Timmy stopped beside her. “You think he’ll be comfortable here?” Trish could hear the teasing in his voice before she saw the light dancing in his eyes.
“Most people wouldn’t believe horses could live like this.”
Timmy nodded. “His stall opens onto his own private two-acre paddock. There’re shade trees down on the lower corner, and deep grass.”
Trish looked up to see a huge picture of a blood bay, about a quarter of life-size.
“That’s Shenandoah, the first stud here, and grandaddy to three Derby winners and countless others who did their share of winning on tracks all around the country.” O’Ryan walked forward and swung open the door to Spitfire’s stall. “Come on, let’s see how he likes it.”
Spitfire inspected every corner of his new home before returning to Trish for an ear-scratching. He draped his head over her shoulder, as if moving into a new stall was boring.
Trish felt the now familiar boulder clog her throat. She wouldn’t feel his head on her shoulder anymore, not after tomorrow morning. She blinked hard and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. No! You can’t cry now! She sniffed once and felt herself gaining some measure of control.
“See you in the morning,” she whispered in her horse’s twitching ear. “You be good now.” She gave him a last pat and closed the lower part of the stall door behind her. Spitfire hung his head over the door and whuffled his soundless nicker. Trish brushed past Timmy O’Ryan and headed for the exit. She was nearly running by the time she caught up with Red, who was still walking Sarah’s Pride.
“Whoa, you okay?” Red stopped Trish with a hand on her arm. The filly threw her head up and danced sideways at the interruption. “Easy now.” His soft voice worked for both the filly and Trish.
“H-have they said where we’ll keep her?” Trish stammered before she got her voice under control.
“Yeah, there’re stalls over there.” Red pointed to a low building on the other side of the graveled area. “John and Adam went into the stallion barn just as you came out. Come on, let’s put this girl away.”
Sarah’s Pride inspected her new quarters just as Spitfire had. She drank out of the tub in the corner and nibbled at the hay in the mesh sling. Trish and Red leaned on the closed stall door, watching her.
“Spitfire’s going to be fine here, you know,” Red broke the silence.
“I know.”
“You can come and see him—and me.”
“I will.” Trish took a deep breath and turned around to lean against the wall. She studied the faint outline of the cupola-crested stallion barn. “Sure different than home.” Her voice faded away on the slight breeze. She heard a frog chirp in the distance; a bullfrog answered. Sarah’s Pride dribbled water on Trish’s shoulder and in her hair. “Thanks a heap.” Trish brushed it off and gave the filly a cheek scratch.
She pushed herself away from the wall, and she and Red walked out to join the men clustered around the pickup.
“Tim, you show Patrick and Red where they’ll be sleeping, and, Stokes is it?” The driver nodded. “And Adam and Trish’ll come with me.” Donald Shipson waved toward the house Trish had seen when they drove up. “Breakfast will be served on the veranda from six to nine. Just come and help yourself.”
“See you in the morning,” Red whispered for Trish’s ears alone as he squeezed her hand.
Trish nodded, then followed John and Adam to the car. Too tired to even appreciate the grand staircase to the upper floor, or the bedroom filled with antique furniture, it was all Trish could do to say good-night to Mrs. Shipson without yawning. She fell down that long black tunnel she’d come to appreciate.
A rooster crowing woke her in the morning. She slipped from the lace-draped four-poster bed and went to stand in front of the open window. Sheer white curtains drifted over her bare feet in the slight breeze. The sun arced high enough to jewel the dew on the manicured lawns and paddocks. Newly mown grass perfumed the air. Someone whistled a friendly tune off to the side of the grand house, and downstairs a bass voice sang the words. She could see the roof of the stallion barn through the trees.
Trish turned from all the peace and beauty to dress. Today she had to leave Spitfire.
“I’ll drive you over to the barn if you’d like,” the silver-haired Mr. Shipson said after greeting her at the bottom of the stairs.
“I was hoping to ride him, ahhh—” Trish swallowed her lump. “Uhhh…before we leave, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. Timmy will ride with you and show you the way to the track. I think you’ll be pleased when you see everything in daylight.”
“You have an awesome place here.” They stopped between the two center pillars on the front porch. Trish looked up at her host. “I’ve only seen spreads like this in pictures.”
“Thank you. My family’s owned this land since before the war.”
“The war?”
“The Civil War.” His smile twinkled in his eyes. “We forget the rest of the world doesn’t count time from the War Between the States. My great-great-grandaddy founded the stud here.” He stepped down to the first stair. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Trish followed her host out to the pickup, surprised at how easy she felt with him. It was as if they’d known each other for a long time. She shook her head. And here she’d been all ready to dislike him—intensely. But she’d reminded herself that it wasn’t his fault Spitfire was coming here and not back to Vancouver.
It was my father’s fault, actually. He had started the syndication. Trish suddenly felt betrayed. Why had he done this to her? Her vision blurred so she could hardly see the sweeping drive, the stream, and the glass-like pond. She sank back into the seat.
“Trish? Are you all right?”
“Uh, yeah.” She shook her head, trying to clear away the fog.
“I know leaving Spitfire here must be terrible for you. I wish there was some way I could help—”
You could let him go home with me. The words were so clear in her head Trish was afraid she’d shouted them.
“I want you to understand that you are welcome to visit here any time you’d like. If you want to come to Kentucky to race, I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Spitfire is still your horse, you know.”
Only part of him. Again Trish bit down on her tongue so as not to verbalize the words.
“Our home is yours. Both my wife and I would love having you here.” Donald braked the truck and turned off the ignition. “I mean it, Trish; this isn’t just southern hospitality talking.”
“Thank you.” Trish took a deep breath. “I’ll remember that.” She could feel her smile tremble at the edges. “Thanks.”
Timmy and Patrick had Sarah’s Pride and another horse saddled, and Patrick slipped a bridle over Spitfire’s ears just as he whinnied his welcome to Trish.
“Right in my ear,” Patrick grumbled. The next instant his hat went bowling across the floor. “Had to get one in, didn’t you?”
Trish stooped down to pick up Patrick’s stained and wrinkled fedora. “I keep telling you to watch it.” She handed the hat back to Patrick, her grin securely in place. Spitfire’s clowning made everything easier. “Had to get him, didn’t you?” She rubbed under Spitfire’s forelock and got a grainy lick for her efforts.
Red walked up with three helmets. He handed one to Trish and one to Timmy, then put on his own. “Hi, how d’ya like the summer morning? No other place like this on earth.”
“You’re prejudiced. You haven’t seen a sunny morning in Washington yet.” Trish walked between the two men, Spitfire tagging behind her.
Patrick gave her a leg up. “Now, don’t be takin’ too long,” he said softly. “We need to be loading the girl here and heading for the airport.”
“I know.” The sun seemed to dim.
“This way,” Timmy said from the back of his bay as he led the way through an open gate and between two white board fences. He pointed out the other four stallions and a field of mares and
foals. While Red asked questions, Trish grew more quiet, savoring each moment. She listened with one ear, and planted each tree and fence post in her memory so she could visualize Spitfire being worked on this track. Spitfire’s stall, his paddock, his barn, the smell of the grass, the song of the birds.
How could she leave him here? It was too much to ask.
Chapter
06
What was left of Trish’s heart felt twisted and torn.
“Y’all come back now,” Mrs. Shipson said, giving Trish a warm hug. “As Donald said, our home is yours—any time.” She stepped back and shook hands with Patrick and Adam Finley. “Y’all take care now.”
Trish waved as she stepped up into the truck. Her blurry vision made her stub her toe on the step.
Red caught her and helped her into the cab. “You okay?”
Trish just nodded. She fought the tears, teeth clamped so hard her jaw ached. As they drove down the fence-lined drive, she stared at the clock on the dashboard. Hands tucked under her arms, she shivered once. Red laid his arm across the back of the seat and massaged her neck.
All Trish could see on the back of her eyelids was Spitfire galloping across his new paddock. She could hear his whinny, feel his last whiskery whuffle. A lone tear squeezed past her iron control gate and meandered down her cheek.
Red brushed it away with one gentle finger.
“I meant it, Trish, about coming to California and racing for me this summer,” Adam Finley said just before he boarded his plane in Lexington. “I know it’s going to be rough for you in the days ahead, and new scenery might make your summer easier.”
“I—I have to finish my finals, and then I promised my mom I’d take chemistry at Clark College. She’ll never let me out of that.”
“Well, just remember we have colleges in California too. I’m sure you could find a class in the evening.” He reached as if to hug her then drew back. “I know how hard you are fighting this, Trish. Martha and I would love to be able to help you, and you would be helping us too. Your dad’s passing has left a mighty big hole—in many lives.”
“Ahhh…” Trish nodded instead of trying to finish her thought. “Thanks for all you’ve done for us.” She looked up to see tears glistening in Adam’s eyes.
“Crying isn’t a sin, my dear.” Finley sniffed and blinked a couple of times. “No matter how hard you fight it, letting the tears come will help you get better.”
Trish shook her head. Her strangled “I can’t” carried from over her shoulder as she headed for the exit.
She had her armor back in place by the time she joined Red and Patrick at the cargo dock.
Loading Sarah’s Pride on the plane proved surprisingly easy. Patrick had come prepared with a tranquilizer shot, but the filly walked up the ramp with only a snort and a toss of her head. Once inside, she trembled and broke into a sweat while the men erected the stall around her, but she stood still. With Red doing the same on the other side of the horse, Trish rubbed the filly’s neck and ears. At the same time she whispered her soothing monologue, the song she’d learned from her father.
“I’ll call you soon.” Red ducked under the horse’s neck after she’d lipped a bit of hay from the sling. He put one arm around Trish and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek with his other hand.
“Okay.” One word was all Trish could manage.
“You’ll write or call? You can always get in touch with me through my mom and dad.”
Trish nodded. Red raised her chin and brushed her lips with his. She turned her head before he could kiss her again and shatter her control. Leaving hurt so bad. How much more could she stand?
Red squeezed her shoulder. “Take care.” He levered himself over the stall.
Trish heard him say good-bye to Patrick. If she started to cry now, she knew she’d never be able to stop. Just get through. The inner order worked again.
The filly swung her rear end from side to side as the plane revved for takeoff. Patrick joined Trish in the box to try to keep the horse calm. Together they kept her from slipping as the plane floor slanted. When the plane leveled off, the horse quieted down. She sighed and dropped her head, as if all the tension had worn her out.
Trish stretched and wrapped both arms around her shoulders to pull the kinks out. She dropped her chin on her chest, then shrugged her shoulders to her ears.
“Ye did a good job, lass.” Patrick walked around the filly, adjusting the travel sheet as he checked for any more sweating. He unbuckled the crimson blanket and pulled it off. “She needs a dry one after all that.”
Trish handed him the extra sheet and helped buckle it.
“It’ll get easier, lass, take my word for it.”
Trish just shook her head.
“You want to go sit down for a while? I’ll stay with the girl here.”
“No. You do that.” Trish dug a brush out of the tack bucket. “It helps me to keep busy.” She flipped back the sheet over one front quarter and started brushing.
The remainder of the trip passed without incident. Trish spent part of the time studying, but failed to turn many pages. Her eyelids kept drooping.
David had the six-horse trailer ready and waiting when they landed at Portland International Airport. Unloading and reloading went without a hitch, and they were crossing the I-205 bridge within a few minutes. The overcast skies seemed to match Trish’s overcast disposition.
She let Patrick tell about their trip to Kentucky and describe BlueMist Farms. She was back at the other end of the telescope, looking and listening from a great distance. It was easier that way.
David pointed out the sights to Patrick. Trish could feel her brother studying her between comments, but she shut her eyes and ignored him.
It wasn’t so easy to ignore her mother. Marge met them when they drove down to the barns at Runnin’ On Farm. She hugged her daughter once, then a second time before Trish could slip past.
Trish caught herself looking around for her father. Quickly she knelt to hug her dog, Caesar, and ruffle his pristine white ruff. The collie responded by quick-licking her cheek.
“I know, Tee.” Marge stood beside Trish with her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I keep looking for him too.”
A knife-sharp pain stabbed Trish. She felt as if her heart couldn’t take any more blows. She knew if she said anything or looked at the pain in her mother’s eyes, she’d crumble and lose the control she’d worked so hard to maintain.
Instead, she bit down on her lip and ducked her head as she followed David into the van to bring out Sarah’s Pride. Spitfire should be coming home too. Where was the celebration? Who could celebrate? She stomped her rampaging feelings down into a steel box somewhere in her middle and bolted the lid.
“Easy now.” David smoothed the filly’s neck as he jerked loose the tie rope. “Welcome to your new home.”
Welcome to nothing. Trish caught the words before she spoke them aloud. She could hear her mother and Patrick talking outside the van. She untied the opposite lead and kept pace as David led their new arrival out the door.
Sarah’s Pride minced down the ramp and danced around in a circle, head up, surveying the area. She whinnied and pawed one front foot.
“Her stall is all ready,” David said. “I figured we should keep her separated from the others for a while.”
“You’re right, boy.” Patrick patted the horse’s right shoulder. “Why don’t you lead her around for a bit and let her work off some of her energy. We’ll give her a real work tomorrow and see if we can’t finish breaking some of her bad habits.” He tipped his fedora back on his head. “She sure is a determined one.”
“Well, stubborn fits right into this family,” Marge said. “She ran well the last time she was out, though, didn’t she?”
Trish felt her jaw drop in amazement. Since when had her mother cared anything about how a horse ran? She caught a grin that David tried to hide behind the filly’s neck. What was going on here? Her brother trotted o
ff with the horse in tow.
“Patrick, I think Hal told you that we’d ordered a mobile home for you.” Marge leaned against the truck’s front fender. “The people installing the septic tank will be here tomorrow. The power and phone will be in by the end of the week, and the trailer should be here Friday too. In the meantime, you can have David’s room. He’ll take the couch.”
“No, no.” Patrick shook his head. “Ye needn’t be putting yourself out like that. I’ll just fix a cot down here and…”
“No, Patrick. This is the way Hal would want it. We had planned to have everything ready before you arrived, but…” She raised her hands in a helpless shrug. “We’ll make do until then. You’re a member of our family, and while the kids used to have slumber parties down in the barn, you’ll be much more comfortable up at the house.”
Trish could hardly believe her ears. Who was this person who’d taken over her mother’s body? And her mouth? Trish looked up in time to catch her mother wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye. Patrick looked misty-eyed too.
Trish dashed after David. “I’ll see if he needs help.” But David already had the filly loosed in her stall and was closing the lower half of the stall door.
“You know, I thought about bringing Dan’l up to keep her company, but Mom said to wait a couple of days. She’s right, of course.” David checked the latch and turned toward the house. “I’ve already done all the other chores.”
“All right, what’s going on here?” Trish kicked some gravel off to the side.
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Since when has Mom cared about what goes on down here?”
“Down here?” David picked up a stone and pegged it up the driveway.
“David!” Trish jerked on his arm.
“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in surrender. “We had a long talk, Mom and I, and she said it was time she learned more about the horses and racing—since she doesn’t want to sell the farm.…”
Trish breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Golden Filly Collection Two Page 5
