Golden Filly Collection One (57 page)

Even though they didn’t have a horse running that day, Marge and Hal drove Trish to the track.

“Meet you at the front gate after your last ride,” Marge said. “We’ll all go out for dinner.”

Trish nodded and grinned her agreement, then dog-trotted off to the dressing room.

The sun kept ducking behind clouds coming from the west as though afraid to be seen too long in one place. Trish thought of the constant warmth of California as she snapped the rubber bands around her cuffs to keep the cold wind from blowing up her silks. The track was wet but not muddy.

“Be careful on that far turn,” owner Bob Diego said as he gave her a leg up for the second race of the day. “Keep off the rail, it’s worse there.”

Trish nodded. She leaned forward and stroked the neck of her mount.

“And, Trish, I cannot tell you how pleased I am for you and your father. You rode an excellent race.”

“Thank you. I still get excited when I think about it.”

Trish again felt the warmth of his words as she moved the horse into the starting gates. All the animals seemed keyed up. She had to back her mount out and come into the gate a second time. But the horse broke cleanly and surged to a secure spot in second. Trish held him there until the last furlong of the short race, moved up on the lead, and with hand and voice encouragement, swept under the wire ahead by a length.

She won the next one for Jason Rodgers also.

“We missed you,” the tall, always perfectly dressed Rodgers told her in the winner’s circle. “But we’re sure proud of you. Not many riders make a mark like you did down south. And thanks for a good win today. Meet you here again in an hour or so?”

Trish grinned at him. “Sounds good to me.” And that’s exactly what she did. She and another Rodgers horse won the fifth.

“Looked like you had a bad time on that far turn,” Rodgers said after the pictures had been taken and the horse led away to the testing barn.

“Yeah, we got caught on the rail and bumped around a little. The maintenance crew needs to work that spot some more.”

Trish stood in line for the scale after changing silks again.

“So how does it feel to be back after a win like the Santa Anita?” veteran jockey Phil Snyder asked her.

“Cold.” Trish hugged her saddle closer. “I loved the sun down there.”

“And winning?” Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes.

“You should know.” Trish grinned back at him. She leaned closer to whisper, “I loved every minute of it, even when I was terrified at going against the big-name jockeys. You couldn’t exactly call them friendly but”—she shrugged—“I met Shoemaker. And beating the others—well—”

“You can’t wait to do it again.” They laughed together.

“How’s your new baby?” Trish asked as they walked toward the saddling paddock.

“Growing like a weed,” Phil said. “I’ll have him up on a horse before you know it.”

Trish felt the tension in her mount as soon as she approached the saddling stall. She knew this was the first race for the colt because she’d talked to the owner earlier. The horse tossed his head and rolled his eyes when Trish reached to stroke his neck.

“Easy, fella,” she crooned to him. “You don’t have to act this way. Come on now.” The colt stamped his foot but calmed as she kept up her easy monologue. When she mounted, she could feel him arch his back as if to buck. She stroked his neck, murmuring all the while. “You certainly live up to your name, don’t you?” She gathered her reins and nodded at the owner. Spice of Life couldn’t have been more descriptive.

“Watch him closely,” the trainer said as he handed the lead shank over to the woman riding the horse that would parade them to the post. “And you be careful, Trish.”

Trish felt the horse settle down about halfway to the post, and when they cantered back toward the starting gates, he quit fighting the bit. His gait smoothed out, so she didn’t feel like she was riding a pile driver.

“That’s a good fella,” she sang to the flicking ears. “Whoops! Not so good! Whoa now!” Her commands seemed to spin off into thin air as the frightened colt backed out of the gates as fast as he should have been breaking forward. The handler led him back in.

Spice of Life snorted and shook his head. Trish settled herself in the saddle. She’d almost been ready to bail off.

“Come on, fella, let’s concentrate on running, not tearing things up.” The horse seemed to finally hear her and stopped shifting around.

“Good job, Trish,” Snyder said from the stall to her right.

“Thanks.” Trish concentrated on the space between the horse’s ears. Now to get him running straight. The gates swung open and the colt hesitated before he lunged forward. His stride was choppy, so Trish held him firm to give him a chance to catch his balance.

When she finally had him running true, the field was bunched in front of them. As they rounded the first turn, Trish caught the six horses running together. When she tried to swing the colt around the outside, he fought her. He checked, stumbled, gained his feet again.

At that same moment a horse somewhere in front broke down. As he crashed, a second horse fell over him. Bodies flew every which way. Spice of Life smashed into the screaming and kicking mass of downed horses and riders. Trish felt herself flying through the air.

Chapter

02

R
elax!
flashed from Trish’s mind to her body. By now it had to be a conditioned response, or it wouldn’t have happened in that split second of catapult time.

She struck the ground at the same time her mount did. The screams of horses and humans echoed in her ears as she plowed through the soft dirt and bumped against a fallen horse’s back. Then all went black.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out. Drawing air into her lungs took major concentration. She wiggled her fingers and toes, doing a body check while she waited for her head to clear. She heard someone moaning. Someone else was either cursing or praying in rapid Spanish. A horse snorted nearby.

The sound of a motor whining around the track must surely be an ambulance. It was.

Trish rolled into a sitting position but quickly dropped her head between her knees. She wasn’t sure which was worse, a rolling stomach or a woozy head.

“Just stay where you are,” a male voice ordered softly. “We’ll get to you as soon as we can.”

While it seemed like forever, it was only a minute or so before Trish could open her eyes and focus on the carnage around her. A horse lay just beyond her feet. It must have been what she bumped against. It hadn’t moved.

Trish swallowed—hard.

She looked up to see the EMTs loading a covered stretcher into the ambulance.
Covered!
The thought flashed through her own misery. Was someone dead? Two others were working over a jockey who groaned when they moved him.

By the outside rail, a horse stood, head down, not putting any weight on a front leg. Trish could see blood running from the open gash caused by a compound fracture.

She gritted her teeth. They’d probably have to put that horse down.

“Just take it easy,” a voice from behind her said. “We have another ambulance on the way.”

“I’m fine.” Trish turned her head very carefully so her stomach would stay down where it belonged. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?” The first ambulance pulled away, lights flashing. “Now, any pain here?” The blond-haired young man pressed on her legs.

Trish swallowed again. She spit out some of the track dirt. When she lifted her hands to remove her helmet, the world spun around like an out-of-control carousel.

“Take it easy and let me help you.” The blue-uniformed man squatted in front of her, still checking her arms and legs. He finished unbuckling her helmet and handed it to her. “Now, how’s the head?”

“Hurts, but not bad. I just feel dizzy when I move.” Trish ran her fingers over the dent in the side of her helmet. Someone had kicked her—big time. No wonder she felt funny.

“Let’s get you on a back board and brace your neck for the ride in, just in case you’ve broken something in your neck or spine.” The EMT smiled at her as another person brought over the equipment.

“Do I have to?” Trish pleaded. “I’ve been through this before. I’m okay, really.” She kept insisting but didn’t have the strength to fight them, especially since every time she moved her head, the world tilted.

The ride to the hospital was mercifully short. The worst part was the lump of dirt digging a hole in her left hip. Once she’d removed that, the rest of the ride was fairly comfortable.

“How bad is she?” Marge asked as the attendants pulled the gurney out of the ambulance. Her voice sounded rigid, as if she had to force her words from between clenched teeth.

“Hi, Mom.” Trish raised her head and reached for her mother’s hand. “You got here awfully fast.”

“It’s not hard when you’re following an ambulance.” Hal took her other hand. He leaned down and kissed his daughter’s cheek.

Trish felt a tear slip from her eye and run down into her ear. She sniffed. “I’m okay, except for a dizzy head. Make them let me up, please. I don’t want to go through X-rays and everything again.”

“Just be patient.” Marge clamped on to Trish’s hand as if her daughter might be ripped away from her. “It’s better to get checked out just—just in case—there’s more.”

“Mo-o-m!”

“No, she’s right, Tee. We’ll be right beside you,” her father assured her.

The EMTs pushed the gurney through the hospital’s automatic doors and into a curtained cubicle. On three they lifted her, board and all, to a hospital gurney.

“By the way,” the cheerful blond man said before he left, “you’re one whale of a rider. I’ve been watching you since last fall, and if I had a horse, I’d sure want you riding it. You take care, and good luck at the Derby.”

“Thanks.” Trish waved back as he left the room. She rolled her head to the side to smile at her mom and dad. One look at her mother’s frozen face and Trish knew there was deep trouble. “B-b-but, Mom, this wasn’t
my
fault.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Tee.” Her father squeezed her hand. “That’s what your mother has always tried to tell you. Accidents—serious accidents—often happen through no one’s fault, but people and horses can get hurt. Seriously hurt. Or even die.”

Marge rubbed her arms above her elbows as if seeking some kind of warmth. Hal put his arm around her and hugged her into his side.

“Die?” Trish remembered back to the track. “That horse I fell against. It died?”

Hal nodded. The sorrow in his eyes as he kissed his wife’s hair penetrated the fuzziness Trish felt when she moved her head.

“That’s not all.” It was more a statement than a question.

Her father shook his head. “Phil Snyder was killed too. Broke his neck in the fall.”

Marge shuddered and hid her face in Hal’s shoulder.

Trish bit her lip on the cry that tore from her heart. Tears welled in her eyes and ran through the mud on her face and into her ears. She stared up at the square blocks of ceiling tile. “But—but I was just talking with him before the race—and he has a baby—and—and…” She didn’t have the courage to look at her mother.

“Well, Trish, so you’re back again. We’re going to have to quit meeting this way.” The doctor stared from her face to Hal’s. “Is she worse than they told me?” His question was low, meant for Hal’s ears alone. Hal shook his head.

The doctor paused.

Tears slid silently from Trish’s eyes. She clenched her fists at her sides on the narrow gurney.
Do not fall apart now! You’re tough. Hang in there!
Her orders seemed to be working. She could swallow again.

“I’m sorry, Trish.” The doctor picked up her hand and checked her pulse while he spoke. “Phil Snyder was a fine man, besides a good rider. That was a terrible accident.” He shifted into a more professional tone. “Now let’s see how you’re doing. They said concussion. Your vision a bit foggy?” Trish nodded. “And movement makes it worse, right?” he answered when a grimace squinted in her eyes. “Nausea?”

“Some. But it’s better now. How about just letting me go home? I’ll be—I’m fine. Really, I am.” Trish sniffed the offensive tears back.

The doctor moved her arms and legs, all the while asking, “Hurt here? How about here?” He checked her eyes again. “Any pain anywhere else?”

Trish took a deep breath, almost shook her head, and caught herself just in time. “No, not really. Please, no X-rays. Just let me go home.”

The doctor studied her for a moment. “Does this feel any different than the last concussion you had? Now be honest with me, Trish. You know what that other concussion felt like, and I can’t find anything else.”

“About the same. I don’t feel like running track right now, but Dad’s always said I have a hard head. Guess this just shows he’s right.”

The doctor rubbed his chin. He extended his hand. “Well, let’s get you upright and see how you do. Easy now.” He helped her sit up and swing her legs to the side.

Trish gulped and squeezed her eyes shut. She took a deep breath, slowly raised her head, and swallowed again. The room stayed in one place. Her mother and father didn’t fade in and out like before.