Golden Filly Collection Two (78 page)

In the morning Trish felt as if everyone were deliberately working in slow motion. It was ten o’clock before the nurse wheeled her patient down to the hospital entrance, and she’d been ready since seven. Keeping a rein on her temper had been as hard as keeping Gatesby from nipping.

“Thanks, Sue. You’ve been a godsend.” Marge hugged the young nurse before opening the car door.

“Y’all take care now.” Sue set the locks on the wheelchair and flipped the footrests upright. “I don’t want to see your face here again. I’d much rather come to the track and cheer you on.”

Trish waved good-bye, not regretting her farewells in the least. If she never went to a hospital again, it would be too soon.

She closed her eyes and sent prayers for Firefly winging upward. Every time she’d awakened through the night, she’d done the same. Red had called back with reassurances after talking with the vet. As he’d said, leave it to the media to hype the situation.

“We could go to the motel first.”

“Right.” Trish didn’t bother to open her eyes. Seeing Firefly in person would not be put on hold for anything.

Marge stopped the car in the space closest to the veterinarian clinic entrance. “You’ve got to take it easy, you know.”

“Moth-er!” The one word said it all.

They entered the brick building and stopped at the receptionist’s desk.

“We’re here to see Firefly,” Trish answered in response to the woman’s greeting.

“Have a seat and I’ll get Doctor Grant.” The woman’s smile was wasted on Trish.

“No, just take me back to see my horse.” Trish started toward the door marked PRIVATE.

“Trish.” Marge grabbed for her daughter’s arm and missed.

The door opened just as Trish raised her hand to push against it. The man in a white thigh-length lab coat could have doubled as a pro-football linebacker.

“You must be Trish Evanston.” He held out his hand. “I’m Doctor Grant.”

Trish remembered her manners before her mother could deal out a poke-in-the-back reminder. “Glad to meet you.”

“Come right this way.” He gestured toward an office with chairs arranged in front of a polished teak desk.

“I want to see Firefly—now.” Trish met him stare for stare, refusing to be intimidated by his size and soft southern drawl.
Just get out of my way,
she thought.
I’ve had about all I can take of interfering doctors.

Dr. Grant shrugged and shifted his attention to Marge as she raised her eyebrows.

“Firefly
is
her horse,” Marge said softly.

Trish debated pushing past him, but this wasn’t an ordinary vet’s office. This place was huge, with corridors running three ways and voices coming over intercoms—just like a regular hospital for humans. She tapped her foot instead. Besides, he looked big and tough enough to subdue a raging stallion, let alone a slightly damaged seventeen-year-old jockey.

“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” Marge murmured right near Trish’s ear. It was one of her mother’s pet sayings. But right now Trish wasn’t in the mood for flies.

“Right this way.” Dr. Grant shrugged one shoulder before he turned and guided them through a labyrinth of white walls and tiled floors. The door he finally opened led into a dimly lit room with high ceilings and a rubberized floor. In the center, suspended in a sling from overhead pulleys, hung a terribly sick sorrel Thoroughbred.

“Firefly?” except for the star on her forehead, Trish would have doubted the rough-coated animal was really her filly. “Firefly?” At the second call the horse pricked her ears and raised her drooping head an inch or so.

Trish crossed the room to stand by the horse’s head. “Oh, my girl, what have they done to you?” She smoothed the filly’s forelock and rubbed the slack ears. Firefly leaned her head into Trish’s arms and sighed.

Trish wrinkled her nose at the odor of decay that rose like a miasma around her. The smell was only dimmed by the disinfectants used by the hospital. The filly’s broken foreleg sported a cast from hoof to shoulder. She’d lost enough weight that even the cast gaped at the top and her ribs stuck out. The gallant spirit that usually beamed from her eyes had gone into hiding.

Trish murmured encouraging words into the filly’s ears, all the while agonizing over the deterioration. Could they pull Firefly out of this? Or would it really be better to put her out of her misery?

She felt the doctor by her side before she heard him. “I had planned to prepare you. I know seeing her like this is a shock.”

“Umm.” Trish continued rubbing the filly’s face. “How long since she’s eaten or had anything to drink?”

“We keep offering but she refuses. I’d have to check the exact times.” He retrieved a metal chart holder from its slot on the wall and returned to her side. He flipped the pages. “Hmm. Two days ago. And she hasn’t urinated for eighteen hours, so her kidneys may be shutting down.”

“Is that why you said on television last night that you might have to put her down?”

“That wasn’t exactly what I said. However, you have to admit that’s a strong possibility.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.” Trish squared her shoulders but winced when she took a deep breath.
Why is it people are so ready to give up?
“She’ll listen to me and do what I say. Can you get me some warm mash with molasses in it and a bucket of warm water?” She glanced around the room, looking for further inspiration.

“We’ve already—” The doctor cut off his sentence. “Of course.” He and Marge left in deep discussion.

Trish winced when the filly rubbed against her chest. “Easy, girl. That hurts.” A stool in the corner caught her attention. But when she moved away, Firefly flung her head in the air and started thrashing around. Trish halted in midstride and spun back to the filly’s side. “Easy, easy. You know better than that.” Her words and hands worked their magic, but not before the horse’s sides heaved in an attempt to draw in sufficient air.

A medical assistant entered the room carrying two stainless steel buckets. “Doctor Grant said to bring you these.” She set the buckets down with a clang and tucked a lock of blond hair behind her left ear. “Is there any way I can help you?”

Trish smiled in relief. “Sure. See that stool over there? If I could sit down, I’d be more comfortable. Firefly had a fit when I tried to leave.”

“Of course. By the way, my name is Kim. You’ve been my idol ever since last spring when I watched you win the Derby on Spitfire. What a race!” She carried the stool to Trish while talking.

“Thanks.” Trish sat down with a sigh she tried to stifle. “You have a shallow pan or dish anywhere, something I can hold on my lap?”

Kim studied her for a moment. “I’ll find something.”

While she waited, Trish dipped a handful of water out of the bucket and held it up to the filly’s lips. After a second, Firefly lapped the water, slopping some on the floor and more on Trish. At least she was trying. Trish felt the thrill of it tingle clear out to her fingertips. Firefly
would
try for her.

She dipped into the warm mash and held that under the filly’s nose. Firefly turned her head away, but when Trish coaxed her again, the horse finally nibbled at the feed.

Dr. Grant returned to stand off to the side. “Drinking is the most important,” he said in a hushed tone. He handed her a nearly flat container. Trish poured water into it and drew Firefy’s head over so her nose rested in it. Again the filly lapped the water, as if normal drinking were more effort than she could afford. After continued pats and murmurs from Trish, the pan gleamed empty.

“Thank you, God,” Marge said softly.

Trish heard her. “Ditto.” She dug out a handful of mash and offered it to Firefly. That too disappeared.

“Well, I’ll be. Guess those rumors of your gift with horses are true after all.” Dr. Grant rocked back on his heels. “Anytime you want to come on staff here, you’re welcome. When we tried force-feeding that horse, she went nuts.” He turned to his assistant. “Right, Kim?”

“Yeah. I was the one who took a whop on the nose.” She rubbed the bridge of her ski-jump nose. “I bled like a stuck hog.”

Trish offered the filly another pan of water. This time only half of the liquid disappeared. “She likes it better warm.”

Kim left to heat the water.

“I left a message for Patrick. He’s probably at the track.” Marge came to stand by Trish’s shoulder. “He’ll call here with any suggestions he has.”

By late afternoon, Trish felt as if she’d been run over by a herd of wild horses. Her ribs ached, her head pounded, and she could have fallen asleep on the stool. But she didn’t dare move. Marge brought her a hamburger, fries, and Diet Coke when she complained of a growling stomach.

Every few minutes she offered the filly food and water. Sometimes Firefly took them, but more often she didn’t. In between tries, the horse dozed, head down. The sound of her breathing paced Trish’s own. When the filly coughed, Trish felt the spasm in her own chest.

When Kim wheeled in an office chair with padded back and arms, Trish smiled gratefully. “Can you take my place, Kim, while I go to the bathroom?” She stood and stretched carefully.

Firefly raised her head. She snorted when Kim sat down on the stool. When Trish backed away the filly nickered. Her hooves rapped a tattoo on the rubber mat, which set the sling to swinging from side to side.

“Stop her! She’ll hurt herself!” Kim leaped to the filly’s head just in time to take a slam on the chin.

Chapter
03

K
im blinked and shook her head to chase away the stars. She hung on to the horse’s halter. “Easy, girl. Come on, you’ve been doing so well.” The filly jerked back and flung her head from side to side.

Trish took Kim’s place at the filly’s head. “Come on, old girl. I gotta go.” Firefly calmed, her head tight against Trish as if locking her into place.

Kim and Trish stared at each other. “What’ll we do?” Kim pulled back the stool and sank down on it, rubbing her chin at the same time. “She’ll hurt herself again, flailing like that.”

“What’s happening?” Dr. Grant rushed into the room. At the look of shock on Trish’s face, he grinned at her. “No, I’m not omniscient. We have a monitoring system so we can keep track of the animals when we aren’t in the room with them. Much like the ones parents use with babies.”

“Oh.” Trish tried to think if she’d said anything she didn’t want overheard.

“So she has a temper tantrum when you try to leave, huh?”

Trish nodded. “Guess I’ll have to spend the night with her too.”

Marge groaned. “I knew it. You’re not going to follow the doctor’s orders one bit.”

Trish continued stroking the filly. What could they do? At least she’d been able to leave Spitfire in the care of others, though he had tossed any rider besides Trish. Were these two opinionated horses related—or what?

The vet whispered in Kim’s ear and, after nodding to the others, left the room. Kim followed him out.

Trish sank back down on the stool, wondering how they were going to handle this. In a few minutes Kim returned with a folding screen, which she set up near the chair. The filly never even flicked a whisker. A bit later another one of the helpers brought in a folding chair with a hole in the seat.

Kim whispered in Trish’s ear. “Your rest room awaits—including a window for your friend here so she can see you at all times.”

Trish heard a chuckle from behind her. Only her mother laughed like that.

Trish shot her giggling parent a severe look. “You better never tell
anyone
about this or I’ll—I’ll…” She couldn’t say any more. Trying to keep from laughing when your ribs ache and you have to go made other actions downright impossible.

Sometime later the helper brought in another chair, one that folded out into a bed.

“That looks familiar,” Marge said, “although that certainly wasn’t what I’d planned for this night. I rented a perfectly good bed for you at the motel.” She stopped Trish’s sputter with a raised hand. “I know you can’t leave—I don’t expect it—but don’t gripe when you need to wash your hair again.”

Trish shot her mother an exasperated look. She was glad someone could find some humor in the situation.