"You and your grandfather would have full say when choosing a jockey. This partnership would allow you to put your full time and energy into your cattle operation while I'd deal with the day-to-day care and setting up a racing schedule, which would initially take us directly to Churchill Downs for the Kentucky Oaks Prep Season, and if that goes well, on to the Kentucky Oaks Championship Series for three-year olds."
Ace was surprised Harrison was so quick to respond when asked about the jockey, knowing his aversion to Piper racing. Still skeptical about this whole scheme, yet curious, he said, "Write out what you're proposin' and I'll turn it over to my uncle, who's not likely to advise me to go into this marriage of convenience with the enemy."
"We're not enemies, Broussard."
"We're not bosom buddies either. Write up your proposal and I'll take it from there."
"I already have." Charles Harrison picked up what appeared to be a multi-page legal document and handed it to Ace. "My attorney drew this up and your uncle can look it over and change whatever he wants, and I'll return it to my attorney for approval."
Ace glanced over the papers. "Seems you were pretty sure of this."
Harrison held a steady gaze. "I don't go into business dealings to lose, but I'm also a fair man. Your uncle should not find fault with what I'm proposing."
"We'll see." Ace folded the sheaf of papers and tucked them into the inside pocket of his jeans jacket, then he took what looked to be crab piled high on a piece of crustless bread and popped it in his mouth and left.
On returning to the stable where Rags had been stalled overnight, Ace found Piper untangling and combing out the tiny plaited knots in Rags' mane, no trace of mud on either of them. On seeing him walking toward her, Piper's eyes brightened, like she was truly glad to see him. Setting aside the mane comb, she curved her arms around his neck and said, "You didn't kiss your jockey at the end of the race. Can I have a kiss now that I'm no longer a mudlark?"
Ace responded by pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly, even knowing with this last race and her father's proposal that their ultimate goals were growing yet further apart. "I would've been here sooner but I was having tea sandwiches with your father."
"What!"
"One tea sandwich. Crab."
Ace went on to explain Charles Harrison's proposition, after which Piper looked at him wide-eyed, and said, "You turned down $300,000 for Rags?"
"I told you I wouldn’t sell."
"I know, but $300,000… that could buy a lot of building materials for your house."
"Yeah, but his second offer'll get you to Churchill Downs, darlin'. It's everything you want and Rags wouldn't change hands."
"What I want is to travel the racehorse circuit with you, not my father, and in case you haven't figured it out, this whole partnership scheme is about keeping you here ranching cattle while I'm as far away from you as my father can get me, all the while he'll be reminding me why I'd be a fool to link up with a Cajun."
Piper's take was like getting slapped upside the head with a dead fish. He'd wondered why Harrison hadn't batted an eye when asked about jockeys, knowing it would be Piper. "Okay, maybe that is his reason, but it's also your best chance of makin' it to the top. The alternative is puttin' Rags in a few more races around here then makin' a cuttin' horse out of her."
"Which would be like making a cutting horse out of Seabiscuit," Piper said. "Do you realize what Rags did here today? I mean, really understand? It would've been amazing enough if she'd broken a track record on a fast track, but she did it on a muddy track, and the buzz all up and down the shed row is she's Derby potential, I mean we're talking Kentucky Oaks, Breeder's Cup and the Triple Crown."
Ace couldn't set aside the excitement in Piper's eyes, or the drive and ambition in her words, or the passion in her voice, the same passion he remembered three years ago with a woman with more passion for a career than for him. One way or another, though, Piper had to follow this dream to a natural conclusion or he'd have a discontented wife, and that didn't work for him. "You're right, darlin'. I'll have my uncle look over your father's proposal, and if he thinks it's okay, I'll sign."
"As easy as that?"
"There's nothing easy about any of this, but it's the right thing to do. Now let's get things squared away here and head home."
***
While Ace went to get the truck and trailer to load Rags, and Piper was in the process of stashing grooming paraphernalia into a plastic tub, Piper heard a concerted gasp from the audience across the infield, who had remained at the track for the subsequent races. On turning to learn what happened, she saw that a rider of one of the horses running in the current race had pulled the animal to a halt and was dismounting while the rest of the field raced by. "It's a breakdown," she murmured.
Several people started across the infield at a run, one of them a woman in high heels, who was racing as best she could to get to the filly. When she drew closer, Piper recognized her as the owner of the filly in the stall next to Rags. She'd seen the woman earlier, nicely dressed, obviously someone with wealth, but she also knew this filly was special to her because the woman had fawned over the filly, giving her a carrot and rubbing her fingers along the filly's perfect star that trickled into a clean white line to her pink muzzle, while talking sweetly to her.
"Her leg's broke," the jockey said to the woman as she rushed up. "It was like an explosion."
The filly stood trembling, with her back leg off the ground, her copper coat covered in sweat and mud, her eyes wide with fright.
The woman moved between the jockey and the filly. "You're not a vet. You don't know." She cradled the filly's head against her chest and said in a shaky voice, "Mommy's here, Princess. It's okay. You'll be fine. We'll get you to the hospital."
At the far end of the track, an equine ambulance was heading their way while several people who'd left the grandstand cut across the track and were running across the infield toward them.
By now the field of horses were in the home stretch approaching the wire, but when the first horse passed under it, nobody clapped or cheered and there was little sound from a crowd whose attention was focused on what was happening amid the small group surrounding the filly.
The track vet had now arrived and was palpating the filly's back leg while shaking his head and saying something Piper couldn't catch, but the body language of the woman said it all. Clutching her arms around the filly's neck she placed her cheek against the filly's cheek while tears ran down her face. "It's going to be alright. I'm here, baby, you're going to be alright. We'll fix your leg, whatever it takes."
"It's not good," the vet said.
A man Piper assumed was the woman's husband, tried to reason with the woman, but when he put his hand on her shoulder she shook it off, and said, "We'll do whatever it takes. Just get her into the ambulance and to the hospital."
"The leg can't be fixed. She's in pain," the man said.
"Stop talking like that. The vet hasn't said it. Let's just get her into the ambulance."
The vet glanced up while continuing to palpate the leg. "The leg's shattered. She can't be saved."
"No, that's not so. You don't understand. We can do whatever it takes. Even if the leg's broken it can be fixed." She placed her hands on each side of the filly's face and said to her, "Don't worry, baby, I'll get you out of here…"
"The legs in multiple pieces. I can't even tell how many," the vet said. "She's in pain. She's in shock. She's trembling and she needs to be put down."
"Honey, we have to do this now," the man said.
"It's my fault. We shouldn't have run her today," the woman sobbed. Taking the filly's head between her hands again, she kissed her on the muzzle and said, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. You're so brave." The woman breathed into the filly's nostrils just before the man put his arms around her shoulders and turned her away.
While the woman stood sobbing against the man's chest, the vet inserted the syringe, and moments later, the filly sank to he
r knees as if in slow motion, gave a little sound, maybe air rushing out of her, then rolled onto her side.
When the woman broke away from her husband and kneeled over the filly and cried as if her heart had broken, Piper had to turn away because all she saw was Rags, and she wasn't lying in her stalk, peacefully snoozing, she was stretched out on a muddy track, her once-gleaming coat encrusted with muck, one eye staring lifelessly at the sky.
CHAPTER 20
All the way back to the ranch Piper barely said a word. She didn't want to talk about the filly. She couldn't talk about it. Ace hadn't been there to watch because he'd gone to get the truck and horse trailer from the parking lot, and by the time he returned, the filly had been hoisted into a truck and taken away. He'd heard about it and said something like, "Tough break."
Hours later, Piper still couldn't put from her mind the sight of the woman collapsed over the dead filly. The image just kept coming back, playing over and over in her head. And she couldn't help thinking it could have been Rags, whose competitive spirit would keep her running through rain, or muck, or whatever the occasion threw at her, run until she'd win, or die trying.
Unable to sleep, she opened her laptop and went on the internet and did a search on Louisiana race track breakdowns, and was shocked at how many there'd been just the year before. Twenty-two at Delta Downs. Five at the Fair Grounds. Twelve at Evangeline Downs. Eleven at Louisiana Downs, and nineteen at Cypress Downs. The year before it was documented that sixty-five horses had either broken down or were euthanized at Louisiana tracks for various reasons, most being listed as sudden death, or collapsed and euthanized, or the most common, pulled up/vanned off. No explanation. Which was likely to mean sold to kill buyers by the pound. She decided then she didn't want Rags running anymore. The thought of being the woman draped over Rag's body just wouldn't go away.
Then there was the reality of what life as a jockey would be. They'd been given the lowdown at jockey school and it wasn't all glitz and glamor. Far from it. Long before the thrill of cameras flashing in the winner's circle would be the day-to-day drudgery of agents pounding a path to trainers, all but begging them to give their jockey a try. Then there was the agent's excuse why you didn't get a certain mount you knew you could ride into the winner's circle. Sorry he couldn't pull that one off, he'd explain, but hey, there's that over-the-hill grass eater down the shed row and that trainer's looking for a jockey. So you nod your thanks, know it'll be a ride to failure because the horse doesn't stand a chance in hell of winning, but riding for a fee beats no work.
Then there's the break between races when you grab the Daily Racing Form to get familiar with the afternoon's competition and plan a strategy, which means pray for a miracle because none of the horses you'll be riding could beat an old plow horse. But with a jaunty air, you jog out to ride your 30-1 mount, shake hands with the owner or trainer, listen intently to instructions you know are useless, agree that the horse looks good, pose with enthusiasm for photos with the owner and his line-up of family down to the grandkids, and after the race, report to the trainer that the horse ran an incredible race though the start set him back when a horse bumped him, and there was just too much traffic, but he's got what it takes. Then you dash off to the jock's room to get ready for the next race and another round of BS.
She let out a little ironic chuckle. After years of living a dream she believed in her heart was to be her whole life, it no longer mattered simply because running Rags to an uncertain future was no longer part of the equation. Jockeying without Rags was also off the table. Funny that most of her life she'd been focused with tunnel vision on a dream that simply wasn't her dream anymore. Maybe because a man had come into her life who was her dream?
It hit her like an epiphany, and with it, everything fell into place, like the pieces of a puzzle of life that when put together created the image of a Hobbit house on a bayou, and a handsome Cajun cowboy and his kind of ditsy wife, and Rags and her entourage chasing a ball in the pasture, and a pack of kids riding horses, and fishing, and running around at fais do-dos.
***
After two days, Piper was in a funk, not because of her epiphany, but because she hadn't heard from Ace. She also hadn't been exercising Rags or Henri's other horses because Henri wanted to give Rags a much earned break from training, and the track was so muddy he decided to give the other horses a break as well, so she'd only been exercising Harrison Stable horses.
By that afternoon, she had to know what was going on with Ace. If their relationship had come to a screeching halt because of Rags' big win, she needed to hear it from him. She also wanted to tell him about her decision to pull out of racing before he signed the partnership agreement with her father. She just hoped he'd believe it when she'd tell him of her change of mind because she knew he had no intention of marrying a woman with lofty dreams who'd set them all aside to marry him.
Changing out of her riding clothes, taking a shower, and slipping into the flowered dress Ace loved, since she needed all the ammunition she could muster to get him to say, I will marry you, she jumped into her car and headed for his house. The road now had a fresh bed of gravel, so she had no problem negotiating it.
When she saw Ace's truck parked out front with the tailgate down, she figured he'd been hauling in more select items to feather his nest. Wishing now she'd worn jeans instead of the dress, so she could help with whatever he was doing, she headed up the stairs to the front deck and stepped inside. When he heard the front door close, he came from the direction of the hallway and stopped in stunned silence. His eyes scanning the length of her, he said in a tentative voice, "What's happin' sugah? You goin' somewhere?"
"Yes, here to tell you not to sign my father's partnership agreement."
"Too late. I already signed and your father's at the courthouse filin' the papers. And just for the record, I'll wait for you, but maybe you could fly home every once in a while to let me know what you want for kitchen cabinets or counters or floor coverings."
Piper couldn't help grinning at the irony. She was now being offered everything she'd thought she wanted; Rags racing, her as her jockey, the big stakes races, maybe even up to the Triple Crown, and a man who'd wait for her. But the reality was, she only wanted the man and her silly Ragamuffin.
Walking up to Ace, she curved her arms around his neck, and said, "We can start thinking about cabinets and floor coverings right now because I'm not going anywhere. This is where I want to be, with you and Rags."
Ace looked at her, brows drawn in bafflement. "What are you tellin' me?"
Piper kissed him. "That I want to make a barrel horse out of Seabiscuit. The thought of wearing chaps with flashy Conchos running down each fringed wing of the chaps and decking Rags out with colorful leg wraps, a star-studded martingale, and painted hooves, has some appeal. Do they make fancy chaps for barrel racing?"
Ace kissed the tip of her nose. "Women don't wear chaps when barrel racin' and chance them hittin' a barrel or pole. Events like cuttin' use chaps, but not speed events."
"With long fringe and lots of Conchos?" Piper asked.
Ace laughed. "You thinkin' of makin' a cutter out of Seabiscuit instead of a barrel horse?"
"You said she was a natural, and maybe I could use my jousting outfit again."
"Sorry darlin'. You'd be flappin' and chasin' off the cows, but long-fringed chaps with Conchos would work, and I'll be the one to outfit you in the flashiest chaps this side of the Mississippi. And you sure do look pretty in that dress."
"Pretty enough to marry me?" Piper asked.
Ace chuckled. "I'd marry you the way you looked comin' out of that last race speckled in mud. But seriously, chère, you sure about giving it all up? You were dead set on bein' a jockey before the last race."
"Let's just say I awakened from a dream knowing exactly what I wanted. More accurately, what I don't want, and it happened when I saw that filly lying dead on the track and realized it could've been Rags. And all the hype about being a jocke
y… there's a lot of nasty stuff going on behind the scenes, horses drugged so they don't feel pain when sent out to run their hearts out, and breaking down because pain was a warning, and having to look over your shoulder if you're riding a winning mount because the competition wants it out of the race and will stop at nothing to see your horse pulled, and kill buyers arriving to take away sound horses that don't make money so they're sold by the pound. Yes, I'm absolutely sure I don't want to be a part of that anymore."
Ace saw the resolve in Piper's eyes and knew her life-changing decision had truly come from her heart. After kissing her soundly, he said, "I'm gonna put an engagement ring on your finger. You ready to flash it around in front of your father?"
Piper grinned. "Oh yeah. I'll even be wearing my chaps, boots and western hat when I do."
"Seriously, darlin', we need to do this the right way. I know what your family thinks of me and my family, especially your father, but I still plan to go to him and lay it all out."
Piper kissed him. "You really do have a death wish. You want me with you when you do?"
Ace shook his head. "This'll be man to man."
***
Ace faced Charles Harrison squarely, and said, "The partnership's off. Piper doesn't want to race the filly any longer, so I'm pullin' out of our deal."
Harrison looked at him in stunned silence for a few moments, then said, "Just like that?" He snapped his fingers. "You're giving up $200,000 and the chance at the big stakes races?"
"It wasn't just like that. Piper loves the filly and she doesn't want to chance a breakdown."
"So that's it. She saw the breakdown at the track." Harrison gave a grunt of disgust. "She's known about breakdowns. It comes with thoroughbred racing. If she truly wants to be a jockey she needs to stiffen her spine and accept it as part of the game."
"Not anymore. She doesn't want to run either. She's quitting."
"Wait a minute. One breakdown can't be the reason she's quitting."
"You're right. Marrying me also comes into the equation. Knowing your deep roots in British soil I'd like to be here askin' you for Piper's hand in marriage, but that would be senseless, so I'm askin' for your blessing instead."
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 22
