"Wait! You were checking out horse toys at the feed store?"
Ace nodded. "I'm just tryin' to keep her happy."
To Ace's surprise, Piper braced her hand on his arm, kissed him on the jaw, and said, "Thank you for understanding my special baby."
He grinned. "I think we can do better than that." When he pulled her to him and kissed her, Piper responded by kissing him back while letting out a little moan of pleasure.
When the kiss came to an end, Piper said, "Don't try to make anything of that. I was just expressing my appreciation for what you're doing for Rags."
"I thought you did that when you kissed me on the chin."
"Well, I did, but then you distracted me, and that's all there is to it."
Ace gave her another kiss. "We'll see."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It can mean whatever you want." Ace smiled. "Or whatever I want."
"If you're trying to mess with my head, it won't work." Piper backed out of his arms, climbed between the wooden rails surrounding the pasture, grabbed the deflated ball and tossed it to Rags, who trapped it under her hoof, then picked it up and shook it and in the process, sent the thing flying. Piper sprinted in the direction of the flattened ball and grabbed it and tossed it back, and a kind of horse and girl squashed-ball game started.
As he watched the interaction between horse and woman, Ace found himself grinning. And yes, he did enjoy messing with Piper's head, though he got the impression it wasn't something many people did because she was so focused on plowing her way into what had always been a man's world that he suspected people didn't see beyond it and tended to pass her over, whether it was messing with her head, or being in a relationship with her. But he was beginning to see beyond all her bluster, and what he saw was a woman who loved a horse and was on a personal mission to stay with that horse, even if it meant aligning herself with him to do it, though he didn't doubt she loved the thrill of racing too.
He was also beginning to think Edgar had a point about girls having a connection with their mounts. There was no question that Piper and the filly connected, and maybe Piper was right when she said she was the best jockey because the filly would run her heart out if she asked her to. But Edgar Robichau was a pro, a veteran of thousands of races, his more recent years taking him into the big stakes, and Piper had yet to run her first commercial race.
Presented the choice to any trainer in the country there was no question which jockey they'd pick. But his grandfather was not just any trainer. He had insight others seemed to lack.
Ace felt like he was straddling a fine line. The chance to have a top jockey in the country ride Rags in her next race was a gift, one that could snag him that $14,000 purse. But Piper had her heart set on running that race, and he was almost ready to sacrifice the sizeable purse in order to help her realize her dream. Where they'd go afterward was anyone's guess, but in less than two weeks that decision would be made.
CHAPTER 10
For the next three days, Henri paired Rags with Cricket as her workmate. Piper enjoyed the morning gallops which went smoothly, with Rags not fighting for the inside rail where Cricket ran, and not challenging her animal companion to stay in front, seeming happy to have a running buddy. But on the fourth day, Henri made a change.
Gator brought Rags out, tacked up with Piper's saddle and ready to go, but instead of bringing out Cricket as expected, Shuggy, the wiry kid who'd been riding Cricket for their morning workouts, came out of the stable leading a chestnut gelding. Piper eyed the horse, who held his head high, ears flattened, eyes on Rags, and not in a friendly way. "Where's Cricket?" she asked, thinking something might have happened to Rags's stable companion.
"I'm not runnin' him today," Shuggy replied. "Henri's comin' now. He'll explain."
Piper looked to where Henri and Ace walked together, hands moving quickly as they talked, heads close, as if engaged in a serious discussion. She also noted a pair of field glasses around Henri's neck. As they approached, she said to Henri, "Is Cricket okay?"
Henri nodded. "He's fine, but the filly needs a challenger. Gunner's retired from racin' and is cuttin' cattle now, but he's fast as a whip and ready to take on any challengers."
Piper scanned the horse. In size, he was larger than Rags, and very muscular in the rear as typical of a quarter horse, but Rags also had the quarter horse engine-in-the-rear build. "Then we're supposed to race?"
Henri shook his head. "Gallop at an easy clip like you've been doin' with Cricket. Shuggy'll be on Gunner, ready to match up with you at the three-quarter pole. You'll move along together until the half-mile pole, mainly to see how the filly reacts. I'm bettin' she'll meet Gunner's challenge, and if she does, let 'em seesaw for position."
"What if they want to race?" Piper asked.
"Let 'em go. I'm bettin' the filly'll give Gunner a run for his money."
Piper felt her excitement mounting, which she hoped Rags would pick up on. In fact, she suspected Rags already had in the way she was sizing up the chestnut gelding, also not in a friendly way. There was definitely a contest of wills taking place, both heads high, nostrils flaring, eyes fixed on each other, as if engaged in a game of equine psychological warfare. There was no question Rags was pumped up and eager to get going.
Piper glanced at Ace and found him looking at her and smiling broadly, like he sensed her excitement and understood. When Henri took Shuggy aside to give him instruction, Ace said to her, "This is your chance to show my grandfather what you've got."
"How? It's just a workout."
"Knowing Pépère, it's more than a workout. You need to ride like a pro. He'll be watchin' through his field glasses."
"Then he's talked to you about this?" Piper asked.
"Some. He thinks the filly has it in her to face down Gunner's attempt at intimidation and he wants to see how you handle it, not how Rags handles it. He figures she won't back off so this is your chance to show him you can ride with the boys."
"And you? Who do you think should ride Rags in the upcoming race? Edgar or Me?"
"I know who I want to ride, but it's my money on the line so I can't just shrug it off."
"You still didn't say who you want to ride, if money didn't matter."
"I think you already know that. Now get on out there and prove me right."
"Which could also mean proving you right by messing up so Edgar would get the slot."
"Well, I'll tell you this much, chère. If my filly wins the next race and that $14,000 purse, I'll feel like kissin' her jockey, and I hope to hell I won't have to kiss Edgar."
Piper laughed, but before she could fire a comeback, Henri and Shuggy started toward them. She was itching to know what Henri would be looking for when assessing her during the workout, but that wasn't an option, so she'd be depending on logic and gut instinct.
She scanned Shuggy as he walked toward her. The kid probably topped the scales at around 115 pounds to her 102, giving her and Rags a handicap advantage, which was good because she didn't want anything to put a damper on Rags competitive spirit at this point.
Henri's eyes moving between the two riders, he said, "Okay, let's get started. Piper, take the filly around at an easy gallop. When you get to the first turn Shuggy'll enter the track and wait at the three-quarter pole for you to come around again, where he'll start galloping alongside."
"Okay, I've got the idea."
"And you, Shug?" Henri asked.
"Ready to go."
Gator gave each rider a leg up, and once Piper had her feet positioned in the irons, she said to Rags, "Okay girl. Let's go for an easy run."
With Piper crouched over Rags's withers, the filly took off galloping down the track, all the while her head turned first one way then the other, and Piper wondered if she was searching for Cricket, who'd been working with her over the past week, or maybe she was watching for Gunner. Whichever, Rags was definitely distracted. She was, however, staying some distance from the inside railing, maybe becau
se she was distracted. But on coming around the track for the second time, when she spotted Gunner, her entire body responded: head alert, ears flattened, eyes fixed on her opponent. Gunner exhibited the same signs, a contender ready for the challenge, and Piper knew a contest of wills was on.
At first their efforts involved seesawing for lead, but when Gunner turned his head toward Rags and looked her in the eye, then gave a haughty snort of superiority, Rags refused to be intimidated. Taking up the challenge, she jerked the reins to have her head, and Piper obliged.
And from somewhere within Rags's homely muscular body an equine jet engine fired up, leaving Gunner in her wake. Gunner fast-tracked to keep up until they were galloping neck-and-neck again with the turn just ahead. Seeming to anticipate it, Rags banked into the turn, accelerating as she went, something few runners could do. Gunner was not one of those runners, and in a few lengthy strides Rags was pummeling the track, sending dirt flying in Gunner's face.
Once on the straightaway, Rags did the unexpected. She slowed down and allowed Gunner to catch up, but instead of pulling away, she adjusted her pace to keep him a notch behind, then she allowed him to catch up again only to pull ahead once more. They continued seesawing, with Rags controlling the pace because each time Gunner tried to past, Rags pulled just ahead, until it was obvious it had become a game with her, a predator toying with its prey.
After a couple more furlongs of Rags's psychological combat, Gunnar came to an abrupt halt and refused to run. And Rags sailed down the track alone, ears pricked forward, tail high in the air. It came to Piper that playing was one of Rags's greatest pleasures, but once challenged, the games ended.
On bringing the horses in, Shuggy dismounted and handed Gunner over to Henri, who said to Gator, "Turn him out with the remuda and he can go back to cuttin' cattle."
Rags, in contrast, came swaggering in, cocky and full of herself, even snorting in victory as Gator led Gunner away.
"Good girl," Piper said while patting Rags on the neck, although she felt bad for Gunner, who was clearly humiliated with his loss, walking with his head down and his tail drooped.
Henri, on the other hand, grinned from ear to ear, and Piper hoped it was because of the way she handled Rags, or more correctly, the way she let Rags choose her tactic for handling a challenger. Instead of addressing either, Henri said, "Tomorrow she'll work with Cricket, an easy mile or two gallop to keep the fun in the game. Hose her down and turn her into her pasture."
"Then she doesn't need to cool down after the workout today?" Piper asked.
Henri laughed. "She wasn't doin' more than playin' around out there. She's cool as a cucumber. In a few days we'll breeze her and see what she's capable of doin'."
"You mean run her flat out?" Piper asked.
Henri shook his head. "Look at goin' six furlongs at twelve seconds a furlong. We'll be doin' that a few times before the race."
Piper held her tongue, but hearing Henri ask her to breeze six furlongs sent a little red flag fluttering in her mind. Everything she'd heard in the realm of training, including from Mick, was not to breeze a horse more than five furlong, and never more than once a week, although he and her father acknowledged that horses with more natural speed and endurance, like Ramblin' Man, could complete the pace with much less effort, though since his big win at the Fair Grounds hundred grander several years back, they'd never had a horse come close to Ramblin' Man's speed and stamina. How ironic that maybe his homely little daughter could.
After Henri left, and while Piper hosed Rags down, she said to Ace, who was scraping off the water, "You were standing at the rail with your grandfather with his binoculars. What was his reaction to what Rags did with Gunner out there today? She knocked all the wind out of that poor horse's sails."
Ace laughed. "She did that alright, but it confirmed what my grandfather suspected from the start. While everyone figured she'd been losin' races because she's been outclassed by horses that were faster and fitter, she just proved she's a leader, not a follower, who needed to establish her own rules. Today she did. Intimidate the leaders and stay in front where you don't get dirt thrown in your face." He eyed the filly with affection. "Right, Rags?"
"Wait, you called her Rags," Piper said.
"Yeah. I decided it fits. If she were human she'd be a scrappy little street fighter who didn’t care a lick about the way she looked, and in the upcomin' race that's the way I want her to appear so there's no chance of anyone claimin' her."
"And at the stakes race, when she won't be up for claiming? What then?"
"We'll groom her so even your father won't recognize her."
"Then I want to braid her mane for that race."
"No one braids the manes of racehorses."
"Maybe not quarter horses, but some thoroughbreds run with braided manes. Rachael Alexandra was one of them and she was horse of the year. And we'll shampoo Rags with Lemon Joy liquid dishwashing soap. It makes the coat shiny."
Ace laughed. "That would be like tryin' to make a muskrat's coat shine. As for braidin' her mane, why didn't your trainer do it for the claimin' race?"
"Braiding isn't something he'd do, and since I didn't want her claimed, the more raggedy she looked the better. In fact, I slipped into the stall and bunched up her mane and tail and sprayed it with hairspray to make it look messier than it usually does. I hope your grandfather won't object to my fixing her up for the stakes race."
"He won't. All he cares is bringin' out the best in her on the track."
"Which also brings up something he said that bothers me." Piper shut off the hose and tossed it aside. "He wants me to breeze Rags six furlongs a few times before the race, when about every trainer in the country only breezes three to five furlongs, and not more than once a week."
"My grandfather doesn't go along with today's training methods where horses spend 23-hours a day in stalls and are only worked lightly, and consequently, they don't have the stamina to breeze more than once a week. He conditions horses like the old timers. Horses were worked harder in those days, gallopin' the distance of an upcomin' race most of the week before the race, right up till two days before when they'd breeze a half-mile and even a furlong the morning of the race, and there were far fewer injuries and breakdowns."
Piper wasn't so quick to agree. "Except when horses are bred for speed like they are today, they end up with lighter leg bone structure in order to give them less weight to swing through stride cycles, making their legs more prone to injury, so I'd think a young horse like Rags, tearing down the track with the stamina to run six furlongs, is an accident waiting to happen."
"Not if she's worked right. My grandfather's a firm believer in continuous workouts at faster speeds, claimin' it forms the denser bones needed for racin', and he's never had a breakdown."
"What if he's wrong with Rags? She isn't yet three and her bones are still growing."
"Yeah, but she has more goin' for her than your average young racer. She's muscled to her brow, with big forearms, short cannon bones, short pasterns and good size feet, so her legs are as sturdy as most quarter horses, and on-goin' conditionin' strengthens her leg muscles. But it's not just workouts she needs. She needs playtime too, so let's turn her out and play ball."
"Then you got her another one?"
Ace scratched Rags on the neck. "Yeah, one with a tab for grabbin' on to. I'll get it and meet you in the pasture. Cricket and Gumbo are there so it should be an entertaining free-for-all."
Piper couldn't help smiling at the image of the odd trio frolicking after the ball, though she wondered if Rags would assert her dominance and take possession of it.
When she opened the gate to the pasture, Rags lifted her head and tail and let out a little nicker to let the others know she'd arrived. Cricket immediately loped over to greet her, and for a moment they stood with their heads pressed together, as if they'd been separated for weeks instead of an hour, then Rags gave a little squeal and together the pair raced around the pasture, while in
the distance, Gumbo lifted his head from the clump of grass he'd been grazing on and silently observed. But when Rags lowered herself to the ground and began rolling, and Cricket followed suit, Gumbo trotted over, and waiting for the moment when Rags would stretch out, he jumped onto her side and stood like a mountain goat that had just conquered a peak.
An instant later, the trio looked up in startled surprise when a blue ball, about the size of a basketball, came bouncing and rolling toward them. Seeing it, Rags moved onto her legs, dumping Gumbo off, raised herself to her feet, and after nuzzling the ball, found the tab, and clamping it in her teeth, started bobbing her head and shaking it, and in a gush of exuberance, reared up high with it. On dropping it accidentally, she pawed it with her front foot.
At that point Cricket came over to investigate the thing that had wandered into their pasture, and Rags stood back and didn't attempt to take it away when Cricket found the tab. But when Cricket dropped it and bumped it with his leg and the thing went bouncing away, Rags snatched the chance to reclaim it, though not in a domineering way. Which answered Piper's question. That unseen hand had turned off Rag's competitive instinct switch and it was playtime again.
And then it appeared to be Gumbo's turn, when he spotted the ball rolling away from Rags and rammed it with the blunt nubs of what would have been horns if not disbudded at birth, then rolling it with his nose, and pawing it, and butting it again, and finally leaping on it only to have it bounce him off, he stood back and eyeballed it with misgiving.
Jumping at the opportunity, Rags snagged the ball, and with it clutched in her mouth, reared up once, twice, three times, all the while pawing the air with exuberant delight, and ultimately, she ran across the grassland with the ball clamped in her teeth and her buddies in hot pursuit, and before long the trio was at the far end of the pasture.
"Come with me. I want to show you something," Ace said.
Piper looked to where Ace was offering his hand for her to take. She was uncertain why she should hold his hand when they could simply walk together to wherever Ace wanted to go, but giving into a magnetism she was having trouble resisting, she clasped his hand, and when he entwined his fingers with hers, she felt a little shot of sensual awareness which was accompanied by the realization that she more than liked holding Ace's hand. She wanted her hand to remain in his, just as she wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her again. And yet, having lived next door to him all her life, she knew little about him, other than he ran cattle with his brothers, and he was treating, like royalty, the filly she loved with all her heart.
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 11
