Flamethrower - Maggie Estep [11]
“Morning,” said Ruby.
“Morning,” Ramirez said, barely more than a grunt. He nodded at Ed then turned his back and started fiddling with the stove.
Ruby and Ed walked to the lot where Ed kept his twenty-year-old red Ford pickup and Ruby kept the 1974 Mustang she never drove. Ruby climbed in the passenger side and pulled the squeaking seat belt around her waist.
The sun hadn’t dreamed of coming up yet.
ED WAS LOST in thought, and Ruby spent most of the ride over to Belmont dwelling on Jody’s husband’s leg. She tried to think of other things. Food. Sex. Bicycles. Space and Time. World Travel. Cholera. But she kept seeing it. In the fish tank. On the floor. Unceremoniously tucked into Jody’s Carnegie Hall tote.
The moment Ed drove in through the main stable gate though, the magic happened: Ruby absorbed the sight of horse buildings, horse people, and horses, horses, horses as far as the eye could see. A sea of horses. And all was better.
Ed parked the truck at the end of the shed row he shared with Blake Reta, a successful trainer who had a small army of grooms and assistants working for him. All Ed could afford was Nicky, a part-time groom who was always late. And Nicky was definitely late this morning. Ed’s horses hadn’t been fed, and every last one was standing stoically still and looking more than a little wounded. Ed barely glanced at them though. He made a beeline for Juan the Bullet’s stall and immediately knelt by the colt’s bandaged leg.
Ruby stared at the horse and the horse stared back. He wasn’t much to look at. A dullish light chestnut, barely fifteen hands. Where other two-year-olds were already rippled with muscle, Juan looked like somebody’s backyard horse. But Ruby had to admit he had a good face. A thick white blaze started under his forelock and ended in a blur near his nose. The oversized nostrils were a little ungainly looking, but some people theorized that big nostrils meant a horse could take in more air—and run faster. What really distinguished Juan the Bullet were his eyes. He had beautiful, intelligent eyes. Most of the good ones did. And this is what made Ruby think that just maybe her boyfriend’s lunacy was justified. That this funny-looking little horse might do some running at some point.
Satisfied that the horse’s leg hadn’t fallen off during the night, Ed stood up and came out of the stall.
“Help me feed?” he asked Ruby.
“Sure,” she said. She liked being put to work. For a few minutes anyway.
By the time Nicky finally showed up, Ed had Ruby mucking out stalls. Nicky stuck his head into the stall where Ruby was working and flashed his gap-toothed smile. Ruby gruffly handed him her pitchfork.
“Thanks,” Nicky said brightly. No apology, just that smile.
Ruby had her doubts about Nicky. He was a nice-looking man in his early thirties. He was well spoken, had all his teeth, and didn’t seem to fit the profile of the kind of guy who suddenly got frustrated with his dull little life and gave it all up to go rub racehorses. Ed had never seen a reason to probe Nicky about his intentions or origins though, so Ruby left it alone.
“Nicky took over,” she told Ed, finding her boyfriend back in Juan the Bullet’s stall.
“Good,” Ed said, even though Ruby suspected he liked watching her muck out stalls.
“I’m going over to see Violet,” she said.
“You coming back?”
“Probably not. It’s getting late. It’ll take me a while still to get over to The Hole.” Ruby would call a cab after she’d visited with Violet.
“Why can’t you just drive that car of yours?” Ed asked.
“Don’t want to.” Ruby had gotten around by bicycle for so long that she had trouble seeing cars as anything other than evil machines out to kill her. She knew this was unreasonable, but she didn’t really care.
“Okay.” Ed surrendered. He leaned over to kiss Ruby good-bye. “You okay?” he asked as he pulled back.
“Yeah, why?”
“You seem funny.”
“Funny?” Ruby tried to look innocent, like she’d never seen a severed leg in her life.
“Never mind.” Ed said, “Call me later?”
“I will.”
VIOLET’S OFFICE DOOR was wide open so