CHAPTER 5

Weeks later, Tonya and Royce were getting Gus ready for his morning workout. Tonya stood at Gus’s head, holding his bridle while Royce adjusted the saddle. The colt nuzzled Tonya’s cheek, his soft breath whooshing on her face.

Royce boosted her onto Gus’s back. “It’s time to let him out a little. Gallop him slow for a half-mile, then let him run a half. Don’t push him. Just let him run as fast as he wants. I’m going over to the grandstand to time him.” He mounted Howitzer, and they walked the horses toward the track together.

The early morning sun was already baking Tonya’s back through the dark-colored vest. It’s going to be a scorcher, she thought.

Royce turned left and started Howitzer toward the grandstand. With a backward glance at Tonya, he said, “Remember. Don’t push him.”

Once on the track, Tonya stood high in the stirrups, holding Gus to a gallop as ordered. The colt was eager, but not out of control. He pulled on the bit every now and then, but Tonya held him firmly. “Just a few more minutes,” she murmured, “then you’ll get your chance.”

The little horse flicked his ears back toward her, listening to her voice. She and Gus were beginning to develop a strong bond. Each seemed to know what the other was thinking or asking--a relationship that was vital to winning in any equestrian sport.

As they approached the half-mile pole, Tonya shifted her grip on the reins, and Gus seemed to know that something was about to happen. As they got to the half-mile pole, Tonya sat down and gave Gus his head. Immediately, the colt shot forward. He hugged the inside rail and flew down the track, gaining speed with every stride. Tonya sat still, feeling the thrill of the power in his surging muscles and pounding legs. Gus ran with wild joy, the bit held firmly in his teeth and his ears flattened back on his head. They passed other horses as though they were motionless. The infield trees went by in a blur of green, the wind screaming in Tonya’s ears. As they sailed under the wire in front of the grandstand, Tonya saw Royce with the stopwatch in his hand. She slowed Gus gradually around the clubhouse turn, stopping him on the backstretch. She patted his neck and cantered him back toward Royce.

“I thought I told you not to push him!” he yelled.

“I didn’t, Dad, honest. I just let him run like you said.”

Royce stared at his stopwatch and scratched his head. “Well, for cryin’ out loud. The little shrimp just equaled the track record!”

Tonya whooped. “I knew it! I knew he could do it! I just knew it!” She stroked Gus’s neck as he pranced around arching his neck, seeming terribly proud of himself.

“Well, go cool him out,” Royce said. “I guess I’d better find a race for him. There’s a maiden race for two-year-olds coming up in two weeks. I’ll enter him in that.”

“Oh, Dad, please let me ride him in it,” Tonya pleaded. “I know him so well. And you saw how he responds to me. And carrying five pounds less will help him, too. Please?”

“I told you before. License or no license, you’re not risking your neck on any of my horses. If you got hurt, I couldn’t live with myself. Chris will ride Gus.”

As she jogged Gus back toward the barn, she was nearly overcome by conflicting emotions--disappointment at not being able to ride Gus in a race, elation over his great workout, sorrow for the rift between her and her father, and anger at an unfair system that seemed to be working against her. Then there were the lingering questions about Alfie’s death and the feeling she had when Adam Abarca looked at her the way he did.

But she was determined to put these feelings aside and remain focused on her future. The next job was to get mounts to ride in races. Royce wasn’t the only trainer on the track. She had a good reputation with the other trainers as a dependable rider, always on time, and a good hand with their horses. She would capitalize on those and on her instinctive knack for feeling what a horse was feeling.

Many times she returned from working a horse to give her impressions to the trainer, which they had come to rely on. One morning she had brought a five-year-old back to Russ Danville’s barn with a suspicion that something wasn’t quite right with him. “He’s not himself today, Mr. Danville. Seems to be favoring the right front just a little.”

The trainer had her trot up and down the shedrow as he squatted down and peered at the horse’s gait. “He looks fine to me, Tonya. Not limping a bit.”

“No, he wasn’t limping. I don’t know...just a feeling I got while galloping him. Maybe it’s nothing.”

But later that week, the gelding had broken down in a race, falling and tossing his jockey onto the track. Getting up, the horse stood holding his right front leg up and was taken off the track in the horse ambulance. Fortunately, it wasn’t a broken leg or other life-threatening injury, but his racing career was over.

Russ Danville never mentioned the incident to Tonya or admitted he should have listened to her, but she knew he remembered it. She decided he would be the first trainer she approached for mounts now that she had her license. And she would do it today.

After cooling Gus and cleaning and putting her tack away, she found Russ Danville in his office, talking on the phone. She couldn’t hear the conversation, but he was laughing about something, and she thought she heard him mention Alfie’s name. She hung around outside waiting for him to finish. “Did you want to see me, Tonya,” he called as he hung up the phone.

“Hi, Mr. Danville. Just wondering how that gelding is doing, the one that fell a while back?”

“Oh, he’s back at the farm recuperating. I think the owner is going to try to sell him. Maybe he can make someone a nice pleasure horse.”

“That’s good.” Tonya hesitated, not sure how to begin.

“Was there anything else?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I’ve got my apprentice jockey license, and I’m looking for mounts.”

Danville gazed at her for a moment. Then he looked down at his desk. “Afraid I can’t use you, Tonya. You’re a good workout girl, but I don’t use girl jockeys. They’re not strong enough for race conditions. Not only that, but they’re not aggressive enough--afraid to mix it up with the other jocks out there.”

“Oh.” Tonya decided not to try to argue with his prejudices. She just knew that using muscle and aggression wasn’t the only way to win races, but trying to convince a man of that was probably a lost cause. “Well, thanks anyway.”

She left the office and stood for a moment, wondering why the trainer had been talking about Alfie. Then she walked across the grassy expanse between the barns, skirting around the huge piles of steaming manure, and headed for Jim Dixon’s stable. She found his head groom sitting on a folding chair making repairs to a blanket. He looked up as Tonya approached and asked if Mr. Dixon was around.

“Nope,” the man said. “Be back tomorrow though. Whatcha want him fo’?” Tonya explained. The man leaned back against the stall door and said kindly. “Darlin’, no way Mist’ Dixon gonna give you hosses to ride. He knows yo’ daddy is dead set against it. He don’t want no trouble with Royce Callahan.”

“Oh. Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

Tonya tried four more trainers with the same result. Her last stop was at the barn of the only female trainer on the track. Alexis Parr was a petite dynamo of a woman in her mid-thirties with streaks of gray just beginning to show in her coal-black hair. She had piercing blue eyes and a no-nonsense manner, both with horses and people. Tonya had seen her exercising her own horses in the morning, but hadn’t really spoken to her, except to say hi. Alexis had just two horses in her barn, both claimers, and neither of them won many races.

Royce had wondered out loud how Lexi survived. “I don’t know how she makes enough to buy hay.”

As Tonya approached, she noticed how clean and neat Lexi’s area of the barn was kept. With no groom, stable hand, or assistant working for her, she did everything herself, from cleaning stalls to grooming, galloping, and shoeing her horses. She was truly a multi-talented horsewoman.

And they say women don’t belong on the track, Ton-ya thought, shaking her head.

If there was one trainer she might have a chance with, it would be Lexi. Tonya found her mucking out a stall, heaving dirty straw and manure into a wheelbarrow with a pitchfork. “Hi, Miss Parr,” Tonya said, ducking out of the way of a forkful being thrown with some force.

The woman looked up and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Hi there. You’re Royce Callahan’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Tonya. Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Lexi, honey. Everyone else does. And don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ Makes me feel older than I am.”

Tonya liked her right away. Tonya had few female friends on the backstretch. Here was someone that might change all that. “Okay. Lexi, then.”

“What can I do for you, honey? You know I gallop my own horses, so I’d have no work for you.”

Tonya explained her mission for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

“Jockey, huh? Well, stay here for a minute, and we’ll talk.” She closed the stall door and pushed the wheelbarrow to the manure pile, dumping its contents on the top. Once the wheelbarrow and pitchfork were put away, she came back to Tonya. “Coffee or tea?”

“Tea, I guess.”

Lexi led Tonya to an empty stall. Inside were a few bales of hay, some old, beat-up tack, and a tiny table with a folding chair. There was also a hot plate, a few dishes and utensils, and a mini-fridge. Tonya also noticed a sleeping bag rolled up in the corner. She almost said, “Don’t tell me you live here!” But she stopped herself. She knew some of the grooms used stalls as their makeshift homes, eating at the track kitchen and using the bathrooms and showers provided by the management, but she couldn’t imagine a trainer doing it. Suddenly Royce’s single-wide mobile home seemed like a palace.

“Take a seat, honey. Tea will be ready in a minute.”

Tonya thought it would be rude to sit in the only chair, so she hopped up on a hay bale.

Lexi chatted away as she busied herself with the tea. “So you’re Royce’s girl. Good guy, Royce. Known him a while. Never knew your mom. It must have been a sad day when she had her accident. It’s a wonder your dad even lets you near horses after that. Sorry to bring it up. You probably don’t like talking about it.”

“It’s okay. I was little when she died. I don’t really remember her.” Not for the first time, Tonya felt something missing in her life. Lexi sat down on the chair and handed Tonya a cup. The smell of cinnamon and lemon filled the tiny space. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Smells good.”

“Nothing like tea to make a stall a home,” Lexi said, her blue eyes twinkling. “So. You’ve got your apprentice license, and you’re looking for mounts. How’s that workin’ for you? Not so good, I imagine.”

“How did you guess?” Tonya said, rolling her eyes.

“Honey, let me give you some advice. Horse racing is a man’s game. They have the money and the power, they make the rules, and they are all part of the same club--the good ol’ boys club. And women and girls are just not wanted. Oh, they use us to do the jobs they don’t want to do, or can’t do themselves. Not many trainers can fit their fat butts on an exercise saddle, much less a racing saddle. So they use girls and small men, like the ones from south of the border. Things are only a little easier for them. At least they’re males.”

Tonya drank her tea and thought of Mike Torres and the other Hispanic riders at the track. The fact that they could be struggling against the same system had never occurred to her. Is that what makes Torres so difficult? Or is it something else, something more sinister?

“But don’t think for a minute that they wouldn’t chuck us all out if they had the choice,” Lexi said, leaning back and taking a sip of tea.

Tonya enjoyed listening to this straight-talking lady, even if she was a little rough around the edges.

“Not that Royce is one of them, mind you. Your daddy is a gentleman, both with horses and people. But he’s one of the few.”

“But you got to be a trainer. How did you manage it? Someone must have given you a break somewhere.”

“I made my own breaks, honey. I worked my tail off and scraped by, sometimes skipping meals to keep my horses in feed. I’ve given up the idea of marriage, a family, a home, at least for now. I mean, look around. Does this look like a house in the suburbs?”

“Not exactly, no. So why do you do it?” Before the words were out of her mouth, Tonya knew the answer. Lexi did it because she loved it. Her dream was to train racehorses, and she would do whatever it took to live that dream. Whatever it takes.

As though to confirm what Tonya was thinking, Lexi asked, “Do you want to be a jockey?” Tonya nodded. “Then you have to ask yourself one question: how bad do I want it? When you’ve got the answer, you’ll know what you have to do.” Lexi considered her teacup for a minute. “I wish I could help you to get there, but I can’t. I only have two horses to train, and neither of my owners would go for a girl jockey on them. It wasn’t easy getting them to accept a woman as their trainer. But I make it worth their while. I take a smaller percentage than the other trainers.”

“That’s not fair! How can they get away with that?”

Lexi stood up and took the two cups. “Like I said, honey, it’s a man’s world. Better get used to it. I wish you a lot of luck, though. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. Us girls ought to stick together.”

Tonya thanked her for the tea and left. The afternoon wore on with no better luck. Tonya stopped in at two more barns and talked to trainers and assistant trainers. The answers were all the same--no--and for the same reasons. Either the men had no use for girl jockeys, or they didn’t want to cross Royce. Some said they had nothing against girl jockeys, but their owners would never go for it. And the owners paid the bills, so they got to make the rules. Rules, she thought. Why do the men and the ones with money get to make the rules?

As if the day weren’t going badly enough, Tonya was walking around the corner of one of the barns with her head down, lost in thought, and nearly collided with Mike Torres. “Oh, sorry...” she started to say.

Mike’s eyes rested on hers with interest, then he looked down and away from her, as though searching for someplace to hide. But that was only for a second before his lost expression was quickly replaced by his usual sneer. “Watch where you’re going. Ay, dios mio, girls on the track.” He stalked off, mumbling to himself in Spanish.

That was just about the last straw for Tonya. All the failures of the day, topped off by Torres and his nasty attitude, boiled over in her. She was crying bitterly as she returned to Royce’s barn and slumped down on a bale of hay. She sat there in misery, watching two of Royce’s horses tied to the electric horse walker going round and round like painted horses on a carnival carousel. That’s me, she thought. I might as well just go clip myself onto that walker for the rest of my life. And the tears flowed again.

“Ah, mija, why you cry, eh?” Luis said as he sat down on the bale beside her. The kindness and sorrow in the man’s eyes made her feel even worse. She leaned her head on his shoulder and gave herself over to uncontrolled weeping. Luis gave her a minute to cry herself out. Then he handed her a big red handkerchief. “Blow your nose. Now, what is it? You tell Luis.”

Tonya remembered when she was a little girl just learning to ride. She had fallen off her pony and sat in the stable yard crying, not because she was hurt, but because she was embarrassed and disappointed with herself. Luis had picked her up and put her on his shoulders, galloping around and whinnying until Tonya giggled away her tears.

“Oh, Luis, my dream is turning into a nightmare. I tried nine different trainers, looking for race mounts today, and every one of them turned me down. Nine! They’re all against me, even Lexi Parr.” She sniffed and stared at the ground.

Luis sat quietly for a few minutes. “Mija,” he said finally. “You are la intrusa. You know what that means?” Tonya shook her head. “Means you are an outsider trying to break into a world where you do not belong and where you are not wanted.”

“It’s not fair,” she sulked.

“No. It is not.” He watched the horses on the walker for a while. “Do you know how Señor Royce and I met? It was near El Paso, at the little track there. He had just two horses to train and he and your mama did all the work themselves--grooming, cleaning stalls, exercising, everything. They were very poor, but so happy together, so much amor. I come to the track looking for work. No one wanted to hire me because I am inmigrante. I come over the border from Juarez. I had no papers. I had no country. Señor Royce, he give me a chance when nobody else would. Helped me get my green card. We worked hard together and built this stable. It took years, but we kept going. Never gave up. Because it was what we both wanted. Now you are disappointed because you didn’t succeed the first day. Do you see, mija?”

Tonya felt a little silly. “Yes.” Then her green eyes flashed. “Then I ran into Torres, and he was so mean to me. Why is he always so nasty? I hate him! He’s just a macho jerk.”

Luis thought for a moment. “Miguel is not machismo. He is caballerismo.”

Tonya began to wish she had taken high school Spanish instead of French. “What does that mean?”

“A man who is caballerismo respects and cares for his family. He is provider and protector. Miguel’s father died when he was very young, and he is the only boy. He came to this country to work so he can send money back to his mother and sisters. They are very poor. He must win as many races as he can.”

“So he does whatever it takes,” Tonya said, wondering if that might include killing someone who got in his way.

“Si. Whatever it takes. Now go home, and tomorrow you try again. And the next day. And the next. One day someone will give you the chance you need. Just like your padre did for me. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tonya wasn’t all that convinced, but she decided he was right. It was too early to give up on her dream. So what if the system was rigged against her? If Luis and Mike Torres and Lexi had it within them to fight for their dreams, why couldn’t she do the same? Hadn’t she always believed she was as good as anyone, at least with horses? It was so easy to say. Now it was time to prove it. She gave Luis a hug and left him sitting on the hay bale, gazing at the sunset.

Crossing the parking lot toward the trailer, she thought she heard footsteps behind her. Few people were on the track at this hour. She looked around but saw no one. She walked a little faster. When she reached the trailer, she opened the door, looking back one more time. Still, no one was there.

Royce glanced up from his reading. “Hi, honey. Where have you been?”

“At the barn talking to Luis.”

“Oh.” He pointed. “What’s with that cat anyway? He’s been like that for fifteen minutes.”

Clive sat on the back of the chair staring intently out the window, his whiskers quivering and the tip of his tail flicking back and forth.