Disclaimer: All rights to Thoroughbred belong to Joanna Campbell and Harper Collins.

A/N: Fluffy little one-shot set during the Great Time Gap, and I'm sorry to say it was more of an exercise for me on describing a raceday more than it is some worthwhile event in the Thoroughbred series, so hopefully you can enjoy as-is.

That Kind of Day

6:30 am.

Ashleigh sat at the office desk, head in her hands and mind completely lost in thought. At last, she was awakened from her reverie by the early morning light piercing through the barn window and illuminating the papers before her. She shook her head and stood to stretch, then left the office before she could spend another moment in idle.

She smiled as she strode down the aisle, and counted the reasons she had to be happy on this day. Her daughter had started pre-school and her husband Mike would be taking her soon. The weather was sunny and breezy, and a perfect August day.

But the most overwhelming reason, which stared her in the face once she neared the end of the row of stalls, was the racehorse she was about to work. Breathing in and sighing, she unlatched the stall door and walked over the thick straw bedding.

The horse occupying the stall pricked his ears and nodded his head, effectively greeting her and asking for food at the same time.

Her smile broke into a wide grin as she scratched his withers. "I can't feed you yet, baby. It's about time for you to get to work."

Ashleigh let her eyes wander over the colt's muscular form as she led him out and hooked him to crossties in the aisle. He was proportionately built, a study in conformation that was due to his ancestry in Wonder. The colt had inherited the champion racemare's elegant form, as well as her kind eye. Named Brighton Falls, he was also a son of the illustrious Unbridled's Song, and took on his sire's early speed and gray coat. His was a deep, smoky, black gray at the moment, however, that would later fade to the trademark dapples. Although an impressive 16.1 hands, the horse was eager to please and easy to handle, proving his demeanor when he stood quietly in the crossties. Ashleigh had seen plenty of young Thoroughbreds spook when they were hooked up, or resist to being groomed, but her horse followed her directions willingly, only occasionally bobbing his head to jangle the clips on his halter. Ashleigh picked up the grooming kit from its place on the tack box outside the stall and went to work, running a curry comb quickly over his body. His black coat already gleamed in the morning rays of light, but Ashleigh was meticulous in giving all her horses a thorough grooming. Her favorite feeling was stepping back and looking at a lean Thoroughbred racehorse, that shone and danced in its own wellbeing.

"Ashleigh, you're not still calling that monster 'baby'?"

Ashleigh laughed and looked up to see her good friend Jilly Gordon walking in her direction, an exercise saddle under her arm. Jilly was smirking, herself, when she arrived in front of them and reached up to stroke the colt on the nose. He obliged, and rubbed his upper lip against her palm.

"He's anything but a monster, Jilly. I could have named him 'Jilly's Butler', since he's so nice to serve you guys those wins you get," Ashleigh retorted. She and Jilly were used to teasing each other, since both had jockeyed Ashleigh's Wonder and had helped each other's career for years. Ashleigh had taken on the role of trainer at Whitebrook and had given up jockeying when she had Christina, her young daughter. Jilly was still riding and winning for some of the most prestigious stables in the country, but she still remained loyal to Whitebrook and was their first-choice rider.

"Would have been a good choice for a name. What's with 'Brighton Falls', anyway?" she answered, grabbing a hoof pick from the grooming kit and working on the colt's feet.

Ashleigh got out the dandy brush and began going over his neck and flanks. "It was Townsend's turn to name a Wonder baby. And, you know, he named it after the place where he and his wife owned a summer house. Isn't that beautiful?"

Jilly nodded in agreement. "I think all guys should be as kind to the memories of their wives as Townsend is. So, like, Mike could name a foal 'Broodmare Barn', since that's where you guys spend your summers."

Ashleigh laughed and tossed the dandy brush at Jilly, who then picked it off the ground with mock indignity and put it away. "Come on, let's get this guy out to work," Ashleigh finished, taking the saddle from Jilly and setting it on top of the cloth on the colt's back. "Before it gets too hot out."

The two women finished tacking up the colt and unhooked him from the crossties. Then they lead him down the aisle and out the door, following the gravel pathway to the track.

Saratoga Racecourse was busy for its short season of racing. The end of the summer meant fans flocked to the track to catch a last chance at warm weather and old fashioned hospitality. "The Spa", as it was nicknamed by all racing fans, was considered the vacation spot of the horse world, while still hosting quite a few graded stakes races during its meet.

At 6:00 in the morning, plenty of people had turned out for the morning works, and watched from their seats along the rail with mugs of coffee in hand. Ashleigh sighed happily when she felt a breeze gently glide over the stands, and knew that today would be a good day for racing.

Brighton Falls would not be racing today, however. It would only be his last official work before the biggest race of his career, the Haskell Invitational, but Ashleigh was glad all the same that the weather would be good.

She led the horse up to the gap in the rail and gave Jilly a leg up into the saddle. As soon as her feet were in the stirrups, Brighton's head tucked in toward his chest and he danced in place, eager to be off. Ashleigh ran a quick hand over his arched neck, then called up to Jilly, "Five furlongs, tight. You know the drill."

Jilly touched her crop to her safety helmet, and they were off. Finding a position along the outer rail, they moved into a quick jog for the warmup and began a circuit of the track in the opposite direction. Brighton's strides were far-reaching and extended as he floated over the track, a fluid, inky creature in the dawn light.

"That Brighton Falls colt is a sight to see," whispered someone from behind her. Ashleigh smiled, and turned around to find Ian McLean standing at the rail with a clipboard in his hand.

"He sure is," she responded happily to the head trainer of Whitebrook, turning back to watch the colt covering ground along the backstretch. "We'll have to hope he runs as well as he looks today."

Ian chuckled. "You always have been careful about how you talk about the horses. Wish I could say the same for myself."

Ashleigh laughed, and prepared her own stopwatch as Brighton rounded the first turn and approached the gap again. He and Jilly would be reaching their starting marker soon, and she had to be ready to clock the time.

Ian nodded at the clipboard. "We've already had some good times today, though. Ensemble should be ready for the Jim Dandy next week; he had a good mile blowout today. And then Honor Bright is doing well, too, since she put in a sweet two-furlong work at :21 seconds."

Ashleigh took all the news in while still keeping an eye on Brighton. Jilly had reached her pole and turned him in the correct direction of the track, and they positioned themselves along the rail.

When Ashleigh nodded, Jilly crouched low over Brighton's neck and clucked to him with her tongue, at the same time urging him with her seat. The colt responded instantly, breaking from the standstill into a full gallop.

They trucked along on the rail, the colt's legs pumping like efficient pistons as he effortlessly devoured all the ground he could in each stride. The rising sun bounced off the black dapples in his smoky coat and shined on his lithe body as he worked, ears back in concentration. Jilly was motionless on his back, completely quiet until the quarter pole, where she began kneading her hands into his neck. The colt responded again, taking up the excess rein she had let drop through her fingers and increasing his speed even more. Jilly flicked her crop by his eye once, until he was at full racing tilt, sweeping past the other horses warming up and making the spectators turn and stare.

Ashleigh clicked the stop watch as the team powered past the final furlong pole, and watched as Jilly stood in the stirrups and began to ease Brighton off his racing speed. He dropped his head again and responded, picking up a long, low gallop as they entered the first turn again, jockey bobbing on his back and his hindquarters rising and falling in rhythm.

Ian whistled appreciatively as he read the time over Ashleigh's shoulder. "Whatever you say, Ash, he's gonna be a hard one to beat come Saturday."

Ashleigh nodded in agreement. "He's just where we want him. He's built up well over the summer, so I'm thinking that the hardest part will be navigating the race itself."

Jilly rode up a minute later, a breathlessly pleased expression on her face. "He felt great out there. Really ready when I asked him for more. How'd he look?"

Ashleigh looked the horse up and down while she thought. His chest and neck were glistening slightly in the morning heat, but he was otherwise in perfect condition. He pawed a little at the ground with a foreleg, as if he were begging to run more.

"When he gets going he really takes off. I'm thinking you ought to keep him just off the lead, two or three horses off, and then you can make your move."

Jilly gave a mock salute as she dismounted and ran up her stirrups. "You just tell me what to do, and he can do it."

Ashleigh smiled and showed Ian the time to write down on the clipboard. "I know Brighton can do it for us."

5:00 pm

Saturday afternoons on a Saratoga racecard, Ashleigh decided as she held onto the halter of Brighton Falls, were some of her favorite moments in racing. Looking around the saddling enclosure, she breathed in the breezy summer air, that smelled of perfumes, horses, and sawdust. In front of her was Brighton Falls, impeccably groomed and on his toes. Not far to her left and behind the fence was a group of girls who had apparently formed a "Brighton Falls Fan Club" and were currently snapping rolls of film, occasionally laughing when Brighton looked in their direction. And close on Ashleigh's right was Brad Townsend.

Brad's father, Clay Townsend, actually ran Townsend Acres, the other owners of Brighton Falls. But since Clay was away on business, and Brighton had yet to prove himself in a big race, he had sent Brad along in his place. Although Brad had a reputation of getting in spats with Ashleigh, he had yet to get on her nerves today.

Of course, that could have been due to the fact that Brad had spent their entire time in the saddling barn talking to reporters or greeting other socialites who knew little about their own horses. Either way, at least he was letting Ashleigh alone to take care of Brighton herself.

Ashleigh reached up and smoothed Brighton's forelock over the browband of the bridle as the groom made final adjustments to the colt's tack. He nudged his smoky face against her hand, then raised his head to gaze at the other horses in the barn. When the groom was finished, he looked to Ashleigh for confirmation, and when she nodded he began to lead Brighton out, following the other horses into the walking ring.

They led the horses slowly to make the change from the dark barn to afternoon sunlight more gradual, and Ashleigh began to feel the excitement she always did when one of her horses ran. She watched the colt walk away from her as she followed the crowd onto the shaded grass.

Jilly was waiting for her there, dressed in the smart blue and white silks of Whitebrook Farm, swinging her crop by the strap on her wrist. "We'll have some competition for that spot, Ash," Jilly said as the trainer walked up to her. "You know that Iron Worker has been just off the lead in his last two races and went away winning by a nice margin."

Ashleigh nodded, scrutinizing the other horses circling the ring. Iron Worker was a large gray stallion who might prove to get in the way when Brighton tried to move for the rail.

Behind that horse was Govern Alot, a tough gelding who usually hung around mid-pack in the race until he was maneuvered out and allowed to make his devastatingly fast move to the lead. Ashleigh pointed in the direction of the bay gelding. "If the jock for Govern Alot is lucky and can get him clear of traffic this time, he might be quick at the end, too. Keep an eye out for him, and don't let him catch a glimpse of you."

Brad walked towards the two women. He sighed when he looked at Jilly, and turned to Ashleigh without acknowledging the jockey. "We're running on some hopes here. I'm really not expecting a win out of you today," he said in a strained tone, indicating both Brighton being led toward them and Jilly in a single, bored gesture. "But if you do pull it off, there will be a nice bonus. I've made quite a bet with the Jamesons. So watch out for that insane Govern Alot horse." He raised one eyebrow, then walked away again to go back to his socializing.

Ashleigh shook her head a little at the incredulity of Brad. Then she turned back to Jilly, and gave her a leg up on the waiting colt. "Just take the advice I gave you and use your head. You know how Brighton runs out there, and you guys will do great." She smiled up at the jockey and gave Brighton a last stroke down his shoulder. She could feel his muscles quivering in anticipation of the race that was to come. "It's that kind of day."

The call to the post sounded in the distance from the track, and the onlookers at the paddock could hear the anticipation of the crowd rising. Brighton was the number four horse, a good position except for Iron Worker, who had been put in the number two spot in the gate. If Brighton were to pull off Ashleigh's plan, he would have to make a brilliant move out of the gate and in front of Iron Worker so that he would not have to jostle for a position later.

The first two horses were led down the path to the track, and Iron Worker and Brighton followed. Ashleigh looked back as she led Brighton on his walk to see that Govern Alot was balking from his handler and trying to rear up. Then she turned back to Brighton and was pleased to see him behaving the manners he had learned so well at Whitebrook. Although he was definitely "up" and ready to run, he was easy to handle, and tugged very little on Ashleigh's hold.

When they reached the gap onto the track, Ashleigh handed the horse off to a lead pony and ran for the rail so that she could get a good spot to see the finish. If she wanted, she knew she could join Brad up in the Townsend box on the fourth floor of the grandstand, but she preferred her limited-viewing position at the rail. It reminded her most of what it was like to actually ride in the races, because she could see the horses gallop past close up, and smell the track and horse sweat, and hear the pounding hooves until they surrounded her and flowed through her and she could sense nothing except the exhilaration of the race.

Standing at the rail, watching Jilly put Brighton through his paces in the warmup, watching him extend his stride and increase or decrease his speed at her command, Ashleigh felt a tinge of jealousy. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to give up her health and ride Brighton in his race, or any horse, for that matter. But that moment passed, and she sighed wistfully, alone, and wishing that she could be good to her family and race horses at the same time.

But the same adrenaline from jockeying was flowing through her as she watched the horses begin to load into the gate. Brighton, as expected, docilely entered the tiny enclosure and waited patiently for the other horses, while Govern Alot made quite the commotion that put off the start for an extra minute. Once he was in, the starter wasted no time, and within seconds the race was on.

The field burst onto the track as one, and suddenly Ashleigh regretted her decision to stand at the rail when she realized she couldn't see anything. Straining to study the screen projection in the infield, she was relieved to see that Jilly was urgently pushing Brighton faster until he had edged over Iron Worker enough to cross in front of him.

The problem was that now Brighton was the second horse leading in the race. Ashleigh frowned at the television image, wondering what it might lead to. Brighton had been on the lead before and managed to win, but never in such good company as he was now.

The field was already past the first turn and far into the backstretch. At least the fractions were slow enough that Brighton might have a chance in the end, but Ashleigh still worried about Govern Alot. The bay gelding was fighting his jockey, and inching up slowly from his position near the back, and he was indeed getting plenty of room to move. The field was not overly large, only nine horses, and he was finding success in weaving between them.

Ashleigh tore her gaze from the screen and returned to the track, where the horses were rounding the last turn. Three furlongs left, and positions were beginning to shift. Iron Worker, stuck behind Brighton, had finally begun to fade, and looked like he had nothing left in the race. The lead horse was tiring, and without much hand urging Jilly had ridden up until they were neck and neck.

The rest of the pack shifted slightly, but it was at the two furlong pole that things really changed. Jilly went to her whip, and gave Brighton a few taps to get him moving. Changing leads, he effortlessly continued to pull away from the rest of the racers. He was moving in perfect rhythm along the rail, alone, and increasing his distance slightly.

Suddenly, Govern Alot was out, free from the other horses and bearing down on Brighton very quickly. His jockey had given him all the rein he had and seemed desperate just to hang on as the gelding flew down the track, gaining back the distance that Brighton had just made. Jilly must have seen him just as Ashleigh did, because she went to her whip again and began urging Brighton on again, looking for everything he had left in him. The race would be down to the wire, and Brighton had to draw from the last of the energy he had used on the lead.

But it wasn't the end of Brighton yet. A gasp from the crowd shook Ashleigh enough out of her concentration to look at the dueling pack two lengths back and see a third horse emerge and join the match race in front. It was Smartone, a dark bay longshot that looked like he was about to make a couple bettors very happy. Ears pinned to his neck, he streaked along the rail, passing Govern Alot from the inside within moments and advancing on the straining Brighton.

But then, when it looked as if it might come down to a photo finish to decide the three horses' order, Smartone had slipped in front of Govern Alot and blocked his path. In the last 100 yards, Govern Alot threw up his head at the cut in front of him and effectively quit the race, losing ground on the two leaders as they flashed past the wire.

Ashleigh was breathless from the excitement of the race, but worried as well. Hurrying down to the track, she ran up to meet Jilly and Brighton when they were brought back by the lead pony.

Ashleigh reached up and took hold of the reins from the handler, and began to lead her horse in small circles. Unlike most of the other horses, who were caked in dirt, Brighton was fairly clean from having been in the front. However, his gray body was a deep black from lather, and he looked a bit spent from the effort. Fortunately, he was moving without stiffness, and he gradually regained his breath while Ashleigh began to let him cool down.

An inquiry had been posted on the screen, and all three of the top horses' names and numbers were flashing. Ashleigh looked up at Jilly, who had finally gained her composure after the race. "Who did it look like?" she asked tentatively, afraid to hear the answer.

Jilly scratched Brighton's withers with one gloved finger. "We were definitely in front, by at least a nose. And if they disqualify Smartone, I would be very surprised."

Ashleigh nodded, a bit more relieved, and waited impatiently for the results to come in. When they did, she watched with everyone else as the replay was played on the screen.

It showed Smartone's jockey tugging hard on his horse to straighten him out in his madcap dash, and showed the unintentional cut in front of the other horse. Govern Alot had simply balked at the challenge and refused to move while his jockey had time to go in between the two lead horses. And then it showed the finish line, where Brighton crossed in front by a full head.

The crowd noise rose at the news, for any number of reasons, but Ashleigh's shout was for pure happiness. She gave Jilly a triumphant high five as they walked into the winners' circle for the picture. Ashleigh met up with Brad, and they got ready to pose next to their horse.

Beaming for the camera, she was too proud of her horse to even hear Brad say to her, "Glad the horse finally won me some money. That Jameson colt was really nothing today, though. No competition at all."

10:27 pm.

Ashleigh took Mike's hand when he arrived later that evening. They stood in the middle of the Whitebrook shedrow at Saratoga and watched Brighton Falls gently begin to doze on his feet.

She gripped his hand and sighed quietly. "You know," she finally said, almost in a whisper, "this is the first time I haven't been constantly moving all day."

He followed her sigh with his own and put his other arm around her waist. "I think it's the first time you haven't been moving since about six months ago, Ash."

Ashleigh watched a barn cat trot past the stall. Brighton's sensitive ears perked up and his eyes opened for a moment until it had turned down another aisle in the barn before he went back to sleep. "Six months goes by fast, now that Samantha is gone."

Mike nodded. "You know, I always knew she was great around the farm, but I never really knew how vital she was to us until she left. Now I think I'm counting the days until she visits so that she can help exercise all her old horses."

"Six months," Ashleigh said again. In that short amount of time, quite a few things had happened. Whitebrook had taken some horses on the New York circuit for the season, and had come out with big wins and places for improvement. Six months. March to August. The entire summer had flown past while Ashleigh had flown around the country seeing to the horses…

"Mike!" she gasped suddenly, grabbing his arm and looking into his face intently. "It's already August!"

He laughed heartily, throwing back his head. "I know it's August. I was just saying how we never have time anymore since Samantha left in March."

"Not enough time for our anniversary?"

Mike stopped laughing and clapped a hand to his mouth. When he took it away, his eyes were looking into the distance, as though trying to calculate the time in his head. When he finally spoke again, he only managed to groan, "What?"

"Mike!" Ashleigh said again, shaking his arm. "We forgot our anniversary! A month ago!"

"Yeah," he said, looking down at the ground now. "I guess we did. Gosh, the time really does pass. We didn't think of anything but horse racing for the last few months."

Ashleigh stared at him for a long moment, and then put her hands to her face. A fit of laughter had taken over her, but she was trying not to hurt his feelings. Suddenly, Mike was laughing again, too, and the two of them doubled over in hysterics in the middle of the Saratoga shedrow at sunset.

"Mike!" she said for a third time. "What are we going to do with us?"

"I dunno, Ashleigh," he said finally, regaining his composure. "We might be able to take care of a barnful of horses, but we can't even take care of ourselves."

Ashleigh gave her husband a spontaneous hug, clutching him to her tightly. "Happy anniversary, Mike. We're only a month late."

Mike returned the hug warmly. "Happy anniversary."

Ashleigh was not sad at all, but she felt a little emotional, and proved it to herself when a small tear fell down one cheek. Perhaps it was the long day, perhaps it was the tough win, but either way she was in her element now and wanted nothing more than to say in the warm summer barn holding Mike and watching over a champion racehorse. She did not need to be a competitive rider anymore, all she needed was this.

Brighton stared back at her, dark eyes glowing in the last of the sunlight and curious over the many emotions in the aisleway.

Ashleigh wiped off the tear and pulled away from Mike to head over to the stall. She slowly reached up and gently stroked Brighton on his elegant face. Then she picked up his leather halter off its hook and turned to Mike.

"Let's take him home, Mike. Let's go back to Whitebrook."

"Now? With the van? Back to Kentucky?"

"Yep," she answered, running her fingers along the personalized brass. "Tonight. I think it's time we were home."

Mike laughed again. "I think it is, too. We'll take Brighton back. He'd like it."

"He would."

"You know," he said, smiling and shaking a finger at her. "You're crazy." He walked over and opened the stall door to halter Brighton. But before he did, he leaned down and kissed Ashleigh. "But perfect."

She smiled at him and held up the halter. "It's just that kind of day."