Golden Filly Collection One by Lauraine Snelling Page B

arms. Her mother’s sweet perfume was somehow an added comfort. “I always say stuff I don’t want to when I’m mad.” Trish raised her face.
    Marge wiped the tears from her daughter’s cheek. “I know. We all do.” She drew in a deep breath. “How about if I forgive you and you forgive me and we go on from here?”
    Trish nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”
    Both reached for the tissues at the same time.
    “Now,” her mother went on, “how about the animals? You said you were having a problem.”
    “Oh dear!” Trish leaped to her feet. “Dad never called back about the filly. I should call him.”
    David looked at his watch. “You can try, but it’s nearly eleven.” David gave his sister a push out of the room. “So go call him.”
    Just as she reached the phone it rang. Trish jumped liked she’d touched a live wire instead of a phone. “Runnin’ On Farm.” She tried to sound business-like instead of breathless. “Dad! The phone rang just as I touched it. Spooky.”
    “As I’ve said, great minds…”
    “Yeah, same circles. How are you?”
    “Could be better, but the real question is how’s the filly?”
    “Well, Dr. Bradshaw shot her full of antibiotics and said to keep her isolated. I’m to give her fifteen cc’s more morning and night for the next couple of days.”
    “How does she look?”
    “Droopy—but the doc said the ones he’s treated early like this respond pretty fast.”
    “What about the rest of the stock?”
    “He checked the brood mares and the two colts. All clear, but I have to keep a close eye on everything.” Trish cupped the phone on her shoulder as she leaned her elbows on the counter.
    “How’s your mother?”
    “Well,” Trish paused to chew her lip. “We’re okay…now.”
    “Been fighting again?”
    Trish forced her voice to remain calm. “Don’t worry about us, Dad. Just take care of yourself.” She drummed her fingers on the counter. “Hey, you know what? I have to wear galoshes when I treat the filly. Think what I’ll look like in your giant-sized boots. I could put both feet in one and still have room.”
    “Tee, you nut.”
    “I’ll look nutty, all right. Just call me hoppity.”
    “Okay, Peter Cottontail, back to the filly.” Trish could feel his warm smile over the wire. “Where do you have her?”
    “In the isolation stall, where else?” Surprise at his question raised her eyebrows.
    “Sorry.” Her father sounded sheepish. “I should have known you’d do exactly the right thing.”
    “You taught me, Dad.” Trish hugged the phone closer to her ear, as if the action would bring him closer to her. “That’s why I have to wear the galoshes, to keep from contaminating the others. I’ll check on her now, before I go to bed.”
    “Tee, I’m proud of you. But let David check her during the night.
    He can do the chores in the morning too. You’ve got to get to school on time for a change.”
    “Dad…”
    “You heard me. You can work Spitfire on the starting gates in the afternoon. And David can…let me talk to David. You get to bed.”
    “But what about Spitfire’s morning workout?”
    “Okay. Gallop him four miles like you’ve been doing. But leave the rest for David.”
    “Yes, sir.” Trish swallowed a lump in her throat. “And please get better, Dad.”
    “Keep praying, babe. All of us have to keep praying.”
    “I’ll get David.” She laid the phone down on the counter and rubbed her hand across her face.
    After David picked up the receiver, Trish slid the door open and stepped outside. Caesar whined for attention, then shoved his cold nose into her hand. She scratched behind his ears, all the while concentrating on her prayer. God, make my Dad better. Bring him home to us, to me. He’s a good person and he loves you. Please make him all right again.
    All the way to the barn Please, God! ran over and over in her brain.
    Soft nickers snapped her back to the present when she reached the stable.
    Quietly she opened the tack