Flamethrower - Maggie Estep [70]
Out on the track, Juan was on his toes, ears flicking slightly in response to his rider’s hands. While the other two-year-olds nervously danced and crow-hopped, Juan arched his neck and focused. He looked like a pro. His chestnut coat gleamed red under the sun, and for a second, Ruby flashed on Jody’s vividly red hair. It would be a long time before she stopped seeing that awful picture of her psychiatrist’s charred, disembodied leg. But at least Ruby had stopped seeing Attila’s lifeless head, his blood staining her fingers. That, she had come to terms with. Finally.
Ruby’s stomach flipped as the horses loaded into the starting gate. Juan went in and stood solidly on all fours with his ears pricked forward.
The bell rang, the gates opened, and nine maiden colts and geldings popped out. Juan the Bullet broke well and shot to the lead. His strides were short but machine-gun quick. He opened a two-length lead on the others. Ruby felt her stomach twist up even more. The race was only seven-eighths of a mile, and front-runners won those often enough, but Ruby would have preferred to see the little chestnut tucked into second or third, stalking the pace. The jockey was skiing in the irons, trying to hold Juan back, but it wasn’t doing much good. Juan wasn’t rank per se, he had his ears forward and looked very cheerful, but he was insisting on having it all his way.
Though the horses behind him kept shifting positions and taking turns coming up to Juan the Bullet’s hind end, it looked as though Juan was on his own magic carpet. No one seemed to be able to get all the way up to threaten him.
As they came around the turn, Ruby watched the rider finally give Juan the Bullet his head. The little colt put his ears forward and surged. At the same time, the number-five horse, a big bay, broke away from the pack and came neck and neck with Juan. Ruby watched Juan pin his ears, threatening his opponent. The jockey showed Juan the whip but didn’t touch him with it. Juan surged monstrously and, in a few seconds, had three lengths on the bay. Ruby held her breath. There was only an eighth of a mile to go, but she’d seen it time and again: tiring front-runners looking for a place to lie down as the closers came on to collect the pieces.
She needn’t have worried. Juan the Bullet expanded his lead by another length and cruised home by daylight. His ears were forward.
Ruby’s legs had stopped working, and she had to sit down. She couldn’t feel her extremities. Next thing she knew, Lisa was grabbing hold of her, pulling her to her feet and down the stairs toward the winner’s circle. There was a blur of smiling faces, and then Ed was hugging Ruby and saying, “We did it! We did it!”
Nicky the groom was grinning broadly, and Violet, who had suddenly materialized, was kissing everyone, including Mary and Lisa. Only Juan the Bullet stood primly still, his head held high, almost disdainful as the track photographer documented the happy event. Lisa and Mary took turns kissing their horse’s nose before Nicky led him out of the winner’s circle and back toward the barn.
“Come to the box to celebrate.” Mary gestured to include Ed, Ruby, and Violet.
Mary popped the champagne, and diminutive Lisa lit a big cigar. Violet, who, as far as Ruby knew, had met Mary and Lisa only once, had her arm looped through Mary’s and was regaling the strapping blonde with the story of one of her horses who manured in his water bucket when something displeased him.
By her third glass of champagne, Lisa had befriended a pair of brunettes in the next box over. The ladies were all working on another bottle of champagne when Ed and Ruby left them.
“They’re happy,” Ed commented as he and Ruby headed back to the stable area.
“Deliriously,” Ruby said. She was walking gingerly so as not to stain the sandals that were killing her feet.
“And