Free Secretariat Reborn by Susan Klaus Page A

weight.”
    Price used a strand of hay like a toothpick and poked it in his mouth. “Every mom-and-pop operation in Ocala tells me they’ve bred a stake horse. Unfortunately, the track clocker is exact and doesn’t lie,” he said. “Your father must have had a fast watch. But don’t worry, Mr. Roberts, your colt should do well in his maiden race.”
    Price called down the shed row to Jorge and another man, and turned back to Christian. “They’ll get your colt saddled, and the rider will take him to the track. We’ll ride to the grandstands in my golf cart and watch him gallop.” Abruptly, he walked across the courtyard and began talking to an exercise boy.
    Christian stared at Hunter and felt pangs of disappointment, learning of the colt’s unimpressive workout time. The track clocker had to be accurate. He reached into the stall and massaged the white star on Hunter’s forehead. “You probably just had a bad day.”
    Jorge held the colt’s lead as another man put on the tack. When they finished, Jorge led the colt out and the other groom gave an exercise rider a leg up into the tiny saddle. In the courtyard, Hunter walked in the wide circle, following five other mounted horses.
    Price returned. “Are you ready, Mr. Roberts?”
    “Call me Christian.” He followed Price to his golf cart that sat under the banyan tree near the parking lot. In the predawn darkness,they followed Hunter and his rider along with the other horses down the street toward the track.
    “I noticed Hunter’s lost some weight and has several cuts on his back legs,” said Christian.
    Price glanced at him. “For a new owner, you’re very observant.”
    Christian realized that Price had not only checked out the colt’s pedigree and his stud’s racing history, but had also checked on him, learning he was an amateur in the business. “Hunter might be my first racehorse, but my father is a trainer, and I know something about Thoroughbreds.” In the world of racing, it wasn’t wise to come across too dumb.
    Price made a crooked smile. “Then you should know those are speed cuts, caused when the front hooves nick the back legs when a horse runs. The farrier fixed the problem and adjusted the new aluminum plates. It shouldn’t happen again. As for his weight, most horses are nervous when they first arrive and lose a little. But he’s eating and sweating well. That’s more important.”
    Price spoke with such authority that Christian was temporarily assured. Perhaps he had misjudged Price earlier, and the man was a good trainer. Between the first grandstand seats and the track railing, Price came to a stop on a wide stretch of asphalt. Other golf carts with trainers were scattered about, facing the finish line.
    “Here comes your colt.” Price pointed. “He’s working in company with another chestnut.”
    Christian eased out of the cart, and the two red horses galloped past under the floodlights. Beyond the racetrack, a pink-and-gold horizon was engulfing the night sky. The fiery horses and brilliant sunrise left Christian awestruck.
    A dark bay reared up on the first turn, dumping the exercise boy, and taking off down the backstretch.
    “Loose horse,” called a voice from the PA. Riders pulled up their horses, and the pony riders chased after the runaway, trying to capture it before the horse hurt itself or others. An outrider on a paint gelding quickly cornered the bay, grabbed its reins, and galloped itto a stop. Immediately, the other Thoroughbreds in training continued their daily exercise as if incident had never occurred.
    Christian glanced down the track at the rider, who slowly rose from the dirt with no help. “I hope that guy is all right.”
    “Exercise boys are a dime a dozen,” Price retorted. “It’s the horse that matters. That damn kid should’ve hung on, risked injury to that horse.”
    Christian reflected on the painful event in his childhood when the gray colt had dumped him and he broke his arm. Like