That was why when it came time to take the colt to the east coast, he was waiting at the front gate with his truck and trailer. We loaded the stud into the two-horse slant and drove the three hours to Rapid City where we met the Equine Transport coach and driver that would take Tempus to Virginia. The vet had already met us and arranged for his Coggins papers, Health Certificate and Brand Inspection. I had them all together in a manila envelope and the driver scanned everything into his iPad.
He was a tall laconic cowboy in jeans, embroidered work shirt and straw hat. Brown eyes wrinkled from the sun, but his smile was friendly, his teeth startling white. His name on the shirt pocket was ‘Gene’ and matched the laminated ID he wore on his neck.
“He’ll be there in three days,” he promised. “We feed hay and bran mashes only until arrival. He’ll be transported straight to the training stable as we have two more heading that way and another to pick up. I’ve been there before. We stop four times a day for water and breaks, assess the animals’ conditions and take appropriate actions,” he explained. “We’re bonded, insured and guaranteed. Your boy is in good hands and safe with us.”
“Is it just you?” I asked looking at the eighteen-wheeler horse van. The name ‘TransContinental Equine Transport’ was painted on the cab and van in red and gold with ‘CAUTION HORSES’ in prominent locations rear and both sides. Horses unloaded on the right and rear of the van.
“My wife and I both drive and take care of the horses together,” he said. “She’s a vet tech and dressage rider.” He named her and I’d heard of her. She’d been a big name five years earlier until a bad fall retired her and her horse.
Matt shook his hand and I followed as he introduced his wife after she had settled the colt in the van.
I’d blanketed him, put shipping boots on all four legs and a padded head bumper but was happy to see that the floor of the trailer was bedded with four inches of pine shavings atop rubber mats.
“Okay, then,” he said. “We’re off. You can GPS us on-line, check our progress with the DOT number on the contract.”
“Have a safe trip,” Matt said, and we watched them drive off. “You’re going to Virginia, aren’t you?” he asked in a resigned tone. I grinned at him.
“I was going to fly but I was afraid to risk it with Homeland Security and facial recognition, so I did the next best thing.”
“Not the bus?” he groaned.
I shuddered. “Hell no. My last bus trip didn’t end so well. No, I chartered a Lear jet. No flight plan, no ID check, just a quiet wire transfer and we’re all good.”
“And we leave when?”
“Jake’s already on his way to the ranch. The jet leaves at 3 pm from Rapid City Regional. We can leave the truck and trailer in Long Term.”
“You have luggage? Or did you plan on buying clothes and stuff once we got there?”
I went to the back of the truck and pulled out two backpacks. “And I packed them neatly so our clothes wouldn’t wrinkle,” I said knowing how particular he was with even his jeans. Not that he got to wear fancy three-piece suits anymore. “No suits as it doesn’t go with our new personas. Just enough for a couple of days. We have reservations at the George Washington Motor Court in Clear Creek.”
“Motor Court?” His eyebrow raised. I still couldn’t do it quite like he did after years of practice in my mirror.
“Hey. It’s a nice place. Set in the pines near the state forest. Not close to any government hot spots. The trainer’s place is out in the boonies, not near the city. The biggest thing that happens in Clear Creek is the Trout Festival,” I defended. “I think it’ll do us both good to get out, get away from the ranch for a few days.
“C’mon, Dad. It’s been six years. Different president, CIA Director, NSA and all the rest of the alphabet soup. DeAngelis has retired along with most of the Feds who were on the task force. Tempe’s dead and his dudes were all caught, tried and in jail. We’re safe.”
Slowly, he nodded and got into the driver’s seat heading back out of town to the airport. Although small, Rapid City Regional serviced the ski crowd, the celebrity set and entourage, so Lear Jets were a frequent sight at the small airport that normally handled nothing larger than DC-10s. Matt parked the rig, locked up and I grabbed the bags as I headed for the kiosk labeled ‘CITATION AIR.’
Inside the nicely done office and behind the counter was a pretty lady in a smart blue suit. She looked like a stewardess. She was tall, around 5’7”, a brunette with stunning golden amber eyes. Her smile was genuine when she greeted us, flicking back and forth between Matt and me but I could clearly see that she was taken by his good looks.
“Wow. You two are better looking than the average lost guys that come in here,” she said. “You looking for Country Air?”
“No, ma’am,” I returned. “I’m Colin Hawking and this is my Dad, Jens.”
“Oh. You’re the 3 pm charter to GW.”
“Yup. We came an hour early to check in.”
“You don’t need to worry about HS checks here,” she laughed. “We do all that when we book the charter. You cleared with passing colors.” She frowned. “Billy is still cleaning up the jet, refueling and whatnot. You can hang out here or in the main terminal. I can page you when he’s ready.”
“Our luggage?” I asked holding the bags.
“I can take those now. Unless you’d like to carry them on?”
“Nope. Now’s good.” I looked at Matt’s face and grinned. He looked stunned. “How ‘bout you join us for coffee while we wait?”
She seemed pleased with the idea and picked up a small radio, informing the person on the other end that she was headed to the terminal for a break, would lock up and to call if she was needed at the counter before she was done with her break.
I stayed behind Matt as he engaged her in small talk while we walked back to the main concourse and the fast food places. She stopped at a Dunkin Donuts and I had an ice coffee while the two drank hot. Sweet and light for her, black for Matt. He still drank his coffee like a cop, dark, strong and hot.
Even though both of them tried to include me in the conversation, I sat back and let them get to know each other. Before they realized it, the hour had passed, and her radio was buzzing wildly.
“Billy. What’s up?” she answered. She turned red as he complained that he’d been waiting for twenty minutes, the charter people were late, and he couldn’t afford to lose any more flights.
“They’re with me,” she managed to say. “And we’re on our way back. Cool your jets.”
Flushed, she stood up and apologized but Matt put his hand on hers. “It’s our fault that we kept you,” he said kindly. “But, do you know, you’ve not told me your name?” His blue eyes twinkled.
Flustered, she pointed to her name on the lanyard around her neck. Claire Citation. When she took us back to the office, her brother was waiting. He looked like a male version of her, just as good looking even though it was clear that he was annoyed with her. He greeted us pleasantly enough, anxious not to lose our patronage.
“Hi, I’m Billy Citation. The pilot and half-owner of Citation Air. This is my sister, Claire. She’ll be flying with us as the air hostess. You folks all set to go?”
“What about your counter?” I asked. “You have anyone to man it while we’re gone?”
“Since we only have one jet, there’s no need to stay open until we’re back and I have my tablet with me for any reservations made on-line,” he shrugged. He studied me. We didn’t look like the kind of people who could afford the $12,000 to rent a Lear jet but as they say, that check had cleared.
We boarded the plane and the inside was every bit as luxurious as I had heard, a true million-dollar aircraft. It had a bar, plush leather seats that were as comfortable as a bed and pulled out like a cot. There was a kitchen that could provide us with more than peanuts and sandwiches and Claire was more than happy to serve us. We had a choice of liquor. Of course, Matt put his foot down on me drinking booze even though I was way older than 21. I was so excited to be on the luxury jet that I spent my first few minutes running up and down the aisle until she warned me that I had to be seated and belted in for take-off.
She made sure my belt was tight before she took her own seat in the back. The pilot’s cabin was closed and locked off from us which disappointed me, I wanted to be able to watch him fly the plane. Luckily, once we hit cruising altitude, he unlocked the cabin and offered to let me come up front and sit in the co-pilot’s seat. I was afraid to touch anything and kept my hands under my thighs until he laughed and told me to relax.
“Want to fly it?” he asked grinning at me. I stared at him with my mouth hanging open.
“No. No, I don’t dare,” I gasped.
“It’s easy. Just take hold of the stick and hold it steady. I’m right here and won’t let you do anything bad.”
He let me fly for a few minutes; the whole time I was deathly afraid that I was going to crash the plane. Matt made fun of me, teasing me that I could ride cross country but be scared of flying a plane? After that, I let go of the controls and retreated to my seat, angry at him in a way that I could not explain. Especially when he kept teasing me to Claire’s discomfort. I sat in the back in a huff, ignoring his attempts to smooth it over. We rode the four hours in silence, or at least, I did. He made conversation with both Claire and Billy, telling them that I was a teenager and prone to fits of sullenness.
I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until we were coming in for the landing. That was just as smooth as his take-off. The wheels hit with a gentle bounce and he taxied the jet right up to the small hanger near the bigger terminals. It was a large airport, George Washington International but because we were a private charter, we did not have to exit through the terminal gates or concourse. Nor go through security. There was a rental car waiting for us at the front of the hangar, I had made those arrangements ahead of time. We unloaded our bags and I set them down next to the gray Nissan Xterra.
Billy and Claire both came to the front of the terminal and asked me about our return plans as I hadn’t made those yet. “I plan on staying just a few days, three at the most. You have my credit card on file. Just plan on returning Friday for us. Three pm will be fine,” I said. “Unless you want to hang out here for three days. I’ll pay for your time if you want to do that.”
“It’s your money,” Billy said. “I don’t care if Claire wants to hang out in D.C. as it’s only an hour’s ride away. We can rent a car too.”
She looked at Matt and I could see that she wanted to spend more time with him. And he with her. Since it had been my intention to hook him up with any available lady, I couldn’t bitch about it when it happened. I tried to be happy for his sake and nodded my approval.
“Go ahead, Dad. I can drive over to the stables and see what needs to be done. We can meet at the Motor Court.” We had throwaway phones for this trip, and I put the address into his GPS app so he could find it. “Don’t worry about me, you go have fun.” I threw our bags into the back of the SUV.
He hesitated, thinking about triggering some facial recognition software but I doubted that he would be anywhere near such cameras. Besides, after six years, no one was looking for us, anyway.
“Okay. Make sure you get something to eat. Not junk food, either.”
“Yes, Dad,” I rolled my eyes and watched as the three of them walked back to the rental counter to pick up another vehicle. Once out of sight, I hopped into the SUV and turned on the navigation to the motel first. Once I had unpacked, I made my way into the small town and found the nearest fast food place and pigged out on fried chicken, fries and Pepsi. Pleasantly stuffed, I found the address of the stables and went in search of Tempus’ new home for the next year.
I was more than happy with the place. It was two long shed rows of 12 by 12 stalls with an overhang so that the rain and wind couldn’t blow right on the horses’ faces but allowed them to hang their heads out so they could see what was going on. The track was smooth and laid with rubber from processed tires so that it was easy on young colts legs. It wasn’t a full-sized track but with a straight away long enough to really let a good horse breeze. Everything was clean, spotless and in tip-top shape, the very safest for horse and rider. Backed up against woods, part of the state forest, it gave the horses a chance to relax out on the trails.
As I drove up the long and freshly graveled drive bordered by crepe myrtle trees of various colors just starting to bloom, I saw riders on breeds that were not Thoroughbreds cantering through the fields and heading for the wood line.
As I pulled into the yard, a man in jodhpurs and high boots came out of the office at the end of the shed row to meet me. He was no older than Matt, slight built but with arms that were corded with muscle and veins. He looked like the trainer that I had seen on Facebook…gray eyes and tousled chestnut hair with that cream complexion that you find in the Irish. His name was Jordan Derry, he had been a top jockey in Europe before his knees and weight grew too hard to manage. Still, he wouldn’t weigh more than 150 lbs even now.
I exited the SUV with my hand out and introduced myself. He looked me up and down, commenting that I was a tall one. “Your colt’s not here yet. Maybe tomorrow evening,” he said. “But I can show you around and his stall, if you like.”
His grip was ferocious, yet he did not punish me with it, more like he was unaware of his own strength. “I’d like that very much, Mr. Derry.”
“Call me JD,” he smiled. “Since you’re an owner now.”
I followed him, a rapid walker until he reached the boxes where his favorites lived. Then, he took his time and told me what they had won, who their sires and dams were and his hopes for their futures. The track held six two-year-old colts loping along with tiny exercise riders on them. Some had ponytails flowing out the back of their helmets. Girls.
I spent an enjoyable two hours with him before I excused myself so that I would not be in the way of feeding. He invited me back on the morrow, asking if I rode and if I would like to take one of his retired pony horses out for a trail ride. He knew from the expression on my face that it would be a joyous thing for me.
“Have you backed your colt?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve done round pen work and trail ridden him. Breezed him out to a mile on a playa. Clocked him two seconds off American Pharaoh’s time,” I said, and he stopped, stared at me. Smiled a slow, thoughtful widening of his lips.
“Let’s keep that under our hats, okay, Colin? What’s a playa?”
I explained about the salt lakes that dotted the Badlands without telling him exactly where the ranch was. Just out west in desert country. Told him that I appreciated his time and asked when was the best time to come back out to ride. He said early in the morning with the boarders or later if I wanted to ride with the colts.
I flew back to the motor court on cloud nine. Didn’t notice that Matt wasn’t back yet.