The horse to beat (although technically, the only thing they really needed to beat was the time) was a filly named Rockette Fuel. Dakota knew she was running from the fifth post position, a flashy chestnut with a blond tail.
All thought of breakdowns was forgotten as Dakota watched Shameless run. The filly’s hindquarters bunched, propelling her like a jackrabbit down her lane.
“Come on, girl, come on girl come on come on—”
The caller’s voice broke through her mantra. “Africanized Bee at the extreme outside. Dangerously and Rockette Fuel, Shameless coming on strong now, pulling away. Dangerously and Rockette Fuel battling for second. Shameless a length in front—
“It’s Shameless with an easy win over Rockette Fuel and Dangerously is third.”
Dakota was strong and healthy, but for a moment she felt light-headed enough to faint dead away, if Clay hadn’t already clasped her up in his arms.
His kiss was sweet on her tongue, like victory.
“For all I know, it was a neighbor just walking through my yard and looking at the stars,” Dakota said.
Clay drummed his fingers on the table. They’d gone to the Cattle Baron’s to celebrate, but suddenly he wasn’t hungry. “Or it could have been the same person who cut the mares’ tails.”
“Jerry—”
“He’s in Prescott. I talked to a friend of mine last week who’s running his horses there.”
Her lips parted in surprise. It made him want to kiss her again.
“You shouldn’t be alone. Maybe I should move in with you.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The person didn’t do anything, just stood outside my window for a minute. It might have been my imagination.”
“You’re hallucinating now? Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t know!” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, reminding him briefly of Coke. Only she was far more beautiful than Coke.
He wished she wasn’t so skittish, but he guessed she had a right. Divorce had scarred them both. “Describe him.”
“I didn’t really get a good look. It was just a dark shape with a hood.” She spread her hands. “I thought he might try to sabotage the filly today, but he didn’t. Can’t we get off this merry-go-round?” She lifted her glass of cabernet. “To Dangerously and Shameless.” When he didn’t follow suit, she said, “They’re in the Rainbow, Clay. That’s a big thing.”
“To Dangerously and Shameless,” he repeated, clinking glasses and making a mental note to drive by her house every night between now and the Rainbow. He’d also send a groom over to stay with Ernesto in the trailer.
It was the gloomiest celebration dinner he could remember.
THIRTY-ONE
The weather for the Rainbow Futurity could not be more different from the time trials. The sun was a broiler today, roasting the pine needles on the forest floor to a crisp, filling the air with a smoky tang. Purple thistles crowded the roadsides along with weeds and meadow grass, ripened to green, summer fullness. There was one white, puffy cloud hanging above the town, as still as a blimp in the neon-blue sky.
Old Glory flew on every street corner and from most of the boutiques, and dresses of red, white, and blue—the colors of the All American—shimmered in the windows, encrusted with an embarrassment of riches: rhinestones, sequins, and bugle beads. Belgian horses pulled carriages full of tourists, blocking traffic and making Dakota curse.
After bathing the filly earlier in the day, she had treated herself by going into one of those fancy boutiques and mortgaging Black Oak for a new outfit—very Santa Fe, as Rita would say. Buying it had taken longer than she had expected, and now she was running late. Dakota wanted to be at Shameless’s stall a full hour and a half before the race. Tapping her fingers nervously to “Amarillo by Morning” on the radio, she fought her way through town in bumper-to-bumper traffic, stopping at McDonald’s to scarf down a Big Mac. She was so excited that she chewed without tasting and wouldn’t have known the Big Mac from its cardboard wrapper. Her nerves were like tinder, waiting for a spark. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw handprints of red, blinking on and off like a DON’T WALK sign. She hoped it wasn’t a warning.
At the barn, Ernesto already had Tyke out and saddled. Earlier, Dakota had braided silver and turquoise pom-poms into his mane and tail.
When she led Shameless out into the sun, the filly’s coat gleamed a rich, dark brown. Dakota groomed her some more and sprayed WD-40 on her hoofs to make them shine. As she wrapped Shameless’s front legs with racing bandages, she had one ear tuned to the loudspeaker, the other to the barn radio, which gave the race results. “This is Bronko McGugan from the tall pines in Ruidoso Downs . . .”
At last it was time to go. Dakota walked the filly through the maze of dirt roads and hoof-pocked lanes toward the track, so jittery she couldn’t concentrate. Someone yelled “hello” to her, and she looked up to see Lucy Tanner leading one of Jack Dougherty’s horses back to the barn from the previous race.
Was Tanner here?
Maybe Lucy had come to Ruidoso by herself. With relief, Dakota remembered Rita saying something about Jack looking for a new groom. It was possible—probable, in fact—that Tanner had remained in Arizona.
She wouldn’t think about it. There was too much going on, and Shameless had a race to run.
Somehow she made it under the tunnel and into the infield, following the path to the saddling paddock, nodding automatically to the other trainers. She spoke to some of them, but didn’t remember what she said. Everything was a jumble of simple actions that had become second nature but were now loaded with importance. Her stomach was a ganglia of tiny wires, each one connected to an emotion: joy, pride, fear, exhilaration. An electric fuzziness gloved her hands. Later, she would remember little about the day except a few snippets. Smoothing the special Rainbow Futurity saddle cloth across the filly’s back, admiring Shameless’s name and the rainbow emblazoned on it. Walking the filly in the post parade and then watching the jockey warm her up in a canter. The beautiful gray colt, Runaway Train, prancing like a carousel horse . . . She would never remember those agonizing few minutes as she waited at the gate.
A dozen images roiled in her mind—the way Shameless had dominated her Rainbow trial, the mud, the rain, and the image of the dark figure outside her window, the mares’ tails—
The gates kicked open in slow motion. She expected the filly to break on top, as she always did. But this time, the four horse, Supercharger, came over and crashed into her, shoving her off course.
Shameless didn’t stumble, she didn’t fall. But she did lose her rhythm. She floundered, trying to take hold of the track. The other horses were two jumps ahead—an almost impossible distance to make up in a quarter horse race.
Dakota’s heart sank. Shameless would not win the Rainbow.
It had all been for nothing.
Coke would have been so disappointed.
The loudspeaker sounded as if from a great distance: “Cash Your Chips goes to the front with A Bully Dash, Death Sun Bimbo on the inside. Runaway Train gaining ground.”
The filly finally got going, but Dakota could only watch dully, sure that losing was a foregone conclusion.
And then Shameless put on the afterburners. Impressive, Dakota thought listlessly, but she’d never make up all that ground now. Dakota stared at the retreating horses, unable to dredge up any emotion at all as Shameless gained on the ragged row of stragglers spread across the track.
The filly passed them and homed in on the leaders.
Dakota began to think there might be a chance. But the finish line was too close. She’d run out of ground before she caught them.
Shameless, charging up the ribbon of dirt like the cavalry.
“Runaway Train moving now, it’s Cash Your Chips and Runaway Train on the far outside, but here comes Shameless with a late kick, it’s Cash Your Chips and Runaway Train, but here’s Shameless coming down the middle of the track”
running,
running, running for Coke, running
“Cash Your Chips and Runaway Train, Dashforatouchdown coming on. Cash Your Chips holding on gamely, but Runaway Train and Shameless are pulling away”
go baby
“Runaway Train and Shameless”
please
“Runaway Train and Shameless, neck and neck. Runaway Train and Shameless aaaand SHAMELESS! wins the Rainbow Futurity in a photo finish over Runaway Train in an incredible upset. Cash Your Chips holds off Dashforatouchdown for third.
“Hold all tickets.”
Next, there was the interminable wait for the stewards to review the race and look at the photo finish. Despite what the announcer said, Dakota was sure that Runaway Train had won. That was what it looked like from her vantage point.
She rode out to meet Shameless, staring at the tote board and willing the flashing numbers to change. She was aware of the noise in the grandstand, a breeze on her hot face.
The numbers stopped blinking. The number on top was five. Shameless had won the Rainbow Futurity!
In a blur, Dakota met the filly and handed her horse to Ernesto.
Clay, meeting his own horse, gave her the thumbs-up sign. “Can you find someone to take the horses?” Dakota called. “I want you and Ernesto in the winner’s circle.”
“We’ll work it out.”
Dazed, she led the filly with her jockey still up through the gap in the fence and onto the rubber bricks of the winner’s circle. She stared out at the stands, and suddenly realized how tiny she must look out here, all alone with her winner. Usually, there were whole families standing in the winner’s circle, but Dakota had no family, at least not here. She wished that Clay and Ernesto would hurry up. And then Clay was there, hugging her, and she hugged him fiercely back. Ernesto held the filly while she was presented with the Rainbow Futurity horse blanket and trophy.
She smiled for the cameras, unable to believe that this had actually happened. After the presentation, Tom Dawson from ESPN touched her arm. She stood beside him as he spoke into the microphone.
“The Rainbow Futurity was won today by a woman trainer with a one-horse stable. But the name McAllister is no stranger to quarter horse racing. Ms. McAllister, did this filly come from Black Oak?”
“My father bred her.”
“I take it we’ll see more Black Oak horses in the years to come?”
“I . . . don’t know.” She didn’t want to spoil the moment by telling him the Black Oak horses had been dispersed.
“I understand Shameless is nominated for the All American. Are you still planning to run her?”
“I don’t see why not.” Something about the way he asked bothered her. She followed his gaze, as Ernesto led the filly from the winner’s circle. What she saw drenched her in terror.
Shameless stood with her right foreleg raised above the ground, obviously in pain.
THIRTY-TWO
Jerry Tanner was the first person Dakota thought of when she saw Shameless’s injury. He had somehow found a way to sabotage the filly.
Clay reached for her as she ran past him. “Ernesto says she shin-bucked,” he said. “She’ll be all right. You’ve got to get her to the test barn.”
Clay was right. She was seeing Jerry Tanners under every bed. It was an accident, pure and simple.
And so Dakota walked Shameless around the test barn, offering her water occasionally. Although she was worried, she couldn’t help noticing that Shameless appeared to monitor her own heart rate like a human athlete, and kept moving of her own volition. The filly seemed to know when to drink and when to walk, pulling Dakota along as she limped purposefully around the enclosure. All business.
Considering how hard Shameless ran, she was damn lucky the foot hadn’t been planted in the ground when Supercharger came over on her, or he would have twisted the leg as he knocked it and possibly fractured her cannon bone. But she had shin-bucked, and it could mean the end of her All American hopes.
Dakota had the vet meet her at the barn, where he injected the site of the swelling with an enzyme that helped neutralize its effect. Shin-bucks happened often in young horses, and they were very painful.
“She’s running in the All American,” Dakota told the vet.
“That’s cutting it close.”
Even though the All American was almost two months away, the challenge would be in keeping Shameless in racing condition. The filly could recover from the shin-buck in a week, or it could take much longer. Too long a lay off, and she’d have to start all over again. Too short, and she could reinjure herself. It would all depend on how well Dakota took care of her—and luck.
PART THREE
THE ALL AMERICAN FUTURITY
THIRTY-THREE
July
The vet told Dakota to confine the filly to her stall for a few days. Dakota kept her in her stall for a week. He told her to walk her for a week and a half. She walked her for three. She knew Shameless would lose condition, but the painful blister on the filly’s shinbone remained, and Dakota didn’t dare stress the leg for fear that the trauma might cause the bone cover to separate from the bone. She didn’t allow herself to think about the All American; if Shameless healed, they would see. But she would not run a sore horse.
Every day she took her to the creek, which ran through the heart of Ruidoso Downs, and stood her in ice-cold water. They became a familiar sight—the young female trainer leading the horse who had come out of nowhere to win the Rainbow Futurity. Dakota and Shameless followed the maze of dirt lanes on the backside, occasionally straying onto the forest trails. Sometimes Clay could shake free and join them. Life followed a slow, easy pace. Dakota found herself cherishing the lull. No one stood outside her window—to her knowledge—and no more threats materialized. On the nights she didn’t spend in Clay’s company, she knew he cruised by her house.
If Clay wanted to move to the next step, he didn’t show his impatience. But always there was that attraction between them, never alluded to. An undercurrent of passion, infusing the slightest word or touch with greater meaning.
She told herself they had to go slow, to learn each other again. Last time their passion had been so hot it had consumed them in its own fire. This time—if there was a this time—it would be different. This relationship was nothing like the last, and although she occasionally remembered their past with a melancholy yearning, she liked the Clay she knew now much better. It seemed to Dakota that the two people they’d been existed only in a long-forgotten dream. It was increasingly difficult to deny that inevitably, they would be lovers again.
The summer days ticked on, as inexorable as a clock. Roadside thistles gave way to bright masses of yellow New Mexico groundsel, tangles of broad-leaved buffalo gourd vines, and sunflowers. Crows called from the poplars and walnut trees, their harsh voices heralding fall. Dakota began swimming Shameless, to keep her in condition without putting a strain on tendons and bone.
Horsemen generally didn’t have much extra time, but they managed to cadge a few hours here and there, abandoning themselves to play. They compiled good times, like photos in an album. The whiz and shimmer of their fishing lines as they fly-fished Rio Ruidoso. The warm smell of wildflowers and pine needles, dust and sweating horses as they explored forest paths. They played pool at the Hollywood Bar, line-danced at the Winner’s Circle Dance Club. They tied flies and cleaned tack, studied the Racing Form and condition book, cooked steaks and corn on the cob on Coke’s old Weber grill.
And no matter how many times he crunched up her drive, his dark hair unruly and his eyes glinting with humor, she always felt a flutter deep down inside.
She didn’t know what would tilt the scale and move them from friends to lovers.
Dakota usually ate her breakfast in the horsemen’s cafeteria. Since she didn’t have much to do except walk and swim Shameless, she had a chance to study the other trainers. She learned a lot from observing the successful ones, and she learned even more from the bad ones—they demonstrated clearl
y how easy it was to ruin a horse’s prospects.
A couple of times she noticed Lucy sitting with Rita in the cafeteria. According to Clay, Rita had bought herself a groom’s license so she could spend time on the backside. There was no sign of Jerry Tanner. Dakota had asked around. His string was not stabled at Ruidoso. Clay’s friend in Prescott said he was still running his horses there, although conceivably he could have driven out here, stood outside her window, then driven back. But that didn’t make much sense.
It was easy to forget that anything bad had ever happened. Maybe she really had left the evil behind her. The figure at her window had to have been a neighbor, enjoying the night air. She clung to that belief ferociously, and didn’t permit any ugly thoughts to spoil this beautiful, miraculous summer.
Dakota had never felt so at home as she did here. When a representative from the Lone Star Stallion Station called, saying he’d like to meet her at Black Oak and look at Something Wicked, she wished she could say no.
“You have to go?” Clay turned the steaks, took a bottle of Classic Coke from the antique chest and leaned on the railing.
She sighed. “I’m the owner. I can’t leave this to Dan.”
“As I understand it, this is just a formality. They want to make sure Something Wicked is in good health. If they’re paying that kind of money for a stud, I can see why they’d want to take a look at the merchandise. But Dan knows him better than you do.”
Dakota slid down the bench out of the encroaching shadow and into the apple cider light of the late afternoon sun. “It’ll only be a couple of days, tops. I’m not doing anything here. Shameless isn’t due for her first gallop until the end of next week.” Despite the warmth of the sun on her back, she felt oddly cold inside. “They’ll be taking the last of our mares, too.”
He held her in his steady gaze, as if he were trying to read her. “You should be relieved.”
“I’m beginning to have second thoughts. I suppose I could stop it . . . no actual money’s changed hands yet.”
Dark Horse Page 22
