by K. Rowe
At the end of the row, he heard the rattle of plastic and childlike giggling. He stepped back from the stall and peered down the aisle. Cindy was outside War Monger’s stall.
“Cindy! Get away from that horse!” He hurried down to her.
She smiled and laughed. “Look, Daddy, he likes gummies!” Taking one from the bag, she held it flat on her hand.
Evan cringed as he watched his daughter offer the candy. War Monger stuck his head out, bent down, and gently plucked the gummy from her hand. He chewed it, bobbing his head up and down because of the strange texture.
Cindy giggled. “See, he likes them!”
Evan studied the horse. For once, the beast’s ears were pricked, and his eyes appeared calm. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly. Perhaps this was a way to get through to him. He’d never seen such a stubborn horse in all his life.
“Here, Daddy, you wanna give him one?” Cindy offered the bag. He took one out, put it flat on the palm of his hand, and gingerly moved it toward the horse. War Monger sniffed his hand, then took the candy.
He knelt down and put his arms around Cindy. “My dear, I think you figured out how to tame the wild beast.” Evan planted a kiss on her cheek. “So help me God, if I have to buy every gummy in the state of Kentucky to keep this horse happy, I will!”
Cindy gave the horse another candy. War Monger took it, chewed it, then lowered his head again, nudging at her. “Does he want me to pet him?” she asked.
“It looks like it. Be careful, please, he hasn’t always been very nice.”
“He’s been nice to me, Daddy.”
“Please, just be careful. You’ve been taught better about horses. They’re big animals that can hurt you if you’re not careful.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Later the next morning, Evan returned from town. He parked near the barn and hopped out. Grabbing a large paper bag from the passenger seat, he tromped into the office. Stopping in front of Tom’s desk, he tipped the bag, pouring out dozens of bags of gummies.
“The possible solution to taming the wild beast,” Evan announced proudly.
“What?” Tom picked up a packet and looked at it.
“Yesterday, when I was taking my walk, I caught Cindy outside of War Monger’s stall.”
Tom gasped. “Uh, oh.”
“She was feeding these to the damn horse!”
“The horse ate gummies?”
“Yes, and he likes ’em.” Evan took a pack and ripped it open. “Come.” He led the way down the aisle to stall 24. War Monger had his head out, a less-than-polite expression on his face.
“Hey, you big beast, want some goodies?” He crinkled the plastic between his fingers. The horse’s ears pricked forward and he craned his neck to get them. Tipping a candy onto his palm, Evan offered it. War Monger gently plucked the treat and chewed it down.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tom said softly.
“Maybe you can use these as rewards for good behavior.” He handed over the bag.
“A bit unorthodox, but at this point I’m willing to try just about anything.”
“They aren’t bad for him, are they?”
Tom popped one into his mouth, then offered another to War Monger. “Naw, given with discretion, I think it’ll be okay.”
Evan gently reached out and gave the horse a pat on the forehead. “Let’s see how he does with these…Do you have him on the schedule for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, we work with him after the morning gallops.”
“All right. I won’t be able to watch; I have to go to the airport. Ginger’s flying in.”
Tom growled lowly. “Oh, great, the chick jock arrives.”
5
War Monger stood in the round pen. Tito crept up, his pockets stuffed to the max with gummies. Miguel kept to the center of the pen, out of the way. Outside, Tom and Bradley looked on. “Nice and slow, Tito, nice and slow,” Tom said.
“Yes, boss,” he replied, reaching into his pocket. War Monger pricked his ears, licking his lips; he knew a goodie was coming. Tito offered the treat; the horse took it. “There, that’s a good boy.” He gave the colt a gentle stroking on the neck. “Miguel, lemme have the bridle again.”
“Okay.” Miguel brought it to him. “Hope it goes better than the last time.”
After War Monger’s first outing with tack and rider, he’d been quite resistant to the whole idea. Tom realized the colt would take more time; far more than most horses. He also discovered the horse to be extremely intelligent, which wasn’t always a good thing. More creative ways of training would need to be employed with him—and roughness or violence was completely out of the question.
Tito brought the bridle up for War Monger to smell. The colt sniffed it, nudged it a few times with his nose, and didn’t seem particularly worried. Giving him a treat for good behavior, Tito then slowly worked the bridle onto the colt’s head. Once it was on, another treat, some petting, and soft, kind words. “Good boy, good boy.” He turned to Tom. “Want me to walk him?”
“Yes, give him ten minutes…And occasionally, if he’s good, give him a treat.”
“Okay, boss.”
“I think just doing the bridle for a few days will make him feel more comfortable. Then we’ll move onto saddle and rider. He’s a smart cookie, but he’s also scared of something. Let’s take it slow.”
“Right, boss. I’m happy he doesn’t attack us when we go in his stall anymore.”
Tom chuckled. “Amazing what a pocketful of gummies will do!” He gave Bradley a nudge, and they headed to the office.
As the head groom, and out with a broken arm, there wasn’t much Bradley could do. So Tom had him busy helping figure out the training schedules. Knowing the young man grew up in the industry like he had, Tom utilized Bradley’s knowledge of the horses to fine tune their workouts.
They’d been working in the office nearly half an hour. Outside, they heard War Monger being returned to his stall, and various familiar stable noises. Then Tom heard the distinctive sound of Evan’s Land Rover approaching. Poking his head from the office doorway, he saw it drawing near. Tom got up and went out, waiting just under the eaves of the roof. He knew Ginger would be arriving today.
Evan went to the Louisville International Airport to pick her up. Tom hoped her abilities were as good as Evan touted her to be. Lord knows they’d gone through a string of jockeys in the last four years. Some were good, most weren’t. They needed someone who could connect with the horses and get them winning.
The car stopped at the barn. Tom wandered into the bright, late morning sun. Evan got out, hurried around, and with a gentlemanly flourish, opened the passenger door.
As soon as Tom laid eyes on the dainty little jockey, his heart began to pound. She was beautiful. Standing all of maybe five foot two, Ginger looked like a fine porcelain doll. And her bright green eyes mesmerized him. She wore a light tan dress printed with large pale green leaves. It clung to some parts of her body, other parts it draped gently over. The dress stopped about her knees, terminating in what looked like a bunch of handkerchiefs dangling from the bottom. She had on dainty white open-toed low heels that had fine straps going around her ankles.
It didn’t take long before three grooms were lined up next to Tom.
“Is that the new jock?” Bradley whispered.
“Yup. And ya’ll treat her like a lady and give her the respect she’s due,” Tom replied, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him.
“Damn, she’s hot,” Miguel said with a low whistle for emphasis.
Tom felt something stirring inside him; yes, she’s definitely hot, he thought. Shaking his head, he tried to snap out of the trance he seemed to be in. She might be hot, but can she ride? he pondered.
Evan escorted her over to the group. “Fellas, this is Ginger de Veoux, she’s to be our new jockey.”
Miguel offered his hand. “Buenos dias, señorita. I am Miguel de Luna.”
“Bonjour,” she replied wit
h her thick French-Canadian accent, giving his hand a firm shake. She went down the line until she reached Tom. “Monsieur.” Her eyes sparkled, she smiled slightly.
“Uh, Ginger, this is my head trainer, Tom Christmas,” Evan said.
“A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur.” She nodded politely, fancying what she saw.
“Uh, likewise,” he replied, giving her hand a little squeeze; a definite discomfort was growing in his faded blue jeans.
Evan went to the back of the car, opening the rear door. “Tom, can you and the boys help Ginger get settled into the guesthouse? I don’t think having her live in the grooms’ quarters would be very fitting.”
“Yes, Sir,” Tom said as he waved at the grooms. “Fellas, how about getting her bags, huh?”
The three grooms hurried off and made short work of getting Ginger’s things into the guesthouse. Tom stayed with Ginger, discretely sizing her up.
After dropping the bags in the guesthouse, the grooms returned to tending the horses, all of them feeling quite hot and bothered by the new jockey.
Evan walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “Ginger, I’ll leave you to get settled, if you need anything, give a holler.”
“Merci, Monsieur.”
Tom wasn’t sure what to do. He was smitten by her beauty, but he also had things to get done. “Uh, well, I guess I’ll take my leave of you. I got horses to look after.”
Making a hasty exit, he went back to his office. Sitting down at the desk, he took a few slow, deep breaths. Oh, she was beautiful all right, he pondered, the discomfort in his jeans refusing to lessen. He tried to divert his mind to paperwork, but it wasn’t working. Ginger stayed firmly on his mind.
Parking the car in front of the house, Evan sat behind the wheel for a few moments trying to regain his composure. Deep inside, he wished Ginger wouldn’t have been so beautiful. He hoped, with time, his feelings for her would lessen. He was a loyal family man, but this woman appeared to be the devil that would test him.
Climbing out, he went into the house. He found Suzanne on the patio, reading a book, and taking in the sun. “Hello, my beautiful,” he said, leaning down, giving her a kiss.
“Back so soon?”
“It wasn’t a bad trip. The flight came in on time, so there were no delays. Ginger’s settling into the guesthouse.”
“Will she be coming over here for dinner?”
“Uh, tonight, at least. Tomorrow I’ll take her to the grocery store so she can buy her own food.” He sat down across from Suzanne. “She’ll have use of the farm truck for personal errands until she gets a car.”
Evan was doing his best to find ways to distance himself from Ginger; he figured it’d be better for all of them. And as much as he loved Suzanne, he also knew she tended to be the jealous type.
“A female jockey, huh?” she said, not looking up from her reading.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I’d figure you’d want a male jockey, they’re tougher.”
“Ginger’s pretty tough, and I saw the way she rode her races. She’s a good, solid rider with a lot of skill.”
“Is she cute?”
“What?” Evan was flabbergasted his wife would be that brazen.
“I said, is she cute?”
He frowned. “Why should it matter to you? She’s an employee, that’s all.”
“Oh, you think I don’t notice how the women look at you when you’re at the track?”
“They look and that’s it… Suzanne, I love you with all my heart. As long as we’ve been together, there’s never been another woman; I promise.”
“So, is she cute?”
“It doesn’t matter. I hired her for her riding skills.”
Suzanne waved her hand as if to dismiss Evan. “Since you won’t tell me, I’ll find out for myself at dinner tonight.”
Evan got up, realizing it was a losing battle, and headed inside the house. He sensed her displeasure with his choice; he hoped it would all work out.
Ginger finished unpacking and went to the stables. She wanted to meet the horses she’d be riding. Dinner would be in an hour, so she had a little free time.
Starting at the first stall, Ginger read the horse’s name on the stall card. Then she would observe the animal and if they stuck their head out, she’d give them some attention and soft, kind words. Working her way down the aisle, she noticed a few names she recognized; one she’d even ridden against a year ago.
Going around the corner, she stopped at Lost Wanderer’s stall. The big gray nickered softly to her. She reached up and stroked his forehead. “Hello, you are a beautiful one.”
“He’s one of our favorites,” Tom said. He’d heard her in the barn and debated if he wanted to talk. Deciding that one way or another, he’d eventually have to, he went out. “Wanderer’s a great horse. He’s won eleven of nineteen races…Right now he’s laid up with a tendon injury.”
“Good record.”
“He’s got two Grade One wins at Keeneland.”
“I hope he recovers well; I like riding grays.”
Tom reached up and brushed his fingers through the gray hair on his left temple. “So, Ginger, how long have you been riding?”
“Mmm, almost twelve years.”
“Really? Geez, I woulda swore you weren’t more than twenty.”
She giggled. “No, twenty-eight.”
He braced his arm against the door frame, leaning against it. “You hold your age very well.”
Ginger looked at Tom, seeing his blue-green eyes shining back at her. She wasn’t sure how old he was, but he carried himself in a mature manner. Truly, she found him quite attractive. “Monsieur, you are too kind.”
“Tom, please, call me Tom.” He straightened up, brushing his hands down his shirt. After a day in the barn, he was dirty and smelly. Ginger didn’t seem to mind. Butterflies flipped in his stomach. He didn’t quite know what to do with such a beautiful woman. Well, he knew, but he didn’t want to be so forward.
Ginger fussed over Wanderer. “How long have you been in Mr. Stoddard’s employ?”
“Oh, pretty much forever…It all started when our great-great-grand papaws teamed up. The Stoddards bought the land and the horses, and my family trained them. Then it came down the line to his pappy and mine, when they retired, we took over. I’ve known Evan all my life.”
She nodded. “Quite a dynasty. And he is a good employer?”
“I can’t speak for other owners, but Evan loves his horses and he takes care of his people…When Wanderer got hurt, he didn’t even bat an eye at the huge vet bills. Paid ’em off, and has done everything in his power to get the horse well so he can run again.”
“So he can win money.”
“Well, that’s a nice side-effect, yes. But Wanderer loves to run; he lives for the roar of the crowd and the sand under his feet. He’s not happy unless he’s running.”
“I like riding those kinds of horses.” She gave the horse a pat on the neck.
“You’ll love riding him, if we can ever get him sound again.” They moved down the aisle until they reached War Monger. “This boy here’s a tough one. His name is War Monger for a reason.”
The colt had his head over the door, a less than savory expression on his face. Tom reached into his pocket and took out a few gummies. Immediately, the horse’s ears went forward and he craned his neck for a treat.
“He doesn’t seem so bad,” Ginger said.
“He’s the one who broke Bradley’s arm—pitched the poor boy clear across the round pen.” Picking out the pocket fuzz, Tom offered a couple treats to the colt. “And it was the boss’s daughter who figured out he liked gummies. So we gotta keep ’em on hand whenever around him. War Monger expects them as part of his training regime.”
Ginger reached up and gave the colt a gentle pat on the head. “Really, he doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Oh, you shoulda seen him when he arrived. He went nuts! Tried to kill the grooms on the horse van, b
it me, and when we did get him into a stall, he spent nearly five hours kicking and bashing the stall to bits.”
“He’s a horse with spirit. How does he run?”
“We don’t know, can’t even get a rider on him yet.”
She played with War Monger’s forelock. “Hmm, big boy, we shall see about that.”
“Oh, no, Evan would never have you breaking in the young stock—too dangerous. You’ll be riding the horses that are heading to the track.”
“I grew up breaking horses. I only became a jockey at my father’s urging.” Ginger stepped a little closer to Tom. “This is something I’m good at, and love…I’ll ask Monsieur Stoddard at dinner tonight.”
“And I bet ya he’ll say no.”
“But if I am to ride these horses on the track, would it not be an advantage if I knew them from breaking to racing?”
“Yes, but I’m sure Evan will argue with you about that.”
6
There was an uneasy silence at the Stoddard dinner table. Evan really wished the meal would be over. He’d noticed Suzanne took an immediate dislike to Ginger. He felt confident her deep-rooted jealousy had kicked in. She remained silent most of the evening.
The only one who seemed blissfully ignorant to the tension in the room was Cindy. She gabbed with Ginger, asking all sorts of questions.
“Miss Ginger? How many races have you won?” Cindy asked.
“Oh, maybe five thousand or so.”
“Wow! That’s a lot!”
“Not as many as I wish,” Ginger replied, taking a sip of wine.
“Do you think you can win lots on Daddy’s horses?”
“I hope so. I went around the barn today and met all of them. Very fine horses.”
Cindy rested her elbows on the table. “Are you gonna ride War Monger?”
“I should hope so.”
Evan butted in. “When he’s broke to ride.”
Ginger straightened up in her chair. “Monsieur Stoddard, I spoke to Monsieur Tom and he said the horse has been difficult to break.”
