Kentucky Rich (15 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Kentucky Rich
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12
The Keeneland Select Yearling Sale in Lexington was not your ordinary horse sale because ordinary horses weren't sold at Keeneland, just the best of the best. Blue Diamond Farms was sending three colts this year, all full pedigrees laced with champions. From the time of their arrival until the day of the sale, the yearlings would be inspected by dozens of prospective buyers, who would check them closely to make sure they were sound and in good health.
“Yo, Nealy! Today's the big day, right?” Hunt shouted from the doorway of the barn.
Nealy had overseen loading the three yearlings into the horse van. Charlie had supervised. “Yep,” she said, glancing around. “I'm almost finished here. Just some tack to put away.”
“Smitty is going with me and Dad in the truck. She said she's always wanted to attend one of the auctions.” Hunt took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Damn it's hot today. I'll be glad to get going so I can turn on the air-conditioning.”
Nealy squinted against the sun as she looked at him. “I hope everything goes all right. I have to admit I'm a little nervous.”
“I wouldn't worry. We're sending three of the best yearlings this farm has ever produced. Three young princes whose bloodlines go back to the kings of Thoroughbred horse racing. I'm thinking they ought to bring in close to two-and-a-half million dollars.”
Nealy hadn't been thinking quite that high, but she was glad Hunt was. “Smitty tells me Mr. Goldstein is going to be bidding on all three of our colts. I have to tell you, it makes me damn mad that not only did he buy Buddy's parents' farm, he hired all the employees I fired, and now he wants all our horses. I keep asking myself what Maud would do, and I can't come up with an answer.” She flung her hands out in frustration.
“Maybe that's because there is no answer. We go to the Keeneland sales to sell horses, Nealy. It shouldn't matter to you who buys them.”
“Ordinarily it wouldn't. But in this case . . . the reason he wants
our
horses is because Jack Carney told him they were the best. And you know how I feel about Jack Carney.” She made an ugly face to express her dislike.
“Yes, I know.”
“It doesn't seem right to call the Owens farm the Goldstein farm,” she said, using the toe of her boot to make a pattern in the dirt. “I can't get used to the name change. Smitty tells me Mr. Goldstein is a nice man and dedicated to getting the farm back on its feet and training champions. She also said his wife used to be a high-fashion model. Smitty knows everything about everybody. She's a virtual font of information.” Nealy raised her eyes to find Hunt watching her. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is something wrong?”
Hunt blinked, caught off guard. “No, I was just . . . No. Sorry,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Everything's going great. I signed on another dozen men, all licensed, family men who don't have any axes to grind and are comfortable working for a woman. It's a slow process, but we're building.” He nodded his satisfaction. As Nealy started to secure the doors on the horse van, Hunt asked, “Have you been reading the papers lately?”
Once the latch was securely in place, Nealy gave Hunt her full attention. “No. Who has time to read newspapers? Certainly not me. What are they saying now? If it's something that's going to make me worry, don't even think about sharing it with me.” When there was no immediate response, she tilted her head to stare up at him. “What?”
“You've become famous, or should I say infamous? In any case, you're big news. People want to know who you are, where you came from, that sort of thing.”
Nealy shrugged. “So? What else?”
Hunt crossed his arms and stared at her. “I just want you to be prepared. Because you're successful, they'll try to tear you down. That's the way those newspaper people work. I wish to hell you'd gone to the Kentucky Derby. You could have put out some of the gossip fires. Not going to Keeneland is going to fan the flames. One reporter has already hinted that you might be hiding something.”
“Yeah,” she said, laughing. “I'm a secret chain-saw murderer. And at night I work at the Night Gallery. Be sure to pass all that on. And be sure to spell my name right,” Nealy said, looking Hunt full in the eyes. She had told him once before that she didn't care what other people thought about her. She'd meant it then, and she meant it now.
He gave her a big smile that showed he approved, albeit reluctantly. “If you don't mind, I think I'd just as soon say nothing at all. They're just waiting for something to sink their teeth into, and I don't want to slip up and be the one to give it to them.” He walked around the van and stowed his gear in one of the outside storage compartments.
Nealy picked Charlie up in her arms and was on her way back to the house when she had a thought. “You want some gossip to spread at Keeneland, Hunt?” she called from across the driveway. “Something that will make those reporters sit up and take notice?”
“Depends,” he said as he hooked his thumbs under his belt in a nonchalant pose.
“Tell them I'm riding Flyby in the Derby two years from now.”
Hunt's mouth dropped open. “You can't do that! You're a woman! You're the horse's trainer, not his jockey, Nealy.”
“Who says I can't do that? And of course I'm a woman. I'm glad you noticed. But my gender has nothing at all to do with my ability to be a jockey. I'll go to the wall on that if I have to.”
“But . . . You can't!”
Nealy could feel herself bridle with anger. “Don't you ever tell me what I can and can't do, Hunt. Just after I arrived here, Maud told me I could be whatever I wanted to be if I worked hard and if my heart was in the right place. I believed her. I still believe her. Flyby is my chance to fulfill my promise to Maud.” She walked over to the colt and ran her hand across his withers. “I don't know if he's Triple Crown material or not. It's simply too early to tell, but, by God, he
is
a Derby horse. He may be only five months old, but I'm telling you, he was born to run.”
Hunt clenched his teeth. “I swear to God you are more ornery than Maud and Jess put together. Cranky, too. A real curmudgeon.”
Nealy's hands flew to her hips. “Listen, Mr. Sunshine,” she said, regarding him with amusement, “just do what you're paid to do and shut up about all the rest.”
“Yes, sireee, ma'am,” he said, saluting smartly. He walked toward her. “I guess it's out of the question to ask for a kiss?”
Nealy's eyes brightened with pleasure. “I never said that.” She watched as Hunt tilted his head forward, eyes closed. At the last second, she stepped away and the kiss landed on Charlie's furry face. She howled in laughter and doubled over.
“I'll get you for that!” Hunt reached for Charlie and set him down on the ground. The little dog immediately grabbed his pant leg and tugged it, growling ferociously.
“Charlie!” Nealy scolded him before she bent over to pick him up. “Be good now.” She set him on Flyby's back, where he dropped his head onto his paws and pretended to go to sleep.
Hunt scowled as he eyed the dog. “That,” he said, “is highly unorthodox.”
“According to you and everyone else around here, everything I do is unorthodox. Ask me if I care?” she challenged.
Smitty and Danny walked toward them.
“Let's hit it,” Danny said as he stuffed his duffel bag into the van's storage compartment and got into the backseat.
Hunt climbed into the driver's seat and Smitty into the passenger seat.
“Have a good trip,” Nealy said, waving as Hunt started up the engine.
Hunt turned his head and winked at her. “I'll deal with you when I get back.”
“Promises. Promises,” Nealy responded.
 
 
Nealy opened Flyby's stall and walked him inside, noticing that one of the grooms had already filled his feeder. While he ate, she sat down cross-legged in the straw and stared straight ahead of her, her mind racing. Could the reporters trace her background? Even if they did, and they published the information, would it hurt her? So what that she was an unwed mother? So what that she'd run away from home at seventeen? So what that she'd landed on Maud and Jess's driveway and they'd taken her in and adopted her and Emmie? So what?
She wondered what her father would do when he discovered her whereabouts. “There's nothing he can do,” she said, talking to Flyby, who was munching his hay. “I'm well past the age of consent and my own woman now.” She thought about her father, about how he'd treated her. Prior to getting pregnant, what had she done to deserve his hate? She thought about his bitter Derby defeat. Windstar had come in fifth. Pyne and Rhy were probably paying for the defeat. She almost felt sorry for them. Almost.
Once her brothers discovered she owned Blue Diamond Farms, would they come crawling to her to help them? They could forget that. And what would Emmie's father do? So many questions, and she couldn't begin to answer any of them.
She shivered as Smitty's advice rang in her ears. “Don't talk to the press. Ignore them. Stay out of the limelight. When you don't say anything, there is nothing for them to feed on.” For that reason she no longer answered the phone herself but let Smitty pick it up and screen the calls. For that reason, too, she decided not to go to Keeneland.
Out of sight, and, hopefully, out of mind.
Nealy leaned forward and hugged her knees. “This is where I belong,” she whispered to the colt standing in front of her. “I think I would die if I had to leave you and the others. Maud said God smiled on me when He gave me the feelings I have for all of you. She said I was special, but I don't know for sure what she meant by special. My feelings, my understanding, my hands?”
She cupped the colt's head in her hands and talked softly to him as she breathed into his nostrils.
 
 
It was the end of October, Halloween to be exact. The days were cool and brisk. As Nealy approached the barn, Flyby pawed the ground, snorted, then whinnied . . . his way of pleading for her to take him out of the stall.
Flyby was nine months old now and weighed 750 pounds, nearly the weight of a yearling. If he kept going, he would be every bit as big if not bigger than his sire, who stood 16.2 hands tall. Wherever Flyby was, Charlie was there, too. The two were inseparable. When Charlie had spent the night at the vet's after being neutered, Flyby refused to eat. He'd even refused the treats he dearly loved. A knot of fear formed in Nealy's stomach at the thought of what would happen to Flyby if something happened to Charlie. She prayed the little dog would have a long and happy life.
“So you want to run, do you?” she asked, rubbing Flyby's velvety muzzle. “Well, it just so happens you're going to get your chance. Today, when I take your father for a breeze, I'm going to take you, too.” She had been waiting for this day for a long time. She knew that, once again, she would be doing something unorthodox, but she had long since stopped worrying about such things. There was no law that said a colt couldn't be breezed. As long as she took it easy and didn't strain him or tire him, everything would be fine.
Head high, tail arched, Flyby proudly pranced beside his sire out to the track. They were a unique pair, father and son.
Nealy took it slow, first walking Flyby around the track, then trotting him for a couple of furlongs. He didn't fight the lead but kept pace. Anyone watching him could see he was having a wonderful time.
“This is your future, Flyby,” Nealy told him, as they passed the practice starting gate. “Starting right now you're on your way to being the number one Thoroughbred in the country, maybe the world.”
A trio of grooms bellied up to the fence to watch the colt being put through his paces. As if by magic, word of what was happening spread throughout the farm. Within minutes, the fence was lined with Blue Diamond Farms employees, as well as Emmie and Buddy.
Nealy saw them all out of the corner of her eye and smiled. This crew was so different from the others. She could almost feel that they were rooting for her.
After Flyby's little workout, she handed him over to Danny to hold while she and Stardancer breezed with more serious intent. Late next year she would start entering Flyby in some prep races, so the sooner she started learning the ins and outs of being a jockey, the better. She was determined that no one was going to ride Flyby but her.
One of the exercise riders, an ex-jockey, came onto the track. “You've got a good seat, Nealy, but you need to bend your legs more,” he said, as she rode past him. “Attagirl. Keep your head low. Good!”
She urged Stardancer into an even faster pace and flew past the crowd of watchers. She knew she had a long way to go, but this was a start. A damn good start. “Show them, Stardancer. Show them what you could have been!”

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