by Ann Hunter
“Dejado here’s going to be a pacemaker for you and Mags,” McGill said as the groom unclipped the cross ties.
“Stay just off his flank until the three-eighths pole, then bring her up beside him. Get her eye to eye with the other horse for two furlongs, then turn her loose. Got it?”
Brooke stayed focused on McGill, even though she couldn’t help notice the smile on Dejado’s face from the corner of her eye.
They walked toward the track where they waited for Dejado to catch up on his mount, a roany gray gelding with a long white stripe on his face and a dash of pink between his nostrils.
He bumped into Brooke and Morning Glory, then fell into stride with them.
Brooke hoped her poker face was good enough to hide the blush that wanted to invade her when Dejado’s knee knocked into hers.
He fastened his helmet, holding his whip. “How long have you been riding?” he asked in that subtle accent she still couldn’t place.
She swallowed, her mouth oddly dry. “My whole life. You?”
“Long enough to get my jockey license.”
“Soooo… yesterday?”
He chuckled. “You’re funny.”
Dejado rose into his stirrups and sent his horse jogging up the track. Brooke let the blush overtake her. Morning Glory shook her head, and Brooke felt like the filly was noting how ridiculous she was acting.
She scooted in the saddle and clucked Morning Glory, or Mags as McGill called her, forward.
She moves nice, Brooke noted as the filly glided over the track. Morning Glory was a smooth ride, far nicer than she looked like she could be from the ground.
After they warmed up, Brooke crouched over the filly’s shoulders and started chasing Dejado. He was a good five lengths ahead of them. She smiled at the filly’s rhythm, a quick turn over and lungs as deep as the sea. Brooke was liking her more and more with every stride.
They closed in on the other two, and Brooke held the filly near the gray gelding’s flank like McGill asked her. The ground raced by in a blur of silver and brown, darkening only under long shadows of galloping horses.
She kneaded her knuckles against the filly’s neck, asking her for another gear. Morning Glory didn’t hesitate and picked up the pace, drawing even with the duo until they were abreast with them.
Brooke could see the very edge of eye white as Morning Glory stared the gelding down. A rush of giddy ran through Brooke. This filly had it all, even the ol’ stink eye. How did she get so lucky to get on her?
She gave her her head and chirped to her, letting her know it was time to go. They pulled away from Dejado and his mount, and Brooke could feel the stopwatch counting down for their breeze. The arms on her hair stood on end beneath her favorite green jacket, and the prickle of chilly wind buffeted her cheeks.
She ducked as low as she could to help the filly be as aerodynamic as possible, and stayed out of her way. Morning Glory took off like a bullet bike. Brooke laughed aloud.
“You are amazing, girlie girl!” she told the filly.
They rounded the bend and finished the workout. Brooke rose in the stirrups and let the filly run herself out. When she met McGill at the rail, he was all smiles.
“I knew you were the right choice for her.”
Dejado rode up beside them, his gelding pulling the reins through his fists. He raised a hand to high five Brooke. She didn’t have time to think and met him in the air. She rubbed Morning Glory’s neck vigorously.
“She’s so cool. Thank you for this opportunity. What race is she in?”
“The first claimer.”
Brooke’s eyebrow raised. She didn’t know whether to be excited or concerned. “That’s only a fifteen-thou tag. Why a claimer?”
McGill wrapped his finger around the rail so tightly his knuckles matched the paint. He stretched against it with a noise that sounded like he might faint.
Wait, she thought. Only fifteen thousand. Could North Oak claim her?
“You know what?” Brooke said, avoiding Dejado’s gaze on her. “Forget I said anything. I’ll keep riding this girl for you anytime.”
McGill looked up, hopefully. “Really?”
Brooke dismounted and pulled the saddle and pad from the filly’s back. “Of course.”
“Thank you!” McGill shouted.
Brooke shook her head like it was no big deal. What in the world was he so worried about?
She cringed as she walked away when Dejado murmured, “Goodbye Brooke Merrsal.”
Even though she couldn’t see him, she felt like she had eyes on the back of her helmet. And that cocky smile with the dimple would not be ignored. It was all she saw in her head as she walked away.
Brooke had never really minded cleaning tack. There was something comforting about throwing yourself into quiet, detailed work. She often did her best thinking while cleaning saddles.
She thought about Morning Glory and how nice a filly she was. She was fast and moved well, so why was McGill so anxious about her? What was the catch?
If Brooke had the cash, she’d drop it on Morning Glory’s claiming ticket. It would be so cool to have her own horse to train. She knew she still couldn’t get her trainer’s license for at least another year and a half, but couldn’t she put Pop down as the trainer and do all the work herself? How hard would it be to get an owner’s license?
She scrubbed the saddle she was working on harder, frustrated that she didn’t already know the answer to these questions. She hadn’t really thought about claiming horses for herself before, at least not seriously. She’d been there when Pop signed claiming tickets for North Oak, but he had licenses and agent authority for the farm. There was a lot of paperwork behind that, that she hadn’t really studied.
It was like getting cut by a thorn in a patch of roses. A missing stepping stone in her path. She would either have to beg Pop to help, or find a way to do it herself.
“Careful now. You’ll put a hole in it.”
Brooke looked up to see Dejado in the doorway, she realized she had been scrubbing the saddle too hard and had ground away the beautiful color of the leather in a patch.
Dejado smirked, taking the scrubber from her hand. Brooke was entranced by the tingle she felt when his fingers brushed hers.
“I think you cleaned the hell out of it,” he said.
He grabbed a dirty saddle and sat down beside her, and began cleaning it.
Brooke pressed her fingertips against the wooden tack box she sat on, trying to shoo away the tingles so she could think straight again. “If you’re looking for work, we can’t pay you.”
Dejado shrugged, a calm smile still stuck on his handsome face. “I wasn’t.”
Brooke self consciously tucked her hair behind her ears and rose to grab another saddle. Why was he here if he wasn’t looking for work? Did he like her? They didn’t know eachother. Brooke glanced over her shoulder to him. She wanted to know him.
She sat on a tack box across from him and started working on the saddle in her lap. “What brings you to Gulfstream?”
“Same as you. Horses.”
“You’re not from around here, though.”
He shook his head.
“Where are you from?” Brooke asked.
He paused and raised his dark eyes to her. Sitting up straighter, he tilted his head to one side with a funny smile. “I’d rather talk about you.”
Brooke gulped. “Why me?”
“Where are you from? You don’t sound like anyone around here either.”
Brooke’s face scrunched. “What? Of course I sound like other people here.”
Dejado shook his head. “Your accent is funny.”
“My accent?” Brooke’s mouth hung open. “Do you hear yourself talking?”
His smile grew until that maddening dimple came out of hiding. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She thought she could sit there and argue away that he was the one with the accent. He was the one who sounded funny. But maybe she sounded fun
ny to him. “Why would I tell you where I’m from if you won’t tell me the same?”
He tilted his head the other way. “You want to get a cheeseburger later?”
Brooke gritted her teeth, suddenly feeling a bit put off by his avoiding questions. She quickly finished scrubbing the saddle in her lap and rose. “I’m vegetarian.”
She turned on him in the doorway. “And you’re kinda forward, and… stuff. Y’know that?”
His grin was roguish. “Am I, Brooke Merrsal?”
“Yes, Dejado…” She snapped, “Gah, I don’t even know your last name.”
“Fish’n’chips.”
“What?”
Dejado set the saddle he had been cleaning aside. “I’ll tell you over fish and chips.”
“I just told you I’m vegetarian. I don’t like meat.”
“Then what do you eat?”
“Same thing as the horses.”
Dejado’s face widened. “Bloody Hell, you eat hay?”
Brooke punched the door frame. “Plants, Prince Charming. Plants.”
He laughed. “Are you sure you won’t come have lunch with me?”
Brooke looked down the barn aisle to see her grandfather walking this way. She had to talk to him about Morning Glory, and get away from this boy who drove her crazy. She grimaced.
Dejado shrugged. “That’s alright. You probably wouldn’t believe who I was even if I told you.”
Brooke backed away slowly. She didn’t know if she even believed him now. See ya round, Fish’n’chips.
As the barn shrank in the distance behind her, she couldn’t keep her mind off of him. Why wouldn’t he answer her questions? What was he hiding?
Luckily she caught a glimpse of Morning Glory being led toward one of the backside sandpits for a good roll in the dirt. Brooke smiled, glad for the distraction. She had to find Pop and tell him about her.
MORNING GLORY
Brooke found her grandfather up in the clocker’s corner, a small box overlooking the track where trainer’s could get a better view of their steeds.
Terse lines radiating from his eyes and mouth outlined the binoculars he squeezed to his face. Brooke didn’t want to bother him til he was ready, so she leaned against the wall beside him. When she felt confident that the horse he was clocking had passed, she cleared her throat. “I want to talk to you.”
“Huh?” he grunted.
“There’s a filly I want to claim. She’s racing Saturday.”
Joe leaned to scratch some notes on a paper. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Brooke rubbed her toe against the floor. “Oh, I dunno. Help me claim her?”
“Which one?”
“That filly I rode this morning for McGill. Her name’s Morning Glory.”
Joe slowly lowered the binoculars and gave Brooke an icy stare.
“What?” she asked innocently.
He shook his head. “You don’t want that filly.”
“I rode her this morning. She’s amazing.”
“One ride doesn’t make you an expert on a horse. I’ve been around this track a lot longer than you have. Trust me, you don’t want that horse.”
“Well why not?”
Joe lifted the binoculars to his face again. “She’s unreliable. You’d be wasting my time and North Oak’s money.”
“Oh, c’mon, Pop. Don’t you think it’s about time I started getting some experience actually training horses before I get my license?”
“It’s not about that.”
“At least come with me to look at her.”
Joe remained silent
Brooke shook her head. She couldn’t understand. What was so unreliable about Morning Glory that he wouldn’t even look at her?
“You don’t believe me,” he said sternly, “fine. But don’t get your hopes up until you see her race.”
“What do you know that I don’t, old man? Can’t you just tell me?”
He lowered his binoculars again, allowing them to hang from his neck. His eyes narrowed. “It’s better if you see for yourself.”
Brooke swung from Morning Glory’s back a few days later. She beamed at Mr. McGill. Once again, the filly had been stellar.
A groom took Morning Glory to cool her out and bathe her. Brooke turned to McGill. “I’m crazy about her.”
He rubbed his goatea. “Yeah?”
“I want to claim her. You know my grandfather, and the farm we work for. She’d have a great home.”
McGill started off toward the barns, motioning for her to follow.
“But Pop says she’s unreliable, and he won’t pick her up.”
“Really?” He wouldn’t look at her.
Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason? Is there anything wrong with her? Anything we should be aware of?”
McGill made that same funny noise he had the other day when he looked like he might faint.
“Is she unsound?”
“Noooo,” McGill said. “No, nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll talk to you later.” He hurried off, calling after one of his grooms.
Brooke’s fingers wound into fists. What was wrong with Morning Glory? She seemed perfect.
“Hello, Brooke Merrsal.”
She turned to see Dejado riding past. Fish’n’chips. “Hey.”
He brightened when she acknowledged him. “Guess what. I picked up a couple of rides for Saturday. You’ll come watch me, right?”
Brooke swallowed, feeling dizzy between the gnawing in her stomach over Morning Glory and the butterflies Fish’n’Chips gave her. It only made her more flustered. An awkward warmth swam up her neck to her cheeks. “Yeah, sure. We’ll have to go celebrate after.”
His grin stretched, revealing those awful dimples. “Fish and chips?”
Brooke rubbed the back of her head, fingers digging into her hair. “Fish’n’chips.”
She watched him amble off of his mount and turned back tot he stable. She felt disoriented for a minute between the swimmy head and pit in her stomach. Morning Glory was being led into her stall and Brooke went to her.
The filly punched her muzzle into the blue bag of hay hanging near her door and munched contentedly. Brooke gazed into her bright eyes and tugged her black forelock.
“I don’t get it, Mags,” Brooke said. “I’ve been on you twice and you’re fantastic. Why don’t they believe in you like I do?”
From the corner of her eye, Brooke saw McGill coming down the breezeway. She noogied the filly’s nose and spun off to talk to him.
“Mr. McGill?”
The trainer saw her coming toward him and ducked around a corner.
“Mr. McGill!”
She looked both ways for him when she reached the aisle he turned down, but he had vanished. Why were they brushing her off like this? She looked over her shoulder at Morning Glory who blinked back, hay hanging from her mouth comically.
Brooke wasn’t sure if she could stand the pit in her stomach for another twenty-four hours.
The familiar scent of liniment, freshly bathed horses, and hamburgers roasting from the grandstands in the distance washed over Brooke as she wandered the backside. The races were starting in just over an hour and she wanted to wish Morning Glory luck.
The bay filly stuck her head over the stall guard, ears perked and bright eyed. She nickered to Brooke as she approached. Brooke smiled, feeling even more drawn to her. She reached for her dark mane and slid her hand underneath it. Morning Glory head butted her chest.
“I’ve been on good horses, Mags. Horses who have won big stakes races and lots of money. You move just as nice as they do, I know you’ll be great today.”
Morning Glory blinked at her, then nibbled her pockets, searching for treats.
Brooke scratched the filly’s forehead. “After. Lots of peppermints after.”
“Scuze me,” said a groom who stepped in between them. He slipped a halter on the filly and led her from the stall. Brooke pat
ted Morning Glory’s rump as she passed, trying to keep herself convinced that McGill and Pop were overreacting or something. She tucked her lip and leaned back on her heels, not sure at all what would happen.
She spent the next half hour scanning the racing form, deciding whether or not she wanted to sneak any bets in. When she came to Morning Glory’s form, her brow wrinkled. Great morning workout times, but the best the filly had done was fifth in another claiming race.
Brooke snapped the magazine shut, chewing her lip again. She rolled the form up and stuffed it into her back pocket and made her way to the clubhouse.
The announcer’s voice echoed over the track, announcing changes in the upcoming races. The smell of burgers and hot dogs was even stronger now that Brooke stood right by the grandstands. She wrinkled her nose.
Old men with cigars, bulbous noses, and ugly golf shirts leaned against the rail, skimming their racing forms. Women dressed colorfully rested on benches across the grandstand’s apron. Brooke sort of liked the odd mishmash of them all. She made her way to the walking ring where she recognized Morning Glory already tacked up.
The filly looked slick with gold-trimmed black blinkers dashed with a lightning bolt between her eyes. Brooke felt bolstered about that, like the lightning bolt might be lucky. A lightning bolt for a fast horse.
When Morning Glory passed by in the walking ring, she swung her head toward Brooke. Her jockey approached, his dark silks matching Morning Glory’s blinkers, and bounced into the saddle with the aid of McGill who walked beside them. McGill’s face was pink and strained as he issued instructions. The jockey nodded calmly, gathering the reins, and lacing some of Morning Glory’s mane into his knuckles.
When the outrider took over, leaving McGill alone in the ring, the trainer braced his hands on his knees and exhaled a long breath. He caught sight of Brooke and offered a wavering smile. Brooke didn’t smile back. He’d been acting odd all week. Why couldn’t they just tell her what was supposed to be wrong with Morning Glory?
The filly looked great as she warmed up on the track. But as the betting odds flashed on the tote board, Brooke’s stomach sank with Morning Glory’s dismal odds.
