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imagining he’s bordering on lame.

chapter six
    There’s quite a crowd at the gate. Trainers wait, asking if horse, then rider, is okay. Hands reach out to touch horses’ sweaty necks and offer reassurance. Grooms stand ready to help take horses back to the barn. When the loose-horse alarm sounds, it’s amazing how many people emerge from the barns—to see the damage, to pick up the pieces.
    â€œYou okay?”
    Em is at Lordy’s shoulder, her hand reaching up toward my knee.
    My heart flutter kicks. Em looks genuinely worried. “How’s Lordy? Did you see what happened?”
    Maybe Em’s just worried about the horse. “Don’t know. It was that gray mare of Geoff O’Reilly’s. Flipped out.”
    â€œRyan Murray got carried off on a stretcher. He did something to his leg, I think. He couldn’t stand on his own.”
    Legs heal, I think. It would have been worse if the rider had been unconscious. My stomach squeezes. White sheets. Bandages. The hiss of a machine squeezing air into someone’s lungs.
    â€œHe’ll be fine,” I say quickly, pushing away the memories.
    Lordy has decided it’s time to head back to the barn. Em is keeping up beside us, half walking and half jogging.
    â€œHe might be a little off,” I say. “After the gray bolted past us, we had some trouble. When we cantered, he seemed stiff or something.”
    Em scoots back a few steps and watches us. “Looks fine now. Are you sure?”
    â€œI’m sure. I know what I felt.”
    â€œBecause I can’t save your sorry ass every time you have a bumpy ride.”
    Em hasn’t missed too many chances to remind me that she’s the one who convinced Scampy to hire me back. I don’t push it. Em will do the right thing.
    â€œI’ll wrap Lordy after I cool him out,” she says. “You’re okay?”
    â€œYeah. Nothing like a jolt of adrenaline to wake a guy up.”
    Em laughs. “Coffee would work too. You want a cup? I don’t want to put on another pot just for me.”
    â€œSure. I’ll grab a cup after I ride Chiquita.”
    It’s a good thing Em sprints off between the barns. The minute the words are out of my mouth, heat rises in my cheeks. She doesn’t need to know my thermos is still half-full. She certainly doesn’t need to know that her offer of coffee makes me want to grin. I shut down the smile andturn my attention to getting Lordy back to the barn.
    Whatever thought I might have had of a cozy cup of coffee in the tack room with Em quickly evaporates. Tony has his feet up on the truck bench in the tack room. The truck bench is one of several pieces of furniture that once had some other purpose. It’s bolted to the floor beside a stack of milk crates. The top crate serves as an end table. The others are packed full of neatly rolled leg wraps, bottles of liniment and copies of
Thoroughbred Times
and
Blood Horse
.
    Tony’s eyes are closed, and he sounds like a sick diesel engine on a cold morning. The last thing I need to do is disturb his beauty rest.
    The barns hum with activity. I rush to keep up with the horses that Em gets ready for me to ride. Scampy has also asked another exercise rider, Wee Jimmy Jump-up, to help. The spring meet is rolling along, and Scampy has increased the number of horses he wants worked each day. Tony reappearsat some point, but he’s in a sour mood. We all keep out of his way.
    After I’ve ridden six horses, I’m ready for my lunch even though it isn’t even nine. I’m munching my way through my sticky sandwich when I hear several loud bangs out in the aisle. Scampy yells, “Settle down in there!”
    â€œWho’s that?” I ask when a new dark bay horse with a narrow blaze sticks its head over the top of the stall door.
    â€œDevil May Care. A Stunning Mate stud colt out of Pussy Winnow, a Black Kat mare from Johnson’s