Free Race Girl by Leigh Hutton Page B

from under the house as Bucko lead her around, and practically dragged him up the ramp of the trailer, leaping in between the barriers in the tiny two-horse vehicle. Tully walked in beside her, keeping a steadying hand on her wither, ‘Atta girl,’ she said softly, ‘Good, clever girl.’ The filly’s ears flickered back and forth, and she snorted loudly, pawing at the rubber matting.
    She jumped again when Bucko brought the tailgate up, both ears pinned back. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ Tully said, running a hand down the filly’s neck, feeling her agitation. Tears spilled hot down her cheeks, her heart swelling. ‘You’re safe now.’
    The filly’s nostrils flared and she tossed her head, her eyes creeping around to meet Tully’s. Then her ears flopped to the side and she buried her head back in her hay bag, ripping out a huge mouthful.
    Tully begged Bucko to ride in the trailer, but he assured her the filly would be fine. He took Tully by the arm, leaving the filly happily munching at her hay bag, and they hopped into the ute. He pulled out of the driveway slowly, spinning in his seat a few times to make sure the filly was all right. Tully sat backwards, keeping watch through the little window in the front of the trailer on the bay ears, tinged red from the tail lights of the ute. ‘So how old do you think she is?’ Tully said.
    â€˜Can see that she’s three going on four by the bottom numbers on her brand,’ Bucko said, shifting up to second. ‘But her foal number for that year and her stud has been branded over. We’ll have the vet check for a microchip, but my gut tells me he won’t find one. There’s little chance of ever finding out her parentage, but I’d bet my life she’s from a decent bloodline. She’s definitely got the Northern Dancer look to her, and there’s something special in those eyes . . . Who knows, she could be the long lost cousin of Makybe Diva – she’s Dancer’s great-grand daughter , you know – o r Black Caviar, he’s her great-great-grandsire. He’s sired that many prominent stallions and mares it wouldn’t be too far fetched to imagine that a horse with even a fourth generation drop of his blood had fallen through the cracks. Especially one with as much fire in her temperament as this little filly.’
    â€˜Oh my gosh,’ Tully said, her mind reeling through the colossal names he’d just dropped. ‘She looks like a runner. This is all so exciting. Thanks so much, Bucko! I know I’ll be able to look after her. I’ll pick up some more shifts – I’ll do whatever.’
    Bucko nodded, raising his eyebrows in a secret, chuffed-with-himself-kinda-way. ‘We’ll have trouble getting her registered without parentage, but I know a few of the ladies in the office, and once they see her there shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll figure a way to get it sorted.’
    â€˜Thanks again, Bucko,’ Tully said. ‘But, um . . . you didn’t tell Dad about this, did you?’
    â€˜We will.’
    Tully nodded. ‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful, or anything, Bucko. But you could have kept her for yourself. Why help me?’
    â€˜No one else’s giving you a break, Kiddo.’ He coughed, before muttering, ‘I feel like you’re my own daughter, and I want to look after you.’
    Tully reached across the cab of the ute, kissed him on his clean-shaven cheek.
    â€˜Her name at the moment is ‘Filly’,’ Bucko chuckled. ‘What’re-ya gonna call her?’
    Tully thought for a moment, then glanced through the back window of the ute. The filly raised her nose from the hay bag, her lovely arched neck held proud, ears pricked, staring out across the highway. ‘Dahlia,’ she said, swallowing down another wave of tears. ‘Avalon-Sky Dahlia.’
    Bucko glanced away and Tully was sure she