Read Online Golden Filly Collection One by Lauraine Snelling - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauraine Snelling
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room door and felt on the shelf for the flashlight. The light helped her find the galoshes and slide her wet sneakers into the huge boots. They came nearly to her knees. To keep them from falling off, she shuffled her feet down the row to the filly’s stall.
The filly lay asleep in the straw, breathing heavily but no longer shivering. Trish flashed the light into the half-empty bucket.
“Good girl,” she whispered as she stooped and ran her hand down the animal’s neck. The filly just flicked her ears. “I’ll get you another bucket. Drink lots.”
By the time Trish’s head hit the pillow, the numbers on her digital clock had flipped over 12:00. She set her alarm for 5:30 and snuggled down under the covers.
Oh no! she sighed deeply, feeling it through her whole weary body. My chemistry—and that essay is due by three. Like a swallow swooping through the spring sunshine, the thought of getting up and studying flitted through her mind and flew away again.
Tomorrow. I’ll catch up tomorrow.
Chapter
08
D awn hadn’t cracked the darkness yet.
Trish squashed her pillow over her ears at the buzzer. She hit the snooze button and jumped when the alarm rang again. Five minutes extra sleep was not long enough; she needed five hours more, at least.
By the time she’d pulled on her jeans and sweat shirt and fumbled for her boots, David tapped on her door.
“You about ready?” His tone didn’t sound any livelier than she felt.
“Yeah.” She ran her fingers through her hair. The hairdresser called it finger-combing. Trish called it sheer desperation. “Gotta spray these boots first,” she said as she came out of her bedroom.
She grabbed the disinfectant spray from under the kitchen sink and her down vest off the hook, and met David on the deck. “Why don’t you feed and I’ll start working Spitfire.” She looked up from dowsing her boots. “That way maybe I’ll have time to do something else.”
“Remember, Dad said school on time today.”
Trish wrinkled her nose. “I know. If I could just take a leave of absence or something.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Phew, that stuff smells bad enough to kill germs.” She pulled her boots on, and with Caesar trotting beside them, they jogged down to the barns.
The eastern skyline glowed a faint lemon yellow, but overhead the stars still shone valiantly, fighting off their moment of demise.
“Going to be a nice day.” Trish filled her lungs with the crisp air.
“Sure wish I could stay home.”
“Knock it off.” David lightly backhanded her arm. “I’ll help you mount up. If we hustle, you can work Firefly too. I’ll have her saddled so if you’re on your way to the house at seven, you should be okay. Mom said she’d drop you off at school on her way to the hospital.”
“She’s going that early?” Trish bridled Spitfire, ignoring the nickerings on down the line. “Stop that.” She slapped the horse smartly when he reached around and nipped her shoulder. “Have to keep an eye on you every minute,” she muttered. “Good thing you just got my vest.”
David boosted her into the saddle and waited while she gathered up her reins. “Now, you know what Dad said.”
“David.” She tapped him on the head with her whip. “You make a lousy mother hen. Besides, one mother is enough.” Trish loosed the reins enough for Spitfire to crow-hop once before he jigged sideways to the entry to the track. She turned him clockwise and kept a tight hold on his mouth. Her father had taught her well. No matter how much of a hurry you’re in, never—but never—cheat on the warm-up time. Strained muscles were too easily come by and too costly to cure.
After several laps at the restricted pace, Spitfire was warmed up, both from the easy gait and from fighting for his freedom every step of the way. Trish knew she’d been having a workout. Who needed free weights when she had Spitfire?
The long, slow gallop that built endurance
The filly lay asleep in the straw, breathing heavily but no longer shivering. Trish flashed the light into the half-empty bucket.
“Good girl,” she whispered as she stooped and ran her hand down the animal’s neck. The filly just flicked her ears. “I’ll get you another bucket. Drink lots.”
By the time Trish’s head hit the pillow, the numbers on her digital clock had flipped over 12:00. She set her alarm for 5:30 and snuggled down under the covers.
Oh no! she sighed deeply, feeling it through her whole weary body. My chemistry—and that essay is due by three. Like a swallow swooping through the spring sunshine, the thought of getting up and studying flitted through her mind and flew away again.
Tomorrow. I’ll catch up tomorrow.
Chapter
08
D awn hadn’t cracked the darkness yet.
Trish squashed her pillow over her ears at the buzzer. She hit the snooze button and jumped when the alarm rang again. Five minutes extra sleep was not long enough; she needed five hours more, at least.
By the time she’d pulled on her jeans and sweat shirt and fumbled for her boots, David tapped on her door.
“You about ready?” His tone didn’t sound any livelier than she felt.
“Yeah.” She ran her fingers through her hair. The hairdresser called it finger-combing. Trish called it sheer desperation. “Gotta spray these boots first,” she said as she came out of her bedroom.
She grabbed the disinfectant spray from under the kitchen sink and her down vest off the hook, and met David on the deck. “Why don’t you feed and I’ll start working Spitfire.” She looked up from dowsing her boots. “That way maybe I’ll have time to do something else.”
“Remember, Dad said school on time today.”
Trish wrinkled her nose. “I know. If I could just take a leave of absence or something.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Phew, that stuff smells bad enough to kill germs.” She pulled her boots on, and with Caesar trotting beside them, they jogged down to the barns.
The eastern skyline glowed a faint lemon yellow, but overhead the stars still shone valiantly, fighting off their moment of demise.
“Going to be a nice day.” Trish filled her lungs with the crisp air.
“Sure wish I could stay home.”
“Knock it off.” David lightly backhanded her arm. “I’ll help you mount up. If we hustle, you can work Firefly too. I’ll have her saddled so if you’re on your way to the house at seven, you should be okay. Mom said she’d drop you off at school on her way to the hospital.”
“She’s going that early?” Trish bridled Spitfire, ignoring the nickerings on down the line. “Stop that.” She slapped the horse smartly when he reached around and nipped her shoulder. “Have to keep an eye on you every minute,” she muttered. “Good thing you just got my vest.”
David boosted her into the saddle and waited while she gathered up her reins. “Now, you know what Dad said.”
“David.” She tapped him on the head with her whip. “You make a lousy mother hen. Besides, one mother is enough.” Trish loosed the reins enough for Spitfire to crow-hop once before he jigged sideways to the entry to the track. She turned him clockwise and kept a tight hold on his mouth. Her father had taught her well. No matter how much of a hurry you’re in, never—but never—cheat on the warm-up time. Strained muscles were too easily come by and too costly to cure.
After several laps at the restricted pace, Spitfire was warmed up, both from the easy gait and from fighting for his freedom every step of the way. Trish knew she’d been having a workout. Who needed free weights when she had Spitfire?
The long, slow gallop that built endurance
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