashed out the door.
“Your mother will be here to pick you up. There’s an emergency at home.” The secretary looked sympathetic as she gave Trish the message.
Chapter
08
Trish flew out the door. She jerked open the car door before Marge brought the vehicle to a full stop.
“Trish, don’t panic. No one’s hurt,” Marge said as Trish bounded into the seat.
“Then what…?”
Marge laid her hand on Trish’s knee. Her quiet voice calmed her, the same way that Trish’s voice quieted a nervous horse. “They’re having trouble loading Spitfire, so instead of fighting with him, Dad said to go get you.”
Trish slumped in the seat. They should have let me stay home with him in the first place, she thought, but was wise enough not to say it aloud. Her stomach returned to its normal place, rather than remaining parked up in her throat. “Man.” She shook her head. “That message scared me out of a year’s growth.”
“Sorry,” Marge answered as she looked both ways before pulling out onto 117th Avenue. “I didn’t mean for them to scare you, just have you at the door by the time I got there.”
“When they call your name over the intercom, you die, no matter what.” Trish fluffed her bangs with her fingers. “Everybody in school is gonna wonder what’s wrong now.”
“In our case, it’s what you do right. And that’s handle Spitfire.”
Please make it that simple, Lord, Trish prayed all the way home.
She leaped from the car before it completely stopped beside the pickup by the stables.
“Where is he?”
“Easy, Tee.” Hal came from behind the horse trailer. “We put him back in his stall. He’s all right.”
Trish took a deep, calming breath before she walked up to Spitfire’s stall. He poked his head out the door just as she reached for the latch. A silent nicker tickled his nose. He wuffled in her face, then rubbed his forehead on her chest.
“You crazy animal,” Trish crooned as she rubbed his ears and smoothed the coarse black forelock. “What’d you cause such a fuss about?” She adjusted the travel sheet that rode high on his neck.
“Well, let’s get this over with.” Hal stopped beside her. “You and David both take the leads, even though he looks calm as a kitten right now. I don’t know what your magic is, Trish, but it sure works.”
“Just love.” Trish kissed Spitfire on the nose.
The colt stepped out calmly when Trish swung open the stall door. He draped his head over her shoulder and only hesitated at the edge of the ramp. After a gentle tug on the rope, he followed Trish right into the trailer.
“Don’t even say it,” David growled as he slip-tied the lead rope.
“You mean, I told you so?” Trish hid her grin as she tied her rope. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She patted Spitfire’s shoulder and slipped out of the trailer.
Hal and David lifted the gate in place and threw home the bolts.
“I think you’d better go with us to the airport,” Hal said. “Just in case. We’re late now so let’s get a hustle on.”
“You be careful now,” Marge said as she hugged Hal one more time. “And call me as soon as you get settled.”
“I will. And I’ve plenty of help on call so you needn’t worry.”
“Easy for you to say,” Marge muttered under her breath.
Hal hugged her again. “You’re doing great.” He climbed up into the cab. “Let’s roll.”
Trish felt as if she were in one of the old Westerns. Her dad was the wagonmaster with “Let’s hit ’em up and roll ’em out,” but that wasn’t exactly what he said.
“Make something good for lunch,” Trish called as she waved to her mother.
David poked her in the ribs with his elbow. “Smart aleck.”
“You remember what school food is like. If I’m home, I take advantage of it.” Trish settled herself between the broad shoulders of the two men. Good thing they had a large pickup.
The drive over the I-205 bridge to the airport passed with Hal giving them last minute instructions for the horses at home.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” he finally said. “You know what to do. And, Trish, you won’t have time for anything. Saturday’ll be here soon.” He turned the truck into a driveway marked Eagle Transport.
A guard stopped them for their names, then waved the truck through after giving Hal instructions for finding their plane. It was the only one on the concrete in front of the hangars. A ramp led up to a wide cargo door on the silver body of the aircraft. An emblem of a flying eagle adorned the vertical section of the tail.
Hal parked the trailer near the ramp and pulled his briefcase from behind the seat. “You two wait here until I get checked in. Don’t let me forget my suitcases.”
“Is he excited or what?” Trish turned to David with a serious look on her face.
David shook his head. They could hear Spitfire moving around in the trailer. A jet roared up into the sky from the east-west runway just beyond the loading area. They could hear the trailer creak in protest to Spitfire’s shifting.
“You better get back there with him.” David peeled out the door. “You know he doesn’t like strange noises.”
Spitfire whinnied when Trish opened the front door and ducked under the bar to stand beside him. At the roar of another jet under full thrust, he threw his head up as far as the ties permitted.
Trish sang her comfort songs to him, stroking the colt all the while. She rubbed his ears and neck, feeling the sweat popping out from his tension. Spitfire rubbed his head against her shoulder and shuddered when another plane took off.
“Keep up the good work, Tee,” Hal said as he stuck his head in the door. “We’ll get the tack boxes loaded first. How’s he doing?”
“Better. Just like schooling at the track. Maybe we should have brought him here a few days ago and let him get used to the noise. Walked him through the process.”
“Too late now. We’ll be just a few minutes.”
She could hear him giving orders to David and someone else. Spitfire flinched when the tack boxes screeched during the unloading. Another jet took off. This time the colt just shifted his feet. Trish checked the thick leg wraps that David or her father had secured on all four legs to keep the horse from injuring himself. The crimson and gold travel sheet covered Spitfire from behind his ears to his tail.
“You look good,” she murmured to his drooping ears. He only jerked his head when another jet lifted off. “They sure send plenty of planes out of here.”
“Okay, Trish.” David stopped at the door before going to the rear to drop the ramp. “We’re ready.”
“This is it, fella.” Trish jerked the loose end on her lead shank and freed the other. David slipped in on the other side as soon as the ramp was down. “Here.” Trish handed him one of the ropes. “Okay, Spitfire, back up.”
Once out on the concrete, Spitfire raised his head and looked around. David and Trish let him look, watching his ears and eyes for any sign of tension. When he relaxed, they started walking toward the plane ramp. Spitfire looked from side to side, observing the activity around him.
When Trish and David started up the padded ramp, he followed like a docile puppy. Until another jet, a huge one, thundered into the air not a hundred yards away. Spitfire reared. As he went up, Trish let the rope slip through her fingers, then leaped for his halter when he came down. His feet slipped.
Trish flinched at the pain in her leg where the colt’s flailing legs had struck her. But she didn’t let go and didn’t stop talking to him.
When he tried to go up again, she clamped her hand over his nostrils.
“No!” Her order penetrated the black’s fears. His front feet stayed on the ground this time. They stood at the edge of the ramp, the horse and Trish b
oth shaking, and David scolding the colt under his breath.
“That was close.” Hal kept his voice low and soothing. “Walk him around a bit and let’s try it again. He was fine until that plane took off.”
Trish didn’t have any spit to swallow. Her mouth felt like she’d been sucking on cotton balls. She nodded, and coaxed Spitfire to follow her.
When they approached the ramp again, Spitfire followed them up and into the dimness.
“Good fella,” Trish encouraged him. “Just keep it up now until we get the stall up around you.” They tied their ropes to one side of a padded wooden stall that was guy-wired in the center floor of the plane. Quickly, the airline crew bolted and wired the remaining three sides around the shivering colt.
Eyes rolling, nostrils flaring, Spitfire tossed his head when Trish started to leave the stall. His tail twitched and all four feet created their own staccato dance step.
Trish stepped back to his head and kept on rubbing, soothing him with her voice and hands.
“How close to packed is your suitcase?” Hal stroked Spitfire’s neck under the soaking sheet.
“Why?”
“I don’t think you better leave this stall. I’ve got a tranquilizer along but I hate to use it. You never know how he might react. So-o-o, the way I see it, we better take you along.”
Trish rose on tiptoe to kiss her father’s cheek. “What’s Mom gonna say?”
“Probably plenty, but I don’t know what else to do. David, unhitch the trailer so you can make better time. I’ll call home and make the arrangements. Trish, you just keep a lid on the kid here. I’ll be back to help you as soon as I’ve made the call.”
“Dad, you need to make a list of the things to tell Mom. Like, my silks are hanging in the closet, along with the hang-up clothes I planned to bring. My makeup’s in the bathroom, shampoo and stuff. Oh, and my sports bag.”
“We can buy things there if you need more.” Hal looked up from his list. “David can pick up your books and lessons at school and ship them, plus whatever else you need from home.”
“Is this gonna make Mom mad, or sick again?”
“No. It’s only two days early. Maybe a shock, that’s all. You forget, she’s really been praying about her worrying, and besides, she’s much better.”
“I know.” Trish chewed on her bottom lip.
“Anything else?”
Trish looked up to see her father smiling at her. She could feel the love shining from his eyes.
“No. I’m—we’re fine.”
Hal patted her shoulder and headed toward the door.
“Tell David to bring some carrots,” Trish called to his retreating back.
Spitfire shuddered again as another jet began its journey. “What are you gonna do when that’s us taking off?” Trish asked. “You won’t just hear it, you’ll feel it.”
Spitfire draped his head over her shoulder. His sigh matched the one Trish felt squeeze past the cotton in her throat.
Two more planes had lifted into the sky before Hal returned. “All set.” He handed Trish a soft brush. “See if you can brush him dry. I’ll get a dry sheet as soon as we’re airborne.”
“What did Mom say?”
“That she loves you and she’s praying for all of us.”
“Did you tell her how Spitfire acted?” Hal raised one eyebrow. “I’ll hold him while you brush.”
“We need to get this crate off the ground pretty quick.” A man from the airline approached Hal. “How long till your son gets back?”
Just then Trish heard a truck door slam. David bounded up the ramp, clutching Trish’s suitcase, plus Hal’s garment bag from the back of the truck. Marge followed right behind him with Trish’s garment bag and her sports bag.
“Mom!” Spitfire lifted his head when Trish raised her voice. “You came.” Trish’s grin lit the entire interior of the plane.
“You think I’d let you get away without a hug?” Marge reached over the stall and suited action to words.
Trish clung to her for a moment. “Thanks for getting all my stuff together. Good thing you told me to pack early.”
Marge smiled. “You call me tonight if you need anything else. And I’m sure they have stores in Louisville too.” She hugged her daughter again. “Just in case.”
“Excuse me, folks,” the airline representative interrupted. “The captain says he’s behind schedule, so we need to get the doors closed.”
“Behave yourself.”
“You talking to me or the horse?” Trish raised her eyebrows at her brother.
“Both.” David punched her shoulder. “See you at the Derby.”
Trish hugged her mother again. “Please come,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be the same without all of us together.”
“I know.” Marge’s hug bordered on the fierce side. “Take care of your dad.”
Trish felt that familiar lump in her throat when she watched her parents say good-bye. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t be together again soon. Why did she feel so close to crying? She wiped her cheek against Spitfire’s mane.
As they closed the doors, Hal climbed over the stall. “Just in case you need another couple of hands.”
Spitfire nosed Hal’s pockets. “Smarty.” Hal pulled out a carrot and broke it in chunks. Spitfire chewed the first piece as engine number one roared to life. He shifted front feet at the surge of number two. Head up, nostrils flaring, he ignored the carrot Hal offered as engine three thrust awake.
Trish pulled his head back down and rubbed his ears and cheek. Spitfire shuddered along with engine four.
“Easy, fella, easy.” Both Trish and her father kept up the easy flow of words, all the while alert for any sudden moves on the colt’s part.
The plane taxied forward, engines building as they turned onto a side runway and trundled down to the takeoff point.
Spitfire shifted restlessly. His front feet beat their own tattoo in the deep straw.
The plane turned again. The engines crescendoed and the plane shuddered as it built speed.
Spitfire shook. His muscles twitched and his eyes rolled white. But he stood firm under Trish’s loving hands.
With a final roar, the plane lifted off the concrete and thrust itself into the sky. Trish braced against the slant. Spitfire nickered and threw his head up as far as the ropes allowed.
“Easy, come on, it’s almost over.” Trish breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the plane level out. She yawned to release the pressure in her ears and looked over at her father. His look of I’m-sure-glad-that’s-over made her grin.
Spitfire took another piece of carrot.
“You’re glad too, aren’tcha fella?” Trish whispered in his ear. She smoothed his forelock, grateful she could unclamp her hand from the halter. She flexed her fingers.
“I’ll get some hay and water in here for him.” Hal climbed over the wall. “And how about something to drink for you too?”
“I could use that.” Trish yawned again. Her left ear popped this time. She frowned. “I think I liked the noise level better when I couldn’t hear.”
Hal chuckled as he rummaged in their supplies. He handed a dry sheet over the wall after the drinks. “You want some help changing that?”
Trish just shook her head. There was plenty of room to move around in the stall so who was he kidding? She’d been grooming horses since she was ten. She stripped off the damp sheet and brushed the now-weary horse down again. With the dry sheet buckled on, she stepped back to view her handiwork.
When Spitfire finally cocked one rear foot and dozed off, Trish sank down in the corner. She didn’t dare leave the stall in case something happened, but sitting sure beat standing. She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until she heard the engines change and the plane begin its descent into the Louisville airport.
Spitfire flinched when the wheels touched down, but other than that he remained quiet. Even when the men broke down the stall around him, he just watched, his head draped over Trish’
s shoulder.
Hal took the other lead rope just in case, but Spitfire walked off the plane like he’d been traveling in such style all his life. He walked right into the horse van waiting for them. Trish unsnapped the ropes so Spitfire could inspect his new quarters. After a quick hug, she shut the door and leaped to the ground.
“How about dropping me off to pick up my rental car and then I’ll follow you to the track?” Hal asked the van driver.
“Sure.” White teeth flashed as a smile split the man’s fudge-colored face. “That’s a ma-aghty fine lookin’ colt you have there. Been hearin’ some about him.”
“Fred, this is my daughter, Tricia.” Hal laid a hand on her shoulder. “Trish, Mr. Robertson.”
Trish extended her hand as she’d been taught. Her fingers disappeared in the width of the man’s hand.
“Just call me Fred.” He tipped his hat after releasing the handshake. “You the young miss they all in a sweat about? Say you and that black colt maaght make racin’ history.”
Trish grinned back. “Winning the Derby will be kinda exciting.”
She heard little nagger snort. Kinda exciting?
The three of them climbed up in the high cab. Trish felt the truck rock as Spitfire continued his inspection. She listened as Fred and her father talked about the area and what had gone on so far at the track. Nomatterwhat, the sorrel favorite they’d beaten at Santa Anita, had arrived the weekend before. Dun Rovin’, a Kentucky-bred colt that took the honors at Gulf Stream in Florida, had arrived on Wednesday. Equinox, the current favorite, was shipping in on Saturday.
Trish felt two shivers chase each other up and back down her spine. She was really in Kentucky. It wasn’t just a dream or a wish any longer. The race was two weeks from Saturday, sixteen days away. Sixteen days of butterflies.
“Trish, you ride with Fred in case you’re needed, okay?” Hal hesitated before shutting the truck door. At Trish’s nod, he slammed the door and waved.
“This your first trip here?” Fred turned off the engine.
“Uh-huh. My first racing season too. Spitfire’s the first colt we’ve had this good. Dad’s been training for a long time, but only in the Northwest.”
Golden Filly Collection One Page 43
