Golden Filly Collection Two (61 page)

Everything was fine until Pastor Mort started the prayers after the sermon. Trish had no trouble with him praying for safety for her and the family, but when he began praying for the person causing the harassment, she wanted to plug her ears. He didn’t say anything like “God, get the man” or “Help the police capture him.”

Instead he said, “Father, bring this person to a knowledge of you and your will for his life that he may know your love and forgiveness.”

Trish felt like gagging.

Chapter
04

W
hen a flute began to play the opening bars for her song, she breathed a sigh of relief. Right now she really needed those eagle’s wings to lift her up and the hand of God to hold her. She shared her songbook with Amy and sang with all her heart.

“I love that song,” Amy said after the service was over.

“Me too. It’s kinda become my theme song. When I’m really down, it helps pick me up.”

“I can see why.”

“Come on, David, I need to get back to the track,” Trish muttered. But getting out of church quickly might take one of God’s miracles. By the time her mother had introduced Amy to a dozen people and others had extended their assurance of praying for the family, time had sprouted wings.

“Can I help?” Rhonda whispered from right behind Trish’s shoulder.

“You could yell fire!”

“Nope, I thought more along the lines of sneaking you out the back, but then your bodyguard might think you’d been snatched.”

“Rhonda, you’ve been watching too many movies. Amy is
not
my bodyguard.”

“She’s not your long-lost cousin either. Wish I hadn’t let you take me home first last night. I missed out on all the excitement.”

“Right. You can have all this excitement. I need to get to the track and soon. My first mount is in the second race.”

Trish smiled when someone else said something to her, but she could feel her mask beginning to crack.

Amy caught Trish’s look and nodded. Suddenly they were outside the church and on their way to the car.

“Hey, you’re good,” Trish and Rhonda said at the same time.

Amy grinned at them. “You should have said something sooner. One of the first things we learned at the Academy was crowd control.”

“And you never offended anyone.” Trish shook her head. “I should have you teach me some tricks.”

“Sure ’nough.” Amy climbed into the backseat of the van last and smiled at David when he slammed the door.

Trish watched Amy watch the surrounding area. While carrying on a conversation, Amy still scoped out the parking lot, the cars, and the people getting into them. If this was one of God’s answers to prayer, Trish decided, it was one of those easy to be thankful for.

By the time Trish arrived at the track, she had to head directly to the jockey room.

“Will my being there cause a problem for you?” Amy asked halfway across the infield. “I could wait outside, kind of mingle with the crowd.”

“No, you’re short enough that you could be a visiting jockey.”

“Great! What I know about riding could fit on the point of a pencil. Just say I’m your cousin visiting—like we have been. The less lies we tell, the less chance there is of getting messed up. Now, have you noticed anyone unusual?”

Trish grinned at her companion. “Look around you. Is there anyone here
not
unusual?”

Just then one of the bug boys walked by and grinned.
“Buenos días.”
He wore fringed leather chaps and a purple helmet, and sported a handlebar mustache under a nose that looked as if it had met one too many fists.

Amy returned the smile. “I mean anyone you don’t know. There is definitely a collection of characters here.”

“Yeah, this is really my extended family. Dad started bringing me here when I was about ten. I always wanted to race.”

“And now you’re doing it. You’re lucky.”

A few early fans leaned on the rails; others studied their racing programs. When Trish looked up to the glass-fronted stands, reflecting the gray clouds, she felt a chill snake up her spine. Someone could be watching her and she wouldn’t even know it. She responded to a “Hi, Trish” and a “Good luck, little lady,” but the arm at her elbow didn’t allow for stopping to visit. For the first time, Trish felt stomach-relaxing relief at the thought of her escort.

The other jockeys greeted Amy when Trish introduced her, and then continued their business of preparing for the upcoming races.

As Trish went about her routine, she nearly forgot Amy was there; the woman blended into the woodwork, almost. Trish polished her boots and applied wax to all five pairs of her goggles, stacking them on the front of her helmet and snapping them in place. She’d use one till it was dirty, then bring down the next pair. The muddier the track, the more goggles used per race.

After the first race had been called, Trish moved to the floor for her stretches. Extenders, twists, straddles, all used different muscles and stretched joints. The more limber she was the less chance of injury. Her father had drilled her well.

She’d just pulled a white long-sleeved turtle neck over her head when Genie Stokes returned from running in the first race.

“How’d you do?” Trish asked, popping her head out of the shirt like its namesake.

“Don’t ask.” Genie sank down on the bench beside Amy. “That filly acted like she’d never seen a racetrack before, let alone the starting gate.” She shook her head. “And I know she has because I’ve been riding her for training.”

Trish finished lacing her white pants and sat down to pull on her boots. “Well, starting tomorrow, Patrick wants you to ride for us in the morning.”

“I know. Maybe he’ll teach me more about handling youngsters like that one.”

“Was it her first race—a maiden, right?” Amy asked.

“It was her first, but maiden means any horse that hasn’t won a race yet, not just their first.” Genie stepped to the mirror and wiped a smear of dirt off her cheek.

“Oh. And here I thought I was being pretty smart.”

“Well, if you’re around us for any length of time, you’ll learn plenty. Most of us don’t know anything but horse talk.”

The squawk box announced riders for the second race to the scales, so Amy and Trish followed another jockey out the door.
Much as I like you,
Trish thought,
I hope you’re not my shadow long enough to learn all about racing.

“Sure wish I could keep you home away from all these crowds,” Amy muttered when they joined the parade of jockeys out to the spoke-wheel-shaped saddling paddock. Spectators lined the rails, some leaning over with programs to be autographed. Others hollered their greetings and encouragement.

To Trish, the scene felt familiar and comfortable—a far cry from San Mateo, where, as a loser, she’d had few fans. Maybe being a big frog in a little pond wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

She blocked out thoughts of everything but the coming race when she joined Bob Diego in stall three. “Bob, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Amy Jones. She’s visiting here from Spokane.”

“I’m glad to meet you.”

Trish met his gaze without flinching, hoping he’d pick up on what Amy’s job really was. No one brought their cousin into the saddling paddock unless that “cousin” owned the horse.

Diego studied the petite blonde for a moment, before his gaze shifted back to Trish, crinkles tightening the corner of his dark eyes. “I’m
very
glad you brought Amy along,
mi amiga.
Family is so important, is it not?”

Trish nodded, grateful for his understanding. She stepped to the gelding’s head and let him sniff her arm before rubbing his cheeks and up behind his ears. “How ya doin’, fella? Long time no see.” She had ridden him the year before, once into the winner’s circle. “Think we can get in line for the camera again?”

“He should do well. He’s in top condition and rarin’ to go.”

The call came for riders up, so Trish gave the dark bay one last pat and turned for a leg up. Diego checked the cinch again and looked up at Trish. “You’ve a big field, and with a mile to go, he’ll need a kick left for the stretch. He likes being in the lead, but the last time he set too fast a pace and came in with a fourth.”

“I’ll watch him.” Trish smoothed the black mane to the right and gave the gelding a final scratch when Diego backed the animal out of the stall. She nodded at the greeting from the pony rider and waved when someone called her name. How could she ever have thought about giving up racing? Her butterflies gave a leap just to remind her they still resided in her midsection, the crowd roared when the horses trotted onto the track, and the horse beneath her jigged a response to the excitement. Yeah, this was what she was born for.

When they cantered back past the grandstands, the starting gates were wheeled into position behind them. The roar of the crowd drowned out the tractor noise, but Trish concentrated only on the grunts of the animal beneath her as he tugged against the bit, wanting to catch up with the two ahead. As Diego had said, his horse was primed and ready.

When Trish looked ahead she could see the number one horse giving both the jockey and the pony rider a bad time. The gray gelding swung his rump to the side and jerked against the lead tie.

“Sure glad we’re not next to him,” she sang to her mount. “But let him use all his energy now. We have a race to win.” Her horse snorted and tossed his head, as if in agreement.

Behind the gates, number one continued to act up. He refused to enter the stall, sitting back on his haunches when the handlers tried to lead him in. Trish trotted her mount around in a tight circle, keeping him active so he’d be ready. After the second refusal to the gate, number one struck out with his front feet.

Send him back to the barns,
Trish felt like telling them.
We don’t need trouble out here.
She could feel her horse begin to tense in response. “Easy, fella. His bad manners have nothing to do with you.”

The gate assistants motioned the remaining horses into the stalls. One by one they entered and settled. This time number one walked in as if he’d never hesitated. The gates clanged shut. The pause.

Trish forgot about the gating problem, focusing all her attention on the horse she rode. She could feel him settle and gather his weight on his haunches.

The shot, the gates clanged open, and they were off.

The field remained bunched going into the first turn, and then both the leaders and trailers emerged. Trish kept her mount running easily, one off from the leader and abreast with another. He didn’t fight for the lead as Diego had warned, instead seeming content to let Trish do her job.

The three leaders held their position down the backstretch and going into the far turn, but the pace was fast. Trish hung above her horse’s withers, aware of a horse coming up on the outside but not ready to move yet. Going into the stretch, the lead horse slowed and the rider went to the whip.

Trish loosened the reins. “Okay, fella, now.” The gelding spurted forward. With each step he left his running mate behind and gained on the front-runner. He stretched out again and flew past the leader as if he’d been shot from a cannon. Trish let him go, glorying in the speed and power beneath her. No one was coming even close behind them. When they drove across the finish line, her mount was still gaining speed.

“That was some race,” Bob Diego greeted her back in front of the winner’s circle. “You played him just right.”

“I don’t think he even needed a jockey. He knew what to do. I just went along for the ride.”

“Well, it was certainly a good ride. Thank you, mi amiga. You can ride my horses anytime.”

After posing for the pictures, Trish weighed in and headed for the jockey room. Amy picked her up at the fence and paced the dirt track with her.

“Was that as much fun to ride as it was to watch?”

“More. That old boy could have gone farther and faster if I’d let him. The long rest hasn’t hurt him any.”

“I might turn into a racing fan by the time this assignment is over.” Amy held the gate for her. “You should hear all the good things the crowd says about you. Except of course for those rooting for another horse.”

“Naturally.” Having Amy shadowing her again brought back the fears Trish had managed to forget on her circles around the track.

Trish picked up her silks for the next race and entered the jockey room. Racing in two, three, and four didn’t leave her much time to relax, but then she didn’t have to worry about cooling off too much either.

The overcast deteriorated to mist by the time she trotted her next mount onto the track. Trish hunched her shoulders to keep warmer, wishing she’d switched to her warmer turtleneck. The newly risen wind tugged at neck and sleeves, sending the cold deep into her skin.

By the time all seven horses were in their gates, the mist had turned to drops. When Trish lowered her goggles into place, she felt grateful for the remaining pairs. Shame the glasses didn’t have wipers.

The filly she rode broke clean and surged forward with her running mates. Down the backstretch they galloped, shifting positions when first one then another took the lead. Into the turn Trish and another ran stride for stride. Out of the turn the front-runner slowed, then surged again at the whip.