Golden Filly Collection Two (81 page)
“I’m just back-up,” Timmy sang to the filly, much like Trish did. The two of them made a fine duet.
“Okay, girl. Let’s show them how smart you are.” Trish took one step backward and then another. With one hand scratching the horse’s cheek, she tugged on the lead with the other.
Firefly lurched forward, one ungainly step at a time. Dr. Grant, Kim, Donald, and another attendant acted like spotters for a gymnast, ready to lend their strength to keep the filly on her feet.
By the time they reached the wide-open double doors, Trish could feel the sweat trickling down her back. Dark wet spots were popping out on the filly’s neck, evidence of the strain she was under.
“Come on, girl, you’re doing fine.” Trish let the hobbling horse pause in the open doorway and sniff the breeze. The bright sun made them all blink. “Feels like I’ve run five miles with a forty-pound pack.”
“You’ve never really done that, have you?” Donald ran a comforting hand over the filly’s rump.
“No, but…”
“Well, I have,” Dr. Grant added. “In the army—and it nearly killed me. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” He walked around the filly, checking the cast and listening to her lungs and heart. “You’re a game one, old girl.” He patted the sorrel shoulder. “Never would have believed we’d be shipping you out on your own steam.”
Trish swapped a look with Timmy that said what they thought of the good doctor’s attitude. Trish bit her lower lip to keep from commenting.
He gave up on you, old girl. But you and me, we didn’t.
She stroked the filly’s sweaty neck.
And God didn’t. Thank you, Father.
“We better keep her moving or she’ll stiffen up. I want to get a blanket on her soon’s possible.” Timmy motioned for Trish to step out again.
They worked their way the few feet to the ramp without any problems, but when Firefly put her front feet on the ramp, she shivered.
“easy, girl, come on, you can do it.” Trish kept her voice to the soothing singsong. “That ol’ ramp’s nearly flat. You’ll make it fine.”
Another step. Firefly threw her head in the air in spite of the chain over her nose.
At the upward jerk, Trish gasped at the pain in her side. She let the lead travel through her fingers and worked it back in place again. She swallowed and took a deep breath. Another mistake.
“You all right, lass?” Timmy kept his voice soothing and his hands busy stroking up around Firefly’s ears.
“I will be.”
Firefly dropped her head and sniffed the ramp. She sucked in a deep breath of air and, on the exhale, nuzzled Trish’s arm.
“You ready for more?” Trish raised her gaze to the sky above, catching the flight of a flock of birds against the deep blue. “Sure wish we had some wings here about now.”
Timmy grinned at her and nodded. “That would be good.” He waited a moment. “You ready?”
Trish nodded. “Okay, girl, all the way.” She stepped farther up the ramp and tugged gently on the lead.
Firefly planted her feet and leaned back on her haunches.
“Come on, Firefly, you know better than this.” Trish tugged again. The filly’s ears were laid back.
Trish released the tension on her lead.
Firefly leaped forward. She slammed into Trish in the rush.
No!
Trish kept the scream in her head as she spun off the ramp.
T
rish grabbed for the rail, the door, anything. Her hands raked across metal.
She kept falling.
“Oof!” even with a cushion of strong arms and a broad chest, Trish felt the jolt clear through her. She opened her eyes to see Dr. Grant grinning at her as he set her back on the ground. “Th-thanks. That was close.”
“Glad I could be of service.” The doctor’s grin wobbled, looking about like Trish’s legs felt. “Young lady, no wonder your mother is getting gray hair. If you’d have crushed those ribs again, she’d have strung me up.”
“Hardly.” Trish put a hand to her side and leaned forward to breathe more easily. At the same time she rubbed her stomach to get it back down where it belonged. If she looked as pale as she felt, she knew she was in trouble. “She’s used to me. Besides, it wasn’t my fault. Firefly just got tired of hobbling.” Trish stepped up on the ramp and entered the van to find her filly rubbing against Timmy with her bony forehead.
“You okay, lass?” Timmy ducked under the filly’s neck to check Trish out.
“I will be. Let’s get this show on the road.”
So I can lie down for a while
was the thought deliberately kept unspoken.
“Why don’t you go sit in that chair and let us take care of your horse?” Kim joined Trish beside the filly.
“I will as soon as we get her settled.” She turned to Dr. Grant. “Thanks for all you’ve done for her—and for being such a good catcher.”
“Glad we could help.” Dr. Grant gave Donald an assist with the quilted traveling sheet, smoothing a hand down Firefly’s back after securing the last of the buckles. “Hope to see you at Churchill Downs again next year.”
As soon as they were underway, Trish let herself sink into the canvas chair against the far wall. She closed her eyes, gently rubbing her side at the same time. That seemed to ease the pain. What she wouldn’t give for some aspirin right then.
The trip to BlueMist passed without any further incident. At one point Timmy touched Trish’s shoulder and pointed to a pile of horse blankets. She roused herself enough from the drowse she’d been hovering in and curled up on the pads.
How come pain can make you so sleepy?
The thought never had time for an answer because she sank beyond drowse like a stone falling into a pool.
Trish spent the next day alternating between Firefly’s and Spitfire’s stalls. During a thunderstorm in the afternoon she stayed with Spitfire. While he’d gotten somewhat used to the crashing storm, loud noises still spooked him.
“easy, fella, it’s just thunder,” Trish crooned to him after a particularly close strike. Her eardrums still echoed from the boom.
If you were home, you wouldn’t have to put up with such stuff.
The thought made her wince. Her mother had called last night wondering when Trish was flying in. They’d agreed on Saturday, only the day after next.
If only Spitfire could be brought back to Vancouver. Trish leaned her forehead against his neck. “Guess that’s the price of fame,” she whispered. “Only how come it has to hurt so much?”
Spitfire turned and nuzzled her shoulder. When that didn’t get her attention, he lipped the braid hanging down her back.
“Ouch.” She pushed his nose away. “You don’t have to get so rough.” He threw his head up and rolled his eyes, the whites gleaming bright in the gloom. “Sure, I know, you’re scared to death.” Another flash of lightning glinted through the windows. “Hang on, here we go again.” She turned so he could rest his head over her shoulder and place a hand over the ridge of his nose.
Trish counted. But this time, the thunder took five seconds to boom after the lightning flash. The storm was quickly moving away from them. Spitfire only flinched, his hide rippling beneath her hand.
Once the rain let up, she crossed the gravel parking lot to the quarantine barn, where Firefly occupied a double stall so she could have plenty of room to move around. José, one of the grooms, stayed with her to make sure she didn’t try to lie down.
“How ya doin’?” Trish asked the aging former jockey.
“Not bad. She’s a good horse, that one. Shame she won’t run again.”
“At least she’s alive.” Trish stroked the filly’s neck. “Much as I’d love to see her on the track, she’ll make a good broodmare.” She tickled the filly’s whiskery upper lip. “Won’t you, girl?” Firefly snuffled Trish’s pockets looking for her treat. When she found the right one, she nosed harder. “Okay, okay, be patient, will you?” Trish drew the carrot out of her jacket pocket and let the horse munch away. The crunch of carrot coupled with the water dripping through the downspouts sang a kind of tune. One of peace and contentment.
Trish took her American government textbook out of her book bag and sank down in the corner of the stall to study. “You can take a break now if you’d like. I’ll be here for an hour at least.” She listened while José left the building. When his footsteps faded, she leaned her head back against the wall. Firefly snuffed Trish’s hair and then rested her nose against Trish’s shoulder, the horse’s eyes drifting closed.
Trish let her book dangle between her bent knees. Vancouver, Portland Meadows, Prairie High School—they all seemed light-years away. What would it be like to stay in Kentucky? She’d be closer to major tracks, that’s for sure. Probably even head down to Florida when Donald shipped his string down there. She could be at BlueMist when Spitfire serviced the mares that other breeders would bring in. Spend time in the foaling barns. Go to school.
She shook her head. No, her senior year took priority. She shut off the daydreams and reopened her book. Graduating with her friends
was
important. After all, she’d never be seventeen again. She had plenty of years to race.
Now she sounded like her mother. Trish’s snort made Firefly jerk up her head. “Easy, girl. You can go back to sleep. I’ll be careful.”
She called Rhonda that evening to let her in on the latest plans.
“You mean you’re finally coming home?” Trish could just picture Rhonda, flat on her bed with one knee cocked over the other.
“You mean you’ve missed me? What about that tall, handsome basketball player who takes all your spare time?”
“Jason
is
rather nice.”
“Nice?” Trish choked on the word. “I’ll tell him what you said.”
“You know, he plays basketball every day after school, and he’s even found a weekend league. So, it’s like I never get to see him.”
“Right!”
“Besides that, I’ve had shows nearly every weekend. Which reminds me—you haven’t seen me jump once this fall.”
Guilt dealt Trish a blow to the midsection. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault, but I qualified for the Pan Pacific, so you better clear those days. That’s my entry into the big time.”
The two chatted a few more minutes before Trish hung up. Yeah, it was time to go home. She’d missed out on a lot.
Friday night Red arrived right on time to take her out to supper. “How does Barney’s Ribs sound?” he asked on their way down the steps.
“Sounds good to me. We don’t get real southern barbecued ribs in Vancouver.”
“That’s what I thought. Then maybe a movie—or just a drive?”
“Up to you.” She wanted to add,
I just like being with you,
but the words stuck in her throat. She’d have thought with her being in Kentucky she would have seen more of him, but a popular jockey didn’t have a lot of extra time. Now, if she’d been at the track…
Before their dinner was served, Red had signed three autographs, and when the fans realized Trish was with him, they kept both jockeys busy.
Trish smiled at a young girl who had braces glinting on her teeth and who swore she’d be a jockey someday just like Trish. “Spend all the time you can learning to ride and handle horses,” Trish told her. “Any kind of horse. And keep up your schoolwork so you get good grades.” Trish could hardly believe she’d said that. Must be her mother’s coaching coming out.