“Hey girlie, the track ain’t no place for you!”

“Yeah, girl. Go back to the barn where you belong!”

“That’s enough of that, jockeys!” screeched a loader from where he was standing in the starting gate. “I’ll report you to the stewards if I have too!”

“Aw, leave ‘em alone, Charlie,” Heather Reed said with a grin. She steadied the powerful racehorse beneath her and smirked mockingly at the other jockeys. “They’ll shut up after I beat their butts.”

Silence overtook the starting gate when all the horses were loaded. The jockeys tensed, waiting for the gates to burst open. Heather leaned over her horse’s neck, gripping the reins and a bit of mane in her hands. She took a deep breath, waiting.

She knew she had to get in front of the pack and give the horse a clear ride. The horse underneath her hated being behind everyone, and hated it when dirt sprayed in all directions. She would have to play to the horse’s strengths and get him out of there fast, before the rivals, Stargazer and Catch All.

A second of heart-shattering silence and then the doors burst open.

Heather felt the horse’s hindquarters bunch under the saddle and felt the stallion launch himself from the gate. Catch All had thundered to the lead immediately, with Heather following closely behind him, and Stargazer a nose away from her stallion’s hindquarters.

“Go, baby, c’mon,” Heather shouted over the thunder of hooves. “Keep up, baby, keep up. We gotta catch him!” She flicked the whip on the horse’s powerful shoulder, telling him to keep close to Catch All.

The field flew around the track, heading into the backstretch at record speeds. Heather remained hunched over her stallion’s withers, waiting for the moment Catch All burned out. Heading into the clubhouse turn, she saw Catch All falter. She flicked the switch twice, telling him it was time to hustle.

“And here comes Vreeland!”

The crowd roared as she angled Vreeland towards the homestretch, tapping him on the shoulder. “C’mon, baby, let’s get this one!” she shouted. She clicked her tongue, trying to find that last reserve of power.

“Stargazer is moving up on Vreeland! Jockey Heather Reed better do something quick!”

She had forgotten Stargazer.

She glanced under her arm and saw the gray stallion edging closer and closer. She gritted her teeth and urged Vreeland harder, yelling, “C’mon, baby, c’mon!” The horse wasn’t replying. Stargazer inched closer, his dark muzzle even with Vreeland’s shoulders.

“Bye, bye, baby girl!” shouted Stargazer’s jockey, smiling mockingly. He hit Stargazer on the shoulder, and they were blazing down the stretch, leaving Heather and an exhausted Vreeland in the dust.

Heather stood up in the stirrups, gently easing Vreeland down to a canter after they crossed under the wire. How could she forget about the best closer in the country? She chastised herself, knowing that her trainer would have more to say about this. She chewed on her lip, sitting back down in the saddle.

“Heather!” A news reporter in a red jacket came riding up on a paint pony. “Heather, how do you feel about losing to your top rival on your trainer’s best mount?”

She glared at the reporter, but said, “I made a mistake. Every jockey makes a mistake in his or her career.” She turned Vreeland sharply back up the track, and trotted him back to the barns.

“I told you to look out for Stargazer!” Ian Valiero shouted at her. “Do you listen to anything I say? That jockey was just waiting for you to make a mistake! Mr. Jonas isn’t going to be happy about this one, lemme tell you! This is the second time you’ve lost on Vreeland! You’ve tainted his record!”

“Ian!” she shouted back, dropping her pitchfork in the bedding. She was still in her silks, mucking out the stalls for Ian and the other hands. “I get it! You positively hate me right now because I made a mistake! It happens!”

“It happens?” he shouted back. “You just lost one of the most prospective races in Vreeland’s career! For some reason you think you can just waltz through your apprenticeship without worrying about actually winning!”

“Ian --”

“Miss Reed, please refrain from shouting at your trainer. If you haven’t noticed already, he is the authority over you.” Mr. Jonas, the owner of the stock farm, appeared at the stall door. He was a short man, with a receding hairline and a sharp jaw. His eldest son, the heir to the stock farm, Kevin, followed him closely.

Heather closed her mouth. She bent over and picked up the pitchfork, stabbing it forcefully into the bedding, hoping to seal her revenge against Ian.

“Miss Reed, I am extremely disappointed in your performance. You have a lot of potential of being a professional jockey, but as of right now, you seem to be throwing your apprenticeship over your shoulder.” Mr. Jonas leveled his eyes at her. “I will not have you riding my champion colts until you have your license. Your contract is canceled. You may ride for other stables.” He turned on his heel and disappeared.

Kevin paused for a minute, and then hurried after his father.

“You see?” Ian said. He shook his head. “Finish this stall and clean out your locker. Talk to you later.” He too, disappeared.

Heather leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. How had this happened, and so quickly, too? She had just lost her job, and after this, no one would want her as a jockey. She felt a mixture of sadness and anger pool in her stomach, making her clench her jaw. I can’t believe this. Two losses! Gosh. She got back to mucking, because there was nothing else for her to do.

***Kevin

“C’mon, Dad,” Kevin said up in their box in the grandstand. “Just one of the yearlings. It’ll take me six months, tops, and I’ll have him on the track.”

His father shook his head. “I’ve resolved this matter before, Kevin. You’re not a trainer. We have hired help for that.”

“But Dad, I really want to train this year. We have some very promising yearlings back in California…” He trailed off as his father just started shaking his head.

“Kevin, we’ve been over this and over this. I don’t think that you’re cut out to be a trainer. Your brother Joe and Nick --”

“Are trainers, Dad, I know. But they’re not working for this stable. I honestly think that I can make a difference here! Ian’s getting on in years, and the rookies aren’t doing such a good job. I’ve been around the track since I was a little kid. You would think that I have a good idea of how to train horses.” He crossed his legs and curled his fingers around the cool drink he placed on the armrest. This conversation was giving him a migraine.

“Kevin, you are the future owner of the stable. You don’t want to taint your name because of a few badly trained horses.”

He felt anger rise into his throat. He stood up, nearly knocking his glass off the armrest. He steadied it, his hazel eyes burning with rage. “You think I can’t train? You think that my horses would be horrible? Wouldn’t you be ashamed to have a son who couldn’t train horses at all? You started as a trainer!”

“Yes, but now I’m an owner. I don’t need to train.”

He gritted his teeth together. “I’m going home. I hope Vreeland wins.” He turned on his heel and stalked towards the door, ignoring his father’s shouts to come back. He yanked the door open, slamming it on his way out. He trotted down the stairs, taking deep breaths so he didn’t do anything stupid.

You already did, a little voice in his head said. You just disrespected your father. Wave goodbye to your inheritance, Kev.

But you want to be a trainer. Nobody’s gonna listen if you don’t say something, argued the independent side of him.

He sighed and headed towards the barns, where his car was parked. He walked with long strides, pulling at his suit anxiously. His anger was replaced with a need to leave, to get back to the openness of the ranch in Northern California. The racetrack was stifling him.

“Stupid owner…stupid race…” Someone was muttering in a stall ahead. He noticed that the light was on in one of the stalls, and that a petite, brown-haired girl was angrily pitching dirty bedding into a wheelbarrow. It was the jockey from before, the one his father had openly insulted and fired. He stopped at the stall door, steering clear of the wheelbarrow.

“Oh. Hi.” She glared at him from beneath thick eyelashes with dark brown eyes. “What’re you doing here? Come to tease me about being a girl jockey? Or the fact that I was fired?” she asked defensively.

“No. I’ve come here to offer you a job.” It was a spur of the moment thing. He leaned against the stall door, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement when she looked up at him, the hostile look gone. “My father openly insulted you. I’m sure you want to prove him wrong. I’m here to help.”

She leaned against the pitchfork, tilting her head to the left. “Talk to me.”