Golden Filly Collection One Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    “Let’s get them on the hot walker, then you can muck out the stalls. I’ve gotta work with the younger colts and check on the mares. Those other two haven’t been worked yet either.” She waved toward the two horses they were training for a new breeder.
    “Fine with me.” Brad grabbed the handles of the deep red wheelbarrow and followed her to Spitfire’s stall.
    Trish released the bolt and led the high-stepping black toward the hot walker, a circular exerciser that the horses moved themselves. She snapped the dangling lead rope to his halter and as she left slapped him lightly on the rump. The black reared slightly in sheer exuberance, then danced obediently around the worn track.
    The girl smiled at his antics. “You’re really something,” she chuckled, pride in her eyes. Dan’l whinnied sharply and struck the door again. “I’m coming. I’m coming. Hang in there a minute.”
    After Dan’l and a bay filly joined Spitfire on the creaking hot walker, Trish approached the last stall on the west arm of the stable. “Hey, knock it off,” she scolded the bay colt. “You’re gonna beat the door to death.”
    The colt glared at her, wild-eyed. Slowly Trish unlatched the stall door.
    “Easy now. Sorry you’re the last.”
    The colt snorted. Trish slipped inside the door, then waited by the wall for him to calm down. “Easy, boy, easy now,” she crooned, her voice gentle like a song. “You’re just wasting time. If you’d behave you’d be outside already.”
    With a toss of his head, the colt stepped forward for the lead rope to be snapped to his halter. Trish rubbed his ears, then swung the door open and led him out.
    Just as they cleared the door, a small piece of white paper tumbled by on the breeze. With a high squeal, the colt reared and struck out with one foreleg. The force jerked Trish off her feet.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” she muttered as her boots hit the ground again.
    Her arms felt like they had grown two inches. This time, as he reared again, she let the rope travel through her fingers. When he started down again, she seized his halter and smacked him on the nose.
    Surprised, the colt shook his head and kept his feet planted on the ground.
    “You finished smarting off now?” Impatience laced her voice. “That paper was nothing and you know it.”
    The colt looked around as if surprised at his own actions.
    “Bit of a rodeo, huh?” Brad asked as she snapped the bay’s lead rope to the hot walker.
    “I guess.” Trish rubbed her shoulder. “He’s a spooky one.”
    “You sure you want to work him today?”
    “Have to.” Trish chewed her lip. “We told Mr. Anderson we’d have his horse ready for the first race.”
    “But, Trish—”
    “He’ll calm down as soon as he gets to move around some. He always does.” She turned toward the pastures. “Come on, Caesar, race you to the mares.”
    A frown creased Brad’s forehead as he hefted the handles of the manure- and straw-heaped wheelbarrow. “Speaking of spooky,” he muttered. “Girl, sometimes you worry me. There’s nothing wrong with a little wholesome fear.”
    Having put the incident from her mind, Trish loped across the emerald turf. Two colts raced to the end of their pasture. The three mares in the adjoining paddock ignored the young frolicking in favor of lazy dreaming under the maple tree.
    After a quick inspection, Trish patted the sorrel mare’s shoulder and started back toward the barns. One of the mares coughed.
    At the second cough, Trish wheeled back and checked each animal, ears, eyes, and nose. The sorrel with three white socks coughed again, stretching her nose toward the ground.
    “Now what?” Trish stroked the animal’s satiny neck. She listened carefully as the mare breathed in and out. “No wheeze, old girl. You just trying to get some extra attention?” Trish chewed her lip as she watched and listened to the animal another minute.
    “Remind me to watch her, Caesar old buddy.” She