Lilac's Chance

Chapter Eleven

"I'm very disappointed in you."

I have a colt on the cross ties, fresh in from the pasture with a blow away mane and bottle brush tail. He's pawing and anxious to be let off, but I have a phone in one hand and a brush in the other and can't add his rope to the mix.

Besides, I have more pressing concerns to worry about.

"You're- what- why?"

It's Dad's cool voice on the other end, and usually the disappointment card trickles dread through me like water down a funnel, but... I haven't been home in months. What could I possibly have done to warrant this? So mostly I'm a little annoyed as I side-eye my colt.

"Do you realize how much you've embarrassed this family?"

No. I haven't.

"Not only are you running around behind my back racing Quarter Horses, I had to find this out from an associate! He happened to be at this Sam Hampton-"

"Houston."

"Don't interrupt me! This Sam Houston track last week and was absolutely astonished to witness you riding on a Quarter Horse like some backyard hokey cowboy."

Rage roils through me, a fiery sea of crashing waters and smashing rocks. I grip the phone tighter. "I happened to win that race. There's absolutely nothing wrong with Quarter-"

"It's a joke! Everything you have was built on the back of the Thoroughbreds, and you go and do this! Did you even think what this would mean to me? To the business? What will people think, seeing my daughter racing on anything but her own Thoroughbreds?"

Braydon appears in the entryway to the barn, pushing a wheelbarrow in front of him. He nods to me, like we usually do, and when I don't nod back he pauses. Takes in my face. Something ugly must be scrawled upon it, because he ducks and wheels away.

My throat is blocked. There's something inside it- a boulder. Scratchy. Huge.

"Do you even understand the ridicule I've been receiving the past few days? With this one silly stunt of yours, you've turned the Piperson business into a laughingstock. Our horses, they're saying, are so slow that even my own daughter has to turn to the old West to get some speed."

I've failed him. I've failed my horses. Desperately, I whisper, "Bloodless Day."

"Old news. Nobody cares about that. Lilac, I don't know what you're trying to prove, but enough is enough. Come home now. You've had your fun and games, but you're done. You have all of the racehorses, all of the facility and trainers you need here. I've already began filling out Birthday Cake's ownership papers. The second you put foot on Piperson Farms, he's yours."

Something cold creeps over me. Birthday Cake. He's everybody's dream horse. He's mine. And Dad's right- I've made a fool of him and the farm. Maybe I'm being selfish. I stare blankly at the colt in front of me as he tips up slightly, tossing his head. He's cute, with a snip and a star and a rich cocoa coat, but he's not a Triple Crown horse.

Dad's hung up.

I slip my phone into my pocket. Something is burning it's way down my face, and it takes a moment to realize it's tears. They're hot and quick and they're crawling over the collar of my shirt, comfortless.

"What do you think, Jaxon?" I ask the colt. "Derek and I are the only family Dad has left. Am I... betraying him?"

Jaxon considers me briefly underneath his whispy forelock, then bobs his head and paws again, hoof scraping concrete as he begs to go in his stall. I drag in a shuddering breath, the sharp hitch in my chest painful, but then I'm cool and collected again. I put Jaxon away.

But I'm not cool and collected. The second the colt's stall door is latched, I'm sliding down against the wall, knees to chest. Nobody is in sight. My phone has not rung. It's safe to cry.

*****

I'm very disappointed in you.

Today is colorless. The sky is a leaden shade that pales everything into sepia. The golden fields are beige. The dirt is gray instead of a rich dark brown. Fudge's usually shiny black tail looks dull and lusterless.  Even Last Chance's golden coat has been tarnished and sucked into the palest of colors.

I'm very disappointed in you.

Braydon and I ride slowly, the energy sucked out of us by the ugly day. Fudge's head is even with his withers as he walks on a loose rein. Chance's creamy lashes are lowering over her eyes as she trudges along, content to not create her usual whirlwind of trouble.

I'm very disappointed in you.

I hate disappointing Dad. He'd been disappointed when I'd dropped out of school. He'd been disappointed when I'd taken a ride on a rival horse. He'd been disappointed when I'd left home.

It seems, maybe, that my worst decisions are ones that he's disappointed in. Is this going to be one of them? Maybe it already is. I've totaled my truck, I'm sleeping on a couch in a tiny house with two strange men, I'm getting paid enough that I could maybe afford a hamster but not much else. On paper, this is a terrible decision.

In reality...

Wind hurls itself, long and low, across the plains, bringing with it the scent of spring and rain. In the pasture, a myriad of broodmares and colts spills across the grass, bucking and twisting in excitement, their coats catching and flashing what little sunlight there is. All of the Thoroughbreds I've met were sleek and lanky, but these horses are stockier and rougher. Winter has leant them thick coats and Hank let them keep them, so they look like little mustangs. Care-free and wild, and there's Jaxon flying across the field, bleating anxiously, his short tail streaming behind him like that of a comet. The sight is enough to lift my spirits. Slightly.

"Hey, are you okay? You're being very quiet."

I sneak a look at Braydon, which I don't really need to do; he's already twisted in his saddle and staring back at me, concern softening his gaze.

No, truthfully, I'm really not. I've acted rashly and hurt my farm, disappointed my father. I wonder what Willifred, the trainer, must think. He's the one who's put me on horses and encouraged my career. He's the one who taught me everything I know. And now, not only have I left the farm, I've left the breed. Tears prickle my eyes. What must everybody think? The grooms who took me under their wings when I was a meddling seven year old, the broodmare manager who first put me on a horse- an old, sweet Thoroughbred-, Willifred, even Jack, who used to be one of our top jockeys. He'd injured himself beyond repair doing what he loved- for my family's farm. Could I claim to have done that much?

Last Chance's ears flicker uncertainly. She can sense my inner turmoil, and it makes her nervous. Calming myself with deep breaths, not meeting Braydon's eyes, I shake my head. "I'm fine," I reply shortly. "Let's canter."

At the word 'canter', Last Chance springs forwards, tail snapping as she settles into gait and charges down the pasture fenceline. I have to sit back and concentrate on slowing her and keeping her rated and steady, even as we fly past horses standing nearer to the fence than others.

Behind me, Braydon hesitates, then sends Fudge after us. The little Quarter Horse gelding catches up quickly and runs next to us, and though Last Chance flattens her ears, she remains steady. She's grown used to his presence.

And though no words flow between us, I know that so have I.