By GERRI LEEN
Excerpt reprinted with permission from the author
About This Novel
These racehorses can talk, race riderless, and manage their own careers thanks to genetic manipulation in the past in intended to make thoroughbreds harder. But living free doesn’t mean living without problems of the career and family (both blood and found) kind nor does it mean they are free from having to interact with humans.
In this mosaic novel, stories of two very different stallions and their friends and families (both four legged and two) interconnect to explore how these horses deal with career decisions, love, family, retirement, illness, and having to find alternate paths when flat racing does not prove a profitable or fulfilling life choice.
Not all roads lead to the winner’s circle, and even when they do, winning, doesn’t always equal happiness without someone to share it with.
Joe nudged him, nestling in to grab the apple Haley always hid in his pocket—Joe would fire him if he ever forgot his treat.
He ate the apple happily, then meandered out of the stall to Missive’s stall. She was lying down, and Joe studied her.
“What?”
“I thought she’d win.” Joe’s eyes were soft as he looked at his little girl. He’d spent a lot of time working with her, racing with her, the two of them flying down the backstretch as he taught her how to run—how to win.
Only not this time. It was still horse racing, after all. And there were a lot of other young horses dead set on making sure they got to the wire—and that nice freedom-buying money—first.
“Yeah, well, she probably thought she’d win, too.” Haley sounded protective, which normally would have made Joe happy but today he felt cranky and wanted to argue.
Not least because she’d finished dead last, nothing left from trying to run away with the race. “She should have won. If she couldn’t do that, she should have been in the money. But she didn’t even finish on the board.”
“Don’t ride her about this. She feels bad enough as it is.”
He knew Haley was right. Missive knew she’d screwed up. Her first words to him as he’d met her at the backside gate had been, “Dillinger Stables pulled their bid.”
Joe hadn’t even known she’d been talking to them. Dillinger Stables would have been a coup for one of his kids. That it was his favorite foal, well, that would have been even sweeter, knowing her future was so bright. That she’d lost it with one race was mighty shortsighted of Dillinger, in Joe’s opinion, but maybe they’d come back once she had a chance to season.
He walked off and saw Flicker ’N Flight looking out of his stall, his eyes wary as Joe moved past him. The little bay colt was a recent free agent who’d chosen to come to Fairweather Farms. He wasn’t Joe’s kid; he didn’t even seem to particularly like Joe. But he was really good on the track. So good he took Joe’s breath away, even if he’d never admit it.
Joe knew Haley was impressed, too. He suspected his friend thought Flicker might prove even better than Joe was, but he’d never say it to his face.
“Lightweight,” he muttered. Flicker was sensitive about his size, and Joe knew it.
“Relic,” Flicker muttered back, stomping a little. His mane, long for a thoroughbred—in fact, he looked like a throwback to some of the Arabian foundation stallions—hung black and full. He arched his neck, looking even more exotic. No one could say he wasn’t a handsome colt. But looks weren’t everything.
“You think you can take me, pretty boy?” Joe knew he was all stallion, prancing with the light shining off his black coat, stern and terrible in his strength. As if he had no time for sleek young colts who were going to grow up into gorgeous stallions that might actually give him a real run.
Flicker tossed his head, as if in defiance, but ruined it by laughing a little nervously. “Like that would prove anything,” he muttered, as he looked away.
Joe arched his neck in triumph, but then heard movement behind them—Missive was on her feet.
Flicker eyed her in a gentle way. “You feeling better, Missy?”
Both Joe and Haley shot him a sharp look. Missy?
“Watch them,” Joe muttered.
“What do you want me to do?”
“What you’re paid to do.”
“Yeah, that seems to change daily.” Haley rolled his eyes.
Joe glanced over at Missive. She hadn’t answered her apparent admirer, was just looking at Joe without quite meeting his eyes. She started to fidget when he didn’t light into her. “I thought I had them beat.”
“You outran yourself,” Flicker said gently. “I watched and you really could have held off some.”
“Like you know jack about racing,” Joe said, giving him a stern glance even if the colt was absolutely right. Still if anyone was going to coach his girl, it was going to be him.
“I paid my way out in record time, old man.” Flicker was practically on his toes, trying to look more macho.
Joe didn’t have much of an argument. Flicker had paid his foaling fee off in record time. He almost certainly had champion two-year-old male sewn up.
Missive shifted her weight, the nervous dance of any kid. “I’ll do better next time, Dad.”
Joe let go of his posturing, his tone changing as he said, “I know you will. You’ll obliterate ’em next time, baby.”
The tension went out of her at his words. Haley was smiling broadly. And even Flicker looked like he approved of old Joe.
Haley gave Flicker a scratch on his chin the way the colt liked it. “What do you want on your oats today, my friend?”
Flicker gave the equine equivalent of a shrug.
“Surprise you?” Haley asked gently.
Joe never liked surprises, but Flicker was a different kind of guy.
“Yeah.” He was staring at Missive. “Whatever she’s having.”
Haley laughed and went to the feed room, and Joe followed, watching him prep the food the way Missive liked it, which wasn’t all that different from the way he liked it. Acorn hadn’t fallen far from the tree in this case.
“Give her extra maple,” Joe said, making Haley jump. Had he not heard him behind him?
He knew he could move really quietly when he wanted to but was Haley’s hearing going downhill? He’d have to be sure to make more noise around him.
“Too much maple’s not good for her,” Haley murmured.
“She could use some cheering up. One time won’t hurt her.”
“Dads and their little girls. My sis used to be able to wrap our father around her little finger, too.”
About the Author
Gerri Leen has been obsessed with horse racing since she was a girl, growing up in the Seattle area, inhaling the Black Stallion novels, going to Longacres with her mother and aunt, and riding at western horse camp on the weekends. Now retired in Northern Virginia, she still follows racing avidly. She writes both poetry and prose, and also romance as Kim Strattford.
Her works have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Strange Horizons, Dark Matter, Escape Pod, Zooscape, and others. In 2024, she published her first poetry collection Unwilling: Poems of Horror and Darkness and a fiction collection The Woman I Used to Be and Other Speculative Imaginings. Her poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize as well as the Elgin, Rhysling and Dwarf Stars awards.
You can find more at gerrileen.com or on instagram @leengerri. Bluegrass Dreams Aren’t for Free is her first novel.
