Taking Chances: Kayla's Chance

My personal pain in the neck showed up two days later when Bo and I were breezing two four-year-olds. My colt was behind by a neck as we rounded the final turn on our home track. I flashed my whip by the colt’s eye and he pulled even with the other horse. We flashed by the stopping point with our horse’s neck-and-neck and pulled them up.
“That was mine,” Bo declared.
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
“I was ahead around the turn.”
“That’s nice but I was ahead under the wire.”
“The hell you were. Let’s look at the photo,” he teased.
“We’ll call it a dead heat then.”
“You’re just afraid you lost.”
“No photo to prove who won.”
We walked a lap around the track. As we neared the gap, I felt a headache beginning to throb at my temple when I heard the shrill voice: “what do you mean she’s no longer for sale?!”
I saw Bo tense and his colt stiffen when we caught sight of the man standing next to Becky.
“Relax Bo, you’re scaring the horse.”
He made a visual attempt to calm down but it didn’t help the horse much. We both dismounted at the gap and turned our horses over to their grooms.
“You said you were selling her to me!” Becky shrieked.
“I never said that,” my father contradicted calmly.
“Look Rich,” Mr. Rosery said from Becky’s side. “I’m willing to raise the price a little since I don’t have any By Chance offspring in my own stable and they’re doing so well on the track. And from his hundreds of foals, there are only thirty-one fillies.”
That was news. It seemed to surprise my father as well.
“So I’d be willing to double my offer.”
My jaw dropped. Eight-hundred grand wasn’t a small chunk of change, even to someone like Al Rosery. I wondered briefly if he could even afford it. Rosery Acers hadn’t had a huge winner since Off the Radar.
I knew Luke or my father wouldn’t even think about buying a filly that wasn’t even weaned from its mother yet, no matter what its bloodlines were.
“Well that’s a…generous offer Al. And I would jump on it but my hands are tied on the matter.”
“How? It’s your horse-”
“Actually its not,” Bo interjected. All attention turned to him. He put his arm around my shoulder and hugged me to him. “She’s half Kayla’s horse.”
There was absolute silence. Becky’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish. Al Rosery was looking from me and Bo to my father and back. It took him a moment to get his composure back.
“Well then. I can just pay four hundred and get the other half of the filly. Of course she’d come over to Rosery Acers-”
“No you can’t,” I said coldly. “I get priority if he was ever to sell his half of her.”
Mr. Rosery laughed. “You can’t be serious. You don’t have that kind of money; you’re just a jockey after all.”
I shifted my weight forward and Bo grabbed my arm and squeezed it briefly.
“Alright fine how about this. Rich I’ll pay you five for your half. And six for yours young lady.”
“I’m not selling,” I said, making sure I reinforced my voice that I knew would have quavered otherwise.
“Well…” my father hesitated.
“Dad if you sell your half, I don’t have to race Centerfold anymore.”
That got his attention.
“That two-year-old of yours?” Mr. Rosery asked. “It’s not like you can’t get another jockey for him. One with more experience.”
“You know he hasn’t run for anyone but me and Bo. And Bo’s too tall to be a jockey.” I was starting to feel frantic now. My father looked like he was considering Mr. Rosery’s offer. Centerfold was my only ace. “How much is the purse for the Juvenile Dad?” I asked. “Two million. Four times as much as that offer.”
“That colt doesn’t have a shot at The Juvenile anyway,” Mr. Rosery said. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve got George Wolf riding him, Off the Record will outrun every horse that shows up.”
I could have hugged Mr. Rosery. The uncertainty went out of my father’s eyes, replaced by determination. “I think Centerfold will give your colt a run for his money.”
Mr. Rosery blinked. After a moment, he smiled. “Well why don’t we put our money where our mouths are. Let’s make a little bet. Both our colts run in The Juvenile. If Off the Record finishes highest, you sell your half of the filly to me.”
“What happens when Centerfold wins?” Bo asked.
Mr. Rosery considered. “One free covering from Off the Radar.”
“That’s not worth five hundred thousand dollars,” I argued. “Five free coverings.”
“Three,” Mr. Rosery said.
“Four,” I argued, wanting to have the last word.
“Fine, four.”
My father looked at me. I knew what a huge opportunity this could be. Off the Radar’s covering prices were already steep and none of his colts were proven yet. If they did well, it could double the cost. He could hold on to those coverings for years.
But what if Centerfold lost? There was only one solution: he couldn’t.