Racing Savannah

“Can I help you with it instead?” Jack asks, sticking his thumbs in his belt loops. “Dad’s a busy guy.”



I shake my head. “Only your dad.”



“Janet, tell my father Savannah needs to see him.”



The assistant presses the intercom button and speaks into it. Then Jack goes and opens the double doors to Mr. Goodwin’s office, jerking his head, indicating I should walk on in.



I bite the inside of my cheek as I pass by Jack. The door clicks shut behind me and I find myself in a room lit with floor-to-ceiling windows and softened with sheer, wispy curtains. The sofas and chairs are covered with a creamy fabric and fancy rugs cover the hardwood floor. Unlike Jack’s office, there are no TVs or computers. Am I in an Elven palace from The Lord of the Rings or something?



Mr. Goodwin glances up with a brief smile. “What can I do for you?”



He doesn’t invite me to sit, so I stand in front of his desk where he’s sorting through yellow message slips and writing in a leather-bound journal.



“Sir, I know I asked you to keep the money I make exercising your horses and racing in case Cindy and my dad need it, but I’d like to change that arrangement.”



That gets his attention. He sets his pen down, crosses his hands, and looks up at me. “Oh? How do you wish to change it?”



“I want to keep the money I make from now on for myself.”



A tiny smile flits across his face. “What are your plans for the money? If you don’t mind me asking.”



I look out the window, at the rows of huge barns and the racetrack and all the workers, amazed that one person owns all this. Mr. Goodwin didn’t build it, but his family did.



And now I want to start building something for me. For my family. For the future.



“I want to use it for college applications,” I say. “And to take the ACT.”



Mr. Goodwin nods and smiles. “Good. I’ll make sure you start getting regular paychecks.”



“Thank you, sir. Hope you have a nice day.” I turn to leave but Mr. Goodwin calls my name. I swivel around to face him.



“Savannah, I didn’t take any of the money you’ve made so far.”



“What?” I say, leaning forward.



“I saved it all.” He pushes an intercom button and asks his assistant to send Mr. Blakely in. “You’ve worked hard for that money and you need to spend it on you. A man should settle his own debts.”



A minute later, a tall man dressed in a suit appears in the office.



“This is Mr. Blakely, one of my stall managers,” he says. “Michael, how much money has Savannah made so far? Including the race where she placed third?”



The man opens a black portfolio and shuffles through the papers, dragging his finger down a ledger. “About $1,750.”



I sit down on the couch, unable to stand. I cover my face. I’ve never seen that much money in my whole life.



“Before you send out your college applications,” Mr. Goodwin says, “make sure you have my assistant and Jack look over them, understand?”



I taste salty tears at the back of my throat. “I will.”



“Blakely,” Mr. Goodwin says. “Give us a minute.” After the man leaves, Mr. Goodwin raps his pen on his desk. “Savannah, your father came to see me the other day. He wasn’t aware you’d asked to help with Cindy’s paychecks.”



I nod.



“Your father wanted to make sure I hadn’t done what you asked…and he asked me for help with college advice.”



My head pops up. “He did?”



“I ordered him some books and catalogs on student loans and scholarships to look at. We were going to meet about it next week.”



“You were?” I exclaim. Dad didn’t tell me anything. Maybe he didn’t want me to get my hopes up? “But why?” Mr. Cates’s uncaring expression flashes in my mind. “Why do you care if I go to college? Wouldn’t it be better for you if I just stay here and exercise horses and wax the floors or whatever?”



Mr. Goodwin smiles and slips his pen behind his ear. “When I was about your age, my father taught me something. He said that my staff is everything.



“I don’t do any of the important work like training a yearling. Keeping a mare calm as she delivers a foal. Making sure the horses are clean. I don’t even feed my own kids. Jodi cooks them healthy meals. My staff takes care of me and my family.”



I nod slowly.



“I’ve always tried to take good care of my staff. I’m going to make sure Cindy has some time off before and after the baby comes. I won’t let anything happen to your family, understand? You all have been good to us. My staff is too important.”



I wipe the corner of my eye, smiling as I nod.



The intercom buzzes. “Mr. Goodwin, your four p.m. appointment is here,” the assistant says.



“Thank you, sir,” I say. He gives me a friendly nod and goes back to studying his notebook.



I open the heavy wooden doors to let myself out. “Oh, and, sir?” I say loud enough for both Jack and his father to hear me. “I want to race Star in the Dixiana Derby at Paradise Park.”



“We’ll see.”



“Yes, sir,” I reply in a low voice, stepping out of his office and shutting the doors behind me. I’m proud of myself for trying at least.



Jack gives me a quizzical look when I march past him. “What’s going on?”



“I was just getting something I want,” I say with a smile, and race down the stairs, feeling Jack’s eyes on my back.



I head for the stables—I want to take Star out for a while. And hopefully Dad is in Greenbriar and can help me saddle him up.



Show Time



The Winchesters’ racetrack, Paradise Park, is located between Lexington and Louisville on the greenest patch of land you’ve ever seen. Any time now, I’m expecting the Lucky Charms leprechaun to pop up and tell me I’m in Ireland or something. It’s times like this when I don’t believe karma is real; it’s unfair that douches like the Winchesters get to own such beautiful land.



As Dad pulls the truck into the parking lot beside the barns, I feel a slight pang of guilt for Mr. Goodwin because he’ll never own this beautiful place if he doesn’t pony up at least another million bucks. At the same time, I’m pissed because Jack hasn’t said a thing about me riding Star in today’s race, even though I brought my silks to wear. Is he waiting to make sure we have good weather before getting my hopes up?



Dad works with Minerva, Echoes of Summer, and Lucky Strikes while Rory and I are having a hell of a time with Star. He won’t stop rolling on the floor, scattering his hay bed, and snorting. He hops to his feet and jogs around his stall, making grunting noises. He is one unhappy horse.



“Get out of here,” I finally tell Rory, and my friend eagerly leaves the stall, latching it behind him. Mr. Goodwin and Jack need to hire more girls, I swear.



I take a deep breath through my nose and step forward, getting in Star’s face.



“Stop it, boy,” I say in a strong voice. “You’re such a big baby. You just want attention, right?” The horse stops snorting and moving around like he’s on drugs. His ears twitch and he stomps the ground with his front right hoof.



I stroke his face, inhaling his muskiness. “Ror?” I call out. “Would you bring Echoes of Summer in here?”



A minute later, Echoes of Summer has joined me and Star, and the mare calms him down even more. I stay with the horses, feeding them grain and brushing their hair, singing to Star to keep him calm.



Before the race, Jack and his father appear, along with Gael. Jack is wearing an elegant suit and tie, and his hair is slicked with gel.



“Get him ready to go, Whitfield,” Mr. Goodwin says. Did he forget Star hates boys or something? The minute Rory comes in the stall, Star gets agitated again. He slaps his head from side to side.



“Get out,” I say to Rory, putting up a hand. “I’ll get him ready. He’s comfortable with me,” I say to Mr. Goodwin. I want to do right by the horse. “I’ll walk him to the paddock.”



“Wait,” Jack says, standing up straight. He’s nearly taller than his father. “I want Savannah to ride him.”



“I think it’s best if you race Townsend,” Mr. Goodwin says. “He’s got more experience on this track and the purse is half a mil. You need to make the money back for the stud fee and I don’t want to see your reputation go to hell. I don’t think you can afford to lose.”



“I know I can’t,” Jack says. “That’s why Savannah’s gonna race Star. I’ll go tell the officials myself.”



“I’ll come with you,” Gael says.



Mr. Goodwin grabs Jack by the shoulder and stares him down. “Son—”



“I want your support on this, Dad,” Jack interrupts. “I’ve supported you in everything. I used Townsend as a jockey in the last race. I came on to Abby Winchester when I didn’t have any feelings for her. And because of you, I lost something important to me.” He finds my eyes.



Mr. Goodwin slaps his notebook against his palm and glances around the park, looking partially pissed but mostly wistful. He blows out air, sighing.



“I’m the owner of Cedar Hill and it’s my decision,” Jack says, and a chill shoots through me. “Go big or go home.”



“You’d better go get dressed,” Mr. Goodwin says to me. “Nobody’s riding a Cedar Hill horse unless they’re wearing the family silks.”



“Thank you!” I say, grinning.



I haul ass to the truck to change clothes, to get ready for the biggest race of my life. I reach into the cab for my backpack that contains the silks I’ll wear during the race. Glancing around at the other trailers, I make sure I’m alone and shielded by the truck door before pulling my T-shirt off over my head. I’m about to slip my Slytherin Cedar Hill shirt over my bra when a voice behind me says, “Hey.”



I cover my breasts and duck behind the door.



Marcus Winchester slowly walks up, and even though he can clearly see I’m changing, he doesn’t vamoose. He stares at me like he did that night in the Goodwins’ dining room. What. A. Perv.



“Go away,” I say, trying to cover my breasts with the shirt. “I’m changing.”



He reeks of alcohol and it’s not even noon. “You work for the Goodwins, right?” he asks.



“Yeah…?”



“Wouldn’t it be a shame if my dad raised the cost of our track even more? You know, because of you? Because you haven’t been respectful of me?”



I pause for several heartbeats. “What’s wrong with you?”



“What’s wrong with you? Servants want to sleep with me.”



Does he have a sick desire to dominate people or something?



“Get lost,” I say when he grabs my arm. My teeth are chattering as I scramble toward the next trailer. He latches on like a leech and I’m dragging him behind me.



“I tried to give you something special. You should be grateful,” Marcus blurts. I shove him in the gut and rush toward the barns. Seconds later, Marcus overtakes me.