Golden Filly Collection Two (74 page)

“No wonder models get paid a bunch of money. This is the worst job I’ve ever had.” She glanced over at Red, who was shrugging his shoulders up to his ears to loosen the kinks.

“You ever washed dishes in a restaurant?” Amy asked. “Now
that’s
bad. I put myself through college working in a restaurant, starting with dishwasher. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven when I finally made waitress, and that’s no easy job either.”

Trish shrugged off the twinge of guilt. “Does mucking out stalls count?” Then refocusing, Trish said, “We’ve gotta get this right tomorrow. I have four mounts on Thursday at Churchill Downs.”

“And the weather has to cooperate.” Amy raised her face to the evening breeze. “You sure can tell fall is in the air.”

The three of them marched up the steps of the big house. Smells to tempt angels wafted out from the kitchen. Sarah had been hard at it, they could tell.

When morning came, it brought a fine mist.

“Weatherman says sun this afternoon, so you two keep at it.” Joseph tapped his pen on his clipboard. “I want you back in the barn at ten, Trish. There’s one spot we need to reshoot. Won’t take long.”

But it did. And the sun didn’t come out till late afternoon, leaving too-long shadows and too little time with light. Joseph was counting on the sun glimmering through the trees.

Trish could feel Red’s tension when they walked back up to the house. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s not your fault.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Guess I better just call my agent and get it over with. Here I thought I could work it all in.”

“I know. I hate letting owners and trainers down too and I haven’t been winning consistently like you. Donald says you’re going to be a force to reckon with in a couple of years if you keep going like you are.”

“Thanks for trying, Trish. I’ll see you later.”

Bernice met Trish and Amy at the door. “Trish, there’s some mail for you. It’s on the table in the parlor.”

Chapter
14

T
rish felt her stomach bounce on her kneecaps.

“I’ll get it.” Amy shifted into police mode from one breath to another. “You stay here.”

“Is there a problem?” Bernice stared from Trish to Amy, her hand to her mouth. “Oh no, that’s why you’re with Trish, isn’t it—letters just like this.”

“Just pray that’s all it is.” Amy said, her heels clicking out her concern as she crossed the hardwood floor.

Trish followed Amy into the antique-furnished parlor but stopped at the doorway. She didn’t really want to see the thing. But then it could be from Rhonda or David or…

Amy muttered a word that told Trish her bodyguard’s state of mind. For sure the letter wasn’t an “I’m thinking of you” card.

“Let me see it.” Trish stiffened her spine along with her knees and crossed the room. Amy held the plain white paper by the corner. “Good luck,” the block letters read. “Did you think you could run away from me?”

Trish’s stomach took another knee dive.

“You go eat. I have some phone calls to make.”

“Since Red is on the line in Donald’s office, you can use the home phone.” Bernice pointed to one set on a carved-walnut whatnot table beside a deep leather chair. “We’ll leave you alone.” She put an arm around Trish’s shoulders. “Come, dear. Let’s join the others in the dining room.”

Trish let herself be led out of the room. They met Red coming out of the office. He took one look at Trish’s face.

“What happened now?”

“Another letter.” Bernice locked her other arm through his and drew them both forward. “We can discuss this over Sarah’s baked ham. Stewing about it won’t make one whit of difference. That’s a job for the police.”

So will he show up at the track? Come here to BlueMist?
Trish slapped a lid on her thoughts and took her place at the table. When Red held the chair for her, he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, and then seated Marge.

Trish flashed him a look of pure gratitude. “Guess I’ve been having too good a time. Seemed like I was safe here.”

“Yeah, in between rearing horses, lightning, falling trees, and a director who can shoot daggers at ten paces, it’s real safe here.” Red sat down on Trish’s other side.

“Better all that than a harassing letter.”

“You just forget all your troubles and enjoy my ham and yams.” Sarah set the platter of biscuits directly in front of Trish. “There ain’t nothin’ that a good Southern meal can’t cure, child. You eat up and see.”

Trish smiled up at the woman serving. One could never resist smiling with Sarah. “I suppose you baked pies again today.”

“No, honey, I made apple cobbler. Wait till you try it.” She bustled back out after giving Trish’s shoulder a second pat.

Donald said grace and began serving the plates from the platters in front of him. As usual, there was enough to feed each of them three times and still have leftovers.

“I’m going to have to go on a diet when I get home, and I never have to diet.” Trish bit into a piece of ham. She’d take Sarah’s advice. Let the food do its work and Officer Parks do his.

“I do. And after a meal like this, I should run ten miles. But I’m always too full.” Red forked another bite of ham into his mouth and closed his eyes in appreciation.

The next day’s shooting took off from the first frame and stopped only for meals.

“You’re doing it, kids,” Joseph said at one point. “That’s just the look I want.”

Trish grinned at Red and hugged Spitfire, who acted like he’d been on camera all his life and what was all the fuss about? Maybe the modeling stuff wasn’t so bad after all.

They took their places for the umpteenth time. They stood together between the two convertibles—one black, one red, front bumpers nearly touching.

“Okay, roll it.”

“Red is best.” Trish looked up at Red from under her eyelashes.

“Nope, black.” His half-grin sent a shiver up her back.

“either way, we’ll take LeBarons.” The words came out slowly, as if they’d been drenched in warm honey. Trish couldn’t take her gaze from his mouth, his smiling, curved lips so near.

“Cut! That’s it! Talk about sizzle.”

Trish blinked. Spitfire nudged her for attention. The mood shattered.

“Okay, let’s set up for the next shots.”

No matter how well it went, it was still ten o’clock that night before they finished. Trish had heard a phrase once—“drug through a knothole backwards.” Now she knew what it meant. And how it felt. They had to leave for Churchill Downs by seven in the morning.

Red dropped a kiss on the end of her tired nose and left as soon as they finished shooting. He had horses to ride for morning works. The thought of riding five or six mounts before seven and most likely freezing in the process made Trish shiver in sympathy.

She would enjoy her vacation just a little longer. If what she’d been doing could be called a vacation, that is.

She gave a halfhearted thought to her books, the ones she’d carted so faithfully across the country. She’d been studying all right, but lines, not textbooks. Maybe she could write a term paper on the joys of modeling. Trish groaned at the thought. Was there any chance her teachers would give her an extension?

One thought of The Jerk flitted through her mind, but there was a good side to exhaustion—she was too tired to care.

The sun didn’t bother to get up early in the morning, and when it did, it dressed in gray clouds rather than golden beams. She’d slept right through her rooster alarm, so she had to hustle. She would take a shower at the track.

Trish gave a last longing look around her bedroom. Since Marge and Bernice were driving over later, they would pack and bring her clothes. She hefted her sports bag and tried not to clatter down the stairs.

Sarah met her with a food package at the door. “Land sakes, child! Y’all can’t go off for a big day like this on an empty stomach.”

A horn honked from the drive. “Gotta run.” Trish took the gift and planted a kiss on the woman’s dark cheek. “Anytime you want to move west, let us know. Thanks for everything.”

“I’ll see you at the track this afternoon. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

With the warmth of a last pat still on her cheek, Trish dashed out the door and down the steps.

“I was beginning to think I was going to have to come haul you out of bed.” Amy opened the door to the shiny deep blue Cherokee. “As usual, we’re going in style.”

Trish munched her breakfast, letting the conversation flow around her. Traveling with either of the Shipsons was a touring lesson in history, done in a most entertaining style. She could tell Amy was as charmed as she was.

The first sight of the three cupolas on the rooftops of Churchill Downs always brought a lump to her throat. “Far cry from Portland Meadows, right?” She turned around when Amy failed to answer. If one’s face could register shock, Amy’s did. Mouth open, eyes wide. Yup, shock for sure. Trish felt a chuckle coming on. In spite of the low gray sky, this was going to be a super day. Wasn’t it? But a niggle of fear set her butterflies a-fluttering.

“You all right?” Amy recovered enough to sense the change in Trish.

“Sure. Fine.” But Trish caught herself carefully studying each person as they drove by, just in case they might be
the
one.

So much for trust and faith,
her nagger whispered in her ear.
You claim God will take care of you, now let Him.
Trish breathed deeply to relax. And it helped, in spite of the fact that increased oxygen accelerated the butterfly acrobatics.

She was all right. Of course she was. Here at Churchill Downs she could be no other.

The first face she saw when they reached the Shipsons’ barn belonged to her California trainer, Adam Finley. Trish leaped from the truck and flew into his arms.

“Hey, it’s been worth the wait for a greeting like that. Let me look at you, now a world-class model no less. You have more talents than one person should know what to do with.” A smile wreathed his face like the white fringe of hair circled his shiny bald crown.

“Right. You been kissing the Blarney stone or something?” Trish hooked her arm in his. “Come meet my friend Amy and then I get to inspect the string.”

“Inspection, my foot. Firefly thought you were coming to take her out this morning. She’s been pining for you.”

“Sure she has. I bet she gave that redheaded friend of ours a good workout.” Trish introduced Amy and Adam, then grabbed Amy’s arm. “You met the humans—now come see the important ones around here.”

Firefly had stretched her head so far out of the stall she looked as if she might topple over. Her nickers demanded attention, giving vent to a full-fledged whinny when Trish didn’t respond quickly enough.

“You silly girl, I think you missed me.” Trish handed Amy a piece of carrot. “Here, this sweetie will be your friend for life if you come with treats in hand. I should know.”

“Right, you’re the one who spoiled her rotten.” Adam stood petting the gelding in the stall next to the filly so he wouldn’t feel left out. “This is your other mount for today. He’s looking mighty fine here—clocked out well.”

Trish switched horses. “He does look good.”