Impasse

Two stories posted in one day? I'm on a rooooll

***

The news of Archaic’s arrival meant only one thing to Frankie Deltino. It meant that Hallie was back, and that meant somehow, he was going to have to create some sort of relative peace between them. Despite the time that had passed since he made that quiet promise to himself to try to prove to her that he was a worthwhile prospect in that endeavor of dating he had taken small steps to accomplish such near every day.

It hadn’t exactly been easy. Frankie, the youngest child in a mess of very clever, very sharp tongued sisters, and the only boy at that, had been conditioned to respond to the world by tormenting, taunting, and dodging whatever slap was headed his way. To go against his own lifelong training was akin to trying to taking a racehorse and trying to teach it to cut cattle, not impossible but certainly not easy. Small steps, that was what he had told himself, bit by bit, day by day, he found himself dealing out less smart ass comments and even stranger he’d come to start thinking less smart ass thoughts.

His mother, who watched the transformation with bemused eyes, called it humility and maturation. Frankie, at first, had resisted being labeled as such and had protested all he was doing was trying to get in a girl’s pants. His mother, short and all-knowing it seemed, simply shook her head and smiled waiting patiently for Frankie to come to the realization that not being the number one enemy of every jock in the room was actually kind of nice. Granted there were those, Mal Quinn in particularly, who still received more than a few derisive comments on any given day, but the rest were beginning to see him less of an irritating hot shot kid with a hot seat and more like a pretty funny, damn good, rider.

Even though Frankie hadn’t a horse under Jonah since Mal stole Crypt and Luc sealed the deal on Paranormal Frankie was still welcome in the Triple Birch shed row. He assured his agent that this was for business, Jonah had a big string of two year olds coming up (Frankie in particular liked the look of that little half-brother to Marzanna) and Marzanna herself was technically without a rider as Mal had picked Crypt over her. Although Frankie was sure Crypt was a nice horse, maybe even a great one, he personally didn’t think the colt had anything on the freak. It was Frankie’s opinion that since Mal was screwing Scout and Crypt was clearly Scout’s charge some sort of deal had been struck between the two.

In reality though Frankie didn’t think he had much a shot of getting the ride on the filly nor was he all that concerned about the two-year olds yet. Really Frankie just liked the feel of Jonah’s shedrow, liked the way the grooms bullshitted around with him in the mutated Spanish-Italian-American language that seemed to permeate the shed row, liked the way the whole feel of it was like a big crazy family, like his family, he reckoned.

He also may have been fishing for information on a certain red head.

It was early yet, the morning darkness still coating the outside world in a shade of grey although the barn itself was bright and up. Frankie, who had already done his obligatory rides on the various long shots whose owners and trainers were courting his services come Derby Day, had nothing more on the agenda and so he’d settled into one of the director style chairs Jonah had thrown about, this one was embroidered about a 1999 Mini Medal Champion.

The big horses, Gabe, Marzanna, and Paranormal had already returned sleek and shiny from their cool down after their morning works. Frankie, who happened to quite like the Poltergeist son, watched with carefully composed longing as his big gray body effortlessly moved past him and into his stall at Estefan’s lead. The colt angled his big pretty head to Frankie and gave him a long glance with his pretty blue eyes. Frankie sighed.

“Stop looking at him like you want to marry him Deltino,” Estefan said with a grin.

“I can’t. He’s my kind of horse,” Frankie said as he watched Estefan pin the stall door behind him, the colt spun quick around to toss his neck over, glancing down towards where the side entrance was and the massive bay filly that was Marzanna had come into her coat nearly black after her hose down. She cast a bored glance at the staring colt and then obediently turned away from him at Sal’s tug.

“Hate to break it to you buddy,” Frankie said as he glanced up at the colt, who was still watching Marzanna’s elegant figure slip into her stall at the far end of the shed row, “But she’s your cousin.”

Estefan laughed and gave the colt a good rub on the neck, “Too much El Diablo mi amigo, your foals would come out missing a leg.”

Paranormal, now unable to see the filly, ignored both men and pulled his head back in the stall, settling into the hay with a graceless thunk.

Estefan shook his head, “Every time I think oh he is his sire’s son, half-crazed and full of fire, he falls asleep. I swear it.”

“He’s half his sire’s son. He did want to kill the golden boy,” Frankie said pointedly.

As though recognizing his title, Gabe, a few stalls down to the left, turned his outstretched head to the men talking. Frankie admired him for a moment, he had a lovely profile, straight and clean, big deep eyes, tiny ears, and the rest of him finely wrought, albeit practical, perfection.

“It’s good he didn’t. It would have sliced a fifth off our odds of winning the Derby.”

The Derby, yes, it all came back to that this time of the year. Circled and circled and circled around and then one it was over the whole sport would be deflated for a few days, then it would be Preakness, Preakness, Preakness. Some might find the whole thing tiresome, Frankie personally found the predictability of it to be a comfort.

“Whose your pick Estefan?” Frankie asked as he followed the barn managed down to the right end of the shed row.

Estefan gave a shrug, “It’s like picking my favorite child. I can’t play favorites. The filly is something though, always has been something.”

Frankie bobbed his head in agreement.

“You though like The Ghost.”

“I like the Ghost,” Frankie said with another nod, “I don’t know that he’ll win. He’s got some bad luck, but I think he’s a damn good animal.”

Estefan angled his head in concession and then turned to the stall before them. Mal’s little chestnut filly, who truly was not so little anymore, pricked her ears and stretched her nose out to Estefan’s chest. Estefan, who was neither a hard nor a soft man, seemed to melt away at the interaction.

“Hola belleza,” he murmured as he clipped the lead in his hand to the filly’s halter ring. Unlike just about every other animal in the barn no chain was wrapped over or nose or under her lip, she didn’t need it. Estefan unlatched her door and gave her a gently tug, delicately the filly stepped out, carefully swinging her body to that she was parallel with the sides of the barn.

She was a looker too, if looks could win races she’d have them all won. Everything about her, from her perfect topline, to her shoulder, to her incredible legs, to her perfectly balanced hindquarters spelled grace and speed. In addition to her body’s beauty she had one of the prettiest faces Frankie had ever seen on a horse. The only thing off about her was the fact her ears seemed to belong to a horse a hand taller than her, but even that didn’t negatively impact her beauty, if anything her lone flaw endeared her even more.

“Eh shit where’s Mal?” Jonah grumbled as he rushed over, filly’s bridle flung over a shoulder, saddle on his arm. “Scout!” he bellowed, leaning back to glance down the aisle, where Scout calmly stood with the antsy little chestnut filly whose nose was wrested between Scout’s arms as the filly gnawed at her bit. “Where is your damned boyfriend!”

Frankie threw his head back and laughed. Estefan chuckled, but fell silent under Jonah’s glare. Scout, still eternally calm, slowly frowned. “I don’t know Jonah. He should be here.”

Jonah sighed, anger seeping out of him at Scout’s words. She had that effect on people, Frankie had observed, even when she didn’t have the answer her answering seemed to put a person at ease.

“Hey yo boss I can get up on her for you. I’m even dressed for it,” Frankie said with a casual shrug that would have made his agent proud.

Jonah hemmed and hawed for a moment, glancing once more over at Scout. Scout shrugged.

“Yeah alright. Go borrow a helmet, there’s a few extras lying around in the tack room,” Jonah relented. Frankie gave a crisp nod and jogged off to the tack room, he had a filly for the Oaks, a spindly grey thing by Unbridled’s Song, but damn he’d rather have the orange filly if he could. Beside he would really love to steal Mal’s beloved mount out from underneath him.

***                                                   

“He looks good on her,” Scout said from her position atop the new track pony, a bratty little appaloosa sport horse of some sort that Scout had found god knows where. The gelding was currently making all sorts of faces at the filly, Eminence’s half-sister, pressed up snug to his flank.  Mostly, Jonah thought, the gelding seemed amused and perhaps a touch confused at his new role. According to Scout he’d been a lower lever jumper, getting up close and personal with other horses while under tack was something no doubt new to him.

“Yeah,” Jonah answered slowly, tearing his eyes away from the antics of the gelding and back to the gently galloping chestnut filly out on the rail. It was true; Frankie looked damn good up on Dory.

“Good enough to kick Mal off,” Scout added.

Damn she was a tough woman, Jonah chuckled at it, her ability to separate her profession from the personal was impressive. He’d wondered how long it would take for a conflict to arise between the boyfriend factor and the trainer factor. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed she’d picked the latter.

“He won’t like it. We’ll probably fight, but he should have been here,” she said calmly, giving the pony rein a steady pull as the two year old tried to jerk her head away. Affinity, as Travis had just named her, was a bit of a hard case. Her manners were limited at best and though she was quick she had a severe listening problem, as in she didn’t. Scout, who seemed to gravitate to problem horses, had taken it upon herself to get the filly to adjust to track life.

That had seemed to be impossible at first, but Jonah was beginning to see slow progress. The filly did not appreciate confinement. The obvious solution was to turn her out, unfortunately racetracks were not known for their rolling pastures. As it was the filly spent her nights out in Jonah’s round pen in the courtyard before his shed row, and as much time out walking with Sal as was feasibly possible. Being outside wasn’t the only issue; the filly had a fine case of equine ADD like a certain older sister of hers. It wasn’t the same sort, Eminence bounced along in her brain, failing to focus on the task at hand, but not giving much of a care about the rest of the world. Her little sister cared about the rest of the world far more than she cared about her own safety.

As such, Scout aimed to get her incredibly well adjusted to the constant flow and flutter of track life, but forcing her interact with it near constantly. The gelding, for all his wild expressions and occasional attitude, surprisingly had a lot of patience and was the only pony horse who didn’t seem to mind the constant state of wanting the filly existed in.

“You think we should?”

Scout gave a shrug, “I think that Frankie would take the filly and do well on her. He’s rather relaxed up there, hot seat and all. It could be a lucrative match.”

“And Mal?”

“Mal’s not here.”

Jonah couldn’t exactly disagree with that logic.

***

Mal was most definitely not where he ought to have been, in Jonah’s shed row. He was not anywhere near there. He wasn’t within the same universe. No, he was sitting behind the wheel of the car in front of a shitty, shitty, apartment building wrestling with the demon that had defined his life.

His phone began to buzz in his jean pocket. He winced at it, unsure who he feared calling him more Scout or Adam. With trepidation he pulled out the phone, flashing across its touch screen was the number he had tried so hard to forget and clearly failed so miserable at doing so.

“Mal! Where you at?” the voice of a ghost called out, crackling a bit due to the poor reception in the area.

“Hey Adam. Outside.”

“Well get your Irish ass in here, I’m not going to bring it to you,” Adam said in a mocking tone.

Mal clicked off the phone and took a long deep breath, pushing his tired, beaten body back into the seat of his car. 119.  121 the day before. It wasn’t for lack of trying either, he’d endured Scout’s stares and concerned looks as he refused meal after meal, took far too long in the bathroom, had more diet pills cluttering up the kitchen counter than a fucking super model, and yet still the scale began to climb.

It was inevitable, he’d always known that. He was 5’5.” That was damn tall for a jockey and now that he was nearing thirty it seemed mother nature was trying to deny him everything he’d worked so hard for and Mal had resolved to not let it happen, nature, god, whatever be damned. Mal was half sane yet, sane enough to know that he was acting out of emotions far deeper than facing the end of his career, but he hadn’t the will to confront them in that moment. All he could do was sit there and let his mind race and race and race about what it would feel like to lose those early mornings atop horses, those wild afternoons that gave you a high no drug could (he would know he’d been addicted to more than a few), and worst of all what it would feel like to lose the fame, the purpose, the entire life that went along with it.

These were the thoughts ringing through his skull as he cut the engine to his car and found his feet moving across the tired concrete to the even more tired door of the apartment to press the call button.  

***

“You know Scar,” Mike murmured as he sipped at his coffee from the grandstand overlooking the glorious oval of Churchill Downs where Lacey was currently putting the Tiznow colt through his first on track breeze, “sometimes I wish I never offered to be her mentor – shit not like that – shit – I mean notshit,” he stammered as he glanced down at his three year old son, who was entirely oblivious to his parents conversation.

Scarlett just laughed and gently squeezed his arm, “You mean you wish that we’d done it all the same except for the part about her inevitably ending up a jockey.”

“Yes, exactly,” Mike said as he absentmindedly began to fiddle with his son’s shaggy golden brown hair.

Scarlett took a sip of her own coffee and wrapped her dainty fingers around the thermos, her eyes stuck on Lacey. It was both amusing and interesting to Mike at how quickly Scarlett had latched onto Lacey, marked her as her own daughter, if not of flesh and blood, than of something else just as strong. Scarlett, Mike knew both from experience and because his mother had told him, was a great mother but he’d have been lying if he’d said he thought adopting a thirteen year old orphan was going to be a smooth transition.

For the most part it had been. Scarlett had wasted no time in getting herself certified to homeschool Lacey, seeing as she had a Masters in English it wasn’t too much a stretch, and getting Lacey enrolled in therapy. The results of the therapy still had yet to be seen. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Lacey, in fact that was just it, the girl despite being orphaned at age six, apparently without a mother for her whole life, trapped in an orphanage until her escape at twelve and then homeless for a year was seemingly fine. The therapist was puzzled, Mike was puzzled, and Scarlett was puzzled. The only person who wasn’t puzzled was Lacey.

The largest piece of this puzzle seen by everyone but the puzzle itself was the fact that Lacey Delray was not her name, at all. She had been born Maria Moreno to a Raul Moreno and a Samantha Adler. Where Lacey Delray had come from was unknown, but she insisted on it without explanation. The therapist’s explanation was that Lacey had repressed the majority of her memories and thus developed a new identity to put herself apart from the past that might otherwise cripple her. Being adopted by Mike and Scarlett had allowed her even more distance. The therapist had also warned that at some point Lacey was going to have to confront Maria Moreno and that such would probably be a messy and difficult experience. All Mike and Scarlett could do, he had assured, was simply support Lacey as they did and be patient with her.

“I think,” Scarlett said quietly, “that you, us, not wanting her to chase after being a jockey is just our parental instinct kicking in. You don’t want Aiden to be a jockey after all.”

Aiden, at the sound of his name, titled his head back and grinned. Mike smiled down at his son unable to help the reaction. He didn’t want Aiden to become a jockey either, in fact his son becoming one was a deep seated fear. Mike was a by the book sort of guy, he managed his weight responsibly, through a strict diet prescribed by a nutritionist and he exercised. He’d never been one to flip, crash diet, or abuse drugs in order to maintain that ideal weight. Mike was also a person who thrived on discipline and structure, and he spent more of his time calm and collected than not. Like most jockeys Mike had come to the job out of a combination of love for the sport and desperation. He’d been born dirt poor in a bad section of Phoenix, Arizona, becoming a jockey had seemed natural and so he had done it. Then he and the rest of the world had found out he was good at it. Some 2,000 wins, several broken ribs, a broken leg, two broken collarbones, and more broken wrists that he cared to remember later he was still a jockey, one of the best, and still loving his job. That being said it was not a job he would wish, or want for anyone.

“I just think if I’d known back when I offered to mentor her that she was out on her own and just a kid that I wouldn’t be stuck like this,” he muttered.

“You want to tell her that she ought to not be a jockey.”

He nodded, “Scar she should be in high school and then she should go to college and be something else, something saner, safer. I’m not one to talk I know, but,” he shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“I’ve talked to her about it,” Scarlett said as she took another sip of her coffee, “I think she’d go to high school if she didn’t want to be at the track so bad. If I felt I had more of a right to do so, I’d tell her to stop, but I don’t. It’s a tricky situation.”

“What if I camped out at Aqueduct for the fall and winter instead of going to Florida. She could stay here then, come with me and ride real early and then go to school. And I mean for the fall meet at Belmont it’s not too bad a drive.”

Scarlett laughed and rested her head on his shoulder, that was another thing that caused Mike to worry about Aiden-Mike was five foot three and so was Scarlett. Scarlett had also been one hell of a exercise rider, good enough to be a jockey (that was what had drawn him to her in the first place) but smart enough to want otherwise (that had drawn him in even more). All this mean that Aiden was perfectly bred to step into his father’s shoes.

“Come next March she’ll want a license. What then? She’ll want to be at the track all day,” Scarlett said pointedly.

“Can’t we strike some deal with her? Get her to hold off the race riding until she’s eighteen. Then she can decide if she truly wants to be a jockey and if not she can go to college.”

Scarlett laughed again, “You’ve become quite the protective parent Mike Torrez.”

He supposed that he had.

***

 “Where have you been?” Scout asked as Mal came into Triple Birch’s shed row several hours late, it was nearly ten am. Scout was careful to keep her tone even, more curious than anything, but inside anxiety had already begun twisting into her stomach.

“I overslept. Must have set the alarm wrong or switched it off,” he said calmly.

Scout narrowed her gaze studying those features she adored so much. He seemed a bit wired, a bit jittery, but his eyes were steady and certain.

“You lost the filly to Deltino,” she said crisply as she turned her attention back to the bridle that lay in pieces around her. Finn, as she’d taken to calling the chestnut two year old, needed a bit change and something a bit stricter in the noseband department. Scout couldn’t decide between the flash or the figure eight though.

“I what?” Mal’s voice said, incredulous.

Scout looked up and set a cool gaze on him, “Frankie Deltino was here and he rode the filly. He looked good. He has her for the Oaks.”

“Scout what, why? Is this some sort of-”

“No,” Scout said quietly, “This is business. It’s about nothing but that. It was her second to last breeze before the Oaks and you were unreachable.”

Mal just gawked at her. Scout turned her attention back to the bridle. Figure eight or flash noseband? She turned her attention so fully to the dilemma that she scarcely recognized the sound of Mal walking away.

Only then did she let go of a deep and painful sigh.

***

“Yo Lace, wanna come grab some breakfast with me?” Luc said with a grin as he wandered into Triple Birch’s shedrow.

“Sure, I just finished my last ride. I’m good to go right Jonah?”

Jonah, who was on the other side of Zahra, gave the thumbs up over her withers. Lacey quickly disposed of her helmet on a nearby chair, shoved her gloves down her back pocked and her whip down her half chaps.

“Ready,” she proclaimed with a grin.

Luc laughed and tossed his arm around her shoulders, “Let’s go kid.”

The walk down to the cafeteria was a quick one. It was early yet, only seven, but already the cafeteria was swarmed. Luc grabbed her by both shoulders and weaved her through the crowded room to where the food was. He grabbed egg whites and an apple. Lacey, being well under a hundred pounds and not yet a jockey, piled up a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, and all the fresh fruit she could find.

Finding a table was a bit more difficult and in the end they didn’t have to. Hallie Jeffries, grinning, waved them over to her table. Lacey felt herself get a bit anxious, after all it was Hallie Jeffries. Any horse crazy girl remotely interested in horse racing would be nervous. Suddenly Lacey felt incredibly self-conscious, the easy conversation that she’d been keeping up with Luc died inside her, she no longer felt like Triple Birch’s best exercise rider, but a fifteen year old girl before a goddess.

“That’s all you’re eating Luc?” Hallie said with a wry expression, her bright eyes taunting as they glanced over the egg whites and apple.

Luc, to his credit, just rolled his eyes. Although he did eye up the lone strip of bacon on Hallie’s plate.

“You are barely a hundred pounds. Ten more would not kill you, it might even help,” she said pointedly, brandishing the strip of bacon between her fingers as a teacher might a pointer stick. Lacey fought back the desire to laugh.

“You weight exactly the same as me Mr. Jeffries,” Luc said with another roll of his eyes.

“Well I have to keep my girlish figure. Now both of you quit standing looking like a pair of idiots and sit down,” she said with a smile.

Lacey obeyed without question. Luc rolled his eyes again, but complied. Hallie finished off the piece of bacon and then turned her gaze to Lacey.

“You’re Lacey right? That skinny little kid Scout found at Aqueduct right?”

Lacey, caught off guard by the reminder of those lonely, hungry days, gave a rushed nod.

Hallie bobbed her head in response, casting an almost appraising eye over the fifteen year old girl, “You look much better now. Mike and Scarlet took you in right?”

Lacey nodded again.

“Good. You want to be a jockey I’m guessing? You’re built for it,” she said before she took a sip of coffee.

“Jesus Hallie is it twenty questions or something?” Luc said with a shake of his head but a good natured smile upon his lips. Hallie grinned at him, almost as though seeing him smile induced one in her. Lacey found that interesting, and somehow noticing the exchange allowed her the moment to find her voice.

“I want to be a jockey, yes. Mike doesn’t want me to, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Hallie’s gaze turned unexpectedly soft, “That’s what it is for all of us isn’t it? All we ever wanted. Then we get a taste and we’re lost to it for our whole lives. Funny thing being a jockey, worse than any drug, although enough of us have that as a vice as well, you’ve got to be a bit unscrewed to enjoy doing this job, to need it, to want it. Strange,” she said with a frown before she turned her attention to a dry piece of whole wheat toast.

“But there’s nothing like it,” Lacey found herself protesting, “I mean I haven’t even ridden in a race, but the feeling of a galloping horse underneath you is,” she shook her head, “I don’t know. I couldn’t ever wake up and not get to go do that. It’d feel wrong.”

Hallie grinned, “Oh you’ve got it bad kid. Why is Mike even trying to convince you otherwise?”

Lacey gave a shrug.

“Alright, alright enough talk about the misery and wonder that is being a jockey. How’s the prince settling in?” Luc said leaning forward on his elbows. Lacey glanced down at his already empty plate.

Hallie scoffed, “As if I would tell you, I am no traitor.”

Luc rolled his eyes, “You lost the privilege to play that card the moment you switched camps.”

“I had explicit permission from the King’s right hand man to do so. Besides, I’m thinking of switching camps again,” she said with another wry smile as she played around with the slices of fruit on her plate.

Luc’s eyes went wide, “Back to us? Mal is going to lose his shit if you do. Ever since you Californians came in he looks near ready to have a breakdown every day.”

“Back to America, maybe Jonah, maybe Baffert, maybe Lukas. You know someone. England, lovely and grey as it is, doesn’t hold the same thrill. I grew up wanting to win the Derby, not the Queen’s Plate.”

“Mal is going to have a breakdown,” Luc said as he shook his head in disbelief, “He knows that he’s only got what he has because you aren’t around.”

Hallie frowned, “No, he thinks that. Mal is a damn good jockey, different than me, better with fillies generally speaking. Unfortunately our friendly neighborhood drug abusing Irishman has a severe self-esteem issue, hence the cocaine addiction.”

Lacey, who had heard murmurs of Mal’s less than savory past, felt a little jolt of thrill at being privy to such adult information. In hopes of getting more such information, she kept herself as quiet and nonchalant as she could manage.

“He’s clean though, isn’t he?” Luc asked with a tilt of his head.

“As far as I know yes. Went down and confronted his Dad and got his shit together soon after. But once a drug addict, always a drug addict, I’d know,” she said with a surge of bitterness.

Luc frowned, “Hal, you’ve been straight for a long time.”

Hallie Jeffries was a recovering drug addict. Suddenly Lacey was half wishing she wasn’t being privy to such a grown up conversation. Her image of Hallie Jeffries had always been so bright, golden, glowing, and now she was struggling to reconcile with the tarnish it was showing.

“My sister died of it. Sure I only screwed around when I was a kid, but I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, “I pop sleeping pills like they’re m&m’s and still can’t sleep. Sometimes I think it’s just going to come and rush over me and destroy me bit by bit, because unlike Mal – I won’t have the sense to lock myself in a rehab center.”

“I’ll make sure you get locked up nice and tight,” he said with a easy smile, “You can count on me for that.”

She laughed then, although it didn’t sound the least bit cheery, desperate and strangled almost. For the first time in Lacey’s short life she was beginning to doubt her own so wanted dream. She seen druggies at the track, alcoholics, and everything in between, but she’s always assumed that sort of thing was confined to the lower ranked people, the exercise riders, the grooms, the jockeys who struggled to get even a claimer underneath of them, the trainers who slept in stalls next to their only horse. It had never occurred to her that even the upper echelon of the sport was not in fact truly gold, but simply gilded in it to hide the grim that permeated everything else.

Lacey suddenly felt far, far, older than fifteen.

***

Hallie Jeffries had been expecting to run into Deltino at some point, sooner than later because Churchill really wasn’t all the big when it came down to it. What she hadn’t expected was for him to be hanging out in Jonah’s shed row looking oddly serious as he watched Estefan wrap the legs of a half-familiar chestnut filly.

“Is that the filly that won the Fairground Oaks?” Hallie asked as she sauntered up to stand on the filly’s side, across from where Frankie sat in a beaten up chair that Jonah’s daughter had won for being the top rider on her hunter circuit some fifteen years ago.

Deltino’s eyes were on her in an instant, shock and then some strange sort of relief mixed with awe. His face settled into a grin.

“Yeah it is Red. I stole her out from under Mal.”

Hallie raised her eyebrows, surprised at his easy, but confident tone and the fact he’d managed to steal a filly, of a things, out from Mal Quinn filly specialist as he was.

“Really? How’d you manage that Deltino?”

“By bumming around the shed row,” Estefan said drily as he looked up from his spot near the filly’s front left ankle.

“Please,” Deltino scoffed, “It was a well thought out and strategic plan involving me being incredibly bored and my ability to see into the future to know that Mal Quinn would miss the filly’s second to last breeze.”

Hallie actually laughed. Deltino seemed bolstered by the sound of it, but he didn’t make a sleazy comment or a jab. He just leaned back in the chair and grinned.

“So you got the filly.”

“I got the filly. She likes me too, don’t you tesoro.”

The filly twisted her head about to look at Frankie; ears pricked, and let out a soft whicker. Estefan rolled his eyes.

“She just likes a sweet talker. Isn’t that right bellaza,” Estefan said as he stood up from the filly’s leg, “Fortunately for her the Italian sweet talks as much as the Irish,” he said as he gave the filly a pat on the neck.

“Deltino, sweet talk? How come all I get is Red and abuse?” she teased with a good natured smile.

“Well you’ve never taken me up on that date I’ve offered,” he said pointedly.

“Eh that’s cause she’s smart,” Estefan said with a grin, “You my friend, not so much.”

Hallie waited for a cocky boast or an insult, but nothing came. Frankie rocked back his shaggy head and laughed his light eyes bright and content. Hallie felt an odd shiver course up her spine at the sight of his smile.

“So,” Hallie said in an attempt to rid herself of the strange thrill that had come over her, “Where’s the old man?”

“Out with the ghost and Torrez’s little protégé,” Frankie said with a tilt of his head to the track, “She’s good, the girl. I like that damned colt too. I was hoping to get him for the Derby.”

“I believe Luc’s life goal was preventing that from happening.”

“That so? Bastard. We’d have gotten along you know, me and the big guy.”

"That so?" 

"It is, with the farmboy on him he's got a shot at the roses sure, but with me on we'd have bagged the whole thing. Trust me Red."

"All you jocks say that," Esteban said as he turned the filly loose in her stall, "So and so is good but I am the best," he shook his head, "Don't let him pester you too much while I'm gone Hallie."

"Oh I think we're past the point of breaking noses, don't you Frankie?" she smiled. 

"I think we might Red, I think we might." 

***

Contrary to everyone’s expectations Wit was thriving at Churchill. He hadn’t pinned his ears back in so long that Dean had been having a difficult time reconciling his memory of the colt at Gulfstream and the current golden bay creature in front of him. Wit was galloping along with that tiny kid Ethan Tyler atop his back with the most blissed out expression Dean had ever seen on a horse. Ethan Tyler stayed absolutely still, but firm against the colt’s mouth. Today was just a gallop, not a breeze, and oddly enough Wit seemed to have no issue with complying.

Lacey, who had not been allowed back on Wit per both Mike and Scout’s orders, stood pressed up against the rail beside him, her head cocked and eyes searching over the colt and the boy.

“You don’t have to stare at me Dean. I’m just trying to figure out why this works,” she said in a surprisingly hardened tone.

Dean, who had never felt himself to be a great hand with teenage girls, redirected his gaze back to the colt and boy.

“How old is he?”

“Sixteen he told me. His papers check out. He’s from the South somewhere, Alabama? No, shit, Georgia? Mhmm.”

“I get the idea. He’s small. Like as small as me.”

Dean allowed himself to glance down at her with a wry expression, “He’s got at least two inches on you shortie.”

Lacey rolled her eyes, “I’ll grow. I’m only fifteen.”

“Well don’t grow too much, who the hell am I going to stick on all my crazed colts if you grow too tall?”

Lacey bobbed her head towards the now trotting pair, “Ethan Tyler seems to have a hand at it.”

“So that’s where all this hostility is coming from,” Dean said with a bob of his head, teenage girls he may not understand, but he certainly grasped people pretty well and jealousy was a rather basic emotion, fifteen or otherwise, “You’re mad he’s figured out the son of a bitch.”

“Not mad. Frustrated, not at him, at myself,” she said in a surprisingly adult manner, “I should have been able to crack him.”

“We all miss a few Lacey. It was pure guesswork that caused me to toss up Tyler on him, honest, I hadn’t the slightest clue,” Dean said, both to comfort her a bit because damn it he hated seeing her of all people upset, but also because it was the straight truth of the matter.

 “Really?” she said turning her gaze up to his, “You aren’t just saying that are you?”

“Swear to God. Look I’ll prove it to you,” he said with a grin as he pushed off the rail, lead rope in hand, to collect the barely blowing colt from the gap. The railbirds leaned back too, watching with hunger in their hard, discerning eyes, at the way the big colt moved. Like liquid gold, Dean liked to think. The Bloodhorse photographer, a slim young woman, snapped a few photos.

“Yo Tyler,” Dean said with a grin as he slipped the stud chain across the colt’s lip, Wit, ears pricked and utterly relaxed, wriggled his nose playfully against the chain, “what did I say to you when I got you to ride the colt. The matter of my honor is on the line.”

Ethan Tyler, who truly looked sixteen, despite the arrogance and cocky energy he seemed to bring with him everywhere tilted his head, “Your honor boss?” he said in a southern drawl that would have put Hallie Jeffries to shame.

“Miss Lacey doesn’t believe me that I had no clue what I was doing by sticking you on him.”

The kid’s eyes gravitated to where Lacey stood, unimpressed arms wrapped tight across her chest. A grin tugged up at the corner of his mouth, “Well Miss Lacey,” he said with far more charm than Dean figured to exist in that skinny little body of his, “Dean told me he had no fucking idea what the colt wanted or needed, but that I had the ride only because everyone else had said no.”

“See,” Dean said pointedly, “Thank you Tyler for keeping my honor intact.”

Lacey, clearly amused and perhaps even the slightest bit flattered by the fact Ethan Tyler’s gaze hadn’t left her, rolled her eyes and walked off to the barn with her whip twirling between her fingers. Dean glanced up at Ethan, who was watching the girl with a wolfish grin.

“Touch her and you lose more than the mount kid,” Dean said with gruffness that even surprised him.

Ethan Tyler just laughed and laughed the whole way back to the barn.

***

“Luc! You came!” Hallie said with a grin that Luc managed to see before she tackled him with a hug.

Being very much a twenty-one year old he shrugged off the hug, but couldn’t resist a grin of his own.

The colt in the stall behind them gave a very undignified screech at the witness of affection that wasn’t directed at him. Luc, who clearly remembered the colt from Saratoga last summer, watched the sleek black animal with wary eyes.

“Don’t look at him like that. He’s a nice boy.”

“Hallie this colt nearly broke Frankie Deltino two dozen times.”

“That’s because Frankie wasn’t nice. If you think he’s nice, he’s nice. It’s simple as that. Isn’t it handsome?”

The colt perked his ears up at the tone of her voice, offering an oddly gentle whicker as a reply.

“See,” she said with a smile, “He’s a secret sweetheart. You just can’t be afraid of him. You have to treat him the way he wants to be treated. Then he’s a sweet heart. Isn’t that right handsome?”

The colt, ears still pricked, bobbed his head moving as close as possible to the stall door. Hallie undid the latch and slid it open; the colt popped his head through the gap, pressing his cheek to Hallie’s stomach, as he gave Luc the equine version of the side eye.

“Luc is nice,” she said with a smile, her hands gently wrapping around the colt’s muzzle. The colt flicked his left ear to the sound of her voice.

“I am nice,” Luc murmured as he carefully placed his hand flat against the colt’s cheek. To Luc’s surprise the colt accepted it.

“See. I told you. He just has high standards. Now come on pretty boy let’s go for a walk.”

Luc had to admit that even with his banged up ankle the colt was something to see. He needed a couple hundred pounds of muscle put on, but you could still see that his form spelled racehorse.

“So what are you planning to do with him?” he asked as he watched the colt graze.

“The vets think he’ll make a full recovery. He’s been an ideal patient. Hasn’t shown the slightest sign of laminitis, hasn’t been hot in any other foot, nothing. He had a stress fracture, small, didn’t require surgery. His tendons were a bit banged up, that’s why he’s still a little tentative on it, but everything’s set perfectly. They say that by the start of summer he’ll be out in a field galloping.”

“So you want to race him?”

“I want him to get better. He wants to get better, back to work. So I figure we work slowly, the second he shows the slightest bit of hesitation I back off. I just know that when I’m injured all I want to do is get back up there, get back going, you know?”

“Hallie I think that’s called projection. He’s a horse. I don’t think he cares all that much if he gets back to the track. He was a monster you know,” Luc murmured, dropping his tone at the word ‘monster’ as though the colt might understand. Luc briefly wondered if Hallie’s edging insanity was rubbing off on him.

“He’s a racehorse. Racehorses want to race. I didn’t say Thoroughbred, he’s more than that. He won his first outing in a stakes in record time under what could be called a hand ride. I’ve watched the replay. Frankie clung on for dear life.”

“Since when do you call Deltino, Frankie?” Luc asked tilting his head and casting a discerning eye over her.

Hallie made a face that involved a stuck out tongue, “Frankie and I are experiencing a lull in the war that has been our knowing each other, I won’t even call it a relationship. Currently we’re at an impasse so to speak.”

Luc arched an eyebrow, “An impasse? Why weren’t you two impassing back when you rode under the same silks more than not?”

“I don’t know why is the grass green?”

“Photosynthesis and chlorophyll.”

“What,” Hallie said with a bewildered look on her face.

“I started taking classes online. I want to get my GED.”

Hallie made a wry expression, “Luc Martin trying to be a high school graduate? You trying to outdo the rest of us? Think your better than us high school drop-outs farm boy?”

He grinned, “No. I just want to avoid ever becoming just a farm boy again. I’m pretty good with numbers.”

“Planning on being an accountant after this whole multi-million dollar winning jockey thing runs its course,” she teased as she absentmindedly ran a hand down the colt’s neck.

“Oh absolutely. I hear it’s perfect for adrenaline junkies.”

She laughed then, and Luc found himself staring at her, coming to the strange realization that her crooked smile might be the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

***

Scout had been in enough relationships in her life to know that she and Mal had more or less entered the fight phase. It was not the sort of phase that meant the relationship had ended, rather it was the phase that marked the end of the starry eyed honeymoon era in which one found it impossible to find flaw in the other.  Now the flaws had made themselves known, despite this and despite her logical assessment of the situation she wasn’t full well ready to admit that a fight was on the horizon and apparently neither had Mal. This was how they ended up spending a week more or less ignoring each other.

That wasn’t wholly true; she recanted as she came into the shed row. The feed man, Julio, gave her a nod as she swept by him into the office shared between she, Jonah, and Dean. They had bickered about doing the dishes on Wednesday and had ended up having sex that seemed to waver between angry sex and I’m sorry sex. Since it hadn’t gone one definite way or another they more or less had resumed ignoring each other come the morning. It was now Sunday.

Being Sunday the backside was near silent. Scout had come because she hadn’t wanted to be at the hotel suite she and Mal were sharing and because someone had to come take Marzanna out and it might as well be her. The filly, as usually, was up and pressed up against her stall door watching Scout’s every move with those blue eyes of hers. Scout had never really clicked with the filly, granted no one had save Lacey and Ash, but she’d come to appreciate Marzanna in a way.

As a racehorse trainer it was hard not to appreciate a horse with the work ethic the filly had. She couldn’t tolerate a day off and since Scout was inclined to give as much of the staff off Sunday as possible she had taken to giving the filly her Sunday morning jog. When she’d first taken up the endeavor Scout had been more than a little intimidated. The filly was first and foremost a 17 hand freak, bound with muscle upon muscle, and conditioned to be nothing but speed and stamina. Secondly Scout was by no means an exercise rider. Thirdly, the part Scout had trained herself to think of the least, the filly was worth millions of dollars and insured for twice that.

The last part was simply part of being around racehorses, Paranormal was insured for eight million, Gabe ten, Crypt four or five, and Wit had just recently gained a nine million dollar policy. The rest were insured as well, but for far less. Dory was insured for a meager one point five million. Ash was only insured for five hundred thousand dollars, and all the two year olds came with a basic two hundred thousand dollar voucher. Marzanna, the reigning queen, was insured for fifteen million dollars, which Scout found both reassuring and insane.

The filly who fully understood her greatness even if she lacked the mind to comprehend her monetary worth nickered at Scout as she saw the saddle and bridle. That was the lone endearing thing about the filly, she was a downright sweetheart when faced with the opportunity to run. Scout smiled and slipped in the filly’s stall. Estefan had already groomed her and so all Scout had to do was slip the saddle and accompanying pads over the filly’s back, tighten the girth, and slip the simple rubber snaffle into the filly’s mouth. The filly stood stock still through all of this and all but put the bit in her mouth by herself.

Satisfied Scout stepped out of the stall to put on her helmet and chaps. Her protective vest was zipped under a Churchill Downs windbreaker she’d bought on a whim at the gift shop. Estefan appeared then, as if scripted, to boost her up on the filly’s back. Marzanna stood patient and still. With routine practice Estefan quietly walked beside the filly and Scout down to the gap. It wasn’t necessary in truth, the filly had never come close to spooking, but it was a precaution that was senseless not to take.

Despite being the latter half of April the mornings could be downright frigid. The filly did not mind. She took long deep breaths of the cool morning air as Scout led her down to the gap. The backside was dead compared to the rest of the week, which suited Scout and the filly just fine.  Scout relished in the sensation of the filly’s massive walk underneath her. She was admittedly jealous that she didn’t have the skill or confidence to breeze the filly; Scout was certain that experiencing the filly at a fully extended gallop would be beyond words.

Scout though, was destined to never go faster than an easy gallop which was really nothing more than a working hunter’s canter. Scout, who’d grown up with hunters, was well versed with the pace and the filly, whom was simply happy to be out and moving, was more than content to put in a long, good, slow work.

As the pair worked through a trot and then finally to a canter, nice and easy, the filly rocking gently underneath her, mouth soft against Scout’s hand, Scout found her own peace, a place far enough away from all the rest, but close enough so that she still felt at home. 

***

Name: Marzanna (A Slavic goddess of death, winter, and nightmares. I know, lovely name, but I mean she is the daughter of Lucifer, she earned it )
Nickname: Mar, Zan, Zannie, Devil Mare, Ice Princess
Gender: Filly
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 3
Height: 17.0hh 
Color: Bay
Markings: Two hind socks and a wild blaze
Genotype: EE Aa
Discipline: racing
Preferred Distance: Not Applicable 
Running Style: Not Applicable
Sire/Dam: Lucifer x Saba 
Offspring: None
For Stud/Lease: No (too young)
Personality: Calculating and cold she moves as though she owns the entire universe, therefore all other living beings simple exist in her world and are treated accordingly. She was born independent and intelligent and has a knack for thinking her way in and out of trouble. Shows little affection to any other creature save Ashkii who won her over by sheer perseverance.

Name: Ashkii 
Nickname: Ash, Little Man, Energizer Bunny 
Gender: Stallion
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 3
Height: 15.0
Color: Bay Sabino 
Markings: Four white stockings and a blaze
Genotype: EE Aa nSb 
Discipline: racing
Preferred Distance: Not Applicable 
Running Style: Not Applicable
Sire/Dam: 
Achak x Ashadow
Offspring: None
For Stud/Lease: No (Too Young)
Personality: Has a personality akin to the energizer bunny this little guy just goes and goes and goes. He’s completely unaware of the fact that he’s significantly smaller than everyone else and is more coltish that he ought to be considering his miniscule stature. He’s definitely a brat due to his mother’s doting and the affection he receives from everything for being so tiny and adorable. Tends to be skittish about strange things initially but his innate energy and boldness allows him to tackle any fears head on.

Ref Used: www.deviantart.com/art/Horses-…