Secretariat Reborn (12 page)

Two employees came into the office and said something in Spanish to Price.

“Excuse me, Christian,” said Price. He glanced at a schedule and relayed orders to them, also in Spanish. They left, and he turned back to Christian.

“Where were we? Oh, yes, your colt,” he said. “If he runs today and manages to blow away the field, you’ll end up with roughly thirteen thousand, including the breeder’s awards, and that’s minus the jockey’s and my ten percent of the purse. If he wins, we’ll move him into an allowance race next time out, and he’ll be more ready. Or I can scratch him, but it might be several weeks before I find another race that fits him. It’s up to you. Has your father seen his workout times?”

“No, he’s sick with cancer. I don’t want to upset him.”

“Well, if he knew the times, he’d surely agree with me.” Price grabbed an envelope off his desk. “By the way, here’s my bill. Might as well hand it to you and save myself a stamp.” His grin carved into his cheeks below the mustache.

Christian took the bill out of the envelope and scanned down to the total, $2,300, which included the training fee, shoes, body clip, and other extras, and there would be another bill coming from the track vet. He had yet to receive the insurance check on
The Princess
, and when he paid Price, he would be wiped out. Today’s purse money was looking better and better.

Price seemed to be making sense, and if Christian scratched Hunter and waited for a maiden special weight race, his father might not be around for it.

“Well,” Price asked. “Run or scratch him?”

“What are the chances of him being claimed?”

“A first race with his run-of-the-mill times,” Price huffed. “I’d say slim. No one spends twenty-five thousand for an unproven two-year-old with his pedigree.”

Christian fidgeted in his seat. What would his father do? What will he say after this race? Christian had to make a decision. “Okay, let’s race him.”

After writing out a check to Price for the training bill, Christian left the office with a few hundred dollars left in his account. Price had told him they’d meet in the saddling paddock at the track prior to the race. Christian paid a visit to Hunter’s stall and found the colt standing quietly, the bottom half of his front legs in wraps.

“I don’t care about your times,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “I know you’re going to win today. You’ll do it for Dad.” The colt lowered his head into Christian’s arms.

After spending a half hour with the colt, Christian drove to the employee cafeteria to meet the female trainer, despite Price’s warning. Allie wasn’t the classic statuesque beauty Kate was, nor was she meticulously groomed and dressed, but she was pretty, like Price said, and had a down-to-earth appeal. And after seeing her fearlessly tear into Price, he found her even more fascinating. He couldn’t wait to hear her side of the story. And perhaps she could give him advice, ease his worries with his decision to race Hunter in the claimer. With the race still hours away, there was still time to change his mind and scratch his colt.

He rushed into the cafeteria, but she wasn’t there. Five more minutes, he thought, and waited with a cup of coffee. At the exact time they were to meet, she walked through the door.

He vaulted out of his seat. “You’re on time.”

She frowned slightly. “It’s inconsiderate to be late.”

Christian reflected on his frustration with Kate, who was always late. He pulled out a chair for Allie. “Can I get you a coffee, Coke, something to eat?”

She raised her left eyebrow and eased into the seat. “You’re quite a gentleman. I’ll take a sweet tea, please.”

Christian hurried back with the tea and slid into a chair, anxious to query her about her assertion that Price had cheated her.

“I don’t think he cheated me. I know it,” she said. “I took out a second mortgage on my farm and let it be known around the track that I was in the market for a really nice colt. Price approaches me, tells me he’s got this unraced two-year-old gelding with super times. I look the gelding over, checked his workouts, and made Price an offer, forty grand. I should’ve known.” Her lips tightened and she glared at the tea glass. “The damn deal was too good to be true. The gelding was easily worth twice that, yet Price didn’t quibble about the amount. I get the horse back to my place, work him, and he’s slow as dirt.”

“Maybe something happened to him,” Christian said, recalling that Price had said Allie probably overworked the horse.

“That’s what I thought at first. I put another couple of thousand into him, paying for a full body scan, scoping his lungs for bleeding, everything. The gelding appears sound, no respiratory problems or lameness after a workout. Maybe he pulled a back muscle, something that doesn’t show up. All I know is that I paid forty thousand for a horse that’s barely worth four. Price knew he was selling me a dog, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” She took a sip of tea.

“That sucks,” Christian said and leaned back, taking in Allie’s large, brown eyes and thick lashes, her tiny nose, and unlike Kate who was vampire white, Allie had an outdoorsy tan that rivaled his. Strands of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail hung on each side of her cheek, tapering around her slender jaw. She rested her chin on her hands, and her bemused eyes stared back at him with a pointing-the-finger smile.

She had noticed his gawking, and Christian quickly dropped his gaze to the table and felt a flush of embarrassment. He took a drink of coffee, cold with a bitter aftertaste. He licked his lips. “Coffee’s nasty here,” he said, but was thinking,
I like her, like her a lot
.

“So you have a horse in the fourth?” she asked. “How many times has he run?”

“This is his first race; mine, too. I’m pretty keyed up.”

“You should be. It takes a lot of time, money, and luck to get a horse to the starting gate. Half the Thoroughbreds born never see a race.”

“The colt is really my father’s. He bred and trained him, but Dad has cancer and gave me the colt. I was hoping you could help me out, give me some friendly advice about this race. My father wanted the colt in a maiden special weight, but Price entered him in a claimer. I haven’t told my father yet. He doesn’t need the additional stress. And Price says there’s not much chance of the colt being claimed.”

Allie pulled a daily sheet from her back pocket and stared at the fourth race. “Twenty-five thousand claimer with a twenty grand purse. That’s decent money.”

“His name is Glade Hunter, the third horse.”

“Hell, I hate to agree with that asshole, but Price is right. According to your colt’s workouts, he’s where he belongs. He’s going off at twelve-to-one odds, not even a favorite. Your father shouldn’t be upset that he’s in this race.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel better.” Although he did need Allie’s advice, he also hoped to drum up points, knowing women usually appreciated a man who wasn’t above asking for help.

Allie stood. “I’d love to hang out and talk, but I gotta get home. My truck’s been giving me grief, and I don’t want to break down in the dark. Good luck with the race.”

“How far do you have to go?”

“A couple of hundred miles,” she said. “I have a forty-acre farm in a little place called Myakka City. It’s not really a city—doesn’t even have a red light. Doubt you’ve heard of it.”

He couldn’t believe his luck. Stuttering from excitement, he said, “But, but I know Myakka. I live in Sarasota, only twenty-five miles west.”

She sank back into the chair. “Talk about a small world.”

A fabulous idea came into his head. And, not willing to lose her, he asked, “Allie, how much do you charge to train and race someone’s horse?”

“Forty-five a day,” she said, “plus extra for hauling the horse to the Miami or Tampa tracks.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not happy with Price. He’s rubbed me wrong from the get-go and, even before hearing your story, I had the feeling he wasn’t on the up-and-up. He charges a lot and has so many horses he can’t keep track of them all. I also met Hunter’s new groom today and got real turned off. She’s a callous Amazon.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Christian explained he had an old trailer at the track, and after the race, they’d load Hunter into it, and he would follow her back to Myakka. “I know my colt will get better care with you, and I won’t have to drive two hundred miles to see him. What do you say?”

Allie grinned. “Stealing one of Price’s clients out from under his nose? That’s sweet. Okay, I’ll take your colt.” She reached in her purse and handed him a business card. “And because I
also
like you—” She teasingly batted her eyelashes. “I’ll charge only forty a day.”

“Great.” Meeting Allie was the best thing that had happened to him in some time.

Christian spent the rest of the morning with Allie, watching the horses on the training track, visiting the tack shop, where Allie bought some horse wormers. At noon, they drove to the grandstands and had drinks and lunch in the clubhouse restaurant. They watched the first two races, their conversation mostly about horses.

As the horses for the third race of the afternoon entered the track, Allie said, “Less than a half hour before your fourth race goes off. Let’s get out of here.”

Christian took the last swallow of his cocktail and hailed the
waitress. He turned back to Allie, and his gaze lifted from the table to meet hers. “I’m glad you’re here so I can share this big moment with someone.”

Allie puckered her brow. “Christian, you’re an incredibly good-looking guy and a nice guy. I can’t believe you don’t have a girlfriend. Why isn’t she here?”

“I had a girlfriend, but we broke up a few weeks back. I could say the same about you. You must have a significant other in your life?”

“No, and I’m not looking for one, either. Last year I went through a lousy divorce with my lying, cheating husband. The only good that came from it was I was able to keep my farm. He hated the country anyway. I do better alone.” She lifted an eyebrow. “And living alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely.”

“You got a point. Some of the loneliest people I know happen to be married.” He paid the waitress as the horses in the third race blazed over the finish line. They hustled downstairs to the saddling paddock. From behind the spectator’s chain, they watched the horses and their grooms arrive, each stopping before an official, who checked the horses’ lip tattoos.

Christian noticed a groom leading a handsome liver-colored chestnut into the five-horse stall. “That’s Jorge,” he said to Allie, “Hunter’s previous groom. Price fired him.”

“I met him,” Allie said. “He helped me load the gelding that I bought off Price. I’d like to talk to him and find out if the horse was injured.” She pulled out her catalog and looked up the horse’s trainer. “That groom is working for Collazo. Now that guy is a
good
trainer.”

Before long, Hunter and his new groom showed up. “There’s my colt, Allie,” said Christian. Hunter and the female groom walked in a circle under the covered paddock with other horses in the race.

“He’s nice,” Allie said, “not real tall, but good conformation, deep chest, straight legs.”

“He’s fifteen-three,” Christian said, watching Hunter enter the number three stall. Price was already there with the valet, who held the jockey’s saddle.

“Go on,” Allie said. “You’re the owner. You have the right to be in the stall while your horse is saddled.”

Christian swung his leg over the chain, leaving Allie with the bettors who had come to view the horses before the race. He sidestepped a few horses still being walked and entered the open stall. Price was straightening the number blanket on Hunter’s back.

“I see you didn’t take my advice,” Price said, glancing at Allie behind the chain. “But I guess I can’t blame you. Half the track would like to sleep with her.”

Christian took a deep breath. After the race, he’d tell this pompous trainer that his colt was going to Allie. He watched the groom who kept yanking on his colt’s bridle and bit while Price placed the tiny saddle on Hunter’s back and tightened the girth. Irritated, Christian finally spoke up, “He’s standing still. You don’t need to be so rough, jerking his mouth.”

The groom glared at Christian. “It keeps him focused,” she said, and led Hunter out of the stall to the grassy riders-up area.

Christian gave Price a nasty look, letting him know he didn’t approve of his new groom and followed him out of the paddock.

Christian and Price stood under the trees in the center of the wide circle, watching Hunter and the groom walk the border. A jockey approached them, Price introducing him as Carlos, Hunter’s jockey.

Christian shook hands with Carlos whose height was that of a ten-year-old boy, amazed that such small men had the strength to control their daunting mounts. Carlos was wearing a silver-and-black shirt and matching cap. With a start of recognition, Christian realized he was familiar with those colors from his father’s many winner’s-circle photos, hanging on the living room wall. The dates, races, horses, and jockeys differed in the framed pictures, but there was one constant—his father’s silver-and-black silks. He massaged
his jaw, feeling a mix of pride and sadness. His father’s dream colt was running here today without him, and this would probably be the last colt, the last race for his father.