Silks and Sand Read online

  9

  Tom walked into the main house. It was the day after War Monger’s disappointing scratch in the race. “Ev?”

  “In my office,” came the reply.

  Tom wandered in and found Evan with his head in his hands. “Hey.”

  Evan didn’t bother to look up. “What the hell did I get myself into?”

  “Is this about yesterday?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Ev, you’ve scratched horses at the post before. This was no different.”

  “Yes, it’s different.”

  Tom sat down. “How?”

  “That’s a hundred thousand dollar horse.”

  “He’s still just a horse.”

  “A horse, like a stupid idiot, I put my faith into.”

  “Can you get him into another race?”

  Evan looked up. “And waste more money I don’t actually have?”

  “Can you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Is there one next week?”

  He picked up the race catalog and tossed it to Tom. “Find one.”

  Tom flipped through the booklet. “Ah, perfect. There’s a maiden race in eight days. Put him in that one.”

  “Four and a half furlongs?”

  “Yup, and it’s not a claiming race.”

  “Fine…But if he behaves the same way, I’m bringing him home.”

  “I understand. Just give us a little more time with him.”

  “Time and money are running out.”

  Eight days later it was time to try again. Evan was positioned right near the finish line. The horses were moving to the starting gate. This time, War Monger had been calmer in the saddling paddock, and Ginger didn’t seem to be fighting him nearly as much.

  Evan hoped this was a good sign. The colt was starting from the number seven position out of eight, making him nearly last again to load. The odds on the colt were long: 32 to 1. That didn’t stop Evan from putting $10 on the horse. He hoped Number 7 would be lucky for him.

  “Daddy!” Cindy cried as she ran down and grabbed Evan around the leg.

  He scooped her up. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mommy got me out of school early so I could come watch him.”

  “Ah, well, you better cross your fingers that he goes into the starting gate.”

  “I heard what happened last time—naughty War Monger.” She held up both hands, fingers crossed.

  Evan kept one arm around her, the other hand held the binoculars to his eyes. Ginger had War Monger away from the other horses. He seemed to be walking casually around in circles. “So far so good,” Evan said.

  “He’s being good?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m trying to cross my toes too, but it’s hard in my shoes.”

  Evan chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

  “You need luck, Daddy.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you.” It was hard to see, but Evan thought he saw Ginger bring War Monger to the gate. “Where—”

  An instant later, the bell rang and seven horses flew out of the gate. Evan strained to find War Monger. But there was no big chestnut in the field. “What the heck?!” Then he saw the chestnut head with a white stripe poking out of the starting gate. “NO!”

  Ginger couldn’t believe it. She’d gotten War Monger in the starting gate with little argument. Now the gates were open and the darn horse just stood there while the rest of the field tore off. For a jockey, this was almost as embarrassing as falling off with no reason.

  “War Monger!” she screamed.

  The gate attendant was dumbfounded.

  “War Monger, RUN!” Ginger gave him a smack on the shoulder with the whip.

  “Hyah!” the gate attendant shouted.

  Finally the colt dug his toes in and launched from the gate. Ginger was glad she’d taken a hunk of mane in her hand. War Monger bolted out like someone had shot him in the behind with buckshot. The rest of the field was already two hundred yards off. They had a lot of ground to make up.

  Evan groaned as he saw the horse. He couldn’t believe his bad luck. At least Ginger got him in safely. Now the colt trailed the field with four furlongs to go. In a race this short, it was doubtful the horse could make up the distance.

  “Daddy, what happened?”

  “He didn’t break with the others, he’s dead last.”

  “Oh!” She straightened up and tried to see. “Come on, War Monger, you need to run!”

  There was little Evan could do or say to make the situation better. “At least she got him in the gate this time.”

  The field ran down the short leg of track and entered the turn for home. Evan had given up hope. He was just happy the horse was running.

  “Daddy!”

  “What?”

  “Look!”

  Evan put the binoculars to his eyes. He could barely see his green and yellow silks hidden in the pack of galloping animals. As the horses rounded the turn, War Monger went wide. The colt was gaining ground at an alarming rate. He saw Ginger flattened against the horse’s neck; she wasn’t even using the whip. “My God.”

  “He’s going to win!”

  “Sweetheart, he’s still got ground to make up.”

  “War Monger will win, I know he will.”

  “I hope so,” Evan said softly. His heart was pounding so hard he was confident Cindy could feel it. The noise of thundering hooves grew louder, and so did the noise of the crowd.

  “Go, War Monger, go!” Cindy cheered. Evan wanted to cheer, but all he could do was hold his breath.

  The big chestnut roared down the stretch. He was free and clear from the other horses because Ginger took the turn so wide. All that lie ahead of them was open sand and the finish line.

  “Go! Go!” Cindy screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Go!” Evan hollered. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. War Monger had made up the huge distance and was now gobbling up ground with every stride. It actually looked like the colt was going to win. How on earth? he wondered.

  War Monger drew up to the two lead horses. They ran neck and neck down the last third of the stretch. The finish line was only a hundred yards away. Evan glanced over his shoulder. The crowd was on their feet cheering wildly. It seemed that no matter what horse won, they were cheering for War Monger. They wanted the underdog to win.

  Closer and closer to the wire they got. Now all three horses were lined up. It was going to be a close finish. Evan held his breath again. Could the colt pull it off? He noticed Ginger never touched the horse with the whip; she was letting him run his own race.

  The noise of the crowd almost drowned out the sound of hoofbeats and the huffing of horses breathing. They were feet from the finish line, three horses’ heads bobbing, all digging to cross the line first.

  An instant later, it was all over. The crowd fell silent. Who won? Evan watched Ginger trying to pull up War Monger. It seemed the colt wanted to keep right on going. The race might have been over, but he wasn’t done running.

  “Daddy, did he win?”

  Evan looked at the tote board. “I reckon it’s gonna be a photo finish.”

  “Oh, I hope he wins.”

  “I do too. I put ten bucks on that colt.”

  The crowd milled around waiting for the official results. It seemed like hours, but really only five minutes had elapsed. Evan put Cindy down and was walking in a small circle. He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. No horse comes from that far behind and makes up that much ground. Did he have a superhorse in his barn? His heart was still pounding.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “If he wins, can I go to the winner’s circle?”

  “Of course!”

  As if on cue, the crowd burst into wild cheers. Evan looked at the tote board. The order of finish: Number 7, Number 3, and Number 4. War Monger had pulled it off. He looked at the photo finish on the huge jumbotron. All three horses were lined up perfectly
. It was difficult to tell exactly who had won. Then the announcer came over the P.A. system. “Winner by a nose, Number 7, War Monger.”

  Evan watched as Ginger trotted by on her way to the winner’s circle. He felt choked up inside; a flood of emotion hit him like a freight train. A tear formed in the corner of his eye, and he quickly brushed it away. War Monger had done it; he’d broken his maiden.

  The first race wouldn’t count against his career since he was scratched. Now for the colt’s first real race, he’d won in amazing fashion. Evan hoped that War Monger wouldn’t make standing in the starting gate a regular occurrence; it was proving far too stressful for the owner.

  “Daddy, Daddy, let’s go!” Cindy said, grabbing his arm and pulling him.

  After their appearance in the winner’s circle, Evan and Cindy accompanied the others back to the barn. War Monger would get a nice bath, rub down, and a good meal. Of course he’d be lavished with at least a bagful of gummies.

  “Tom?” Evan said over the stall door.

  “Yeah?” Tom replied. He was in bandaging War Monger’s legs.

  “Think he can run again?”

  “When?”

  “I saw another race on the last day of the meet. Another four and a half furlongs.”

  “In seven days?”

  “Thoughts?”

  “Can we see how he does with his workout tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  Tom stood up. “Why so keen to run him again?”

  “I wanna know if he’ll make standing in the gate a regular occurrence.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Me too.”

  The last day of the meet found War Monger and Ginger in another race. The colt rebounded well from his first win, so Tom gave the go-ahead to run him again.

  All seemed to be going well. The horse was saddled and brought onto the track. Ginger cantered him around to warm him up. War Monger was all business.

  When it came time to load into the starting gate, he was again second to last, wearing saddlecloth number 8 this time. Evan was at the rail by the finish line, binoculars pressed to his eyes. Cindy was standing on a bench next to him.

  “Has he loaded, Daddy?”

  “Uh, going in now.”

  “Fingers and toes crossed!”

  “Yes!” Evan managed to get at least two fingers on his left hand crossed.

  There was a momentary silence, then the bell rang, the gates flew open, and nine horses bolted out. The track announcer loudly called: “And they’re off!”

  “Did he go, Daddy?”

  “Away like a streak of chestnut lightning!”

  “Yeah!!”

  Evan let out a big sigh as he continued to watch the race unfold. “Dear God!”

  “What, Daddy? What?”

  “He’s in the lead!”

  “Go War Monger!”

  Seconds later, they were making the turn for home. Evan watched Ginger take the colt wide like the previous outing, except this time, there was no one even close to giving the colt a run for his money.

  He thundered down the stretch and blew past the finish line several lengths ahead of the nearest horse.

  “He won!” Cindy jumped up and down.

  Evan grabbed her and they celebrated. “Yes, he won!” He watched Ginger pull up the colt and head him for the winner’s circle. All the stress of the race meet seemed to melt away as Evan hurried to greet them.

  Static crackled through the air as the announcer came on. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new track and world record for four and a half furlongs. War Monger, number eight, finished the race six lengths ahead of the next horse with a time of forty-nine seconds flat. This time is two-tenths of a second faster than Valiant Pete, a four-year-old, who set the record of 49.20 at Los Alimitos in 1990. Let’s have a round of applause for this young horse!”

  Everyone in the crowd was on their feet. Evan stood in the winner’s circle in absolute awe. Was War Monger his ticket back on top? What more could this horse do? He looked into the crowd and waved. Maybe all the money he spent on this angry colt would be worth it. Now he had to decide where to race him next.

  10

  Evan clutched his race program tightly and was wringing it with apprehension. Beside him were Suzanne and Cindy. They’d decided to tag along since it was June and school was out. All watched as the horses were led to the starting gate at the Charles Town races in West Virginia.

  They’d shipped in a few days earlier to let the horses, and Ginger, have time to get used to the track. Now, one of his horses, a chestnut filly named Dusty Rose, would make her first start. As a two-year-old, Dusty had been far too nervous to even think of taking off the farm. Even as a three-year-old, she was timid. Despite her sweet nature, there was debate about her temperament to be a race horse.

  Originally, Evan wanted to bring her to Charles Town, then changed his mind after watching the filly work. To him, she didn’t look ready.

  After more thought, and some convincing from Tom, Evan decided last minute to bring her, figuring a little race time and a different environment might be good. She was a rather skittish filly, and he hoped an easy trip out would give her some confidence.

  He watched the horses being loaded, his heart pounded each time one of his stable went to post. The filly seemed relaxed, despite her jittery nature. He’d given Ginger instructions to hand ride the filly—to give her an easy race. Evan didn’t care where they finished, he just wanted to let her see the track and hear the roar of the crowd. It was a far different world than the training track at home—so much to see, so many distractions.

  Once all were loaded, the track starter checked to make sure they stood quietly. Then he pressed the button, the bell rang, gates flew open, and seven horses dashed away. Dusty Rose broke well; Ginger let her run at her own pace.

  They were keeping in the middle of the pack, not hurrying down the backstretch. Being only a seven-furlong race, Evan watched as they came around the far turn, ran the short side of the oval, and rounded the turn for home.

  Dusty Rose made a move toward the front. Ginger didn’t even use the whip to ask, the filly decided to do it on her own.

  Slipping the reins slightly, Ginger gave the filly her head. There was an immediate burst of speed as the horse dug her toes in and ran harder. Ahead, clear track and the finish line a few hundred yards away. “Go! Go!” she cheered, flattening out, and letting the filly go. To her left, she heard hooves approaching. She glanced back under her arm, seeing another horse closing fast.

  Not wanting to rattle the filly, she decided against the use of the whip. Dusty Rose would run her race without extra urging. As the horse on her left went to pass, the other jockey used his whip and gave Ginger a firm smack on the behind.

  “Hey!” she yelled, her temper boiling. The other jockey laughed and whipped his horse.

  “Asshole!” she called, urging her horse on faster. The filly obliged. She caught up to them a few yards from the finish line. Ginger took her whip and smacked the jockey on the shoulder with it. “How dare you!” She crossed the finish line, winning the race by a head.

  Not even ten minutes later, both jockeys stood in the steward’s office. Evan came in, joining her. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “We’ve reviewed the video and found your jockey fouled the rider of the number two horse.”

  Evan turned to her. “Ginger, is this true?”

  “Of course I hit him, he hit me!” She spun around, putting her backside to them. “You wanna see where he hit me? I got a red whip mark across my ass!” Grabbing the waist of her breeches, she was just about to pull them down when the steward waved his hand.

  “That’s enough,” the steward warned, regarding the other jockey. “Did you hit her?”

  There was a long silence before he finally answered, “Yes.”

  “You’re both fined five thousand dollars and suspended for two days.”

  Ginger gasped. Stakes day was in two days. She fel
t horrible for putting Evan in such a predicament. He probably wouldn’t be able to find a jockey for the day, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in purse money now lie in jeopardy. Not to mention the entry fees he’d paid for the horses to run.

  Sitting on a bench tucked away in a corner of the grandstand not far from the jockeys’ room, Ginger cried. She couldn’t believe her rotten luck. Despite her tenuous first few weeks working on the farm, she’d grown to appreciate being in Evan’s employ.

  She found him to be probably the most caring, fair, and compassionate owner she’d worked for. And she definitely had a spot in her heart for Tom. Their secret relationship had been blossoming of late. Now it could all be over.

  Ginger knew better. She should have controlled her temper, finished the race, and filed a foul on the jockey. Instead, they were both being punished. Stupid, stupid mistake, she thought, trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Evan could easily fire her over behavior like that. He was a businessman and horses were his life.

  “Ginger?” Evan said in a firm tone. He’d been looking all over for her.

  She looked up. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t even hit him hard.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks again. “I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

  He sat next to her. “I requested the steward review the whole tape of the race and see if he can find where you got fouled.”

  “At the top of the stretch.”

  “Ah. If he decides to change his ruling, you may be allowed to ride. The fine still stands, however.”

  “I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

  “I’d hope not.” He shifted, turning toward her. “Honestly, I had mixed feelings in the beginning when I hired you. But over the last few months, you’ve done wonderful work with the horses. They seem to like you.”

  She wiped a tear. “Dusty ran her own race. I never touched her with the whip.”