Golden Filly Collection Two (38 page)

David snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. “Calling Trish…come in, Trish. We’re talking about right now. You can dream about another Triple Crown on your own time.”

“Oh.” She flashed her brother a brilliant grin. “Okay, okay, back to the present. You already know I would love to take Firefly to Kentucky.” She turned to Adam.

“How about asking Red to ride for you? I’m sure he’ll be riding there then.” Trish felt a tingle race around her middle and gallop out to her fingers. Red Holloran had to be the nicest—no, not a good enough word—the sexiest, that’s what Rhonda called him, sweetest, most fun.…She clamped off the words. Face it, she
really
liked that certain redheaded jockey. Just think, if she could spend two weeks back there…Her mind took off again.

“What about keeping the rest of our horses down here until we know what’s happening up in Portland?” Marge asked. “Patrick suggested you might race the others too if Portland Meadows doesn’t open.”

Trish reentered reality with a thump. She carefully hid her thoughts behind a nod and a smile. If nobody else in their family was going to fix things at Portland Meadows, she’d look into it. There had to be a way to have racing in Portland this winter.

“That’s decided then.” Adam started writing on a pad on his desk. “I’ll be sending my entries in today. You better do the same. I have extra forms here if you’d like.” He dug in the file cabinet to his left and pulled out a file folder.

With the forms filled out, Marge rose to her feet. “Thanks, Adam, for all the care you’ve given us. You have no idea how much your friendship and advice, let alone keeping Trish down here, has meant.” She extended her hand, but instead of shaking it, Adam pulled her into a hug.

“You’ve become like family to us, my dear. We couldn’t have done any differently.” His voice cracked on the words.

Trish felt that old familiar lump take up residence in her throat again. It threatened to choke her when she recognized the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes. She hugged her knees to her chest. Outside, down the line of green-painted stalls, a horse whinnied. Another answered.

“Thank you.” Marge stepped back and drew a tissue from the pocket of her tan slacks. After blowing her nose, she tucked the tissue back and picked up her purse. “Martha and I are going to church. Anyone care to join us?”

“I’ll go.” David made a bank shot into the trash with his napkin and stood up.

“Tee?”

“I need to be back by noon. I ride in the fifth and seventh today.”

“Good. Then we’ll be able to worship together for a change.” Marge turned to Adam. “You coming?”

“I’m right ahead of you.” He stepped outside and told Carlos, the head groom, he’d be leaving.

When they all walked back to the parking lot, Trish shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. After today, it would be just she and her mother. She cut off the sad thoughts and nudged David with her hip. Teasing him always made her feel better.

“We need to call the Shipsons to ask if we can come,” she said to her mother as they reached the cars.

“Later—after church.”

Trish forced her mind to concentrate on the service. Her thoughts kept skipping ahead to the visit with Spitfire. Every time she left him, she was afraid he would forget her.

Marge handed Trish the hymnbook as they rose to their feet. The look she gave her daughter left no doubt that she knew where Trish’s mind roamed.

The young pastor stepped into the pulpit and looked over the congregation. His gaze seemed to stop at Trish, as if speaking right to her. “Let not your heart be troubled.…In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you.” He closed the Bible and leaned forward.

Trish gritted her teeth and kept her eyes on the speaker. That had been one of her father’s favorite passages. He often spoke of his Father’s mansions. But when she tried to picture him there, she always felt the tears.

“What a comfort,” the pastor said, “to know we will see our loved ones again. They are there waiting for us. Cheering us on. You know that chorus the children sing? ‘Heaven is a wonderful place.’ What a promise Jesus gave us!”

Marge slipped her hand into Trish’s. She took David’s on the other side and squeezed. Shoulder to shoulder, the three of them faced forward, still a family in spite of their loss.

Trish looked up to see the sun streaming through the stained-glass window of the shepherd with a lamb. The beams of light glinted off the gold cross on the altar, as if to restate the promise. When the organ music rose in the final hymn, Trish felt as if she’d truly been in a holy place. Her heart swelled along with the song. “Thank you, Father,” Trish whispered under the strains of music. “I needed this.”

That afternoon at the track Trish continued to feel the peace she’d found in church. While the colt under her danced and pranced his way to the starting gate, she entertained him with her song. The horse flicked his ears and snorted but walked flat-footed into the gate. Trish settled herself and him, a smile on her face and the song still singing in her heart.

The gate flew open. The gray colt broke. Trish exploded along with him and drove him toward the turn. With only six furlongs, they had no time to fool around.

The colt lengthened his stride. Neck and neck with a horse on their right, they left the field behind and headed for the finish line. Stride for stride the two dueled down the stretch. The other rider went to the whip. Trish leaned forward and sang into her mount’s ears, “Go, fella, you can do it. Come on now, baby.”

The colt lengthened his stride again. He pulled forward by a head, a neck, and then the contender disappeared behind them. Trish and her mount surged across the finish line two lengths in the lead. Trish let him slow down, her jubilation punctuated with a “Thank you, God!” at the top of her lungs.

Back at the Finleys’ condo that evening, Trish called the Shipsons in Kentucky. When they learned of Trish’s plan, they responded with delight. Trish hung up the phone and turned to Marge. “They can’t wait until we get there. Mrs. Shipson—Bernice—is thrilled you are coming along.” Trish danced a step and shuffle in delight. They were going to see Spitfire. “I better send Red a letter to let him know.”

“Too late.” David lay back on the couch. He stretched his arms above his head. “He’ll be too busy to see you anyway.” He ducked when Trish thumped him with the pillow. “Mother, call off your kid,” David laughed.

“Guess I’ll call him then.” Trish flipped through her address book for the Holloran number and headed for the bedroom to make the call in private. After her conversation, she returned to the living room. “He’s racing at Keeneland, his mother said. She’ll let him know I called.”

“Did you ask how he’s doing? Racewise, that is,” Marge asked from her place in the corner of the eight-foot couch.

“Better than me, that’s for sure. Guess he’s been in the money most of the summer. Mrs. Holloran says they haven’t seen much of him at all.”

“Will he be riding at Louisville?” Adam asked.

“I guess.” Trish refused to look at her brother when she heard his snort. She could feel the warmth begin at her collarbone and work its way upward. David could always make her blush about Red. “You leaving before works or after?” She felt like bopping him with the pillow again. A couple of times, just to let him know how much she cared.

“About the time you do. That’s a long haul to Tucson.” David stretched again and rose to his feet. “The car’s all packed.” He crossed the room to Margaret Finley’s rocker. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. After staying with you, I know why Trish calls this her second home.”

Margaret set her needlepoint on the floor and stood to give him a hug. “You come back anytime. The farm is even closer to you than this, so if you need a weekend away from school, just let us know.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ll bake an apple pie just for you.”

“See you in the morning, son.” Adam waved from his laid-back recliner. “Just remember, if you ever need a job, there’s always an opening with me.”

“We have first dibs on him.” Marge uncurled her legs and stood. “See you all in the morning. Come on, you two. I’ll tuck you in.”

The three followed one another up the stairs.

Trish told David good-night at the door and preceded her mother into the bedroom they shared. “You want to go shopping in the morning after works at the track? Tomorrow’s my day off.”

“Is this my Trish inviting her mother to go shopping?” Marge raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Rhonda and I had a blast. We could too.”

“I know. We will. And if we keep busy enough, maybe I’ll be able to not think about David and his trek for a few minutes.”

“Bad, huh?” Trish sank down on the edge of the bed. “Me too. I keep hoping things will go back to normal, but I can’t find normal any more.”

Chapter
02

S
urely it was the fog making her eyes water.

David hugged his mother one last time, and then Trish. “Take care of yourself, twerp.” He tapped the end of her nose and grinned—a jaunty grin that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Bye all.” He waved and slid behind the wheel of his car, which matched Trish’s red LeBaron convertible.

Trish heard Marge sniff as the red taillights disappeared in the fog.
Please take good care of him, God,
Trish prayed as she blew her nose.
And us. Our family just keeps getting smaller.

Adam laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He too seemed to be suffering from early foggy morning nose dripping. Trish revised her prayer. Maybe their family was really getting bigger.

“You could go back to bed for a few hours,” she told her mother as she and Adam prepared to leave for the track. “One of us needs plenty of sleep before we attack those stores.”

Marge wiped her eyes and shivered in the chill. “Think I will. Unless I could do something for you at the track.”

Trish caught her jaw before it bounced on her chest. Was this really
her
mother talking? “Thanks, but you sleep. See you around ten or so.”

Trish checked the clock on the dashboard as she turned the ignition. Ten to five. They were running late. She followed Adam’s taillights down the hill and past the guarded entry to the condominium complex. Once on El Camino Real, the golden light from the fog-piercing streetlamps shone on the early commuters.