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Sienna was not a fan of Aqueduct. She did not dislike it, but she certainly did not like it in the way she liked Gulfstream and Oaklawn and the Fair Grounds. In truth she was happy that today would be the last day that she would find herself in their box at Aqueduct for quite some time. She understood why they housed part of their string there, they were a New York based farm and therefore it made the most sense to keep some horses in New York.

Eminence, who had come off so strong from her win in the Inside Information Stakes G2 at 7f had been shipped back up to New York to run in the Ruffian Handicap G2 at 8f. This race, as Sienna understood, would help gauge Eminence’s season. The mare had won at 8f before, but she hadn’t for quite some time. Should she prove capable of staying focused then a considering would be made to stretching her out rather than keeping her solely in 6-7f sprint battles.

The mare looked good, bouncing on her toes as the groom cinched on Luc Martin’s saddle. There were a few other good fillies in the race, the second place finisher from the Top Flight Handicap, a leggy liver chestnut four year old. Other than her the field was of little note.

“I think she’ll do good for us this year. Maybe she’ll stretch out maybe she won’t. We know she can sprint, so we have a good fallback.”

Travis nodded, “We’re still planning on retiring her after this season, correct?”

Jonah gave a nod, “No sense in keeping her around another season. Four years of racing is more than enough and she’s made her mark, most horses don’t do that. We’ll give her one final rally this year and then let her go home and get fat and pop out some million dollar babies for you.”

Travis nodded, “I was thinking Sultanofswing. I’d like to get a foal of his in the barn, see what he can throw. I’d like to breed him to Akila down the road, but I want an idea of what he throws before then.”

“It’d be a good cross. Mr. P x Northern Dancer, tends to work,” Jonah said with a nod as he watched the groom toss Luc up on the little bay.

The mare walked off then, head high, nostrils already wide as she did a little jig for the throngs of people who had descended on this April afternoon. Most of them were here for the feature, the GI Wood Memorial, but that was the nice thing about feature days, they always had a great undercard. Instead of watching a day of claimers and allowance runners up until the big race you got to watch a day of the finest horseflesh the racing world had to offer going off in races just as big as the feature, albeit for different divisions.

Eminence, hot off her Breeders’ Cup win was the favorite going off at 1-2 despite having not run at this distance for over a year, still she had once and done well at it so that, plus her physical appearance, seemed to be very encouraging to the betting public.

The mare proved that the betting public was correct. She broke well, quick like usual, and went straight towards the front. Luc kept her quiet though and she settled into her pace. The recent addition of blinkers seemed to focus the mare, she kept herself snug to the rail well through the backstretch and around the lone turn, exploding into faster pace about halfway through the turn which shot her forward of the pack by three good lengths. A few other mares jostled to challenge her, but the mare paid them no mind, winning over a bigger chestnut by a very game length and a half.

Their box erupted in cheers and embraces. Travis kissed her lightly on the mouth and then led her down to the winner’s circle on Jonah’s heel. Hopefully, Sienna thought, the rest of their day would go as well.

***

It was universally known in the racing world that Paranormal was a stalker. He had always been a stalker. A specific sort too, right off the pace, third or fourth, any farther back and he got distracted, confused, and couldn’t get himself to the front in time.

So when the colt broke badly in the GI Wood Memorial at 9f, so badly that the mental image that Luc immediately associated was a turtle slipping off a rock, it was right and sensible for him to feel a momentary surge of panic. It hadn’t been the colt’s fault, the horse next to them, a long shot chestnut, had been pitching such a fit that both their attentions was direct elsewhere.

Elsewhere though had led to the colt panicking now, his head up, ears pinned, his body going left and then right as he struggled to reconcile himself with what was happening. Luc, who usually did nothing more than feel, found himself in the position of having to make decisions.

The options were clear; either hold the colt back or push him forward and hope he got up into the pack.

Luc decided to hang back.

He applied steady pressure on the colt’s mouth and relaxed his own body. The colt, having been given something to focus on, settled easily into a rhythmic gallop far off enough from the pack so that the dirt wasn’t flying in his face. Luc hadn’t the faintest idea of whether or not the colt would be able to run as a closer, but he figured that he might as well try.

Around the turn Luc kept him tight to the rail and then once they were traveling straight, some eight lengths off the end of the pack, he angled him wide trying to avoid as much dirt flinging as he could. The colt responded positively, he stretched out and in the span of a few big strides managed to get himself even with the back of the pack, his neck was brown now, but the colt seemed refocused, attentive, and more importantly he appeared to have more than enough gas left in the tank.

With methodical cruelty the colt picked off his opponents, Luc saw a gap open to the rail between the sixth and fifth horse and artfully swung the colt in, the ground saving tactic allowed the colt to easily coast up to the second place runner’s flank as they rounded the final turn into the stretch.

After that it was nothing. The colt knew his job and now that his job was made plain to him, he did it. He pushed ahead to the front, dead even with the Smart Strike colt who’d bested him last time, Southpaw, and locked in. Luc, who’d learned his lesson with Crypt, kept an eye peeled on the rushing pack, someone had to be coming. Yes. There. The dark bay colt, Pharaoh, pulled out of fourth, where he’d been coasting, and locked into gear, pushing up on the outside of the Smart Strike colt. The three colts drew dead even, all their ears pinned; Luc flashed his whip, but didn’t hit the colt, not yet.

Paranormal saw the whip, understood his job, and rocketed forward. Despite the pleas of Southpaw’s jockey the colt began to sink back. Pharaoh though, stayed even with Paranormal. This was when Luc’s true purpose came. He threw himself into the colt, screamed and begged and demanded, he flashed his whip and then brought it down once. The colt, in response, gave everything. Pharaoh was too, stretching out deep into Aqueduct’s track. Paranormal had this though, Luc felt that, even as the photo flashed he knew his colt had it.

“Good race man,” Pharaoh’s jockey said with a grin, a sharp jawed and sharp eyed guy around Luc’s own age.

“Thanks. You too, hell of a colt,” Luc returned.

The other jockey grinned. They brought their colts down to their respective camps settled around the board and the winners circle. Travis, Sienna and Jonah looked anxious but eager. The colt huffed and puffed obviously proud of himself.

“That was smart thinking Luc,” Jonah said as he gave Sal the nod to clip the colt’s lead on.

“I figured we know he can’t run deep in the pack, so there was no use trying again.”

All three of them nodded. Sal spun the colt in big circles, hand on his white neck. The seconds ticked on and then finally the board flashed with the photo and the lettering that confirmed what Luc had felt.

Paranormal had won the GI Wood Memorial by a nose.

***

“Easy is the name of the game, got it Lace?”

Lacey bobbed her head as she gently guided a very skittish Crypt onto Churchill’s dirt oval. Dean, seeing as his string was tied up and finished with the prep season, had found himself shipped to Churchill before the rest. Shipped with him were Marzanna, Double Up, Golden Age, Cryptology, and three two year olds. One of them he’d had since the Fasig-Tipton sale in Florida, a stubborn leggy half-sister to Eminence still lacking a name. The other two, bay colts, had shipped in last week. Currently though his attention was on the warm bay Louisiana Derby winner in front of him.

“Man,” Dean mumbled to himself as he watched the colt warm up from a nice, even, entirely sound walk into an entirely sound, nice, even, trot. The abscess had gone away entirely after two weeks of stall rest and considering how the colt was moving it looked like the abscess was going to stay gone.

Still dealing with a colt in this state was a delicate stress inducing experience, one that was doubled by the fact this colt ranked number 7 on Haskin’s Derby Dozen. He was a nice colt too, a bit jumpy, but mannerly and kind when it came down to it, the sort of animal you didn’t want to disappoint.

Lacey, being the damn good little fifteen year old exercise rider that she was did not disappoint. She handled the colt with certainty and experience. Within ten minutes you’d have never known the colt erred on the nervous side, his ears were pricked forward occasionally brushing back to catch whatever words she was humming to him, his stride was easy, his carriage relaxed and his expression soft. After a few turns around the track Dean waved the pair back over.

“He feels great Dean. Wouldn’t have known he’d ever spent a day lame in his life.”

Dean gave a nod and looped the lead shank through the colt’s bit and over his lip, nice as he was you never knew when a skittish one-especially a stud colt- was going to do something stupid.

Lacey ran her fingers through the colt’s black mane, the colt’s attention was focused on the streaming movement of horses and humans but he flicked an ear back occasionally. Dean clapped the horse on the neck and started the walk back to Triple Birch’s shed row.

“I like the track,” Lacey mused, “The footing is nice. I think the new chestnut filly with like it.”

“And you think this why?”

“She’s particular about her feet. If she’s happy with what she’s standing on she stays pretty still, still as any two year old would. If she’s not she dances about. I don’t think she likes being in a stall much either.”

“We’ve had this filly for exactly two weeks and you’ve already figured this out how exactly?”

She rolled her eyes, a new and very consistent display for her, “Unlike some people I don’t spent half the day with my cell phone glued to my ear. I spend it in a barn watching the horses. You pick stuff up.”

Dean laughed, “I do not choose to spend my day with a cell phone stuck to me, just so we’re clear on that, it’s the business.”

“Well duh. I know that. All I’m saying is you are in the business of talking to people on your cell phone and I’m in the business of actually paying attention to the horses.”

“I just get no respect,” he said with a grin.

Lacey just rolled her eyes and smiled.

***

“I really have no idea Jonah. Some switch in his brain flipped. He works well, consistently enough, hard, and happily. He’s still an asshole the other 23 hours of the day, but when he steps on that track and runs he’s relatively focused,” Scout said as she stared out at the colt in question, who was currently trying his absolute hardest to break free from his two grooms.

Double duty was a requirement with the colt, just last week he’d managed to get free not once but twice. After the second time Scout had decided it was better to have some back up.

“That’s good. Great even. I didn’t expect him to turn it around suddenly.”

“I know. He’s got a ton of talent Jonah. So damn fast and with that monster stride. It’s impressive. I mean we knew he was fast, just psychotic too. I mean he’s still psychotic, but not on the track.”

“Geld?”

“My boys can handle him. I can handle him. He’s like a big dumb goofy kid. I don’t think he puts a lot of thought behind what he does. He starts feeling something and he acts.”

“Like some hormonal teenager.”

“Exactly. He’s not studdish though. He’s very polite to Zee. She actually likes him.”

Jonah laughed through the line, “She would. He’s tall, he’s handsome, and he’s a gentleman.”

“Eh now you’re pushing it. He’s still a three year old colt, she bosses him around quite a bit, tells him when he’s acting out of line, he eats it up like lost puppy.”

“Sling was like that with Akila, remember?”

Scout let out a sigh, “Damn that seems like a world ago doesn’t it?”

“Wait till you get to be my age.”

***

As far as Lacey was concerned there wasn’t much to dislike about Churchill in the month of April. The weather had been perfect, the cool bright sort of days that seemed to cause every part of you to come alive. It was quiet yet, being the beginning of the month, but starting to come alive as Derby and Oaks prospects began descending to the track. That brought a whole new feeling, a warm, hopefully, exciting sensation that seemed to pass through everyone on the backside. The fact that Triple Birch was part of it, central to it even, made the experience resonate even louder with her. The fact that she, Maria Moreno known as Lacey Delray on all forms save her damning birth certificate, was an integral part of this, the exercise rider of not just one, but four of these all important horses.

“They still haven’t decided what to do with her?” Lacey said as she walked on the other side of Zannie’s neck.

“It’s not that easy Lacey. There’s strategy involved.”

“There is no strategy involved in this. She belongs in the Derby. She will win the Derby. Everyone knows this, Haskin has her ranked three on his Derby Dozen and he says he’d put her up as number one if Triple Birch committed one way or another.”

“We’ll commit at the end of April. No need to make a decision right now.”

“She’s bored Dean, look at her.”

Marzanna simply gave a snort, lifting her lovely head as Dean eased her into a stop at the base of the little area of land designated as Triple Birch’s shed row.

“She looks the same as always. Elsewhere.”

“Let her play in the Derby.”

“I don’t have final say.”

Lacey rolled her eyes, “You have a lot of say. You’ve been training her for the last three months. You know all she does is work, work, work. She never has an off day.”

“Yeah, yeah, now come here so I can boost you up.”

Lacey rolled her eyes again but walked to the other side of the filly where Dean’s left hand waited. Lacey reached her hands up to rest on the side of the saddle, the filly was far too tall for Lacey to be able to reached the top, and raised her left foot. Dean grabbed her ankle and in one well practiced motion tossed the girl up on the back of the filly. Marzanna did nothing more than flick her right ear back.

“Warm her up real good; turn her out at the half mile pole for 6 furlongs or so. Let her come back to you, don’t pull her up. She’s not going to get too many chances for long hard works so let’s have her enjoy this one,” Dean said as he led them down to the gap.

Railbirds had swarmed about, journalists for all the racing publications, and even other trainers and jocks had clustered around. Marzanna was an anomaly, a well raced two year old who’d blossomed into a super three year old, add to that her physical perfection and demeanor and you had a legend in the making. Lacey noted all of this with a measure of pride; after all she knew the filly better than anyone.

Dean let them loose at the gap, Lacey let the filly take the bit and did nothing more than enjoy every step as the filly took a brisk walk around the outer edge of the track. After a time around at a walk Lacey made a little noise with her mouth, a few clicks of her tongue, and the filly bounded into a massive ground swallowing trot. Now Lacey really focused on how the filly felt underneath her, good as usual, but there were subtleties to pick up on, a little tight in the right shoulder, a bit tense through her hindquarters, her jaw taught on the bit. Lacey just kept her trotting, soon all those little subtleties melted away and there was only a big striding, soft, entirely relaxed filly underneath her.

It was only when that happened did Lacey guide the filly in towards the inside rail and let her slip up to a canter. It was always a slip too, you didn’t ask or press for a canter like you did with other horses, you leaned forward and let her take a few inches of rein. It was as though the gallop was always there with Marzanna, always waiting and ready to go. It was an incredibly gait too, as lovely as her walk was, as massive and round her trot, nothing could compare to her gallop. It was fluid, easier than breathing, and being part of it was not a feeling that could be described with words. You could almost miss it too, that feeling, for her gait was so smooth, so straight, so utterly flawless that you scarcely felt anything but the rush of movement. The filly was in it though, if you paid close enough mind, you could feel her in every step, the care in which she placed her feet, the manner in which she stretched herself out, the way in which those long deep breaths of her shook you, the sound and sensation of her massive heart being out massive heartbeats that exuded out from her chest through the rest of her into you.

Through this though Lacey paid attention, she ticked off seconds in her brain-as Mike had taught her- and kept a trained eye on the furlong poles flying by. There was the first, then the second, the third, the fourth, the filly was beginning to really crank up to top speed then, the fifth, the sixth, Lacey bit her lip but kept her hands still waiting for the filly to decided to stop. The filly kept running, six and a half, seven, seven and a stride and then the slow down.It was an upwards movement, her neck rose, her gait transitioned from long and deep to short and upright, it was a long canter then, the filly’s breathing hard but even as she let her lungs and heart come down from the experience. Then it was a trot, her neck was arched, tongue and teeth moving against the bit, ears pricked, but breathing still full and fast.

Lacey did nothing more than grin and murmur her usual words to the filly. The filly kept trotting, slower than before as she worked towards a walk. Then the walk came and Zannie gave her long hard customary snort. Her dark coat was soaked with sweat, but she held herself with poise and energy.

Dean’s jaw was still agape by the time they returned.

“She went six furlongs in 1:09 and change. That’s. That’s fast.”

Lacey stretched up to stroke the filly’s ears, a grin split wide across her face and sang out, “Derby, Derby, Derby.”

Description

Sienna was not a fan of Aqueduct. She did not dislike it, but she certainly did not like it in the way she liked Gulfstream and Oaklawn and the Fair Grounds. In truth she was happy that today would be the last day that she would find herself in their box at Aqueduct for quite some time. She understood why they housed part of their string there, they were a New York based farm and therefore it made the most sense to keep some horses in New York.

Eminence, who had come off so strong from her win in the Inside Information Stakes G2 at 7f had been shipped back up to New York to run in the Ruffian Handicap G2 at 8f. This race, as Sienna understood, would help gauge Eminence’s season. The mare had won at 8f before, but she hadn’t for quite some time. Should she prove capable of staying focused then a considering would be made to stretching her out rather than keeping her solely in 6-7f sprint battles.

The mare looked good, bouncing on her toes as the groom cinched on Luc Martin’s saddle. There were a few other good fillies in the race, the second place finisher from the Top Flight Handicap, a leggy liver chestnut four year old. Other than her the field was of little note.

“I think she’ll do good for us this year. Maybe she’ll stretch out maybe she won’t. We know she can sprint, so we have a good fallback.”

Travis nodded, “We’re still planning on retiring her after this season, correct?”

Jonah gave a nod, “No sense in keeping her around another season. Four years of racing is more than enough and she’s made her mark, most horses don’t do that. We’ll give her one final rally this year and then let her go home and get fat and pop out some million dollar babies for you.”

Travis nodded, “I was thinking Sultanofswing. I’d like to get a foal of his in the barn, see what he can throw. I’d like to breed him to Akila down the road, but I want an idea of what he throws before then.”

“It’d be a good cross. Mr. P x Northern Dancer, tends to work,” Jonah said with a nod as he watched the groom toss Luc up on the little bay.

The mare walked off then, head high, nostrils already wide as she did a little jig for the throngs of people who had descended on this April afternoon. Most of them were here for the feature, the GI Wood Memorial, but that was the nice thing about feature days, they always had a great undercard. Instead of watching a day of claimers and allowance runners up until the big race you got to watch a day of the finest horseflesh the racing world had to offer going off in races just as big as the feature, albeit for different divisions.

Eminence, hot off her Breeders’ Cup win was the favorite going off at 1-2 despite having not run at this distance for over a year, still she had once and done well at it so that, plus her physical appearance, seemed to be very encouraging to the betting public.

The mare proved that the betting public was correct. She broke well, quick like usual, and went straight towards the front. Luc kept her quiet though and she settled into her pace. The recent addition of blinkers seemed to focus the mare, she kept herself snug to the rail well through the backstretch and around the lone turn, exploding into faster pace about halfway through the turn which shot her forward of the pack by three good lengths. A few other mares jostled to challenge her, but the mare paid them no mind, winning over a bigger chestnut by a very game length and a half.

Their box erupted in cheers and embraces. Travis kissed her lightly on the mouth and then led her down to the winner’s circle on Jonah’s heel. Hopefully, Sienna thought, the rest of their day would go as well.

***

It was universally known in the racing world that Paranormal was a stalker. He had always been a stalker. A specific sort too, right off the pace, third or fourth, any farther back and he got distracted, confused, and couldn’t get himself to the front in time.

So when the colt broke badly in the GI Wood Memorial at 9f, so badly that the mental image that Luc immediately associated was a turtle slipping off a rock, it was right and sensible for him to feel a momentary surge of panic. It hadn’t been the colt’s fault, the horse next to them, a long shot chestnut, had been pitching such a fit that both their attentions was direct elsewhere.

Elsewhere though had led to the colt panicking now, his head up, ears pinned, his body going left and then right as he struggled to reconcile himself with what was happening. Luc, who usually did nothing more than feel, found himself in the position of having to make decisions.

The options were clear; either hold the colt back or push him forward and hope he got up into the pack.

Luc decided to hang back.

He applied steady pressure on the colt’s mouth and relaxed his own body. The colt, having been given something to focus on, settled easily into a rhythmic gallop far off enough from the pack so that the dirt wasn’t flying in his face. Luc hadn’t the faintest idea of whether or not the colt would be able to run as a closer, but he figured that he might as well try.

Around the turn Luc kept him tight to the rail and then once they were traveling straight, some eight lengths off the end of the pack, he angled him wide trying to avoid as much dirt flinging as he could. The colt responded positively, he stretched out and in the span of a few big strides managed to get himself even with the back of the pack, his neck was brown now, but the colt seemed refocused, attentive, and more importantly he appeared to have more than enough gas left in the tank.

With methodical cruelty the colt picked off his opponents, Luc saw a gap open to the rail between the sixth and fifth horse and artfully swung the colt in, the ground saving tactic allowed the colt to easily coast up to the second place runner’s flank as they rounded the final turn into the stretch.

After that it was nothing. The colt knew his job and now that his job was made plain to him, he did it. He pushed ahead to the front, dead even with the Smart Strike colt who’d bested him last time, Southpaw, and locked in. Luc, who’d learned his lesson with Crypt, kept an eye peeled on the rushing pack, someone had to be coming. Yes. There. The dark bay colt, Pharaoh, pulled out of fourth, where he’d been coasting, and locked into gear, pushing up on the outside of the Smart Strike colt. The three colts drew dead even, all their ears pinned; Luc flashed his whip, but didn’t hit the colt, not yet.

Paranormal saw the whip, understood his job, and rocketed forward. Despite the pleas of Southpaw’s jockey the colt began to sink back. Pharaoh though, stayed even with Paranormal. This was when Luc’s true purpose came. He threw himself into the colt, screamed and begged and demanded, he flashed his whip and then brought it down once. The colt, in response, gave everything. Pharaoh was too, stretching out deep into Aqueduct’s track. Paranormal had this though, Luc felt that, even as the photo flashed he knew his colt had it.

“Good race man,” Pharaoh’s jockey said with a grin, a sharp jawed and sharp eyed guy around Luc’s own age.

“Thanks. You too, hell of a colt,” Luc returned.

The other jockey grinned. They brought their colts down to their respective camps settled around the board and the winners circle. Travis, Sienna and Jonah looked anxious but eager. The colt huffed and puffed obviously proud of himself.

“That was smart thinking Luc,” Jonah said as he gave Sal the nod to clip the colt’s lead on.

“I figured we know he can’t run deep in the pack, so there was no use trying again.”

All three of them nodded. Sal spun the colt in big circles, hand on his white neck. The seconds ticked on and then finally the board flashed with the photo and the lettering that confirmed what Luc had felt.

Paranormal had won the GI Wood Memorial by a nose.

***

“Easy is the name of the game, got it Lace?”

Lacey bobbed her head as she gently guided a very skittish Crypt onto Churchill’s dirt oval. Dean, seeing as his string was tied up and finished with the prep season, had found himself shipped to Churchill before the rest. Shipped with him were Marzanna, Double Up, Golden Age, Cryptology, and three two year olds. One of them he’d had since the Fasig-Tipton sale in Florida, a stubborn leggy half-sister to Eminence still lacking a name. The other two, bay colts, had shipped in last week. Currently though his attention was on the warm bay Louisiana Derby winner in front of him.

“Man,” Dean mumbled to himself as he watched the colt warm up from a nice, even, entirely sound walk into an entirely sound, nice, even, trot. The abscess had gone away entirely after two weeks of stall rest and considering how the colt was moving it looked like the abscess was going to stay gone.

Still dealing with a colt in this state was a delicate stress inducing experience, one that was doubled by the fact this colt ranked number 7 on Haskin’s Derby Dozen. He was a nice colt too, a bit jumpy, but mannerly and kind when it came down to it, the sort of animal you didn’t want to disappoint.

Lacey, being the damn good little fifteen year old exercise rider that she was did not disappoint. She handled the colt with certainty and experience. Within ten minutes you’d have never known the colt erred on the nervous side, his ears were pricked forward occasionally brushing back to catch whatever words she was humming to him, his stride was easy, his carriage relaxed and his expression soft. After a few turns around the track Dean waved the pair back over.

“He feels great Dean. Wouldn’t have known he’d ever spent a day lame in his life.”

Dean gave a nod and looped the lead shank through the colt’s bit and over his lip, nice as he was you never knew when a skittish one-especially a stud colt- was going to do something stupid.

Lacey ran her fingers through the colt’s black mane, the colt’s attention was focused on the streaming movement of horses and humans but he flicked an ear back occasionally. Dean clapped the horse on the neck and started the walk back to Triple Birch’s shed row.

“I like the track,” Lacey mused, “The footing is nice. I think the new chestnut filly with like it.”

“And you think this why?”

“She’s particular about her feet. If she’s happy with what she’s standing on she stays pretty still, still as any two year old would. If she’s not she dances about. I don’t think she likes being in a stall much either.”

“We’ve had this filly for exactly two weeks and you’ve already figured this out how exactly?”

She rolled her eyes, a new and very consistent display for her, “Unlike some people I don’t spent half the day with my cell phone glued to my ear. I spend it in a barn watching the horses. You pick stuff up.”

Dean laughed, “I do not choose to spend my day with a cell phone stuck to me, just so we’re clear on that, it’s the business.”

“Well duh. I know that. All I’m saying is you are in the business of talking to people on your cell phone and I’m in the business of actually paying attention to the horses.”

“I just get no respect,” he said with a grin.

Lacey just rolled her eyes and smiled.

***

“I really have no idea Jonah. Some switch in his brain flipped. He works well, consistently enough, hard, and happily. He’s still an asshole the other 23 hours of the day, but when he steps on that track and runs he’s relatively focused,” Scout said as she stared out at the colt in question, who was currently trying his absolute hardest to break free from his two grooms.

Double duty was a requirement with the colt, just last week he’d managed to get free not once but twice. After the second time Scout had decided it was better to have some back up.

“That’s good. Great even. I didn’t expect him to turn it around suddenly.”

“I know. He’s got a ton of talent Jonah. So damn fast and with that monster stride. It’s impressive. I mean we knew he was fast, just psychotic too. I mean he’s still psychotic, but not on the track.”

“Geld?”

“My boys can handle him. I can handle him. He’s like a big dumb goofy kid. I don’t think he puts a lot of thought behind what he does. He starts feeling something and he acts.”

“Like some hormonal teenager.”

“Exactly. He’s not studdish though. He’s very polite to Zee. She actually likes him.”

Jonah laughed through the line, “She would. He’s tall, he’s handsome, and he’s a gentleman.”

“Eh now you’re pushing it. He’s still a three year old colt, she bosses him around quite a bit, tells him when he’s acting out of line, he eats it up like lost puppy.”

“Sling was like that with Akila, remember?”

Scout let out a sigh, “Damn that seems like a world ago doesn’t it?”

“Wait till you get to be my age.”

***

As far as Lacey was concerned there wasn’t much to dislike about Churchill in the month of April. The weather had been perfect, the cool bright sort of days that seemed to cause every part of you to come alive. It was quiet yet, being the beginning of the month, but starting to come alive as Derby and Oaks prospects began descending to the track. That brought a whole new feeling, a warm, hopefully, exciting sensation that seemed to pass through everyone on the backside. The fact that Triple Birch was part of it, central to it even, made the experience resonate even louder with her. The fact that she, Maria Moreno known as Lacey Delray on all forms save her damning birth certificate, was an integral part of this, the exercise rider of not just one, but four of these all important horses.

“They still haven’t decided what to do with her?” Lacey said as she walked on the other side of Zannie’s neck.

“It’s not that easy Lacey. There’s strategy involved.”

“There is no strategy involved in this. She belongs in the Derby. She will win the Derby. Everyone knows this, Haskin has her ranked three on his Derby Dozen and he says he’d put her up as number one if Triple Birch committed one way or another.”

“We’ll commit at the end of April. No need to make a decision right now.”

“She’s bored Dean, look at her.”

Marzanna simply gave a snort, lifting her lovely head as Dean eased her into a stop at the base of the little area of land designated as Triple Birch’s shed row.

“She looks the same as always. Elsewhere.”

“Let her play in the Derby.”

“I don’t have final say.”

Lacey rolled her eyes, “You have a lot of say. You’ve been training her for the last three months. You know all she does is work, work, work. She never has an off day.”

“Yeah, yeah, now come here so I can boost you up.”

Lacey rolled her eyes again but walked to the other side of the filly where Dean’s left hand waited. Lacey reached her hands up to rest on the side of the saddle, the filly was far too tall for Lacey to be able to reached the top, and raised her left foot. Dean grabbed her ankle and in one well practiced motion tossed the girl up on the back of the filly. Marzanna did nothing more than flick her right ear back.

“Warm her up real good; turn her out at the half mile pole for 6 furlongs or so. Let her come back to you, don’t pull her up. She’s not going to get too many chances for long hard works so let’s have her enjoy this one,” Dean said as he led them down to the gap.

Railbirds had swarmed about, journalists for all the racing publications, and even other trainers and jocks had clustered around. Marzanna was an anomaly, a well raced two year old who’d blossomed into a super three year old, add to that her physical perfection and demeanor and you had a legend in the making. Lacey noted all of this with a measure of pride; after all she knew the filly better than anyone.

Dean let them loose at the gap, Lacey let the filly take the bit and did nothing more than enjoy every step as the filly took a brisk walk around the outer edge of the track. After a time around at a walk Lacey made a little noise with her mouth, a few clicks of her tongue, and the filly bounded into a massive ground swallowing trot. Now Lacey really focused on how the filly felt underneath her, good as usual, but there were subtleties to pick up on, a little tight in the right shoulder, a bit tense through her hindquarters, her jaw taught on the bit. Lacey just kept her trotting, soon all those little subtleties melted away and there was only a big striding, soft, entirely relaxed filly underneath her.

It was only when that happened did Lacey guide the filly in towards the inside rail and let her slip up to a canter. It was always a slip too, you didn’t ask or press for a canter like you did with other horses, you leaned forward and let her take a few inches of rein. It was as though the gallop was always there with Marzanna, always waiting and ready to go. It was an incredibly gait too, as lovely as her walk was, as massive and round her trot, nothing could compare to her gallop. It was fluid, easier than breathing, and being part of it was not a feeling that could be described with words. You could almost miss it too, that feeling, for her gait was so smooth, so straight, so utterly flawless that you scarcely felt anything but the rush of movement. The filly was in it though, if you paid close enough mind, you could feel her in every step, the care in which she placed her feet, the manner in which she stretched herself out, the way in which those long deep breaths of her shook you, the sound and sensation of her massive heart being out massive heartbeats that exuded out from her chest through the rest of her into you.

Through this though Lacey paid attention, she ticked off seconds in her brain-as Mike had taught her- and kept a trained eye on the furlong poles flying by. There was the first, then the second, the third, the fourth, the filly was beginning to really crank up to top speed then, the fifth, the sixth, Lacey bit her lip but kept her hands still waiting for the filly to decided to stop. The filly kept running, six and a half, seven, seven and a stride and then the slow down.It was an upwards movement, her neck rose, her gait transitioned from long and deep to short and upright, it was a long canter then, the filly’s breathing hard but even as she let her lungs and heart come down from the experience. Then it was a trot, her neck was arched, tongue and teeth moving against the bit, ears pricked, but breathing still full and fast.

Lacey did nothing more than grin and murmur her usual words to the filly. The filly kept trotting, slower than before as she worked towards a walk. Then the walk came and Zannie gave her long hard customary snort. Her dark coat was soaked with sweat, but she held herself with poise and energy.

Dean’s jaw was still agape by the time they returned.

“She went six furlongs in 1:09 and change. That’s. That’s fast.”

Lacey stretched up to stroke the filly’s ears, a grin split wide across her face and sang out, “Derby, Derby, Derby.”