North Oak 3- Morning Glory

by Ann Hunter

  Contents

  MERRY GRINCHMAS, FRUIT LOOP

  GULFSTREAM

  MORNING GLORY

  CRASH

  BLACK ICE

  TEARS ON SNOW

  SISTERHOOD

  CALL ME ISHMAEL

  BELONGING

  THE GIFT HORSE

  BULLY FOR YOU

  OAKLAWN

  A HOME FOR MAGS

  TRAINING ALEX

  CLEARBROOK

  HER BABY

  VENUS NIGHTS

  GONE RANK

  FURLONGS TO GO

  CHASING GLORY

  FISH'N'CHIPS

  TWO MASTERS

  FAMILIES ARE FOREVER

  MERRY GRINCHMAS, FRUIT LOOP

  Alex slammed her locker just as her best friend Carol hooked their arms together.

  “You did it,” Carol said with a bright smile. “You survived your first semester of school.”

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief, watching snow fall outside. “Christmas break at last.”

  They started walking toward the bus, weaving their way between other classmates. “I’m so excited,” Carol gushed. “Did you get your report card?”

  Alex reached around to dig through her back pocket. She wasn’t expecting much out of this whole Christmas thing, since she spent her last one in a jail cell. Her fingers found the white slip of paper with her grades on it and passed it to Carol.

  “Mostly B’s and C’s. I’m not sure what they mean really.”

  Carol read the paper and gave Alex’s arm a squeeze. “You did great. I mean you just learned to read a few months ago.”

  Alex smiled wryly, recalling the long summer Carol had spent tutoring her on everything from math to Shakespeare, desperately trying to prepare her for the perils of eighth grade. So far it had been a brain-numbing four months of nonstop homework and mundane routine. The most worthwhile thing she felt she’d done so far was keep Carol’s bully, Brad Hopkins, away, who continued to stalk them, but didn’t dare come too close after Alex had gotten him suspended. Occasionally flipping him off when he was extra obnoxious was about the most fun she got to have in a school day.

  “So what are your plans this weekend?” Carol asked.

  Alex shrugged, pushing through the doors of the school to where the busses waited. “Drink egg nog til my brains explode.”

  Carol laughed softly.

  Alex reshouldered her backpack as they climbed onto the bus. They took a seat together and watched the bus fill up. She liked being with Carol. She made Alex feel like at least some part of her life was calm and steady. She wished they could spend all their time together. “I really don’t care as long as it doesn’t involve homework,” Alex said, “but I think Laura and I are going Christmas shopping tomorrow.”

  “That sounds fun,” Carol said.

  Alex wrinkled her nose. The last time she had been shopping with her foster sister, Laura, it had taken hours just to buy one item in a single store. “Honestly I think I’m just gonna park my butt in the den and watch Christmas movies til I can’t take it anymore.”

  Carol leaned toward her and whispered, “I don’t think that will take long.”

  Alex thought Carol was getting to know her too well. She’d probably be bored out of her mind after two movies. Why did that girl always have to be right? At least she had a few days coming to look forward to where they could just hang out all day.

  The bus finally pulled away from school and Alex leaned her head back against the seat with a big smile. She didn’t think she would enjoy anything more than not having to see that old brick building for a whole three weeks.

  The bus rolled to a stop before big, black iron gates, hugged by wide stone pillars. Wreaths with red bows hung from the stone beneath a cap of snow. Swinging open slowly, the iron gates beckoned Alex back to the old school beauty that was North Oak, one of the oldest racing farms in western Kentucky.

  “I’ll see you in a few days,” she told Carol.

  Alex grabbed her backpack and got off the bus, tromping down the lane to her home.

  Home…

  It still felt strange to call North Oak that, but somehow felt right. She never thought she’d ever really want a home, but North Oak showed her it was everything she wanted.

  The trees lining the land that had once been thick with foliage, now shivered in the sky like bones of a skeleton. Brown fences, stark against endless fields blanketed in white, sectioned off vast paddocks. Alex was pretty sure she’d only seen such a view in those old postcards you sometimes came across, painted so idyllically. To accentuate it, her favorite colt Promenade came into view at the end of the lane, standing in the paddock across from her house. Alex smiled, her eyes drawn to him like the center focus of that winter picture in her head. His own chocolate face, marked boldly by a wide white blaze, looked funny beneath a smattering of snowflakes.

  No artist could have painted the scene better.

  He whinnied to her and shook off snow from the heavy, green blanket on his back. Alex broke into a grin and ran to the fence. She hooked her backpack over a fence post and hopped into the paddock.

  Promenade nipped at her pockets, then butted his head into her. She pushed it away and scratched his neck. Before, she would have greeted him with Hey, dumb horse. But after the Fasig-Tipton sale in October, where he was nearly sold, she vowed never again to call him anything other that a name fit for a prince of the turf.

  When he ambled off, obviously dissatisfied that she had no treats for him, Alex rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, butt head.”

  So much for that prince of the turf thing.

  She watched him drop into a snow drift and have a good roll. His high white stockings, white mane, and blaze further punctuated by the icy flurries. When he got up and shook himself off, he looked like he was covered in a thin layer of glitter.

  Alex thought with the way everything else shimmered, that the Sugar Plum Fairy must have exploded or something, because the sparkle apocalypse was clearly at hand.

  She grabbed her backpack and headed to the house she shared with the Showmans; a house that was starting to feel more like a home, more like a place she was welcomed. Certainly better than the life she’d lived in the hell called Haven a little over a year ago. It felt longer than that, though, and yet it still felt like yesterday.

  Once inside, she dropped her bag by the front door and kicked off her shoes. The whole house welled with the piercing scent of cinnamon and clove, like hot cider on steroids. It was wonderful and overwhelming all at once.

  Alex couldn’t ignore the way it opened up a spot inside her that welcomed this holiday she hadn’t really enjoyed in the past, but was beginning to. Glancing up, she noticed three red stockings hung from the banister of the staircase and one green one.

  She pulled off her wet socks and stepped around to look at the Christmas stockings. The Showmans’ eldest daughter, Laura, came cantering down the stairs and slung her arm around Alex’s neck with a grin. “Isn’t it great?”

  Laura had been one of the first to openly accept and welcome her into the family. Even though she was kind of crazy and annoying, she was slowly boring a soft spot into Alex’s heart.

  She took Laura’s wrist and tried to slip out from her noogie-hold. “Why is it green?”

  “It’s yours.”

  “It looks like The Grinch.”

  “I know. It’s perfect!”

  Alex ducked out from Laura’s arm, but Laura caught her hand and spun her around in a dance. When she let go, Alex tripped toward the den and crashed over the arm of the couch. One thing she had to admit, life with Laura was never boring.

  Alex watched the 16-year-old blonde carry in a big bowl o
f rainbowy cereal O’s and fishing line. She pushed herself up on the couch and sat back against the arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Mom wants us to make decorations for the tree.” Laura looked back at her briefly, threading a few of the cereal hoops onto the string. “Apparently I’m still five.”

  “Why?” Alex watched in curiosity.

  “Because Mom wants our first Christmas together to be perfect, since you didn’t get to have one with us last year.” She wrinkled her nose playfully. “Aren’t you the special one.”

  She handed Alex some of the fishing line, and lifted the bowl on to the couch. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

  Alex reached into the bowl, grabbed a handful of the colorful cereal, and shoved it into her mouth. She reached for the TV remote and turned the television on, searching for something decent to watch.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Laura said.

  Alex stuck out her purple-blue stained tongue, littered with cereal pieces, but then started to thread a few new pieces onto the fishing line. There was something soothing about the brainlessness of it; watching TV and stringing the cereal.

  She wasn’t too sure how to feel about the whole big family Christmas thing, since she’d never really had one before. Even last year in jail she hadn’t thought much about it, save for how dumb and pathetic a lot of the decorations looked around the detention center. A sad excuse for holiday cheer.

  But being involved this year, as part of the Showmans’ family, felt nice. Comfortable even. She didn’t want to admit it, but Alex kind of liked it.

  When they had a full string, they carried it over to the tree in the corner and hung it. It sort of looked funny against the various, odd knick-knacky ornaments the Showmans had collected over the years. And yet it looked like it belonged.

  Alex glanced at Laura, then back at the tree, feeling like a string of fruit loop that sort of fit, but still stuck out. Laura hung her arm over Alex’s neck again.

  “You’re one of us now, kid.”

  One of them. Alex couldn’t stop the smile that slowly crept over her face. “A fruit loop?”

  Laura grinned and leaned her head against Alex’s. “Darn tootin’.”

  And Alex let herself go in this moment, squashed by the scent of fruity cereal, sticky pine, and Christmas spice, and a crazy girl who was convinced they’d always been sisters.

  GULFSTREAM

  Brooke Merrsal crouched near the outside rail of Gulfstream Park, sifting the track’s soft loam of dirt and clay through her fingers. A solid three inches of cushion for racehorses to rush by on.

  She squinted across the track to a pair of trainees and rose, brushing her hands off. She leaned back on the rail behind her, ears acutely tuned to the ticking of her grandfather’s stopwatch as he watched the horses.

  Brooke was glad she had decided to spend her Christmas vacation off from school with Pop. He had brought several of North Oak’s runners down to Florida for the winter meet. Brooke thought it would be a great opportunity to make connections of her own by exercise riding for trainers outside of North Oak.

  When they saw her ride for her grandfather early on, they quickly picked her up and started having her work their own horses and cool them out. She smiled. Two weeks of riding for other owners and trainers. It was the first taste of reaching for her goals of training her own string of racers someday.

  And it definitely hadn’t hurt her savings account back home either. Her handicapping was improving too, especially when she knew how each horse ran after riding them in the mornings. Whenever she was able to, she’d slip off to place bets during races. They never carded her because of her height. Being tall had its advantages.

  It wasn’t a lot of money, just a couple of bucks here and there. She didn’t think Pop would find out. At least she hoped he didn’t.

  “The track feels good today, Pop.”

  Her grandfather, Joe Hendricks, merely grunted.

  Brooke tipped her head back, soaking in the sun. It was such a nice change from North Oak where heathered, winter skies currently held court.

  “I picked up a couple more rides with McGill. He’s got a filly he wants me to try out in a bit. Said he’d bring her round after these two are done.”

  Joe grumbled something off colored about the other trainer and clicked his stop watch as the pair of horses finished their workout. He pushed back from the rail and ambled down the track, leaving Brooke on her own.

  She didn’t mind that either, the whole being alone. It was a nice change from having to cook and clean for him all the time at home. Here, there was none of that. The track kitchen made your food, and her grandfather preferred to sleep in a converted tack room in the barn North Oak retained.

  She was reveling in it all when the track siren sounded, alerting all personnel of a horse on the loose. Brooke leveled her gaze across the track. A bay horse had broken away from its groom and was galloping free, reins flapping almost cartoonishly.

  It barreled around the turn toward Brooke. She glanced up and down the track, looking for the outriders, but they were far behind the horse. Any other person would have jumped out of the way, but Brooke leapt into the horse’s path with her arms stretched. She grabbed the reins and hauled back on them, getting dragged down the track a few feet.

  “Easy, easy, easy,” she called to the horse.

  It wheeled around, snorting, tossing its mane, all rolly white-eyed and feisty. Brooke laid her hand on the sweaty shoulder, and spoke calmly, just loud enough to be heard. “Whoa. You’re alright.”

  The horse danced at the end of the reins, swinging its haunches around. A touch of fire flared in its nostrils. Brooke shortened the distance between them, rubbing her hand against the horse’s head.

  A man with a goatea jogged up to them, huffing. “I’m glad it was you that caught her.”

  Brooke offered the reins to him. “No problem, Mr. McGill.”

  He braced his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He shook his head. “Hang on to those. You’ll need ‘em.”

  Brooke looked between McGill and the horse. McGill straightened. “This is the filly I told you about. Morning Glory. She’s set to race this weekend.”

  She looked at the filly and smiled. “Hi.”

  Morning Glory head butted her, sneezing on Brooke’s sleeve.

  Brooke looked at McGill. “You didn’t happen to clock her did you? She was going breezing speed.”

  McGill finally straightened and shook his head. “Why don’t you walk her back to the barn though. I don’t want to press my luck with this one.”

  “Is she not sound?” Brooke’s eyebrow raised.

  “It’s not that, it’s just…” A static sound buzzed from his back pocket. He reached around and pulled out a walkie talkie. “Sorry,” he apologized to Brooke, then pushed the button on the device. “Yeah?”

  Brooke and the filly regarded eachother. “Morning Glory, huh?” Brooke smiled. She tugged on the reins and headed toward McGill’s barn.

  She led her around until Morning Glory’s coat felt cool to the touch again, then filed down the shed row looking for her stall. She stopped to ask a groom who pointed the way.

  When they got there, she lead the filly in and removed the bridle from her. The filly yawned and shook her head, the way you might when you’ve been in the dentist chair too long.

  Brooke hung the bridle over her shoulder and patted the filly on the rump. She backed from the stall, focused on organizing the reins, and bumped hard into someone.

  “So sorry,” said a tenor voice with an accent that wasn’t quite British, but it was the closest one Brooke could place it to.

  She turned and was met with eyes the color of milk chocolate, a cocky smile, and black, floppy hair. Her knees trembled for a moment.

  “I…” she stammered, “I didn’t see you.”

  “Hmm,” he simply said, but with a note of amusement. His hand jutted out. “I’m Dejado.”

  Brooke looked at it lik
e she’d forgotten what a handshake is. It took a second, but she met it with her own. “Brooke Merrsal.”

  His tan skin had a subtle softness to it, like he hadn’t seen a lot of work, but enough to make him seem like he belonged around here. She stared into his eyes, feeling sort of puddly.

  His hand slid from hers and rubbed the back of his neck. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, revealing a hint of a dimple. “Well. I’ll see you around,” he said, dipping his head, but keeping his eyes on hers. “Brooke Merrsal.”

  Brooke stood there with her hand still in mid-air, then staggered back against Morning Glory’s stall. The filly stuck her head out and nabbed a mouth full of hay from her haynet.

  Brooke shook her head, as though she had been in a daze. What was all that nonsense that hit her? That wasn’t her, was it?

  She leaned forward slightly to see Dejado glancing over his shoulder at her as he rounded the corner of the barn and disappeared from sight.

  The following morning, Brooke found her grandfather in his usual place by the rail, already timing trainees and working through a styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “Morning, Pop.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and produce a slip of paper for her. “McGill.”

  She unfolded it and squinted. Since it was still early and dark out, it was hard to read the words. She strolled down the rail a ways until she stood under one of the tall floodlights towering over the track. McGill had given her a list of mounts for the morning.

  She scanned down it and grinned when she saw Morning Glory’s name on it. She walked back to her grandfather, grasping the rail and leaning back, with her arms extended, until her toes turned skyward. “Y’need anything from me this morning?”

  “Clean the tack when you’re done.”

  She nodded. “Got it.”

  Brooke jogged off to McGill’s stable and found Morning Glory cross-tied in the aisle while her groom finished cinching her saddle. Brooke pulled her helmet on, fastening the latch, and gave the filly scritches.

  McGill came round the corner, head bowed and talking with Dejado. Brooke looked away quickly, before he noticed her flush. She offered her foot for a leg up, and McGill boosted her in the saddle. She gathered the reins and looked down at him. Dejado still stood beside him.