Page 47 of Training the Heart

“What’s his hip number?” Wade asks me the next morning as we slide into the first line of ten outdoor stables at the Tennessee Bred Yearling Sale.

I quickly pull the list of thoroughbreds up and scan it. “543, Book One stalls.”

Wade nods. It’s a sea of people, owners leading their horses out into the corrals for potential buyers to view. Wade clutches our guidebooks for the Book Ones and Book Twos.

I’m fighting a tired haze after how much I drank last night, but I don’t know if I would’ve made it through without the alcohol.

“Essentially, it’s like the NFL draft,” he says to me. “Hip 543 or Rustling Winds is a Book One. We would be paying upwards of one million for him. But you’re right, with his bloodlines we got a damn good derby shot.”

I nod.

These are things I’ve only heard about and researched; his knowledge is firsthand. I will be letting my gut guide me, going by feel of the horse and his personality.

“There are a few others I want to check out in Book Two, the second-highest class of breed. Even the Book Threes. No one really knows the perfect formula for a winning racehorse.”

Wade takes in the horses we pass as we walk, always watching for something no one else sees. In that respect we are very similar; I do the exact same thing.

I watch as his green eyes observe, deep in thought before he speaks, teaching me, and even that is hot. “You hear the saying ‘it’s best to find a diamond in the rough’? These are all diamonds, even the Book Threes, it’s just finding the right one,” he tells me.

I nod as I keep up with his long legs. If he sees a horse he likes we stop for a moment and take notes.

I stop in front of one that catches my eye at the end of the row. He’s beautiful, maybe the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen in real life. Bellingham had good riding and breeding horses but nothing like the one we’re here to see today.

“Crescent’s Landing,” I say, watching the horse.

Wade stands back watching me relate to the horse. I observe him and try to make eye contact with him for a few minutes, reaching my hand out to touch him, and he pushes his face toward me, asserting his dominance.

“He’s pretty, but he’s too jumpy,” I say, after a few minutes, writing him off.

“That’s it? One glance and he’s out?” Wade asks, not judging. He seems genuinely curious as to why I would snub a Book One so quickly. “His sire came in third in the Breeders’ Cup in ’19 …” He begins reading his stats from the book.

I’m only semi-listening to him, we’ve drifted into the next row now, and the most beautiful chocolate filly and I are having a moment. She’s timid but regal, a Book Three. Her stature just says she’s a queen, and I instantly love her.

“I don’t really go by stats, Chief. I go by their hearts. I canusually tell just by watching them if they’re serene but also a fighter, and that has to come naturally. You can’t train the heart.”

We’ve reached the filly now and I note her name and hip number.

I smile, my eyes filling with warmth for her as my dad flashes through my mind.Hi, Dad,I throw up into the universe.

It’s love at first sight. She comes to me instantly and I trace the lines between her eyes with my hand. Her stature is grand, like she knows a secret I don’t. I like to think she’s telepathically telling meI’m your girl.

“No training the heart, words to live by,” Wade says, looking amused.

“That’s right,” I tell him. “Just like people. Your heart is what it is the moment you’re born. Don’t you agree?” I ask Wade without looking at him, I’m still having a moment with hip 211.

“S’pose so, Trouble, never thought of it that way.”

I smile at the beautiful horse in front of me and I then let her go. We stand in silence for a beat before Wade clears his throat.

“She hasn’t got anything really too noteworthy to speak of with her breeding. Her grandsire raced and won at Keeneland and Crenshaw Downs; he was in the derby but never placed in the top five.”

“And she’s a filly,” I add. Everyone knows fillies rarely win the derby.

“I’m not too worried about that—their hearts may not be able to be trained but their bodies can be,” Wade says.

“Again, just like people.” I grin. “Think of all the things we do just because it’s what we’re trained to do, but it’s not what’s in our hearts.”

“True story,” Wade replies. “But yes, you’re right. Last I checked, only a couple fillies have ever won the derby.”

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