Secretariat Reborn (16 page)

The old homestead held fond as well as traumatic memories, and they all flooded back when he wandered the grounds. For the first ten years of his life, he and his parents had lived on the farm.

He walked to the exercise track and gazed at the small lake in the center. He had not cried over his father’s death, but after taking in his farm, he felt the welling up in his chest, and warm tears spilled down his face, dripping from his nose and chin. This truly was goodbye, good-bye to the place his father loved, and good-bye forever to him.

“I promise, Dad,” he sniffled. “I promise, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll fulfill your dream. I’ll get the colt and race him.”

Christian drove back to Sarasota, hauling the old horse trailer that was loaded with tack, shovels, and barn equipment. He figured he could park the trailer at Allie’s farm, and she might have use of the bridles, bits, halters, and exercise saddles. The back of his SUV held several boxes of photos and other personal belongings of his father. His father’s exercise saddle also lay in the back, and Christian chose to keep it for himself.

His mind spun with the promise to pay off the colt in Texas and bring him to Florida, but coming up with that kind of money in a month seemed impossible. He had managed to sell the farm equipment—the tractor, grader, his father’s old truck—all of which netted him another ten thousand. He had also called the Sailing Squadron, and they found a buyer for his Morgan’s mooring site off City Island for a few thousand. Add Hunter’s purse earnings, claiming money, and the boat insurance check, he had roughly sixty-five thousand. When he sold the McGregor for five, he would have a total of seventy thousand, the most he’d ever had in his life.

He briefly thought about all it could do: purchase a darned nice sailboat to replace
The Princess
, pay off the SUV loan, or upgrade and expand his business with more small boats.

In the end, he shrugged. “Christ, I am like Dad. It’s all going to a frigging toss of the dice on a five-month-old colt.”

He thought of ways to raise the remaining one hundred and eighty thousand. Selling his boat rental business—forget it. It wasn’t worth that kind of money. Besides, he needed the income to live on.
A bank loan was also out of the question. He had gone through enough hell financing his expensive SUV.

His thoughts turned to his mother and Frank. They probably had the money in stocks and investments and, in an emergency, they would help him. But buying a horse? No way. His mother would throw a fit and disown him, saying he was insane like his old man. Christian didn’t even want to go there.

He contemplated taking the money he had and betting the horses, but it was far too risky. He could lose everything. He rubbed his forehead and wearily huffed.
Wonder if the cloning scientist would accept payments?
he pondered. The man might consider it, knowing who the horse was, but asking for a payment option could also create a flood of problems. The foal was illegally registered, and the guy might turn honest and expose the hoax or he might keep the colt or even demand more money.
Who the hell knew the outcome?

Christian’s father had said to tell no one that the colt was Secretariat’s clone. He decided to follow that advice. He was even forced to lie to Allie, saying the colt was a full brother to Hunter.

He reached Sarasota and turned off I-75 at the Fruitville exit, going east. Allie lived seven miles south of Myakka City near Myakka State Park. He came to her house and the ten-horse barn, opened the gate, and drove down the long drive. As he pulled up in front of the house, Allie came out.

“Hey, you,” he said. “I brought you some horse stuff.”

She smiled. “Great, I’ll show you where you can park your trailer.” She opened the passenger door and got in.

“You left without saying good-bye,” he said as they drove toward the barn. The horses in the surrounding pasture spotted the trailer and raced to the fence out of curiosity.

“I figured you were pretty beat, so I didn’t wake you. Go past the barn. You can park this next to my three-horse.”

He pulled off the drive and backed the trailer into a grassy area alongside Allie’s trailer. “How are Chris and the mares doing?” he asked and climbed out of the SUV.

“They handled the trip well and are doing fine. Your old stallion has been racing up and down his paddock like a colt. I love him. He was wormed and had his feet trimmed yesterday. He behaved like a perfect gentleman. For a stud, that’s unusual.”

“My father raised and trained him. I’m sure that’s why Chris has good manners.” He finished detaching the trailer. They got back into the SUV, and Christian drove to the barn. “I want to see him.”

They entered the old hay barn that Allie had converted into a horse stable, with stalls on each side of a long aisle. “He’s in the last stall,” said Allie. “It’s the only one with an outside door, leading to a big turnout.”

The stall was empty, and the stallion was grazing in the large pasture of lush grass. Christian walked into the stall and from the doorway, he called, “Chris, come on, boy.”

The stallion lifted his head, answered with a whinny, and trotted to him.

Christian smiled and scratched behind the horse’s ears. “Good boy. I think you like this place and the pretty lady.” He raised an eyebrow, looking at Allie.

Allie blushed slightly. “So tell me about this other colt. Where is he, and when are you getting him?”

“He’s out West, and I’m supposed to pick him up next month, but my father still owed two hundred fifty thousand on him. I’ve got seventy and need to come up with another hundred eighty.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You wouldn’t happen to have that kind of change around I could borrow?”

Allie knitted her brow. “Two hundred fifty thousand?” she repeated. “Christian, Hunter was a nice horse, but he wasn’t worth that kind of money, especially as a foal.”

Christian saw it in her eyes; thinking that he and his dead father had to be stupid or nuts. “I know it sounds crazy, but this foal is very valuable.” He already knew her next question, given the colt was too young to prove his speed and his pedigree was marginal.

“But why?” she asked. “None of it makes sense. The foal’s mare
is here. Why isn’t the colt with her? Your father owned the stallion and mare. Why do you have to buy him? And the amount is outrageous.”

He patted Chris once more and left the stallion’s stall with Allie. Christian scratched his head and looked down, trying to think of away to explain. “I can’t give you the details about the colt, and I’d appreciate it, Allie, if you just didn’t ask.”

She tilted her head, looking at him funny. “A mystery,” she said. “All right, it’s your business, but I don’t have a hundred eighty thousand lying around to lend.”

Christian’s eyes gleamed. “I was just kidding about the money—don’t want you thinking I’m a gigolo.”

“Actually, you’re an open book. I can tell you’re a good guy, but a little naïve when it comes to women and horses.”

“You’re right about that. Got involved with a pain-in-the-ass woman—my ex-girlfriend—and with horses.” He tossed his head back and stared at the barn rafters, trying to get a grip on the unbelievable path he was following. “I promised my father I’d raise a small fortune and get this colt, a colt that might not amount to anything. Calling me naïve is being nice.”

They climbed into his SUV and drove to the house. “I have a pin hooker friend who might help you,” said Allie. “He has a lot of wealthy clients who invest in Thoroughbreds.”

“What’s a pin hooker?”

“Usually they’re trainers. They go to horse auctions and farms, and buy promising foals, yearlings, and two-year-olds. They train the horses and hope to sell them at a profit. Sometimes they have several people invest in a horse and take out shares. It helps make ends meet. I’d planned to do it with the gelding I bought from Price, sell shares in him after his first race.” She breathed a sigh. “Sometimes horse deals blow up in your face.”

They walked into her small, two-bedroom block house, and Christian looked around at the rustic cowboy items sprinkled among antique furniture. The walls were loaded with horse paintings,

Florida landscapes, and a few deer heads. “This place is cool, real homey.”

“Okay, I’m going to call this guy,” said Allie. “His name is Sam.”

Christian relaxed on the overstuffed couch and listened to part of Allie’s call in the kitchen.

“No, Sam, I don’t know much about the colt except it’s a five-month-old grandson of Hold Your Peace,” she said. “The mare won a few grade-three stakes. Yes, it is a lot of money. No, the guy doesn’t own a home, but he has a boat rental business in Sarasota. His name’s Christian Roberts.” Her voice became edgy. “Look, Sam, he’s lived here all his life and is not a fly-by-night. I wouldn’t refer him if I didn’t trust him. Okay, just check around and get back with me.”

Christian rose from the couch and walked into the kitchen. “That didn’t sound promising, but I appreciate your trying.”

“I kind of expected it with the information I had, but we’ll keep our fingers crossed. You never know.”

Over the next few days, Christian stayed with his mother and Frank until he could regroup and find a place to live. His business had suffered with his absences. One of the WaveRunners would not run since some idiot had rented and flipped it, getting saltwater into the cylinders, and one of the Hobie Cat’s rudders broke in half when another fool ran the boat into a sandbar, going full speed. Jake didn’t have the time or skill to fix them.

Christian would like to have spent his evenings with Allie, but instead he had to settle for phone calls. Late into the evening under an outside light, he sat in the Squadron’s fenced yard, sweaty and dirty, while he overhauled the WaveRunner motor and fretted over money.

To add to his problems, he was getting anonymous phone calls. He would pick up and say hello, but no one would respond. He suspected Kate. Who else would call only to hear his voice?

On the third night, Christian sat on a bench and tightened a bolt on the motor that rested on the ground between his legs. The
wrench slipped, and he smashed his thumb. “Damn it.” As he grabbed his hand and tried to shake out the pain, he heard a truck pull up, then the slam of its door.

A minute later, Allie walked into the light holding a bag of burgers and drinks. “So this is how you spend your evenings.”

His mood immediately lightened. “Hey, how did you get in here?” He grinned, standing up from a bench. He sidestepped the motor and strolled to her.

“A car pulled out of the gate, and I was able to drive in. You sounded a little down when you called. I thought I’d drive out and feed you, maybe keep you company. Have you eaten?”

“Not really. I had a late lunch, a hot dog at the bait stand. Actually, your timing is perfect. I’ve had it and am ready to call it quits.” He took several strides to a water faucet and washed his hands. “This was a long ride for you, coming from Myakka. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” she said and set the food and drinks on the bench. “Besides, I have good news and wanted to tell you in person. Sam called. He’s found some investors willing to give you a loan on your colt.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“No kidding.” She smiled. “They want to meet you in a few days, right here in Sarasota at the Ritz.”

He grabbed her up off the ground and hugged her. “Thank you, Allie, thank you.” He set her down and gave her a long, slow kiss.

Their kiss was interrupted when Christian heard a sport car engine turnover—an all-too-familiar engine. He jerked away from Allie and heard it drive off beyond the boatyard. He ran through the shadows and rows of dry-docked boats. Reaching the chain-link fence, he stared out at the dark road leading off the island and caught a glimpse of the car, blue with distinctive Porsche taillights, and then it disappeared into the night.

Allie ran up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he grumbled, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

She stared down the road. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it was.”

After work, Christian hurried home to his mother’s, took a quick shower, and put on a tie and new tan linen suit, hoping to make a good impression with the investors. He drove to the Ritz-Carlton and left his SUV with a valet.

He glanced up at the tall, luxurious hotel and thought about his grandmother, how she hated the place. She was a Florida native, born in Sarasota, and was outraged, along with other locals, when the John Ringling Towers hotel, a 1920’s historical landmark, was torn down to make room for the Ritz.

“Lousy carpetbagger developers, stinking Yankee commissioners, worthless historical society,” she would rant, always getting worked up whenever they drove by the Ritz. “Darned northerners don’t give a gal-darn about preserving Florida’s past. They’re only interested in progress, making a fast buck, and keeping the tourists and snowbirds happy.” Snowbirds being part-time residents who lived in Florida during the winter months.

Christian smiled, reflecting on her and his grandfather, who lived in a little cottage surrounded by ancient oaks and citrus trees off Orange Avenue, south of downtown. His grandmother was a tiny woman with silver hair and steel-blue eyes. She had a fiery, outgoing personality and said exactly what was on her mind. She took pride in her roses and small vegetable garden where she grew okra, mustard greens, and tomatoes. His grandfather was a quiet, gentle man with white hair and glasses. He had once sold boats at a marina on the Whitaker bayou, but had retired. He enjoyed fishing and had passed his knowledge and love for the sport onto Christian.