Golden Filly Collection Two (49 page)

“No.”

The nurse called the masseur in to help. She explained what they had to do. “Now, you yell if you need to. We don’t need any heroes here, okay?” Trish nodded again. Together they applied the right pressures and, on three, snapped the shoulder joint back in place.

“Ahhh!” Trish heard the grind and snap. Before she could say anymore, she could already feel the relief.

“We did it. Good job, Trish. You’re a real trooper.”

Trish panted out a “thank you.” She accepted a glass of water along with a couple of pain killers. When she could breathe again, she forced a smile to her mouth. Licking her lips helped too.

“Okay, let’s ice that sucker and then you can go home to bed. You don’t have any mounts tomorrow, do you?”

“No, I’m driving to Vancouver early in the morning.” Trish winced again when the nurse laid the blue plastic ice packets over the wet washcloths against her skin.

“You’re what?” The nurse talked as she wrapped towels around the injury. Trish repeated herself. “That’s what I thought you said. You get up here and lie down for a bit.” She helped Trish climb up on a gurney and lie back. “Can’t someone drive for you?” Trish shook her head. “Then wait a couple of days or fly.”

“I wish.” Trish closed her eyes. “I’ll be fine. You said this was simple.”

“True, but I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt.”

If only I’d left well enough alone,
Trish thought as she lay staring at the ceiling.
One more mount. I had to take one more mount.

“Can I see her for a moment?” she heard Adam ask the nurse.

When she agreed, he pulled the curtain back enough to enter and leaned over the gurney. “How ya doing?”

Trish could feel her eyes fill at the concern in his voice. “Thank God it’s not broken,” she managed.

“What a bummer. They shoulda scratched that beast. Hank knows better than that.”

“He tried. The owner wouldn’t buy it.” Trish turned her head so she could see him when he sat down in the chair by her bed.

Adam shook his head. “So now what are you going to do?”

Trish raised an eyebrow in question.

“About going home tomorrow.”

“Drive. Why?” When she recognized the stubborn look on his face, she added. “I’ll be fine, really I will. If I need to stop, I can do that. Adam, it was just dislocated. I’ll wear the sling, and my shifting arm isn’t injured.”

“I’ll drive you.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“No.” She almost controlled the wince when she shook her head.

“Then Martha will. Or you’ll fly.”

“I have to get my car home.” Trish blinked her eyes against the sleepiness caused by the pain pills. The warmth started at her feet and flowed upward. If she could just sleep awhile—

“Okay, Missy, let’s get that sling in place and let you go home before this man paces a groove in my floor here.” The nurse’s voice called Trish back from the floating land of comfort.

Sitting up snapped her fully awake.
“Ow.”

“I know.” The nurse adjusted the blue canvas sling and eased Trish’s silks back in place, tucking the empty sleeve inside. She handed Trish two bottles with pills in them. “Now, you take these to keep the swelling down, and these will help the pain.”

“Will they make me sleepy?”

“Most likely.”

“Thank you.” Trish stuffed the two small containers in her pocket. While she felt a bit woozy when she stood up, she ignored the feeling and nodded when Adam asked if she was ready. He had her bag from the jockey room in his hand. Trish thanked the nurse again and followed Adam out the door.

The sun setting behind the western hills told her how much time had passed since the accident. Trish got in the car carefully. She’d hoped to go out to the beach tonight. That’s where she heard her song best, the one about eagle’s wings. Boy, did she need eagle’s wings right now.

That’s where she’d finally found peace again, and now she wouldn’t even get to say good-bye. She leaned her head back against the headrest of the car seat. It would be so easy to blubber right now. She sniffed against the moisture pooling at the back of her nose and eyes.

But if she cried now, Adam would never let her drive tomorrow.

When Trish forced her bruised body out of bed in the morning, a knock on her door announced Martha.

“How’re you feeling?” She didn’t wait for Trish’s answer, and instead handed her the blue ice packs. “Now, you let this ice for a bit while I finish your packing for you. Then Adam will help load the car, and you and I’ll be off.”

“Martha, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to do this.”

The older woman planted both fists on her rounded hips and stared at Trish, eyes narrowed. “If you think I’d let you go off by yourself injured like this…” She shook her head and turned back to the closet. “Why, your mother would kill me.”

Not really,
Trish thought, flexing her fingers.
She’s going to want to kill
me
!
She knew she should have called home last night but—she rubbed her forehead with the uninjured hand. But she hadn’t had the strength to argue and she
was
going to have her car at home.

“Don’t even think about arguing with me.” Margaret looked up from folding and packing Trish’s things. “You know I’m right, and since your mother isn’t going to be pleased about another injury, at least she’ll applaud your good sense in allowing help.”

What could Trish say? “Thank you” were the only words that came to mind.

She slept most of the eleven-hour trip home, waking only for food and rest stops.

“Those muscle relaxers appear to work pretty well,” Martha said at one point when Trish rebuckled her seat belt.

At least it doesn’t hurt as much this way,
Trish thought as she dozed back to sleep again. Fighting to stay awake had already proven a wasted effort.

She woke up enough to direct Martha once they reached the southern edge of Portland. It didn’t take long to get through the city and cross the Columbia River to Vancouver. Each mile closer to home brought increased alertness. Her heart picked up speed when they turned into the drive at Runnin’ On Farm.

Caesar did his best to announce to the entire world that Trish was home again. Marge came out the front door as Trish stepped from the car. They met at the gate.

“How bad is it?” Marge checked her daughter over, looking for visible injuries.

“Just a dislocated shoulder. Margaret drove me up.”

“Thank God.” She squeezed Trish’s good hand and walked on out to the car. “How good to see you. And thank you for caring for my kid there.” The two women swapped hugs and retrieved the suitcases from the trunk and backseat. Burdened down, they made their way to the house.

Trish held the door for them. “At least I can do this one-handed.” Her feeble attempt at a joke fell flat.

Marge set the things down and turned to her daughter. “Has it been X-rayed?” Trish shook her head. “Then I think our next order of business is to visit the emergency room and take care of that.”

“Mother, the nurse said…”

“You haven’t seen a doctor either?” At the look on Trish’s face, Marge walked to her bedroom and returned carrying her purse. “Martha, if you’d like to kick back and relax for a while…”

“No, I’ll go along. We can use the time to visit.”

Trish didn’t dare say I told you so on the drive home again, but she sure wanted to. The doctor said exactly the same things the nurse had and approved the pills Trish was taking. Said she’d feel lots better in a day or two and the more she iced it, the better.

She didn’t argue either in the morning when her mother prepared to drive her to school. The tight-lipped look her mother wore when helping Trish dress was enough to keep any thinking person silent, let alone a daughter who already felt guilty as charged.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Trish muttered. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Tee, I know that. I’m not angry at you.” Marge turned the ignition.

“Coulda fooled me.” Trish buckled her seat belt with one hand. Having an injured arm wasn’t easy, but she would not ask for help again.

Marge leaned her head on her hands. “It’s just when something like this happens, I realize all over again what a dangerous sport you’re—we’re—in. You could be critically injured—or killed so easily.”

Trish rolled her upper lip between her teeth. “But, you promised not to worry anymore.”

“Yeah, well, the promise was easy. Livin’ it ain’t.” She shot her daughter a watery grin. “It’s only through the grace of God I keep my sanity at all. So…” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank God for His grace that can keep even a dyed-in-the-wool worrier like me under control. Times like this send me back to ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’”

Trish thought about her mother’s words later that day when her arm got bumped in the crush of students hurrying to class.

In government class, the teacher announced that all of them would be involved in class projects. “We’ll divide into groups of three or four, and each team will come up with its own idea and plan. The goal is to understand more about how our democratic system functions.”

Trish and Rhonda looked at each other across the aisle. How could they get on the same team?

“Now, we could number off, but since we’re learning about the democratic process, I will entertain ideas from the floor.”

Trish and Rhonda stared at each other, raised eyebrows matching. The classroom had never been so silent.

“You mean about how we should choose teams?” The hesitant question came from the other side of the room.

“That’s correct.”

“Each of us choose two partners,” someone then responded.

“What if someone is left out?” Ms. Wainwright shot back.

“Take the first three in a row…” Groans from around the room.

“Go alphabetically.” More groans.

“Vote.” A hush waited for the teacher’s response.

“Now how would you work that out?” Added groans. The suggester shrugged.

“We could elect a committee to divide the class into groups.”

Ms. Wainwright wrote their suggestions on the board as they came up. “Remember how we talked about democracy being a slow process?” She read each suggestion again. “All of these take time.”

“You could assign the groups.”

“True. That form of government is called a…” She waited for responses.

“Dictatorship.”

“Monarchy.” Trish glared at someone behind her who hissed at her answer.

“True, if I were the queen,” Ms. Wainright said with a smile. “We’re going to vote on which method to use, so raise your hands for the one you like best. Just remember, when we’re finished, everyone must be on a team.”

The class selected personal choice so Rhonda, Trish, and Doug formed a group. “We gotta make sure everyone’s on a team.” Trish checked over her shoulder to see if anyone appeared left out.

“Is everyone finished?” the teacher asked. At their nods, she shook her head. “Did you include those who are absent?”

“Who’s not here?”

“We only have two,” someone else said. “They can be on our team.”

“Good. Now, what have you learned from this?”

“Democracy can be a pain in the…” one of the guys muttered.

The teacher laughed along with the class. “True. Any kind of government can. What else?”