Silks and Sand

by K. Rowe

  With the morning workouts done, they moved on to training the younger horses. War Monger, was of course, last to go. He tore around the pen with obvious enthusiasm, hooves churning up the dirt into something of a rooster tail. Tito and Manuel were in the middle patiently waiting until the horse finished his run. Tom, Bradley, and Ginger stood outside.

  When the colt finally stopped, Tito went forward with the bridle. Each time it went faster; War Monger accepting the bit and his few gummies after.

  Now came time for the saddle. Manuel carefully placed it on War Monger’s back and fastened the girth. He moved away, putting as much distance between him and the horse as possible. Tito took a firm grip on the reins and led the horse around.

  “Good, he looks to have settled more, Tito,” Tom said.

  “Why not lay over him?” Ginger asked. “He looks ready.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.” He wagged his finger at her. And after last night, he truly believed it. Before he could say anything, Ginger ducked between the rails and went inside the pen. There was serious doubt in his mind that Evan had given her permission to be around War Monger.

  “Ginger, I don’t recommend that,” he called, there was noise behind him. Tom turned just in time to see Evan storming up.

  “Ginger!” Evan barked, “Out!”

  She looked over her shoulder. “But, Monsieur…”

  “We had this discussion last night, you are not to be near that horse.” Evan stopped next to Tom. “Did you tell her to go in?”

  “Nope, she did that on her own.”

  Ginger went to the gate and let herself out. She saw the fierce expression on Evan’s face; he wasn’t happy. “Sorry, Monsieur.”

  “Look, I understand you like breaking horses, but this horse is dangerous. I don’t want anyone hurt before the race meet, is that clear?”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” She walked past him, heading to the barn.

  Evan found it much easier to be mad at her. It helped keep his other feelings in check. The previous night, Suzanne had given him the third degree on just what he hoped to accomplish with having a female jockey. He wondered if water board torture in Guantanamo Bay was as effective as her interrogation tactics.

  He loved his wife with all his heart, couldn’t she see that? Yes, Ginger turned heads, but Suzanne brought him to the highest levels of intimacy. He doubted another woman could do that. “Tom?” he said softly.

  “Yes, boss?”

  “Please try to keep her out of mischief. I need her ready to ride in a few weeks.”

  “I’ll do my best, but she’s a tough one.”

  Turning to leave, Evan took a few steps, then stopped. “I hope I didn’t make the wrong decision.”

  “I’m taking the fifth on that one, boss.” He was still angry with Evan over not consulting him on the purchase of War Monger, or the hiring of Ginger.

  His boss had yet to provide him with her full résumé. Most of what he knew about her, Tom looked up online. Yes, Ginger had proven herself on the track, but there were a half dozen other jockeys that were better. He wondered, why her?

  Tom left the grooms to work with War Monger. The colt seemed to be doing fine. Returning to the office, he sat down and reviewed the next day’s schedule. Ginger stood in the door. “May I speak with you?”

  “Certainly.” He motioned to the chair in front of the desk. Picking up a pen, he tried to disguise his emotions with paperwork. Ginger took a seat, crossing her legs. He didn’t look at her, instead, he remained focused on his work.

  “I’m sorry for making Monsieur Stoddard angry.”

  “Apologize to him, he’s your boss.”

  “And about last night…”

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  “I do apologize for being so forward.”

  “Coulda had me fooled…Shit, you nearly raped me.”

  She fiddled with her fingernails. “I do like you, Tom Christmas, no doubt about that. Sorry I came on too strong.”

  “Too strong, perhaps for a first meeting, but a little further down the road…”

  “You’re not mad?”

  He shook his head. “Not mad, freaked out maybe. Never had a woman go after me like that. I’m used to being ignored. Who wants to go out with the short guy? Most chicks gravitate to the tall, dark, and handsome guys.”

  She giggled. “I’m a jockey and I really hate injuring my neck looking up at a guy.”

  Tom chuckled. “Yeah, maybe I see your point.”

  Ginger got up and went around the desk to him. Tom hoped she wouldn’t do anything that might get them caught. “Do you think we can continue this relationship?”

  “Uh, um, I don’t see why not. But it’s probably best to keep it under the radar. I’m not sure how Evan would react if he found out.”

  “Probably as well as he did a few minutes ago.”

  “He’s a good boss. Evan takes safety seriously…About six years back, he bought a fantastic colt—bloodlines to die for. Well, this colt was standing in the starting gate at Keeneland for his first race. Something spooked him, he went up, smashed his head on the top of the gate, flipped backwards, and crushed the jockey. Both were dead in an instant.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Honestly, it was a freak accident. The colt’d been well broke and schooled. None of us could figure out what happened…But it shook Evan pretty bad.” He reached out and put his hand on her arm. “I know this is a dangerous job, but I don’t want anything to happen to you either.”

  8

  Evan jogged down to the mailbox. It was now mid-February and he was awaiting the Keeneland condition book for the April race meet. His plan was to take a few horses to Keeneland, then save the others for Charles Town.

  All winter long, Tom, Ginger, and the grooms worked with War Monger. He was broke to saddle and now breezing over a mile on the track. The big chestnut seemed to get along quite well with Ginger; she always kept a package of gummies stuffed down her left boot. When the colt finished his workout, he’d stop and expect his goodies.

  Opening the box, Evan rifled through the mail and found the book. “Ah, excellent,” he said, slamming the box shut and hurrying back to the house. He dropped the rest of the mail on the hall table and made a beeline for his office.

  The weather was damp and cold, so Evan set the book on his desk and went to make a cup of coffee. He walked into the kitchen and found Suzanne at the sink.

  “Hi,” he said, going up behind her and kissing her on the back of the neck.

  “Oh! Your lips are cold!”

  “Sorry, it’s freezing out there.” He grabbed the coffeepot and filled it. “The Keeneland catalog arrived today.”

  “Who are you thinking of taking?”

  “Well, I think Dusty Rose is doing well, but I don’t wanna push her. I think I’ll hold her until Charles Town. War Monger, on the other hand, I think it’s time to let him see a race track.” She turned off the water. “So that wild colt is shaping up?”

  Evan poured the water into the coffeemaker. “Surprisingly, yes. Although I had my doubts. After all the money I spent on him, he better run.”

  “And how much did that colt cost?”

  He scooped coffee out of the can. “You don’t wanna know.”

  “I don’t, huh?”

  “Nope.” He turned to her. “Can’t you just stay blissfully ignorant of my business affairs?”

  “Maybe.” She sat down at the table. “And how is your jockey working out?”

  “Tom says she’s doing a fine job with the horses.” Evan knew better than to say that Ginger was a fantastic pick. He knew Suzanne still harbored jealous feelings toward her. The more he kept his distance from Ginger, the happier it made Suzanne.

  “So what horses are you sending to Keeneland?”

  “I’ll make my list, then go over it with Tom. We don’t have a lot of runners right now, and Wanderer doesn’t look ready.”

  “You didn’t get any yearlings from the September sale?”<
br />
  Evan cringed slightly. “Uh, no. I got War Monger.”

  She got up to leave. “I hope he was worth it.”

  “Yeah, I hope he is too,” he whispered.

  The next morning, Evan wandered out to the exercise track, clipboard under one arm. Tom was sitting on Rusty. Horses galloped by, and the morning air was bitterly cold. A thick layer of frost covered everything.

  “Morning,” Evan said.

  Tom turned slightly in the saddle. “Ain’t it a bit cold out here for you?”

  “I got the Keeneland condition book yesterday.” He offered the clipboard. “Here’s who I’d like to see go to post.”

  Taking the clipboard, Tom perused the list of names. “War Monger? Are you sure?”

  “He’s two now, time to see what the colt can do…Besides, it’s just four and a half furlongs, he breezes more than that every day.”

  “Well, yeah…”

  “And you said he’s been rock steady in his training.”

  “He has, definitely.”

  “So why not?”

  “Can you let me talk it over with Ginger? She’s been doing most of his riding.”

  Evan shrugged his shoulders. “That’s fine, I guess. But I need to know soon, I have to get all the paperwork sent in.”

  “I’ll let you know this afternoon.” He studied the list. “As for the other starters, I think it’s a good list.”

  “I wanna hold Dusty for a little longer.”

  “That’s wise. She’s been having some issues with the starting gate. Went up on Ginger the other day as we tried to load her.”

  “Oh, not good.”

  Tom handed back the list. “You know Dusty, she’s the nervous type. I think Miguel and Tito might have pushed her a little hard.” Evan rubbed his hands. “Please tell them to be careful.”

  “I did. We’re slowing down to let her adjust.”

  “Good. I don’t want anyone hurt.”

  Just as Evan turned to leave, Ginger rode up on War Monger.

  “Hey, Ev, you can ask her yourself,” Tom called.

  He stopped. “Oh, yes, right.”

  “Ask me what, Monsieur?” she said.

  Evan approached her. “What are your feelings about War Monger’s training?”

  “He is doing very well.”

  “Well enough to start in a race?”

  “What is the distance?”

  “Four and a half furlongs.”

  Ginger giggled. “He will be out of the starting gate and at the finish line before you blink!”

  “It’s a short race, yes, but we need to see what he can do.”

  She patted the colt on the neck and reached into her boot for the pack of gummies. “I think he is ready.”

  Evan nodded. “All right, I’ll file the paperwork.” He started to walk off.

  “Hey, Ev? You’re not entering him in a claiming race, are you?”

  He turned and gave Tom a dirty look. “Hell no!”

  April finally rolled around and the weather was much nicer. The sun shone and every kind of flower was blooming. Kentucky was a riot of colors. Everywhere there was a cacophony of birds singing. Ah, yes, spring was in the air. It was time to race.

  Evan smiled as he drove toward Keeneland racetrack. He loved the place; it was beautiful, historical, and fairly close to home. His horses should be arriving there shortly.

  Despite the wide variety of races over the 15-day meet, he was only running six horses. Barn space was at a premium, many other trainers were fielding huge barns of runners. His little stable of horses had been squished into a barn far behind the venerable Todd Pletcher barn.

  Pulling into the parking lot, Evan got out. He recognized his horse trailer parked between barns. Tito was bringing one of the horses down the ramp. Inside the trailer, there was a lot of banging going on. Evan was a few feet from the rear of the trailer when Tom came out.

  “Shit!”

  “What the hell is going on in there?” Evan asked.

  Tom folded his arms. “Evidently War Monger didn’t wanna leave his nice cushy home.”

  “Oh.”

  A moment later, Miguel emerged, leading the colt. Tom quickly got out of the way. As War Monger’s hooves hit the ground, he immediately launched into the air.

  “Yeah, he did the same thing the day they delivered him to the farm.” Tom pointed.

  “Watch out, Mr. Stoddard!” Miguel said as he tried to aim the colt toward the barn. War Monger reared again, nearly pulling the groom off his feet. “Caballo loco!”

  Evan dodged the colt, taking refuge behind the trailer. “Not good.”

  After much kicking and squealing, War Monger was finally put away. He whirled around the stall kicking madly.

  “Ev, are you sure this was a good idea?” Tom said, coming around the trailer.

  “Yikes.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe not.”

  The kicking and bashing continued. Evan dug around in his pocket and found a bag of gummies. He approached War Monger’s stall. “Hey, big fella, how about calming down, huh?”

  War Monger shot his head over the door and snapped at Evan.

  “Watch it!” Miguel warned. “We might want to put up a high stall guard to keep him from getting anyone.”

  “Safety first,” Evan replied, taking a step back. He crinkled the plastic in his fingers hoping to entice the horse. No such luck. War Monger acted like no one was around.

  Tom joined Evan. “You have him going to post in two days?”

  “Uh, maybe.” He watched with dismay. “Perhaps we should have waited.”

  “I dunno. Maybe this was a good thing.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah, we get to see how he reacts to a new situation.”

  Evan shook his head. “Not well, evidently.”

  “Let’s see if he settles in. Tomorrow I’ll have Miguel take him out for a walk. If he behaves, maybe I’ll put Ginger up and let her breeze him a few furlongs.”

  “Please, please, Tom, just be careful. If I have to take him home, I will. I don’t want him hurting anyone.”

  War Monger bounced and jigged down the track. He shook his head, fighting Ginger for the reins. It was the day of his first race. The chestnut colt wanted to run; he didn’t understand later in the afternoon, he’d get his chance. His morning workout was just to loosen him up. After, he’d get a nice warm bath, a liniment rub down, and his legs bandaged in preparation for the race. This was the biggest day of his life so far, and he didn’t realize it.

  Tom and Evan watched the colt go by.

  “How’s he settling in?” Evan asked.

  “Umm, well…”

  “Not good?”

  “Better than I expected, but he’s still unhappy.”

  “We can’t exactly do much about that.”

  Tom patted his pocket. “We got every pocket stuffed with gummies.”

  “Yeah.” Evan pulled a large package from his jacket pocket. “I got mine.”

  They watched as Ginger pulled up War Monger and turned him. She trotted down the outside rail and stopped. “Monsieur Stoddard,” she said with a polite nod.

  “Good morning, Ginger. How is he?”

  “He wants to run.”

  “Yes, I see.” Evan opened the package of gummies. War Monger approached and stuck his head over the rail. “Here ya go, big boy.” He offered a few in his hand. The horse quickly nipped them up, then chewed noisily with the bit in his mouth. “Be a good lad this afternoon, huh?”

  “I hope he will, Monsieur, he’s a good colt.” Ginger gave him a pat on the neck.

  “Should anything happen, you have my permission to scratch him, understood?”

  “Scratch?” She adjusted her position in the saddle. “Why would he be scratched?”

  “If he acts up at all. If you think he’s going to be a danger. I don’t want anyone hurt.”

  “Oui, Monsieur. I feel good about him. He won’t let you down.”

  “I’m
glad you do. But when he gets around other horses he doesn’t know, and the starting gate, he may give you trouble…Just be smart and safe.”

  That afternoon, Evan elbowed his way down to the rail. Normally he sat up in the grandstand in his owner’s box, but today, he wanted to be right there at the finish line. He stood with his arms resting on the stone wall. The sun was warm, and he swore he could smell the rich, earthy scent of peat moss. Looking down at the track, Evan wondered if they had added some to the polytrack mixture. The sand was a darker color than he remembered.

  With binoculars held to his eyes, he watched as Ginger cantered War Monger toward the starting gate. It was all coming down to the next few moments. Would all the time and money he put into the horse be for naught? Would War Monger run? If he ran, could he win?

  The colt had been relatively good in the saddling ring, although Tom thought the horse sweated up too much. He knew War Monger was nervous.

  Now as they approached the starting gate, Evan could see the colt getting agitated. He fought Ginger’s attempts to rein him in. She moved War Monger away from the other horses, choosing to walk him around far behind the starting gate. The rest of the horses commenced to loading.

  Gates closed behind the other horses as they were loaded, War Monger whirled and spun. Three horses remained behind the starting gate.

  Ginger tried to move the colt closer. He shied away from the gate several times. An attendant approached them. War Monger saw the man and immediately reared up. Evan held his breath as he watched Ginger trying to hold onto the reins and keep her seat. The man backed away and let her get control of the horse.

  “Be smart, Ginger, be smart,” Evan whispered. Another attempt to load the colt ended in failure, almost unseating Ginger. The other two horses loaded; that left only War Monger.

  Evan watched as they made one more attempt. The colt reared and boxed with his front feet, nearly striking a gate attendant.

  Ginger pulled him down, backing him away. “Please, Ginger,” Evan pleaded. He watched as she made a motion to one of the attendants and turned War Monger away from the gate.

  Moments later, the gates sprung open and the field of six raced away. Evan let out a tense sigh. Yes, his horse had been scratched, but no one was hurt because of the colt’s behavior. There would be another day.