Page 130 of You'll Find Out
The day had dawned muggy, with the promise of rain clinging heavily to the air. It seemed difficult to breathe and Becca felt a light layer of perspiration begin to soak her clothes. Storm clouds threatened in the sky and the shower of light rain started just as the horses were being led to the gate. Becca prayed silently to herself. Gypsy Wind seemed to handle the adverse weather and entered the starting gate without her usual fuss. That fact alone disturbed Becca. The filly wasn’t acting normally—not for her. Brig took Becca’s sweaty palm in his and for a moment their worried gazes locked.Dear God, what am I doing,Becca wondered in silent concern.
The starting gate opened with a clang and the four horses escaped from the metal enclosure. Becca’s heart leaped to her throat as she watched Gypsy Wind run gallantly, stride for stride, with the colts. Instead of hanging back as was her usual custom, the blood-bay filly galloped with the colts, meeting the competition head-on. Determination gleamed in her proud dark eyes and her legs propelled her forward as her hooves dug into the turf.
In the back stretch, two of the colts pulled away from her, their thundering strides carrying them away from the filly and the final horse, who was sadly trailing and seemed spent. Becca’s concern increased and her stomach knotted painfully, although she knew she was watching Ian O’Riley’s strategy at work. The ex-jockey had decided to let the two front runners battle it out, while his horse hugged the rail. Gypsy Wind had plenty of staying power, and Ian knew that she would be able to catch them in the final quarter.
The dark filly ran easily and Becca noticed the slight movement of the jockey’s hands as he urged Gypsy Wind forward. Becca’s throat tightened as the courageous horse responded, her long strides eating up the turf separating her from the leaders.
As Gypsy Wind made her bid for the lead, the outside colt bumped against the black colt running close to the rail, jostling the ebony horse against the short white fence. Gypsy Wind, caught behind the two colts, stumbled as she pulled up short in order to avoid a collision.
The crowd witnessed the accident and filled the stands with noise, only to quiet as it watched a replay of the tragedy of seven years past. The jockey attempted to rein in Gypsy Wind, but she continued to race, plunging forward as she vainly attempted to catch the colts.
Becca’s face drained of color. Seven years of her life rolled backward in time. “No!” she screamed, her voice lost in the noise from the stands and the address system. “Stop her, stop her,” Becca begged as she pulled away from Brig’s grip. A horrified expression of remorse distorted Becca’s even features and tears flooded her eyes. “It can’t be . . . it can’t be!” she cried, stumbling after her horse.
One horse was disqualified, and Gypsy Wind had finished a courageous third. Becca felt Brig’s strong hands on her shoulders as he guided her toward Gypsy Wind. The jockey had dismounted and Ian O’Riley was running practiced hands over the filly’s forelegs. Cameras clicked and reporters threw questions toward Rebecca. She ignored the press and was thankful for Brig’s strength throughout the ordeal.
Ian nodded toward Becca as she came close enough to touch the filly. “I think we might have a problem here,” he admitted in a rough whisper.
“Oh, God, not again . . . not again,” Becca prayed.
“Excuse me!” The veterinarian was at the horse’s side within a minute after the race was over. Quickly he examined Gypsy Wind’s leg and issued terse directives that the horse was to be taken to the nearby veterinary hospital. The horse attempted to prance away from the noise and confusion, but was finally taken away amid the shouts and oaths of racing officials, attendants, and the television crews.
Brig tried to comfort Becca, but was unable to. Guilt, like a dull knife, twisted in her heart. It was her fault that Gypsy Wind had raced. Likewise Becca was to blame for the horse’s injury.
The waiting was excruciating, but didn’t take long. It was quickly determined that Gypsy Wind would recover.
“It even looks like she’ll be able to race again,” the veterinarian admitted with a relieved smile. “She pulled a ligament in her left foreleg. It’s only a slight injury and she’ll be as good as new,” the kindly man predicted with a sigh. “But she won’t be able to race for the rest of the season.”
“Or ever,” Becca vowed, tears of gratitude filling her eyes. “She’s retiring—for good.”
“That’s a shame,” the veterinarian observed.
“I don’t think so.” She took the vet’s hand and shook it fondly. “Thanks.”
Brig put his arm over her shoulders. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested. “Ian’s staying here and there’s no reason for us to stick around. If he needs us, he can call.”
“Are you sure?” Becca didn’t seem certain.
“Aren’t you? You’re the one who always had faith in Ian. He’ll take care of the Gypsy.”
They walked out of the hospital together and were greeted by a throng of reporters.
“Mrs. Chambers . . . how is Gypsy Wind?” a dark-haired man asked as he thrust a microphone in Becca’s direction.
“She’ll be fine,” Becca replied with more conviction than she thought possible.
“But the injury?” the man persisted.
“A pulled ligament—the vet assured me it’s nothing too serious.”
“Then you do plan to race her again?”
Becca paused and her green eyes looked into Brig’s before she turned her self-assured smile back to the reporter. “Not a chance!”
Slowly, Brig was guiding her to the car. The thick crowd of reporters followed closely in their wake, shouting questions at them. When they finally made it to the Mercedes, Brig turned on the crowd, and the irritation in his eyes was only partially hidden. “Perhaps if you asked your questions one at a time,” he suggested.
It was a strong female voice that caught Becca’s attention and she found herself looking into the knowing eyes of Marian Gordon.
“Mrs. Chambers,” Marian greeted coldly. “How do you feel now that you know you almost killed Sentimental Lady’s sister the way you killed her?”
