Racing Savannah (10 page)

That’s when Mr. Winchester snaps his fingers and points at his wine glass. After I’ve refilled his glass, he doesn’t thank me. Marcus gives me a lewd glance, licking his lower lip. Perv.

The Winchesters are the epitome of
rich
people
.

How do the maids serve people like these assholes all the time?

• • •

Later that night back in my room, I carefully dig my memory box out from my top dresser drawer, open the lid, and pull out a weathered envelope that’s spotted yellow with age. Before she died, my mother wrote me a letter and asked Dad to give it to me on my sixteenth birthday.

She told me how smart and beautiful I am, and that I can do anything I want if I work hard enough, that I can go down in history.

I needed to hear those words after everything that happened today.

All I can think about are Marcus’s eyes staring down my dress. Mr. Goodwin basically telling Jack I’m not good enough for him. Why is it, when something bad happens to you, you can never forget about it no matter how much you want to?

When Mr. Cates announced he was selling Moonshadow, I cried and begged Dad to find a way to buy her so she could stay with me. I rode her every day before school and groomed her after. Moonshadow took care of me after Mom died and I helped her move on after her foal got sold. I was her home, and she was mine. Even though Mr. Cates said Moonshadow wasn’t worth the cost of grain to feed her, Dad still couldn’t afford to buy her.

And
then
she
was
gone
and
later
I
heard
what
happened
to
her…

I shake my head quickly, squeezing my eyes shut.

These terrible memories are branded in me, and every time they pop up in my mind, my body goes cold and clammy and I wish I could yell at somebody.

I wish I could go back in time and demand that Mr. Cates keep Moonshadow, tell him I’ll work for free for as long as it takes to save her.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m running out of Hillcrest in the direction of Greenbriar, ripping through the cool night air. At the barn, I light a lantern and move to the fourth stall on the right. A pair of brilliant brown eyes meet mine. Star keeps his distance until I cluck my tongue, and then he’s right there beside me, nuzzling his nose against my neck, zapping the bad memories away.

“You can do better than that! That was complete shit, Barrow. Complete shit!”

Gael shouts at me as I pass the clocker’s tower, and I’m grinning like crazy. I steer Star over to them, his hooves crunching the dirt.

“Shut up, Gael. You know that was perfect.” Dad shakes his head at my behavior, but Gael laughs. “What was my time?”

“1:43,” Dad says, giving me a smile. “Star did really good.”

“You hear that, buddy?” I say, rubbing the colt’s sweaty neck. Star pins his ears and snorts when Dad reaches out to rub his nose.

My father laughs and shoves the colt’s face away from him. “I know why you and Star get along so well. You were a brat just like him when you were a toddler.”

I smile as Star jerks his head around. He swishes his tail back and forth.

“Let’s get you some food,” I tell the horse, clucking my tongue to urge him into a canter, passing the grandstands and the giant green Rolex clock. On the way to the barns, I see Jack standing with his father. His dad writes in a notebook while Jack yawns and checks his watch. Neither of them cheers for me and Star, and that’s okay—everyone’s getting used to the rapport I have with the horse. We’re last week’s news.

This week’s news is whether Star can get his first win today here at Keeneland. He’s running in The Dogwood, a race for horses that haven’t won more than two. I’d say he’s got a good shot, considering his breeding and all our hard work. The purse is $85,000. This should be easy peasy, considering how well he’s run in the past week.

An outrider on an Appaloosa pony comes trotting up to me. She smiles and pats Star’s neck as the pony and Star sniff each other.

“He’s a beautiful horse,” the woman says, letting Star smell the back of her hand. The colt nips at her fingers, acting silly. He nickers and nuzzles her thigh. “A flirt too, huh?”

My eyes narrow. “Not usually.”

“Good luck today,” the outrider says to Star, and I squeeze the horse’s girth with both heels to move us toward the barn.

I meet Dad and Rory there, cool Star down, and help groom the horses before their races. I have a good feeling about today. Keeneland is a beautiful track—it’s near the Maker’s Mark distillery, and it’s nestled in the most beautiful rolling green hills you’ve ever seen. Scotland can kiss Lexington’s ass, that’s for sure.

In his job as acting owner of Cedar Hill, Jack entered Lucky Strikes in a race called The Fort Harrod, which has a purse of half a mil. Every time I’ve seen Jack this week, he’s been talking about it, and it’s clear he wants to impress his father by taking risks and getting some big wins.

About half an hour before Star’s race, Bryant Townsend comes into the stall to see how we’re doing. As soon as he steps inside, the horse charges him.

“Whoa!” I yank Star back by the bridle. “No.” I pull him over to the window where he can look at the trees.

“I’m beginning to take this personally,” Bryant says to Star, tightening his gloves.

“I wouldn’t. I think I know what’s wrong with him.” And considering I’ve seen horses scared of lawnmowers, bicycles, and dandelions, what I’m about to tell Bryant isn’t much of a stretch.

Dad and Rory poke their heads in the stall. “You know why he’s skittish?” Dad asks.

“Men freak him out.”

Dad’s eyebrows shoot straight up. “Hmm…Whitfield, Townsend, get out of here and let Savannah get the horse ready herself. We’ll meet you at the paddock.”

I feed Star some grain and let him have a bit of water before I throw his saddle and silks over my shoulder and we trek out to the paddock. When I get there, I find Dad talking quietly to Jack.

“Shortcake, tell Jack what you think’s wrong with his horse.”

“I think he’s scared of boys…”

A confused but intrigued look crosses Jack’s face. He narrows his eyes at Star.

“Dad, help me get him saddled up,” I say, but Jack shakes his head at him, pulls his phone from his pocket, and walks away as he talks. Wow, I never figured Jack would turn away from a problem. Dad keeps his distance as I begin tacking the horse up. I tie his lead to a post and move to his near side to start saddling him. I put his saddle pads on, but Star is becoming increasingly difficult to control without help from a second groom. He starts prancing and acting silly again.

That’s when Jack reenters the paddock with Shelby, who’s wearing a skirt and leather boots. He beckons me with two fingers. I leave Star tied to the post and go see what they want.

“Did you know Shelby turned thirteen today?”

“I didn’t,” I reply. “Happy Birthday!”

Her cheeks blush pink. “Thank you.”

“And now that she’s thirteen, it’s time she started working,” Jack says, hugging her from behind.

“What? I’m not working on my birthday!”

“Yes, you are.”

“You can’t make me.”

“I’m boss of the farm this year,” Jack says.

“If you make me work, I’ll tell everyone you still sleep with your little Raggedy Andy doll under your pillow.”

The horsemen stop talking. The horses stop moving. Everyone looks at Jack. I burst out laughing along with everybody else.

“Raggedy Andy?” I say.

His cheeks puff like a chipmunk’s. “Can you help Savannah, please?” he asks his sister, exasperated. “We really need your help.”

“You do?” Shelby asks.

“I think Star hates boys,” I say. “And I need help tacking him up.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say so, Jack? I figured you wanted me to muck out a stall or something.” Shelby sashays over to Star in her skirt.

Other horsemen in the paddock seem amused that a horse owner’s daughter is taking charge. Star behaves like a polite gentleman while Shelby and I finish getting him saddled up. And before I know it, it’s post time.

Bryant Townsend mounts the horse, and sure enough, Star starts acting like a brat as they trot up to the starting gate.

Jack beckons for me to walk with him up to the finish line. Our fathers and Gael trail behind us, and Shelby returns to the grandstands to sit with her mother.

“Stand with me,” Jack says. Then he drops a hand onto my shoulder and squeezes, not taking his eyes off the starting gate.

The gates crash open and the horses erupt into the race. Star comes out clean and charges ahead with the other horses. “Yeah!” Jack screams. The pack makes the first turn together, leaving a wake of brown dust. The field spreads out on the backstretch. Star stays with the lead group as they navigate the far turn.

“You got it, boy!” I yell.

Red Delight streaks to the front of the pack. Getting the Dream falls back into third. Star moves forward into the seventh position. On the straightaway, as they’re charging for the finish line, I’m gripping Jack’s arm and bouncing up and down.

“Go!” I scream, and I swear, Star looks over at me and kicks it into high gear. He manages to pass Raising the Flag and Mixed Appeal but ends up in fifth place overall. Dammit.

I crouch to the ground, covering my eyes. How could he lose? I kept him calm all the way up until the race. He was happy, he was fed, he was raring to go.

“1:47,” I hear Gael saying.

Damn. He added four seconds onto his time. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes and pray that Mr. Goodwin doesn’t make Jack sell Star. Pray, pray, pray.

I feel gentle hands cupping my elbows and pulling me up from the ground. Jack lifts my chin and looks in my eyes. “How much do you weigh?”

My eyebrows pop up. “What? Wh—”

“Just tell me—what do you weigh?”

Why is he asking me this? I know exactly what I weigh (102 pounds), but I won’t let on that I care. “I dunno, a hundred pounds or so?”

“Do you have a jockey’s license?”

I shake my head.

“Get her an apprentice license,” Jack tells Gael. “Start the paperwork tonight.”

My mouth drops open.

“No—” Dad starts.

“I want to see what she’s got during a real race,” Jack interrupts.

“Son, Savannah has no experience—” Mr. Goodwin says.

“She’s better than most men,” Jack replies. “Do you think I’d allow Gael to put just any exercise boy on my horse? Clearly it’s been working out during practice, and that’s why Gael and Danny are gonna start training her for real tomorrow morning. I want her trained up and ready to go before Kentucky Downs, understand?”

Kentucky Downs is next week. Oh God.

“But she’s a girl,” Dad says.

“Girls have been jockeys before,” Jack says. “A woman won the Santa Anita Handicap two years ago. And Rosie Napravnik has over a hundred wins.”

My heart slams into my chest.

Dad shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous and I want more for her—”

“This would be more for her,” Jack says, standing up tall. “If she’s able to get her license and win a race, she’d get a percentage of the purse.”

I’ve never heard Jack speak so authoritatively. Mr. Goodwin rubs his chin, looking from his son to me.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Dad says to Mr. Goodwin.

“Star is my son’s investment and he’s in charge. I gave my opinion, but he makes the calls.”

“She’s my daughter,” Dad growls.

“She’s getting her license—” Jack says.

“Over my dead body—”

“Stop!” I yell, and the men turn to face me. Boys. They can’t even be bothered to ask what I want. “Dad, I’d love to get my license. Riding is what I want to do—”

Dad slaps a scowl on his face. “Savannah—”

“What’s wrong with getting a license? I could start training and see if I’m good enough. I want to see Star win.”

Gael nods. “I’ll do the paperwork today. Since she’s over sixteen years old and I’ll sponsor her, it won’t be a problem to get an apprentice license in a hurry. She can start training first thing in the morning.”

Dad says to Jack, “Savannah has no experience and you want her to race a priceless horse—”

“He isn’t priceless,” Jack says. He’s several inches taller than Dad, but my father is smart, quick, and strong, so he doesn’t even flinch at Jack’s display of Alpha maleness. “I paid a lot for him to be born and I want to see him win some races. I want Savannah trained as a jockey. Go big or go home.”

He nods at me, and I bounce on my toes. Racing horses is even better than being a full-time exercise rider. I could fly!

Not to mention I could make a percentage of the purse! I could help Dad pay off debt from Mom’s medical bills. I could help give my little sister a better life. I clasp my hands together, excited at the prospect of racing horses for a living. Why have I never thought about this before?

To get a full-blown jockey’s license, I think I’ll have to race in something like forty races as an apprentice under instruction of a trainer.

“I want you back in the barns right now,” Dad says to me in a low voice. “We’ll talk about this in private.”

I’ve never seen him so pissed. I turn right around and hightail it toward the barns.

“Savannah!” Jack calls out. “Tomorrow! Five a.m.”

Whether Dad likes it or not, I’ll be there.

• • •

Back in the barn, I pace back and forth across Star’s stall, waiting for Rory to get done hot-walking him.

Dad appears and leads me away from the horses before he rips into me.

“This is way too dangerous to even think about. Isn’t being an exercise rider enough for you?” Dad asks, grasping my shoulder.

A few weeks ago, yeah—it was enough. But I never imagined I’d stand by the racetrack and dig into a hot dog beside horse owners. I never imagined Jack would question why I’m not going to college. I never imagined a guy like him might try to kiss me.

“It seems like I should try,” I say. “You just said a few minutes ago that you want more for me. Well, this would be.”

Dad kisses the top of my head and embraces me tight. “Remember the Derby last year? Seven jockeys got thrown from their horses. Seven! Jockeys die every year. And Aaron Riddle was paralyzed not long ago. He’ll be on a respirator the rest of his life. Max Jackson fell off a horse and broke his collarbone, his legs, his arm, and had a brain bleed! Do you know what that would do to me if I saw you like that? I’ve already seen your mother die—” Dad chokes on his words.

“I get what you’re saying. I really do. And I’d hate to hurt you. This sport has never been safe or easy. But when you already have nothing, shouldn’t you take a risk to try to find something better?”

“But people get hurt—”

“Those jockeys weren’t riding a Goodwin horse,” I say, working to keep my voice steady. Cedar Hill Farms isn’t located in Tennessee just because. The Franklin area is full of limestone, and it runs into the water supply, and it gives the horses stronger bones. That’s why the best horses in the world live in Tennessee and Kentucky.

I go on, “You know Mr. Goodwin would never put an injured horse on the track. That reduces my risk right there. And I’d never get on an injured horse. That’s why so many jockeys get hurt—they ride a horse that shouldn’t be on the track in the first place. You know that, Dad.”

He throws his head back, thinking. He knows I have a point. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happens to you.”

I can tell he’s thinking of how we lost my mother. But we have to keep moving. I mumble, “This could be good for us. For our future.”

His eyes meet mine and he goes very still. “Before we agree to your being trained, I’m gonna talk to Mr. Goodwin about insurance options.”

I hug him as hard as I can.

“And we’re stopping at Arby’s on the way home,” he adds.

“Ugh, you know I hate Arby’s.”

Rory appears with Star and asks, “Did somebody say Arby’s?”

I spend the next hour helping to bathe and brush the horses before we set out for home. My whole goddamned life has changed in a day. And I kind of like the high.