Golden Filly Collection Two (70 page)

Chapter
11

W
ho was that?” Amy sounded like Trish felt. Out of breath.

“Got me, but if Rhonda’d been here, she’d have fainted dead away. What a gorgeous guy!”

“That’s putting it mildly. I wonder if the talent scouts from Hollywood have seen him?”

“Amy, you’re engaged, remember?”

“You bet I do, sweetie, but there’s no law against lookin’, and he’s definitely worth looking at.” She pushed open the door to the dressing room and held it for Trish. “You have any idea who he is?”

“Never saw him before in my life and probably won’t again.” Trish tossed her helmet down on the bench. “Did you see that filly take off? What I wouldn’t give for three of her in my string.” Trish shucked her silks and pulled off her boots. She had two races before she’d be up again. While yakking with the other jockeys was always fun, she pulled out her government textbook. The week she returned from Kentucky she’d have some big tests, and there wouldn’t be much time to study once she got to Kentucky.

She finished the day with a place and headed out to the parking lot for her car. Most of the fans had gone home, leaving the cleaning crew to sweep up the debris. Sounds echoed in the concrete hall. Trish shivered. Sounds, including shots, still echoed in her head.

“You as hungry as I am?” Amy asked from right beside her shoulder. Trish flinched. “Okay, what’s happening?” Amy could switch from friend to protector within the blink of an eye.

“Just remembering. I hate this feeling of wanting to look over my shoulder all the time and being afraid to.”

“Don’t blame you. All I can say is it will eventually go away. Just takes time.” Amy scanned the parking lot. “Trish, anyone would feel the way you do with what you’ve been through. I know I sound like a broken record, but don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Now you sound like my dad.” Trish unlocked the van door and swung her bags in.

“I take that as a compliment. From all I hear and see, that man was one wise fellow. Makes me wish I’d had someone like him in my life.” She fastened her seat belt. “Let’s get outta here. I could eat a—whoops, guess I won’t say that anymore. Cow—that’s right. I could eat a cow.”

“Burgers okay?”

“Nuh-uh. I want real food. Steak, baked potato, Caesar salad, the works. Or will your mom have dinner ready?”

“She always has something I can warm up, but she knows I usually stop on the way home. Too hungry to wait.”

“Good then, we’ll start with an appetizer that’s quick. Lead me to it.”

After a dinner that left them both stuffed to the gills, Trish felt only like falling into bed when they finally got home. She glared at the stack of books on her desk, promised them time the next day, and hit the sack. Her three praises—“Thank you for keeping me and all of us safe today, thank you for the win on the filly, thank you for Amy”—left her asleep before the amen.

Morning dawned cold, wet, and windy, but by the time silver cracked the eastern horizon, Trish had already taken two mounts on their designated trips around the track. While her slicker kept out the worst, both wet and cold slipped down the back of her neck. When she dismounted at the barns, she clapped her arms around her chest a couple of times and tucked her hands into her armpits.

“Man, I’m gonna race in California or Florida next year. This is the pits.” She stamped her feet to get the circulation moving. “I think my nose is froze clear off.”

“Can’t be.” Brad led up her next mount. “It’s still running.”

“Thank you so very much, Mr. Observant. You got any other words of wisdom for me?”

“No, but I’ll buy breakfast soon as we’re done. Having Amy here speeds things up, so we can get warmed up faster.”

Trish waved to the blonde scraping down the last horse she’d ridden. “Don’t you wish you’d stayed home in bed?”

Amy shot her a dirty look.

Trish waved again and raised her knee into Brad’s waiting cupped hands. Once mounted, she pulled her neck down into her shoulders, turtle style. “See you guys. You might make me a cup of hot chocolate while I’m gone, Brad. Your coffee’s strong enough to knock Gatesby here over.”

The gelding tossed his head and jigged to the side at the sound of his name. “You don’t like the miserable weather either, do you?” Trish patted his neck and smoothed a lock of mane to the right side. “Well, let’s get it over with so we can both go back to the barn. You at least get a nice warm stall—I get more horses to ride.”

By race time the clouds hung low, but the rain had ceased. Trish glared up at the glass-fronted stands. For sure there’d be no racing if the fans had to brave the weather like the entertainment did.

Everyone out took the first turn cautiously. No matter how hard the maintenance crew worked, today the track would be muddy. Trish thanked the Lord above that she rode a mudder. Her mount didn’t care what the weather was like; in fact, the wetter the better. He didn’t mind mud in his face, but he’d rather be in front slinging it.

Trish let him take the lead, holding him back so that he wouldn’t wear out. “Think you’re part mule, old man,” she sang to his twitching ears. “You’d probably run straight up a mountain.” He won by two lengths.

When Trish met Bob Diego in front of the grandstand, he nodded his approval from under a wide-brimmed western hat. “You rode that just right, mi amiga. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Trish smiled for the camera and baled off. “See you for the eighth.” She picked up her sidekick and trotted back to the locker room. “Thank God for showers.” She stood under the driving water for ten minutes before she felt warm enough to leave.

Back up in the third, the overcast had deteriorated to a mist. Patrick gave her a leg up, along with a reminder. “Be careful out there. Coming back in one piece is more important than winning.”

“You’re not telling me anything new. I hate weather like this.” Her mount shook his head. “And he does too.” The call of the bugle floated back into the dim, spoke-wheeled saddling paddock. “Pray us some angels. We may need them.”

Trish wished more people would train their horses decently, or scratch those who hated the rain, when it took three tries to get one stubborn creature into the starting gates. His whinny of alarm set everyone’s teeth on edge, not helped by the rain now drifting in sheets across the track.

She breathed a prayer of relief when everyone made it around the first turn with only a couple of minor slips. Down the backstretch, she kept her mount to the outside, off the pace by a length. Going into the turn, the two jockeys on either side of her made their moves. She heard the slap of the bats over the grunts of horses giving their best and the pounding hooves.

The horse on the inside slipped, caromed off the rail, and banged the animal beside Trish. Like dominoes, the force sent her mount staggering for footing, slipping and slopping in the treacherous mud.

Trish clung with all her might, her arms taut like steel bands, trying to keep her horse on his feet. Her heart thundered like the horses behind. An animal screamed. A jockey yelled.

But Trish had her horse straightened out again and running free. She shot a glance over her shoulder. Two down at least, other back runners pulling wide to keep from injuring either themselves or those down. By the time they reached the finish line, her mount was favoring his left foreleg.

“Thank God you kept him to the outside like you did or you’da been right there in the middle.” Patrick took the gelding’s reins and shook his head. “My heart was in me mouth, that it was.”

“How bad was it?”

“I don’t think too bad. Both horses got up again and the jockeys were up and walking.” Brad bent down to check out the gelding’s foreleg. “This guy’s gonna need some ice.”

“Looks like those guardian angels you prayed for had their hands full back there.” Trish dismounted to ease the weight on her horse. “Do you know who went down?”

“Genie was one and a young apprentice the other. He shoulda knowed better than pushin’ at that point.” Patrick shook his head. “These young pups put too much on winnin’ and not enough on giving their horse a good ride.”

“That was too close.” Amy fell in beside Trish after she stepped off the scale.

“You won’t catch me arguing with that.” Trish shivered. “I’m freezing.”

Genie Stokes was already in the shower when Trish got back to the dressing room. “You okay?” Trish called above the water’s rush.

“I will be. One good thing about mud—it helps cushion your fall.” She turned off the taps and poked her head out the curtain. “I could smack that kid right up alongside the head though. What a stupid move.”

“They gonna file a grievance?”

“Doubt it. ’Bout the time I calm down, I’m gonna give him a grievance or two.”

“I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“Yeah, then you’d have to get your sorry butt over here in the mornings and work your own horses.” She disappeared back behind the curtain.

“Right.” Trish rejoined Amy on the bench and pulled off her boots. She felt like a major mud blob herself, and she’d stayed on top of her horse.

She only managed a show on Diego’s horse in the feature race of the day. “Sorry.”

“No problem. I almost scratched her myself. She doesn’t like the mud too well.”

“Horses around here should get used to it.”

“They say mudpacks are good for the complexion, no?” Diego tipped the brim of his hat.

“Gracias, amigo. I’ll keep that in mind.” Trish turned to head for the showers. “See you in Kentucky.”

Trish signed a couple of programs and thanked her fans for coming, all the while trying to keep a smile on her face and the shivers from ruining her signature. She’d just turned to leave when a deep voice stopped her.

“If you don’t mind?” The gorgeous guy from the day before took up more than his share of space on the other side of the fence. In the gloom his shoulders looked broader than a football player’s. And his eyes—those incredible eyes.

“Who should I make it to?” Trish couldn’t resist smiling back.

“No matter, your autograph is enough.” His voice—what could one call it but sexy?

Trish signed the program with a flourish and handed it back to him. “Thanks for coming, in spite of the weather.”

He took the program back and touched it to his forehead before walking away.

“You care to put your police powers to work to find out who he is?” Trish stared after the cashmere-jacket-clad back.

“I thought you liked Red.”

“I do, but…”

“I know, he’s dynamite.” The two headed for the locker room, laughing at themselves and each other.

Since Trish was finished for the day, she showered again and picked up her bag. “You know, I can get used to having a valet. Thanks for packing my stuff.”

“At your service. Just means we can get home faster and crank up that fireplace. Your mom said she invited company for dinner.”

“Who?”

Amy shrugged. “Got me.”

Company included Brad, Rhonda, and Patrick.

“I decided we needed a send-off dinner.” Marge set the platter of fried chicken on the table. “After all, it’s not every day my daughter turns from jockey to model and then rides in the Breeder’s Cup. And our Spitfire stars in the same commercial.” She set the mashed potatoes and gravy in place.

Amy brought the broccoli and cheese and a basket of fluffy biscuits.

“Mrs. E, you sure know the way to this man’s stomach.” Brad took his place at the end of the table, where David usually sat.

“Man? What man?” Trish looked around the room and even under the table. “The only man I see here is Patrick.” She turned to Amy. “What about you?”

Amy shook her head. “I’m staying out of this one.” She took the chair next to Rhonda. “What about you?”

“Just feed me. I’ve been studying all day.”

“Poor baby, in a nice warm room, dry, no wind. My heart bleeds for you.”

“Yeah, and how much did you learn today?”

“Enough, children. Let’s eat.” Marge raised both hands, traffic-cop style. “Trish, you say the blessing.”

The teasing continued on through dinner and into an evening in front of the fireplace. When Brad took out the black mesh popcorn popper, Amy flopped back on the floor with a groan.