Kentucky Rich

by Fern Michaels

  “By being stomped on once too often. So what made you hire me?”

  “You said you knew Maud and Jess and spoke so highly of them. I’m sorry I didn’t knock that wall out sooner.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Don’t let them get me, Smitty.”

  “Listen, doll, they’ll have to get you over my dead body. As long as you approve of how and what I do, it will all work out. Just trust me, okay?”

  “Smitty, do you think I can do it? Win the Derby, I mean?”

  Smitty swung around, a fierce look on her face. “Doll, if I didn’t admire your spirit and your guts, I would have been out of here a long time ago. Don’t you ever second-guess yourself. If it can be done, you’ll do it. You aren’t upset about the movie, are you?”

  “No. I’m not even sure I wanted to see a movie. It was more like I was supposed to do something on my birthday, and a movie seemed like the thing to do. Maybe I’ll ask Carmela to bake me a cake so Emmie and Buddy can blow out the candles. By the way, Smitty, what’s the scuttlebutt over at the Owens . . . sorry, the Goldstein farm?”

  “They don’t have one good trainer. Jack’s been scouting. It’s a tough business, as you well know. Did hear there is a little dissension over there, but what it’s about I have no idea. Eventually, I’ll find out. I’d like to stand here and talk, honey, but I want to clear my desk before I leave for the day. I want to do some shopping on my way home.”

  “Smitty?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thanks for everything.”

  “Anytime. You just hang in there.”

  Nealy sat for a long time at the kitchen table drinking her coffee. She bowed her head once and offered up a prayer of thanks. Whatever the future held for her, she would do her best to be worthy of it.

  13

  Nealy rolled over, opened one sleepy eye, and saw the glowing red numbers on the bedside clock. Today she didn’t have to get up at three-thirty or even four-thirty. Today was her birthday. If she wanted to stay in bed all day, she could.

  Not in this lifetime, she thought a moment later. She’d made a promise to Maud and a commitment to herself, and she would honor them both. For the next two years, come rain, shine, snow, or sleet, she would keep Flyby and herself on a strict training schedule. As far as she was concerned, she had a lot more to learn about being a jockey than Flyby had to learn about being a champion racehorse.

  At four-thirty, she came down to the kitchen and stopped just inside the door to stare in shock at the elderly housekeeper. “Carmela, why you look . . . you look wonderful. That hairstyle is very becoming. I like your dress, too. What’s come over you?”

  Carmela blushed like a girl. “I treated myself to what they call ‘the works’ yesterday. I realized I let myself go. Sometimes it takes someone like Smitty to wake a person up. I don’t think I could ever dress as . . . flamboyantly as she does, though.”

  Nealy’s brows knitted in confusion. “I’m getting the feeling you think you’re in competition with her. But why?”

  Carmela lifted her shoulders and sighed. “You might as well know. I’ve been seeing one of the grooms, Vince Edwards, for a couple of months now. He’s a few years younger than me, in his late sixties, but he doesn’t seem to think that’s a problem. He’s a good man, and I think I’m falling in love with him; but I don’t know if he feels the same about me. All I know is that he can’t take his eyes off Smitty whenever he sees her outside. It’s not her fault. Smitty is what Smitty is, and there’s obviously no changing it. But I wanted him to look at me like that, so I decided to fix myself up.”

  Nealy couldn’t have been more surprised if Carmela had told her she was going to become an exotic dancer. “Well, you certainly did. You look like a new woman, a woman about ten years younger, I might add.”

  Carmela’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Nealy headed for the coffeepot. “Really,” she said, anticipating her first taste of the dark, rich brew. As soon as she’d taken a few sips and felt human again, she turned and gave Carmela a hug. “I’m happy for you, Carmela. I hope it all works out. Remember, the only person you have to answer to is yourself.” Nealy sat down at the table and sipped her coffee, savoring the flavor. She drank coffee off and on all day long, but it never tasted the same as that first cup in the morning. “Listen, do you think you could find time today to make me a little birthday cake? Emmie and Buddy will expect one after dinner.” At Carmela’s nod, she continued. “Just put one candle on it. No, put two, one for each of the kids to blow out.”

  “What about dinner? You want anything special?”

  Nealy pursed her lips, thinking. “No. I don’t want anybody fussing. Just a regular dinner and then the cake.”

  “Chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Chocolate. Chocolate frosting, too,” she said, mentally counting the calories. Tonight she would splurge, but after that she would have to start a strict diet. This morning when she stepped on the scales she weighed 122 pounds, ten pounds over the ideal weight for a jockey. Over the weekend she would have to have a long talk with Carmela and see if they couldn’t come up with a new, low-fat way of eating. Considering Carmela’s new love interest, it seemed reasonable that she would also be interested in losing a few pounds. As for herself, she had two years to lose the weight, but she suspected it would be a struggle because she loved to eat.

  She would also have to start some sort of rigorous exercise program to build strength, endurance and power. A good jockey needed to be a good athlete first. Shoemaker had been called one of the greatest athletes ever to sit astride a horse. Laffit Pincay Jr. was built like a miniature Venice Beach muscleman. Nealy had done hard physical labor all her life, so she wasn’t a softy, but she also wasn’t nearly as fit as she needed to be. In the few times she’d raced Stardancer against the stopwatch, she’d learned that it was no easy thing to control a half-ton horse that was flying around the racetrack at forty miles an hour.

  “I’m going to take this little cup of coffee with me down to the barn. After you put the kids on the bus, will you please bring me another cup? I’ll be in with Flyby.” She turned in mid-stride. “Oh, and, don’t wear an apron, Carmela.” She winked to make her point. Carmela laughed but nodded. “Happy birthday, Nealy.”

  Tessie, still the cook at SunStar Farms, set a platter of blueberry pancakes in the middle of the table. Another platter of bacon and sausage followed, along with a bowl of melted butter and one of warm syrup.

  “Today is Nealy’s birthday!” she said, looking boldly down at her employer.

  “Is that supposed to mean something to us?” Josh Coleman growled without looking up.

  “It means it’s your daughter’s birthday.” When there was no response, she turned her gaze on Pyne and Rhy. “It also means it’s your sister’s birthday.” They, at least, had the good grace to look up. “I’d like to send her a birthday card, but I don’t know where to send it,” she said in spite of the old man’s scowl.

  “It’s a day like any other day,” Josh said with a mouth full of food. Tessie could only stare at him. Why she continued to work for the Colemans she didn’t know. Yes, she did. The money. If it wasn’t for the money, more than she could make anywhere else, she would have left a long time ago.

  Pyne pushed his plate toward the center of the table and rested his arms on the tabletop. “How long’s it been now, seven years, eight? I’ve lost count.” He paused for a moment, then continued in a sad voice. “All I know is that Nealy was what made this farm work. She had the touch. I know it, Rhy knows it, and you should know it, too, Pa.”

  “That’s enough out of you, Pyne. One more word, and you’ll feel the back of my hand. Eat your breakfast and get on down to the barn.”

  Pyne started to back his chair away from the table. He didn’t want to be around in case his pa’s temper exploded.

  “Pyne’s right, Pa,” Rhy said. “Windstar could have won the Derby if Nealy had worked him. There were a lot of races our horses co
uld have won if Nealy had worked them. Ever since you drove her away, this place has been going downhill. And it isn’t the horses’ fault. God knows you’ve bought the best of the best.”

  “Shut up!” the elder Coleman shouted, the veins in his neck bulging. In a fit of rage he upended the table, leftover food, melted butter, and sticky syrup scattering in all directions.

  Tessie turned around to see father and sons leave the room at the same time, the elder Coleman in one direction, the two brothers in another. “That’s just dandy,” she grumbled, looking at the mess she now had to clean up. “Just dandy.”

  Pyne stormed to the stallion barn ahead of his brother. “I hate his fucking guts,” he shouted, his fists boxing the air. “Why in the hell do we put up with his shit?”

  Rhy’s face was alive with rage. “Because we want to inherit this place when he dies.”

  “I wish that would be soon. If he keeps working us the way he does, we’ll go before he does.” Pyne slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “I remember Nealy asking me why I let him treat me the way he does, why I didn’t stand up to him and show him what I was made of. I told her it was because I didn’t have her grit, but that’s not true. You just made me realize why . . . we’re greedy bastards. We both put up with his shit because we want his money. I don’t like what that makes us, Rhy. I don’t like it at all.”

  “Then leave,” Rhy said, sitting down on a hay bale.

  Pyne sat down across from him. “Nealy was the one with the guts,” he said. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and looked down at the ground. “I think about her all the time. I think about the way he drove her out, and I think about our part in it.” Terrible regrets assailed him. “I never told you this before, but I don’t think it was a vagrant who attacked our sister. I don’t think she was attacked at all. I think she was sleeping with someone we all know, like maybe Dillon Roland. He was over here a lot back then.”

  “Dillon Roland?” Rhy seemed surprised.

  “Yeah, old Dilly Dally himself. Don’t you remember? He had himself a whole stable of good-looking girls through high school, and he was always in one kind of trouble or another. He also had a daddy who went around cleaning up after him. I’m not saying he’s the one for sure, Rhy. I’m just speculating.” He got up and meandered over to the first stall. “I sure wish I knew what happened to her. It couldn’t have been easy for her, toting a kid around.”

  “If you knew where she was, would you go after her?”

  “Yeah, I would,” Pyne said without hesitation. “We never should have let her go in the first place. We may have been just kids ourselves, but we should have stood up to Pa for her.” He leaned his head back and laughed out loud. “Pa thought she’d come crawling back, but I knew she wouldn’t.” He looked out the end of the breezeway. “For months after she left, I’d see him looking down the road. Even now, after all these years, I catch him staring at the road with a funny look on his face. This morning before you came into the kitchen, I caught him looking at the calendar.” When Rhy gave him a doubting look, Pyne nodded. “Yeah, I did. The son of a bitch remembered it was her birthday. Now, I’m going to ask you the same question you asked me. Would you fetch her back if you knew where she was?”

  “No. Wherever she is, it has to be better than here. God knows anything would be better than here. Maybe she’ll get in touch with us someday. I’d like to see how she turned out, her and the kid.”

  “Emmie,” Pyne said. “The kid’s name is Emmie. And she wasn’t a half-wit.”

  “I know that. Look, for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry I said the things I did to her. I was just sick and tired of Pa being mad at Nealy and taking it out on me. As for . . . Emmie . . . she was actually a smart little kid, but what I could never figure out was if she could cry, why couldn’t she talk? There was nothing wrong with her vocal cords.” He shrugged. “Hey, come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  Pyne nodded and looked through the breezeway to the road. “Happy birthday, Nealy, wherever you are,” he said gruffly.

  “Yeah, happy birthday, sis,” Rhy said.

  Nealy made the rounds one last time before heading up to the house for dinner. She stopped at Stardancer’s stall to give him loving pats to his back. “Flyby and me, we had a good day today, big guy. He’s doing better than I have any right to expect. He’s got heart, that son of yours.” She rubbed Stardancer’s sleek neck and felt him relax. “I’ve been wondering,” she whispered, “how’s it going to look, me being the owner, trainer, and jockey to Flyby? I know there’s no rule that says I can’t be all those things, but that’s not going to stop people from making a fuss.” She hugged the big horse. “I’ve got so much to learn. So very, very much. I pray every night that I don’t foul things up.” Stardancer whickered as if to tell her everything would be all right. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “What would I do if I didn’t have you to talk to, huh? C’mon now, show me you understand everything I just said.”

  When Stardancer bobbed his head up and down, Nealy laughed. She knew the horse didn’t really understand. He was just reacting to the tone of her voice and her own body gestures. Still, it was fun to pretend that he did. “See you in the morning, big boy. Don’t you open this gate either, Stardancer. You can visit Little Lady and Flyby through your stall window.” She wagged her finger at him.

  Stardancer whinnied. It sounded like laughter to Nealy’s ears.

  Nealy’s good humor turned sour when she opened the kitchen door. There were no fragrant smells, no cake sitting on the table, no dinner cooking on the stove. And on top of that, Emmie and Buddy were nowhere in sight. She looked down at her watch. Seven o’clock. “Carmela! Emmie! Buddy!” Damn, where was everyone? She called out a second time and then a third time as she made her way to the living room at the front of the house.

  “Surprise!”

  Nealy grabbed the back of an armchair and blinked at the crowded room.

  Emmie ran up to her. Are you surprised, Mama? she signed, jumping up and down. Smitty did it all. Carmela helped, and so did me and Buddy. Are you happy for your birthday?

  Nealy lowered her head and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “I’m more than happy. I’m delirious!” She looked at the crowd of people filling the living room and foyer. “Thank you, I . . . I had no idea . . .”

  “That’s why it’s called a surprise party,” Smitty said, coming forward. She was elegant in a fire-engine red ensemble that looked like it had been melted onto her.

  When Nealy turned around, she saw even more people spilling into the dining room and hallway. All her employees, and all the temporary ones who had worked for her earlier in the year smiled at her. Even the girls from the Night Gallery were present. Any one of them could have passed for a banker’s secretary. She hugged them all as others shook hands, clapping one another on the back, their faces wreathed in happy smiles.

  At the end of the well-wishers’ line, Nealy threw caution to the winds and planted a kiss on Hunt’s lips that rocked him back on his heels.

  Smitty watched the exchange and winked at Nealy. “Attagirl,” she said, laughing.

  An hour into the party, Smitty whistled for everyone’s attention. “It’s time to give Nealy her present! C’mon,” she said, grabbing Nealy’s hand. “We have to go out on the front porch to see it.” Everyone followed. “It’s from all of us,” she said, opening the door. “Every single person here tonight contributed because no one knew what to give a woman who has everything. We hope you like it. Emmie, honey, turn on the porch lights so your mama can see what love and respect can buy.”

  The second the light went on, Nealy gasped.

  Emmie tugged on her mother’s arm to get her attention. Do you like it, Mama?

  Nealy stared openmouthed at a life-size sculpture of Flyby. “Oh, honey, what’s not to like? I love it,” she squealed.

  Smitty walked down the steps, waving her arms this way and that. “This is our way of sayi
ng we know he’s going to be successful when he makes his run for the roses. We didn’t have enough time to get it cast in bronze before your birthday, so it has to go back. But only temporarily.”

  Nealy’s hands framed her face as she said, “I don’t know what to say. It’s . . . it’s . . .” She swiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her flannel shirt.

  “Nealy Diamond speechless! Now I’ve seen everything,” Hunt quipped. “Let’s drink a toast to Flyby. And then a toast to Nealy to celebrate her birthday!”

  “Hear, hear!”

  Nealy turned around to face her friends and employees. A smile trembled over her lips. “I swear, this is the best birthday ever. Thank you. Thank you all for everything.”

  At eleven o’clock, as soon as Nealy had said her thank-yous to the last guest, she sat down cross-legged on the front porch to stare at the sculpture of Flyby.

  “That’s quite a statue,” she said, cocking her head from right to left to view it from different angles. “It looks just like him, every detail. How’d the artist do it?”

  “Smitty told me to take a picture of Flyby and that the artist would do the rest. I wish you could have seen me. I’m not much of a photographer. Luckily for me that horse is a ham. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he actually posed for me. Anyway, the picture was all the sculptor needed. She worked around the clock to get it to this stage for your birthday. When it’s finished it will be magnificent. We thought you might want to use it to build a sort of monument at the farm’s entrance.”

  “That’s a great idea, Hunt. I love it. But . . . What if Flyby doesn’t win the Derby?”

  “Are you kidding, Nealy? He can’t lose. Not with you training and riding him.”

  Nealy turned her gaze on Hunt and was taken aback by the deep emotion she saw shining in his eyes. The possibility that he was in love with her both excited her and frightened her. “I . . . I hope you’re right,” she stuttered.