Secretariat Reborn by Susan Klaus Read Free Book Online

home.Christian detached the lead from the colt’s halter, but continued to massage his lean flank and deep chest.
    Jorge must have guessed his thoughts and said, “Do not worry, Mr. Roberts. I will take good care of him.”
    Christian handed Jorge a twenty dollar bill. “You do that. And tell Price I’ll be back in the morning.”
    “Thank you, sir, thank you. I will tell him.”
    Christian started toward his vehicle and turned. “Say, where do I park my horse trailer?”
    Jorge explained that Christian would have to go back to the main road, turn left, and go past the guard and entrance. Then he would see the mountain of new pine shavings and garbage bins. Beyond the maintenance building, the horse trailers would be parked against the fence that was the backstretch of the race track.
    Christian drove by the yellow pile of wood shavings stacked twenty feet high and then the trash bins that overflowed with stall waste. Unlike other animal feces, horse manure had a pleasant country odor. In the distance, he saw the horse trailers parked in a row along a mesh fence. Some trailers were big and new, their aluminum siding glistening in the sun, but others were small, rusted, and paint-peeled like his. As he passed the maintenance building, he noticed a large tarp. The wind had lifted the tarp corner back and exposed a mound of brown fur. With the same curiosity that draws a crowd to a car wreck, he stopped, got out, and walked to the tarp. Ten feet away, he gasped at the sight of a dead filly with a mangled front ankle. Earlier in the day, she had probably dashed around the track to the roar of a cheering crowd, but she now lay on the asphalt like discarded trash.
    Covering his mouth, Christian flashed back to Juan’s words. “They will break their legs to win for you,” he had said about Thoroughbreds.
    Christian inhaled deeply, the reality of the words hitting him hard. He wondered if he had the stomach for this business. Withhorses running in a tight pack at top speed, injuries and death were bound to happen. How would he feel if this happened to Hunter?
    Oddly, he had no problem beating the daylights out of a jerk like Larry, but he became emotionally unglued when an animal suffered. Possibly he had inherited this trait from his father, who cared more about horses than people.
    He unhooked the trailer and drove to the hotel overlooking Calder Race Course. In the hotel lobby, the desk clerk asked him if he wanted a room with a track view.
    “Sure, why not?” Christian said. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a horse at Calder.” His father had told him that owners received a discount at the hotel.
    “Can I see your track ID?”
    Christian dug into his back pocket, found his new card, and plunked it down with his Visa card. In his room on the eighth floor, he pushed the heavy curtains and sliding glass door aside and stepped onto the balcony. A row of tall Australian pines and a small street separated the racecourse from the hotel. With the view, he saw the grandstands and eight horses trotting to the starting gate for the last race of the day. To the left, he caught a glimpse of the trailers parked along the fence. Although out of sight, the ghastly image of the lifeless filly still tormented him. Rather than watch the race, he shut the curtains.
    In the dark room, he turned up the air conditioner, called room service, and took a shower. When his Reuben sandwich and fries arrived, he ordered a new-release movie for the TV, hoping for a distraction to get his mind off death—the filly’s and soon his father’s.
    Even with the noisy air conditioner, Christian woke to a faint rhythm of pounding hooves. He climbed out of bed and pushed the curtains aside. Between the silhouette of tall buildings, dawn was breaking. Below, two Thoroughbreds and their riders hugged the rail and thundered around the turn. On the outside of the track, forty ormore horses slowly galloped, trotted, and walked as they performed their morning