Golden Filly Collection Two (91 page)

“Is he ever with a group of friends?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“On campus, I guess. I think he mentioned roommates…” Trish tried to think back. Funny, but he didn’t usually talk about himself. “Mostly we talk about the races, you know, like the horses and jockeys and what’s going on.”

After they hung up, Trish stayed by the phone, leaning on the counter and doodling on a piece of paper. She didn’t like the thought that she didn’t know more about Taylor. The next time she saw him, she was determined to remedy that situation.

If Trish thought she was on a treadmill before, by February, it was more like being caught in a hurricane. Only she couldn’t seem to find the eye of it for a few days’ respite. Her government class voted to buy new books for the library with the money from the Thoroughbred Association. She was on the committee to decide what the senior class should give the school for the annual senior present. Racing took up the weekends. Studying seemed to take more time, not less, as she’d hoped for her last semester.

True to Jason’s predictions, the basketball team had only one loss so far and was being touted as a state contender. Basketball fever swept Prairie with both the girls’ and the guys’ teams doing so well. Trish hated to miss any game, let alone a home game.

Taylor kept asking Trish for a date, and she kept putting him off. He didn’t discourage easily, that was for sure.

Nothing had happened lately with The Jerk either.

“I think he just gave up,” Trish said one night when Rhonda was sleeping over.

“I sure hope so. You talked to Amy lately?” Rhonda lay on her stomach on Trish’s bed, feet in the air, keeping time to the Amy Grant tape in the tape deck.

“As in Grant or Jones?” Trish ducked her friend’s fake clobber and hugged her knees to her chest. “She says the file is officially closed for lack of evidence, but that in her mind there’s more to come.”

“That gives you confidence, right?”

“I don’t care. Just so I don’t hear from him ever again.” She propped her chin on her knees. “You think I should go out with Taylor? He keeps asking and I keep putting him off.”

“If you don’t want to, just tell him no.”

“But he’s so nice, and I think he’s lonesome. I gave him my phone number, so he calls once in a while.”

“Invite him out so your mom can meet him, and if she likes him, we’ll all go to a show or something.” Rhonda pulled her gum to a long thread and then folded it back into her mouth.

“Yuck, don’t do that.” Trish pushed her toe against Rhonda’s elbow.
“We
usually means you and Jason and Doug and me.”

“You know what I meant. Maybe we should make it me and Brad. Jason would blab to Doug, and his feelings might get hurt.”

“Good idea. But you know, Doug and I aren’t like really going together or anything.”

Rhonda gave her that have-you-lost-your-marbles look. “Right.”

“Well, we almost never go out alone, so I only see him at school and when we’re all together.”

“And at the games.”

“He’s playing.”

“Whatever.”

Trish thought about their conversation the next afternoon while down at the barns checking on the mare that was due to foal. Did she want to go out with Taylor? Was she ‘going with’ Doug? How come she hadn’t heard from Red for quite a while? How come her life was a whole series of questions? And none of them had easy answers?

When she offered Double Diamond a carrot piece, he nipped her hand. “Ouch! What’d you do that for?” The colt jumped back. “Men! You’re nothing but trouble.”

Miss Tee, in the adjoining stall, stretched her muzzle as far as possible, her silent nicker making her nostrils quiver. “Now see? She’s getting sweeter every day, and you’re a pain.” Trish rubbed her hand on her pant leg. “That stung, you rotten horse.” Miss Tee rubbed her white star against Trish’s shoulder and sniffed her pockets for another treat. Gone was the stubby mane and baby fur. Miss Tee now stood at 14.2 hands and looked as gangly as any teenager. Her long winter coat showed the bright red that would sparkle in the spring, and her lighter mane laid smoothly to the right.

“You’re a real beauty, you know that?” Trish stroked the filly’s forelock. “You and me, we’re going to be spending lots of time together, starting pretty soon. Mom’s done a good job with your training, and now it’s my turn.”

Would Miss Tee have the speed and heart of Spitfire? She looked good according to Patrick. Trish knew she couldn’t give an objective opinion, but she had high hopes for her namesake. She was foaled on Trish’s sixteenth birthday and was the first Thoroughbred with Tricia Marie Evanston listed on the registration papers as the owner. Trish gave the filly a last pat. “Gotta run. You be good.”

Trish jogged up the rise to the house. She’d invite Taylor out for a tour tomorrow afternoon, but mainly to meet her mother. If all went well, maybe they’d go out for pizza.

Trish left a message on Taylor’s answering machine and hit her books. When he called back later, she cleared her throat. She wasn’t used to inviting boys—men—to things. But he agreed to the invitation, sounding pleased.

She got a big thumbs-up signal from Rhonda the next afternoon after school. “Way to go, compadre. Call me when it’s all over.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to jump off a cliff or some-thing.”

“More like sky diving. See ya.” Rhonda dashed up the steps to her house.

Chocolate-chip-cookie perfume beckoned Trish up the walk and through the door. “Smells heavenly.” She followed her nose into the kitchen where Marge was just taking another pan from the oven. Trish took a still-warm cookie from the cooling rack. “You sure know how to impress a guy. I shoulda thought of this.”

“You want me to tell him you baked them?” Marge raised one eyebrow.

“Nope, but thanks.”

Trish had just checked the clock to make sure it was working when she heard Caesar announcing company. Trish leaned over the counter to peer out the window. Sure enough, a sleek, dark Corvette rumbled up the drive.

Should she open the door and meet him outside? Or wait and let him knock?

Caesar’s welcome yippy bark stopped. The tone deepened to a dark woof along with a growl.

Trish jerked open the front door. The sable-colored collie stood at the front end of the Corvette, growling softly.

Taylor stood still, one hand filled with flowers and the other a square box. “Hey, Trish, call off your dog.”

“Caesar! Come here! What’s the matter, fella?” Calling to her dog, Trish leaped down the steps and hit the walk running.

Caesar looked at her over his shoulder but kept his place. He whimpered as Trish reached for his collar.

“I’m sorry, he’s never done this before. He’s usually very friendly.” Trish grabbed the dog by the collar and led him back to the house. “Come on in. He must not like your car. Too fancy for an old farm dog,” Trish laughed.

Caesar rumbled deep in his throat. He eased his way to the front of Trish and pushed against her knee with his shoulder, as if to shove her back.

“Easy, boy. Sit.” Caesar did. “Now stay.”

But that he didn’t do. He kept his place right by her knee as the three of them walked up to the house. He growled again when they went in the door. And woofed one more time when the door closed.

“I can’t believe him, Mom. Caesar’s never done anything like that before.”

“I know. Sorry for the greeting.” Marge took the huge bouquet of daffodils that Taylor handed her. “Why, thank you, Taylor. It’s a long time since anyone brought me flowers. And daffodils, my favorites. Makes me think spring is really coming again.”

“My mom likes them too.” He handed her the square box.

“Godiva chocolates! Oh my. You certainly have good taste.” Marge set the box on the counter and rummaged in the cupboard for a vase.

Trish watched the two like a spectator at a performance. It didn’t seem real somehow. None of her friends ever bought presents for a parent. But she had to admit her mother looked pleased.

“You want some chocolate chip cookies? Mom’s been baking. And a Coke? Hot chocolate?”

“Or coffee?” Marge turned from filling the vase. “And thank you, Taylor, for the flowers and candy. We’ll both enjoy them.”

“Coffee, if you already have it made.” He took the plate of cookies while Trish dug a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator. “If these taste as good as they smell, you have a friend for life.”

“You want to see the home stock?” Trish asked after they’d demolished the plate of cookies.

“Sure. See where the great Spitfire grew up?” He pushed his chair back and picked up his mug. “Thanks for the goodies.”

“Come back soon.” Marge walked them to the door. “Trish, make sure you check on the mare. I think it’s only a matter of hours.”

“You want to go out for hamburgers or something—when you’re done with chores, that is?” Taylor flashed her his heart-stopping smile as they neared the foaling barn. “I think I passed inspection.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She bit her lip. Was it that obvious?

A chorus of nickers greeted them as Trish whistled.

“They sure know who you are.”

“They’d better. I’m the carrot lady as far as they’re concerned.” Trish went down the line, introducing Taylor to each of her friends. “The young stock are over in the big barn down from the foaling stall. Come on.” She flicked on the overhead light when they entered the dim interior. Miss Tee and Double Diamond set up a nickering contest, but the mare didn’t show her head. Trish walked swiftly to the double-sized foaling stall. The mare lay on her side, head flat against the straw. Two small hooves peeked out from beneath her tail and withdrew only to come out farther on the next contraction.

Trish laid her arms on the top of the half-door and her chin on her crossed hands. “You ever seen a foal born before?”

“No.” Taylor’s voice was as soft as hers.

“Well, it won’t be long.” Together they watched as a slick black bundle slid into the world and separated the sack that had kept it safe for eleven months. Trish opened the stall door and slipped inside. “Easy, girl, let me give you a hand.” She picked up some clean straw from the corner and wiped the mucus out of the foal’s nostrils. He snorted and raised his head, a perfect star visible on his forehead and a dot of white between his nostrils.

“Meet Spitfire’s baby brother.” Trish continued to clean the colt with the straw. “See that bucket by the wall? Would you hand it to me?” She kept her voice gentle, much like the song she used to calm her mounts in the starting gate.

“Here.” Taylor handed the bucket across the gate.

Trish set the stainless steel bucket down beside her, took out some string, and tied off the foal’s umbilical cord. Then with scissors that had been dipped in disinfectant, she snipped the cord. “There you go, little fella. You’re on your own now.”

The mare raised her head, curling her neck around to sniff the foal. With one last contraction, she expelled the afterbirth and heaved herself to her feet. Head down, she nuzzled the foal and began licking him.

Trish pushed herself back against the wall and glanced up at Taylor. He stood with his chin on his hands, never taking his eyes from the spectacle before him.

“I’ve never seen anything born before.” His hushed voice would do honor to a cathedral.

“Something, isn’t it?” Trish crossed her wrists on her bent knees. “Makes me almost cry every time. Sometimes we have trouble, but this old girl has been at it so long, she could write the script.”

The foal pushed his spindly front legs out in front of him. His head bobbed, but still he tried to stand upright.

“He’s a strong one, all right.” Trish checked her watch. “Not even half an hour old and he’s already trying to stand.” The mare continued licking her baby, making snuffling noises. “She’s telling him how wonderful he is and that he’s going to be the fastest horse in the world.”

“Sure. You understand horse talk too?”

“That’s what my dad used to say. Every baby needs to hear he’s the greatest, and who better to tell him than his mother?”

“I bet that would be good.”

Trish looked up at him. “You mean you never heard that?”

“I doubt it. My mother didn’t think talking to her kids was important. In fact, she didn’t think taking care of them was either, so she split.” The words dropped like rocks into a calm pool, sending waves to shatter the reflection and crash on the shore.