Howdy, everyone. As I post this Chapter Two 'sneak peek' from my new novel, Bell-Bottom Gypsy, the February weather is still howling and drifting white out there. A perfect time to work on all of this.
The new novel should be coming very soon. I am all finished, but am waiting to see an actual paperback proof copy before releasing the book. Very exciting! Baby boomers and wanna-be baby boomers are going to love this one! OK, here's your chapter:
Chapter 2
Jess ladled steaming Kentucky Burgoo into Hank’s large mug. It smelled good and her stomach growled as she put the mug on the counter. Hank was her favorite regular at the concession stand. The older man came by every day, friendly and smiling. His coarse red hair stuck out underneath a traditional Kentucky driver’s cap. A horse trainer whose weathered face testified to a life lived outdoors, he wore a plaid flannel shirt, which was apparently the uniform of folks who worked in the horse sheds behind Keeneland Race Track.
Jessie’s stand was in the thick of the Keeneland action, across from the betting windows. People stopped for burgoo after picking up their winnings. Now and then a winner dropped a fifty-dollar bill and told her to keep the change.
She could get used to that.
“Gotta run,” Hank said, crumbling crackers into his stew. “I wanna talk to you, though.”
“OK.” What on earth did he want to talk about?
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Great. Have a good one.”
“You too, Hank.”
Jess dished burgoo for two women in wide-brimmed, colorful hats.
“Do y’all have hot sauce?” one asked.
“Yep, here you go.” Jess put it on the counter.
“Thanks, darlin’…” The woman helped herself, stirred her stew, and tasted it. “Mmm.”
They gave her a generous tip.
The lunch rush was over, so Jess fixed herself a bowl of stew and perched on the stool to enjoy it. Burgoo – made with hickory-smoked meat, beans, corn, okra, tomatoes, cabbage, and potatoes – was part of the Kentucky horse race tradition, although no one seemed to know how it had begun. Her boss said burgoo was as important to the Kentucky Derby as singing "My Old Kentucky Home" and parading sleek Thoroughbreds.
At first Jessie had said “bur-GOO,” but the horse people corrected her. It was pronounced “BUR-goo,” they said, emphasizing the first syllable. She said it that way now, and had already picked up the gentle Kentucky “y’all.”
Arriving in Lexington in time for Keeneland’s October race meet, she’d landed this short-term job that put her smack in the middle of Kentucky’s horse culture. Keeneland figured prominently in Lexington’s being the "Horse Capital of the World." The park-like grounds around the track were gorgeous and open to the public. On the edge of town, the famous old track had ivy-covered stone walls, graceful trees aflame with fall foliage, and neatly trimmed Japanese yews in the infield that spelled out “Keeneland.” Founded in 1936, Keeneland prided itself on being what horse racing was meant to be. The sprawling stone clubhouse and grandstand were quarried from native limestone. This was a place where horse lovers could savor the favorite sport of the Bluegrass.
Jessie loved it.
Her brother’s friend Steve had rented her the attic room in his university neighborhood house. She liked Steve’s easygoing ways. Jess hadn’t seen much of her brother, but that was OK. They’d never been close. They often had trouble communicating. Still, it was nice knowing that James was close by.
Jess liked driving through the countryside and gazing at the elegant thoroughbred farms with their lush, rolling pastures and old trees. Horses, cattle, and sheep grazed under blazing fall foliage. The paved backroads were flanked for miles with mossy stone walls and white fences. Stately homes were set back from the roads, in groves of massive oaks. The stables, painted to match the main houses, were fancy barn mansions with steeples.
Three thin women in enormous hats approached the burgoo stand.
Jess got up, wiped her mouth, and went over to wait on them.
~
It turned out Hank wanted to hire her as a hot walker. That meant walking his race horses about twenty minutes each after their early morning workouts. That was when the horses were exercised and trained, he explained. The Thoroughbreds had to be walked until they were cooled down, to prevent the sweating animals from getting colic, which could be deadly for them. Hank said that hot walking also helped the young horses calm down before they were returned to their stalls.
So here she was, driving out to Keeneland before dawn. It was a different world out here this time of day. Hushed layers of mist enveloped the trees as the trainers and exercise riders put the Thoroughbreds through their paces on the workout track. It was separate from the racing track. The horses’ hooves pounded the dirt, their snorting breath sending steam clouds into the air.
As dawn broke, Jess watched the sleek animals galloping full speed, stretching out. With their flying manes and powerful muscles, they were magnificent. She had to pinch herself, wondering if she was really here.
Hank taught Jess to hold each horse while the groom washed him and threw a “cooler” blanket on him. Then she was to lead the animal around the shed row until he had cooled down thoroughly. Hot walkers usually traveled with trainers to tracks and training centers to help care for the Thoroughbreds. Hank had fired his main walker recently, but didn’t say why.
Managing high-strung horses was part of the job. “Gentle but confident, that’s how you want to be,” the trainer told her. “They’ll know if you’re afraid.”
Jessie was inexperienced but tall and strong enough to handle it, Hank said. If a Thoroughbred got frightened and reared up, the thing to do was back away and give the horse plenty of slack in the lead rope. The horse would calm down right away, Hank told her.
She sure hoped he was right.
Jessie learned the hard way to put plenty of space between herself and the shed. The way they walked put her between the massive animal and the shed. One horse had tried to smash her into a corner of the building. She’d pushed back, as hard as she could. The huge horse had just grunted and given her a sideways glance.
Other than that, things had gone smoothly as Jess walked the tall Thoroughbreds. Now she came around a corner and saw Hank waiting for her with a horse named Flash. “Good morning,” she said.
“’Mornin’…here ya go, he’s already washed.” The trainer handed her the lead rope.
Flash, a stunning dark stallion, was probably Hank’s most nervous horse.
“Come on, boy,” Jess crooned, slowly leading him around the shed.
He pushed his muzzle into her hand, looking for a treat.
“No, no,” she told him.
All was peaceful until a tiny kitten sneezed in the corner about twenty feet away. Flash snorted and reared up, pawing the air like a maniac. Her heart in her throat, Jess backed up and gave him lots of slack. It took her breath away, how enormous and powerful these horses were. Hank was right: Flash settled down immediately. Thank God. Whew! These Thoroughbreds were beautiful, but they sure were crazy.
“All right, boy, let’s go,” she murmured as they resumed their walk. Jessie watched the rising sun drench the lovely, gnarled trees in golden light. The fall colors were at their peak. “Look at that, Flash,” she whispered.
He swished his long black tail.
She patted his neck. “You big ole scaredy-cat.”
Jessie liked talking to the Thoroughbreds as they walked. She’d always been fascinated by horses, but had never gotten to be around them. Most of the time it was calming, strolling with these tall animals around the shed row.
They rounded another corner, and there was Hank talking to a young man. “You finished with Flash?”
“Just about. Once more around and we’ll be good.”
“OK. This is Tommy Trisdale, my new groom. Tommy, this is Jessie Morgan.”
They nodded to each other as Jess walked Flash past them.
When she was finished, Tommy walked up. “Hank wants me to put him away,” he said.
“OK.” She handed him the rope and patted Flash’s warm neck again.
“Wanna get some breakfast when we’re done?”
“Sure.” He seemed nice enough, and she was curious about the track cafeteria.
* * *
“Everyone calls me Twisty.”
“OK.” Interesting nickname. Jess sipped black coffee and studied the sharp angles of his dark face, waiting for her biscuits and gravy to cool off.
“You work at that burgoo stand, right?”
“Sure do.” She had an hour to relax before she had to go to work there.
“Love me some burgoo,” he drawled in a soft southern accent.
“Me, too. Where are you from?” Jess liked the way he talked. The way he looked wasn’t bad, either. He was maybe five years older than her.
“Asheville, North Carolina. You?”
“Detroit.”
“Motown.” He smiled.
“Right.” She smiled back, looking around the noisy cafeteria. Most of the shiny tables were full of horse people eating, laughing, and hollering across the room to each other. Jockeys, trainers, exercise riders, and everyone else who worked at Keeneland rubbed elbows here.
“What are you doing way down here, Jessie?”
She noticed that his smile reached into his dark brown eyes. “Just seeing the country. My brother lives here…”
“Ah.”
“How about you?” She dug into her breakfast.
“I’m following the race horse circuit,” he replied in his soft-spoken way. “I’m late cuz I had to go home for a bit.”
“Mmm.” Jessie’s mouth was full.
“I’m hoping to stay on with Hank, to New Orleans.”
“New Orleans, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Neat.” It was on her list of cities to experience.
“You didn’t know that’s where they’re headed next?”
“Nope. I’m new to this. Hank fired his hot walker, so he hired me even though I’ve never worked with horses before.”
“Cool.”
“I love horses.”
“Me too.”
Twisty seemed nice, but something about him made her nervous. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
The new novel should be coming very soon. I am all finished, but am waiting to see an actual paperback proof copy before releasing the book. Very exciting! Baby boomers and wanna-be baby boomers are going to love this one! OK, here's your chapter:
Chapter 2
Jess ladled steaming Kentucky Burgoo into Hank’s large mug. It smelled good and her stomach growled as she put the mug on the counter. Hank was her favorite regular at the concession stand. The older man came by every day, friendly and smiling. His coarse red hair stuck out underneath a traditional Kentucky driver’s cap. A horse trainer whose weathered face testified to a life lived outdoors, he wore a plaid flannel shirt, which was apparently the uniform of folks who worked in the horse sheds behind Keeneland Race Track.
Jessie’s stand was in the thick of the Keeneland action, across from the betting windows. People stopped for burgoo after picking up their winnings. Now and then a winner dropped a fifty-dollar bill and told her to keep the change.
She could get used to that.
“Gotta run,” Hank said, crumbling crackers into his stew. “I wanna talk to you, though.”
“OK.” What on earth did he want to talk about?
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Great. Have a good one.”
“You too, Hank.”
Jess dished burgoo for two women in wide-brimmed, colorful hats.
“Do y’all have hot sauce?” one asked.
“Yep, here you go.” Jess put it on the counter.
“Thanks, darlin’…” The woman helped herself, stirred her stew, and tasted it. “Mmm.”
They gave her a generous tip.
The lunch rush was over, so Jess fixed herself a bowl of stew and perched on the stool to enjoy it. Burgoo – made with hickory-smoked meat, beans, corn, okra, tomatoes, cabbage, and potatoes – was part of the Kentucky horse race tradition, although no one seemed to know how it had begun. Her boss said burgoo was as important to the Kentucky Derby as singing "My Old Kentucky Home" and parading sleek Thoroughbreds.
At first Jessie had said “bur-GOO,” but the horse people corrected her. It was pronounced “BUR-goo,” they said, emphasizing the first syllable. She said it that way now, and had already picked up the gentle Kentucky “y’all.”
Arriving in Lexington in time for Keeneland’s October race meet, she’d landed this short-term job that put her smack in the middle of Kentucky’s horse culture. Keeneland figured prominently in Lexington’s being the "Horse Capital of the World." The park-like grounds around the track were gorgeous and open to the public. On the edge of town, the famous old track had ivy-covered stone walls, graceful trees aflame with fall foliage, and neatly trimmed Japanese yews in the infield that spelled out “Keeneland.” Founded in 1936, Keeneland prided itself on being what horse racing was meant to be. The sprawling stone clubhouse and grandstand were quarried from native limestone. This was a place where horse lovers could savor the favorite sport of the Bluegrass.
Jessie loved it.
Her brother’s friend Steve had rented her the attic room in his university neighborhood house. She liked Steve’s easygoing ways. Jess hadn’t seen much of her brother, but that was OK. They’d never been close. They often had trouble communicating. Still, it was nice knowing that James was close by.
Jess liked driving through the countryside and gazing at the elegant thoroughbred farms with their lush, rolling pastures and old trees. Horses, cattle, and sheep grazed under blazing fall foliage. The paved backroads were flanked for miles with mossy stone walls and white fences. Stately homes were set back from the roads, in groves of massive oaks. The stables, painted to match the main houses, were fancy barn mansions with steeples.
Three thin women in enormous hats approached the burgoo stand.
Jess got up, wiped her mouth, and went over to wait on them.
~
It turned out Hank wanted to hire her as a hot walker. That meant walking his race horses about twenty minutes each after their early morning workouts. That was when the horses were exercised and trained, he explained. The Thoroughbreds had to be walked until they were cooled down, to prevent the sweating animals from getting colic, which could be deadly for them. Hank said that hot walking also helped the young horses calm down before they were returned to their stalls.
So here she was, driving out to Keeneland before dawn. It was a different world out here this time of day. Hushed layers of mist enveloped the trees as the trainers and exercise riders put the Thoroughbreds through their paces on the workout track. It was separate from the racing track. The horses’ hooves pounded the dirt, their snorting breath sending steam clouds into the air.
As dawn broke, Jess watched the sleek animals galloping full speed, stretching out. With their flying manes and powerful muscles, they were magnificent. She had to pinch herself, wondering if she was really here.
Hank taught Jess to hold each horse while the groom washed him and threw a “cooler” blanket on him. Then she was to lead the animal around the shed row until he had cooled down thoroughly. Hot walkers usually traveled with trainers to tracks and training centers to help care for the Thoroughbreds. Hank had fired his main walker recently, but didn’t say why.
Managing high-strung horses was part of the job. “Gentle but confident, that’s how you want to be,” the trainer told her. “They’ll know if you’re afraid.”
Jessie was inexperienced but tall and strong enough to handle it, Hank said. If a Thoroughbred got frightened and reared up, the thing to do was back away and give the horse plenty of slack in the lead rope. The horse would calm down right away, Hank told her.
She sure hoped he was right.
Jessie learned the hard way to put plenty of space between herself and the shed. The way they walked put her between the massive animal and the shed. One horse had tried to smash her into a corner of the building. She’d pushed back, as hard as she could. The huge horse had just grunted and given her a sideways glance.
Other than that, things had gone smoothly as Jess walked the tall Thoroughbreds. Now she came around a corner and saw Hank waiting for her with a horse named Flash. “Good morning,” she said.
“’Mornin’…here ya go, he’s already washed.” The trainer handed her the lead rope.
Flash, a stunning dark stallion, was probably Hank’s most nervous horse.
“Come on, boy,” Jess crooned, slowly leading him around the shed.
He pushed his muzzle into her hand, looking for a treat.
“No, no,” she told him.
All was peaceful until a tiny kitten sneezed in the corner about twenty feet away. Flash snorted and reared up, pawing the air like a maniac. Her heart in her throat, Jess backed up and gave him lots of slack. It took her breath away, how enormous and powerful these horses were. Hank was right: Flash settled down immediately. Thank God. Whew! These Thoroughbreds were beautiful, but they sure were crazy.
“All right, boy, let’s go,” she murmured as they resumed their walk. Jessie watched the rising sun drench the lovely, gnarled trees in golden light. The fall colors were at their peak. “Look at that, Flash,” she whispered.
He swished his long black tail.
She patted his neck. “You big ole scaredy-cat.”
Jessie liked talking to the Thoroughbreds as they walked. She’d always been fascinated by horses, but had never gotten to be around them. Most of the time it was calming, strolling with these tall animals around the shed row.
They rounded another corner, and there was Hank talking to a young man. “You finished with Flash?”
“Just about. Once more around and we’ll be good.”
“OK. This is Tommy Trisdale, my new groom. Tommy, this is Jessie Morgan.”
They nodded to each other as Jess walked Flash past them.
When she was finished, Tommy walked up. “Hank wants me to put him away,” he said.
“OK.” She handed him the rope and patted Flash’s warm neck again.
“Wanna get some breakfast when we’re done?”
“Sure.” He seemed nice enough, and she was curious about the track cafeteria.
* * *
“Everyone calls me Twisty.”
“OK.” Interesting nickname. Jess sipped black coffee and studied the sharp angles of his dark face, waiting for her biscuits and gravy to cool off.
“You work at that burgoo stand, right?”
“Sure do.” She had an hour to relax before she had to go to work there.
“Love me some burgoo,” he drawled in a soft southern accent.
“Me, too. Where are you from?” Jess liked the way he talked. The way he looked wasn’t bad, either. He was maybe five years older than her.
“Asheville, North Carolina. You?”
“Detroit.”
“Motown.” He smiled.
“Right.” She smiled back, looking around the noisy cafeteria. Most of the shiny tables were full of horse people eating, laughing, and hollering across the room to each other. Jockeys, trainers, exercise riders, and everyone else who worked at Keeneland rubbed elbows here.
“What are you doing way down here, Jessie?”
She noticed that his smile reached into his dark brown eyes. “Just seeing the country. My brother lives here…”
“Ah.”
“How about you?” She dug into her breakfast.
“I’m following the race horse circuit,” he replied in his soft-spoken way. “I’m late cuz I had to go home for a bit.”
“Mmm.” Jessie’s mouth was full.
“I’m hoping to stay on with Hank, to New Orleans.”
“New Orleans, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Neat.” It was on her list of cities to experience.
“You didn’t know that’s where they’re headed next?”
“Nope. I’m new to this. Hank fired his hot walker, so he hired me even though I’ve never worked with horses before.”
“Cool.”
“I love horses.”
“Me too.”
Twisty seemed nice, but something about him made her nervous. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was.