The petite, blonde girl brushed the colt’s mane until it gleamed like black satin. Very few jockeys bothered to get to know their mounts until just before their races, but the girl tried anything to even the odds that were always against female jockeys.
The colt’s liquid brown eyes gazed out of his stall at the normally busy backstretch area. But at this hour, most of the trainers, grooms, and riders were over at the track, watching the afternoon’s races. It was unusually quiet. The colt’s ears pricked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. The stall door opened and the man slipped in.
The girl turned. “Oh, hi,” she said then continued brushing the colt’s mane.
It was the last thing she would ever say. They found her body several hours later, the trembling horse standing over her, the whites of his eyes showing. But the man was gone by then, moving on to another track in another state.
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