Shades of Amber
Bel Fuoco jockeyed by Justin Santiago
Fallen Angel jockeyed by Reese Balling Jones

Y18 Juvenile Workout


"You ready for this?" Malcolm asked with a wry smile on his face. He leaned into the silver flash of railing that wrapped around The Wire track, cobalt blue eyes sweeping the area in search of commotion. He was about to bring two of racing's royalty out onto the track for their first public workout after all. He needed a safe zone for them, especially since neither colt nor filly were particularly straight in the head just yet. Neither of their moms had been either, but they'd turned out just fine. More than fine actually. He wondered at the fact that he was working the first offspring of two accomplished females that between them had garnered such prestigious races as the Belmont Turf Classic winners, the Turf Triple Crown, the Breeders' Cup Juvenile Turf, the Twilight Stakes, a sweep of the Senior Turf Series, and a Unicorn Horn Classic. Thinking this, Malcolm let out a low whistle that drew Ripley's glance.

"Are you really that worried?" she countered, reading his audible incorrectly. Her green eyes were crackling with energy and he could practically feel the excitement rolling off of her in waves. There seemed to be a filly in each crop that mirrored one of Ripley's grand-dames. It was said that two horses occupied each half of her heart--El Sol del Mar and the Devil's Touch. He knew she was eager to try out all of their youngsters, but this first workout held particular intrigue for The Devil's Touch would be represented in almost mirror-image form by her 'grand-daughter.'

"I'm not worried at all," Malcolm said, although his nervously tapping fingers betrayed him. He really didn't like that there was a reporter up in the stands, but he agreed with Ripley that their newest racehorses should experience the track a couple months out from their debuts. He just didn't like the publicity stunt. Ripley Marsh used to be the queen of publicity, but even she had gradually drawn away from it. He believed Bella Luna's Triple Crown run had actually led to the pull back on his boss's part. Although, the gray mare had triumphed, nothing prepared any human connection for the gauntlet of a Triple Crown run or win for that matter.

Victories and awards were the furthest thing from Ripley's mind when she caught sight of movement at the gap. Her husband, Brookson Wells, led an elegant chestnut through the gap, holding tight to the colt's head even when he thrashed in excitement. Ripley watched the muscles coil beneath the copper hide and felt a touch of pride. He had the power of his sire, but the head, the flighty manner, they were all Bella Luna. Justin Santiago stroked the colt's long mane, soothing his fretfulness, but knowing that such comfort would prove futile. This wasn't home and Bel Fuoco, 'Beautiful Fire' in Italian, wasn't convinced that this was an average day at the track.

Bel Fuoco and his entourage were trailed by a pair of horses, one a towering black beast that overwhelmed his charge in size and name only, and a slim wand of a bay filly with a slim white star between her eyes. Ripley's skin quivered in anticipation for the expected show. It wasn't often that you turned a pair of horses loose for the first time. It only happened once and was over in the blink of an eye, but the initial demonstration left a mighty strong impact on anyone who witnessed it.

Ripley sucked in a breath when the bay filly reared up and tested her babysitter, hooves flying and ears pinned. The thin woman who sat in the saddle, moved with the filly as if she were apart of her and reminded Ripley exactly why she'd hired Reese Balling Jones five years prior. The woman could ride a difficult horse better than most men Ripley knew. Stuck like a burr to the filly, Reese moved with her dancing, an unwanted, but ever loyal partner in the riding game. Finally, Al was able to bring the filly down to earth, pulling her close beside Cold Mountain. The broad gelding pinned his ears, but eagerly moved into a gallop to keep the youngster occupied.

Bel Fuoco and Fallen Angel were the epitome of turf royalty, but neither cared to behave as such. One was the class clown, the other a juvenile delinquent. Each horse moved with the confidence and ease of athleticism and neither had a hair out of place. Bel Fuoco tucked his head neatly to the side as he jogged, eyeballing the duo of gelding and filly. Ripley could swear that the chestnut colt was taunting Fallen Angel, daring her to rebel against Cold Mountain. She shook her head fiercely, saliva flying through the air as she hopped and skipped over the dirt. A fireball to the core, Fallen Angel simply could not relax under control.

"Easy filly," Reese grunted under her breath. Sitting aboard the bay horse was like standing on a swaying bridge over an abyss--loads of danger, but only if the one crossing the bridge took a misstep. Angel she was not, but she moved like one when she wanted to do so. Reese kept herself light in the saddle, her eyes focused forward. When they started galloping, Angel would be just fine, just like always.

Riding Bel Fuoco was like riding in a nice Lamborghini. Modern, luxury with a fine growl of power and speed under the hood. Fire moved smoothly from jog to lope, tucking his head neatly to his chest, his long red tail trailing them like a banner. Justin smiled to himself, pleased with what he felt. Although Ripley and Malcolm thought Fire had a few screws loose, Justin knew--as they did--that it was only playfulness and immaturity. Give the horse some time and he'd be cranking out speed drills without batting an eye. While Angel was left at the mercy of Cold Mountain, Fire was eager to go at whatever pace Justin set down for him. Today, Fire felt more focused than he ever had at home. A change of scenery had the big boy on his toes and for that Justin was grateful. It would be easier to test the talent this way.

The trio of horses slowed to a jog to cross between the dirt and turf. Cold Mountain remained with Fallen Angel until they were picking up a sweet striding lope and then Al released the beast. Instantly, Angel's head ripped up into the air and she climbed forward, balancing on her hind end for a split second before she was off. Her instant acceleration left Reese breathless for a moment, but the woman was quick to gather her wits and move with the fiery filly. Reese knew that to claw up the reins would have the opposite effect of what she wanted. Forcing herself to relax, Reese let the reins zip through her hands until they rested on the filly's neck.

Bel Fuoco pursued the bay filly closely through the first furlong until he too settled down into his massive stride. While the filly ran head-high, Bel Fuoco stretched his massive build over the turf, engulfing the earth with the utmost of ease. His ears swayed back and forth over his cranium as if he were saying that this were only a walk in the park. Justin kept his hands quiet, his body poised as they cruised for the turn for home.

Angel was a Ferrari. Her legs whipped over the grass and her muscles coiled and released with precision. She cut the corner, demonstrating her agility and handiness, and she swapped leads as if she'd done it all her life. Her quickness put a length between herself and Bel Fuoco and she gave Reese the impression that she could bury the colt--or any future opponent--at this point in a race, at any time. While Angel wasn't likely to be on or near the lead, her turning speed would be ferocious and useful in the face of a crowded field.

Justin shook the reins only a little and closed the gap between Fire and Angel as they straightened into the stretch. He could easily see that Reese had a lot of filly left, but he had a lot of colt. Fire gobbled up the ground and was soon racing head to head with Angel, but the filly dared him with mean eyes to pass her. He could see that she pulled at the bit as Reese took control to let her eye up the colt for a split second. Justin took advantage, hustling Bel Fuoco onward. The goofy colt accelerated rapidly, taking control by a half-length midway down the homestretch.

"Get up!" Reese jeered. Angel burst forward at the noise, barreling between the rail and the powerhouse animal, unmoved by such intimidation. The sleek filly timed her move perfectly, hitting the wire a whisker, nee a nostril, in front.

Malcolm stopped the watch, but neither his eyes nor Ripley's left the working duo as they moved into the gallop out. The workout itself had been mighty impressive. Fire hadn't stopped when he'd hit the lead like he had times before, an improvement. Angel hadn't given up when she'd the lost the lead, but had responded with all out fury. He didn't need to look at the watch to know the work had been fairly quick. He had only to hear the reporter's shuffling footsteps to know Ripley was about to be questioned thoroughly about these two creatures. Word would get out quickly that Battle Brook Stable was coming back into the turf racing game in a huge way.