Golden Filly Collection Two (60 page)

“If I can get you anything, please tell me.” Marge joined her daughter in the doorway. “I-I’m—we’re grateful you’re here.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Evanston…”

“Marge.”

“Okay, Marge. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible.”

“Good night then. Oh, and remember, we have an early warning system in place already here.”

“The collie?”

“His name is Caesar and he barks at anything unusual. Good night then.” Marge started to shut the door behind her as she left.

“Please leave that open so I can hear easily.”

“Oh, I didn’t think.” Marge pushed the door open again.

Trish shivered at Amy’s quiet command. As long as they were all talking, any danger seemed to fade away. Surely no one would bother her here at home. The guy wasn’t that crazy, was he? She hung up her clothes when she took them off and slipped into her Mickey Mouse nightshirt. All the while her body accomplished her nightly ritual, her mind followed the twists and turns of trying to unravel this latest attack.

By the time she crawled under the covers, shudders racked her body from hair to toe. She reached up to turn off the lamp but pulled her arm back under the covers. Maybe she’d revert to her little kid days and sleep with the light on.

“Trish, you sleeping yet?”

“Sure, Mom, can’t you tell?”

Marge entered the circle of lamplight and sat down on the edge of Trish’s bed. “How are you
really
feeling?”

“Scared. Mad. Tired of it all.”

Marge nodded. “Me too.” She ran her fingers through the feathered sides of her graying hair. “I wish I could lock you up in a box so no one could get to you.”

“Great. I’ve always wanted to live in a box.” Trish rolled onto her back and laced her fingers behind her head. “I can’t believe Highstreet is really so stupid.”

“No one ever said criminals were smart.”

“They shoulda just kept him in jail.”

“That’s one of the problems with our legal system—everyone has rights.”

Trish glanced up to see a smidgen of a grin tugging at the corners of her mother’s mouth. “I get to learn all about that in government, right?”

Marge nodded. “Back to the fear—you want to pray with me about that?”

Trish shook her head. While her own prayer life was improving, she still suffered when asked to pray with someone else, even her mother.

“You used to say your prayers with me.”

Trish’s gaze leaped from examining the cuticle on her left thumb to her mother’s face.
Dad used to read my mind like that. Now can you?
She studied her mother’s expression. “Is mind reading something all parents can do, or just you and Dad?”

Marge smiled gently and patted Trish’s clasped hands. “I’m praying for your safety and protection—God’s promised special protection to widows and orphans.”

“Thanks, but I’m not an orphan.”

“Half a one…whatever. I claim all the love and protection I can.” Marge paused; her gaze dropped to her hands before she looked back to Trish. “You need to pray for whoever is writing those notes. You can’t let anger and bitterness come back into your heart.”

Trish shook her head slowly from side to side. “I don’t think so.” But “pray for your enemies” leaped into her mind as she flatly denied her mother’s wishes. And that wasn’t even one of her memory verses. How did God do that?

She could feel the thoughts chasing each other around the corners of her mind.
Gotcha, didn’t she?
Her nagger seemed to chuckle.

Marge rose to her feet and bent down to give Trish a hug. “Think about it.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “And always remember that God loves you and so do I.”

Trish wiped away the tears that sprang to her eyes at her mother’s words. Her father had always said good-night the same way. She listened to the sounds her mother made getting ready for bed. Water running, the toilet flushing, the bed creaking—all audible because the bedroom doors were open. She reached up and shut off her light.

While the house quieted, other noises magnified: the scrape of a branch against her window, a dog—other than Caesar—barking somewhere, the shifting of a truck. Trish tried to swallow her stomach back down where it belonged. This was as bad as waiting for a stubborn horse to enter the starting gate for the third time.

She knew that sound was the tree outside; she’d heard it for years. Branch shadows ghost-danced on her wall, lit by the mercury light in the circular drive around. She scrunched her eyes shut, clamped her hands together, and tried to pray. When she pulled the covers over her head, all she could hear was her breathing—which grew more rapid until she flung the covers back, leaped from the bed, and stormed over to the window.

After checking the lock and drawing the lined drapes, she turned to a pitch-dark room. She could never remember drawing the drapes before. Within two strides, she slammed her little toe on the bed leg. Hopping on one foot so she could massage the two littlest toes on the other, she banged her knee on the footboard.

The sounds she muttered had no exact words, but if they had, they wouldn’t have been the kind her mother liked to hear.

“Trish, are you all right?” Amy asked from the doorway. At least as far as Trish could tell, it was the general direction of the doorway. By now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so she reached for the lamp, knocking off the shade in the process.

Another mutter. “I’m fine. Just got banged up trying to close the drapes.” She blinked against the light from the lamp.

“What’s going on?” David loomed over Amy’s back.

“Trish?”

“Come on in, Mom. Everyone else is here.” Trish rubbed her sore toes with one hand and combed back her hair with the other. “I was just closing the curtains to keep out the sounds and I banged into the bed. I’m not used to it being so dark in here.”

“What did you hear?” Amy leaned her hip against Trish’s desk.

“The tree scraping on the window, a car…” Trish listed the sounds. “Guess I’m just spooky tonight.”

“Yeah, something like the rest of us.” David imitated Trish’s act of pushing hair back with his fingers. A dark curl dropped back over his forehead as if it belonged there.

Marge returned from looking out the window. “Your foot okay?”

“It will be. Sorry to cause such a hassle.” Trish pushed her hair back again. By the time they all left, she felt like hiding her head under her pillow. Maybe if she’d done that in the first place, this sideshow wouldn’t have happened.

After turning out the light again, she snuggled down under her covers.
God, this is crazy. I’ve never been scared here at home before, at least not like this. If you’ve got extra angels up there who need a job, could you just put ’em around the house?
Her mother’s suggestion to pray for the developer slipped into her mind. The thought brought a blaze of anger instead.
How can he do such a thing? And if it isn’t him, then who?
Her mind took off with a will of its own.

Trish jerked it back.
Please help me do my best tomorrow. Amen.
She turned over and settled herself on her other side.
Three praises. I forgot the praises.

When are you gonna learn?
Her nagger sounded like he was shaking his head.

Thank you for the wins today, for the money for Prairie from the TBA, for having David home…
She rubbed the cold sore with her tongue.
For healing my lip in advance…
She felt herself smiling.
And for all my friends.
She sighed at the memory of crimson and gold going crazy at the track.
Amen.

This time when she took a deep breath, she could feel the tension drain out of her body and leave a puddle of warmth behind.
Thank you again, Father.

By the time Trish had worked all of the racing string in the morning, she’d gotten over watching over her shoulder and checking to see if anyone she didn’t know was hanging around. Amy seemed right at home. She and Patrick watched the works from the raised and covered viewing stand by the gate leading onto the track from the backside. He’d volunteered to explain things to her so she could have a better idea how to watch Trish.

At first Trish caught herself paying more attention to the pair, but by the second horse, she forgot about that too and just did her job. Besides, she was freezing. The rising sun had faded the eastern sky to gray with a thin stripe of gold between the overcast and the horizon. But the breeze making fog tendrils dance blew right through her, making even her bones shiver.

“You’ve turned into a California girl for sure,” David teased when Trish wiped her dripping nose on a tissue pulled from a box in the office.

“Yeah, you get out there where the wind hits you and we’ll see who’s used to warmer weather.” She tucked her gloved hands under her armpits and stamped her feet. “I’m going to buy some of those socks with warmers in them and dig out my long johns.”

“Well, you’ve only one after this, and I promise to turn the heater in the truck up full blast.” He boosted her into the saddle of the gelding Patrick was training for another owner. “I’m not sure what Patrick wants done here, so you better ask him. You gonna ride the mounts you have for this afternoon?”

Trish shook her head. “Not and make it to church.” She checked her watch. “We better hurry.” She tapped her brother on top of the head with her whip. “You want me to say anything to Amy for you?”

“Get outta here.”

Trish sniffed again. If only her nose would quit dripping. She felt the hackles rise on the back of her neck. Who was that man walking down the aisle to Diego’s barns? “This has got to stop!” At the tone of her voice, the gelding jigged to the side.

Trish patted the horse’s neck and crooned an apology to the high-stepping animal. “Not your fault, fella. You just do what you know is right. We’ll go around nice and easy to loosen you up, then a breeze for the clockers.” Trish raised her hand to Patrick and shivered again as the wind hit her. “Maybe we should all move to California.”

Brad arrived just when Trish brought the gelding back to the barn. “Sorry I’m late. My alarm didn’t go off.” He stopped and shot Trish a questioning look when he saw Patrick and Amy walking back to the stalls.

“That’s Amy Jones,” Trish said after vaulting to the ground. “Because of the note last night, Parks brought me a guard.”

“Well, she could guard me any day.”

“You and David. She’s really a nice person.”

“I bet.”

“Brad Williamson, you’re as bad as your friend over there. Now, I gotta get home and get warmed up. How about you finish grooming this guy?”

When Amy and Patrick joined them, Brad nudged Trish until she relented and introduced him. Had everyone gone girl or boy crazy but her?

“I don’t know about you guys, but I need to get something to eat and get ready for church. David, you coming or what?”

Back at the truck, Trish swallowed a snort. David opened the door for them. Trish stepped back to let Amy sit in the middle and caught a nod of approval from her non-smiling brother.

“No, I’ll take the window…lets me see better.” Amy ushered Trish in first.

Trish shrugged when David shot her a glare as he started the engine. She adjusted the heater controls and soon a blast of hot air could be felt into her boots.

“I forgot how cold it can be out there.”

“Yeah, well we froze in the fog at Bay Meadows, even if it was California.”

“But it always burned off there. I think I’m beginning to like it down south.” Trish rubbed her hands together.

“I’ve only been south twice. Once for my brother’s graduation”—Amy pulled the cap off her head and let her blond hair swing down around her shoulders—“and once to Disneyland. My fiancé says maybe we’ll go there on our honeymoon.”

Trish could feel David deflate. Wait till she saw Brad again.

Cinnamon roll perfume met them at the door when they pulled off their boots at the jack and entered the dining room.

“Thought you could eat in shifts while taking turns for the shower.” Marge set a plate of bacon on the table. “Amy, would you like coffee or hot chocolate?”

“Coffee, please.”

Trish heard them visiting when she headed for the shower. She’d have to wear her hair in a braid today, no time to wash and dry it.