A blanket of silence spread across the entire backside. This announcement would not only affect the owners and the trainers, the grooms and the horses, but all the other racetrack employees, and the vendors, the public, the surrounding businesses, the veterinarians.

  Randy pulled up next to the barn in his truck and sat behind the wheel looking at Ben and Tom. “Can you believe this?”

  “Bastards,” Tom said. “The sons of bitches.”

  Ben sighed. “At this church you go to, do they allow you to swear like that? Aren’t you disobeying a commandment or something?”

  Tom shrugged. “Joke all you want, old man. This is serious shit.”

  “Where’s Dawn?” Randy asked.

  “I don’t know. She was here just a minute ago.”

  “Tell her I’ll be back in about an hour. We’re supposed to go to lunch.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Are you okay?” Randy asked, hesitating.

  Another nod. Ben always knew one day he’d have to retire. In the midst of his having that stroke some years back, he’d worried it would be then. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m too old to pull up roots now.” He had no desire to relocate to another racetrack.

  Dawn came around the corner, looking as if she’d seen a ghost. A child perched precariously on each of those skinny hips of hers. “Here, go to Daddy,” she said, handing first one to Randy and then the other. “Linda’s in labor. I have to go.”

  “What about lunch?”

  “What about labor coaching?”

  Randy smiled. “Where’s Harland?”

  “Down-under.”

  Tom made googley faces at the children, both hugging their daddy. Randy Jr., nicknamed “D.R.” by Ben, just turned three last week. Little Maeve was eighteen-months old. They both had lots of auburn hair like their mother.

  “Where’s Carol?” Carol was their nanny.

  “In Flagstaff. Gees, Randy, don’t you remember anything?”

  Randy chuckled, giving kisses to both his children. “Bad daddy.”

  “Did you hear the news?” Tom asked.

  “What news?” Dawn gathered up sweaters, toys, Maeve’s diaper bag.

  “Just now, over the p.a.”

  Dawn shook her head. A minute ago she was changing Maeve’s diaper and singing along, “I love you, you love me….” It’s hard to hear anything but D.R. when he’s singing that song. He sings it at the top of his lungs.

  “They’re closing the track.”

  “What? Why? Was there an accident?”

  “No, I mean for good,” Tom said. “As of this Saturday.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  Tom shook his head.

  Dawn turned to Ben and then Randy. Both shook their heads. “Can they do that?” she asked. “How can they do that? Where will everyone go?”

  “It’s a cinch not Mountaineer. They’re fucking full.”

  “Tom….” Dawn sighed. “The children.”

  “Sorry, kids,” he said.

  The children weren’t paying any attention at the moment. But, just last week D.R. piped up with a doozy of a swear word at his birthday party and everyone in attendance pointed a finger at Tom.

  “I gotta go.” Dawn kissed Randi good-bye and left.

  With the initial shock of the announcer’s news escalating into a near panic, it wasn’t long before the secretary’s office was overflowing with bodies, elbow to elbow. It looked like something right out of the Depression era - the racing secretary Joe Feigler resembling George Bailey outside the bank trying to calm an angry mob in the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

  “Settle down. We will be posting a complete explanation in the HBPA office within the hour.”

  “What about our money?”

  Winning purses took three days to clear.

  “Are you going to be here Sunday morning or will the offices be locked up and empty?”

  “We’ll be here.”

  “How can we be sure? You’ve been lying all along.”

  “Now wait a minute. That’s not fair and you know it! You all aren’t the only ones having the rugs pulled out from under you. We’re in the same boat as you.”

  “Oh yeah? Well I’m floating a little dinghy and you’re sitting on a big-ass yacht. Who do you think’s going to sink faster?” one of the old-time trainers said. “What the hell’s going on here?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, but let me reassure you….”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Why weren’t we told of this sooner?”

  “Where are we supposed to go?”

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  “Damn you!”

  The racing secretary took a step back. “Again, as I said. There will be an explanation posted in the HBPA office in about an hour. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?”

  “Yes. And remember, I am only the messenger here. This was not my decision. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Yeah, well let me tell you something,” another trainer said.

  “No, Dave. Just listen. It wasn’t but ten years ago, I was training here as well. You all remember that. So I know how you feel.”

  “No, you used to know how we feel.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Joe sighed in frustration. “But if it’ll make you all feel any better, I just found out this morning myself.”

  A momentary hush fell over the room, one that seemed to summarize the belief that he was telling the truth. “What are we going to do, Joe?” asked Jeannie Simpson, the leading woman trainer for the past six years. “Where do we go from here?”

  The racing secretary shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Ben had been quiet up until this point. “Joe, why don’t you just tell us what’s going to be posted in an hour?” Everyone nodded in support of that.

  “I would if I could, Ben. But I’ll be reading it for the first time right along with you.”

  “Well then,” Ben said. “I guess we’ll see you over there.”

  ~ * ~

  When the infamous hour came, Dawn was across town, doing her very best to try to make Linda as comfortable as possible. She placed pillows where they helped, cool washcloths for her neck and forehead, soothing words of encouragement. Her cousin was eight centimeters dilated and understandably rather anxious to get this delivery over with. Dawn relied on stories of their childhood to help take her mind off her contractions.

  “Do you remember the time we ran away to the basement?”

  Linda laughed and then grimaced - another contraction on the horizon.

  “Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.”

  “I can’t stand this,” Linda said, on the downside of that one. “Tell me it doesn’t get any worse.”

  “Okay, it doesn’t get any worse.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Oh, God!”

  Dawn mopped her brow. “Come on, you’re doing great! You’re almost there. Right?” She turned to the nurse and midwife. Both nodded. Thank heaven. “Okay, so we ran away to the basement and….”

  “We called and ordered takeout Chinese. And when it came, Dad brought it down to us.”

  Dawn laughed. Linda laughed.

  “Do you remember why we ran away?”

  Linda shook her head.

  “Me neither.”

  “Oh no.” The start of another contraction.

  “Breathe…. That’s it, breathe…. Breathe….”

  “All right,” the midwife said, with that contraction over and upon exam. Ten centimeters. “It’s showtime!”

  ”I’m scared,” Linda said. “Can we hold off a minute?”

  Dawn smiled supportively. “I remember feeling the exact same way.”

  The midwife adjusted the lights, softening them, and softened the surround-sound music. How apropos that Linda’s favorite classical song was playing. “The Blue Danube.”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can. You’re doing it now.”

  “All right, when I say push, I want you to….”

  “Ohhh…..”

  “Okay, go ahead and push. That’s good. That’s good. You’re doing good, very good. Okay, okay, let’s take a break.”

  Dawn leaned close to Linda’s ear. “Think of the names. Alice Marie, if it’s a girl, Harland Matthew, if it’s a boy. “

  Linda nodded, panting, waiting for the okay to push again. “How much longer?”

  Dawn glanced anxiously at the midwife. The woman smiled. “We’ve crowned.”

  “It will all be over in a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes?!”

  “Minutes are seconds.”

  “Writer! Words!”

  Dawn smiled, wiping her cousin’s forehead.

  “All right, you’re going to push again. Remember to push from the waist down. Remember to swallow, no tightening up. That’s good. Let’s push!”

  “I’m going to scream! I’m going to scream - I’m going to scream - I’m going to scream!” Linda said, her voice getting louder and louder.

  “Go ahead, scream. Scream ‘I am about to become a mother.’”

  “I’m about to become a mother!”

  “Say it again and push!”

  “I am about to become a mother!!”

  “Push a little more! There you go! There you go!”

  “Oh my God! This hurts so bad!”

  “One more. Shout for the world to hear.”

  “I am about to become a mother!!!”

  “Yes!” The midwife said, smiling. “Yes! I’ve got the head. Rest a second.” She and the nurse cleared the baby’s mouth and nose.

  “Breathe,” Dawn coached. “Breathe. You’re doing awesome.”

  “All right, we’re going to go for the shoulder. The first one you’ll feel, the second one, will be a piece of cake.”

  Dawn glanced from the midwife to Linda and back, waiting, waiting….

  “All right, Linda. We need you to push again. You’re doing great. You are a mother. Let’s make this little one proud of you! That’s it. Push. Push….”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God. Oh my God!” Linda kept saying. “Oh my God!” Her cries of motherhood mingled with the sounds of a tiny voice that had been within her for nine months.

  “Waaaaaaa…..”

  “It’s a girl! A beautiful little girl.” The midwife laid the baby on Linda’s stomach. “It’s a girl!”

  ”Waaaaaaa…..” It was the sweetest little sound - the sweetest little baby, testing her lungs and searching for her mother. Linda reached for her. “Oh, look at you,” she said, she and Dawn crying. “Look at you.” Alice Marie wiggled and squirmed. “Look at you.”

  Dawn picked up the phone immediately, as promised, and dialed Harland’s cell phone. She held the phone to Linda’s ear. “It’s a girl, honey. It’s a girl.”

  “Tell him you did wonderful,” the midwife said.

  “I did wonderful,” Linda said, with even more tears flowing. “No, no, I’m fine. She is so precious. I love you.”

  Dawn smiled, with tears running down her face like water. “I’m going to go tell your mom and Uncle Matt.”

  Randy got a call a few minutes later. He left the children with Ben and Tom and stepped out of the meeting at the HBPA office to talk.

  “It’s a girl. Both mother and baby are fine. She did great!”

  “I told you it was a girl.”

  Dawn laughed. He predicted the sex of their two children, and Ginney’s three as well. “How are things going?”

  “Not good. Swingline is filing bankruptcy Monday morning.”

  “Chapter thirteen?”

  “No, chapter seven. According to the press release, he says he’s done.”

  “Wow,” Dawn muttered. “Is Ben okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. He wants us to come to dinner tonight. He says he needs to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “Buying the racetrack.”

  “You’re kidding? Right?”

  “Nope. He’s dead serious.”

  Odds on Favorite is the second book in the Winning Odds Series. It is available in paperback and on Kindle at www.amazon.com.

  Barn 14 – Meg’s Meadows

  Book Three of the Winning Odds Series

  Chapter One

  Ben Miller took the news rather well, considering. At his age something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. Dawn looked at the doctor. “Are you recommending surgery?”

  “Yes. The quicker the better.”

  “Can we put this off until the end of the month?” Ben asked. There was too much going on: The construction for the old-timers’ retirement home, the Burgundy Blue Stake, the HBPA banquet, the ongoing debate over slots….

  “No. This can’t wait, not if you to want to keep your eyesight.” The doctor made notations on Ben’s chart. “Both cataracts need to be removed.”

  “At the same time?”

  “No. Six weeks apart. We’ll do your right eye first. It’s the most severe.” The doctor glanced back from the door. “Look at the bright side. At least it’s not glaucoma.”

  Dawn hooked her arm around Ben’s as they left the building and walked to his truck. “It’s not the end of the world, Ben,” she said.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one that’s old and feeble. Here, do you want to drive?” He offered her his keys.

  She refused them and walked around to the passenger side. “The doctor didn’t say you couldn’t drive.”

  “Not yet. Just wait.”

  Dawn climbed into the cab of Ben’s truck and smiled. “Are we done feeling sorry for ourselves?”

  “Just about.” He reached for the “Overnight” he’d picked up earlier today at the racetrack guard shack and scanned the list of horses in the fifth race. “I can read fine,” he insisted, adjusting his glasses up and down. “I tell you, I can read perfectly.”

  ~ * ~

  Tom walked down the corridor to the cashier’s desk, paid the boy’s bail, and stood waiting. The longer he waited, the angrier he became. “This is the last time, Junior,” he said, when the boy finally showed. “I should’ve let your sorry ass rot in jail.”

  Junior, Douglas Rupert Jr. to be exact was as the saying goes, “Trouble.”

  “Get in the truck.”

  Junior climbed in and stared out the side window. “You gonna tell my dad?”

  Tom started the truck and looked at him. “Did you just hear yourself? Listen to you. You’re eighteen years old, a grown man. Did you get dropped on your head or something when you were a baby? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Junior held his hand up, a bandaged hand no less. “I didn’t start that fight. I’m going on record as saying that.”

  Tom shook his head. “Yeah, well I’m going on record as saying you’re a piece of shit.”

  Junior looked at him. “My mom says you were just like me at my age.”

  “Oh really? Just shut up. Okay? Just shut up.” Tom rammed the truck into gear and pulled out onto the highway. “Where do you want to go, home or the racetrack?”

  Junior hesitated.

  “Well?” Tom barked. “What’s it going to be? What’s your problem?”

  “Um…I’m kinda hungry.”

  “Aw, Jesus,” Tom said. By the time they stopped at McDonald’s to get Junior something to eat it was after one before they pulled into the horsemen’s entrance at Nottingham Downs.

  The guard motioned for Tom to stop. “Did you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Ferguson went skinny dipping in the infield pond?”

  “What?”

  “In broad daylight and drunk as a skunk! Nye on to half an hour; kept yelling for everyone to either leave him alone or throw him a bar of soap.”

  Junior laughed.

  Even Tom had to chuckle, though from racetrack management’s perspective it was hardly funny. “How’d they get him out?” Ferguson was no little man. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He had more important things on his mind.

  Ben looked up from his desk when Tom walked into the tack room with Junior in tow. He stared at the young man’s battered face. “Your father’s looking for you.”

  “Lucy too,” Dawn said, walking in behind them. “She’s been down here twice.”

  “Don’t tell her you saw me.”

  Dawn looked at him and winced.

  “Please…” Junior pleaded.

  Dawn shook her head. “You can’t keep avoiding her.”

  “I can for a little while,” Junior insisted.

  Tom reached for his chaps. He had three horses to pony this afternoon. “Remind me again why we hired you.”

  Junior looked at him, two black eyes, cuts, scrapes, bruises, three stitches in his chin and all. “Because I’m the best damned exercise boy on God’s green earth.”

  “And the biggest bullshitter too,” Tom said, laughing.

  “Not when it comes to riding,” Junior said.

  Tom looked at him. “If you’re not careful that’s going to be your only claim to fame. Nothing else. Do you actually want to go through life a piece of shit? Because let me tell you, that’s where you’re headed.”

  Ben motioned for them to either shut up or leave.

  Tom left. Junior left. Dawn left. Ben called after her. “Where are you going?”

  Dawn laughed. “I’ll be right back.”

  This morning had uncovered quite a few concerns; one Dawn couldn’t help worrying about as she walked over to the grandstand to talk to Wendy. Given the volatile turn of events with the Morning Banter; a local newspaper taking exception to just about everything concerning Nottingham Downs lately, now this….

  Wendy looked up from her desk and shook her head. “Are these people serious? Do they actually think we rig the races?”

  Dawn sat down. “Apparently so.”

  “How are we going to respond? What do you want to do?”

  Dawn stared out the large plate-glass windows overlooking the racetrack. “Is ignoring them an option?”

  “Not really. Not with that open-letter challenge? It would be like admitting guilt. I wish Richard was here.”

 

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