Golden Filly Collection One (56 page)

Hal and Trish thanked Brian one more time before climbing into the truck and buckling up. Hal put the rig in gear and eased down the hardpacked dirt road to the gate. The guard waved them through.

“We’ll be back,” Hal promised as they followed the curving street back to the freeway. Trish turned for a last glimpse of the imposing green Santa Anita grandstand. Straight ahead it looked as if they were driving smack into the San Gabriel mountains. One more look back and all she saw were the tall spindly palm trees that decorated the infield. Santa Anita certainly had an aura all its own. What would Churchill Downs, home of the Kentucky Derby, be like?

By the time they hit I-5, Trish was deep into her history book. She should have studied more while at the track, but since it was spring break, she only had a couple of days’ assignments to do.

The first day they drove as far as Adam Finley’s stunning ranch in the foothills above Harrisburg. They had stopped there on their way south, and the Finleys already seemed like old friends to Trish too. She sucked in her breath again at the Spanish splendor of the breeding farm. It seemed strange to see roses blooming already, but the scarlet-covered plants lining the exterior fences didn’t know that it was barely spring in Washington State.

The two Rottweiler dogs announced the truck’s arrival, and just like before, former-jockey and now renowned trainer Adam Finley directed them to park and showed them to the stable.

“Ah, I see you’re havin’ a bit o’ leg trouble.” He pointed at the pack covering Spitfire’s knee.

“It’s getting to be a chronic thing with him,” Hal said as Trish led the colt down the ramp. “It’s been worse before.”

Trish halted the horse so her father could remove the wrap. “I’ll just walk him around a bit to loosen both of us up.”

“I’m thinking you better not let him loose in the paddock this time,” Adam suggested. “He might jump and strain that knee even more. Soon as you’re done, Trish, there’re cold drinks and dinner up at the house. Martha’s been looking forward to your coming.”

Trish walked Spitfire a good half hour before she let him loose in a stall deeply bedded with straw. She Velcroed the newly filled ice pack around his leg and gave him a last pat as he buried his nose in the grain bucket. “Pig out, fella, you earned it.” Spitfire blew molasses-smelling grain in her face and went back to his meal. “Thanks.” She wiped the mixture of grain and slobber off her nose. “I needed that.”

She reached down and petted the two black and tan dogs that met her at the stable entry. They gamboled in front of her, darting back for more ear scratchings and nipping at each other to get her attention. Trish laughed. This was like home, only their collie Caesar had a lot more hair.

Trish took a deep breath as she strode up the brick walk to the stucco ranch house. Curved arches shaded the entry and served as a trellis for flaming bougainvillea. On the trip down, she’d learned that the sweet smell came from the orange trees lining the sides of the house. She also remembered the swimming pool in the backyard. Maybe she could get a dip in before they left in the morning.

“I have a proposition for you,” Adam Finley said after they’d finished a barbecued steak dinner. “How’d you like to come down here and ride for me this summer? I know your season up there will be done by the end of April, and after the races back east and school’s out, you could bring some of your string down here.” He nodded at Hal. “Then she could ride for both of us.”

Trish stared from the rosy-cheeked man to her father and back again. “I—ah—it would—ah…” She had no idea what to say. This would for sure be a chance to build a reputation in the big leagues. And their horses were every bit as good as those in California. Spitfire had just proved it. She raised stricken eyes to her father. What would her mother say about something like this? She’d just as soon her daughter quit racing altogether. Trish sighed. Her mother would
never
let them do this.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hal said as he leaned his chair back. “Marge and I’ll have to give this some thought. You know, with this bout of cancer and all the chemotherapy treatments, I have a hard time being away from home much, and, well, Marge isn’t too excited about Trish’s racing as it is.” He rubbed his chin. “I had thought about coming down for a race or two.”

Trish stared at him in astonishment. He’d not mentioned to her about coming back to California so soon.

“The purses are better than Longacres in Seattle, and since they’re going to tear that track down, the only other races up in our neck of the woods are Yakima and the county fairs,” Hal continued.

“Besides that, man, your colt has put you up in the big leagues. You’d be doing him an injustice not to race him again with horses of equal caliber,” Adam reminded him.

“I know,” Hal agreed.

“On top of that, it would be wonderful to have a young girl around again,” Martha added. “We’ve plenty of room for you in our condo in San Mateo.” She patted Trish’s hand. “I’d promise your mother to take good care of you.”

“Thank you,” Trish said. Her smile didn’t begin to relay the pleasure she felt at the warm invitation. Just think, living in California for the summer.

Don’t think about it,
her little nagger said.
You know it’s impossible. Remember, you have chemistry to make up too.

The next morning in the truck, Trish felt cranky and out of sorts. She knew it was the letdown after all the excitement, but that didn’t help much. A nap did though.

“Bay Meadows sounds wonderful,” Trish broke the long silence the next morning after their overnight in Ashland.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I know. Mom won’t…”

“Trish, she can’t help her worrying. You know as well as anyone that we’re involved in a dangerous business.”

“And
she
doesn’t think
her
daughter should be racing.” Trish felt the resentment dig at her good mood.
I’ll never tell my kids to be careful,
she promised herself.

“You finished your homework?”

“Now you sound like Mom.” She caught the puzzled look her father sent her. This time it was a good thing he couldn’t always read her mind.

“Just thought maybe you’d like to drive.”

Little fingers of guilt pinched her. She
should
have noticed he was getting tired rather than sitting there griping. They made good time though, arriving home about three o’clock Tuesday afternoon.

It felt good to be home.

Brad—David’s best friend, who worked for Runnin’ On Farm—and Rhonda drove in just as Trish led Spitfire into his stall after a walk that loosened them both up.

“Hi, guys.” Trish flashed them a grin as she unsnapped the lead shank. “You didn’t waste any time getting home from school, did you?”

“Look who’s talking.” Rhonda threw her arms around her friend. “How was the trip?”

“Rhonda’s described the race in
detail,
” long, lean Brad said. “And I’ve read all the newspaper articles, which I kept for you. Now I want to hear
your
version.
And
answer the
big
question.”

Perpetual-motion Rhonda couldn’t keep still another minute. “When do you leave for the Derby?”

Brad gave her a pained look. “No, that’s not it. Are you going for the Triple Crown?”

Trish shrugged. “Dad says take it one step at a time. He’ll decide on the other two only if we win the Derby.”

“Not
if
. When.” Rhonda poked Brad in the side. “We—none of us, nobody says ‘if.’ We only say ‘when.’ Trish and Spitfire are going to
win
the Kentucky Derby. No doubt about it.”

That night in bed, Trish wished she could feel more secure about the big race. “All I can do is ask you to help us,” she prayed. “You know everything that can happen between here and there. Please keep Dad healthy and make his next treatment go easily. And we can’t go if Spitfire’s leg isn’t all right, so please take care of that too.” She thought for a time. “Thank you for a safe trip home and for the win. Father, help change my mother’s mind about my racing. Help her quit worrying so much. Thanks. Amen.”

When she thought back to the evening just passed, she hugged a happy glow to herself. Marge had made a wonderful homecoming dinner and they’d talked about the trip, the race, and the people in California—everything except the proposal from Adam Finley. She knew her father would choose the best time and place for that. However, she’d had to bite her tongue to keep from blabbing to the other three musketeers down at the barn.

Wednesday morning she was back in the groove, nearly late to school. She rushed in the main door and skidded to a stop. “On to the Kentucky Derby” proclaimed a banner strung between two posts. Another one across her locker said she was “#1 Rider.” Trish folded that one and struggled with her combination lock. The bell rang before she got her books switched, so she was late to class. English lit stood as a body and applauded.

Trish could feel the heat all the way from her toes to the top of her head. “Thanks,” she croaked as she slid into her desk.

That afternoon she received a standing ovation when her name was announced as a jockey at Portland Meadows. She was riding to the post on her first mount and could feel the waves of approval wash over her from the grandstands. She raised her whip in the air and waved, thankful for the brisk wind blowing the heat away from her face.

All the jockeys she’d met offered their congratulations and best wishes for the first Saturday in May. Genie Stokes, who sometimes rode for Runnin’ On Farm, summed it up in the dressing room: “We’re all rooting for you,” she said. “Your dad has worked long and hard for this chance. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy, and his daughter is no slouch.”

It didn’t hurt to win two races and place in a third either. Trish hurried home to work the horses there. David and Brad had already taken care of them all, even contrary Gatesby.

“And we didn’t get any new bruises,” Brad bragged as they walked back up the rise to his blue Mustang.

“How’s Spitfire’s leg?” Trish leaned down to scratch the insistent Caesar as she asked.

“Still warm as soon as he walks on it much,” David answered.

“Did you lead him with Dan’l?” He was the horse that had trained her as she exercised him.

“No, just walked him around the area. Dad said to take it real easy, not even let him out in the pasture.”

“Well, we gotta go. See you guys.” Brad and Rhonda slammed their car doors shut. Trish and David waved good-bye and turned toward the house.

“How’s Firefly?” Trish reached her arms above her head and stretched to pull the tiredness out of her muscles.

“No swelling. Hasn’t been any for some time.”

“Wouldn’t it be something to take her to Kentucky with us, to run the Oaks?” Trish leaned against the deck railing. “I wonder if Dad’s thought about that at all?”

“He said she was done for this year because of the shin problem.”

“I know. But she is such a great horse, and the Oaks runs the day before the Derby. It’s only for three-year-old fillies. She hasn’t really had a chance to prove what she can do.”

“Trish, don’t get any off-the-wall ideas.”

“Well, it’s worth thinking about.” She shoved open the sliding glass door. “And talking about.” She heard retching coming from her father’s bedroom.
I forgot!
The thought tore at her.
Dad’s sick from his treatment and all I could think about was my day—my wins. What kind of daughter am I?
She tiptoed into the darkened bedroom.

Hal lay with one hand across his forehead. His eyes flickered open when he heard Trish whisper his name. “I’m doing okay,” he said. He reached again for the basin on a chair beside his bed. The biting odor of bile from his dry heaves made Trish swallow and wish she hadn’t bothered him.

Sure you are,
her thoughts jeered at his words.
You’re just fine and dandy.

Hal wiped his mouth and smiled past the green tinge to his face. “Really, Tee. This time isn’t anything like the last one. I’ll be up and going by tomorrow. Now, tell me about your day. I hear there was a surprise waiting for you at school. And how did you do at the track?”

Trish filled him in, her excitement returning as she told him each detail. She paused at the end and licked her bottom lip. “Have you thought about taking Firefly with us to Kentucky?”

“You never quit, do you?” Hal patted his daughter’s hand.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a whole lot more expensive to take two horses.”

“No, just plane fare, entry fees…”

Trish heard him but continued. “It’s just a shame she’s never raced against horses as good as she is, and since she missed out on Santa Anita…”

“Dinner’s ready,” Marge called from the kitchen.

“Go eat.” Hal turned on his side.

When Trish checked on him later, he was sound asleep.

Trish had five mounts for Saturday’s program. That was after morning works at Runnin’ On Farm. Her father had surprised—and thrilled—her when he told her to gallop Firefly also. He’d been up and around, just like he promised.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he’d said when Trish grinned down at him from the dark filly’s back. “Let’s see what happens.”