Kentucky Heat

by Fern Michaels

  “It depends on what you tell me. No, no matter what you tell me, I’m going to be a basket case watching that race. What?”

  “Hunt’s riding with me.”

  Hatch rolled his eyes. “Oh, well, that’s different.”

  He didn’t believe her, but she had no intention of explaining. He would probably worry even more if she told him she had regular conversations with her dead husband. “Damn straight it’s different. I have to run now. Bet the poke on me, okay?”

  “The whole damn wad, Nealy. Damn, I do love you.”

  “Damn, I love you, too.”

  “See you in the winner’s circle.”

  “Yep, that’s where I’ll be.” Nealy laughed as she blew him a kiss before running off.

  Hatch stood in the rain for a good five minutes mumbling over and over, “She loves me. She said she loves me. She really loves me. I heard her say she loves me. I knew I liked that kid for a reason.” Stunned at what had just transpired, he felt like a twenty-year-old as he made his way back to the motel room, where he changed his clothes from the skin out.

  Fully dressed, he called room service and asked for a fresh pot of coffee and a package of cigarettes. When they arrived he tackled both with a vengeance as he sat down to contemplate how his life was changing before his very eyes. When his room turned cloudy with cigarette smoke, only then did he move. Outside, he was startled to see the rain had stopped and miracle of miracles, it looked like the sun was struggling to peek through the clouds.

  His gaze swept the parking lot. Nealy’s truck was gone. Once again his gaze raked the parking lot as he struggled to find the exact place where the two of them had been standing. It seemed to him, at that precise moment in time, that he should mark the spot somehow.

  “Hatch! Wait up,” Emmie shouted from the second-floor balcony. “Is something wrong? What are you staring at so intently?” Hatch told her. Emmie clapped her hands in glee as she ran down the steps to wrap her arms around him. “Wait right here, I have just what you need.”

  Hatch watched as Emmie ran to her car and popped the trunk. She rummaged for a few minutes before she returned with a small box in her hands. “Indelible markers for Gabby’s clothes. They like things marked at the day care. Take your pick,” she said, offering the box of colored markers. “I forgot to tell you, they glow in the dark.” She giggled. Hatch burst out laughing. “I’d go with yellow.”

  “Yellow will stand out at night,” Emmie said. “You know, glowing in the dark, if you decide to come back here tonight. You’re rich enough to buy this place, Hatch. If you owned it, you could build a fence around the spot and preserve it forever and ever. I am so very happy for you both.”

  Hatch laughed, a great booming belly laugh. “I just might take that under consideration, Emmie. I’ve done stranger things in my life. I’ll see you and Smitty at the track.”

  “It’s almost time, Nealy.”

  Nealy nodded. “I know, Dover. The last time I was here I was so euphoric I didn’t know the announcer’s name. That’s not quite true. I knew it, but I couldn’t remember it. I thought it so strange at the time and now I know his name as well as I know my own. Jim McKay.” She smiled. “He’s saying the same things he said the last time I was here. Listen, Dover.”

  “None of the horses running today have gone a mile and a quarter—and except for those going on to the Belmont—none of these horses will ever go the mile and a quarter again.

  “When you handicap a race you usually look backward to see the best performance. Not so with the Derby—you have to anticipate who is going to run their best race today—for that reason Jake’s Thunder, Navigator, and Sweet Pete still have their best shot yet to fire.

  “Shufly, sired by Dancer’s Flyby, a Triple Crown winner, is owned by Metaxas Parish and trained by Cornelia Diamond Clay. Ms. Clay will be in the saddle when he leaves the gate. Shufly is our mystery horse today with staggering odds. Ms. Clay will be the oldest jockey racing today. In fact, Ms. Clay is a grandmother.”

  “He had to say that, didn’t he?” Nealy snapped.

  “They have to say stuff like that to make things interesting,” Dover said, pulling a face that made Nealy laugh.

  “April Fool is not the favorite on this first Saturday in May, but he made it here. It will be interesting to see how his jockey handles him. He balks at the gate and has a rough exit.”

  “Nealy, twenty minutes to post time. I’m glad those silks still fit you. Shufly looks stupendous. The big fella knows this is his day. Look at him, curious as all hell.”

  “He knows, Dover. Trust me on that.”

  Metaxas crushed her to him. “I’m going to wish you luck even if you don’t need it,” he said. His gaze was intent and shiny bright. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the win, Nealy. I just want you to get out there and let the big guy do the rest. Those creeps that keep harping on your age don’t know you. I know you. Shufly knows you. That’s all you have to remember.”

  Nealy nodded. She opened her arms to Emmie and Smitty, resplendent in crisp linen and wide-brimmed hats. Nick gave her a thumbs-up as he, too, hugged her. Ruby stepped into her arms, and whispered, “Listen, Granny, you go out there and kick some ass and don’t look back. You’re ten times better than any of those upstarts. You can take that to the bank, too.”

  Nealy hugged her and whispered in return, “Hunt’s riding with me, Ruby, so wipe that look off your face. Tell Metaxas when you get in your box. It might make the next few minutes easier on him.”

  “Merciful God,” was all Ruby could say.

  And then it was Hatch’s turn. “I don’t know what to say. Good luck doesn’t quite seem to cut it. Where should I meet you after the race?”

  “How about the winner’s circle?” Nealy quipped.

  “The winner’s circle it is then.”

  The announcer’s voice sent all of them scurrying for their box seats.

  “We’re now bringing you a live look at the walkover that starts in the barn and then out onto the track. Here comes Shufly with his trainer and jockey Cornelia Diamond Clay along with Dover Wilkie, who is also Shufly’s trainer. Right now he’s on the first turn—walking toward the paddock to be saddled there and then there will be the call for Riders Up after the Post Parade and then the race itself. While that’s going on, we’re going to visit the jockeys’ room and talk to a few of the jockeys to see what they’re thinking and feeling before this momentous race. We tried to get a few words with Cornelia Diamond Clay but weren’t successful. That alone only adds to the mystique of her magnificent horse Shufly. Everyone here in the stands is wondering if she can bring home the roses for a second time. As the only female jockey riding today, she opted to stay away from the jockeys’ room I’m told. She’s wearing purple silks, the same silks she wore when she won the roses the first time. We’re told purple was her mother’s favorite color. Ms. Clay’s mother, by the way, was Maud Diamond who was a Derby winner in the past.”

  Nealy stared at the bright sunshine. It looked almost the same as the last time she was here. The famous twin spires. The grandstand. Even the track itself. She felt her adrenaline kick in. She spoke soothingly to the big horse at her side. Dover looked straight ahead.

  Nealy listened as the announcer spieled off the gate numbers. Someone up above was smiling on her. Shufly was at 15, the same gate Flyby had rocketed out of years before. Shufly would do the same thing today. There was no doubt in her mind. None. This horse was going to fly, mud and all.

  “Where are you Hunt? Are you here?” Nealy muttered under her breath.

  “I’m right here, Nealy.”

  “Stay close, okay.”

  “You got it.”

  “How are we looking, Hunt? The track is a real mess, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is, but the big guy will do just fine. The others are going to have some problems. I’ll report as we go along. You okay, Nealy?”

  “I’m okay, Hunt. I don’t want to do this for a living anymore.” />
  “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say in a long time. You’re going to go down in history, Nealy.”

  “Am I going to win today?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The sharp retort Nealy was about to offer up was cut short when she heard the call from the announcer.

  “Riders Up!”

  “This is it, Nealy, girl,” Dover said, patting her hand. “You ready?”

  “I’m as ready as I ever will be.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  “This is the moment at hand,” the announcer blasted into the microphone.

  Dover gave Nealy a leg up, then mounted his own horse, whose tail and mane were decorated with purple violets. Side by side they fell into line behind Jake’s Thunder and Navigator, the favorites to win.

  The freckle-faced jockey riding Jake’s Thunder looked over at Nealy and smiled as he gave her a thumbs-up. “A cup of courage to you, Miz Clay. Fine-looking horse you’re riding today.”

  Nealy smiled and returned the thumbs-up.

  The jockey riding Navigator wasn’t quite as generous. “Shake it, Granny, we ain’t got all day.” He looked disturbingly like one of the young men who had tormented her last night. A dozen sharp retorts rose to her lips but a hard nudge to her ribs stifled them. “Good luck,” she said with a straight face.

  The walkover was just as she remembered, perhaps a little longer, under the main stand and out into the sunshine. The roar of the crowd thundered in her ears. “What do you think, Hunt? You comfortable back there?”

  “Awesome. Absolutely awesome.”

  Six minutes to post time.

  Nealy listened to the announcer. His words seemed to run together, or maybe it was the roar of the crowd that made it seem that way. He was using words she would never forget, words that had been carved into her brain the first time she raced. “Thunder in his stride, victory in his heart. I can see the warm steam coming up from the horses’ backs. This crowd is from all over the world and now they’re here to watch the most famous race of all, the Kentucky Derby. Everyone wants to know who is going to take home the roses. Will it be Triple Crown winner, Cornelia Diamond Clay riding Shufly or will it be Adam Witcheson’s Jake’s Thunder? Then again it could be Dillon Roland’s Navigator. We don’t know. What we do know is there is going to be a lot of speed in this race, and that’s what will determine the winner.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the playing of ‘My Old Kentucky Home.’ ”

  Just as the last note sounded, Nealy said, “Hunt, if I win, remind me to give a thumbs-up to the president of the United States. I promised him I would do that.”

  “The president! Of these United States?”

  “Yeah. I even danced with him. I can dance these days, Hunt. How’d you miss that? No more talk.”

  Nealy looked across at the jockey riding Navigator. Navigator was owned by Dillon Roland, the same Dillon Roland who had gotten her pregnant when she was seventeen and then threatened to blow her head off with a shotgun if she ever told anyone. Dillon Roland, Emmie’s father. Don’t go there, Nealy. Not now.

  Nealy shook her head to clear away all thoughts of Dillon Roland and his horse Navigator.

  Nealy leaned over and whispered into Shufly’s ear. “Just do your best. That’s all I ask. I taught you to walk into the gate like a gentleman. I want you to fly out of it like your daddy did. Wait for your opening. We’ve done this hundreds of times. You know what to do. This is your race. I’m just here for the ride. If you win this race for Metaxas, he is going to buy you a hundred shirts with buttons sewn all over them. We have one minute. Please, God, don’t let anything happen to this beautiful animal, to any of the animals racing today. Keep all us jockeys safe in Your hands.”

  “Hang on, Hunt. I’m going to give you the ride of your life!”

  The gate clanged open.

  “And they’re off in the Kentucky Derby!” the announcer blared.

  “Shufly blasted out of the gate and takes the lead—on the inside is Jake’s Thunder. Down on the outside is Navigator—Kriss-Kross and Little Tee; then on the rail is Red Max followed by Hard Money. Up and on the outside is Sweet Pete and by the stand for the first time is Jake’s Thunder, showing the way by a length and a half.

  “Navigator is now moving to the inside and looking for room. Sweet Pete is up on the outside—then on the rail is Kriss-Kross followed by Logan’s Luck and Fire Walker—followed by April Fool and Fast Track, then Bright Star.”

  With each new call, McKay’s voice rose an octave. “On the outside is Navigator followed by Shufly, the twenty-to-one-odds mystery horse, followed by Jake’s Thunder and finally Sweet Pete. Moving to the clubhouse turn is the leader, Jake’s Thunder leading by two and a half lengths, Kriss-Kross is second by a length, Navigator alongside. Sweet Pete is fourth on the outside and two lengths back and then Little Tee.”

  Blinded by the mud and deafened by the roar of the thundering hooves all around her, Nealy flattened herself out over Shufly’s neck. “Now, baby, do it now!” she screamed.

  McKay came back on the horn. “Oh-oh, what do we have here? Shufly has made a sudden move and is now sixth, then it’s Fire Walker and Money Bags followed by Blue Streak, who is starting to move up. Hard Money and Hell Raiser are moving and right behind are Red Max and Bright Star.

  “They’re in the turn and bunching up for the lead with Jake’s Thunder still the leader by a half length—on the outside challenging is Kriss-Kross and he now has a heavy front. Jake’s Thunder responds to the challenge and those two are heads apart. Navigator is third followed by Sweet Pete who is fourth and rolling on. Money Bags drops back. Shufly is moving up on the outside and is now third and moving up to the leaders as they come to the stretch.”

  There was no other feeling like this in the world, Nealy thought, as she squeezed her thighs against Shufly’s body. “This is it, baby! This is what you like, three across. This is your place,” Nealy screamed at the top of her lungs. “Make up the ground. Come on, stretch those legs. Go! Go! Go!” She knew he heard her and understood a second later. She could feel his strides lengthen, stretch out. She continued to scream as hooves thundered in her ears and mud flew all around and over her. “Stretch those legs, baby. Go! Go! Go!”

  The public address system fairly vibrated with McKay’s call. “Jake’s Thunder is the leader by a length. Shufly is in the center of the racetrack and that horse is a raging fire. Jake’s Thunder drops back, Navigator is in the stretch on the outside. Now on to the homestretch is Shufly—a lightning bolt as he takes the lead. Jake’s Thunder is holding at second and Navigator is third. Shufly is moving away by two lengths, two and a half lengths, three lengths while Navigator moves on the outside, but he’s lost his speed and Shufly is now four lengths and it is Shufly on this sloppy track who takes home the roses and wins the Kentucky Derby by four lengths. The grandmother from Blue Diamond Farms is the winner today, ladies and gentlemen!” McKay screamed to be heard over the roar of the thundering crowd.

  Gasping for breath, Nealy whispered, “How was it, Hunt?”

  “Ass-kicking. Thumbs-up for the prez, Nealy.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Nealy looked for the nearest camera and raised her thumb and mouthed the words, “For you, Mr. President.”

  “We did it, Hunt. We did it!”

  And then she was in the winner’s circle and a blanket of roses was being draped over Shufly’s neck. She strained to see her family, but the crowd was too thick. They would find her. She heard her name called but couldn’t make out where the call came from because the sun was in her eyes.

  Nealy looked down at the man holding the microphone. “How’d it feel, Miss Clay?”

  “Pretty darn good.” She patted Shufly’s rump. “He knew what to do, and he did it.”

  “You riding the Preakness and the Belmont?”

  “You bet. This big guy is Triple Crown material, don’t you think?” Nealy said proudly. “Here’s his owner now,�
� she said, pointing to Metaxas Parish.

  “What do you have to say to all those people who said you were too old to pull this off?” The man pushed the microphone into her face.

  Nealy swiped at the mud on her face. She wanted to say so many things, angry retorts, nasty things, but she bit down on her tongue. “I guess my answer would be, I’m here, and they were wrong.”

  The jockey leading Jake’s Thunder passed by. He stopped long enough to hold out his hand. Nealy grasped it. “It was a hell of a race, and that’s one mighty fine horse you got there. I’ll ride against you anytime, Miz Clay.”

  “You did okay yourself. See you around.”

  “You’re in good hands, Nealy. I’m outta here. I think you got yourself a date, and he’s heading this way.”

  “You’re spying on me again, Hunt.”

  She turned to Metaxas. Tears rolled down the big man’s cheeks. Ruby’s, too.

  Metaxas bit down on his lower lip. “I swear to God, I don’t know who I love more, you or this horse. What I mean is after Ruby.”

  “I’m happy with third place, Metaxas. Listen, you guys can take care of things, right? I got myself a date with my fella, and here he comes,” Nealy said, pointing a muddy finger toward Hatch.

  “Nealy. Nealy. Nealy . . . I . . . I never saw anything like that in my life. I’ve seen horse races, but I didn’t know a single thing about the horse or the person riding it. This was . . . awesome. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Never better! This senior is taking home the roses. Boy, if I could have just one wish it would be that they put me on the cover of that magazine Modern Maturity. Maybe I could be like a . . .”

  “Role model. An inspiration.” Hatch grinned.

  “Yes. Just because you reach a certain age doesn’t mean you should crawl away and do nothing. It’s a number. I bought into that number stuff for a little while. Until last night I still kind of believed it. That doesn’t mean people should run out and ride a horse. That’s not what I mean. They should challenge themselves to their own limit. Maybe someday I’ll give a speech about that. Oh, look, there’s Dagmar.”