Sunday at Golden Gate Fields dawned watery and slow; the stable blocks, however, were already a hive of activity. Lottie was crouched in the wood shavings of a spare stall of the C block, where Napa Downs' sole horse was stabled for the weekend. She could hear the scrape of pitchforks and the sound of food buckets being filled; leaning her head against the rough wooden wall of the empty stable, she swore to herself, then puked again.
Every race day was like this for her; she put a lot of pressure on herself, knowing that every single ride counted in the effort to build her career. She was perversely glad she had the earlier race on Twill Do, the ill-fated mob horse destined to lose; if not by the hand of the mob, then surely by his innate lack of talent. It would take her mind off her later race, the big stakes of the afternoon, the one she really wanted to win- not only for herself, but for Michael, who'd need the $50,000 awarded to the winning owner and trainer.
A blonde head popped over the wooden half door, and darling little Taggie was smiling down at her. The youngest stable lad on the farm at 17, she had a heavy Irish accent and arrived at 15 out of the blue with a shipment of Irish hunters to be turned into timber racers. None of the horse's microchips matched up to the sales papers, and if that hadn't clued Lottie in to Michael being in some shady business, the sweet Irish teenager who was being harboured at his yard definitely had. She was so charming and enthusiastic, though, that nobody could hold anything against her; she worked hard and had the face of an angel to boot.
"There y'are," Taggie said, leaning over the stable door, balancing her weight and tipping forward so she hung off of it. She idly watched Lottie throw up into the shavings, chattering the while.
"I heard Michael talkin' on the phone to those bikers, you know the fit ones? I was sneakin' in to the kitchen to get some ice cream last night, and he said they're turnin' up today, the blonde one's half in love with you, the way he stares after you, so if he comes you've seriously got to win today. Yer so lucky, our colours really suit you, but I'll keep a tube of mascara in my pocket so you can swipe some on before you get your photo taken in the winners' circle," she tittered, over the sound of Lottie retching. She handed her a water bottle when she was finished, which Lottie sipped.
Ignoring the comment about Kozik being in love with her- teenage girls weren't too up on the difference between love and lust, after all- she croaked "Thanks Tag, want to lead me in?" She had expected the Sons to turn up today, knowing their money was on the line; she had a job to do, and couldn't let it distract her.
Taggie lit up. "Oh do I! Yes please Lottie, I bought this fab new t shirt at the weekend, royal blue like our colours so we'll both look good in the photographs tomorrow. The racing paps are all here, so use my eyeliner before you go out," she added, dropping back off the door and drifting away.
Lottie slumped back over into the shavings with a groan.
X
Lottie always felt that Golden Gate Fields was a bit of a claustrophobic race track, with its towering stand on one side and sweeping hill crowded with houses looming over the other. The more people piled in as the morning wore on, though, the more panicked she felt.
At least Clover, Jose, Taggie and the others were excited. Yesterday, true to their word, a trailer with three of Jimmy Cacuzza's horses arrived. One was Twill Do, the horse she was riding later, who was slightly pigeon toed and had a neck that looked like it was put on upside down. He was faster than he looked, but not by much; he had already won the loyalty and admiration of the yard by biting Michael when he pronounced him "fokkin' ugly, mind". Those three horses alone represented several thousand each month for Michael regardless of whether or not they won, which meant they all got their wages for the last two months and horse feed for the next six weeks. There was the promise of five more coming, which had everyone abuzz. It was premature but Jose had even started re-painting some of the peeling walls on the stables, in case potential new owners wanted to see the yard after Jimmy's started bringing in wins again.
She was sharing a cigarette with Clover behind the stands before her first ride to quell her nerves, glumly studying the race card while the early races went on. A massively promising ex-hunter named Derry Playboy had been flown over for the American season, which Lottie reckoned would win. He was being ridden by a jockey nicknamed 'Killer' Wells, who had frequent bans for excessive use of the whip, but even Lottie couldn't deny that he could get the very last ounce out of his horses.
Clover was offering her a running commentary on the people coming in to the track to distract her. It wasn't as glam a crowd as would turn up on a Saturday, so there were lots of families, punters, techies looking for some expensive fun. No big hats or sundresses today, which meant she almost didn't notice the Sons until they were nearly past them and through the entrance.
"Shit," she grumbled, right as Clover called out a "Hello boys!" and waved to them. Lottie smacked her on the side, giving her a look as Kozik, Tig, and Chibs hopped the white barrier separating the entrance queue. Clover grinned and shrugged to her, making Lottie scowl and light another cigarette as the boys approached. More leather-clad bikers were going into the stands, but the three in front of her were enough to put Lottie on edge.
"Shit, darlin', these boys have been keeping me away from you, what's your names?" Tig drawled, giving Clover a lechy grin. He looked a bit slimy to her, but she rolled with it, answering "Clover" with a bat of her eyelashes and offering him her hand to shake. He kissed it gently, making her giggle before she shook Chibs' hand.
Tig turned to Lottie, eyes roving her up and down in her little tank top and leggings, shifting from foot to foot in her flip flops. He ignored Clover's frantically waving hand making the universal 'stop' gesture behind Lottie's back as he leaned over her, saying "And this must be our cowgirl for today, how're you, darlin?"
He loomed in to kiss her cheek, and Chibs and Kozik fell apart laughing when Lottie jumped back and snarled "Fuck off," before flicking her cigarette ash at him and slinking a few yards away to smoke in peace, her back turned to them resolutely.
"Sorry," giggled Clover anxiously. "Lottie gets nervous and worked up. Don't try to talk to her," she warned Kozik as he made to go over, but he shrugged her off and went over anyways.
"You alright there babe? You're looking a little pale," Kozik said, but didn't reach out to touch her hunched, bony shoulder, even if he wanted to.
Lottie turned her head and offered him a flat smile as he stood in front of her. She didn't want to talk about herself and her pre-race jitters, so she gathered herself and gave him a genuine, small smile.
"Listen, thanks for bringing Jimmy's horses in," she said, making Kozik raise his eyebrows. "Seriously. It helped us out, a lot."
"Don't thank us too soon," Kozik warned, pleased at her gratitude and her sweet little smile.
"No, seriously, thank you," Lottie said, surprising both him and herself by wrapping one arm around his waist in a brief hug. He felt all muscley and solid underneath her arm, and she got a quick flash in her stomach that had nothing to do with her nerves.
She had released him before he had time to draw her in closer, flickering her cigarette butt away as a 'ding, dong' over the loudspeaker sounded and Clover called for her.
"C'mon, time to weigh in," a track official said to them from his post by the gates.
"Go make us proud, love, sort of," Chibs said, clapping both girls on the shoulder as they passed, their heads already ducked together.
"What, I don't get a hug too?" Tig called petulantly after them as they disappeared around the corner, arms spread open like he was personally insulted. Kozik smacked him upside the head as he followed Chibs into the stands, searching for the rest of his brothers.
"Don't fucking touch her again," he warned, his tone low. Tig did a double take; the territorial attitude took him by surprise.
"Christ," Tig muttered to himself. "What a pack of moody fucking bitches around here."
X
The Sons were having an absolute ball at the races. Clay sat at in the Owners and Trainers Bar with O'Hallan, who was talking him through the race going on the track below. He had explained to him beforehand how to place a lay bet, or bet that a horse wouldn't finish; he pointed out Lottie in Cacuzza's colours, trying her little heart out on a dark chestnut horse that was trying his little heart out. The bar had an atmosphere a bit like an airport waiting lounge- there were quiet lulls were everyone was scrupulously watching, then a minute or two of frenetic activity while bets were re-laid and they charged in and out.
Chibs, Tig, and Juice were engaged in trying to meet each other shot for shot, loudly disrupting the atmosphere of the bar, earning dirty looks from the men who were engrossed in the race and scribbling down notes on the race card. Clover always called them the gin-n-outs; they came to the bar, drank gin and tonics and scrupulously watched their race, then disappeared as soon as it was over.
When Twill Do and Lottie crossed the finish line in the middle of the pack, Clay nodded and clapped his hand on O'Hallan's shoulder, nearly rattling the much smaller man off his seat.
X
The parade ring was filling slowly as the horses circled, owners clustered in tight circles in the middle, trainers hyping up jockeys and talking tactics. Kozik leaned against the dividing rail, not able to help himself as he searched for Lottie when the jockeys streamed out of the weighing in room. They really were tiny, he mused to himself with a smirk, spotting her long dark braid among the shifting kaleidoscope of silks. She was in O'Hallan's colours this race, royal blue and steel grey diamonds; she looked fierce, ferocious. O'Hallan was barking instructions at her relentlessly as he legged her up onto her horse, an undersized grey named Unlucky in Love; as soon as she was on she seemed to tune him out. Clover had come out of the throng in the circle and leaned against the rail to join them.
A fetching blonde girl was smiling shyly at the spectators as she led Lottie's horse round, blushing daintily at the wave of wolf whistles and "good luck"s she and Lottie got. Men were all of a sudden straightening their ties and smoothing down their hair; Kozik felt a fierce, proud twinge as Lottie just looked straight through them all as if they weren't there. His girl was stone cold.
"If I'd of known the crumpet at races was this good I'd have come years ago, she's an angel," Chibs said from next to him, drawing on a cigar and watching Taggie circle closer with a hunger in his eyes. She was still doing sweet, shy little smiles for the press cameras snapping the racers, until a jockey made kissing noises at her while a priest delivered last rites to his horse, as was traditional for the Irish runners.
"Come bless me, sweet Taggie," he cried, his lilting Irish brogue musical, and there was a wave of laughter as the little blonde whirled around, brandishing her mare's lead rope like a weapon, and snarled "Get stuffed, Emmett Walsh!"
Chibs grinned and elbowed Kozik as the girls came past, close enough that he could reach out and touch Lottie's slender booted calf, her knees nearly bent double in the tiny little jockey saddle.
"As if I'd bloody ever," Taggie was telling Lottie lowly. "With a Catholic! I mean, seriously!"
"I reckon Main Liner and Top of Class will show," a punter in a baseball cap said to Clover from Kozik's other side, over the swell of chatter. "I've got them both in a pick six."
"No, it'll be Unlucky in Love," Clover was saying to the man. "Her and Derry Playboy are certs."
The man frowned, looking at his race card then comparing it with his betting slip. He quickly started changing it, handing Clover some folded bills for her tip-off, then hustled off to change his bet.
Kozik couldn't hear the rest of their conversation as the call to post rang out, and a sudden swell and movement in the crowd followed the jockeys as they left the parade ring. Soon the horses were being loaded into the starting gate, and he could hear the shouts of the loaders and the metal doors clanging shut.
"I'm going middle inner," announced the jockey next to Lottie.
"I'm going to make all," she replied, while Emmet Walsh, the young conditional jockey, said "I'm going to be sick."
"I'm going to win," declared Killer, then she could think of nothing at all as the gates flew open and they were off.
Lucky jumped carefully, skimming the hedges like a swallow, picking her way up through the barging, galloping horses. The thunder of hooves was all around her, dirt flying up from the leaders, swearing jockeys being unshipped from their mounts and tumbling to the ground.
The adrenaline coursed through her ears as she pushed Lucky up the inner, carefully carefully, choosing her gaps over the fences. She tried to keep her weight moving with the mare, her hands shoved forward to her flattened ears, urging her on; the corners came too quickly, and soon she was level with Playboy, the leader.
Killer turned to see her, said "What the fuck are you doing here!" and went to his whip. Lottie waited as he pulled away, then scooted up his inside on the final corner; her brave little mare flattened her ears at the other horse and dug deep to fling herself ahead over the last jump. She landed wisely, while Playboy had picked a poor takeoff and got left a length behind.
"Go on girl!" He called from behind her as Lucky flew forward past the finishing post.
Lottie took her time pulling up, her heart hammering in her ears and her breath coming in great gasps; it was then that the cheering of the crowd hit her like a sledgehammer.
"Yes!" she shrieked, punching her fist in the air in victory and flinging her whip away into the crowd. Taggie was running towards her, ecstatic; flinging a bucket of cool water over the gasping Lucky, patting her then clipping on her headcollar to lead her in.
True to her word, she scrabbled into her pocket and pulled out a tube of mascara, then yanked Lottie's arm until she leaned her face down level. Tugging her goggles down around her neck, Taggie swiped some on, somehow managing to artfully smudge it while jogging alongside Lucky.
X
LADIES FIRST! Shouted the headline on the racing section the next day, a flattering photo of pretty Taggie ecstatically throwing her arms around Lucky's neck while Lottie grinned with her face splattered with mud leading the coverage. A smaller photo of O'Hallan hoisting a silver plate was printed below.
One of the boys had left it open on the bar in the clubhouse, and Gemma studied it with pursed lips. It was unusual reading material for the Sons, but Clay had told her enough to figure out that these were their new business partners.
"Kozik's taken a liking to her," Clay murmured from behind her, burying his nose in her neck and slipping his arms around her waist.
"Which one? The little barbie doll teenager?" She asked, leaning back into his arms.
Clay snorted, then kissed underneath her ear, the spot that still made her shiver after all these years.
"Not that one, the jockey. She's pretty underneath all the mud," he said. "And she's good as her word."
"Is that so?" Gemma asked wryly, turning and quirking an eyebrow dangerously.
"Mm-hmm," Clay nodded, brushing aside the neckline of her shirt to see his crow stamped across her chest.
Gemma pursed her lips again, thinking, manipulating. Clay knew that look.
"See if she'll come to family dinner," she said, a dangerous little smile crossing her face.
