Read Online In Lonnie's Shadow by Chrissie Michaels - Free Book Online
Authors: Chrissie Michaels
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it.’
Pearl shrank back from Annie’s hissing anger. She felt a sob rising from her belly, but held it in. ‘I’ve been trying to pay you out. Only I need more time.’
‘But yer crossed me, girl. I don’t like being taken for a fool.’
‘Let me out.’
‘Yer can rot here till yer mean what yer promise. Ungrateful muff. Let’s see how yer do without my help.’
The trapdoor slammed shut above Pearl and darkness overwhelmed her.
WORK BOOT
Item No. 19
One of a pair. Brown leather, well-worn toe.
‘Steady, boy.’
Lonnie leaned down and patted Trident. The sun had hardly made its way over the nearby hills, turning the clouds into orange wisps, but already the day was turning into a busy one. On top of the stable duties yet to start – mucking out, laying clean straw, bringing fresh water for the horses and the grooming – it was open day at Golden Acres. The forthcoming auction meant other stables would be showing their interest. And although he loved it, the call for extra track work meant Lonnie had more than enough to do for his day’s wage.
Crick was on Lightning. There was no doubting it was a magnificent horse. But the beast beneath Lonnie was a little beauty, too. Oh to be a horse owner like the Cricks; he would consider buying Trident for himself. Lonnie had no real pretensions that his boss was seriously trialling him as a jockey. He knew he had to be satisfied with what track work he could get, keep stealing every opportunity to ride horses, and hope against hope that one day he would have a real chance to make it.
‘Open Day at the Acres’ the sign outside read.
‘Inspections welcome for the upcoming horse auction. Open to all offers’. Ned, the foreman from the Glen stables over Flemington way, was taking early advantage of the invitation. He made his way unannounced through the arched iron gates and wandered over to the practice track, taking a private opportunity to check some of Golden Acres’ horses at work.
Two dark shadows were on the rise of the hill. As they galloped he noted the sheer elegance of their silhouettes against the carroty sky, in particular the poise and balance of the second rider.
As Crick and Lonnie brought their steaming horses back, Lonnie immediately recognised the man standing by the rails as the foreman from the Glen. He must have come along to check over the yearlings, but was here far too early. That would rile the Cricks. Track work was always a secret business. Horses were not to be timed by bookmakers or outsiders; their abilities exposed to the world, thus ruining odds and spoiling bets before a race meeting. He wondered what the Glen’s foreman had made of them as they raced over the crest.
‘Here a little early for the open day? Doing a bit of scouting, are you?’ It was about as much of a greeting as Thomas Crick could muster.
The slight was not lost on the Glen foreman. ‘We can all learn, Mr Crick. Actually I’m here to look at your yearlings, sadly not at you, sir. There are a lot of studs to visit before the auctions. I have to start somewhere.’
Lonnie detected the cutting tone of the reply, but it passed over Crick’s head like a horse clearing a hurdle.
‘Well then, be my guest. McGuinness, earn your keep, help Ned see the yearlings before you groom these two.’ He dismounted, tossed Lonnie his reins and swaggered over to the manager’s office, leaving them alone.
‘McGuinness, is it?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘I was watching you this morning.’
As Ned was talking to him Lonnie felt his big toe sticking through the hole in his boot. Without fuss he eased it back into comfort. ‘You were?’
‘Why don’t you come over to the Glen for a quiet word?’
‘A word, sir?’ Lonnie wondered if he dared think what this could mean. ‘I mean, of course, anytime,’ he added.
‘Good lad,’ said Ned, ‘but give me a chance to finish buying our yearlings before you call over.’
Lonnie tried to stifle his excitement as he
Pearl shrank back from Annie’s hissing anger. She felt a sob rising from her belly, but held it in. ‘I’ve been trying to pay you out. Only I need more time.’
‘But yer crossed me, girl. I don’t like being taken for a fool.’
‘Let me out.’
‘Yer can rot here till yer mean what yer promise. Ungrateful muff. Let’s see how yer do without my help.’
The trapdoor slammed shut above Pearl and darkness overwhelmed her.
WORK BOOT
Item No. 19
One of a pair. Brown leather, well-worn toe.
‘Steady, boy.’
Lonnie leaned down and patted Trident. The sun had hardly made its way over the nearby hills, turning the clouds into orange wisps, but already the day was turning into a busy one. On top of the stable duties yet to start – mucking out, laying clean straw, bringing fresh water for the horses and the grooming – it was open day at Golden Acres. The forthcoming auction meant other stables would be showing their interest. And although he loved it, the call for extra track work meant Lonnie had more than enough to do for his day’s wage.
Crick was on Lightning. There was no doubting it was a magnificent horse. But the beast beneath Lonnie was a little beauty, too. Oh to be a horse owner like the Cricks; he would consider buying Trident for himself. Lonnie had no real pretensions that his boss was seriously trialling him as a jockey. He knew he had to be satisfied with what track work he could get, keep stealing every opportunity to ride horses, and hope against hope that one day he would have a real chance to make it.
‘Open Day at the Acres’ the sign outside read.
‘Inspections welcome for the upcoming horse auction. Open to all offers’. Ned, the foreman from the Glen stables over Flemington way, was taking early advantage of the invitation. He made his way unannounced through the arched iron gates and wandered over to the practice track, taking a private opportunity to check some of Golden Acres’ horses at work.
Two dark shadows were on the rise of the hill. As they galloped he noted the sheer elegance of their silhouettes against the carroty sky, in particular the poise and balance of the second rider.
As Crick and Lonnie brought their steaming horses back, Lonnie immediately recognised the man standing by the rails as the foreman from the Glen. He must have come along to check over the yearlings, but was here far too early. That would rile the Cricks. Track work was always a secret business. Horses were not to be timed by bookmakers or outsiders; their abilities exposed to the world, thus ruining odds and spoiling bets before a race meeting. He wondered what the Glen’s foreman had made of them as they raced over the crest.
‘Here a little early for the open day? Doing a bit of scouting, are you?’ It was about as much of a greeting as Thomas Crick could muster.
The slight was not lost on the Glen foreman. ‘We can all learn, Mr Crick. Actually I’m here to look at your yearlings, sadly not at you, sir. There are a lot of studs to visit before the auctions. I have to start somewhere.’
Lonnie detected the cutting tone of the reply, but it passed over Crick’s head like a horse clearing a hurdle.
‘Well then, be my guest. McGuinness, earn your keep, help Ned see the yearlings before you groom these two.’ He dismounted, tossed Lonnie his reins and swaggered over to the manager’s office, leaving them alone.
‘McGuinness, is it?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘I was watching you this morning.’
As Ned was talking to him Lonnie felt his big toe sticking through the hole in his boot. Without fuss he eased it back into comfort. ‘You were?’
‘Why don’t you come over to the Glen for a quiet word?’
‘A word, sir?’ Lonnie wondered if he dared think what this could mean. ‘I mean, of course, anytime,’ he added.
‘Good lad,’ said Ned, ‘but give me a chance to finish buying our yearlings before you call over.’
Lonnie tried to stifle his excitement as he
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