Horses die every week at racetracks all over the country, and when I hear about it, I want to punch something. That’s the one thing about this sport that really pisses me off—seeing abused racehorses. Some owners drug horses to make them stronger, which is totally illegal. I’ve heard of people who try to drug the horses’ water, but they won’t drink it. So to make them thirsty, they gave horses a salt lick, so that they have no choice but to drink the drugged water. It’s so sad.
I keep moving Minerva around in circles. I use a rag to clean out the mare’s mouth. “Good girl,” I say with a yawn, not bothering to cover my mouth.
That’s when Jack enters the paddock, wearing that sleek gray suit, a cowboy hat, and black cowboy boots. My heart starts pounding and my mouth goes dry as he adjusts his cufflinks. I glance down at my frayed T-shirt. It has a hole in it. And is that a mustard stain?
“You did well this morning.” Jack pats Minerva’s side and walks beside me, but doesn’t say if I got the job or not.
“Thanks. Star is super, super fast. I don’t see how he could lose today.”
“Thanks, that means a lot. How’s Minerva looking?”
“Good—”
“Jack!” a girl yells.
I look up into the grandstands to see a brunette waving a large hat at him. How ridiculous. Women hardly ever wear hats unless it’s the Derby or one of the other big races.
Jack ducks out of the girl’s line of sight. “Oh shit.”
“Jesus,” I say. “That hat is huge.”
“Why do girls think giant hats look good?”
“Jack!” the girl yells again.
“Who is that?” I ask.
Jack looks physically sick. “Abby Winchester. I gotta escape!”
“That’s Abby Winchester?” I ask, squinting. “Why is she wearing that?”
“No idea,” Jack says, removing his hat and dragging a hand through his mop of hair.
“You know, I bet you could yell ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your giant hat’ and climb up to her.”
Jack laughs at my joke then groans when Abby yells his name again.
“Your girlfriend’s gonna freak out the horses.”
He gives me a look. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Then what is she?” And why does he want to escape her so bad? “Does she know you were with Kelsey last night?”
Jack stares at me for a long moment. Fear rushes through me. Why the hell did I ask that? Who am I to question my boss? We might attend the same parties, but he’s the owner’s son and I’m cleaning out his horse’s mouth.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Jack keeps looking at me. “Kelsey and I just hang out sometimes…it’s nothing serious. I’m going to check on Star.” He disappears from the paddock in the direction of the barns.
Minerva nudges my face with her nose, whinnying like she’s worried about me.
“I’m okay,” I tell her, exhaling deeply. “I’m okay.”
The announcer announces that it’s ten minutes to post time. Bryant Townsend mounts Minerva, and I head over to the fence so I can collect her after she finishes the race.
Rory joins me at the edge of the track to watch. “$100,000 guaranteed purse on this one.”
“I know,” I reply, grasping the white fence, white-knuckled.
If Minerva wins today, Mr. Goodwin will be $100,000 richer, and Rory says he tends to give good bonuses to the grooms, exercise boys, and trainers who work with his horses. Mr. Cates never did things like that. One point for Mr. Goodwin.
“I could sure use the money for college applications,” Rory says. “They’re expensive. Like, some of them are thirty-five bucks apiece.”
“Damn. I didn’t know that. Do you know where you’re applying yet?”
Rory lifts a shoulder, staring out at the track. “I’m thinking UTK. They have a good theater program. But I doubt I’ll get any big scholarships like my brother Will did.”
I don’t totally relate, considering I’m not going to college, but I hurt for my friend.
Last night during the grand tour of Franklin, Rory confessed that most of the Whitfields’ money goes toward taking care of his autistic nine-year-old brother. Special schooling doesn’t come cheap, especially when farms are declining all over the country. Rory’s older brother gave up attending a fancy college so they could afford special schooling.
“What happens if you can’t afford college?” I ask. “Are you just gonna keep working on your screenplays or take over Whitfield Farms like Jack is gonna take over Cedar Hill?”
“I can’t do it,” Rory says quietly.
“Hmm?”
“I can’t end up like my parents. You know, struggling with our farm. We haven’t broken even in two years. I don’t ever want to go through this when I’m older and have kids or whatever…”
“But who’s gonna run the farm? Your brother, Will?”
“Frankly I don’t care who runs it. It’s a black hole.”
“But the farm’s been in your family since the Civil War!”
“I know that, but I’ve gotta do what’s best for me. Some things aren’t meant to last.”
“But your family—”
“Would you drop it?” he hisses. He clutches the fence and I suck in a deep breath, staring at the scoreboard.
“I’m sorry,” Rory says after a moment, giving me a quick, sad smile. “Just ignore your dick friend over here.”
“It’s okay,” I say quietly, resting a hand on his arm. “I understand.” But I don’t. So his family has had a few bad seasons. So what? I’m sure it’ll pick up. Family’s too important to give up on them. Even if I’m annoyed that Dad got his girlfriend pregnant, I can’t imagine leaving them high and dry.
Minerva wins her race against other fillies and mares, which means that Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin, Jack, Shelby, Bryant, and Gael go to the winner’s circle and have their picture made with the horse.
When Bryant dismounts, Jack hands Minerva off to Rory so he can hot-walk her and lead her back to her stall. “I want you to watch Star’s race with me,” Jack says. “For good luck.”
I nod. Mrs. Goodwin and Shelby disappear back to their box, but Mr. Goodwin stays put against the fence, thumbing through the race program. He says, “Thank God, they’re gone. I need a hot dog.”
Jack whispers to me, “Mom won’t let him eat hot dogs, so he has to sneak them.”
“Do you want one?” Mr. Goodwin asks Jack.
“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.” Jack adjusts his suit jacket. “Of course I want a hot dog.”
Mr. Goodwin gently taps Jack’s cheek. “How about you, Savannah?”
“Yes, sir.” I reach into my back pocket to give him cash, but Mr. Goodwin waves me off. “Wait here so I can find you,” Mr. Goodwin says, then goes over to the concession stand.
“Dad refuses to get a cell phone,” Jack says. “That’s why we have to stand here so he can find us.”
“Why doesn’t he have a cell phone?”
“Because he insists on living in the prehistoric era. I read this story about how apes in zoos use iPads and I showed the article to Dad, hoping it would make him want to start using a computer or a cell, but you know what he said?”
I shake my head.
“He said, ‘I’m not an ape.’” We laugh together as Jack folds his arms on top of the white fence. “I don’t see how he lives without a cell.”
“I don’t have one,” I mumble. “And I get along okay.”
“Considering how often mine beeps, I’m tempted to get rid of it myself.”
I don’t buy that for one second.
“If Star wins,” Jack says, “I want you in the winner’s picture, okay?”
I duck my head, grinning. “Okay,” I reply. “So where’s your girlfriend?”