The week leading up to the McBees' visit
Jeremiah Reeves was a bit more quiet than usual. He kept a stony
poker face most of the time, but when asked about his horses,
especially Striker, the corners of his mouth curled into a
mischievous grin. After watching Kiowa and his other trainee,
Genius Switch, work out in the mornings, he scurried off to his
office and hid out for the rest of the day. This was so far from
his usual outgoing behavior that backstretch personalities were
convinced something was terribly wrong. Rumors whispered at the
track kitchen accused him of affairs with every other trainer's
wife, that he was drugging his horses, and that he was even
planning to kill himself.\
Even the always-cheerful Helen was worried
about him. She paced down the barn aisle, trying to decide if she
should confront him. \
"I just don't know what's gotten into
him, Manuel," she said, her voice full of concern.\
Manuel sat on a bag of shavings near
Kiowa's stall, humoring Helen with the occasional nod.
"Just ask him," the groom
suggested.
"I would, but I don't want him to
think I'm nosy. I'm not nosy, I'm just concerned. A concerned
friend, right Manny?"
"Si, a concerned friend. Just go ask.
He didn't look angry this morning," he replied.
"Allright, I'll go ask him, right
now," she declared, stomping her foot. Kiowa's head shot up
at the noise. "Sorry boy," she said, then strode off
toward Jeremiah's office. Manuel chuckled and shook his head.
"Helen, she worry over nothing."
Helen tried to see in through the small
office window, but found the small space not covered in horse
photos only revealed the corner of a file cabinet. Gathering up
all the courage she could muster, she knocked forcefully on the
door.
"Who is it?" came the muffled
voice from inside.
"Helen."
"Come in."
Helen swung the door open wide, which sent
papers flying everywhere, and leaped into the small office."
"Whoa, Helen," Jeremiah shouted
in surprise.
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. She
glanced around nervously.
"So why are you here?"asked
Jeremiah as he picked up the scattered paper.
"Listen, Jeremiah, I'm worried about
you," she began. "You've been hiding in here all week.
You know what they're saying about you? The stories? Of course, I
don't believe any of it, of course." She continued at a
rapid-fire pace, throwing all her concerns at him, one right
after the other. "But I do think I should know something,
because I consider myself a good friend of yours, and I don't
want anything to happen to you, because that would be very bad,
not just for me, but for you. And the horses."
As she spoke, he tried hard to stifle his
laughter.
"...And when they ask you about
something, you get this look -- That one, Jeremiah! What is wrong
with you?" she gasped.
"Helen, Helen, calm down," he
said, placing her hand into his."There's nothing wrong with
me.
"But-"
"Now you listen. The McBees are coming
this afternoon. They have a surprise for me, and I have one for
them."
"They bought another horse?"
Helen asked.
"That's what I'm betting. But I'm
going to let you in on my surprise for them. Now brace yourself;
you might want to sit down for this," he said.
Helen cleared a space at the corner of the
desk with her free hand and sat down. Still cradling her other
hand delicately, Jeremiah began again.
"I want to take Striker to the Dubai
World Cup."
Helen gave a shriek of joy and leaped from
the desk.
"The World Cup? The World Cup!"
she chanted, first in question, then in total excitement.
"Yes! I think he can do it, and do it
with style. I am so confident the McBees'll go for it that I have
already booked a plane for Dubai!" he exclaimed.
Oh my goo-hood-ness!" Helen shrieked
again, in her best 'southern belle' accent. She danced around
laughing and throwing the papers back into the air.
"Now you see why I've been acting
strangely. I wanted to keep this a secret until I cleared it with
everybody. It's gonna be big, the World Cup, and there will be
press everywhere once we make the announcement. It'll be hard to
get a quiet moment. So I took a whole week of them!"
A few hours later, Jeremiah stood alone at
the end of the barn row waiting for the McBees. He was dressed in
his best suit, and had his sandy brown hair slicked back.
"Lookin' SHARP, playa!" Helen
giggled when she passed him.
The barn row was quiet except for the
slight snore of Genius Switch. Jeremiah was drawn to Striker's
stall when he heard the muffle of shuffling hay. He leaned on the
bottom of the stall's dutch door and gazed in at the big horse.
Striker was blanketed and his legs were wrapped. He stood facing
the wall, his head low.
"Striker," Jeremiah whispered.
The horse looked up quickly and spun
around. Standing eye-to-eye with the black horse sent chills down
Jeremiah's spine. Striker had a piercing gaze, unlike any horse
he'd ever trained. When other horses hardly held a gaze for more
than a few seconds, Striker stared as if daring him to look away.
There was something in those deep brown eyes that captivated
Jeremiah's imagination. It was as if they were a set of crystal
balls, and that if he looked deep enough into them, he would see
the future. Striker stood calm, his ears pricked forward,
listening to Jeremiah's soft calls. Looking into them now, the
reflection from the orange bucket hanging in the corner of the
stall seemed like a hot-burning fire ready to blaze out of
control.
The sound of an approaching car awakened
Jeremiah from his daydream. The McBees had arrived. Mrs. McBee
was the first to step out of their wood-panelled station wagon,
which looked very out of place among the trucks and SUVs around
the barn. She was followed by Georgie, who sprang from the car
like a gazelle and rushed toward him.
"You won't believe what we have for
you!" she cried, throwing her arms around him in a big hug.
"I bet I can guess," he said.
"I bet you can, too, but you're going
to act surprised when I tell you anyway," Georgie said
sweetly.
"I'll act surprised if you act
surprised when I tell you what I have to tell you," he
replied.
"Yes, Helen stopped us at Barn 6 and
told us you have a surprise for us," said Mrs. McBee.
"You look very nice, by the way."
"Oh, she did, huh?" there was a
hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Yes, she was pretty excited
herself," added Mr. McBee, who had just climbed out of the
car.\
"OK, before anyone gives any secrets
away," he said, looking at Georgie pointedly, "let's go
to my office where it's not so chilly."
The four walked down the barn row to the
small office. As they passed Striker's stall, the horse stuck his
head out and flicked his ears about. Kiowa let out a high-pitched
squeal when they passed him, but Genius Switch merely rolled onto
his side and snored louder.
The office was crowded and stuffy with all
of them squeezed into the corners.
"Sorry for the mess," Jeremiah
apologized, moving a stack of Racing Forms to the floor.
"Now, Jeremiah, what is it that you
have for us that's so surprising?" Georgie asked.
"No, no, you go first," he said.
"Fine. I guess you probably got a hint
from Georgie's card," said Mrs. McBee, "that we have
bought another horse."
"Yeah, it's a wonderful, lovable,
filly!" exclaimed Georgie, clapping her hands together.\
"A filly! That's great! What did you
name her?" Jeremiah asked.
"I thought she was a tomboy, but
Caroline didn't want to name her that," said Mr. McBee,
glancing at his wife.
"Yes, Caroline didn't like
'Tomboy," said Mrs. McBee. She pulled from her purse a
photograph and handed it to Jeremiah.
The filly was only a weanling, still at her
mother's side.
"It's a daughter of Escena," said
Georgie, "and her sire is Storm Cat. So I called her Storm
Essence. I like it for her."
"My second suggestion was
'Iscenastorm' but that didn't go over very well," added Mr.
McBee.
"She's a great-looking filly, Georgie.
Did you pick her out?"
Georgie beamed proudly, nodding. She had
chosen Dark Strike for them, and Kiowa, too.
"I think we've got a good pinhooker in
our midst," said Jeremiah. He reached behind Mr. McBee and
pinned the photo on his bulletin board.
"Now for my surprise," he
continued.
The McBees looked at him expectantly.
"I think Striker, uh, Dark Strike, is
good enough for the Dubai World Cup," he began.
Georgie's eyes widened; Mr. McBee scratched
his head in disbelief.
"Do you really want to try that race?
Especially after the Breeders' Cup?" asked Mrs. McBee.
"I've moved past the Breeders'
Cup," Jeremiah replied. Surprised at what he said, he
swallowed hard. "I have looked at everything, and it wasn't
my fault, or Dark Strike's. It was just bad luck, the 'Racing
Gods' or something, I don't know. I may never know. But if Dark
Strike is ever going to show how truly talented he is, he has to
win something very big. I think the World Cup is just big
enough."
"OK, then, Jeremiah, I believe you.
Let's go to Dubai!" Georgie said, jumping up and pretending
to fly toward the door.
"How much will this cost?" asked
Mr. McBee, fearfully.
"Oh, the Sheik pays all the costs to
send the horse and two people for thirty days of training. That's
enough fare for Dark Strike, Manuel, and me," Jeremiah
replied. Mr. McBee was thoroughly satisfied with this, for he
nodded and smiled.
"What about Helen?" Georgie
asked, stopping her flight.
"Oh, I think we can help Helen find a
seat on the plane," said Mrs. McBee. "She is Striker's
exercise rider, after all. We wouldn't want a stranger on our
World Cup winner's back!"
"When do you leave?"asked
Georgie.
"Well, I kinda took for granted that
you would say yes, so last week I called the Sheik and told him
to save room on the plane for Dark Strike," said Jeremiah.
"We'll be leaving on Wednesday. But you can stay in the
States until the week of the race. I've heard it's kinda boring
until then."
They talked about Dark Strike and the World
Cup for most of the evening before Mr. McBee suggested they go
out to eat. After a country dinner at the Cracker Barrel, the
McBees returned to their hotel. Jeremiah went back to the track
to check the horses before going home. Dark Strike was safely in
the stall, dosing. Genius Switch had stopped snoring and was up
pawing through his straw. Kiowa was pacing.
That night, Jeremiah dreamed not of a
victorious World Cup, but of the heartbreaking loss in the
Breeders' Cup. Dark Strike had a dream trip, stalking the pace
the whole way with no jostling or bumping. In the turn for home,
Dark Strike, ridden by jockey Tyler Baze, made his big move and
swept by the leaders. He was running well when suddenly, without
warning, Baze felt the black horse swerve inside to the rail. He
cut in front of another horse, causing him to pull up sharply.
Dark Strike pulled against the jockey, charging to the lead, and
at the wire he was a half-length in front. But tote board blinked
OBJECTION. It was all too easy for the stewards to take him down.
DISQUALIFIED.
