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out to the track. Both the horses picked up the pace as they neared the mile-and-a-half oval. Cicadas chirped their way into the morning chorus as the sun hit the elm trees. The fragrance of the air was a combination of horse, freshly mown grass, and summer.
    Nothing had changed. If Trish closed her eyes and pretended…She shook her head. No pretending, even if it did feel good.
    She studied the space between Spitfire’s ears. Everything had changed. She and Spitfire had run their last race. She bit down hard on her lip.
    “What is it?” Red asked.
    “Ummm, I was just thinking of the Breeder’s Cup in October. Do you think we could run in it?”
    “We?”
    “Spitfire and me.”
    Red shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on it. He’s too valuable for stud now. The syndicate would never agree.”
    “I always thought he would be my horse. I mean, I knew he was good, and winning the Kentucky Derby and then the Triple Crown was a dream come true, but I never thought—” She squeezed her knees and Spitfire broke into a slow gallop.
    “Thought what?” Sarah’s Pride kept pace, snorting and fighting the bit to go faster. She surged ahead until Red pulled her back down.
    Trish focused on the horses in front of them.
    “Thought what, Trish? What were you thinking?”
    “I never thought I would have to give him up…have to live halfway across the country from him.” She raised her voice to be heard above a horse grunting a hard gallop past them.
    “You could always come and race in Kentucky.”
    “I thought about that.” She pulled Spitfire back down to a walk. “But I have to finish high school first. My mom would never let me go now.”
    “Knock it off, horse.” Red tightened his reins to keep the filly from chasing after another fast-working animal.
    “You think she’s ever gonna learn some manners?” Trish grabbed on to another topic. Racing and her mother were too close to home.
    “Yeah, well, I tried. Now you get her. I’ll watch for her name in the newspapers.” Together they walked out the gate and down the narrow paved road to barn 12.
    With Patrick and Adam helping, they quickly had both horses washed, walked, and ready to load. The van arrived promptly at seven, just as they were all returning from the track kitchen and breakfast. Both horses walked up into the van without even a snort of temper or fear, much to Trish’s surprise. Maybe Sarah’s Pride was learning something after all.
    “Trish, you and Red ride in the van, and Patrick and I’ll drive the car, okay?” Adam looked up in time to catch the grin on Red’s face. “Any problem with that?”
    Red shook his head. “Nope.” He grabbed Trish’s hand and raised it with his. “Those horses may need these hands. We gotta be prepared.”
    When Red didn’t let go of her hand, Trish tried to pull it away without being too obvious, but Red turned toward the van with her in tow. “Y’all drive safely now, ya hear?” Red waved with his free hand before opening the cab door for Trish.
    The cicadas turned up the volume of their good-bye chorus as the van pulled out onto the street and headed for the Cross Island expressway. They were on their way south, to Spitfire’s new home.
    Trish pulled out her internal telescope and flipped to the large end. Maybe that way she could ignore the friendly conversation between Red and John Stokes, the van driver. And maybe if she concentrated hard enough she could sleep most of the trip. Maybe the moon was made of green cheese too.
    Red was not easy to ignore.
    Trish leaned her head back against the seat and instructed her muscles to relax. She concentrated on her hands, arms, legs, feet, willing each to relax.
    Red told a joke and both men laughed. Trish felt herself smile. Red did tell a good story.
    Back to relaxing. Trish felt warm and a bit floaty. Red’s next story depended on his southern drawl for the punch line. He drew it out perfectly. A giggle started somewhere down about Trish’s heels