Jockeys and Jewels

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Crisp air nipped Julie West’s face as she balanced in the saddle and concentrated on holding her horse to a steady gallop. Hooves pounded behind them. Another rider charged past, spraying dust and dirt. Julie’s horse flattened his ears and shoved at the bit.

“Not yet, Skippy,” she murmured, conscious of the trainer’s instructions. She checked over her shoulder for other runners before dropping the gelding in on the rail. On the backside, in front of the neat row of barns, she finally loosened her grip and crouched further over his neck.

The horse rocketed forward, his powerful burst filling her with adrenaline. The rail knifed past as they hugged the turn and charged down the lane. Thirty feet past the grandstand, she rose in the stirrups, letting her weight fall onto the reins. Skippy slowed to a canter then down to a bouncy trot.

Perfect. She stroked his sweaty neck, grinning her approval. The old horse felt great. He was such a pro too, never wasting energy but not holding anything back. She let him relax by the gap in the rail before turning and walking off the track.

Ed Harrison, Skippy’s trainer, stepped forward, and her hope soared when she spotted the rare smile cutting his craggy face. Maybe today would be a breakthrough. For five weeks she'd exercised his horse. If Harrison let her ride in a race, it would be a major step toward acceptance as a jockey. The veteran trainer was well respected and if she picked up a mount from him, other trainers would surely follow.

Harrison dragged a thoughtful hand over his moustache before attaching a leather line to the bridle, every movement methodical. She sensed he was coming to a decision, but nothing ever hurried the cautious trainer. Skippy galloped better for her than anyone else, but would Harrison think she was good enough to ride in a race?

She scratched the horse on his damp neck, trying to steady her rapid breathing, waiting for the decision that might launch her career.

“Not bad.” Harrison’s slow nod was almost grudging. “At first the old guy seemed to be asleep, but he found another gear when you brought him in on the rail. Guess I’ll name you as his jockey this Friday.”

She clamped her mouth, knew she should look cool, but her emotions pushed through and she vaulted from the saddle, a huge grin on her face. Even Harrison acknowledged the occasion with a rusty smile before leading Skippy away, careful to avoid an approaching rider.

“That’s right! Keep your distance,” the rider bellowed. Sandra’s thick ponytail, the same color as the chestnut filly she led, swung jauntily beneath her dented helmet. “This horse of Chandler's is a menace.”

Julie adjusted her protective vest as she studied the next horse on her gallop schedule. The young filly was wide-eyed and skittish, and it was reassuring that her friend was ponying. Sandra was one of the most experienced escort riders at the track, and she and her Quarter Horse, Okie, could calm the most unruly animal.

Sandra heaved a martyr’s sigh as she stopped the horses beside Julie. “Ponying for Bill Chandler isn’t worth the measly pay. That man is a pain in the ass.” She snapped the lead just in time to keep the high-strung filly from nipping her thigh. “So is his horse,” she muttered.

Julie tightened her helmet, her euphoric glow untarnished by Sandra’s complaints. It didn’t matter what kind of horses she rode the rest of the morning because it was finally happening. She was going to ride a nice horse in a real race. Nothing could mar this day. She was still smiling, even when the filly shied from the bellowing trainer behind them, and she was forced to scramble away from the horse’s swinging hindquarters.

“My horse is sensitive,” Bill Chandler called. He seemed unaware his strident voice and quick movements had frightened his own horse. “You girls are always yakking. You need to shut up.”