Full Mortality by Sasscer Hill

Author:Sasscer Hill [Hill, Sasscer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC022040, FIC022000
ISBN: 9781434408648
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“You got to hustle like yesterday,” Jim said. “Kenny’s still missing.”

We were standing outside his barn early Friday morning, wearing jackets against the chill. Above us the stars faded to the west, and the sun painted promising streaks on the eastern horizon.

“I’m trying to line up another rider.” He looked worried, brows drawn close, creating a furrow. If I got suspended, he’d have no rider.

I was afraid something bad had happened to Kenny. He’d been a good partner in the mornings. “Do you think he’s in trouble?” I asked.

Jim pursed his lips. “Nobody’s heard anything. I drove around to his apartment last night. His truck’s not there, he’s not home.”

Weird. I thought how many times I’d watched Kenny scurry and hustle for extra rides, like he needed the money. Maybe he had a gambling problem. Then there was the shiny new truck. Those payments might be bleeding him. But where was he?

Ramon, with a new diamond stud earring, showed up with the first horse of the day. I zipped around all morning trying to get done by 9:30 so I could take Hellish out before the track closed at 10. I put her in the round pen filled with deep sand so she could buck and carry on, hopefully work out some kinks before I got on her. Then I whisked on a saddle and bridle. I added a martingale so I’d have a neck strap to hold on to. I left my stirrups long so I could get a good grip on her with my legs. Ramon tossed me into the saddle.

Hellish humped her back but went on down the shedrow without exploding. We made it to the track and went the “wrong way,” my signal that speed wasn’t on the agenda. She eased into a slow gallop, then extended into a long, ground-eating stride, the track rails sliding past us faster and faster. We passed Lorna on a two-year-old colt like they were walking. Wow. This filly had an engine. Reminded me of Gildy. Gildy? I fought the exhilaration and stood up to slow her down. She hadn’t been out in a while, no sense in letting her do too much too soon. When I got her to a steady rhythm, we went along for about a mile, then headed for the gap leading back to the barn, back to her confining stall.

No. She wasn’t having it. She spun and faced the opposite direction. I lost my stirrups, slid my feet back in as fast as I could. She reared, came down bucking and plunging. Oh boy. Another buck. One stirrup gone. A sharp duck to the left. I clung to the yoke of the martingale. She threw her hind end up in the air so high and hard I catapulted off like a pebble from a slingshot.

I hit the ground rolling, jumped up and watched her disappearing down the track. Dust on the horizon. Damn.

An outrider flew by in hot pursuit, and the track loudspeaker crackled,

“Loose horse on the track.

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