“I agree,” Jack tells Mr. Winchester, and Abby swoons so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t melt into a puddle.
I go back into the kitchen to get another bottle of wine and a breadbasket. When I reenter the dining room, Mr. Winchester is speaking again.
“I want my track to go to a family that has integrity,” Mr. Winchester goes on. “I want somebody who will treat it as his own and take care of it.”
“Yes, sir,” Jack says, sneaking a glance at his father. Mr. Goodwin’s face is stoic, unmoving.
“Honor is important, wouldn’t you say?” Mr. Winchester asks as he shakes his glass, rattling the ice. I can’t believe a man like Winchester has honor if he allows his son to treat girls like shit.
Jack looks up at my face before saying, “I agree, sir.” Abby sees him looking at me and scrunches her eyebrows together.
“I remember when I met your father,” Mr. Winchester says to Jack. “It was at my track, and he was a teenager. Your father kept saying how much he loved Churchill Downs and how he wanted to own his own racetrack. I liked that. And that’s why I’m willing to entertain your family’s offer for Paradise Park.”
I suck down a gasp. Mr. Goodwin and Jack sit there with impassive looks on their faces, quintessential businessmen.
So the business deal is that Mr. Goodwin wants to buy a commercial racetrack. Wow. I can’t even imagine owning my own horse and they want to buy an entire track? Is this why Jack has to suck up to Abby Winchester all the time?
What if Mr. Winchester wants Abby to marry Jack, so they can keep Paradise Park in the family, so to speak?
That’s when Mr. Winchester snaps his fingers and points at his wine glass. After I’ve refilled his glass, he doesn’t thank me. Marcus gives me a lewd glance, licking his lower lip. Perv.
The Winchesters are the epitome of rich people.
How do the maids serve people like these assholes all the time?
Later that night back in my room, I carefully dig my memory box out from my top dresser drawer, open the lid, and pull out a weathered envelope that’s spotted yellow with age. Before she died, my mother wrote me a letter and asked Dad to give it to me on my sixteenth birthday.
She told me how smart and beautiful I am, and that I can do anything I want if I work hard enough, that I can go down in history.
I needed to hear those words after everything that happened today.
All I can think about are Marcus’s eyes staring down my dress. Mr. Goodwin basically telling Jack I’m not good enough for him. Why is it, when something bad happens to you, you can never forget about it no matter how much you want to?
When Mr. Cates announced he was selling Moonshadow, I cried and begged Dad to find a way to buy her so she could stay with me. I rode her every day before school and groomed her after. Moonshadow took care of me after Mom died and I helped her move on after her foal got sold. I was her home, and she was mine. Even though Mr. Cates said Moonshadow wasn’t worth the cost of grain to feed her, Dad still couldn’t afford to buy her.
And then she was gone and later I heard what happened to her…
I shake my head quickly, squeezing my eyes shut.
These terrible memories are branded in me, and every time they pop up in my mind, my body goes cold and clammy and I wish I could yell at somebody.
I wish I could go back in time and demand that Mr. Cates keep Moonshadow, tell him I’ll work for free for as long as it takes to save her.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m running out of Hillcrest in the direction of Greenbriar, ripping through the cool night air. At the barn, I light a lantern and move to the fourth stall on the right. A pair of brilliant brown eyes meet mine. Star keeps his distance until I cluck my tongue, and then he’s right there beside me, nuzzling his nose against my neck, zapping the bad memories away.
The Race and a Change of Pace
“You can do better than that! That was complete shit, Barrow. Complete shit!”
Gael shouts at me as I pass the clocker’s tower, and I’m grinning like crazy. I steer Star over to them, his hooves crunching the dirt.
“Shut up, Gael. You know that was perfect.” Dad shakes his head at my behavior, but Gael laughs. “What was my time?”
“1:43,” Dad says, giving me a smile. “Star did really good.”
“You hear that, buddy?” I say, rubbing the colt’s sweaty neck. Star pins his ears and snorts when Dad reaches out to rub his nose.
My father laughs and shoves the colt’s face away from him. “I know why you and Star get along so well. You were a brat just like him when you were a toddler.”
I smile as Star jerks his head around. He swishes his tail back and forth.
“Let’s get you some food,” I tell the horse, clucking my tongue to urge him into a canter, passing the grandstands and the giant green Rolex clock. On the way to the barns, I see Jack standing with his father. His dad writes in a notebook while Jack yawns and checks his watch. Neither of them cheers for me and Star, and that’s okay—everyone’s getting used to the rapport I have with the horse. We’re last week’s news.
This week’s news is whether Star can get his first win today here at Keeneland. He’s running in The Dogwood, a race for horses that haven’t won more than two. I’d say he’s got a good shot, considering his breeding and all our hard work. The purse is $85,000. This should be easy peasy, considering how well he’s run in the past week.
An outrider on an Appaloosa pony comes trotting up to me. She smiles and pats Star’s neck as the pony and Star sniff each other.
“He’s a beautiful horse,” the woman says, letting Star smell the back of her hand. The colt nips at her fingers, acting silly. He nickers and nuzzles her thigh. “A flirt too, huh?”
My eyes narrow. “Not usually.”