Sun slapped across BD's slick black coat, skittering across rivulets of sweat, and ricocheting into cameras. Photographers groaned as I squinted my eyes, trying to get a feel for where the lead rope would clip on. The stallion tossed his head, and my hand skirted across the hook and grabbed on. "Steady, Bathorse," I said. "Gotham is safe."
Hunched over in the saddle, Jack groaned. "You've got to stop it with the Batman thing. The entire track's going to think we're a joke."
We were not a laughing matter anymore. The fact that we were in the winner's circle (yet again) proved it.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Willifred beat me to it. He'd been speaking with a few reporters, but now he came back to us. "Take that horse back now. Jack, you go straight to your wheelchair, and Anna, you treat that horse nicer than you'd treat your dying mother."
Mouth shut, trying not to wince at the word 'dying', I led BD out of the winners circle. Some of the other horses that had run in the Gotham were still being walked off the track, pumped up with the run, but BD walked as sedately as a king to his throne. By now, he knew the routine. It was the only thing he knew to do after a race.
When we reached the shedrow, I halted BD and concentrated on making him stay still as we waited for his wheelchair. At last it arrived, and he slithered from BD's back and, assisted by a fellow groom, into the wheelchair. I noted his peaked face, gritted jaw, and felt a stab of concern. "You need to rest. That leg's not doing you any favors."
Instead of protesting, the jockey closed his eyes. "It's going to be the death of me."
Mary, the groom, and I exchanged worried glances. It was only when BD stamped a foot and rumbled with impatience did I remember that I had a half ton animal attached to my hand. "Go on," Mary said in a soft southern accent. "I can manage the jockey. You manage the horse."
She was new, only arrived a few weeks after BD's second prep race, but quickly proved herself capable with an expert touch for both horses and people. I trusted her with one of my best friends. "Make sure he gets a good hosing and a special warm mash," I joked half-heartedly, then led the winner of the Gotham away.
BD was having a good time, an easy time. With lots of turn out and trail rides, he was in the perfect shape to campaign, and he knew it. With a sudden flare of silliness, he cocked his tail over his back and erupted into a whinny, announcing his most recent win to the Piperson string. Holiday bellowed back in his familiar deep neigh, and Mira and Magic echoed with nickers. I smiled to myself; every horse's whinny and sound was a tone as unique to them as a human voice was.
I'd scarcely led BD onto the wash rack when a new human voice interrupted my thoughts. "Pardon me, but is this Bloody Murder?"
"Close. Bloodless Day." I concentrated on maneuvering his large body around to face outwards. Once he was cross tied, I looked up. A woman stood in front of us, one hand clutching a notebook and the other a recorder. A pencil was tucked behind her ear and brown bobbed hair, and a frown was tucked onto her face.
"That's odd. I was sent out to interview the jockey of a 'Bloody Murder'. Derby hopeful?"
"That's BD," I muttered, somewhat proudly and somewhat darkly, because we were talking about BD, but to a reporter. "Bloodless Day, Derby hopeful. He just won the Gotham. His jockey is currently unavailable." With that, I turned back to BD and began hosing him down, trying to ignore her. Reporters brought back bad memories, memories I didn't want anymore.
"Goodness." She eyed him dubiously as he studied her with equal suspicion, blowing out to catch a better scent of her. "It's not often my boss makes a mistake like that. Though my notes say Santa Anita, not Gotham, so I might be wrong after all."
Any hint of my good mood vanished. "The Santa Anita Derby is next month. He's running in it as well." Turning the hose towards his hind legs, I mentally ran through my to-do list, trying to block out the reporter and an impeding sense of doom about the Santa Anita.
"Well, he's quite.... something," she finally said, moving to stand out of reach of his teeth and hooves. "Can you tell me anything interesting about him? Something my readers would like to know?"
I drew in a long, shaky breath, trying to settle the jack-hammering of my heart. "He's out of Surrender and by DoomsDay."
There was a rustle of paper in her notebook. "DoomsDay sounds about right...."
"Are you asking me or telling me about my horse?" I snapped, unsettled. BD and the reporter both flinched at my tone, swinging their gazes to study me warily.
At last, BD looked away, and the reporter dropped her gaze. "I'm Amelia Parson. From Horse Illustrated. We're running a Road-to-the-Derby special."
"Anna," I said begrudgingly. Even though I gave no last name, a questioning light flickered through her eyes.
"You seem famil-"
"I'm just with the horse." I gestured to BD with one hand while seizing the liniment bottle with the other. "Would you like to interview him instead?"
At last finding an opening, Amelia pounced. "Yes! How has his training been going? Why should America root for him?"
Why indeed.
"Well," I said, slowly, trying to push past my memories. This woman was not of my past. She was here for BD. I was here for BD. "Training him was a war. His dam died the day he was born-" the scribbling of my words poured onto her notebook, the pencil dislodged from her ear, "and he was just sullen and dangerous."
"He doesn't seem so bad now."
Liniment on, I leaned into the solid, minty-scented form of BD. He leaned back, lightly. "He's nearly killed me several times. He's thrown his jockey too many times to count-"
"Was he the one I saw in a wheelchair?"
"Yes," I said mournfully. "But that was from a different accident-"
"You're with Piperson, aren't you? The jockey was the one with Lucky Shamrock." She was sharp, clever, and the sharpness was a blade that pierced my grief.
Letting it blossom in a hot stain, I corrected quietly, "Dancer's Lucky Shamrock."
"Not so lucky," she noted dryly.
Biting my tongue, I continued, "anyways. We eventually got through to him, and he won his first race. And his second. Now he's qualified for the Derby."
"Yet you'll risk the Santa Anita?"
"So Far So Good is running in it."
Amelia looked perplexed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
BD shifted his weight so he could better support me. His back was still wet, and it bled through my shirt, feeling uncomfortably like summer. "It means everything, if you know who you're talking to. Goodie is BD's half brother. His jockey is Piperson's daughter."
"Now that's a story!" She exclaimed. "How did that not come to mention before this?"
I shrugged. "There's your scoop. Enjoy it." BD tossed his head as I reached up to unhook him from the cross ties, surging forwards. He knew a hot mash awaited him at the barn, along with a deep pile of straw. It was time for him to rest, and I had a phone call to make.
"Wait- Anna-"
We walked on.
My backpack was shoved against Holiday's stall. BD snapped at the little bay gelding, and then at me, when we stopped so I could dig through it. There, at the bottom, was the sleek form of my phone, turned off for the weekend. I turned it on as we continued again for BD's stall.
Immediately the screen flashed with unanswered calls and texts, one or two from Jack and three from Mom. The rest belonged to Lilac. As I watched, another popped up. I answered.
"Anna! Thank god! I've been trying to call you for five days, dammit. Why don't you ever answer?"
"Hold on." I set the phone down for a moment, freeing my hands to open BD's stall door. He swung inside, waiting for me to take the lead rope off, and headed straight for his feed bin without a backward glance. Ingrate.
When I picked it back up, Lilac was still talking. "The whole thing is just so ridiculous! I mean, she seriously needs to stop obsessing over us. I'm so done with the situation."
"That sucks," I sympathized, though I had no idea what she was talking about. Probably a boy. "I talked to a reporter today."
"And another thing! Wes- wait what?"
"A reporter. It was weird..." I studied BD as he finished his mash with a swish of his tail and returned to the front of his stall, demanding attention. I gave it to him while we talked. "I spoke to one in California, after the...."
My throat closed up as Lilac's voice comforted me. I missed her. I missed Her. "That must be hard. Some of them can be so brutal, and it's only to get worse as the Derby draws near."
"Which Derby?"
"That race is such a bad idea. There's absolutely no point in bringing Bloodless Day all the way to California for this, especially considering what he's going against. As a jockey, I'm all for it. Destroy him before the Kentucky Derby so he's less of a threat for Goodie."
I stiffened so fast that BD took offense and rushed to the back of his stall, humping up his back defensively. "This will not-!"
"-But as your friend, a horse lover, and part owner of said horse, it is one of the dumbest things Dad has ever done."
I blew out a breath. "And he wasn't even here today!"
"That's because Mom is at your track today. He didn't want to risk running into her. Didn't you hear a word I said earlier?"
"Yes," I said. Total lie. But out of the corner of my eye I saw Jack wheeling towards BD's stall, Mary following irately behind. "But I gotta go now."
"Anna-"
I hung up.
*****
Hopefully y'all are getting a feel for what's going to happen in the chapters to come! I've been unnecessarily heavy on the foreshadowing, but I'm just SO SO SO SO SO EXCITED TO WRITE IT!!!!
(caps were necessary)
Life has been crazy lately. I've been working with Pogo, my horse as usual, but I also have a new training project! Her name is Mary, she's a little pinto grade pony and absolutely so willing to learn. I've also recently started taking lessons on a big, big warmblood named Calvino. It's been super busy and super fun. :3
-Iggy