Harry checked her watch. Twenty minutes. She dashed into a tent, grabbed fried chicken, a small container of coleslaw, another one of beans, one cold Coke, and a big cup of hot tea with a plastic cover on it.
As Harry threaded her way through the crowd, she passed the jockeys' tent. A commotion stopped her. The flap of the tent opened to reveal colorful silks on hangers dangling from a rope strung across the tent. Ace bandages, caps, and socks were tossed on low benches.
Nigel, close-cropped black hair gleaming in the sun, charged out. Chark Valiant charged out after him.
"Leave him alone," Addie called after her brother. She opened the tent flap, sticking her head through. She hadn't finished changing and couldn't come all the way out.
"Shut up, Adelia." Chark pushed her head back behind the flaps, then twirled on the young man. "You flaming phony—you don't fool me. If my sister weren't a Valiant, you wouldn't give her the time of day."
Addie popped her head back out of the tent as a florid Mickey Townsend bore down on the scene from one direction.
Arthur Tetrick leaned out of the top of the two-story finish-line tower. "Mickey, don't—" He shut up, realizing he'd cause a bigger scene.
The jockey kept walking away from Chark, who grabbed him by the right shoulder, spinning him around.
"Stop it." Nigel's voice was clipped and furious.
"You stay away from my sister."
"She's old enough to make her own decisions."
Chark shook his finger in Nigel's face. "You want her money, you lying sack of shit."
"Bugger off," Nigel growled.
Chark hauled off to hit him but Mickey Townsend grabbed Chark from behind, pulling him back. "Settle this later."
Chark twisted his head to see Mickey as Nigel returned to Addie, who'd stuck her head out of the tent again. He slipped into the tent with her as three other jockeys slipped out.
"Takes one gold digger to know another." Chark struggled.
Mickey, square-built and powerful, continued dragging him away. "Shove it."
Arthur, who had hurried down from the tower, approached the two men. "Mickey, I'll take over from here."
"Suit yourself." Mickey unleashed his iron grip on the young man.
"Thank you for defusing an embarrassing situation." Arthur grabbed Chark's elbow.
"Yeah, sure." Mickey inclined his handsome, crew-cut head, then ambled back to the paddock.
"Charles, this will not do," Arthur sternly admonished him.
"I'll kill that creep."
Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward. ' 'The more resistance you offer, the more irresistible he becomes. Besides, Adelia's a baby. She's not going to date men you find attractive."
"I don't find men attractive," Chark sassed back.
"A slip of the tongue. You know what I mean." Arthur draped his arm over Chark's shoulder. "Calm down. Ignore this absurd romance. If you do, it will die of its own accord." The horses were now in the paddock. "Tell you what, after the races I have to fax in the paperwork to National from the big house. Take everyone maybe an hour. How about if I meet you at the Keswick Club for a drink? We can talk this over then. Okay? Then we'll look in on Mim's party or she'll banish us to Siberia."
"Okay," Chark replied, trying to settle his churning emotions. "But I just don't get it."
Arthur chuckled. "That's what makes the world go 'round. They don't think like we do—"
Chark interrupted. "They don't think."
"Be that as it may, men and women see the world quite differently. I've got to climb back up to my perch. Keswick Club at eight."
"Yeah." Chark smiled at the man who had become his surrogate father, then headed to the paddock where Addie, already up on a rangy bay called Chattanooga Choo, ignored his approach.
Nigel, in orange silks with three royal blue hoops, rode a striking chestnut beside her as they walked the horses around.
Chark sighed deeply, deciding not to give his sister instructions for the third race. She usually ignored them anyway.
Harry jogged back to her position, nodding to friends as she weaved her way through the dense throng. As they spied the official's badge, they waved her on, a few calling that they'd drop by to see her. She wondered what it was about romantic energy or sexual energy that made everybody crazy, producing a scene like the one she had just witnessed.
She returned to the east gate jump, sat down, and opened her tea. A plume of steam spiraled upward.
"Mother!" Tucker's voice rose.
"Beggar." Harry tore off a piece of hot chicken which Tucker gobbled. "Fat beggar."
"I'm not a beggar, but I can't reach the tables and you can. And I'm not fat. Fat is Pewter." Tucker aptly described the gray cat who worked at Market Shiflett's convenience store next to the post office in Crozet. Pewter couldn't come to the races either, doubling Tucker's supreme satisfaction.
The announcer called out post time. Harry started eating as fast as Tucker. She hadn't realized how famished she was, but she'd been up since five that morning with only a few bites to sustain her.
Each morning Harry fed her three horses, then turned them out into the pasture. She left marshmallows for the possum who lived in the hayloft. Then she'd feed her pets . . . but sometimes she forgot to feed herself. Mrs. Murphy, apart from a good breakfast, had a huge bowl of crunchies in mixed flavors. Usually Harry left open the animal door that she had installed in her back kitchen door. The screen door off the screened-in porch, which ran the length of the kitchen, was easy for Mrs. Murphy and Tucker to push open. But this morning she had closed up the animal door, deciding she'd keep Mrs. Murphy in the house since the cat had been known to follow the car. By the time she left to fetch Mira, she'd put in three hours of hard work on the farm.
The trumpet call to the third race made Harry eat even faster. She rinsed the food down with tea and Coke.
"Got any left?"
"Tucker, get your nose out of that cup."
"Just curious."
Harry brushed herself off, picked up her debris, and stood at her position.
She heard a crack, then a double shot fired. False start. Those wore on the nerves of riders and horses. The announcer called out the renewed lineup. "Horses in position. They're off!" The third race, the Noel Laing Stakes, two and a half miles over brush, was the second biggest race of the day, with a purse of $30,000—60 percent to the winner.
The crowd yelped in anticipation. The horses charged out of sight and Harry heard the rumble of hooves, the ground shaking like Jell-O. The leader, a bright bay, was way ahead of the others. Every one cleared her fence, although one horse faltered. The jockey pulled up, his green silks with a blue cross already pasted with sweat to his body.
Harry knew this race was two and a half miles long. The horses would be around again in a few minutes. She ran out to the jockey, Coty Lamont.
"You okay?"
"He's come up lame. I'll walk up on the inside rail." Coty dismounted, careful to hold on to the reins as Harry held the horse by the bridle. "Vet's up there."
"Blown tendon, I'm afraid, Coty." Harry hoped she was wrong, because tendon injuries took a long time to heal and the risk of re-injury on a bowed tendon was high.
"Yeah." Coty touched his crop to his cap by way of thanks. He slowly walked the gelding across the course and up the inside rail as Harry raced back to her post.
Seconds later the field came around for another lap. All jumped clean.
As Harry waited for the announcer's report on the victor, she saw Will and Linda Forloines walking down the grassy slope toward her. They had in tow a man all but wrapped in Barbour.
Linda called out, "Hello, Harry."
"Hi." Harry waved to both of them. No reason to be impolite, much as she disliked the couple. She knew instantly the fellow in country drag had to be their soon-to-be-fleeced Yankee employer. She also knew that Will and Linda were making a point of showing him they knew everyone in the steeplechase world. Linda, more cunning than Will, wouldn't stop to talk to many people since she knew they would not warmly welcome her. The New Jersey gentleman wouldn't realize she was not on friendly terms since everyone would be polite. They turned and walked in the other direction as the Land Rover drove toward Harry. Linda ducked her head at the sight of Jim Sanburne.