Golden Filly Collection Two (10 page)

“Sorry,” she muttered an hour or so later when she came back to the kitchen.

“I know you are. It helps to get the anger out.” Marge shut the oven after removing a sheet of chocolate chip cookies. Her eyes were red-rimmed like she’d been crying. She set the cookie tray on the counter and reached for a tissue to blow her nose. “It’s easier if we help each other. So far you haven’t let any of us close enough to help you.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“I can’t,” Trish choked out. “I’d better call Rhonda and Brad. Where’s Patrick?”

“Down watching them set up his new home. He’s hoping to sleep there tonight.”

Later, in the station wagon on the way into Vancouver, Rhonda asked, “What are you gonna do with the third car, give it to the church?”

Trish stared at Rhonda like she’d dropped her remaining marbles. “I wouldn’t give God the time of day if He asked, let alone a car!”

“Trish!”

“Well, would you?” Trish slumped lower in her seat and chewed on her thumbnail.

“I thought maybe our youth group could get a used van with the money from the sale of the car. You’d said you might give it to the church.”

“Yeah, well, God can buy a van for the church.”

“Attitude…” Brad poked Trish in the ribs from the other side. “Your dad wouldn’t be very happy to hear that.”

Trish folded her arms across her chest and glared up at her friend. What right did he, or anyone for that matter, have to tell her what her father would want?

Her nagger got her attention.
You know your dad always gave of himself and what he had to help others.

When they walked into the showroom, they were met by reporters and a television camera. Trish was surprised, and plastered a smile on her face.

“Yes, the second one goes to my brother David here. He earned it.…No, I don’t know what to do with the third one. Guess I’ll decide later.”

“Where are you racing next?” a man asked around his camcorder.

Trish shook her head. “I—we’re not sure yet.”

“How’d you feel about leaving Spitfire in Kentucky?”

“I—I…” She shot a pleading look at Patrick and David.

David stepped forward. “Of course it was hard for Trish to leave her horse in Kentucky, but we know that’s what’s best for Spitfire.”

“You still thinking of the Breeder’s Cup?”

“No, that’s out now.” David took Trish by the arm. “How about letting us get our cars?”

Laughter rippled across the balloon-decked room. The camera held on Trish and David as they accepted the keys from the dealer, then followed them outside to the cars. Sunlight bounced off the windshield and sparkled on the cherry-red finish.

A reporter opened the door for Trish and winked at her as she slid onto the smooth black leather seat. “How’s it feel?” he asked.

Trish placed both hands on the steering wheel. She adjusted the seat and turned the ignition key. “Fantastic.” She smiled into the camera. “Come on, Rhonda. You get to ride first.”

Rhonda slid in next to her. “Awesome.” She stroked the gleaming dashboard. “Wow.”

Trish waved at David and Brad in the next car. “See you guys.”

“Drive carefully,” Marge couldn’t resist saying as they drove out onto the street.

Trish tooted the horn. “Shall we see how fast it’ll go?”

“I wouldn’t,” Rhonda giggled. “Every cop in Clark County’s gonna be watching for that hot young jockey with the red convertible.”

“Where shall we go?”

“I don’t know but don’t look back, we’re being followed.”

“Meet you at the Burgerville in Orchards,” Brad called as he and David pulled up alongside them.

“Yeah, we’ll let
him
get the ticket.” Trish hit the horn again, then stopped just as the light ahead turned red. A car full of boys behind them honked and waved. When Rhonda turned to look, they whistled and honked again.

“You know, this could get kinda fun.” Rhonda settled back in her seat, grinning from ear to ear.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I mean…we might meet some new guys.…Who knows?”

If only my dad were here,
Trish swallowed the thought.
He’d be teasing Rhonda and me right now.
She drove into the restaurant parking lot. More guys were clustered around Brad and David’s car.

“See?” Rhonda nodded at the scene. “Red convertibles
attract
guys.”

Trish spotted a familiar station wagon on the other side of the parking lot and pulled in next to it. She didn’t want the extra attention.

But she couldn’t turn off the congratulations of the Prairie High students who were gathered inside. She glued her smile in place until she could hide behind a hot fudge sundae.

“What are you gonna name it?” Rhonda licked her spoon and stared at Trish’s puzzled look. “The car, silly. You have to give it a name.”

They hadn’t come up with a good one by the time Trish dropped Rhonda off at home.

That evening Marge called a family meeting. “I think we need to lay some ground rules about the cars,” she said as they gathered around the dining room table.

Trish tried to ignore the empty place where her father always sat. Patrick occupied the chair beside her. She listened with only half an ear, because she already knew what the rules would be. No picking up riders, no speeding, no crazy driving—as if Trish would do any of those things. She nodded in all the right places.

“Now, about the summer…” Marge folded her hands on the table in front of her. “What do you think of taking the summer off and not racing anywhere until Portland Meadows opens in the fall?”

Trish shrugged.

“Maybe my opinion’s out of place,” Patrick said carefully, “but it’d be a shame not to race those three. They’ll be ready in a couple of weeks.”

“Dad had planned on Longacres,” David put in. “We could go up just for the races we enter.”

“There’s always California,” Patrick spoke again, not sure of his place in the decision. “You know Adam wants Trish to come down there.”

“Trish promised to take a class at Clark College this summer to make up chemistry,” Marge spoke in her my-mind’s-made-up tone.

Trish felt like an invisible child. Everyone seemed to be talking around her, as if they all knew what was best for her.

“Well, we could just ship the three horses to California, and let Adam take care of them.” David rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That would make it easier for everyone.”

Trish jerked alive. “
I
ride our horses.” She stood up so fast her chair fell backward. “Where the horses go, I go.” She stalked out of the room.

Chapter
08

T
rish felt like kicking her bedroom door shut.

Her eyes burned. Her throat felt tight as if she were being strangled. When there was a knock at her door she muttered, “Leave me alone.”

“Trish…” Marge tapped again, then opened the door.

“I said, leave me alone.” Trish stared out the window, her knuckles white as they gripped the sill.

“I’ve tried that; it isn’t working.” Marge sat down on Trish’s bed.

Silence hung in the room, like the oppression before a summer storm.

“Tee, I…”

“Don’t call me that!” Trish whirled around. “That was Dad’s name for me. And he’s not here!”

“I know, Trish, but…”

“I can’t stand it! You all talk as if nothing’s happened. ‘Trish is taking chemistry. We could ship the horses to California.’” Her voice rose as she spoke. “I can’t take any more of this.”

“It’s not easy for any of us, Trish. You aren’t the only one affected.” Marge straightened up on the bed, trying to control her own emotions. “We’re all doing the best we can with a situation none of us likes. Do you think your father
wanted
to die and leave us all?”

“Well, he did, didn’t he?” Trish turned back to the window, unable to face the tears streaming down her mother’s face. The desire to fling herself into her mother’s arms was strong, but she hung on to the windowsill, unable to let down the floodgate of her own tears.

Finally Marge sighed and pulled a tissue from the nightstand. “Trish, I understand your anger, but you can’t keep taking it out on the rest of us. We’re trying to get through ourselves, and we want to help you.”

“Don’t.”

Marge stood and joined her daughter at the window. “How about talking with Pastor Mort?”

Trish shook her head. “No way.”

When Marge tried to give her a hug, Trish sidestepped so it turned into a pat on the shoulder.

“I need to go see how Miss Tee is.”

The next morning, after long gallops on the three horses in training, plus a nip from Gatesby, Trish took a lead shank out to the pasture and waited for Miss Tee to meet her at the fence. The filly danced up and stopped just out of reach. She extended her muzzle in search of a treat, but leaped away when Trish reached for the halter.

“Great. This is turning into a perfect morning.” Trish forced herself to stand perfectly still and wait for the filly to come to her; her patience lasting only long enough for Miss Tee to sniff her hand for the usual carrot.

“Sorry, you didn’t earn one today.” She snapped the lead shank in place and led the filly through the gate.

“Where you going?” David asked when Trish continued past the barns and toward the drive.

“Taking her for a long walk. She needs to learn some manners.”

“Well, take her around the track then.”

“David, quit the boss stuff. I know what I’m doing.” She clucked to the filly and walked off. She could hear David muttering and complaining but chose to ignore both him and Patrick. “You’re my horse, you’d think I could do what I want.” Miss Tee bumped her head against Trish’s shoulder as if begging for her treat. Trish gave her a small piece of carrot.

Her dog, Caesar, padded beside them as they alternately trotted and walked down the long gravel driveway. “Come on, Miss Tee,” Trish encouraged the filly, “you have to do the same thing I do.” She tugged on the lead shank to pick up the pace. Miss Tee pulled her head up and back, ears flat, each time the lead shank tightened over her nose. Trish patted her neck. “You’re just making life miserable for yourself.
Go along with me; it’s easier.”

Trish turned forward and clucked with a tug again. They were nearly at the Runnin’ On Farm sign; time to turn back. At the instant she turned, a rabbit dashed across the drive in front of them. Caesar exploded after the rabbit, his sharp bark cutting the air.

Miss Tee bolted. Her shoulder spun Trish around, sending her to her knees. The force ripped the lead shank from her hands, and the filly tore out onto the road, swerving just in time to avoid broadsiding an oncoming car.

The filly whinnied in fear, the lead shank slapping her on the side, and galloped up the road.

Trish felt as if she were watching a horror movie in slow motion. She leaped to her feet and dashed after the horse.

“Can we help you?” the driver of the car stopped to ask. “I thought we’d hit her for sure.”

“If you could wait here…no, back there on the other side of our driveway, and stop any oncoming cars…” Trish pointed behind her.

“Okay.” The man backed up.

Trish ran on ahead. She could see Miss Tee just over the rise, still running hard. A horn honked. Brakes squealed.

Trish poured on all the speed she had, terrified she’d find the filly crushed on the road ahead.

She topped the rise. A car was swerved sideways in the road, but the filly ran on.

Each breath burned her lungs as Trish sucked in great gulps of air, still pounding up the road. Then she heard a vehicle pulling up beside her.

“Trish, for pete’s sake, get in!” David stopped the truck long enough for Trish to jump on the running board and hang on to the doorframe. “I told you—” David clipped off his words. “What happened?”

“A rabbit ran out and Caesar chased it. Miss Tee spooked. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”

Another car was stopped in the road ahead of them, the driver waving his arms to stop the rampaging horse. Miss Tee swerved to the side and galloped up the driveway to Brad’s house.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Trish muttered, totally unaware that she was praying in spite of herself.