Taking Chances: Kayla's Chance

The story ran for a week before Al Rosery broke. As Off the Record was coming off the track one morning, he was swarmed by reporters and had said hotly: “that bastard is not my son!” which ultimately gave the story a ring of truth.
In a responding article, Bo played his cards right and challenged Mr. Rosery to a blood test. But Rosery Acers’ lawyer advised his boss to not give any more comments. Unfortunately, he’d taken the advice.
Some nosy reporters began digging around in Al Rosery’s transactions and one found one interesting bank statement-a withdraw of ten thousand dollars. Creative reporters tied in the bet between my father and Al Rosery into the equation and the result: chaos.
I flew up the Thursday before The Breeder’s Cup, one last detail nagging in the back of my mind: we still didn’t know who the ten grand had gone to.
Bo met me at the airport. I swallowed my stupid pride and smiled at him. He responded with a smile of his own and kissed me soundly when I reached him.
“That’s a nice welcome,” I said breathlessly. Bo laughed.

“You’re not staying here alone,” my father argued when I told him of my plan to catch Al Rosery’s employee.
“I’m not going to be here alone,” I argued back. “Someone’s staying here tonight right?”
“Jaime.”
“So I won’t be alone, I know how to call 911…”
“Jaime shouldn’t know you’re here,” Bo pointed out. “Who knows, she could be cahoots with whoever’s slipping the drugs in.”
“Jaime?!” I exclaimed. “Bo she’s been with us for years.”
“Ten thousand Mr. Washington’s is a lot of money Kay.”
“Regardless, I don’t want you staying here at night alone,” my father said.
“I’ll stay with her,” Bo volunteered.
My father gave Bo a look like he’d grown a third eye. “I used to be a teenage boy you know…”
“Okay so it’s settled,” I broke in. “Bo and I will stay here and keep watch,” I emphasized the last two words.
“And I’ll be at the hotel cleaning my shotgun.”

“I could get used to this,” Bo said softly later that night as I dozed in his lap.
“I couldn’t,” I murmured, snuggling into his chest. “This is boring.”
“Maybe he’s given up,” Bo suggested.
I yawned. “I doubt it. The best way Al Rosery can save his reputation now is to win The Juvenile. Centerfold is his biggest competitor. I yawned again. “I’m taking a nap. Wake me when-”
“Shh,” Bo silenced me with a finger across my lips. We were in the stall that backed up against Centerfold’s. Until now, all had been quiet. But suddenly, he snorted and moved quickly.
“Easy boy, it’s just me.”
“Jaime,” I whispered.
Bo stood slowly. I opened my mouth to remind him that it was only Jaime, but he quickly silenced me.
“I’m just going to give you something to make you feel better-”
Bo slipped out of the stall and started around the shedrow to the other side. I heard Centerfold snort and shuffle his straw around, sounding like he was rearing.
“Come on now, this is my last chance and you won’t eat anything I put in your food!” Jaime hissed.
I knew Bo probably wouldn’t make it in time to catch Jaime in the act. So quickly, thanking years of practice setting fans in the rafters, I scaled the back wall of the stall opposite Centerfold.
The colt was in the back corner, still snorting a warning and pawing with a front hoof. The slight light glinted off the syringe in Jaime’s hand. She had the colt cornered and had a clear shot at his shoulder.
Without thinking about the consequences, I jumped from the rafters and landed one foot to Jaime’s shoulder, knocking her off-balance. Centerfold squealed and spooked, jumping away from me and closer to Jaime. The girl saw her chance and went to lunge for his neck. Recovering from my stumble, I grabbed the back of Jaime’s t-shirt. Jaime whirled on me and the syringe in her hand swung towards me. I felt the sting of the needle in my arm and jerked back. Jaime came at me again. I jumped back and slammed back against the wall, trapped much like Centerfold had been.
Suddenly, two black hooves flew with deadly accuracy and hit Jaime’s shoulder, making her cry out. She dropped the syringe as Centerfold came at her again, this time with his teeth. She turned to bolt but was stopped by the wall of Bo’s chest with two stewards behind him.
“Going somewhere?” he asked with a smile.

“I did not go through hell to have you scratch him at the last second!” I said hotly the next morning when my father came to watch us work Centerfold one last time before the race.
“Are you going to be able to ride?” my father asked, indicating my wrapped shoulder.
“Why the hell not? It’s just a scratch.” Thankfully, Jaime hadn’t thought to get the air bubbles out of the syringe and it had saved my life. An EMT had told us that one drop of etorphine meant for a horse was fatal to a human, especially one with my slight build.
“The papers are going to eat this up,” Mik said.
“They’re going to need more evidence before they have a case though,” my father pointed out.
“I don’t care anymore. We’re not under suspicion and Centerfold’s safe,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say safe,” Bo contradicted. “Remember what you said last night: the only way Al Rosery could recover his reputation is if Off the Record wins tomorrow. They’ll do anything they can to sabotage you guys.”
I took the warning with a grain of salt. Rosery Acers had no wind left in their sails. Their inside eye was under arrest for possession and administration of illegal stimulants, assault, and a couple other charges I wasn’t so sure about. Centerfold was going into the race as the sixth favorite out of fourteen. Above him on the handicapper’s list were Off the Record, Ada Boy, Easy Treasure, Six Pack, and a European colt called Sure of Himself. The only one I was worried about was Off the Record.

Even through my insistence that I was fine, my father had Bo ride Centerfold for his last work. He galloped lazily over six eighths with the same time that Off the Record had breezed almost two furlongs less. The other colt’s time was good and I noticed Al Rosery standing discreetly near the rail.
“Should be interesting tomorrow,” Jeff said as he hopped off Luke’s long shot in The Juvenile, Jump Start.
“That’s a tame word,” I muttered.
Jeff smiled. “Just watch yourself out there kid. You haven’t competed against the big boys yet. These jocks are the best of the best and they have a shot at two hundred grand in The Juvenile alone.”
“I’ll be careful.”

And so was the rest of the stable. Security was tight in our shedrow and Bo, Mik, my father, or I had Centerfold in our sights at all times. We fielded questions from reporters who had latched on to the happenings last night. I didn’t argue when my father commanded me back to my hotel room to get a good night’s sleep.

“He’s going to win you know,” Bo said as we were saying our goodnights.
“We’re sure as hell going to try,” I said with determination.
“You don’t need to try. Let that horse get a good look as his competitors and he’ll do the rest.