Golden Filly Collection Two (93 page)

“I don’t understand it. Usually only his tongue and tail are the dangerous parts. He’ll either lick you to pieces or beat you with his tail.” She kept a hand on the dog’s head. She could feel the tension quivering in the dog’s body.
What’s with him lately?

“How about if we take my car? Your backseat is pretty small.”

Taylor gave her a look of pure astonishment. “We can all fit if you girls ride in the back. Otherwise, we’ll meet them there.”

Trish rolled her eyes. This wasn’t starting out well at all. “Fine.”
Men!

No wonder they called it the battle of the sexes.
“Brad is over at Rhonda’s. It’s just up the road.”

“Make sure you kick any mud off your feet before you get in back,” Taylor ordered when they picked up the others.

Trish and Rhonda swapped “Oh, well” looks. They wouldn’t dare mess up his fancy new car.

While Brad raved about the beauty, the sound, the smell, the power of the Corvette, Trish and Rhonda swapped scrunched-up looks and mouthed sarcastic words. Two people crunched in the backseat of a Corvette ranked right up near the top on a list of torture techniques. At least they weren’t going far.

Their dinner arrived late and cold, and the movie had enough blood in it to restock the Red Cross. When it was time to climb back in the Corvette, Trish just prayed for the evening to get over.

“But the entire mess wasn’t Taylor’s fault,” Rhonda said the next day on the phone. “Other than insisting we take his car—and you know how thrilled Brad was.”

“Don’t even mention cars. How can anyone be so picky about a bit of mud on the floor?”

“It’s a guy thing, for sure,” Rhonda giggled.

There’s something else.” Trish doodled on the pad beside her. “Caesar seems uneasy around him.”

“So?”

“So, why? Caesar’s usually so friendly. You know that.”

“Probably it’s just the car. Too fancy for your farm dog’s taste.”

“Rhonda, be serious.”

“Are you going out with him again?”

“He wants me to. Asked again at the track today, but I don’t have time, so there’s no worry.” Trish hung up the phone and stuck her head in the refrigerator. Where, oh where was a Diet Coke when she wanted it?

The Highstreet trial happened right on schedule. With all the media hoopla, Trish wondered if the trial was necessary. The man had already been tried, convicted, and hung by the press.

But the morning she was to be a witness for the prosecution, she dressed with care. Breakfast was beyond possibility since her resident troupe of stomach butterflies seemed bent on wearing themselves out before noon.

As soon as they entered the courtroom, Trish looked for the man who was accused of trying to shoot her down. All she remembered seeing was the barrel of a gun pointing at her. The man behind it had been huge, but other than that, she couldn’t identify him.

At the table on the left, a man sat hunched over by his attorney. While Trish recognized him from pictures she’d seen in the paper, she could still hardly equate this beaten human being with the arrogant man she remembered.

When they called her name, Trish started to rise. Marge squeezed her daughter’s hand. “You can do it, honey. I’ll be praying for you.”

All you need to do is tell the truth.
even her nagger was a comfort at this point.

And that’s what Trish did. She told what she remembered and refused to be swayed by the attorney for the defense. When she stepped down, she again caught the gaze of the man on trial. Was he trying to say he was sorry? A flash of pity ripped through Trish’s mind.
Please, God, care for him.

Amazed at what had just happened to her, Trish pushed open the gate to return to her seat. Sitting in the back row—she looked again to be sure—it
was
Taylor. What in the world was he doing at the trial of a real estate developer?

But when she asked him that the next time they talked on the phone, he said he’d gone to watch her “do her stuff.”

“Why?” Trish shook her head.

“Maybe I’ll go into law. I thought this was a good chance to see our legal system in action—and you too.” He chuckled. “You looked really good up there.”

“Thanks, I think.” Trish hung up the phone a bit later with something niggling at her.

With the Kentucky Derby only three weeks away, Trish caught herself remembering the year before. By this time they were worried if Spitfire would fly all right, if his leg could stand the strain. How she wished to have another horse to take to the Derby!

One sunny afternoon, she led the mare outside, her foal dancing beside her.

“He’s just a doll.” Marge stopped to chuckle when the shiny black colt leaped away from a shadow. “He’s about the most curious baby I’ve ever seen.”

“Dad would say that shows great intelligence. He’s nothing if he’s not gutsy.” Trish led the pair through the open gate and unsnapped the lead strap. The mare immediately found a dirt patch and collapsed to the ground, rolling and scratching her back. The colt charged away, ran in a circle, and came back to watch what he obviously thought was crazy behavior.

“We need to name him, Mom.” Trish propped her elbows on the fence behind her.

“I know. Nothing either Patrick or I’ve thought of seems to fit. We tried something with Seattle or Slew in it, but all those seem to be taken. Since he’s Spitfire’s full brother, I thought something along that line might work, but again nothing.”

“Dad was usually the namer here.” Trish sighed, wishing for about the millionth time that he were with them. “Did you ask David?”

“Uh-huh. No help.”

“What about Hal’s Angel?”

“For a colt? Sounds more like a filly.” Marge rested her chin on her hands on the fence. “If you say it wrong, you get Hell’s Angel. You want people to think he’s a biker?”

“Well, they have a lot of speed.”

“Right, of every kind. Hal’s Angel. I don’t know.”

“I’d like to name him after Dad. Let’s think about it.”

The last day of racing at Portland Meadows dawned cloudy but turned clear and sunny. The fans came out in force, and with a list of six mounts, Trish felt as up as Gatesby. Only
she
didn’t try to bite, or rather, nip everyone in sight.

John Anderson threatened to sell his gelding, even though Gatesby had won his last three times out, including today.

And when she won five of her six starts, Trish didn’t think she’d come down for a month.

“Sure wish David had been here for this,” she said to her mother when they stood in the winner’s circle for Sarah’s Pride, the claimer they had bought the year before. “And Dad.”

“Oh, I think your father knows what’s going on, and he’s busting his buttons with pride.” Marge shook hands with the presenter and they all smiled for the flash.

“You want to invite a bunch over to celebrate?”

Trish shook her head. “I just want to crash.”

“Is
this
the Trish we all know and love?” Marge stepped back as if to make sure.

“Mother!”

“Well, don’t wait up for me, then. Bob Diego and I are going out to dinner.”

“You’re what!” Trish nearly dropped her saddle.

“You heard me. He’s invited me out for dinner to celebrate the end of the racing season here, and I accepted.”

“Maybe I better invite Rhonda over. I’m not so sure I like the idea of my mother and Bob Diego.”

“Trish, he’s just a friend.”

“Where have I heard those words before?” Trish tried to put a smile on her face. “Oh, yeah, they were mine.”

On the way to school the next day, Rhonda was yakking on about Jason when she suddenly asked, “Has Doug invited you to the prom yet?”

“Well, he mentioned it but not really asked me. Why?”

“’Cause I think you’ve got a problem.”

Trish waited for the light to change. “Now what?” She turned to check out Rhonda’s expression. Her friend wore that cat-and-canary look that meant something was cooking.

“Well, what if Taylor asks you and Doug asks you? Who will you go with?”

“I think I’ll just stay home.” Trish pulled into the Prairie High parking lot. “Besides, why would Taylor ask me?”

“’Cause he said he would.” Rhonda raised both her eyebrows and her shoulders. Her silly grin left Trish certain that Rhonda knew more than she was letting on.

Now what’ll? I do?

Chapter
14

T
rue to Rhonda’s prediction, both guys asked her to the prom.

“But what am I gonna do?” Trish wailed at her mother as soon as Marge could be found. She sat in her bedroom at Hal’s desk, paying bills.

“What do you want to do?”

“Go see Spitfire?” Trish perched on the edge of the bed.

“Be serious.” Marge leaned back in the swivel chair.

“Well, Doug and I’ve gone to school together since kindergarten. He knows everyone and so do I. While Taylor won’t know anyone and half the girls will love me for making Doug ask someone else. But I hate to hurt Taylor’s feelings.”

“Would you rather hurt Doug?”

“No-o.”

“enough said.”

“Sometimes growing up isn’t all fun.”

“You’re right there, honey. Much of the time, it’s downright difficult.” Marge turned back to her bookwork.

“One more problem—what am I going to wear, and when do I have time to go shopping? Next Saturday is the Kentucky Derby. I fly back there on Wednesday, returning Sunday night. The next Saturday is the prom.”

“First things first. We’ll find time. We always do.”

Trish left the room and headed for the kitchen. Much easier to deal with a mess of this magnitude on a full stomach. Finally, sandwich finished, she dialed Taylor’s number. Maybe he wouldn’t be there and she could just leave the message on his answering machine. She could hear her nagger making scolding noises. Not a good idea.

The answering machine clicked in.

Rats.
She waited and asked him to call her back later in the evening after chores were finished. And Doug was at baseball practice. She’d tell him tomorrow.

When Taylor called back, Trish wished she were in another country. “So, you’re going to let me take you to the prom, right?”

“Sorry, but Doug had already asked me…Well he’d sorta mentioned

it, so I…” She stuttered to a halt and took a deep breath. “But thanks for asking.” Silence filled the receiver and echoed in her ear. “Taylor?”

“I’m here. This just takes some getting used to.” His voice sounded brittle, harsh—not like the smooth, warm way he usually spoke. He paused. Like a mask falling into place, his normal voice took over. “I was really looking forward to seeing you all dressed up. You’ll be so beautiful.”

Trish felt shivers chase each other up and down her spine.

“Well, may the better man win,” Taylor went on. “How about if I get to take you out to dinner the night before? You know, a loser’s consolation?”

“Okay, but…”

“We’ll go somewhere really nice and maybe dancing so I’ll get to see you in evening clothes after all.”

“But…”
Now I’m going to have to buy two dresses.
“I’ll see you later, then. I gotta get to work here.” When he hung up, she slumped to the floor.
What have I gotten myself into?

“So what’s buggin’ you?” Rhonda asked a few minutes later when Trish called to tell what had happened. “Here you get to go to the prom with the dream of Prairie High and out to some fancy restaurant with the most gorgeous guy on the planet the night before.” Rhonda groaned. “I should have such problems.”