Golden Filly Collection Two (37 page)
An hour and a half later she returned to the car, sank into the seat, and closed her eyes.
“Rough?”
“Yeah.” Sprinklers sang on the lawn. Trish sniffed. They’d mowed the grass recently. She took in a deep breath. “Davey, my boy, there were only two questions I had no idea about. And only a few I had to guess on. I
think
I did it.”
“Mom’s waiting at the Finleys’. They think we should go for hot fudge sundaes. What do you think?”
“Yes!” She turned the ignition. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
That night Trish and Marge sat out on the deck before going to bed. “I am so proud of you,” Marge said after letting the night silence steal over them.
“Me too.” Trish looked up at the stars over the eucalyptus trees. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I think I learned something.”
“Only one thing?” Marge chuckled. “What is it?”
“I think when things get tough, all you can do is grab God’s hand and slog through.”
“True, that’s the best way.”
“And if you slog long enough, you’ll come out of the mist…” She paused. “And into the sunlight.”
“Ah, Tee, you are wise beyond your years.”
The breeze set the leaves above them to whispering.
“I have something for you to take to Pastor Mort.”
“What?”
“A letter, and the title to the other convertible. He can use the money from it however he wants, but it’s to be a memorial to Dad. That okay?”
“Trish, that’s more than okay. You truly are your father’s daughter.”
Trish was sure she heard a chuckling on the breeze.
I’d like to thank all those kids who read my books and beg for more. Writers need readers. We’re all in this together. That’s part of being in the family of God. Hoorah!
To my mother.
Cheerleader, friend,
confidante,
and my shining example of
love in action.
W
hy is it when everything finally starts going great again, something changes? Tricia Evanston chewed on the question as she settled into her favorite green canvas director’s chair in Adam Finley’s office at Bay Meadows Racetrack. She heaved a sigh of relief. Morning works had gone smoothly—for a change. But something wasn’t right. Like a hunter sniffing the air, she could sense it.
Her brother David entered, rubbing his shoulder. “That horse should be sent to the glue factory.”
Trish tucked her chin to hide the smile she couldn’t resist. Gatesby was up to his old tricks. David had forgotten to duck.
“He’s just playing.” She toyed with the end of her dark, thick braid to keep from chuckling at the disgust on her brother’s face.
“Yeah, well tell him to go play somewhere else, with someone else.”
“Now, be honest. Think how much you’ll miss him.” She waved a hand to encompass the early morning track activity. “And all the rest of this when you’re stuck in a library studying your brains out.” Trish leaned back in her chair, one booted ankle crossed over the opposite knee. “Think of all the chemistry and yucky stuff you have to do.”
“You forget. I like chemistry, not like someone else we all know and love.” David tapped on the toe of her dusty boot.
“Here, you two. Have a bagel. We bought extra this morning in honor of David’s last day.” Owner/trainer Adam Finley opened the cardboard box and pulled the lids off the plastic containers of cream cheese. “I bought some of each so you children wouldn’t have to fight for your favorites.”
“Children! I like that.” Trish bounded to her feet and tried to muscle David away from the box. “I want the raisin bagel with raisin-walnut cream cheese.”
David grabbed her choice and held it up in the air. “What’ll you give me?”
“A sock in the gut, you goof.” Trish drew back her fist.
“Children, children, I thought we settled this long ago.” Marge Evanston sailed through the door, shaking her head and grinning at the same time. “You’d think they’d act more grown-up by now, wouldn’t you?” She winked at Adam, who watched the mock fight with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“And you thought we invited you here for a serious meeting, right?” Adam smiled his welcome and rose to offer Marge his chair.
“Right. Trish, David gets to choose first. He probably won’t be able to find bagels in Tucson, not that he’ll have any time to look.” Marge snagged a plain bagel out of the box and applied the vegetable cheese spread to the circular bread.
“He always gets to choose first, just ’cause he’s bigger.” Trish retrieved her bagel from her brother’s grasp and handed him the one she knew he liked best. Licking cream cheese from her fingers, she pulled an orange juice from the refrigerator in the corner and leaped for her chair before David could steal it.
“You two sure are…”
“Full of the dickens?” Trish tried to look innocent.
“Better than what I was thinking.” Marge slapped David’s fingers away from her cup of coffee. “Thanks, Adam.” She acknowledged the poured coffee. “Have they been like this every morning?”
“Naw. I think that finally winning a race has gone to Trish’s head. And David? Well, you know what happens when you get on the wrong side of Gatesby.”
Marge groaned. “The wrong side or any side. Did his teeth break the skin this time?”
David shook his head, his mouth too full of bagel to answer.
Trish swallowed. “What do you mean, gone to my head? I was fine till he showed up.” She licked more cheese from her fingers and eyeballed her brother. The glow inside her had nothing to do with the spices in the cream cheese. Yes, she had won yesterday. She and Firefly. Finally. But today the good feeling came just because her family was together.
If only—she clamped a lid on the thought.
If only
usually triggered memories of her father, who’d died just as she and Spitfire won the Belmont, and thus the Triple Crown, in June. Now at the end of August she could sometimes think of him without crying. She rolled her eyes upward and sniffed quickly. She didn’t want to make the others feel sad today. David would leave in the morning for Tucson, Arizona, for his second year of college.
“Okay, let’s get down to business.” Adam pushed papers aside to set his coffee mug on the scarred wooden desk.
Trish blinked one more time. She’d won—barely.
She cocked her ankle over her knee again and locked her hands behind her head. Wouldn’t it be something if they let her take Spitfire out of retirement and train him for the Breeder’s Cup? Oh, to race the big, black colt again at Churchill Downs! She could feel the wind on her face…hear the crowd. She brought her attention back to the present with a thump.
“What do you mean, something funny’s going on at Portland Meadows? I thought the season was a go…starting in September like always.”
Marge shook her head. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this until we got home, but there have been rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?” Trish leaned her elbows on her denim-clad knees.
“Like the track won’t open, for one thing.” David wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But, you know, we’ve heard that before.”
“So, what’s new?” Trish stared from her mother to her brother and over to Adam.
“Some say it’s just bad management, but…” Marge twisted her wedding ring on her finger.
“But…?” Trish felt as if the starting gun was about to go off and her mount wasn’t ready.
“But I don’t know.” Marge lifted a troubled gaze to her daughter. “I have a funny feeling, but I haven’t had time to follow through on anything.”
“What does Patrick think?” Since her father had hired the old jockey as trainer, Trish had grown to trust the Irishman’s opinion.
Marge looked to David, as if seeking help.
“He thinks we should leave these horses down here until things are straightened out. Maybe ship some others down if we have to.” David combed restless fingers through his dark, curly hair.
“But how could I ride then and still go to school?” Trish clamped her teeth against the rush of dread. They couldn’t close The Meadows. They just couldn’t. Not now when she’d finally won again and decided God wanted her to keep racing.
“That’s why I haven’t said anything. You know what your father always said about borrowing trouble. You could fly down here on the weekends, I guess.” Marge shrugged. “There are no easy answers, Tee.”
“But is the Thoroughbred Association doing anything about the situation?”
Marge shrugged again. “As I said, I haven’t had time to follow any of this to the source.”
Trish could tell her mother was feeling a bit pushed about the entire situation. What a bummer. Here she was, just beginning her senior year at Prairie High School. She couldn’t miss a lot of classes this year. It was too important. Besides, she and her forever-friend, Rhonda, had so many plans.
“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” David said just before he stuffed the last of his bagel in his mouth. “We need to talk about the Breeder’s Cup.”
“Aye, that we do.” Adam brushed a hand over his shiny dome, fringed by a fluff of white hair. “I plan on taking two horses to run that weekend, and I think Firefly has as good a chance as any in the Down’s Handicap on Saturday. She ran well yesterday, and both Carlos and I think she’s just coming into her own. I’d be glad to take her with us about ten days ahead, and Trish can fly in on that Thursday or Friday before.”
“Who would you get to work them for you?” Trish hated the idea of someone else riding her horses in the morning. She should be the one doing that. She sneaked a peek at her mother.
“Don’t even think it.” Marge didn’t crack a smile.
Trish shrugged. “As Dad always said, ‘It doesn’t hurt to dream.’” She turned to Adam. “Wouldn’t it be something if we could run Spitfire in the Breeder’s Cup? That was another of Dad’s dreams, you know, having an entry in the Breeder’s Cup.”
“Sorry, Trish, you know our syndicate would never go along with that. Spitfire’s too valuable at stud to risk an injury. Just think, maybe in three years you’ll be running one of his sons at Churchill Downs.”
Trish cupped her hands around her elbows. “Won’t that be something?” She gave a wriggle of anticipation. “What if one of his colts, or even a filly, won the Triple Crown? I can just see it now.”