Page 22 of Irish Thoroughbred
“Oh, but—” Her objection was neatly cut off as he captured her arm and propelled her to the door. “Wait!” she cried and pivoted to run swiftly back to Majesty, throwing her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear.
When she rejoined Travis, he stared down at her, both amused and frankly curious. “What did you tell him?”
She gave him a mysterious smile for an answer. As they approached the stands, she dug into her back pocket and thrust some bills into his hands. “Will you place a wager for me? I don’t know how to go about it.”
“A wager?” he repeated, looking down at the two dollars in his hand. Looking up, his features were entirely too serious. “Who do you want to bet on?”
“Majesty, of course.” She frowned at the question, her expression lightening as she recalled some of the terms she had heard tossed around the stables. “To win… on the nose.”
To his credit, Travis’s features remained grave. “I see. Well, let’s see… his odds are five to two at the moment.” Brows drawn, he studied the odds board. “Now, number three there is ten to one, but that’s not too long for a gambler. Number six is two to one; that’s rather conservative.”
“I don’t know about all that,” she interrupted with a frustrated wave of her hand. “It’s just all a bunch of numbers.”
“Adelia.” He said her name slowly, giving her a small pat on the shoulder. “One must never bet unless one knows the odds.” Ignoring her, he glanced up at the flashing numbers. “It’s three to one on number two, a nice safe choice for win, place, or show. It’s eight to five on number one.”
“Travis, you’re making my head spin with all of this. I just want to—”
“And fifteen to one on number five.” He looked down at the two crumpled bills. “You could amass a small fortune if that one came in.”
“It’s not for the money.” Her breath came out in one impatient huff. “It’s for the luck.”
“Ah, I see,” he returned with a solemn nod before the grin escaped and spread. “Irish luck is not to be scoffed at.”
Though she scowled quite fiercely for a moment, he slipped his arm over her shoulders and led her to the two-dollar window.
Before long, she was standing next to him and gaping openly at the masses of people filling the stands. The enormous stadium would hold one hundred and twenty-five thousand, Travis had informed her, and to her astonished eyes there seemed to be no less than that. Several people greeted Travis, and she felt an occasional twinge of discomfort as eyes often passed over her in speculation. Embarrassment was soon eclipsed by excitement as post time approached. She watched the horses step onto the track, her eyes immediately focusing on Majesty and the rider in brilliant red and gold silks on his back. As Majesty’s name was announced, Adelia closed her eyes, finding the combination of excitement and nerves nearly overpowering.
“He looked ready,” Travis commented casually, then laughed as she jolted at his words. “Relax, Dee, it’s just another race.”
“I’ll never be easy about it if I see a hundred,” she vowed. “Oh, here comes Uncle Paddy. Is it going to start?”
For answer, he pointed, and she watched the horses being loaded into the starting gate. Her hand clutched at the cross at her neck, and she felt Travis’s arm slip overher shoulders as the bell sounded and ten powerful forms lunged forward.
It seemed to her a mass of flying hooves and thunderous noise, the pack clinging together in one speeding block. Still, her eyes were glued on Majesty as though he were racing alone. Her hand reached up of its own accord to grasp the one on her shoulder, tightening as she urged the colt to greater speed. Steadily he moved forward, as if following her remote-control command, persistently passing one, then another, until he emerged alone from the field. Suddenly the long legs increased their stride, streaking across the dirt track until his competitors were left with the sight of his massive hindquarters as he lunged under the wire.
Travis’s arm encircled her, and Adelia found herself crushed to his hard chest, sandwiched between his lean body and her uncle’s stocky frame. It was like being caught fast between two unmoving, loving walls, and she found the sensation torturously wonderful, a heady mixture of scents and textures. Her uncle’s voice was raised in excitement in her ears, and her head was snuggled, as if it belonged, against Travis’s chest. Majesty’s win, she decided, closing her eyes, was the best present she had ever had.
Every man, woman, and child in Louisville ate, slept, and breathed the Kentucky Derby. As the days dwindled, thevery air seemed to shimmer with anticipation. Adelia saw Travis sporadically. Their conversations revolved around the colt, the only personal aspect of their relationship being the abstracted pat on the head he would give her from time to time. She began to think that quarreling with him had had its advantages, and she relieved her frustrations by spending more time with Majesty.
“You’re a fine, great horse,” she told him, holding his muzzle and looking into his intelligent eyes. “But you mustn’t let all of this go to your head. You’ve a job to do come Saturday, and it’s a big one. Now, I’m going out for a few minutes, and I want you to rest yourself, then perhaps we’ll see about a currying.”
Satisfied with Majesty’s silent agreement, Adelia stepped out of the stables into the bright May sun and found herself surrounded by reporters.
“Are you the groom in charge of Royal Meadows’ Majesty?” The question was fired out by one of the people who suddenly cut her off from the rest of the world with a wall of bodies. The sensation was disconcerting, and she was thinking wistfully of the dim solitude of the stables when she heard another voice.
“You don’t see many grooms that look like this one.”
She rounded on the man who had spoken, squinting against the sun to see more clearly. “Is that the truth, now?” she demanded, discomfort replaced by annoyance. “I thought red hair was common enough in America.”
The group roared with laughter, and the man at whomher remark had been directed responded with a good-natured grin. Questions were fired at her, and for a few moments she surrendered to the pressure and answered, valiantly attempting to keep one query separate from the next.
“By the saints!” She threw up her hands in dismay, shaking her head. “You’re all speaking in a muddle.” Pushing the brim of her cap back from her head, she took a deep breath. “If it’s more information you’re wanting, you’d best ask Mr. Grant or Majesty’s trainer.” She pushed through them with determination, turning when she felt a hand on her arm and finding herself facing the reporter who had made the personal observation.
“Miss Cunnane, sorry if we were a little rough on you.” He smiled with considerable charm, and Adelia found herself smiling back.
“No harm was done.”
“I’m Jack Gordon. Maybe you’d let me make it up to you by taking you out to dinner tonight.”
